[ a big chubby Thank You ]

So, remember how this used to be ChubbO Chubbington? Before I moved on to Wonju Wife? Well, I haven't exactly stopped being a ChubbO, as we are all well aware. And because ChubbO's make amazing friends despite their donut-dependencies, I got one of the best presents EVER in the mail the other day. It was from my friend Bennett, who is a crazy, smart, and all-around strawberry to hang out with. (Yeah, remember how we're calling people strawberries instead of peaches here at Wonju Wife? Just a reminder: I don't like peaches. I loooooove me some strawberries.) I met him through my oh-my-god-have-we-been-friends-for-half-our-lives-already friend Melanie. Because they are crazy people who run marathons. Unlike me. I am one of those people who stands on the side of the road with a sweet tea in one hand and a funnel cake in the other while yelling for the crazy marathon runners. Right, sorry. To the point!

So appropriate, no?

Bennett found this book at a flea market, and of course, thought of me! I'm honored, actually. And the note inside was just as thoughtful: "Thought of you when I saw this book. Not that I think you are a ChubbO, but because of your blog. And because you are not good at sharing. maybe this book could teach you something." OH MY BACK FAT. He is so right. We all know I'm not good at sharing. Especially when it comes to food. This beautiful book tells the story of one hippo named Chubbo who doesn't like to share his pool with any other animals. I was amazed by the watercolors. Usually, I'm not a fan of watercolor, but perhaps Chubbo has changed my mind!

Chubbo getting comfy in his lovely watering hole.

Chubbo actively not sharing.

The illustrations are gorgeous and the story is touching. Besty Lewin, author and illustrator, writes in her author's note, "This is a fictional story inspired by my experience in Botswana's Okavango Delta with a real hippo who refused to share his part of the river with anyone else."

Thanks, Bennett! I love it. It's perfect. And I'm not sharing it. So there.

[oh no, not again]

Yes, again, my friends. Because I have had enough.
Before my dinner tonight, I don't remember the last time I ate a vegetable, unless we're counting the sun-dried tomatoes on my margherita pizza, or the seaweed wrapped around my bulgogi kimbap. Before my dinner tonight, I honestly don't remember the last time I truly cooked something. Not like, warmed it up, boiled it, or scooped it out of the rice cooker. But really cooked something. Tonight I did that. And it felt good.

I was going to the gym. How could you forget my Korean Aerobics Class Fiasco? But I had only signed up for a month. And that month is gone. Also, I got lazy. And I got cable. I am a firm believer in this equation: hours of tv watched per day = pounds gained per week. FOR REAL.

I ordered jeans last week. Because both pairs of my jeans have holes in the crotch, where my thighs are having their constant trysts. And I ordered from a Korean site, yes. But we ordered the sizes that matched my current jeans, both pairs which I bought here in Korea (miracle of miracles, I know.) They came. They were too small. I cried, but only for a minute. Sizes are wack in this country anyway. Who measures themselves in centimeters, really? That just makes your numbers huge! Anyway, I sent them back and exchanged them for the biggest size in both pairs. I got them tonight. One of them is a long way from fitting. But the second pair, they button. I wouldn't dare sit in them for fear that all my organs would protest and go on strike the minute they were squeezed that tight, but I buttoned those suckers. And the fat that buckled up and bulged over the waist of them was HORRID. OH MY GOD. I'm an old person. I'm an old, fat person! How did this happen?

Oh wait. I know. It's all the crap I've been eating. For the past month, I haven't paid attention to what I've been eating. I've just been shoving it in. And also, it's all the TV I've been watching. Because watching TV is so easy. So much easier than blogging. So much easier than emailing friends. So much easier than making lesson plans. Or thinking. Or breathing. Well, maybe it's on par with breathing. Maybe.

