Wednesday was a holiday here in Korea. It was an election day (local elections) and most people were off work in order to have time to vote because business hours in this country are from the time you wake up until you get your work done. So Keun Ha and I headed over to the Coex Mall to spend some of my first paycheck on good food and maybe a few t-shirts I could wear to work. I need t-shirts because when I packed my bags I was under the impression that it was really, really cold here. And in the mornings, it’s a bit chilly. But my commute is so hot and stuffy, that it’s ridiculous to wear anything other than a t-shirt and light jacket. And I also produce a fair amount of perspiration at school what with all the dancing, singing, and yelling at my kids. So t-shirts are in order. (I don’t know what I thought I would do when the weather turned warm. I seriously only packed 3 t-shirts. What was I thinking? Ah, the beauty of packing the day before…)
Anyhow, I went to the mall with high hopes of coming home with some ultra-stylish and cool Korean t-shirts. However, when we actually started looking at clothes, all I could find were smalls and a few mediums here and there. I found a t-shirt I really liked and Keun Ha asked the saleswoman if they had any other sizes and she replied, “We don’t sell larges.” Which holds true for the entire mall. However, the style right this moment is a baggier top with layers and weird graphics. So, I refuse to be thrown into the pit of despair by my not being a tiny Korean doll. I make up my mind that I will try on Mediums! I look at the Mediums. I hold them up to me and attempt to stretch them across my huge boobs. Most of them will not make it. Even if I could fit The Belly in the shirt, The Boobs would not find a home there. But I finally get the idea that I could get away with a zip-up type shirt. I find this short-sleeved incredibly thin and light grey sweater top. It is long and has cute pockets in the front and a hood. Totally my style. Will go over any t-shirt because I don’t have an issue with ‘matching’ or ‘coordinating’. Lucky me! I try it on. I don’t zip it because it’s not really the kind of thing that should be zipped. It fits me. Keun Ha says I look “so cool.” So I buy it. And then I rejoice. I BOUGHT A MEDIUM!
I don’t remember the last time I bought anything in a medium. I don’t even order my Starbucks in medium! I go Venti all the way (which definitely explains the lack of mediums elsewhere!). So I was excited. I had bright hopes for my future here. We had looked at a gym earlier before heading to the mall and I could see myself running and working out and buying lots of mediums that don’t have to zip up. I had images of my ultimate self— the size 6 I was in high school— walking down the street in an “outfit” rather than the pants I wore yesterday and the only shirt I could find that didn’t smell like my armpits. Yes, a bright and cheery future was in the works.
So we ate some lunch and then headed back out into the big world of style possibilities that had just opened up to me. We stopped in another store and I pick out yet another medium (this time that doesn’t zip- I was becoming more bold. I mean, what could it hurt to just try it on?) and Keun Ha picked out something to try on as well. We head back to the dressing rooms. I open the door and hang my shirt on the hook. There is a small platform that you step up on, but first you must take off your shoes (of course, we ARE living in Korea). I don’t realize this and Keun Ha says, “Oh, take off your shoes.” So I grab hold of the doorposts and begin to slip my shoes off and he starts to close the door.
“STOP!” I scared him I screamed so loud. I pushed the door open, pulled my thumb back from where it had been trapped between the door and the doorframe, pushed Keun Ha out of the way and then slammed the door shut. I fell to my knees and held my thumb and tried really hard not to cry. But I cried anyway. Keun Ha opened the door and knelt down beside me. By this time, my thumb had begun to bleed, blood flowing out from beneath the cuticle, circling around the skin on my knuckle that had been peeled back. I watched as my thumb grew a size and a half and turned purple. It made me feel sick. I started to cry even harder. Not only was I embarrassed because I was crying in the floor of a fitting room in a foreign country, but now I thought I was going to throw up in said fitting room and who knew how that would play out. Keun Ha ran to get a bandaid and came back in a few minutes with Hydrogen Peroxide, which made me cry even more!
So I finally recover a bit, start taking some deep breaths, and Keun Ha says, “So, you wanna try on your shirt?” He’s so cute. And I say, “Why not?” So I step back into the dressing room to try on the shirt. It fits okay. But it’s a little bit snug in the back-fat area, so I decide it’s not the one for me. I now have a killer headache from all the trying not to cry and then the crying and my thumb is also throbbing with my pulse. I’m not feeling so well. We find a pharmacy and buy some ibuprofen. We find a café and buy some juice and coffee. I’m okay. I’m not dying. But I’m not really happy either. My mood has been dialed down from “I’m so excited” to “well, I’m here.” We finish the juice and the coffee and I try not to be too depressing, because it’s our first holiday together.
So we’re walking out of the mall and passing all these shops and suddenly I stop and say, “I think I need some chocolate.” So Keun Ha promptly wheels me around and propels me towards the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. “Will this make you happy?” I purchase my chocolate-covered, crème-filled donut. We are walking out of the Dunkin’ Donuts and Keun Ha says to me, “Wow. You’re so much happier now. It makes me want to buy you a donut store.”
My boyfriend wants to buy me a donut store so I can be happy. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is all you need to know to fully understand my love relationship with food. And why I will probably never be able to shop in Korea.
P.S. My thumb has healed nicely.
4.06.2008
Stampede
Thursday morning I arrived at Jamsil station just as the train doors were about to close. I knew that I probably couldn’t make this train, so I began walking down the platform towards the front where I imagine it is less crowded on the next train that will come flying down the line for me. But the doors still haven’t closed and I am walking past a set when I see a big huge space. It calls out to me, “Danielle! Look, there’s room for you! No squeezing or pushing required.” And I lightheartedly jump into the train and say, “Thanks, space.”
The first three stops went rather well— no one mistook me for a wall to lean against or the girl who couldn’t dream of anything more grand than to be pressed against them for the duration of her journey. It was kind of tough when people wanted to get off the train, but I rotated sideways and sucked in the belly to let them past and it seemed to work. But between Sports Center and Samseong, the train began to slow down and came to a dead stop in the tunnel. I could see my reflection in the glass of the doors. It appeared as though I had been born with not one, but two sets of ridiculously bushy and unkempt eyebrows. There was an announcement over the loudspeaker that was gibberish to me. Thoughts of being trapped in the tunnels and all the horror stories I had heard about masses of people dying in the subway darted through my mind. I felt my spine tingle and my muscles twitch. But all the Koreans behind me seemed unalarmed from their reflections in the door. So I remained calm and dismissed all ideas of imminent danger. We waited a few minutes. There was another announcement I couldn’t understand. (Dang, I’ve got to learn Korean, and how!) At this point everyone got out their cell phones and began to text furiously. So, following suit, I sent my colleague a message that said I could possibly be late because I was sitting still in a tunnel with at least four more stops to go.
