Barbie, Random Frat Boy, and the Bank Card Incident

I have a Frat Boy problem. Even when I’m not making the effort to seek them out, they end up right beside me. Usually at the bar. Sometimes on the train. It’s a bloody curse! This isn’t to mark all Frat Boys as necessarily bad. I have befriended many a Frat Boy who happen to be splendid individuals. And by many, I mean two. The rest seem to have this tendency to indulge in beer while seeking copious amounts of ass and boasting questionable morals. This toxic combination often results in a gross abundance of serious douche–baggery. The following scenarios have been known to occur to one too many Frat Boys:

1) Running out on the bill at a Korean restaurant. This is roughly equivalent to ordering a Happy Meal at McDonalds, snatching the bag from your server prior to paying them, and then running off in a fit of giggles. In fact, shenanigans of this nature are likely why McDonald’s makes you pay immediately after ordering.
2) Trying to pick up the “hot” bartender, who is hardly pushing a 4 to those lacking beer goggles. Failing miserably. Find yourself in disbelief that she was able to resist your telling her how ample her chest looked in that shirt. Drown your sorrows in tequila. Pass out in the washroom stall. Wake up in a pool of your own vomit.
3) Leaving your debit cards with other people and then wondering why on earth somebody else has their bank card. Proceed to engage in a physical scrap over the matter with somebody who has no idea who you or the person with your bank card is. When the person with your bank card offers to give it back, utilize your caveman-like vocabulary to harass them via text message.

While there are an infinite number of equally absurd possibilities here, today I shall focus on scenario number 3.

The Plan for this past weekend had been to stay home to relax, watch movies, clean, and a whole lot of nothing else. The Plan did not come to fruition. It never does, which is precisely why I should never plan anything. Much to my dismay, a friend is leaving Korea this week, so Saturday was planned as her Official Last Night Out. It would have been blasphemous to not attend. I compromised with The Plan by telling myself – and anybody willing to listen - that it would be an early night.

Just before 3am I found myself at this all-you-can-drink-for-15-dollars spot on the other side of town from where I live. Most of the people I had come with were getting ready to hop to midtown. One of my friends who wasn’t feeling terribly well had been pounding the water for about half an hour and decided that it would be best to get a cab with me back towards Western Busan. Just one more more cup of water first. I waited at the bar with her to see if I could also swing a plastic bag for her in the cab “just in case”. In the midst of waiting, I was approached by a Frat Boy. Who else approaches me? I apparently have Frat Boy Friendly Pheromones (if I ever release my own perfume, I’m totally calling it that). As a result of my Frat Boy Friendly Pheromones, I had to endure the following dialogue:

Random Frat Boy (RFB): Hiya. How’s your night going?
Me: It’s just about to end
RFB: Too bad. It’s early go-ins!
Me: Yeah
RFB: Hey, do you watch America’s Top Model?
Me: Uh… no?
RFB: You totally look like the girl on Top Model. Has anybody ever told you that before?
Me: Uh… no?
RFB: Oh, yeah, for sure. You totally do.
Me: Which season?
RFB: Huh?
Me: Which season of Top Model does this look alike of mine happen to be on? There have been something like 37 seasons of that program.
RFB: Uh, I’m not sure. Your long black hair is totally like hers
Me: My hair is brown.
RFB: … and your face… very similar features …
Me: Uh huh. So, I’m leaving now. My friend is sick.
RFB: Here, take down my number. When you see that you look JUST like the Top Model girl, you can call me.
Me: I’ll be sure to do that.
RFB: How about some shots?
Me: Dude, I’m leaving. My friend…
RFB: Take a shot to go!
Me: Ah, what the Hell.

RFB proceeds to try to pay for said shots with his bank card. In order to understand how incredibly stupid is, one needs to realize that this is not North America where people live and die by their debit card. Most places, especially bars, will only accept cash. Despite this, RFB is stunned to learn that his card won’t go through. He demands that the bar tender try again. Two more failed attempts and he advises me that he’ll be “right back”, and then disappears into the crowd. In his absence the bar tender passes me his bank card.

