What the Crap Wednesday: The Mosquito Edition

I may have failed to mention here that our school is currently experiencing a serious mosquito infestation. The teacher's room seems to have become a small mosquito airport with the tiny buzzing bloodsuckers taking off all over the room and whizzing through flight patterns that drive us all mad. One of our coworkers has taken to having what seems at first to be seizures, but turns out to simply be an alarming outburst at being swarmed by mosquitoes. She attempts to kill them with folders, with books, with whatever happens to be closest at hand. She just whacks things in a windmill fashion whenever she sees one. And honestly, she probably kills a number of them with each smack of her computer monitor, desk, wall, chair, and neighboring coworker.

No amount of repellent seems to have any effect on them. The school has had an extermination company come twice, but we sure couldn't tell. One day I decided I had had enough and made it a point to kill every mosquito I could see. I slapped, clapped, whacked, flailed, jumped while slapping, stood on chairs while clapping, and took the life from every one I could. My total at the end of the day was 104. Seriously. They're everywhere. 


And by everywhere, I mean mostly in the bathroom. The other day I walked into the middle stall and happened to notice a mosquito sitting inside the toilet bowl just above the water line. I stopped and weighed the responsibility of a wasted flush or a mosquito bite on my butt or elsewhere that might be inconvenient to claw at in public. I flushed. And good thing, too, because when I flushed three other mosquitoes exited the toilet bowl. I clapped two of them dead, and smothered one into my blue jeans on my left thigh. I couldn't see that fourth bugger, so I sat down to, well, think about some things. And then I was not thinking about anything except pulling up my pants when I looked down and hovering right between my thighs was that offensive, forward, and downright perverted bug, his flight path aimed directly for, well, not. my. knees.

So I freaked out, as one is wont to do when an insect that bites, draws blood, and leaves an itchy, swollen trademark behind is zoning in on your hoo! ha! I swatted, I snapped my legs together, stood up, and tried to pull my pants up all at the same time. Have you ever tried to pull your pants up while your thighs are making out? Yeah. Awkward. And now I fully understand what stalls are really for. After I succeeded in wearing my clothes properly, I was overcome with worry that I hadn't gotten rid of the mosquito, but had inadvertently closed him into my pants, where he would be free to do his damage anyway. What to do? Do I pull my pants back down to get it out if it was indeed in there? Or doing that would I simply make myself vulnerable to another attack? I finally decided that I would do the most practical thing. I would kill it, whether it was there or not. And so I began slapping myself. Where? Well, wherever he could be. In other words, I pretty much spanked myself from my butt all the way down to my ankles, front and back.

Do I even need to say it?

WHAT THE CRAP? And here's an even bigger What The Crap, because these mosquitoes have pushed me over the edge. They have me... wishing for winter. I know. Seeing as how I loathe winter with all my being because one of my least favorite things is being cold, I'm pretty desperate. Sometimes, when a mosquito flies in front of me in class, I feel some ninja assassin part of my brain take over, and I quit whatever it is I'm doing and chase the thing down until it has been destroyed. It's entertaining for the kids, anyway. But seriously. What the crap, mosquitoes? Stop already.

[What the Crap Wednesday: Wonderful Crap is Happening Edition]

Holy Crap, it's Wednesday! And I'm at work, fixing up my classroom and pre-planning for next semester which starts next Tuesday. Yep, you read that right. I'm AT WORK ON A HOLIDAY. And this isn't the first time, either. Nope. Was all up in here on Monday, too. What the crap? Since when did I become such a dedicated overachiever? Oh, right. Since my birth.

No, really, it's this new girl. (She's not actually new anymore because we got three new guys, so now they're the new guys. Anyway, Saralyn has been here for a while now and she's awesome. She can do math. She can make any kind of form, test, or grid in Word in like 2 seconds and then email it to you as a template. Did I mention she can do math?) Anyway, the new girl is a great teacher. She's taught in so many different countries and she has all these little tricks and rules and guidelines and ideas. And I pretty much just sit next to her, watch her, and then copy everything she does. Pretty much. Anyway, she's making me want to be better. And can I just say What the crap? Because I was all happy being lazy and half-assing my way through everything and forgetting to give tests when I said I would give tests and coming in about 20 minutes before class and then crying about how unprepared I was. I was okay with that. But noooooooooo. Saralyn has to be all "together" and "organized" and right next to me, too. In other words, she's making me look bad. So, I gotta step up the "teacher" game, kids.

On another note entirely, unrelated to teaching English in every way imaginable, Kenny's show opened on Saturday. And there were altogether perhaps between 30-40 people who showed up. It was fabulous. He's had a few offers on some of his pieces, been in two different newspapers, and now we've snagged this TV documentary thing. We met with the writer and producer with a camera this morning at the gallery. Then they kind of followed me around. We're meeting with them again next Saturday. Anyway, all this to say: I'm gonna be on TV, y'all! WHAT. THE. CRAP!

It's not a big deal, actually. And it's kind of funny because the woman keeps instructing us to chat naturally, but she wants Kenny to speak Korean. And finally, I said, "Look. If you want us to chat naturally, that's NOT going to happen in Korean. We speak English." And then she stopped saying that. So, I'm pretty sure none of it is going to be natural. But it's a half hour documentary. It's only showing in Gangwondo, but I'm pretty almost definitely sure I can strong arm a tape or DVD of it out of someone. Obviously so I can make everyone who ever comes over sit down and watch it. And then we'll look at my wedding scrapbook. And then we'll make them look at our traveling pictures and pet our cats. No, I'm kidding. Maybe.