So, it's my fault. And yes, I'm deriding myself and metaphorically punching myself in my stupid face. But. There is hope, ladies and gentlemen. Because 7 months ago, this was my body:

Suck on that, belly fat! I know you were planning this hostile takeover and finally protruding further than the boobs, but you will be thwarted! You shall be dominated and then, exterminated. Also, thighs and butt, you better watch yourself. Because once The Belly is eradicated (yes again, shut up), you're next in line. I have my almost-fitting pair of jeans hanging on the wall in my room, along with a medium size shirt that my boobs and back fat used to fit into. I will fit into them again. I'm giving myself two months, y'all. Two months of mindful eating, intense gym visits, and hard work. I have a goal. I have an achievable-I-just-looked-like-this-less-than-a-year-ago goal. And I'm so tired of looking back at our honeymoon pictures and being jealous of  myself. I'm getting a car on Saturday: no excuse to not go to the gym; no excuse to not go shopping for fresh veggies because I have a way to transport them; no excuse to sit at home on my butt. Basically, I'm just preemptively removing all excuses out from under my feet.

Also, pray for me. A new Dunkin' Donuts just opened across from work.

ChubbO Chubbington Makes a Comeback.

Hey, guys! Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas. I am working on a few posts because y'all, I had a half-crap/half-awesome time in Jeju over the holiday. In fact, I'm still on holiday! Until next Monday. But I'm busy. No nap for me today. Aren't you proud?

Anyway, today my first post is up at ZenKimchi Korean Food Journal. I'm incredibly giddy and excited about writing for them. Plus, Joe McPherson is one cool guy. Anyway, you can find my post here. Make sure you guys go leave lots of comments about how amazing and wonderfully written my article is, yeah? Okay, now go play with all your Christmas presents!

What the Crap Wednesday in Wonju

I have never been happier; I have never been more disappointed.
In myself.

Everything is good. I'm sure you're all so tired of my peachy outlook and all the gushing. You are longing for the Rage in the A.M. days, no? When every post was boiling over with the anger of adjusting to this country and adjusting to myself in this country. But no, now it's all sunflowers, gardens, and kitty sharts. And it really is good. I feel like I'm learning what it means to be a teacher. I am learning Korean with wonderful friends and teachers. I am learning about what it means to be a wife. And it's all good.

Except for the me part. I haven't achieved anything I've set out to achieve. I am still sleeping way too much, which sounds like a small problem but is ballooning into a big one. I am spending too much time wishing I was eating better instead of eating better. ( I am officially invoking ChubbO Chubbington status once more. Dang.) I am not keeping up with my email. I am not keeping my house in order. I am not making time for the small things- coffee on the veranda in the morning (impossible if you're sleeping through the morning), reading books in bed with the HubbO, following through on the tiny things I say to my students.

It's strange. My life could be so incredibly good. In fact, it is good, in spite of my totally crappy self. I can only imagine what it would be like if I finally got my shit together.... It's a weird feeling. To love your life, but to despise yourself. What the crap?

What the Crap Wednesday: Dream Edition

Last night I had a dream. About the Brownie Batter Blizzard from Dairy Queen. Seriously. Although I have been drooling every time the commercial comes on and reminiscing about the days me and the Wifey could drive down the street and consume one guilt-free, I didn't think I wanted one that bad. Turns out, I really really really want the Brownie Batter Blizzard. In my dream, I go up to the counter and I order this tiny size that doesn't exist in real life. Instead of filling my cup with the most delicious ice cream concoction on the planet, they give me Sprite. I walk away from the counter, taste Sprite instead of Brownie Batter, and immediately turn around to demand my Blizzard! But it seems this disappointment has increased my craving. So when I reorder I ask for a larger size. And they fill it up and I watch them put the right stuff in the cup. 

Aaaaand.... END DREAM.

Seriously? I order it twice but never get to enjoy it? What the crap?

No, wait. I take that back. BRAIN! What the crap are you doing? Don't you know we only have a few weeks until we're putting our wedding dress back on? We have to have that taken in 2 sizes. We decided to try and make it three! But NooooOOOooo. You've got to go and obsess over the most calorific treat that exists on my crave radar at this point. Why? Why are you doing this to me? 

Apparently you can take the chub off the girl, but it's another thing altogether trying to take the ChubbO out of the girl. I sure hope I don't pass a Dairy Queen today. 