Little did I know that while I was in the tunnel waiting and growing ever more impatient, the platform at Samseong was rapidly filling up with people also waiting and growing ever more impatient. At 6 of the stops on my second train, the doors open on the right. At Samseong the doors open on the left. I was thankful for this because it meant I wouldn’t have to move in order to let others on. My nice space that had seemed so inviting was closing in around me. Finally the train starts up again and we jet towards the station. I am standing in my space, minding my own business, thinking how lucky I am to have hopped on this particular train, even if it was delayed a bit. And WHAM! I am making out with the door. All those impatient people on the platform have vowed that they are getting on this particular train no matter what. And they have shoved, elbowed, and shouldered their way through those doors and into this car, causing the people behind me to push me flat against the doors. The man behind me has his arm over my shoulder and pressed against the side of my face so that he can reach the door in order to hold himself up. A woman’s shoulder is making very good friends with my ribs. Someone is standing on half of my left foot and I can’t turn my head because I am busy cleaning the door with the sweat and oil from my face.
At the next stop, all the people who shoved into the car from the left side at Samseong wish to get out on the right side. So as the doors open, I am thrust out of the train onto the platform as the car spills its guts. The crowd propels me to one side and on top of a Korean girl waiting to get on the train. She pushes me off her, saying something I cannot understand, but she communicates her indignation despite the language barrier. I am driven back onto the train by the mass behind me and jostled so much that I say, “Oh my God!” and everyone in the train turns and stares at me. I have broken Metro Golden Rule #1: You must not speak unless absolutely necessary, and certainly not into thin air, your comments directed at no one in particular. For two more stops I look at my feet and seethe.
I have no recourse. I cannot change an entire nation’s thinking on Metro etiquette. At the same time, I cannot bring myself to fall into line and follow this unspoken Underground Code. I can make a habit of taking my shoes off before I enter buildings; I can learn to enjoy kimchi and wield chopsticks; I can try to sit on the floor at restaurants, ignoring the fact that my right hip always hurts and ends up causing my foot to tingle and then go numb; I can remember to always find the eldest person in the house and bow and say hello to them first; I can even begin to learn the language and have hopes of mastering it somewhat someday. But I cannot assimilate in the case of Seoul Metro behavior. In this way, I will always be a foreigner, no matter how hard I close my eyes and wish I was Korean.
The first three stops went rather well— no one mistook me for a wall to lean against or the girl who couldn’t dream of anything more grand than to be pressed against them for the duration of her journey. It was kind of tough when people wanted to get off the train, but I rotated sideways and sucked in the belly to let them past and it seemed to work. But between Sports Center and Samseong, the train began to slow down and came to a dead stop in the tunnel. I could see my reflection in the glass of the doors. It appeared as though I had been born with not one, but two sets of ridiculously bushy and unkempt eyebrows. There was an announcement over the loudspeaker that was gibberish to me. Thoughts of being trapped in the tunnels and all the horror stories I had heard about masses of people dying in the subway darted through my mind. I felt my spine tingle and my muscles twitch. But all the Koreans behind me seemed unalarmed from their reflections in the door. So I remained calm and dismissed all ideas of imminent danger. We waited a few minutes. There was another announcement I couldn’t understand. (Dang, I’ve got to learn Korean, and how!) At this point everyone got out their cell phones and began to text furiously. So, following suit, I sent my colleague a message that said I could possibly be late because I was sitting still in a tunnel with at least four more stops to go.
Little did I know that while I was in the tunnel waiting and growing ever more impatient, the platform at Samseong was rapidly filling up with people also waiting and growing ever more impatient. At 6 of the stops on my second train, the doors open on the right. At Samseong the doors open on the left. I was thankful for this because it meant I wouldn’t have to move in order to let others on. My nice space that had seemed so inviting was closing in around me. Finally the train starts up again and we jet towards the station. I am standing in my space, minding my own business, thinking how lucky I am to have hopped on this particular train, even if it was delayed a bit. And WHAM! I am making out with the door. All those impatient people on the platform have vowed that they are getting on this particular train no matter what. And they have shoved, elbowed, and shouldered their way through those doors and into this car, causing the people behind me to push me flat against the doors. The man behind me has his arm over my shoulder and pressed against the side of my face so that he can reach the door in order to hold himself up. A woman’s shoulder is making very good friends with my ribs. Someone is standing on half of my left foot and I can’t turn my head because I am busy cleaning the door with the sweat and oil from my face.
At the next stop, all the people who shoved into the car from the left side at Samseong wish to get out on the right side. So as the doors open, I am thrust out of the train onto the platform as the car spills its guts. The crowd propels me to one side and on top of a Korean girl waiting to get on the train. She pushes me off her, saying something I cannot understand, but she communicates her indignation despite the language barrier. I am driven back onto the train by the mass behind me and jostled so much that I say, “Oh my God!” and everyone in the train turns and stares at me. I have broken Metro Golden Rule #1: You must not speak unless absolutely necessary, and certainly not into thin air, your comments directed at no one in particular. For two more stops I look at my feet and seethe.
I have no recourse. I cannot change an entire nation’s thinking on Metro etiquette. At the same time, I cannot bring myself to fall into line and follow this unspoken Underground Code. I can make a habit of taking my shoes off before I enter buildings; I can learn to enjoy kimchi and wield chopsticks; I can try to sit on the floor at restaurants, ignoring the fact that my right hip always hurts and ends up causing my foot to tingle and then go numb; I can remember to always find the eldest person in the house and bow and say hello to them first; I can even begin to learn the language and have hopes of mastering it somewhat someday. But I cannot assimilate in the case of Seoul Metro behavior. In this way, I will always be a foreigner, no matter how hard I close my eyes and wish I was Korean.
4.03.2008
The Big Bad Purses
If I charted my Wednesday on a graph, it would start in the negative quadrant, well below 'Just okay.' This morning I was less than okay for two reasons: a). I didn't succeed in berating myself out of bed until 8:20 a.m, which is usually the time I leave my apartment and b). it was raining. When I peeked behind the window shade and looked down, I was greeted by the dreadful and gloomy tops of umbrellas shooting down the sidewalks toward the subway entrances. Ugh. I could already see the ever-dreaded and miserable wet pants scenario. I would roll my pants up, but the whole walking thing would convince them to unroll and play in the puddles that gather on the uneven sidewalks. And I could already feel the disgusting moment when I removed my shoes at work and the wet pants would touch my ankles. I hate that. So I sighed and grumbled fiercely at my reflection in the mirror as I tried to figure out the best way to fix my hair so that I looked less like an unwashed miscreant and more like a respectable English teacher.