Also, our car comes on Saturday. WOOT. So I'm going to Seoul tomorrow to get my Korean driver's license. I believe What the Crap Wednesday: On The Road editions will become quite frequent. So brace yourself. And book yourself a bus ticket to Wonju if you're in Korea. Because it's really not that far (especially from Seoul. Oh, come on. This country is like 6 hours tall and 5 hours across, y'all. Make the trip.) and Kenny's paintings are well worth it. Hopefully sometime next week I'll have a video tour of the gallery up for all of you outside of the country!

Better get back to work. I've missed you lovelies. Sorry for the silence. It'll probably happen again. You know me...

WTCW: Baby Fever Edition

I know you're already thinking, "What the crap, Danielle? It's not even Wednesday." And I'd just like to second that. Because holy crap it's Thursday already?

And I was going to write this on Wednesday, but then I had to clean the litter box, and eat dinner, and wash the dishes, and do laundry, and watch TV in English! Also, I had to read a bit more of Middlemarch because I really have no idea how this story ends. And then, of course, I had to sleep. In conclusion, welcome to What the Crap Wednesday, Thursday Edition!

So, I want a baby.
But I don't want a baby.
What the crap?

I know. Number one, I can't afford a baby. Number two, I don't want to not be able to watch my baby belly grow because I already have a food-baby belly in place. I'd like to lose weight and then get fat. If that even makes any sense. Number three, I would have to quit my job, because they don't exactly have maternity leave at the ol' hagwon. In turn, we would lose our house because my job provides our apartment. (This might be able to be shoved up into number one, but whatever.) Number four, I have no idea what to do with a baby. Number five, I have a particular aversion to crying children. Number six, I want my sister to be first. She's been wanting a baby for who knows how long. It would feel wrong to have one first. Number seven, I want to travel. Number eight, I want to have more time with the HubbO. Because we've not even been married a year. (But almost, so yay!) Number nine, I can't afford a baby. Number ten, I can't afford a baby. (Also, the HubbO is not completely on board with my children-in-the-future plans. So, that's another strike against the baby fever.)

See? Ten good reasons why I don't want a baby.
But, no.
I still want a baby.

One that looks like this:

This is Sophia, the daughter of some of our good friends, Sandra and Philip. They graciously let us spend New Year's Day with their family and Kenny and I got some great shots. We had a really great time. It made me want a baby even more.

I don't know what it is. There's just this feeling that rises up through the center of my chest when I see babies. It's not just a "so cute let me pinch those cheeks" kind of feeling. It's not necessarily just happy or dreamy, either. It's this kind of sobering and resonating belief in something small and vulnerable being worth whatever I have to give. But then this other feeling pushes the that down with a ripening of my will, my desire for freedom, my search to see the rest of the world. Or at least a bit more of it before I sit down in a rocking chair and sing lullabies. It's strange. Because I want a baby. And I don't want a baby. In the same moment. Am I crazy? Possibly. 

To recap: I want a baby. I don't want a baby. 

Anybody else feeling me on this one? 

Seriously, y'all. What the crap?

(P.S. What the crap do you think about the new WTCW banner?)

What the Crap Wednesday: The Kitters Edition

So, you guys remember our Bo Bear right? He's just not really full of joy. He poops on himself a lot, walks in it, doesn't clean himself, doesn't feed himself, and generally sneezes 100 times a day and has nosebleeds. Poor little guy. As you can see in his "before" picture, his chest hair gets a little greasy. Turns out, when you are a cat and your nose is stuffed, you don't smell dirty and you don't clean it. So, he was a little ragamuffin of a cat. And we were always like What the crap kind of cat are you, Bo? You don't play, you don't really get excited or open your eyes all the way EVER.

So, after we got back from our Jeju trip to find him at my mother-in-law's with dried poop on his shoulder (how, I ask you, how?), the hair on his chest greasy like my own hair that hasn't been washed for a month, and a fully clogged nose, I decided to take some action.

So, we came back to Wonju, and I decided with my days off that we'd take him to the vet and have him groomed. Because washing him at home is so traumatic. And yeah, we've given him haircuts before, mostly just cutting out the dried poo, but it looked ugly. I wanted things done the right way. And when they groom them at the vet, they put them to sleep. Which I'm not really a fan of, because maybe the end result is a little more traumatic. But the way he caterwauls and writhes to get away from us when we're painlessly, I reiterate, painlessly, trying to cut a chunk of matted hair off of him, I thought we'd give him a break and knock him out.

There is a cat who lives at the vet we go to. His name is Chop Chop. He looks like this:

How can you not love that face? Okay, minus the fact that the poor boy is wearing makeup. We're in Korea, so we don't really have to say What the Crap about the cat makeup anymore. But you may go ahead if you wish... Okay, so Chop Chop got a little trim. (After this picture was taken, obviously). He was still kind of fluffy, but most of his fur had been cut shorter, leaving his huge head and fat feet and the end of his tail alone. I figured that because my ultimate goal for Bo is for him to look exactly like and grow to the exact same size as Chop Chop, I'd just ask them to do the same thing to him.

So I left him at the vet and it was going to take them a while to do it. Kenny brought him home from work, and y'all, I laughed for 10 minutes straight.

And then when I was finished, I considered crying because he just looked so little and pitiful. And I know you're all reading this thinking that I'm about to go all What the Crap on the groomer. But you would be wrong. Because apparently, having your male cat shaved like this is like giving him a soul makeover.

First, I was taking pictures of Bo today and he crawled in my lap and sat down. What the crap? He never does that. He always just tries to get away from us whenever we try to pet him or hold him or anything. And he's a big fat baby, always whining about it. But no, he walked over to me, climbed up onto my leg, snuggled down into a comfortable position and laid there. I sat very still with my mouth hanging open in awe. Because like I say, this never happens.

