m-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i

there's a lot i enjoy about being back home with my family. chiefly, my family and butterfinger candy bars. and netflix. and ice cream with butterfingers in it.

but the other day i noticed a nice, unintended, non-candy-related little perk of being in mississippi. no one ever spells the word mississippi in an attempt to amuse me. if you're from mississippi and you end up some place where there are not that many people from mississippi (say, like, south korea), people will invariably, once they learn you hail from mississippi, spell the word mississippi, then look at you for a reaction, as though being able to spell the word mississippi is the most original and entertaining thing that has ever happened. ever.

it's not. to the point that when strangers in far-flung places ask me where i'm from, i reply: "mississippi. don't spell it." if they DO spell it, i take their drink out of their hand, finish it for them, and walk away.

imagine if this was how people greeted each other within the state.

A: Where are you from?
B: Jackson.
A: J-A-C-K-S-O-N! [holds hand up aggressively, demanding a high-five]

ugh, i say. ugh.

my passionate love affair with america is over

i just got home from the grocery store, where i bought - i swear - healthy foods to promote asia skinny retention. and a glamour magazine. it was my stop-over at the magazine rack that brought on my disdain for america. because i counted THREE (3)magazine covers featuring one of the girls from Teen Mom. if you don't know what Teen Mom is, go in peace, my friend, and never look down that road. it will kill your soul.

i want to like america. i really, really do. but i cannot abide by a culture that turns sixteen year-old girls too stupid to make their boyfriends bag it up into celebrities.

and, from looking at the covers, none of these magazines are offering cautionary tales, about how you don't end up pregnant before you can vote, living without furniture, struggling to get your GED. maci is back with her baby's father! amber has lost a ton of weight! farrah isn't pregnant! i made note of all the covers, since i like to have accurate fodder for my indignation.

i would never categorize someone else's child as a mistake, but i feel like these girls are being put on a pedestal for making really bad choices. it grosses me out.

vegetables

i've been back in america for about two months now, desperately trying to hang on to what i call my "asia skinny." it's not the same as being actually skinny, just skinnier than i am when there's butterfingers everywhere. grocery stores in asia don't have butterfingers. i cannot be trusted around a butterfinger candy bar. i enter a fugue state, and basically black out for a few minutes and wake up covered in chocolate and crispity-crunchity crumbies, with no memory of having actually eaten the butterfinger.

i've been trying to eat as well as i can, lots of fruits and veggies and very few trips to cold stone. since the last time i was home, america has become seemingly obsessed with getting enough veggies, since every commerical on the television claims that product X contains A FULL SERVING OF VEGETABLES! chef boyardee, apple juice, manwich, pasta sauce and many, many more contain a full serving of vegetables. exclamation point.

you know what else has a full serving of vegetables? broccoli. you want to get veggies in your diet? you think your kids need to eat more vegetables? then buy a damn vegetable. because manwich is not vegetables. at. all.

oprah

and, today, some i-have-too-much-time-on-my-hands thoughts on oprah.

i watched the season premiere of oprah. you know, where everyone gets to go australia. whee! what lucky, lucky folks.

and, then, the next day on oprah, wynonna judd! wheee...? she's a great singer, with a hot sister and mom issues and a skeevy ex-husband. which makes for plenty to talk about, but wynonna judd is no trip to australia, my friends.

which got me thinking about oprah's audience. one day, everyone gets a car and a recording contract. the next day, the world's most inspirational dog. really. once there was this dog that only had two legs, and the pound wanted to put the dog down, and a family stepped up and took the dog in and NO ONE IS GOING ON VACATION.

i ask you: does this seem fair?

top chef

i'm currently unemployed (or, "retired," if you will), and instead of socializing with, dating, or in any way relating to my peers, i've been watching a lot of television. in my defense, people on television are generally better looking and better scripted than actual mississippians.

last week was the top chef finale. i love top chef. i especially love when william and i watch entire seasons of top chef while having a mcdonalds picnic, but we are sadly separated by an ocean at present. but i digress.

in my many, many free hours that i spend watching television, i come up with ideas to make it better. so, here's my advice for top chef. the first season was hosted by katie lee joel, then trophy wife of billy joel, who may or may not be a robot. in the second season, she was replaced by padma lakmishi, who was married to salman rushdie.

padma's been the host ever since, but i think the bravo network missed out on a great hook: each season is hosted by some old dude's trophy wife. you could even host for mulitple seasons, as long as you remain trophy-wifed. as soon as you get divorced, sorry, new host.

of course, if you got divorced and traded up, then you could keep your job. like if katie lee joel had become katie lee springsteen.

living in a foreign country can turn you into the worst possible version of yourself.

right now i am back in america: visiting with my family, hitting up the sturgis south biker rally, eating fattening foods, trying to determine which city's housewives are the real-ist. i'm going with new jersey, mostly because they are the housewives i fear the most.