They Don't Want No Chub in da Club

Another advantage of being a ChubbO in Korea: You never have to worry about being harassed by these guys. Thanks to Roboseyo, for posting this. I was really surprised to see this, even in Cheonho, down the street from my apartment. This is one of those times I don't wish to be thin and gorgeous like Korean girls. 

It's Sermon Sunday

In Revelation 3:20 it says:

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with Me.

Now that's what I'm talking about! Let the man in and what does he suggest? He says let's eat together. Now that's my kind of religion. I bet Jesus would have loved donuts. 

Don't Panic... The Rage is Still Around

Oh no, don't refresh. You're in the right place. Yep, it's me, DB, from Rage in the A.M. You know how last post I was talking about taking this blog in a new direction? About not hemming myself in on all sides by anger-ridden rants and head-against-the-wall frustration trying to understand this country, culture, and people? Well, welcome to the new, improved, and still raging, blog.

However, I wanted to free myself up to write about a few more topics without feeling guilty because you dear readers would still be expecting The Rage, and maybe you would wonder why my blog was even called Rage in the A.M. if it wasn't ragey. (Somebody call Websters. Ragey, adjective, used to describe nouns that are filled with, surrounded by, or beat to death with rage.) So I thought I'd collect all the pictures I had so far of me stuffing my face with something and go with the whole Chubbo Chubbington theme, since ChubbO is definitely a theme here keeping pace with my internal firestorms. Heck, I have dreams about donuts. (And someone found my blog this week by googling "dreaming about donuts." How appropriate!) And I feel that being a ChubbO is not confined to your body weight. It's a lifestyle. It's about consuming what life offers you with a smile and shoving it Korean style (which means spoonful, and I mean SPOON IS FULL) into your face. Enjoying the company of those around you, enjoying the feeling of having a full belly, and enjoying the immensity of blessings heaped upon you. So, being a ChubbO is not about being overweight, or having a weenie wheel around your waist, or dreaming about donuts (although this is definitely a qualifying factor). It's not about lusting over food commercials (although this is perfectly acceptable behavior) or clapping your hands and jumping up and down when someone mentions ice cream. No, wait, I take that back. ChubbO is ALL about clapping your hands and jumping up and down when someone mentions ice cream. Anyhow, you get the idea. And if you don't, leave your questions in the comments and I shall dutifully reply. Perhaps I should come up with a ChubbO ManifestO. All that to say, welcome to the new, improved, but still kind of the same blog. 

And I'm making some changes in my life dearest readers, whose comments cause me to lie on my bed in raptures, staring out at the blue Seoul afternoon sky and thanking the Provider of All Good Things for sending these kind, wonderful, delight-inducing creatures to read my bumblings, rumblings, and mumblings. (I'm re-reading some Jack Kerouac. Can you tell?) I want to live a simple, humble, and open life. And The Rage seems to be a hindrance. Although it will still be around and I'm sure you'll still get your healthy dose, it doesn't help me to be thankful, to feel blessed, to show kindness and love toward a generous people who have taken me into their country and done nothing but overpay me and completely ignore my own petty personal boundaries. When I stop to think about what's important to me, ending all the miseries of Metro Purgatory is just not high on the list. 

I read a beautiful blog here the other day (read everything she's written, it's beautiful), at the suggestion of this guy, and I found that it was exactly what I had been looking for. Instead of walking around all day asking myself how I can get the things I want, how I can make things easier for myself, how I can avoid feeling obligated to others, I want to ask how I can love, how I can be kind, how I can give others what they want, how I can make things easier for others. So many Koreans (and Americans, and humans, essentially) are running all the time. At every moment, they are in a hurry to be faster, to be better, to be first in line, to earn the money, to get the thing that will make them happy. And they are in such a hurry to do these things that they run over each other, push each other, park their cars illegally, work until all hours without being kind to their bodies or their families. If I can show just one person, just one, how to slow down a bit, how to see what matters, how to be persistent in kindness or happiness or laughter, then I feel my purpose will be fulfilled. Because I've been floundering here in the Land of Morning Calm. (And it's no longer calm in the mornings. The streets are always alive, no matter the hour.) I've been wondering what it is I actually want to achieve in this year of having a job I don't really care for and am not entirely qualified for; this year of listening to strange sounds and trying to contort my mouth into wonderful shapes that make these sounds; this year of discovering how much I have to learn from my husband-to-be; this year of searching for my self-discipline, for my sense of responsibility; this year of no sweet tea, no grits and biscuits, no sweet tea, and no sweet tea. 