Second, some of Kenny's high school students came over to bake cookies and watch a movie because they are on holiday. And guess what! Bo was the life of the party. One of the kids picked up one of Miso's cat toys and shook it. (Actually, we call all the cat toys Miso's because she's the only one who ever actually played. Like a cat.) And Bo RAN. He RAN to the toy and batted at it and chased it. He played for real. And not in his usual slow-motion, eyes-half-closed, please-stop-bothering-me way, either. He was enthusiastic. It was a miracle. What the crap?

And he was sociable! He hung out in the living room with everybody, cuddled in one girl's lap for a while, and generally was a great cat. It was like he was a real cat. What. The. Crap!

Also, he's become dependent on hand-feeding, because he can't look down without sneezing. So we have to hold his food up above his head and drop it in his mouth. Otherwise he doesn't eat, and then we can't feed him his stupid medicine because he'll just throw it all up, usually on the carpeted areas of our home. But today, he ate all by himself. For a long time. Just grubbing at his little bowl. What the crap?

Bo is like a new man. It's insane. I was all prepared when we brought him home looking like this to feel sorry for him until his fur grew out. (You wouldn't believe how soft he is, still.) But now, I don't have to feel sorry for him at all!

And Miso is pissed, y'all. She is not liking having any competition for attention. I feel bad for her. When we brought Bo home, she didn't recognize him. Not at all. She would hiss and growl at him. She has quit that, but she still gives him the stink eye whenever he comes around. She sniffs him a lot. And you would think she would know who he was by smelling him. But Bo smelled nasty. We were feeding him a lot of soft cat food, and as you know, he wasn't a washer. So his face always smelled funky, like tuna. And he didn't really clean his behind either, so sometimes he smelled a bit like poo. Basically, Bo smelled like crap. But when he came home from the vet, he smelled like a flower. And he looked like a completely different cat. So, I don't really blame her.

But I'll be giving her some extra attention over the next few days. See if I can even things out before I have to go back to work on Monday. Eeeeeew! Did I just talk about work before it was absolutely necessary?

So, to sum up: What the crap? Seems all our cat needed was a good cut and style. Who knew!

A Thank You Recipe (or, What the Crap? It's Wednesday and Danielle Cooked Something!!)

First, thank you to all of you who sent me encouraging, kind, and wise comments and emails about yesterday's post. I think sometimes I have to get angry enough at myself in order to kind of jumpstart any plans I've made. An old friend used to tell me that I didn't have a very healthy self-esteem because I was always berating myself or making fun of myself. But in all sincerity, I have a bit too much self-esteem. I mean, really. Who expects me to accomplish all my goals in one week, eh? And the more I berate myself, the angrier I get. I get so frustrated until the only thing left to do is to get started.

And so good news: I got up early this morning. (I missed my daily wake up phone call from Sandra and Philip today. ㅜ.ㅜ I guess that's what happens when you get up on time. You don't need anyone calling you to make sure you're out of the bed!) I had breakfast with Kenny and my mom-in-law who stayed with us for a few days while Bo was fixed and recovering from his surgery. THEN, ladies and gentlemen, I went on a hike. Yep, right this morning, I went on a little mini-hike out my backdoor. We hiked through the pine forest and let me tell you, it is a mountain back there! Then we jumped rope a bit and came back in and cooked lunch.

Oh lunch. I've been meaning to care about cooking. Really. But it just hasn't happened. Until today. And so, I give you Junk Spaghetti, my very own recipe! It's like the first thing I've ever made. And basically, I thought it up while Kenny executed it. So I can't take all the credit. It was definitely a team effort. We wanted spaghetti, but didn't have any sauce on hand and we couldn't justify buying any at the little mart in front of the apartment because our house is full of food. Left over from Chuseok and from the awesome BBQ we had with friends on Sunday. So, we made the sauce ourselves!!

Ingredients: Whatever Junk You've Got In The Fridge!

We used:

1 large tomato

A few spoons of tomato paste (we found this in our kitchen when we moved in. Should I be telling you that?)

About two spoons of canned meat (don't you love it? It's actually beef in gochujang  )

One green chile

olive oil to your delight

a few sprinkles of mozzarella cheese

a lot of sprinkles of parmesan cheese

two spoons of honey

a little pasta water

half an onion

3 cloves of garlic

fresh basil from our basil plant!

How to make Junk Spaghetti sauce: Dice your tomato and put it in a pan with olive oil. Smush the tomato chunks with a spoon if you're not into chunky (like me) and then add the onions and garlic. Throw in a few spoons of the tomato paste. Add a little pasta water. Stir and stir. Ooh, add some pepper. Then put in some of that yummy scrumptious canned beef in chile paste. Stir that sauce, baby. The heat should be up enough so that it doesn't take too long for the sauce to start bubbling and smelling good. (Very exact, don't you think?) Add two rounds of honey in the pan. Add some more olive oil because your husband thinks the tomato paste is too sour. Chop your chile and put it in. Liberally sprinkle mozzarella and parmesan cheese. Stir it around and ooh and ahh at the stringy cheesiness! Add a little more pasta water cause dang that sauce is thick. Wish that your husband had chopped the onion a little finer. (Remember? I do not love the chunky.)

And finally, stir in a few leaves of fresh basil and turn off the heat. Dump your spaghetti noodles into the sauce and stir it all around.

Plate that deliciousness and garnish with a bit more parmesan (one can never consume too much cheese) and a little leaf of basil. Then, enjoy your junk spaghetti.

Obviously, you must follow this recipe exactly or your junk spaghetti sauce will suck tremendously.