(side note: it turns out that when one is actually sober enough to walk around the sturgis south biker rally, it ends up being a little bit like every other outdoor happening in mississippi. sunburned people who have no business being shirtless eating funnel cake and drinking beer at 11am. but maybe with a tad more racism.)

amongst the many things that i miss in korea (kimchi, my girls, being able to afford stuff), i really miss being able to talk about strangers with impunity. yes, i understand that makes me a bad person. you see how polite and civilized you are when there's a 97.8% chance that no one else on the subway will understand what you're saying.

a while ago my good chingu william and i were walking in downtown daegu when a poorly dressed woman ran into traffic.

william: she just tried to kill herself!
me: oh, god, look at her shoes!
william: look at her hair!
me: it's like she's already dead.

just can't do that in america.

the first and second ammendments

let me begin by saying that i may never forgive the media for making me re-think my stance on gun owners. i do not like being wrong.

also, i do not like guns. i think guns are terrible, awful things. guns are the only things in the world that exsist solely to take life. sure, you can kill someone with a knife, but you can also slice bread or spread peanut butter. can't slice bread with a gun. i guess you could make some fairly leaden bread crumbs, but that's another story.

i've, like every other person with a television and eyes, been watching the controversy over the islamic center in new york unfold. and i don't understand the big deal. the first ammendment says that everyone has the right to practice the religion they choose. so, you know, case closed.

which got me thinking about the second ammendment. which says that people can own guns. i don't really care for this ammendment. i like the ammendments that let me vote and make my classmates not slaves, but i just don't think people need guns. oh, if only that were how the constitution worked!

plus, if we're being honest, it's not really the guns i have trouble with. i don't like the people who like guns. in my mind, people who like guns are this guy or these guys .

here's what i've come to understand: i don't have to like gun owners. don't have to invite them into my house or meet them for drinks or swap bread crumb recipies. but i do have to respect that the constitution gives them the right to buy guns and sell guns and keep guns in their homes. and the people who want to buy guns and sell guns and keep guns in their homes are only asking to do something the constitution promises them the right to do.

you don't have to like what a person does, and you don't have to like what a person believes, but until someone shoots up a school or crashes a plane, he isn't a criminal. he isn't evil, and he isn't out to destroy your way of life. he's just doing what the single greatest document ever written affords him the right to do.

nostalgia

i'm going home soon, which has me thinking about all of the things i like at home.

i grew up in a dry county - no cold beer, liquor store closes at ten, last call is midnight. i hear vague rumors that my county is getting less dry, but i'll believe it when i see it. when i was little, sometimes on a sunday, my dad and i would drive out to the crossroads in his old beater truck to get a six pack of cold PBR (for him) and a grape slush puppie (for me). those are, honestly, some of the very happiest memories of my life.

the last time i was home my dad and i went out to columbus, the next town over, for some sunday beers. on our way we passed the latest addition to the crossroads: The Pony. the pony may be the skeeviest strip club ever. outside the pony is a huge metal statue of (natch) a pony. with a raging boner. the pony boner. a poner, if you will. during the daytime hours, the poner is covered with a neon pink thong. imagine that being your job: time to go put the thong on the poner, steve!

that, in a nutshell, is small town mississippi. if you're laughing, then you understand why i miss it.

what i love #3 - procrastination

and i'm not just saying that because right now i'm at work not working. i truly, deeply love procrastinating. i love the feeling of knowing whatever i am doing is not the wisest, most sensible choice. i remember, in university, the feeling that would overtake me the night before a final exam, of being equal parts so very deeply screwed and so excited about organizing my huge collection of magazines (#4 - magazines).

right now i should be editing the kindy monthly objectives for my school. but i am blogging. awesome.