Five minutes pass. I bore of waiting for him, so I pay the tab. In the midst of searching for my friend who is taking the taxi with me, I forget that I have his bank card. Five minutes into the taxi ride home and I remember. Damn. Not only did I end up with some RFB’s phone number, but now I actually had to use it! I text him to let him know that I have his bank card and will arrange for him to get it back ASAP. A flurry of ridiculous texts from this himbo later and the following is established:

1) He has no recollection of stiffing me with the bar tab.
2) This is largely because he has no recollection whatsoever of having met me. That was soooo 25 minutes ago!
3) He either thinks that I’ve stolen his bank card or am one of his buddy’s messing with him.
4) Within the 25 minutes since I saw him last, he’s managed to get a black eye while fighting somebody over his “stolen” bank card. Presumably this other person is a moron, too.
5) Despite having no idea who I am and having made it very clear that he’s already gotten into fist cuffs over this very issue tonight, he’d like for me to meet him Right Now so that he can have his card back.

I advise him that I’m going to bed and he can have it back in the morning. As prompt as he is bright, I hear from him again around 3 in the afternoon. After establishing that I have a vagina and did not actually steal his bank card, he suggests that we met later that night. I inform him that I’m happy to give him his card back and ask where the best area of town to meet would be. I received no response and have not heard from him since.

Thank God.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still welcome to have his card back. I’m not a bad person. I told him that I had the card immediately after noticing I had left the bar with it. I genuinely felt badly about the entire thing. I just think that it’s absolutely fantastic that I didn’t actually have to meet him again. God willing, he’s probably already replaced the card by now and forgotten about the entire thing.

Big White Barbie: 131231242343
Random Frat Boy: 0

Barbie, Mr Soju Man and the Super Ajumma

Ever since learning my first Korean curse word about 6 weeks ago, I’ve been very successful in warding off obnoxiously drunken Soju Men. That I know any Korean whatsoever seems to catch them off guard. That I know offensive Korean is even more blasphemous. The brief moment that they take to mend their mind, after hearing me curse at them in Korean has blown it to smithereens, is just time enough for me to brush passed them unscathed. No more sharing phone booths for you, Soju Man! Unfortunately, there are occasions when even I’m not crass enough to curse loudly in public. This is where I found myself last Saturday.

I was minding my own business as I waited out the subway ride from Deokcheon to Sasang, on my way to meet some friends for some fantastic Indian Food at this bloody fantastic Indian Restaurant beside the E-Mart. One stop prior to Sasang, a very drunken Mr Soju Man boarded my subway car. Oh, goody! Being the drunken Mr Soju Man that he was, he immediately started getting in the face of the first person that he stumbled upon. As there were only about 6 people on my car, it didn’t take him long to notice me sitting a few meters up the car from his current conquest. Mr Soju Man makes a bee-line for me and immediately starts getting right in my face, trying to put his hands on my shoulders, etc. I respond to this by shoving him backwards and kindly suggesting that I wasn’t interested in becoming his friend. Mr Soju Man didn’t quite understand that I really didn’t want to be his friend, so this shoving match continued for a short while. I finally tired of this and ran up the subway car in hopes of switching cars.

The other 5 people on the car consisted of an elderly woman (from here on out known as Super Ajumma), two middle aged women, and two men that were probably in their 20’s. While I’ve never felt particularly comfortable cursing in front of seniors in the first place, I would consider it even more inappropriate to do so in Korea. Here, seniors are actually awarded with the utmost respect, unlike the complete disdain that seems to be considered acceptable back in Canada Land. Hence, despite there having never been an opportunity more fitting to showcase my growing Korean vocabulary, my audience prohibited me from doing so. This is one of the few times in life when having been raised well does not necessarily come in handy.

As I raced up the length of the car in the hopes of switching to the next one, I found myself unable to move the door between cars. Fantastic. I was either on the one subway line that doesn’t allow you to switch cars, or I was simply on the one car in all of Busan that had a fixed door. Or perhaps I just can't open doors anymore? Either way, I was buggered. Mr Soju Man had followed closely behind me and was now flailing his arms around and rambling nonsensically. I shoved him out of the way again and started to walk the length of the car again. At this point I had concluded that I was going to have to hit Mr Soju Man in order to prevent continued harassment. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of hitting a man in front of somebody’s grandmother, nor was I keen on being arrested or deported. Thankfully it didn’t come to this, as Super Ajumma was there to save the day.