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: India Edition 1

India abounds with What the Crap Moments. Here is a small collection of the best from our time traveling:

• When Kenny and I arrive in Delhi, we are prepared. We have already booked our hostel in advance and we know not to take a rickshaw because despite how far away the driver may claim it to be, we know Paharganj, the backpacker's slum, is across the street from the train station. We are also tired of arguing, bickering, and being bothered. So we have adopted a strategy called The Silent Treatment. This has been working since Agra. Instead of telling rickshaw drivers that we are walking and do not need their assistance and still being pestered all the way to our destination, we simply put out one hand flat as if to receive a gift and then walk two fingers of the other hand across it without uttering a single word. It's amazing. No one bothers us after we give them The Silent Treatment. On the back of a business card, Kenny wrote the word "BOOKED" and underneath it, just in case, "WALKING." So, as we pick our way down Paharganj, avoiding eye contact with all the vendors and rickshaw men, we show our card to all the hostel pimps out to snare guests. And guess what! It works. Almost. One man approaches us and tells us he has a great place we can stay, clean and cheap. Kenny shows him the card. He looks at the card and says, "Oh no! I know that place. It's full of cockroaches and dirty." Um, what the crap? We just laugh it off. Illiteracy runs rampant and is best friends with Lying Through Your Teeth.
  

• A rickshaw driver is following us down the street. We want to walk to our destination because our cash is dwindling and it's just faster to follow the map in the guide book than have a driver stop and ask every one of his friends how to get to where we want to go. One driver does not fall for The Silent Treatment. He knows we're walking, but he really wants to know where we're going.

"Where you going?"

"We're WALKING." Plus Silent Treatment hand gestures, not to be misunderstood.

"I KNOW. But where you going?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Where?"

"It's a secret."

"What?"

"A SECRET."

"Oh yes, Secret! I know, I know! Get on, I take you there!"

Gotta love it. This is Lying Through Your Teeth coupled with Feigned and Insistent Knowledge. Say it with me now (think Wheel of Fortune): What! The! Craaaaap!

• While we're in Delhi, we decide we'd like to go to the zoo and check out the white tigers. We have learned to negotiate prices with the drivers before ever getting into the autorickshaw. So, as we come out of the tiny alley our hostel is in, past the two albino boys who cook chicken on the corner and the two urinals that I hold my breath by, we hail a driver and offer our price. Kenny does some haggling. We agree that 80 rupees should get us to the zoo. We hop in and we go. But after a few minutes, perhaps 5, the driver pulls over and stops. We look at each other and then Kenny asks what the problem is.
  

"80 rupees here."

"What? No. We want to go to the zoo."

"Yes, I take you zoo. 100 rupees."

"No way! You said 80. 80 rupees to the zoo."

"No. 80 rupees here. 100 to the zoo."

Can you believe this guy? What the crap is going on? We are only about halfway to the zoo and it is freaking hot and the cars on the roads make it even hotter. But we are travelers of principle! We refuse to be duped (well, any more than we already are) and so we get out and just tell him we'll walk the rest of the way. And we do. So TAKE THAT Mr. Lying Bastard Autorickshaw Guy!

• In Dharamsala, I bought this awesome elephant ring. I have a thing for elephants and it has only been encouraged since The Day of the Elephants happened. So, I buy this ring. It is cool and rather large and I'm sitting on the pot, thinking about some things if you know what I mean, and all the sudden I hear this popping sound. (No, you goobers. Not that sound. That's plopping, with an l. Get it right or pay the price!) I look down and my elephant has popped in two! I think, well, maybe I can still wear this cool ring because now it just looks like it's one of those that goes not quite all the way around your finger. No biggie." So I finish thinking about some things, and I go to read a bit. I'm sitting on the bed reading my book and POP! goes the piece of crap elephant ring. In three pieces now, and no longer around my finger but in my lap. Okay, I know I only paid a dollar for this ring, but this is really ridiculous. So the next day, I haul the three pieces of ring up the steep stairs and to the guy who sold it to me. I show it to him. And do you know what he said to me? And I quote:
  

" 10 more rupees you can have different one."

Hold up, Martin. (Martin? I know. It's a new thing. I just pick a name and throw it in there. And if your name is Martin, you feel special, eh? Blame it on Norman Mailer and Why are We in Vietnam?) You want me to PAY you because your piece of crap broke while I was sitting on the toilet? I think maybe he misunderstood so I explain to him that I don't want to pay for another one. I'd simply like to get one for FREE.99 because it wasn't my fault, obviously. So then he gets mad and says I broke it on purpose, obviously, look at the places where it's broken, I definitely forced it. What the crap, times one million and thirty two! How can you reason with this guy? Turns out, he is UNreasonable. And I walk away very angry and Kenny follows me saying that he talked to the guy next to UNreasonable Weirdo Guy who Sells Rings the Break for No Reason while You Sit on the Pot's stall, and turns out, this guy is UNstable, for reals. All the vendors around him advise us to avoid him like you'd avoid a man who sells crap that breaks. So we do. And I am still mourning my elephant ring.

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. 

What the Crap Wednesday: School Days Edition

Today Jesse simply couldn't help himself. His lanky limbs constantly set to electric shock mode cannot stay still. He stood up behind his desk, turned around and stuck his butt out as far as it would go. He then waved it back and forth hitting each butt cheek with the corresponding hand as it went in that directions. After doing this while yelling something incomprehensible he put the thumb and forefinger of his left hand behind him, made the motion of grabbing a small walnut from his behind, said "Fart" in Korean and then moved the invisible fart held so carefully between thumb and finger in slow motion across his body. As he moved the offensive gaseous mixture out in front of him he made small mechanical noises as if his imaginary fart were being maneuvered by a tiny invisible engine instead of his long, thin arm. Then, he slowly got closer and closer to James' face and finally made contact with James' left eye, making a small exploding sound with his mouth. James doubled over with laughter and Jesse turned back around showing me his butt and smacking it once more while wagging it from side to side.  

