Fright Night

I've never felt more like my mother than I did last night. I curled up in bed anticipating my next chapter in my recent book, and to my left on the night stand sat a perfectly poured glass of red wine. Now it's no secret that red wine and my mother are quite fond of one another, but it shocked me to my wits end as I took my first gulp of it. You see my mother does this thing when she drinks things, especially with wine. She takes a sip (extra-ordinarily loud mind you), and then she holds the liquid there for a good minute before she swallows it (again, extra-ordinarily loud). It drives me insane. I mean really, what do I care how long she holds her wine in her mouth? I have no idea, it just drives me nuts.

So I'm sitting there, about to indulge in a creepy book about a woman in a mental hospital (go figure eh?), and I realize that I've been holding the wine in my mouth for over a minute! I almost spit it out at the recognition of it, but my mother also told me never to waste wine. I swallowed it of course, savored it if you will. But the feeling was so bizarre and creepy, I sat there, back straight, for a good ten minutes trying to figure out how to defy all other inherit characteristics of becoming my mother. Nobody, and I don't care how wonderful a woman your mother is, nobody wants to become their mother. Bottom line.

Anywho, this brings me to my next random there is no point to this post, thought. This week is Halloween, and Friday we have some big event at school to put on for the kids. I absolutely love Halloween, but I hate dressing up. I like the pumpkins, the carving of the pumpkins, the scary stories and movies, the grave-yards, the haunted houses, the candy of course, I love it all. But I hate, hate, hate the amount of pressure there is to dress up and find a costume. We have to dress up at school "for the kids", which I'm reminded of daily. However, my kids are whimps. They're scared of Corduroy for pete's sake! I read them one of my all time favorite books as a child, Corduroy, and then had to spend the next week telling them that stuffed animals don't really come to life at night. Sweet Jesus that was a mistake.

I never realized how stressful Halloween was until I had to come up with costumes on my own. No wonder parents always hate Halloween. Lets face it, how many times has your mother thrown a sheet over you, wrapped an elastic around your neck and said, "Boo! You're a ghost." It's insanity. I ended up buying a kids pirate costume today, and hoping I can mangle it to fit me somehow without looking slutty.

I shouldn't complain really. I'm sure it'll be all fun and games when it's all said and done and Friday actually rolls around. The kids will be absurdly adorable in their costumes, and we'll play pin the tail on the black cat a million times. And maybe, just maybe, the mothers will send their kids to school with tons of candy for the teachers and I can self induce myself into a candy coma. Don't worry. I'll post pictures.

Happy Halloweenie everyone!

If I Could Turn Back Time....

...it would be to every Saturday morning for the past 25 years. Saturday mornings are why life is worth living. There is that moment when your eyes flicker open for a second on Saturday morning, and you realize you have absolutely nothing to do that day. And it feels perfect. You close your eyes again, thinking about going back to sleep for the rest of the day.  Heck, you might not even get out of bed until Sunday night. You're wrapped in a decadent cocoon of covers, snuggled so warmly around yourself. Everything is right in the world. There are no alarms going off, no thoughts of the shower or the dilemma of what to wear to work.

  I lay awake for awhile in bed on Saturday mornings; just staring about and wondering how much effort I'm really going to put in to making something out of the day. Most of the time I think about what to eat for breakfast, and whether or not I should make coffee or go out and treat myself to a latte. The feeling of a Saturday morning is pure happiness. And the only thing that actually gets me out of bed, is an urgency to pee (although I've highly considered wetting the bed on numerous occasions just so I don't have to move), and my growling stomach. But again, sleep trumps hunger, and I would choose sleep any day over food.

  This morning when my alarm went off I cursed the bloody thing twice, and pressed snooze a few more times. Monday mornings suck more than....well more than anything as far as I'm concerned. Monday's make me want to weep. If you know me, you know mornings (especially Monday mornings) are my nemesis.  The only thing that would make a Monday morning worse, is if I were at home and my mom was singing me her "Time to get up in the Morning" song.

Thank God tomorrow's Tuesday.

(p.s- Mom, on rare occasions I actually do miss when you sing that song, but not on Mondays. Sorry.)

I also searched for a good song about the hatred of Monday Mornings, but I could only find Fleetwood Mac's worth posting. Even though they don't seem to share the notion that Monday's are evil, but they still rock.

Koreans and Their Nonsensical Ways : Part II

Koreans are very nonsensical. I too, am very nonsensical, but in a way that makes sense. To me. Don't judge, just laugh.

1- I sometimes feel like I'm living in an episode of Mad Men. (Best show ever by the way.) Except a more modern, incredibly crude, Korean kinda version. The business men drink an inordinate amount of alcohol all day everyday, and well into the evening. It's not unusual to be walking down the street to see a business man passed out on the sidewalk, still in his shiny business suit, looking all business like. (Minus the pile of puke beside him, and the drool coming from his half opened mouth.)