right here, right now

i wish that all of you reading this, all of you who aren't in korea anyway, could experience just five minutes of living in a world cup-crazed country perched on the brink of war. because, when the air raid siren goes off, small soccer-mad children just run around screaming "vuvuzela!" makes it kind of hard to be terrified.

what i love #2 - candy

because nothing goes with diet coke quite like candy. except for popcorn, pizza, hambugers, and everything i do during my day. there's a reason diet coke is number one.

tonight i went to costco, and i bought another giant tub of jelly beans. don't worry, i still have most of them. in honor of the fact that my heart most likely pumps hugh fructose corn syrup, i present a list of my favorite candies.

1. hot tamales - number one with a bullet. i once ate three pounds of them in a single sitting. on a day that i wasn't sad. once on a day that i was sad, i ate so many the inside of my mouth started bleeding.

2. nerds

3. everlasting gobstoppers - much like "the neverending story," it's a delicious treat wrapped in a lie.

4. sprees

5. cadburry creme eggs - last easter i made my then-boyfriend drive me to like six different stores buying them up. what i love 3# - hoarding!

party in the usa

last night i was out dancing for a friend's birthday (many happy returns, annabelle!) and one of the songs that came on was "party in the usa" by miley cyrus. not only is this just a plain, old bad song, it's the kind of bad song that drunken twenty-somethings don't really want to dance to at 2am.

the song created kind of an awkward lull in the bar, where we all just sort of looked at each other and sobered up a little bit. it gave me a chance to listen to the lyrics. (which you can go find on your own, since i am not wasting my newly accquired mad linking skillz to direct you to a miley cyrus video. i have standards.)

anyhoo, if you don't know the song, miley name-checks jay-z.

i don't know jay-z. i don't know what kind of music he likes to listen to. but i feel like maybe, just maybe, he really doesn't enjoy being name-checked by miley cyrus. additionally, i feel like it's the sort of thing beyonce might throw in his face if they were having a tiff. about whatever it is that hip-hop royalty has tiffs about. not making reservations at nobu? i'm drawing a blank.

jay-z: i thought you were calling nobu!
beyonce: i thought YOU were calling nobu!
jay-z: you always do this!
beyonce: party in the usa, asshole.

what i love #1 - diet coke

i am stealing the idea for this blog from my good friend william, who freely admits that he borrowed it from someone else. this will not stop william from being mad at me for stealing his idea, but i think it's a good idea. and i like making lists of things.

(ps: can we totally high-five me for learning how to link to things on my blog? up high!)



i love diet coke. i believe that i could give up eating meat, or cheese, or even jelly beans sooner than i could give up diet coke.

i used to not like diet coke. at all. back when i was an office worker in university, there was a fridge full of carbonated beverages, and i could have one whenever i wanted. a month of having a coke whenever i wanted led to some fairly serious clothing-zipping issues, and i basically just talked myself into liking diet coke as a way of making my jeans fit again.

i would take a diet coke out of the mini-fridge, and, before i opened it, say to myself, diet coke is soooo delicious! eventually i came to believe it. now if i'm stuck with regular coke or coke zero (which i will drink in a pinch, since carbonated brown sugar water is the gas that makes my engine go) i feel like i'm drinking cough syrup. which is also something i enjoy, for sure. just not during a movie.

(i have tried and failed to talk myself into liking other things, most notably flossing and the stairmaster. though maybe i just wasn't trying so hard those times.)

between an oil slick and an a-bomb

like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. only, you know, worse.

if you're the sort of person who reads the news, and i really hope you are, you may have heard about troubles in the waters around both korea and mississippi. the two places i think of as my home.

here in south korea there's the chance that kim jong-il is really sad about dying without ever trying out his military. this is, i admit slightly worrying. i do not want to be blown up before seeing river again and convincing my brother and his wife to name the new baby ephraim. it's a good name!

thus far, however, the only ill effect i've felt is a kind of sucky exchange rate. i remain confident that any north korea soldiers who accost me could be easily distracted by the granola bars i keep in my purse, just in case. not much food up there. if that doesn't work, i'll invite them home and demonstrate how my television turns on and off when i want it to, and has many, many fine channels. plus: more granola bars in my house.