Andrew carefully observed this magical classroom moment. He then proceeded to squat in his chair and pretended to poop into his cupped hands held underneath his behind. He then made a motion as if he were shoving this recent production into his mouth. He swallowed loudly. And then, he drew many deep breaths as if he were the Big Bad Wolf. He proceeded to blow this breath over all of his classmates. 

What the crap. No question mark. No incredulity. Just, what the crap. Because I am resigned to it now. I just sat there and watched the whole thing go down, my head in my hands and elbows on the desk. They have reduced me to a shell of a teacher who mostly screams, sighs, and then watches in helpless surrender as they act out their latest gross-fest. Four days left...

What the Crap Wednesday: Because it's Wednesday and I feel like crap

Yesterday one of my oldest students, Andrew, sat in my lap and gave me a hug. It was rare because he's not really the huggy one. That's Jesse. Jesse thinks that everytime I get frustrated with him, a genuine squeeze and sometimes even a little peck on the cheek will make it all better. He's also gotten into the habit of bowing before my anger, his small forehead pressed to the ground, elbows out at right angles like he's going to do a push-up. I am not moved by this. It is only a child's ploy to distract me from the reason I am upset in the first place: oh, yeah, NO ONE LISTENS TO ME AND IF YOU DON'T SIT IN YOUR SEAT RIGHT NOW DANIELLETEACHERWILLGOCRAZYSOSTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP. IT. NOW.

However, yesterday it was Andrew who hugged me as I was sitting in the floor. Then, he leaned back, still in my lap, and with his hand rubbed my left cheek. He crinkled his nose a tiny bit and made a sound kind of like when you accidentally get something just a tiny bit gross on your fingers. Like, "ehhh-eeewww-uuuhhh." He looked surprised and his eyebrows attempted to leave his forehead. He rubbed my cheek again.

"Teacher! Look!" He grabbed my hand and made me rub my own face. Then he took my hand and made me rub his face, which is of course beautifully soft and smooth. "See?"

"Okay, yes, thank you Andrew. I see that your skin is perfect." And of course, I am also aware that mine, compared to a child or most people on the street, is rough and scarred and a little bumpy in places.



I was relaying this story to Kenny and he said, "Andrew is so mean!" And I told him, no, he wasn't being mean. Sometimes, Andrew is mean and he knows it. But he wasn't being mean. He was just discovering something and honestly sharing it with me. And I started to think about that. How children honestly observe the world and then tell people about it without that inherent meanness that seems to lurk in every adult criticism, even the constructive ones. I was lying in bed thinking, perhaps if we were all honest with each other, but honest with kindness or just with observation things would be different.



For example, there would be none of the first however many weeks of American Idol airing awful auditions. Some kind and loving friend or family member would have encouraged the contestant to pursue something else. "Dear friend, your singing makes me really happy because I love you. Not because you are the next Mariah Carey. But the way you fix my computer/braid my hair/support me/write stories/tell jokes/give good massages/etc.- now that's your talent!"

Because whenever these people are auditioning and we are shamelessly exploiting that beautiful confidence they have in themselves as a person and in their passion, I am thinking, "Who encouraged you to do this? Who are those people who stand outside that door waiting for you to come out of that room? And why didn't they honestly tell you that you couldn't sing if your life depended on it? Whyyyyyyy?


photo from here

Also, someone would have gotten through to Amy Winehouse- albeit a fight through the jungle of drugs and that hair- to let her know that her eye makeup is doing her face a disservice. Her face is perfectly lovely and despite the fact that she will probably continue to decay before the public's view, her friends coudl at least summon up enough guts to inform her of her beautiful face and let her know the liner is NOT HELPING.

I mean, I understand that appearance is rarely worth anything in the long run- we all get old, saggy, and senile. But I'm not necessarily talking about honesty only in regards to appearance, which seems to be something that we can no longer muster, even with our family and friends. But an honesty not designed to hurt each other, but to do a kindness, even if it is honest in a negative way. Being honest in love with each other about our individual gifts, our abilities.

Yes, you are able to do anything you'd like, to pursue any dream you choose. But should you?

What the Crap Wednesday (Christmas Eve Edition)

So, it's Wednesday, the day before Christmas, and I'd just like to say...
What the crap?
Because I'm working today, like the rest of the dutiful Koreans who labor on through the holidays, but unlike all those super-efficient and disciplined Koreans, I have nothing to do. My principal told me yesterday, "So, you know that tomorrow is a play day?"
"A play day? Well, now I know."
"There's no English class."
"No English class? So we don't have to come in?" (We already knew the part-time teacher had the day off).
"No, you have to come here."
"What should I do?"
"You can just do what you want."
"Riiiiiiiiight." I tried to keep the do you realize what an idiot you are? look off my face, but I'm not quite sure how successful that was.
So, I'm here. At school. Have no class. Did some cartwheels in the gym to entertain my kids. Felt the disdain of the Korean teachers and their game planning closing in around me, so I have shoved off to the office to, well, write you a blog.
Let's reiterate: At school. On Christmas Eve. No class. Not wanted.
What. The. Crap.