As I passed by Super Ajumma, she took my arm and guided me to sit down across from her, with the two other women on the train. She then swiftly whirled around, grabbed Mr Soju Man by the arm, and started chewing him out. Mr Soju Man failed to appreciate that he was dealing with a Super Ajumma, and actually had the audacity to yap back! Unacceptable! Super Ajumma raised her voice another notch, continued to chew him out, and then promptly shoved him towards the other set of seats. He sat down meekly, put his head down, and finally shut up. Super Ajumma took the seat beside me, patted me on the knee, and told me that she was sorry for his behaviour. I thanked her 100 times before getting off at Sasang.

Super Ajumma is a true hero.

I hoped dearly that Mr Soju Man would stay on the train and rushed upstairs, where I found my friends waiting. I immediately explained to them what had just happened. I was a little bit shaken up, but thanks to Super Ajumma I wasn’t fairing too badly. Before I could complete the story, Jack looks behind me and says: “you mean that drunken Korean, the skinny guy taking his shirt off over there?” Sure enough, there was Mr Soju Man, taking off his clothing in the middle of the subway station. He went for the pants but thankfully thought better of it. Upon seeing even more foreigners, he made a beeline for us. I presume that even in his drunken state he realized how difficult it would be to play Chase After Foreigners with his pants around his ankles. We scattered, which seemed to irritate him. Didn’t we understand that he was our new friend?!?!

Eventually we made it out of the subway station unscathed. The last we saw of Mr Soju Man he was headed into the bathroom. Probably for a nap; I hear that public bathrooms are a fantastic place to put your head down for a few.

Barbie Teacher Is Schooled on the "Sea of Japan”

Every Monday and Wednesday I have the challenge of starting my day with screaming 6 year olds and ending it with a small group of men and women in their 30’s. I actually prefer the 6 year olds; they require significantly less work. The students look bored? Easy. Put on a stupid face or make them repeat some random English word three times fast. Laughter ensues. Problem solved. In my adult class, I actually have to put together handouts and what not so that we have extra material to fall back on if the Topic of the Day is a flop. In other words, I have to do work. Work! Totally not what I came here for! As a result, I like my younger classes best because they require the least work. That said, when I can overlook the fact that I’m a lazy twerp, I realize than I learn more about Korea during my discussions with the adult class. All that work creating vocabulary lists and discussion questions (*cough* ten minutes *cough*) is not for naught!

I arrive to each of my adult classes with a Topic of the Day prepared for discussion. The accompanying handout, which is hastily throw together between sessions of facebook and ass scratching during break, is comprised of an introduction to the Topic of the Day, relevant vocabulary, discussion questions, and related articles. When I first started leading these classes I didn’t actually bother to prepare anything whatsoever, because I had no bloody clue what the heck I was doing. Four months later and I’ve smartened up. Barbie Teacher learns quickly! Or possibly just overlooks the obvious for an inexcusably long time before finally acting like Normal People.

The Topic of the Day for the first Monday back from the Chinese New Year was “Natural Disasters”. The previous Monday I had been totally lacking in inspiration and actually selected “Weather” as the Topic of the Day. To me, discussing the weather for an hour is incredibly painful. Surprisingly, they were actually interested. On one hand, this was fantastic. On the other, it was Total Balls since it meant that I couldn’t just change the topic in the middle of class to something that sucked slightly less.

At some point during the “Natural Disaster” discussion, I was talking to my students about how being on the Sea of Japan rather than right on the ocean makes a difference in regards to some weather-hooey. Whatever the Hell point it was that I was trying to make totally died when I uttered: “the Sea of Japan”. One of the men turned his nose up, glanced my way with more than just a touch of disdain, and advised me that the correct name is “the Sea. Just ‘the Sea’” (I looked this up later and determined that South Korea has fought to have it internationally known as “The East Sea”, not “Just ‘the Sea’”… but whatever, we’ll give him a pass). It was at this point that I remembered reading something, months ago, about how Koreans absolutely abhor that anybody refers to this body of water as “the Sea of Japan”. I presume that the underlying issue here is that after hundreds of years of bloody, bloody battles and some outright ass kickings from their not-always-so-friendly neighbor, some Koreans are a little displeased that the body of water which the entire east side of their country borders bears the name of their former bully. Understandable.