And I have decided what I want to achieve: 

I want to love my kids in a way that shows them they don't have to speak English or read English or be the fastest AT ANYTHING to be special and of worth.

I want to learn enough Korean to speak to Keun Ha's grandmother and tell her how much I appreciate her support and her fierce love for her family. 

I want to treat my body with respect and kindness. I want my body to be part of the gift I give my husband, something I can be proud of and give with confidence. (He would take it like it is now. He even said to me the other day, "Danielle, don't lose The Belly, please. It won't be the same." See? An amazing man. Go get your own Korean, stop coveting mine! Ha.)

I want to show my parents and my sister that I wouldn't be who I am or going where I'm going without their support and their love. 

I want to learn to give my time to others willingly, to heal broken things and people, to serve others because I have had enough time to myself.

I want to learn to cook Korean food so my husband can have a happy belly some of the time. 

I want to write, write, rewrite, and write. I want to stop making excuses and write. 

I want to read, everything and anything. 

I want to find enough discipline to get up earlier than I have to, to make time to pray and think and be deliberate about my day, about my actions.

And most of all, I want to start a new life with my husband, conquering mountains, sitting with monks, and blessing the earth. 

Oh, and I wanna eat a buncha good food. (In my best Southern twang.)

Readers, whom I have grown to cherish and look forward to hearing from like I look forward to seeing puppies on the street that will actually let me pet them and speak to them as if they could understand me, this is my 50th post. Wouldn't it be so cool if I got 50 comments? And can I just shout out to The Korean, who left a comment on my last post, what an honor! Seriously. I just got finished with my dance for you, and it included a lot of graceful bowing followed by lavish jumps and twirls and a few booty shakes. I also want to thank Two Left Feet, Sarah, Meghan, Chester Copperpot, Tariq, Anonymous, Bailey, Quirky, and Beloved for leaving kind words for me on my last post. And love to anyone who has ever left me a comment! I believe I am amassing the best readers on the Internets. 

And for all of you who scrolled down to see if there was an engagement story stuck in here anywhere, sorry to disappoint. I'm waiting to tell you the real deal because I have something special to give you. A gift. But it's not ready yet. So be patient! I'll tell you all about it. But not in that "Hi, my blog has turned into a step-by-step account of my wedding plans and I'm so happy and you're still single hahahahahahah blah blah make you want to rip your eyes out I'm so cheerful and in love" kind of blogs. Don't worry. 

What is the most loving thing for me to do now, after I hit Publish Post?

I believe it would be to write a long response to the beautiful letter I received in the mail from my good friend Nick, who also reads this blog and leaves priceless comments here often. What's the most loving thing for you to do now?

x0x0ChubbO

The Dream

I had a dream two nights ago about a donut. I'm not kidding. I wish I was. It was a beautiful bavarian cream filled donut with chocolate icing (the thick gooey kind that always gives me away, clinging to the corners of my mouth and my chin and upper lip like a big bright neon sign that screams "I JUST ATE SOME CHOCOLATE!") with sprinkles. Yeah, I don't usually get the ones with the sprinkles, but I'm apparently extravagant when it comes to dreaming. And do you know what? I had taken such good care of my precious donut, but had to step away for a moment and when I returned someone had taken my donut. RAGE ENSUED! I remember specifically in my dream this guy (Sexy David from Downstairs, Exeter era) telling me that he was going to leave and go somewhere else if I didn't stop yelling. For goodness sake it was just a donut. And this other guy (flashback from college, Tyson Hays anyone?) had the audacity to offer me lesser, other donuts to try to appease my anger and hurt. I was insulted at his insistence that a donut was a donut, because ladies and gents, this was no ordinary donut I had been saving for the perfect moment. It was the perfect donut. And someone took it. I was bereft.