Also, I've done one of my disappearing acts again, although this time it was not some ploy for staging yet another come back, because they are oh-so-popular here at the O of Chub. Rather, I'm writing outside my blog at the moment, working on a few things, and I'm very happy to be doing so because I thought I was dead, but turns out, I'm not. But seriously, what about last week when I posted everyday? What the crap? I just churned out the love for you, on a daily basis. Thought about you on the train and what I wanted to tell you everyday. Thought about you while sipping my caramel macchiato and munching my donuts (even though I swore I wouldn't have any more until after wedding. What the crap was I thinking?). Wait... what was the point of this paragraph?

Also, did I mention that I'm at school today? The whole day? With nothing to do? No responsibilities whatsoever. Oh? I said that already? Right.

It really doesn't feel like Christmas at all. I kind of found myself unprepared this morning when I woke up. I just sort of disconnected from Christmas this year, despite all my Christmas song listening and all my Grinch- and Elf-watching and hot choco-drinking. I miss the family and because I'm sort of the Watchman of Tradition, making sure Mom doesn't shirk on her Santa duty or kill herself trying to get the lights on the tree the right way or forget to bake those pecans I like so much, I feel like things are slipping away a bit. And I know that Kenny and I need to make our own Christmas traditions, but our first Christmas was spent in Israel, the second across the world from each other, and this one is sort of weird all around. (And can you really top Bethlehem on Christmas Eve? I think not.)
So, in honor of my non-Christmasy feelings and my longing to be at home to sort of safe guard Christmas (or my idea of it) , watch this video. I make a Christmas mix every year, and this song always gets put on there.

It's Christmas Eve and I feel like it's just another anonymous day I must wait through in order to get to the next one. What the crap?

What the Crap Wednesday: Winter Edition

Dang. It is cold. 

Last Friday, when Kenny and I got back to Seoul and went past our stop on the bus, it was still pleasant to walk outside back to the house. Saturday, it was yucky and rainy, but it wasn't really that cold. Sunday, I shouldn't have worn only a sweater. And Monday...

BAM! It was winter. Like, unbearably freaking cold winter. Like, your tongue sticks to the flag pole winter. The wind is the killer. It'll getcha. Walking from the subway to work is the worst, the wind biting through all my layers and causing me to utter moans and protests that probably remind the commuting Koreans around me of a constipated polar bear. There are no words, only the strain of all my muscles as I try to catch a breath through my clenched teeth. It's the middle of November people, and it feels like January or February. What the crap?

To counteract the unbearable cold, of course, is the unbearable heat of the subway. Because I must wear a shirt, a fleece, a jacket with a hood, a scarf wrapped around my face, all topped with my black winter coat (that now totally fits and I can so move my arms), I am hot in the subway. I am hot beyond hot with all the other wrapped and muffled and coated commuters on the Metro. And because it is apparently now winter, the Metro staff in charge of the air vents on the trains seem to think they are not necessary. But take a minute and think about it: there are still one thousand of us piling into the same small car, being mushed into Metro Purgatory with nothing to hold us up but the bosom of the ajumma behind us pressed into our back and the oversized handbag of the trendy young girl in our spleen. And we are all dressed for the Arctic. How does air conditioning not make sense right now? What the crap?

I am also forced to wear leggings under my jeans, because man, have I mentioned the wind? It is not joking. The wind is serious this time of year with no sense of humor whatsoever. And so, I don the leggings and pull them up over my bellybutton in an attempt to keep my midsection snug and cozy. But when I get to school, I sit on the floor with my kids (which I am going to have to rethink. Chairs from now on, I believe) and because we have ondol heating, our butts burn! And when you've got leggings under your jeans and you're sitting on a hot floor, you've got a veritable sauna in your pants. And let me tell you, no matter what country you live in, Sauna Pants is a serious condition. It can lead to Chafing Pants and other moisture-related and unpleasant situations. 

Let's recap: 

Outside= Freezing with Wind Intent on Killing Us All

Subway= Hell 

School= Sauna Pants

Say it with me now, altogether! WHAT THE CRAP!

What the Crap Wednesday (The Friday Edition)

What the crap have I been up to? My absence here has caused my mother to doubt my existence, setting all sorts of horror scenarios into frenzied motion. She is worrying as only a mother can. The truth is boring.

What the Crap I've Been Up To:

1. I have spent time carefully planning my menu and schedule of eating out for the few days I'm at home. I am craving several particular things and plan on hitting all of my favorite restaurants, despite all obstacles. I am daydreaming about sweet tea, especially.

2. I am reading The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerners Think Differently...and Why by one Richard E. Nisbett who desperately needs to read William Zinsser's take on the exclamation mark. 

Dear Mr. Nisbett, 

I like your book. It makes the stops on the subway go by much quicker and also lends insight into the reasons why the crazies around me are behaving the way they do. But your exclamation points are ineffective and annoying. "Don't use it unless you must to achieve a certain effect...We have all suffered more than our fair share of these sentences in which an exclamation point knocks us over the head with how cute or wonderful something is. Instead, construct your sentence so that the order of the words will put the emphasis where you want it." 

Thank you very much.

3. Dexter has been eating hours of my time. I caught an episode on TV here from the first season and was compelled to view the entire season in order. It's a bit of an addiction, but one that is far less embarrassing than say, admitting you lost an entire week of your life to the Twilight series close to 2 months ago. 

4. I have been learning to cook and enjoy tofu using this tasty recipe from THE Pajeon Princess. I never liked tofu before, but apparently my tastes are still changing. I find that if I give the food a chance, take a few deep breaths before digging in, and remember the work it took to prepare it (although with this tofu dish the work is negligible), it usually tastes good. I've continued to cook for myself almost every night of the week. I now dub my attempts in the kitchen as part of WifeO Training. Lord, I have such a long way to go!

5. I am reading James Finley and I am numb to the ever recurring words, "interior, meditative states of awareness" and "arise, endure, and pass away." Finley is sometimes exhausting, but the gems I've found far outweigh those phrases heavy with repetition. 