I apologized profusely for my blunder, and then proceeded to blame the entire thing on the United States. They nodded and took this as an acceptable passing-of-the-buck. Thankfully, nobody sought further explanation as to why this was the fault of the United States, as I had none to offer.

Barbie Teacher Makes Elephant Student Cry

Children.

Do they make sense to anybody but themselves? Do they even make sense to themselves? Do they actually differ from us so-called-grownups in this regard?

I have a student in one of my intermediate courses who almost certainly has undiagnosed ADHD. Despite being a massive pain in the ass, he’s actually one of my favourite students. Chase Student is smart as Hell and has never been directly rude to me; he just can’t sit still and STFU when his work is finished. Over the past few months I’ve developed strategies that help keep him busy, and thus quiet. Yet sometimes, in spite of my efforts, he still manages to get himself into trouble.

On Friday, Chase Student decided that it would be a fantastic idea to adorn his workbook with a ridiculous moniker; he proudly wrote “Chase(lephant)” on the cover at the beginning of class. As you might expect, the other students began referring to him as “Chase elephant”. After about 5 minutes of this atrociously inaccurate reading of what was clearly meant to be a one-word moniker, I advised the children that they were going about it all wrong! He hadn’t written “Chase elephant”; he had written “Chaselephant”! One word! Not two! This created a very slight, yet distinct change in pronunciation. It would have been irresponsible of Barbie Teacher not to teach this.

After enduring five minutes of the students stressing the correct syllables in “Chaselephant”, Chase Student started to get a little bit upset. He pouted. He refused to do his work when Barbie Teacher asked him to do so. Something had to be done! I took Chase Student’s book and calmly asked him to join me in the hallway. I advised the other children to work on their assignment and stop calling him “Chaselephant”. In the hallway, out of the eyes of the other children, Chase Student leaned against the wall and sobbed. “Teacher, I’m just so angry!”

I hate it when people cry. Especially children. Even children who are crying because other people are calling them by a moniker which only exists because they wrote it o their own workbook. This kid was actually expressing sorrow over the fact that a moniker, which he had created for himself and purposefully drawn attention to, had caught on. Who does that? I'm not even sure that "but Rebecca, he's 10!" passes as an an adequate explanation here. Regardless, as I'm still a human being with empathy and a job to do, I patted Chase Student on the back (because you’re totally allowed to do that in this country), promised him that I’d make sure the other children would cease calling him “Chaselephant”, and told him that he could have 5 minutes to go get some water and settle down.

Chase Student returned to class as chipper as can be, showing no signs of having broken down earlier. He promptly erased the “(lephant)” from his workbook, so that just “Chase” remained. Mercifully, the other children actually listened to Barbie Teacher and did not once utter “Chaselephant” for the rest of the period. This was perhaps in part because Barbie Teacher had warned them that the second somebody let the moniker slip, Game Time was over.

Chase Student, putting the S back in Special.

Barbie Teacher, the consummate professional.

Barbie Declares Barbie Broken.

There’s a point at which that one has to drop all their defenses and just fucking own up to the fact that they’re not okay. I almost did that on New Year’s. I’m fully doing it right now. I’m not okay. I will be okay, but I’m currently not okay. Not even a little bit.

There is a reason that I occasionally refer to Korea as LaLa Land. Canada Land is this far off place that I intermittently refer to as The Real World. In my mind, it’s a place that was supposed to remain frozen in time. Prior to my departure, I carefully distributed “Nothing of Note is to Happen until October 2008” flyers. Sadly, I didn’t do this nearly thoroughly enough. As it turns out, sometimes three and a half months is a long time. Sometimes, some things do change.

My residency in La La Land gives me the option of whether or not I want to deal with those things that are changing back home. Since my arrival in Korea three and a half months ago, some things back home have…. apparently… changed. The memos, people! Why didn’t you all get the fucking memo? Christ.

