R-O-C-K in the R.O.K.

(because, person who shall remain nameless, we do not call it SoKo. we call it the R.O.K.)

you say "land of the morning calm," i say "land of the smells like clam." which is unfair really, because so far the stinkiest thing in this country is the fellow lodgers in my guesthouse who cannot, it seems, bathe or aim with any modicum of success. yup, i'm in a guesthouse because the teacher i'm replacing won't be out of the apartment until some time next week. as far as guesthouses go it's pretty alright. although it does violate one of the guiding principles by which i govern my life: mama doesn't share bathrooms. since i have to shower in the same places as strangers, i've decided to run the air conditioner non-stop. one, because i like being cold. and, two, because i'm just petty.

things are going really well so far, probably due entirely to the fact that i haven't had to teach yet, and i won't have to until next wednesday. i've only had one day of observing so far, to boot. i'm sure the school thinks it's making things easy for me, but you should never let tristan get too comfortable with sloth. mama loves sloth.

the ladies came up from daegu this weekend, and i've been spending too much money enjoying my chingus. and...that's about all. yay, korea!

first galbi of my return. no, those are NOT three empty soju bottles.

a couple of things

firstly, if, in the span of two weeks, you overhear more than zero people relating stories about being injured by unruly farm animals, you have been in mississippi too long. yesterday i heard one woman say the following:





"Pig jumped on me."

this is the second such conversation i have overheard recently. the first will be related later, once i have fled the jurisdiction. ergo, i must leave mississippi posthaste.

.......

secondly, the following appeared in the top right of one of the local papers a few days ago:

i do not know what this means. i don't want it explained to me if you know what it means. i really don't care what it means. all i know is this: Miffs Nutt is an awesome stripper name.

the time amazon.com mistakenly thought i was a pervert.

okay, right off the bat i need you to know something: i am not a pervert. and if i were a pervert, which i am not, i would know better than blabbing to amazon.com about it. surely.

this is what had happened. about this time last year was the 25th anniversary of entertainment weekly's first being published. in honor of 25 years of making life easier for vapid people like me, ew.com published all these list of the best blah-di-blah of the past 25 years. one of the lists was the 25 most shocking memoir confessions, and one of the shocking confessions was about former ballerina Toni Bentley. the description provided on the website was a little sketchy on the details, and sounded pretty sketchy, content-wise. so, as any intrepid online scholar would, i popped right over to amazon and looked up the book in question.

so, uh, some ballerinas like butt love. the love that dare not be googled at work.

and i'm not judging this woman's preferences at all. really. my only problem is that amazon.com helpfully generates a list of books you might like, based on your previously viewed selections. you plant the seeds in amazon's brain, amazon tends the garden.

which is why, a month later, when i logged on to find a present for my niece, amazon.com thought i might like the following books:

1) don't let the pidgeon drive the bus

2) goodnight moon

3) christina: a woman's backdoor journey to love

being on a motorcycle fills your brain with joy

this was the conclusion i reached today, taking a ride on the back of my dad's bike, as we motored around outside starkville with his motley band of fellow bikers: the scooter trash. i'm leaving a week from tomorrow, and last night dad announced the scooter trash were rallying in my honor for one last ride. and then cokes at mcdonald's. it's how we roll. they even said i could have my own shirt. Trashette.

the fact that this was my last bike ride until....next sunday, when i guilt my dad into going again, just opens the "leaving the country" can of worms in my brain. when folk ask if i'm nervous about moving to south korea, seeing as how it is north korea-adjacent, i usually give them a very blythe, chipper answer. like, "when the north invades, i will distract them from harming me with granola bars, and my 87 television channels, all of which turn off." and this, really, isn't a bad plan. i have more food than i can eat! you can have some! check out tyra banks! bitch crazy!

as long as i don't get blown up first. which would f-ing suck.

He Would Leave You in the Corner

so yesterday it was pointed out to me, by my father of all people, that i have not updated my blog in almost three weeks. and when your dad has the techno-savy (or, more specifically, MY dad, the luddite), maybe i should try and get back on the ball.

anyway, what follows is a rough outline for what would be my self-help book, should i ever be overcome with a desire to get gussied up and pay a visit to Dr. Phil. enjoy!

a couple of years ago i was party to a breakup, the details of which are mostly unimportant except for i didn't see it coming at all. i took it poorly, drinking two bottles of chardonnay without dirtying a glass. between bottles one and two i decided to put my new bookshelf together, but lacking a screwdriver, i tried to use an exacto knife. this resulted in me cutting my feet on the shards of broken exacto when i went to the kitchen to fetch bottle two, then taking bottle two with me on the subway to wal-mart to buy a screwdriver. so, all in all, i handled it pretty well. hey, the shelves got made.

about a month later i was in a bookstore and picked up a copy of He's Just Not That Into You. now, i am basing my experience on this book on fifteen minutes in a bookstore while hyper-fragile. i'm sure dude is great. oprah loves him!

anyway, i felt like the book was judging me. i could make him into me, if only i weren't so needy and lame and sad and chardonnay-flavored. it was not a good experience for me.

another month after that, i was at home (was there wine? there might have been.) watching the bestest movie of all forever: Dirty Dancing. like all women who went through puberty in the later eighties, i feel i've spent my whole adult life scanning the bar, looking for johnny castle. then, the end of the movie, and the bestest line of dialog of all forever: "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

epiphany: that asshole would have left me in the corner. heartbreak? healed! drinking problem? glug glug!!