A few minutes later, I headed out the door and the line of my day continued on the x axis, steadily running towards "grey and boring." As I boarded my first train, I was lucky enough to be standing in the aisle between the seats. This space is much better than metro purgatory (See 'The Grab Plan' below) because although I can't hold onto anything, the commuters on either side of me can. This usually eliminates any unnecessary touching, pushing, or leaning. But nooooooo. The young, seemingly healthy woman behind me HOLDING ONTO THE HANDLE decided she couldn't find enough support and needed to lean on me. I kept inching forward and wiggling around to let her know I was definitely not okay with this situation. But she continued to rock back on her heels, her fingers firmly wrapped around the black handle, and press her back against mine. This was the kind of press that made sweat start to form in my many crevices and I felt a drop bead and run down my side. It was hot enough in the train. I was already disgusting, but she was making it worse. And so my rating on the rage-o-meter soared (all sorts of bells and whistles were going off) and the line of my day plummeted towards 'worst yet.' Luckily, I only have 3 stops on my first train and so I was able to transfer at Jamsil. It's a long walk from platform to platform so I had a bit of time and a bit of Ryan Adams on the trusty iPod to assuage the rage. (I know it rhymes. Deal with it.)
Deep breaths. (From walking fast and climbing stairs, mostly). Okay. Waiting for the second train, I stood in line and convinced myself not to look at the clock or my cell phone because knowing what time it was wouldn't make me any earlier or later. And it definitely wouldn't help me to be calm and rage-less for the next 7 stops on this train. And all of a sudden I am whacked. I am whacked with a big bulky purse the size of my midsection belonging to a sturdy, apparently powerful Korean woman probably no younger than 50. I turned around in disbelief, forgetting that I was in Korea and vulnerable to the attack of the old-lady purses, raised my hands and my shoulders in a “What the hell?” kind of gesture. But my disdain was too late. She was off whacking her way through the middle of the lines of other patient commuters waiting for the train. (Forthcoming post on The Ajumma - I will check the English transliteration of the Korean- a stereotype based entirely in fact.) Anyway, my day-line plummeted towards dejected.
I went to school. My kids channeled demons all day.
I stepped out of the elevator at the end of my work day and the rain was gone and the sidewalks were already dry. The sun greeted me and pulled the line of my day up the Y axis to “maybe I won’t die today” status. I got on my first train and stood in front of a school girl in her green jacket and plaid skirt uniform. She got up at the first stop and I moved to take her seat. But right as I was turning around to sit down I saw a large purse out of the corner of my eye. Having still not fully recovered from the indignity of the morning’s purse incident, I immediately stepped back and motioned for the old (anything but frail) woman to have the seat. She took it. And then a miracle happened. The woman sitting beside her smiled at me. She had shoulder-length hair and only the lines around her eyes whispered she might be over 45. She rose from her seat and motioned for me to sit down. I thanked her in Korean and slightly bowed to her before sitting. I thought what luck it was that she was going to get off at this stop. But she didn’t. No, ladies and gentlemen, she didn’t get off the train. She just saw that the line of my day was still in a negative quadrant and wished to boost me up that good old Y axis with a kind gesture. She smiled at me from her spot in front of me, holding onto the handle. I rode that train in a seat for the next 6 stops. And I’d like to say my official endpoint on the chart was in the positive, hovering somewhere between “restored faith in humanity” and “forgiving all ajumma’s with large purses.”
I guess sometimes what you put out into the universe, Mel, comes right back at you.
A few minutes later, I headed out the door and the line of my day continued on the x axis, steadily running towards "grey and boring." As I boarded my first train, I was lucky enough to be standing in the aisle between the seats. This space is much better than metro purgatory (See 'The Grab Plan' below) because although I can't hold onto anything, the commuters on either side of me can. This usually eliminates any unnecessary touching, pushing, or leaning. But nooooooo. The young, seemingly healthy woman behind me HOLDING ONTO THE HANDLE decided she couldn't find enough support and needed to lean on me. I kept inching forward and wiggling around to let her know I was definitely not okay with this situation. But she continued to rock back on her heels, her fingers firmly wrapped around the black handle, and press her back against mine. This was the kind of press that made sweat start to form in my many crevices and I felt a drop bead and run down my side. It was hot enough in the train. I was already disgusting, but she was making it worse. And so my rating on the rage-o-meter soared (all sorts of bells and whistles were going off) and the line of my day plummeted towards 'worst yet.' Luckily, I only have 3 stops on my first train and so I was able to transfer at Jamsil. It's a long walk from platform to platform so I had a bit of time and a bit of Ryan Adams on the trusty iPod to assuage the rage. (I know it rhymes. Deal with it.)
Deep breaths. (From walking fast and climbing stairs, mostly). Okay. Waiting for the second train, I stood in line and convinced myself not to look at the clock or my cell phone because knowing what time it was wouldn't make me any earlier or later. And it definitely wouldn't help me to be calm and rage-less for the next 7 stops on this train. And all of a sudden I am whacked. I am whacked with a big bulky purse the size of my midsection belonging to a sturdy, apparently powerful Korean woman probably no younger than 50. I turned around in disbelief, forgetting that I was in Korea and vulnerable to the attack of the old-lady purses, raised my hands and my shoulders in a “What the hell?” kind of gesture. But my disdain was too late. She was off whacking her way through the middle of the lines of other patient commuters waiting for the train. (Forthcoming post on The Ajumma - I will check the English transliteration of the Korean- a stereotype based entirely in fact.) Anyway, my day-line plummeted towards dejected.
I went to school. My kids channeled demons all day.
I stepped out of the elevator at the end of my work day and the rain was gone and the sidewalks were already dry. The sun greeted me and pulled the line of my day up the Y axis to “maybe I won’t die today” status. I got on my first train and stood in front of a school girl in her green jacket and plaid skirt uniform. She got up at the first stop and I moved to take her seat. But right as I was turning around to sit down I saw a large purse out of the corner of my eye. Having still not fully recovered from the indignity of the morning’s purse incident, I immediately stepped back and motioned for the old (anything but frail) woman to have the seat. She took it. And then a miracle happened. The woman sitting beside her smiled at me. She had shoulder-length hair and only the lines around her eyes whispered she might be over 45. She rose from her seat and motioned for me to sit down. I thanked her in Korean and slightly bowed to her before sitting. I thought what luck it was that she was going to get off at this stop. But she didn’t. No, ladies and gentlemen, she didn’t get off the train. She just saw that the line of my day was still in a negative quadrant and wished to boost me up that good old Y axis with a kind gesture. She smiled at me from her spot in front of me, holding onto the handle. I rode that train in a seat for the next 6 stops. And I’d like to say my official endpoint on the chart was in the positive, hovering somewhere between “restored faith in humanity” and “forgiving all ajumma’s with large purses.”
I guess sometimes what you put out into the universe, Mel, comes right back at you.
4.01.2008
The Purchase
Signing the papers for the new car!
Keun Ha's friend handing over the official documents and key!
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Keun Ha and the new car that cuts his commute in half! Only an hour to work and back! Yay!