A life long friend of mine found out that she was pregnant about a month after I left. In case you hadn’t noticed by now that the sun rises in the east, I am grossly self centred. Hence, my initial reaction to this was: “Dude! I’m going to miss the whole thing!” I later dealt with this by getting inappropriately drunk in Daegu and making what should probably be considered as regrettable decisions. I mean, I still have a kidney infection to show for it! Months later! Damn you, bacteria. Damn you.

Perspective is a funny thing. I would have been just fucking dandy if my life-long friend getting pregnant was going to the biggest change to happen back home while I was in Korea. But, again: the memos! They weren’t evenly distributed! The memo distribution system is broken!

I found out Sunday morning that another friend of mine has passed away.

Passed. A. Fucking. Way.

Are you kidding me? That only happens to other people! Like, people I know sometimes know other people who died. I don’t know people who die. This has sort of been a rule of mine for, well, life. And frankly, it’s worked out fantastically for me. Not having to deal with death has been wonderful!

I don’t mean to minimize the deaths within the family that have occurred during my lifetime; I was just too young to have the privilege to have built any serious rapport with my uncle, aunt or grandmother. So, while their deaths were deeply moving events that touched many of those who are close to me, they were relatively easy for me to deal with; as far as these things can be, that is. I also don’t mean to minimize past deaths of a couple acquaintances, whom happened to be very close to friends of mine. I was certainly affected by both of those events. It’s just that I didn’t truly appreciate what it’s like to lose a friend whom you have some sort of history or rapport with until it happened to me.

And now it’s happened to me.

I’m not going to eulogize or act as if I was any closer to the deceased than is reality. While it’s come to my attention throughout the years that many people do this, that’s just not how I roll. That’s not my grieving style. Or something. Frankly, I’m not sure what my grieving style is.

I first received news after returning to Busan from a 12-hour Daegu party night. It was 10:30 in the morning. I napped. I tried to get really into a tennis match when I woke up later. It was the Australian Open Final. Novak bloody Djokovic, my second favourite player (behind the mighty Nadal, of course), was on the brink of his first Grand Slam title. And I didn’t care. I tried to care. I really did. This is generally the sort of thing that has me sitting directly in front of the television screen and fist-pumping over amazing points. Those of you haven’t been exposed to Tennis Fan Barbie maybe grossly confused to learn that she occasionally embraces her inner jock in this manner, but it totally happens! I followed up the match with some coffee with a friend. I had to get out of the apartment. I felt tears and didn’t want them to flow. The next day was my first day of the work week. I decided that there was no time like Monday night to go drinking until 4am. Prior to meeting a couple of my Busan friends, both of whom have somehow avoided a tacky Barbie nickname, I purchased nail polish from 4 different stores. Within 15 minutes. I don’t even like painting my nails.

And now it’s Tuesday. Okay, it's actually Wednesday at this point. Whatever. I went out drinking. Again. With the same friends, plus two. Among other things, they put up with my whipping out the obituary over drinks. Who does that? Apparently I do. I received an email at work today with the obituary attached. I printed it off, put it in my purse, and glanced at it over drinks at the bar. Who does that? I’m not really sure what else to do with it at this point. Do I leave it in my purse? Throw it out? Put it with my other important papers at my apartment? Somehow, it’s easiest to just leave it in my purse.

Given my lack of experience when it comes to dealing with death, I’m unsure as to where exactly I’m supposed to go from here. Do I reevaluate? Didn’t I just fucking do that at New Year’s? Do I reevaluate again? I chatted with the friend who passed away just one week ago, and we both concluded that what I was currently doing was awesome. I am living my life to the fullest, more or less. I should probably take better care of my health and not lean on the bottle for support so much. Aside from that, I’m not sure which way to lean.

I will find a way. Somewhere, there is Direction just waiting for me to find it. Right? Of course.

Big White Barbie Doesn't Do Sick; Only Denial

I followed up another weekend trip to Daegu with another visit to the hospital. For once, these two things were unrelated. Well, this particular trip to Daegu was not the root cause of the hospital visit. I hadn’t felt like my usual fantastic self for at least a couple of weeks, what with the nagging chest pains and all, but decided that rest was for quitters and went to Daegu anyways. No! I wasn’t sick! Everything was A-OK! Yes, I’m a little bit of thick. “25 Wise Choices for a Healthier Lifestyle” is not a title that I’m likely to author; possibly because that would be a terrible title, and I refuse to associate myself with anything less than awesome. Self Help books tend to have awful titles and be significantly less than awesome. More on how I hate Self Help books another day.