2- Koreans are insane about recycling. I'm talkin' separate bins, separate boxes, color coded, every last bit can be saved, kind of recycling. But yet they insist on packaging things in a way that makes their recycling obsession almost double the work and effort it has to be. If I buy a box of crackers in the states, it's only a matter of tearing the box open and maybe tearing the inside plastic bag open before I'm wrist deep enjoying my Wheat Thins. However here, it takes several more steps before I actually get to eat the crackers. First you have to open the box. Second you see that there are actually four tiny little bags of crackers inside the box. Then you go to open the individual bag of crackers, only to find a little plastic cup you have to pull out to get to the crackers. By then I'm so fed up, it's almost comical that there are only three tiny, limp, crackers sitting atop their plastic bed waiting for me to eat them.

3- Okay, I have to touch on what the women wear again. Some of the women dress so exquisite that I instantly turn into a Mexican construction worker, bring two fingers to my mouth, and let a whistle rip. But some of the women, my oh my, I can't for the life of me figure out what's going on in their little, overly worked minds. It seems anything goes. Matching is a term used quite loosely here. Stripes go with polka dots, checks go with Mickey Mouse, socks go with sandels. I saw a woman the other day wearing a fur coat on her top half, and the shortest jean shorts known to man. I wanted to scream at her, "which is it lady?! WINTER OR SUMMER?!"

4- Red lights are optional. In fact, traffic lights in general serve no actual purpose in Korea. I'll be waiting patiently for the little green man to give me the a-okay to cross the street, only to look over and see an ajuma and her visor pulled so far down her face she can hardly see, speeding down the street directly at me. I try to scream, "Ma'am! You're running a red light!" But she doesn't care, only speeds right past me 20 mph too fast, swerving to miss the other adjuma who has run the red light on the other side.

5- The kids I have in my class, are for the most part adorable. And with the absurd obsession with name brands here, the mothers send their kids to school dressed head to toe in brands like Burberry, Prada, Coach, Dolce and Cabana. Some of the outfits these kids wear to school, cost more than I make in a matter of three months. Trust me, I've googled it. It makes me want to scream because you know what we do in PRESCHOOL? We paint. And we run around outside in the playground. And we glue. And we eat red colored kimchi flavored everything. How do I say, "I'm sorry, but your child's $500 shirt that they wore to school today is completely ruined do to the massive amount of paint and gluing we did today", in Korean again?

I think this is sufficient enough for a second-parter in the nonsensical Koreans list. I should really write some of these down, because more often in not during the day I'm frantically looking around looking for another foreigner so that we can share a, "wtf?" moment. But for now I have lesson planning to do for the week ahead. :)

Late Night Jibberish

Worry stricken once again at 1 am, here I am trying to piece together the thoughts that are taking over my mind tonight.

I often lie in bed at night with a plethora of thoughts that spin around in my head so fast and so continuously, it's only a matter of time before I give in and feverishly write something else on my "To Do" list for tomorrow, or finish that last chapter, write another blog entry, or email that friend I haven't responded to in months. I sometimes try to remember what I dreamt of the night before, and think about how strange my dreams have been lately. Have you ever noticed that remembering dreams is almost like a curse? I seem to remember my dreams, down to the very last detail, and can be thinking of them from time to time throughout the day. But when I go to actually write down, or tell a co-worker of my dream on the walk to work, it's like the words are unavailable. No matter how long I can sit there and remember perfectly what had occurred in the dream, when it comes time to actually tell about the dream the words just don't make any sense. It's as if the words have not yet been invented in the English language.

Dreams are more often than not a topic my brain usually turns to in the quiet hours. I'm beginning to think that dreams are seducing me in such a way, that if I were given a choice to spend the rest of my time in my dreams or my reality, I would absolutely choose my dreams.

Many of my dreams are about a person I used to share my life with. I sometimes wish right before I close my eyes that I do not dream of this person, because when I wake up and realize what I have dreamt, I am inevitably sad. I know that one day I will no longer dream of this person, and at least my heart will rest. Some of my dreams are spent in countries I have not yet visited, and of people I have not yet met.

My daydreams have been consumed with one question the last few weeks. Is this all there is? Is this as good as it gets at this point in time, in Korea, at 25 years old? I realize that was more like three or four questions, but you get the idea. I have been able to realize that when I begin to ask myself these questions, I know it is time to go. It is time for the next destination, the next stage, the next adventure, the next country. Is it that I am not satisfied here? Is it that I always believe the next destination will more than likely satisfy me more than my previous one? What exactly will it take to satisfy me?

I don't think Korea is the place for me. But I still have a few months left here so I have to make it work somehow. It's not that I'm unhappy here, I'm quite content. But something is not fluid about my life here, this can't be all that there is. I was told once that I have too high of expectations, and maybe that's true, but my high expectations are what drive me to be a better person, a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend.

For now I will try to be in the moment as much as my mind, and this country will let me. I hope that soon, my dreams and my next adventure will become a reality.