Me with the new car that brings my boyfriend home earlier! (Except when he works until 11pm, like last night.)
Everyone who knows Bob Buckley, please note the color of this car.
3.26.2008
The Grab Plan
Between 8:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m, every person in Seoul is trying to get to work. And they are all trying to get on the same train. I get this. After 3 weeks of riding to and from work every weekday, I understand the process. I am well aware each morning as I make my way towards Exit 2 (which also conveniently serves as an entrance) of Cheonho Station that I will be pressed between any number of people in any number of formations.
So, although it's a common occurrence, the way people choose to behave in situations like this still inspire anger to burn deep in my guts. Today was no different. I boarded the second train from Jamsil to Gyo Deh and was in a tight spot in front of the doors. This space between the seats where the doors are is a kind of metro purgatory. You cannot hold onto anything and everyone is going to stumble forward or backward with you. Your subway fate is uncertain at this point. Unless you are squeezed in so tight that it doesn't matter how much the train jerks around. Unless you are stuffed safely in the middle of at least 35 people in a space designed to hold perhaps 12. So today, I am in the purgatory area. It is not too terribly crowded so I'm not actually making physical contact with anyone, yet. So I make my Grab Plan.
The Grab Plan is a selection process by which you choose the prime candidate whom you will improperly grab and possibly grope when you begin to fall over. Preferably this is a person just outside the purgatory area who is holding onto a handle or leaning against a bar, or in a seat in front of you. The ultimate Grab Plan is not too old, very stylish, and male of course. Today, my Grab Plan was situated in front of me and to the left, wearing a navy blue Seoul Institute of Art hoodie . A bag hung on his left arm and the smell coming from it reminded me of Funyuns. Perhaps it was his lunch. He was reading a newspaper and I could see his hands. His profile was tucked behind his hood that must have been insufferably hot to wear. His shoulders were wide and his torso obviously tapered (in a sweatshirt- I know!). He had on dark jeans and white shoes. He was my Grab Plan. If I started to fall and could not recover, I would put my hands on this young man to right myself. I decided that my left hand would be placed against the back of his left arm, while my right hand would aim for somewhere around his right shoulder. Yep, that was my plan.
And I almost had to use it. Do you know why? Can you imagine why I almost had to use the Grab Plan? Hmm.... Danielle, was it because the train was exceptionally rough this morning? Nope. Was it because you were wearing high heels and couldn't keep your balance very well? Never. Well, why then? Hey, thanks for asking! I was almost forced to grab an attractive young Korean man most inappropriately on the metro this morning because the man behind me in his stupid pinstripe business suit was mistaken. Horribly mistaken. See, he thought that I had flown all 13 hours and got a new job doing something I'm not very good at and drastically changed my diet FOR HIM. He believed that my sole purpose in Korea was to support him on his morning commute. This man was back to back with me and he simply leaned on me as if I were a post or a wall. In the beginning, I simply inched forward thinking he would get the idea. Negative. He simply leaned further in order to regain his balance AGAINST me. And my hair kept getting stuck between us so that every time I wanted to look down or do anything except stare straight ahead, I had to jerk my hair free. But this was lost on him.
Okay, second tactic was lean back, but harder. I'm bigger than most Korean men anyway (which constantly shames my boyfriend. I mean, he's got muscles and all that, but he's no match when I just lay into him. If I use all my weight, I always win.) So I start pushing back and.... nothing. No response. He simply adjusts his feet so that I don't push him over. He's RIGHT BY THE FREAKING BAR! Just hold onto the bar! I scream at him in my head over and over.
3rd plan- make my shoulder blades stick out as far as possible so that leaning on me is uncomfortable. Oh, he shifts! Oh, maybe... Nope. He's just repositioning. Finally enough people exit the train for me to move around completely behind my Grab Plan guy. After the man who thought I had applied for the position as stalwart object to be leaned against left the train, I no longer needed my Grab Plan guy.
But I stayed behind him anyway. I felt close to him. He didn't know it, but he theoretically could have saved me from the embarrassment of being fatwhitegirlwhofelldownthismorningonthetrain. People already stare at me. I don't need anything to increase the attention I'm receiving. And so I felt I must remain loyal to this man. So I stood there for all the rest of the stops and when I left the train before him, a small tinge of sadness crept up toward the top of my head. It reminded me of long trips to Georgia when I just happened to follow a certain car all the way down 75 and that car exited the highway before me. I didn't know the person in the car; I had simply become comfortable with our arrangement, our situation. Thank you Grab Plan Man. Thank you for being there. And I would like to metaphorically hock a loogie (sp?) on the Leaning Guy.
So, although it's a common occurrence, the way people choose to behave in situations like this still inspire anger to burn deep in my guts. Today was no different. I boarded the second train from Jamsil to Gyo Deh and was in a tight spot in front of the doors. This space between the seats where the doors are is a kind of metro purgatory. You cannot hold onto anything and everyone is going to stumble forward or backward with you. Your subway fate is uncertain at this point. Unless you are squeezed in so tight that it doesn't matter how much the train jerks around. Unless you are stuffed safely in the middle of at least 35 people in a space designed to hold perhaps 12. So today, I am in the purgatory area. It is not too terribly crowded so I'm not actually making physical contact with anyone, yet. So I make my Grab Plan.
The Grab Plan is a selection process by which you choose the prime candidate whom you will improperly grab and possibly grope when you begin to fall over. Preferably this is a person just outside the purgatory area who is holding onto a handle or leaning against a bar, or in a seat in front of you. The ultimate Grab Plan is not too old, very stylish, and male of course. Today, my Grab Plan was situated in front of me and to the left, wearing a navy blue Seoul Institute of Art hoodie . A bag hung on his left arm and the smell coming from it reminded me of Funyuns. Perhaps it was his lunch. He was reading a newspaper and I could see his hands. His profile was tucked behind his hood that must have been insufferably hot to wear. His shoulders were wide and his torso obviously tapered (in a sweatshirt- I know!). He had on dark jeans and white shoes. He was my Grab Plan. If I started to fall and could not recover, I would put my hands on this young man to right myself. I decided that my left hand would be placed against the back of his left arm, while my right hand would aim for somewhere around his right shoulder. Yep, that was my plan.
And I almost had to use it. Do you know why? Can you imagine why I almost had to use the Grab Plan? Hmm.... Danielle, was it because the train was exceptionally rough this morning? Nope. Was it because you were wearing high heels and couldn't keep your balance very well? Never. Well, why then? Hey, thanks for asking! I was almost forced to grab an attractive young Korean man most inappropriately on the metro this morning because the man behind me in his stupid pinstripe business suit was mistaken. Horribly mistaken. See, he thought that I had flown all 13 hours and got a new job doing something I'm not very good at and drastically changed my diet FOR HIM. He believed that my sole purpose in Korea was to support him on his morning commute. This man was back to back with me and he simply leaned on me as if I were a post or a wall. In the beginning, I simply inched forward thinking he would get the idea. Negative. He simply leaned further in order to regain his balance AGAINST me. And my hair kept getting stuck between us so that every time I wanted to look down or do anything except stare straight ahead, I had to jerk my hair free. But this was lost on him.