This past weekend’s excuse for going to Daegu was a birthday party for a friend of mine. She was actually more of a friend’s friend, but I happen to consider every other whitey in Korea my new best friend for life. Hence, my not attending would have been grossly inappropriate. I had decided that I would make an appearance sometime after dinner and then disappear sometime after 3am. Unless “taking a nap at 9am on somebody’s couch” can pass for “sometime after 3am”, I deviated from The Plan.

The Plan had been to make Friday a relatively early night so that I’d be fresh for the ice skating plans which had been arranged for Saturday, after which I was to return to Busan for dinner and a trip to the hospital. I had accepted that I needed to go to the hospital; I just didn’t consider it to be an urgent matter. Surely that surging pain on the upper left side would take care of itself after a few beers, right? So, as per usual, The Plan and I did not see eye to eye. Something had to give. I never lose, so The Plan had to go.

I was woken up around 11am by a new Daegu friend, who was calling to see if I was interested in grabbing some lunch. I most certainly would have been up for lunch if I hadn’t already made plans to go ice skating at that time. I am always up for lunch! I’m rarely up for ice skating. I certainly wasn’t up for ice skating when The Hoover called me at 11:30am to see if I was still coming. So, I ignored the vibrations of my cell and continued my pathetic slumber. The Hoover had suggested the night before that I might end up being too hung over to join. While she was probably right, I wasn’t in the mood to be That Drunk this weekend. So, when the clock struck 12 I rolled over, glared at it for a moment, and then rolled off the couch. Then I moved three feet over to a chair and sent The Hoover a text to indicate that I was So! Totally! Up! For! Skating! A hobo-shower later and this slumber eventually made its way into a cab downtown to meet The Hoover.

Ice skating! It was going to happen! And it totally did! Somehow it slipped my mind until I was standing on the ice that I had really never bothered to learn how to skate during my youth. I stood there gingerly for a moment before remembering that I will always have my remarkable athletic talents to fall back on. These “remarkable athletic talents” which I refer to are also known by fans of hockey and figure skating as “the boards”.

Somehow my folly ice skating venture became coffee, which in turn became dinner. By the time I returned to the core of Daegu it was almost 7:30pm. My options at this point were to catch the train home and just see a bloody doctor already, or wait until 9:30 to have coffee with SGTF then see how the rest of the night played out. Given that the former would have been the wise choice, I decided that continuing to ignore my ailing chest pains would be the best course of action. Going to the hospital is for sick people! I wasn’t sick!

When I finally left Daegu at 6am Sunday morning, I wished that I had accepted something was wrong and simply gone to the hospital a week earlier. Even then, I still wasn’t quite ready to find out what was eating me. Upon returning to my apartment in Busan I did the next best thing to going to the hospital: I slept. All day. It was fantastic. And how was that nagging chest pain after a solid 8 hour nap? Still there, now working its way around to the back. Fantastic!

Multiple posts on my multiple hospital visits this week will follow, whenever it is that I’m not too tired to write them.

Big White Barbie, The Boss Man, and the Heating Incident

The Boss Man decided that a highly effective means of boosting employee morale would be to announce that all staff meals are to be eaten in the only room in the building without a functioning heater. We had abandoned this classroom in early November for this very reason.

My school, also known as “Barbie Hagwon”, stretches between two buildings. The first building is where the office and abandoned classroom are. The second building houses the remaining classrooms and a common room, all of which have semi-functioning heaters. Now, moving us to the common room would have made a good deal of sense. To me. And only me, apparently. Despite there being no more than 2-3 classes going on simultaneously after 6pm, The Boss Man decided that instead of using one of other 4 classrooms or the common room, that it’s about damn time we start using that other classroom again! You know, the one with the broken heater! While I understand his desire to not let an entire freezing room go to waste, I don’t quite follow how this led him to conclude that there is no time like the present to start spending more time in there. I was thinking that it might be a nice spot to start keeping my drinks. But no! The heater will fix itself! Right?