6. I am still spending most of my day yelling and laughing at small monsters called children. A few phrases my 7 year olds have finally picked up on:

My words: "Stop picking your nose." Stated matter of factly about 6 times every 40 minutes.

Kid version: "Teacher! Teeeeeeeacher! Steve picking your nose! Picking your nose! Stop!" 

My words: "I. Don't. Care." 

Former Kid Response, "Teacher, what?"

Current Kid Response: A look of defeat, usually accompanied by a lowering and shaking of the head. 

My words: "Go away." 

Kid version: "Go awaaaaaaaaay!" screamed as they are passing through the doorway at the end of class.

7. Wasting time; going to the bathroom; bothering my fiance about quitting his job; not cleaning my bathroom; laundry; drinking caramel macchiato; drawing a large blue X across another day on the calendar before I go to bed. 

8. I spend an inordinate amount of time looking at my ring.

9. Wondering why more Americans don't look up the term socialism. Being frustrated with America's willingness to be distracted from the actual issues by emotional propaganda espoused on both sides of the political system. 

10. Missing my friends and family and counting down the days until I get on an airplane to come see them! And praying that my period does not coincide with any time spent in a cramped aircraft with inconvenient bathrooms. Praying in general. 

That about does it. Oh, and thinking about writing. Obviously I'm just thinking about it. I'm not doing it. Or you would be well aware of that, wouldn't you? Also, if I stay around constantly, I can't ever have these mini-comebacks, now can I? If you never know war, you cannot understand peace. So, if you never miss me, you cannot appreciate the ChubbO. 

Appreciate away. 

What the Crap Wednesday

I'm in a hole. The walls are high and slippery and sometimes I feel like I could muster the energy to at least attempt to scale them, but then I think it's easier to stay here. Instead of expending all that energy just to fall right back down into the same spot. 

But at the same time, I know that easy does not mean better.

But at the same time, I cannot help but wish that things were easier. I find myself every day scaling back, minimizing, trying to make things as simple as possible. Because simple is easier. 

I have issues, people. Issues I know should be buried underneath the hopes I have for my future. And underneath the happiness that sometimes settles down around my shoulders for hours at a time. And all my time is spent deliberating between how to think about myself, how I should draw this honest picture of myself. Should I be totally critical and lay everything out, scrubbing all my faults so desperately that I leave myself raw and exposed? Or should I give myself a bit of a break and let all the extenuating circumstances bear some of the responsibility? Balance would seem to be the answer here, because I can see that neither one will be very helpful without the other. 

I desperately want to see myself clearly. I want to know which parts to chuck in the trash, which parts to salvage, and which bits to upgrade. But when I start taking inventory of my insides, I become so overwhelmed and I find so many things that disappoint me. And some things that scare me. And other things that delight me, but also cause me to feel guilty because I struggle to think that I find delightful things in myself. Is that allowed? (Yes, I think it's totally allowed... for other people. But I don't allow this for myself? How is that even fair?) 

I'm struggling terribly with discipline in my everyday life. How hard is it to eat breakfast? How hard is it to review Korean vocabulary for a few minutes on the train ride home? How hard is it to put down the book, or the cookie, or turn off the computer and take a walk outside? 

Very hard, it seems. Maybe I have too many goals, too many improvements I'm trying to make at one time. But I'm annoying the crap out of myself and the self-loathing is growing increasingly harder to ignore. I spend so much time alone, in my comfortable, dark little hole. I'm tired of me. I'm tired of trying to improve things, of trying to become things, and failing. I'm tired of wanting things. I'm tired of small fires burning, but never consuming anything. My passions have dwindled to sort of half-hearted wishes that seem like tiny dots on the horizon of my life. They are slowly fading, like the car of the person you love as they drive away. You follow it until they are a miniscule spot (or until they turn a corner). 

I'm entirely dissatisfied with myself. I am constantly ready to berate myself, to scream and rant against my lethargy, my lack of enthusiasm, my all-out inability to discipline myself in the ways I want. But as soon as I catch my breath, I feel sorry for myself and all the excuses for the way I am build a strong case for patting myself on the back. I'm living in Korea. I have no social life outside of my boyfriend (who is FABULOUS and PERFECT and completely awesome in every way). I miss my friends. I miss talking books. I miss having good conversations over good coffee. I miss Kerri, Melanie, and my sister. I miss reading in silence in a room with someone I love. I miss Tariq. I miss my mom. I miss communicating easily with people. I miss a person being an opportunity. Here, a person is a closed door most of the time. I miss Carmen. I miss my Dad and his perfect machine-like ability to just do what he says he's going to do. 

I am the worst version of myself right now. And all I can manage is this silly, vague, blog post about it. I'm writing instead of doing. Another excuse that so easily manages to get me out of anything, because writing is important, right? Writing is essential. (Even this sentence is a lie, as the last time I wrote was like a week ago and it was a stupid post about my stupid hair.) 

What the crap, people. What the crap?

What the Crap Wednesday

Today one of my colleagues was royally screwed over by my employers in a manner that surprised and disgusted me. She left the school today paid almost none of what she was owed and treated as if she had not done a fabulous job of teaching children less than 3 how to speak English for a year. What the crap?

Oh, the bus drivers. There are plenty of posts here in the Korea weblog community about buses, taxis, and the metro, and many of them have been posted here. The bus system was deprivatized a a while ago, so the drivers are no longer paid hourly, or by how many routes they complete, but are on a salary. So, WHAT'S THE HURRY? Why must you slam the door shut and have to open it THREE times again because people were still trying to exit the bus? Why must you slam your foot on the gas before the door has closed and that old woman is up the steps? And why must you drive as if your purpose is to either kill me or at least get me to throw up? What. The. Crap? 