Okay, second tactic was lean back, but harder. I'm bigger than most Korean men anyway (which constantly shames my boyfriend. I mean, he's got muscles and all that, but he's no match when I just lay into him. If I use all my weight, I always win.) So I start pushing back and.... nothing. No response. He simply adjusts his feet so that I don't push him over. He's RIGHT BY THE FREAKING BAR! Just hold onto the bar! I scream at him in my head over and over.
3rd plan- make my shoulder blades stick out as far as possible so that leaning on me is uncomfortable. Oh, he shifts! Oh, maybe... Nope. He's just repositioning. Finally enough people exit the train for me to move around completely behind my Grab Plan guy. After the man who thought I had applied for the position as stalwart object to be leaned against left the train, I no longer needed my Grab Plan guy.
But I stayed behind him anyway. I felt close to him. He didn't know it, but he theoretically could have saved me from the embarrassment of being fatwhitegirlwhofelldownthismorningonthetrain. People already stare at me. I don't need anything to increase the attention I'm receiving. And so I felt I must remain loyal to this man. So I stood there for all the rest of the stops and when I left the train before him, a small tinge of sadness crept up toward the top of my head. It reminded me of long trips to Georgia when I just happened to follow a certain car all the way down 75 and that car exited the highway before me. I didn't know the person in the car; I had simply become comfortable with our arrangement, our situation. Thank you Grab Plan Man. Thank you for being there. And I would like to metaphorically hock a loogie (sp?) on the Leaning Guy.
3.23.2008
The Comeback
Hello dear friends and random readers! Greetings from South Korea, the land of my true love and kimchi. (Kimchi the food, not my cat, who also has the same name.)
I finally feel settled enough to resume writing. Actually, I feel that I shall soon either a) implode or b) shrivel up and die if I do not begin to write again. You may notice that the title of this blog has undergone a few revisions. So welcome to the new me- the Danielle that commutes to work on the Seoul Metro every weekday and experiences great personal space violations and inordinate amounts of sweat in every corner and curve of her fried chicken and sweet tea-inspired physique. I want to share with you the daily rages and sometimes hilarious situations I find myself in because, well, just because. And you kind of want to know, right? However, I won't be limiting myself simply to stories of my underground travels, but writing about bigger, more important things. Like the frustrations of trying to keep my floor clean. Or finding very polite ways to refuse Keun Ha's mother's generous offer of a magnetic hula hoop that will magically shrink my belly fat into nothing (besides the fact that I refuse to take that thing onto the bus). Or how it feels to finally be reunited with my fabulous Korean boyfriend who works 2 hours away from home and who I hardly ever get to see. See? Important things. Significant. Universally profound, yes?
I have things to tell you. I'm actually bursting with things to relate to your greedy and lately neglected eyes. Yes, bursting. My father says there is only one bust and there are two of those. So, bursting instead of busting. But, you will have to wait. Because it is past 11 on Sunday night. So although your day is only beginning, mine has come to an end. And I have to get up early and go teach a bunch of spoiled, adorable, frustrating, loving, Korean children. More later.
Anyway, I'm back. Did you miss me?
I finally feel settled enough to resume writing. Actually, I feel that I shall soon either a) implode or b) shrivel up and die if I do not begin to write again. You may notice that the title of this blog has undergone a few revisions. So welcome to the new me- the Danielle that commutes to work on the Seoul Metro every weekday and experiences great personal space violations and inordinate amounts of sweat in every corner and curve of her fried chicken and sweet tea-inspired physique. I want to share with you the daily rages and sometimes hilarious situations I find myself in because, well, just because. And you kind of want to know, right? However, I won't be limiting myself simply to stories of my underground travels, but writing about bigger, more important things. Like the frustrations of trying to keep my floor clean. Or finding very polite ways to refuse Keun Ha's mother's generous offer of a magnetic hula hoop that will magically shrink my belly fat into nothing (besides the fact that I refuse to take that thing onto the bus). Or how it feels to finally be reunited with my fabulous Korean boyfriend who works 2 hours away from home and who I hardly ever get to see. See? Important things. Significant. Universally profound, yes?
I have things to tell you. I'm actually bursting with things to relate to your greedy and lately neglected eyes. Yes, bursting. My father says there is only one bust and there are two of those. So, bursting instead of busting. But, you will have to wait. Because it is past 11 on Sunday night. So although your day is only beginning, mine has come to an end. And I have to get up early and go teach a bunch of spoiled, adorable, frustrating, loving, Korean children. More later.
Anyway, I'm back. Did you miss me?
3.01.2008
The Day Before
So, take three giant steps from my last post, and we end up here, the day before I leave for Korea.
I would write all about how prepared and packed I am, but since I am neither of those things, I'm going to write about Oprah instead. I know, of all things, Oprah. I don't even like Oprah. But sometimes I like the things she exposes America to, and so here we are. Two nights ago I was lying on the couch, flipping through the TiVo and saw something on Oprah called "Freeganism." I was interested. So I watched the first half hour of her show which was an expose (where's that accent when I need it?) on Freegans done by Lisa Ling (whom I do, in fact, like, despite her connections with the big O).
Freegans are those who have decided to opt out of the consumer driven economy and in an effort to reduce waste and bypass big corporations, they eat and live almost for free. How do they do this? By digging in the trash. Yes, the trash. They dumpster dive and all that jazz. Of course, you should be shocked. But then you see the things they find in the trash outside of grocery stores and bakeries. They find food that has been thrown out BEFORE it's sell by date and way before it's expiration date. They find fresh fruit, thrown out because of a tiny dent. They find UNOPENED, UNPUNCTURED packaging. They find FREE FOOD. It's estimated that grocery stores throw out 2-3% of their goods each year. These products that are thrown away add up to $30 BILLION! Not million people, but BILLION. Can you imagine how many people we could feed with $30 billion?! The amount of good food found by freegans is incredible. There was one woman on the show who spent about $10-$20 a week for herself and her husband on food that she couldn't find on her trash tours. There was a newlywed couple from Nashville who forage for food and furniture who are so conscious of the waste that our consumer-driven society produces. Americans make up 5% of the world's population, but we consume 30% of the world's resources. Big numbers if you ask me. Big numbers.
Now, I wish I had the time and the courage to go on a trash tour, but seeing as I have only one day left in this country, I don't see it happening. And I'm not expecting my friends to go digging in the trash for their food either. But it does bring to my attention how many things I buy, how much money I spend, how much harder I will work if I want to BUY something. What is it with all this consuming, consuming, consuming? Good grief! Anyway, I am moving to Korea with a simple plan. To consume less! I found one website where Freegans identified themselves on a map of the world and there is at least 1 freegan in Seoul! So perhaps Kenny and I will join the freegan movement there. I talked to him about it and he seemed really intrigued.