Then I woke up. How much more Chubbo can you get, I ask you? Even in my sleep, I'm thinking about donuts. Ridiculous.

P.S. I have not forgotten that I promised to tell you about my hospital stay. It is in the works. Also forthcoming: a post on the traditional Korean wedding Keun Ha and I recently attended. And more Contemplation. (Yeah, sometimes I forget I actually quietly contemplate. I'm so often filled with the burning fires of rage. But I do think. And so, Contemplation #2 is on its way.)

P.P.S. I love comments. I love comments more than I love donuts, if you can believe it. If I have a dream about the euphoric state that comments put me in, will you leave more comments?? Oh, I know you're out there. I have a few tracking devices on you- I'm all FBI-violate-your-privacy-in-the-name-of-comment-seeking. You can't hide; but you can comment!

Oh, hello Sunday Afternoon Rage

TINY KOREAN GIRL: Oh yes, I'm on a diet. I gained (negligible amount of) kilos in winter. I'm not eating dinner.
OTHER TINY KOREAN GIRL: Oh, how can you?
CHUBBO: Are you kidding me?
TINY KOREAN GIRL (not hearing the edge of rage peeking over my question): No. I don't fit into my clothes anymore. (Aside: Tiny Korean Girl is wearing less than US size 0. Every Sunday she has on really cute doll-size clothes. And they fit.)
OTHER TINY KOREAN GIRL: You're so small though.
TINY KOREAN GIRL: Oh, that's not what my friends say!
CHUBBO: Who are your friends? They suck!
TINY KOREAN GIRL: (insert extremely confused expression with cartoon eyebrows above her head here)
CHUBBO: So, what do you think of me, then?
TINY KOREAN GIRL: Oh, do not be angry. It's okay. You're not Korean.


Conclusion: Korean girls must be thin because they are Korean. They must measure the tops of their thighs and arms in middle school and cry because they have the biggest ones. However, Westerners must be fat because they are Westerners. Dang. I wish I could be thin just to spite them.

New Series! Get Excited, People. Get Excited.

Welcome to a new series I’d like to call, The Life of Anonymous Celebrity. It will be comprised of short scenes that have taken place so far. As a foreigner, I already look different. But the fact that everyone in this country worships English makes me even more conspicuous.


So, without further delay:
Life of Anonymous Celebrity Part 1 (will from here on out be referred to as LAC)

One day I was at Hyundai Department store, Basement 1 where all the food is, with Kenny’s mom. I was sick (again). So she asked me if I wouldn’t like some gelato. Seeing as I had been in the country for over 2 months without a DROP of ice cream, I figure why not. So we step up to the counter and the girl behind it immediately dips a popsicle stick into two different kinds of chocolate based gelato and hands it to me to try. I pick just regular chocolate.

Two weeks later, I walk into the same Hyundai Department store, Basement 1, with Kenny. We are in search of the lovely gelato I’ve been raving about ever since I had it the first time. 4 counters away, the girl behind the gelato stand spots me and immediately begins waving frantically, smiling, and yelling, “Annyanghaseyo!” Oh good grief. I’m across the store and already a walking “stare at me because I’m white” sign. When we walk up, she treats me like royalty. There’s no waiting to see what kind of samples I would like. She just starts shoving popsicle sticks at us. She’s so very happy to fulfill our every gelato whim.

I've been twice and the gelato girl “knows” me. See? Immediate popularity. The pros: it’s nice to see a friendly face, even if she’s just smiling because she knows the chubb-o will give her money in exchange for a small amount of chocolate goodness in a cup. The cons: it’s a bit embarrassing. Why can’t the fresh fruit juice lady remember me? Or the mandu lady? Like something Korean and not particularly calorie laden.

The kebab guy knows me, too. Eh, what can you do?