Notice to ALL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD who commute anywhere on any kind of public transport: If you are going to play that stupid game on your phone, please turn off the damn sound. I do not want to hear the beeping or blipping or doopdedoop every time you roundhouse kick a ninja, get three jewels in a row, or shoot the invading enemy. And if you're listening to music on your mp3, keep it to a reasonable level. If I wanted to listen to your music, I would have asked to borrow your left ear phone and started bobbing my head to your ridiculous beat. This is a common courtesy that overrides all cultural crap. I don't care who you are or what country you're from or how much kimchi you eat everyday- there is no excuse. And ajummas, I'm seriously disappointed in you. You should take some action against these disrespectful punks. I expect you, of all people, to have the guts to lecture them with that incredibly long finger and that shrill, blood-out-your-ears inducing screech you've got on your side. Why are ajummas everywhere not taking up their large handbags and whacking these people? What the crap?

On another note altogether, I totally lost 10 pounds.

What.

The.

Crap.

For. 

Reals.

And to temper the "what the crapness" of this post, or to completely shame me for even posting all these complaints is this nugget of gold from my new favorite writer: 

"It is really easy to be a victim, you know? It is really easy to complain. About your job, your boss, your lame friends, your weight/body, the way the church is going, your lack of money, the way things don't turn out the way they should. Sometime stop and listen to how much of conversation is dedicated to complaining. About George W. Bush, the weather, the in-laws, work. So many things. But all of that is a way of trying to avoid responsibility for one's own life, and it is definitely a way of avoiding joy. We are so much more powerful than we think we are, and there is so much more goodness in each of our lives than we are acknowledging. And if there isn't the goodness in our life that we want, the point is: we can choose differently. No, we don't have every choice in the world available to us. But we have a lot more choice than we are usually willing to admit."

Dang. I am going to choose differently this week. I am going to run right into the open arms of joy. Wanna come? 

What the Crap Wednesday

So, I'm not one for discipline, as you can tell from the random posting here, despite all my sincere intentions to post 8 days a week. And I'm not promising a new weekly "themed" post. Unless I feel like it. End preamble. Which was one of the answers on Jeopardy today in the category Crossword "P".

I also knew the questions/answers, "What is Carbon-14?" and "Who is Matthew Perry?" Why I knew that Carbon-14 was used to date fossils surprised me, for I am stringently opposed to all things math and chemistry related. Anyway... what the crap?

I started my day rolling out of bed at 8:20, the time I'm usually getting dressed and about to head out the door. I'm seriously sleep-deprived, and for some reason I just couldn't muster any sense of actually caring about my job in order to propel me to my feet at a decent time. I'm not sleeping. What the crap?

One of my 6 year old kids came up to me today while I was sitting on the floor, looked down my shirt, double fisted my breasts, and then turned around to his classmates rubbing his own chest vigorously and shouting something in Korean. What the crap?

Jun, one of my 6 year olds passed me in the hallway, tilted his head to the side, gave me a very cool look and said, "What's out, Danielle Teacher?" It took me a minute to realize that he was trying to say, "What's up?" I've been trying to teach my kids the whole "What's up/ Nothin' much" dialogue. Not so much for educational purposes as for my own personal entertainment. I also taught them the "Back it up/ back it up/ You got it/ You got it" bridge from the Gwen Stefani song Crash off her Love, Angel, Music, Baby album, using it whenever I want them to scoot back or move in that direction. Just for kicks. "What out, Danielle Teacher?" Awwwwwwww.... I mean...What the crap?

While we're on the topic of the short people, there is a boy in the 4 year old class who is now calling me Thank You Teacher. Usually at the end of every class, the Korean teachers make all the kids say, "Thank you Teacher!" And I'm not ever this kid's teacher because I keep my distance from the wee ones, but I do co-teach a special after-school class that he's in. So, instead of calling me Danielle Teacher, he calls me Thank You Teacher. "Thank You Teacher, look!" No matter how many times I tell him my name is Danielle, not Thank You, he insists on calling me that. What the crap? (Even though it's kind of cute. I'm becoming more and more immune to the cute. Call me insensitive if you want to. I call myself a teacher of small monsters. It happens.)

In other educational news, half the air-conditioners aren't working again. Specifically the one in the teacher's office, where I spend most of my day. Despite the fact that it's hot outside and I've already soaked the armpits of my shirt with pancake syrup (see previous post in order to insert inside joke type of snort here) by the time I've reached school, there is no hope for them to dry or for me to cool off when I am forced to spend half my time in The Oven. (Meghan, I'm making a sign tomorrow if it's not fixed and putting it on the door. It will read, Welcome to The Oven. Burn, Baby, Burn.) Also, this whole sweating all day thing totally makes my wearing-that-shirt-about-three-more-times-this-week-before-I-wash-it practice obsolete. Thus, costing me more time and money doing laundry. And I smell like deodorant all day. What the crap, Seoul Summer? What the crap?

Not a Wednesday incident, but still WTCW worthy. I was sitting next to Cuddle Ajumma the other day. Her friend was obviously lacking in her seat-stealing skills because she was standing in front of Cuddle Ajumma. It was almost my stop, so I thought I'd get up a little early and keep someone else from being attacked by this Less-Than-Expert Ajumma. I began to stand up, and before I had stood up all the way, Cuddle Ajumma scoots over INTO my seat, UP UNDERNEATH ME. I was basically sitting in her lap. Everybody say it with me now.... WHAT. THE. CRAP.

Anyone else out there having a What the Crap Wednesday?