You can go here if you'd like to learn more about freegans in general. There are, of course, other websites and you can YouTube freegans and see lots of stuff on them. I think Anderson Cooper did a piece and maybe CBC. So, check it out and consume less! (I say consume less as I return from purchasing another suitcase because everything wouldn't fit in just one!! I think I'll have to downsize...
I would write all about how prepared and packed I am, but since I am neither of those things, I'm going to write about Oprah instead. I know, of all things, Oprah. I don't even like Oprah. But sometimes I like the things she exposes America to, and so here we are. Two nights ago I was lying on the couch, flipping through the TiVo and saw something on Oprah called "Freeganism." I was interested. So I watched the first half hour of her show which was an expose (where's that accent when I need it?) on Freegans done by Lisa Ling (whom I do, in fact, like, despite her connections with the big O).
Freegans are those who have decided to opt out of the consumer driven economy and in an effort to reduce waste and bypass big corporations, they eat and live almost for free. How do they do this? By digging in the trash. Yes, the trash. They dumpster dive and all that jazz. Of course, you should be shocked. But then you see the things they find in the trash outside of grocery stores and bakeries. They find food that has been thrown out BEFORE it's sell by date and way before it's expiration date. They find fresh fruit, thrown out because of a tiny dent. They find UNOPENED, UNPUNCTURED packaging. They find FREE FOOD. It's estimated that grocery stores throw out 2-3% of their goods each year. These products that are thrown away add up to $30 BILLION! Not million people, but BILLION. Can you imagine how many people we could feed with $30 billion?! The amount of good food found by freegans is incredible. There was one woman on the show who spent about $10-$20 a week for herself and her husband on food that she couldn't find on her trash tours. There was a newlywed couple from Nashville who forage for food and furniture who are so conscious of the waste that our consumer-driven society produces. Americans make up 5% of the world's population, but we consume 30% of the world's resources. Big numbers if you ask me. Big numbers.
Now, I wish I had the time and the courage to go on a trash tour, but seeing as I have only one day left in this country, I don't see it happening. And I'm not expecting my friends to go digging in the trash for their food either. But it does bring to my attention how many things I buy, how much money I spend, how much harder I will work if I want to BUY something. What is it with all this consuming, consuming, consuming? Good grief! Anyway, I am moving to Korea with a simple plan. To consume less! I found one website where Freegans identified themselves on a map of the world and there is at least 1 freegan in Seoul! So perhaps Kenny and I will join the freegan movement there. I talked to him about it and he seemed really intrigued.
You can go here if you'd like to learn more about freegans in general. There are, of course, other websites and you can YouTube freegans and see lots of stuff on them. I think Anderson Cooper did a piece and maybe CBC. So, check it out and consume less! (I say consume less as I return from purchasing another suitcase because everything wouldn't fit in just one!! I think I'll have to downsize...
2.20.2008
Stuck in ATL
Well, not exactly Atlanta, but the outlying areas. I had planned a weekend trip to see some friends right before I left for Korea. I also found out that I would have to go to the Korean consulate in Atlanta to get my visa pasted into my passport. Cool, right?
So Friday afternoon I head up to Rome and spend some time with Carmen (one of my college professors and now a dear friend) and her family. I'm in love with her kids, basically. So we eat pizza and take crazy pictures and have a great time. The next morning I get up and go watch her pitch the first ball of the baseball game at Shorter, see my old friend Ben McFry, and then have lunch with Carmen and the honorable Dr. Bill Rice. It was a refreshing and lovely lunch with the both of them. I'm now seriously considering other options for my PhD rather than just creative writing or American studies. Maybe throwing in some Middle Eastern Studies or Asian Lit kind of stuff to make myself different from every other 20th century Am Lit. applicant in the job market.
After lunch, I headed on down to Covington to see Kerri and Buck and their little girl, Lily Bea. I spent a wonderful three days with them, staying an extra day on Monday. I stayed on Monday because there was the possibility that my confirmation number from Korea would come in and I could get an appointment at the embassy for today, Tuesday. However, I woke up this morning and it was a no-go. No number; no nothing. So I packed up my stuff and vacated Kerri's guest room, saying bye to my wifey for the last time until I return to the States in however many years. I drove to my uncle's house and now I'm just hanging out with my aunt. If I don't have a number by tomorrow morning, I guess I'll drive home and start packing.
But everything is pretty much an unknown. I don't know when I'm getting the confirmation number from Korea. I don't know when my interview at the consulate will be when I do have the confirmation number. I don't know what date the school is going to make my plane ticket for. AAAHHH! So much I just don't know. But I think I'm doing a relatively good job at staying calm and not getting too terribly frustrated. I mean, everything is out of my control, and my worrying for however many hours or days will not make any difference. I will simply get good at waiting. I have been given plenty of opportunities to improve upon this skill. I'm channeling Herman Hesse's Siddhartha. Yup. I will be good at waiting.
On the good news side of things... KENNY FOUND ME AN APARTMENT and it is perfect! It took an entire day of searching, but he and his mom finally found one in a good, safe location that was pretty clean and spacious compared to the other dives they'd checked out. I have a stove! Not just a hotplate! A stove! Woot. And a laundry machine. I'm very lucky. Kenny is buying me a bed- queen size! to go in it. I'm very excited about this. I feel like my quality of life will definitely be bearable, if not fantastic. I am five minutes from his house and about 20 minutes from work on the subway. So, everything is set. Living arrangements: check. Job: check. Boyfriend to take care of me and make me happy: check. Boyfriend's mom to cook me yummy Korean meals: check. Plenty of support from my family and friends: check.
Now I just have to get there!
So Friday afternoon I head up to Rome and spend some time with Carmen (one of my college professors and now a dear friend) and her family. I'm in love with her kids, basically. So we eat pizza and take crazy pictures and have a great time. The next morning I get up and go watch her pitch the first ball of the baseball game at Shorter, see my old friend Ben McFry, and then have lunch with Carmen and the honorable Dr. Bill Rice. It was a refreshing and lovely lunch with the both of them. I'm now seriously considering other options for my PhD rather than just creative writing or American studies. Maybe throwing in some Middle Eastern Studies or Asian Lit kind of stuff to make myself different from every other 20th century Am Lit. applicant in the job market.
After lunch, I headed on down to Covington to see Kerri and Buck and their little girl, Lily Bea. I spent a wonderful three days with them, staying an extra day on Monday. I stayed on Monday because there was the possibility that my confirmation number from Korea would come in and I could get an appointment at the embassy for today, Tuesday. However, I woke up this morning and it was a no-go. No number; no nothing. So I packed up my stuff and vacated Kerri's guest room, saying bye to my wifey for the last time until I return to the States in however many years. I drove to my uncle's house and now I'm just hanging out with my aunt. If I don't have a number by tomorrow morning, I guess I'll drive home and start packing.