and back at home in mississippi there's a chance that British Petroleum is trying to ensure that my american family evolves into some sort of x-man-esque half-human, half-tar ball nature-destroying crime syndicate. like, i am actually more worried that i'm going to come home in august and discover that my niece is now made mostly of crude oil.

and now i will cease making fun of the oil spill in the gulf of mexico, because it makes me physically ill. i cannot watch the news without crying. i cannot speak of it to other people without crying. i am crying right now as i type. that is my home. that is where i live. and it is being destroyed in a manner that was completely preventable.

medicinal frog

so, i've got some allergy, asthma type issues. perhaps, because, against medical advice, i refuse to chuck my kitty out. mama loves luna!

one of the medicines that i've been prescribed is this here cough syrup.



i believe that i have been prescribed a frog-based product. i believe this not only because there is a frog on the packaging, looking coyly offstage as if to say, i taste gooooood, though that is certainly reason enough. but also because the medicine tastes like hot buttered ass. now, tristan, you may be saying, ALL medicine tastes like hot buttered ass. A) not true. nyquil tastes like happiness. B) this particular medicine tastes like swampy hot buttered ass. it tastes like swamp. you know, the place where frogs live.

a foreign country is not bourbon street, you jagoffs.

sometimes foreigners living in korea get a bad rap. we get blamed for-slash-accused of a lot of things that are not really our fault. like mad cow disease.

and sometimes, foreigners living in korea make the case for a cleansing mass deportation in a stellar and unflinching manner.

the other weekend i happened upon a group of expats participating in what was unabashedly billed as an "alcoholic scavenger hunt." some of the tasks included, apparently, running naked down the street in the middle of the day, jumping into a moving vehicle driven by a korean, and climbing to the top of a very well-know landmark (which is at least 25 feet off the ground). all whilst drinking. on the street. at, like, 2pm. at 2pm on a saturday people are buying their children ice cream.

i really hate sounding like a miserable old fuddy-duddy who hates the young, with their hairless nether-regions and joy, but fo' realz people. fo' really realz. we are guests in these peoples' home.

korea is not mardi gras, and it's not college. if, honestly, you'd have no problem running down the street naked at 2pm in your own personal north american hometown, more power to you. but korea's not the place for you.

bikini waxing

for some ungodly reason, i keep falling into conversations about bikini region upkeep with the people i know. i need you to know that A) i don't start these conversations and B) i'm all for maintaining good hygene. but here's the thing. i have never, and never plan on ever, getting a bikini wax. why?



because i feel like if you were to make an itemized list of all the things a lady should never put near her cooch, it would go a little something like this:



1. alligators

2. razor blades

3. hot wax

4. kevin federline



numbers one and four are easily enough side-stepped, assuming one is neither a japanese porn star nor brittney spears. so why the hell would i go running into the arms of numbers two and three?

sweet belly

sweet belly is the affectionate name i have for what surely must be my second stomach. for you see, no matter how much salty/savory food i manage to shove down my gullet (hint: it's a lot), i always have room for something sweet. like a giant, costco-sized tub of jelly bellies.

i've had this particular tub of jelly bellies for just over two weeks now. that's right. fourteen days. i like candy. it's about 2/3 empty. and about half of what's left are just the jelly belly flavors i don't particularly care for. we really need four flavors of coffee jelly beans? not, say, more peach ones?

i'm keeping all the flavors i don't particularly love (cappuccino AND cafe latte?!!? really?) because one day i may be so desperately in need of something made entirely of sugar that i'll eat them. i don't want to know what that day looks like. there will probably be no mascara, and i'll be kicking puppies. but you gotta be prepared.

orphan sandwich

firstly, yes, i realize i went away for a very long time. called out by my dad. sorry, pops.

anyway, the purpose of this blog, one of the very many i plan on writing to explain what the all i've been doing for the past months, is to tell you about the orphan sandwich.

there's a place in itaewon called suji's. apparently there are other branches in other parts of seoul, but i've only ever gone to the 'twon. the make a rueben sandwich that is completely ridiculous.

how ridiculous? well, if you told me, four bites in, that the sandwich was made entirely of orphans, i would finish it. it's too delicious to discard, and it's also too late for angelina to do those orphans any good.

perhaps not the ringing endorsement a fine dining establishment might want, but i can't think of a higher compliment.