But everything is pretty much an unknown. I don't know when I'm getting the confirmation number from Korea. I don't know when my interview at the consulate will be when I do have the confirmation number. I don't know what date the school is going to make my plane ticket for. AAAHHH! So much I just don't know. But I think I'm doing a relatively good job at staying calm and not getting too terribly frustrated. I mean, everything is out of my control, and my worrying for however many hours or days will not make any difference. I will simply get good at waiting. I have been given plenty of opportunities to improve upon this skill. I'm channeling Herman Hesse's Siddhartha. Yup. I will be good at waiting.
On the good news side of things... KENNY FOUND ME AN APARTMENT and it is perfect! It took an entire day of searching, but he and his mom finally found one in a good, safe location that was pretty clean and spacious compared to the other dives they'd checked out. I have a stove! Not just a hotplate! A stove! Woot. And a laundry machine. I'm very lucky. Kenny is buying me a bed- queen size! to go in it. I'm very excited about this. I feel like my quality of life will definitely be bearable, if not fantastic. I am five minutes from his house and about 20 minutes from work on the subway. So, everything is set. Living arrangements: check. Job: check. Boyfriend to take care of me and make me happy: check. Boyfriend's mom to cook me yummy Korean meals: check. Plenty of support from my family and friends: check.
Now I just have to get there!
2.13.2008
Surprisingly Pain-Free
So, I geared up this morning for a day full of agony. I (or my personal assistant, a.k.a. my mother) had booked 3 different doctor's appointments for me on this dreary and rainy Tuesday. But before we could get to any of them, we had to go pick up my Granny's cat and take her to the vet to get fixed. Woot. So, my Granny's cat is a tortie, and she has a bit of an attitude. She's not real friendly. I figured after we picked her up, she'd meow me to death all the way to the vet. However, she didn't! She cried a few times, letting us know she wasn't very happy with the situation and then she just shut up! Incredible, eh? First nice surprise of the day. After dropping the sassy tortie off, it was time for breakfast. I had the Chickin Minis at Chik-fil-A and they were A plus plus plus delicious.
Then it was time to head to the eye doctor to get a new prescription and new frames. I dread the eye doctor because they puff that air in your eyes and every time I jerk my head and so they have to do it OVER and OVER and I keep moving. No matter how much I resolve to sit still and not to blink, I blink. But today, they only had to do my left eye ONCE! My right eye had to be done three times, but heck, I mean, that was four less than normal! And I got some awesome frames. So new glasses pictures forthcoming!
Then I had to head to the 10th circle of hell, also known as the gynecologist. I won't bore you (or disgust you) with the details, but it was just a check-up since I'm leaving the country. So, I was really nervous for a couple reasons. #1 I haven't shaved my legs in months. #2 It is extremely uncomfortable. #3 I didn't get an appointment with my regular doctor, but the nurse practitioner instead. But hello, another welcome surprise! The N.P. was FABULOUS. She was much quicker and she didn't hurt me hardly at all. She was kind and understanding about my European grooming habits (which despite all evidence to the contrary really are only temporary) and she asked me lots of questions to keep my mind on other things while she did her job.
To add to my uncomfortable feelings, my mother was nagging me all day to tell her I'd like my thyroid checked. I told her maybe there was something wrong (because I exercised with a personal trainer and changed my diet for an entire month and lost a grand total of 1 pound. This does not bode well) and she said, "Oh, that's no problem. We'll do that on your way out." So she sent me to the Lab. I alerted the Lab technician of my habit of turning white as a sheet with greenish lips and almost fainting right before I almost puke every time I have my blood drawn. The tech is so kind to me and so quick. I don't even know she's done when she's done. It's fabulously surprising, and I didn't even get a little bit light-headed. I have now, after 25 years of life, conquered the drawing of the blood! Woot.
Then, I buckled down for the dentist. I do not like the dentist. The lady always pokes my gums and makes them bleed and then says if I would just floss that my gums wouldn't bleed. I want to yell at her that actually, if she didn't poke my gums they wouldn't bleed! So I go to the office and prepare for the worst. I haven't seen the dentist in over a year because of my year in England. They don't have fluoride in the water there so I was maybe expecting a little telltale cavity or two. Surprise again! I had a new dental hygienist named Lindsay and she should be given an award for not poking my gums and not nagging me about flossing. If I haven't flossed for the first 25 years of my life, I'm not starting now. She simply cleaned my teeth (relatively pain free) and then flossed VERY CAREFULLY underneath my permanent retainer on the bottom. She was great. I walked out of the dentist with a fresh, clean-feeling running around my mouth and without a guilty non-flosser's conscience. All was as it should be.
I just couldn't believe my luck. I was so blessed today. Everything that I was expecting to be unpleasant proved not to be so. I mean, the girly dr. is NEVER a treat, but it has to be done and was better than any of my previous experiences.
So, woot for more or less pain-free doctor's appointments.
(I won't go into the theory that expecting the absolute worst could end up being better for you than having a good attitude about everything. But it works for me. I always prepare myself for pain, and it when it doesn't show up or isn't as painful as I had expected I am overcome with joy and elated for the rest of the day. However, if I go into something with high expectations thinking, "This will be okay. It'll be great. It'll be short and not a big deal," I always come out growling and upset. Try being a pessimist when it comes to appointments. Let me know how it works out for you!)
Then it was time to head to the eye doctor to get a new prescription and new frames. I dread the eye doctor because they puff that air in your eyes and every time I jerk my head and so they have to do it OVER and OVER and I keep moving. No matter how much I resolve to sit still and not to blink, I blink. But today, they only had to do my left eye ONCE! My right eye had to be done three times, but heck, I mean, that was four less than normal! And I got some awesome frames. So new glasses pictures forthcoming!
Then I had to head to the 10th circle of hell, also known as the gynecologist. I won't bore you (or disgust you) with the details, but it was just a check-up since I'm leaving the country. So, I was really nervous for a couple reasons. #1 I haven't shaved my legs in months. #2 It is extremely uncomfortable. #3 I didn't get an appointment with my regular doctor, but the nurse practitioner instead. But hello, another welcome surprise! The N.P. was FABULOUS. She was much quicker and she didn't hurt me hardly at all. She was kind and understanding about my European grooming habits (which despite all evidence to the contrary really are only temporary) and she asked me lots of questions to keep my mind on other things while she did her job.
To add to my uncomfortable feelings, my mother was nagging me all day to tell her I'd like my thyroid checked. I told her maybe there was something wrong (because I exercised with a personal trainer and changed my diet for an entire month and lost a grand total of 1 pound. This does not bode well) and she said, "Oh, that's no problem. We'll do that on your way out." So she sent me to the Lab. I alerted the Lab technician of my habit of turning white as a sheet with greenish lips and almost fainting right before I almost puke every time I have my blood drawn. The tech is so kind to me and so quick. I don't even know she's done when she's done. It's fabulously surprising, and I didn't even get a little bit light-headed. I have now, after 25 years of life, conquered the drawing of the blood! Woot.
Then, I buckled down for the dentist. I do not like the dentist. The lady always pokes my gums and makes them bleed and then says if I would just floss that my gums wouldn't bleed. I want to yell at her that actually, if she didn't poke my gums they wouldn't bleed! So I go to the office and prepare for the worst. I haven't seen the dentist in over a year because of my year in England. They don't have fluoride in the water there so I was maybe expecting a little telltale cavity or two. Surprise again! I had a new dental hygienist named Lindsay and she should be given an award for not poking my gums and not nagging me about flossing. If I haven't flossed for the first 25 years of my life, I'm not starting now. She simply cleaned my teeth (relatively pain free) and then flossed VERY CAREFULLY underneath my permanent retainer on the bottom. She was great. I walked out of the dentist with a fresh, clean-feeling running around my mouth and without a guilty non-flosser's conscience. All was as it should be.
I just couldn't believe my luck. I was so blessed today. Everything that I was expecting to be unpleasant proved not to be so. I mean, the girly dr. is NEVER a treat, but it has to be done and was better than any of my previous experiences.
So, woot for more or less pain-free doctor's appointments.
(I won't go into the theory that expecting the absolute worst could end up being better for you than having a good attitude about everything. But it works for me. I always prepare myself for pain, and it when it doesn't show up or isn't as painful as I had expected I am overcome with joy and elated for the rest of the day. However, if I go into something with high expectations thinking, "This will be okay. It'll be great. It'll be short and not a big deal," I always come out growling and upset. Try being a pessimist when it comes to appointments. Let me know how it works out for you!)
2.12.2008
Automotive Therapy
Hello February! Hello month of Valentine's crap!
This past weekend I went on a roadtrip with my good friend Melanie. We went to see her good friend Bennett, who was first good friends with Melanie's best friend, Stephanie, who is attending Harvard and about to graduate and be a fabulous lawyer, so touch me because I know cool people! ANYway, Mel and I headed out to Knoxville for a good time and we got one. We went to see a band play, and it was good. We ate at the Tomato Head, and it was better than good. We attended Bennett's Blue party (you had to wear blue), and it was good. See? Good times all around. But what I discovered on this trip, aside from trying to send good things out into the universe (more Oprah bullcrap) was the therapeutic benefits of riding in a car for three hours with a best friend who is good at listening.
I would like to introduce to you the idea of Automotive Therapy. This particular type of bonding is different from regular girl talk for a few reasons. First, you are confined to the car and there are relatively few distractions. Second, you do not have to worry about talking too much because you have three entire hours to fill up. Third, you know that when you are done, you will then be a listener, fulfilling both roles in the therapy session and therefore feeling important no matter what you are doing- talking, blubbering, yelling, or listening. I believe last Friday evening Mel and I covered the spectrum of possible emotions. First, we were excited. Then we became a a bit serious and focused. Then I thought out loud, became confused, frustrated, uncertain, stood on the fence and yelled with all my might, cried about the fence I was on, hated the fence, loved the fact that I had ever met this fence, and finally found rest in a resolution to get off the fence soon. Melanie raged at the road and its other occupants. Then she gave sage advice, or whatever words of wisdom she could muster and I settled into a calm pseudo-happiness because dinner was on the horizon. Then, Melanie was surprised, frustrated, angry, sad, selfish (by her own admittance), frustrated again and moreover, sarcastic, and finally resigned. She cried. That made us even. We both cried about completely different things. I made some jokes, mixed with observations from the outside and she laughed and felt a little better. I don't think either of us had this in mind when we left my house. But actually, that was my favorite part of the trip. Don't get me wrong, the Tomato Head was a close second on my list, tailgated closely by the American Bang. But the three hours of disclosure between close friends is what I will always remember about this trip.
I recommend Automotive Therapy. It is tough, maybe uncomfortable at times, but when done with the right person in the right amount of time, can strengthen a friendship and resolve some of those pesky neurotic issues you've been struggling with!
And I'm sorry I slept all the way home. Terribly sorry. Please forgive me, Melarooni.
This past weekend I went on a roadtrip with my good friend Melanie. We went to see her good friend Bennett, who was first good friends with Melanie's best friend, Stephanie, who is attending Harvard and about to graduate and be a fabulous lawyer, so touch me because I know cool people! ANYway, Mel and I headed out to Knoxville for a good time and we got one. We went to see a band play, and it was good. We ate at the Tomato Head, and it was better than good. We attended Bennett's Blue party (you had to wear blue), and it was good. See? Good times all around. But what I discovered on this trip, aside from trying to send good things out into the universe (more Oprah bullcrap) was the therapeutic benefits of riding in a car for three hours with a best friend who is good at listening.
I would like to introduce to you the idea of Automotive Therapy. This particular type of bonding is different from regular girl talk for a few reasons. First, you are confined to the car and there are relatively few distractions. Second, you do not have to worry about talking too much because you have three entire hours to fill up. Third, you know that when you are done, you will then be a listener, fulfilling both roles in the therapy session and therefore feeling important no matter what you are doing- talking, blubbering, yelling, or listening. I believe last Friday evening Mel and I covered the spectrum of possible emotions. First, we were excited. Then we became a a bit serious and focused. Then I thought out loud, became confused, frustrated, uncertain, stood on the fence and yelled with all my might, cried about the fence I was on, hated the fence, loved the fact that I had ever met this fence, and finally found rest in a resolution to get off the fence soon. Melanie raged at the road and its other occupants. Then she gave sage advice, or whatever words of wisdom she could muster and I settled into a calm pseudo-happiness because dinner was on the horizon. Then, Melanie was surprised, frustrated, angry, sad, selfish (by her own admittance), frustrated again and moreover, sarcastic, and finally resigned. She cried. That made us even. We both cried about completely different things. I made some jokes, mixed with observations from the outside and she laughed and felt a little better. I don't think either of us had this in mind when we left my house. But actually, that was my favorite part of the trip. Don't get me wrong, the Tomato Head was a close second on my list, tailgated closely by the American Bang. But the three hours of disclosure between close friends is what I will always remember about this trip.
I recommend Automotive Therapy. It is tough, maybe uncomfortable at times, but when done with the right person in the right amount of time, can strengthen a friendship and resolve some of those pesky neurotic issues you've been struggling with!
And I'm sorry I slept all the way home. Terribly sorry. Please forgive me, Melarooni.
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