Due to the monumental stupidity of this idea, I decided that I would start going to the kimbap restaurant down the street for dinner. Unfortunately, this will only fly Monday and Wednesday when I have a two hour break between my evening classes. I advised the secretary to tell The Boss Man that I would no longer be coming in to work 45 minutes before class on the other days. Given that I spend the first half hour of that eating my lunch, scratching my ass, and posing as the Requisite White Face, it now makes more sense to pass on the take-out and just eat my meal in the restaurant before work. It’s been my observation that restaurants tend to have heated rooms. The secretary giggled and advised me that he was working on the heating issue. Colour me unconvinced.

The first Monday that we were ordered to eat in The Cold Room I went down the street to eat as planned. Upon my return, I found that the office smelled suspiciously like kimchi. I asked one of my coworkers how eating in The Cold Room went; this was my passive-aggressive way of asking why they weren’t eating in The Cold Room. It’s been my finding that this is far more effective than the more direct approach that I’m accustomed to. My coworker advised me that they had started their meal in The Cold Room, but in the midst of enjoying a delicious meal of whatever-they-were-eating, the heater apparently fell off the wall and nearly took one of them out on the way down. Imagine my surprise! I did my best to conceal that I was dying laughing on the inside and ensured that nobody had been knocked out or lit on fire. My coworker assured me that everybody was just dandy and that the heating issue had since been resolved.

Colour me unconvinced.

Big White Barbie: 2
The Boss Man: -1

Unfortunately, even though I was entirely correct that eating in The Cold Room was an absolutely ridiculous plan, it's The Boss Man's hagwon. Hence, he gets the final say on these matters, so the ridiculous plan will continue to be implemented. Until the building goes up in flames or somebody is fatally wounded, that is. His inability to admit he was mistaken and come up with a better plan has resulted in him being deducted a point on the Big White Barbie Scoreboard.

Barbie Doesn't Actually Do Busan

Yet.

To add to my growing collection of atrocious habits, I’ve more or less stopped spending my weekends in Busan. In addition to drinking excessively, spending impulsively, and regularly referring to myself in the third person, I seem to have developed a serious Daegu problem. I can’t actually recall the last week that didn’t somehow involve my ending up there. I believe that it was early December. It’s getting to the point that a couple members of my diminishing pool of friends in Busan have actually asked to join me in Daegu for the weekend; as if really awesome things actually go down there or something. If only it were that simple.

Prior to my days as Big White Barbie, I lived a rather meager existence in a rather meager small town. It was your typical Southern Ontario hockey town (it probably still is, but as far as I’m concerned nothing actually happens or exists when I’m not a part of it). For every beer-league hockey player trying to grope you at the bar, there was a glorious mullet eyeing you up on the city bus. The only demographic more represented than white trash were the elderly. Every other corner sported an old age home. Right around the corner from that one could usually find a group home of some sort. The most exciting thing that happened to the city in my lifetime was probably the flood of 2004; that or hosting the Memorial Cup in 1996. In other words, Barbie’s hometown is pretty fucking vanilla.

I am positively Small Town. One of my friends in Busan scoffs at me when I say this, rolls her eyes and says: “Upper Canadians”. Apparently a population of 75 000 can only be classified as a small town in Canada if you live in Southern Ontario. Well, excuse me. I can’t help it if the rest of Canada is broken. On the flip side, Busan is a very large city. Variety is plentiful here; just about anything I could want to eat or buy can be found. Should I wish to make more foreign friends, Busan boasts several different areas where I can easily find other Talking Monkeys. Several. Different. Areas. There lies the problem. You mean that I have to go to different areas of town?! And that some parts of town are dead on certain nights of the week? And… and… there are actually people that refuse to leave their part of town, because they happen to think that Haeundae/ Kyungsung University/ Pusan National University/ Seomyeon is such a Big Deal that it’s the only part of Busan worth spending any time in? Lame. Count me out.

Enter Daegu.

Boasting a population of nearly 2.5 million, Daegu is not by any stretch of the imagination a small town. Yet, unlike Busan, Daegu actually has one well defined central commercial core. As a result of this, the foreigner community in Daegu is far more tightly knit than Busan’s. The second time that I went to Daegu I recognized numerous people that I had met the last time I was there. I can socialize in Busan for weeks and not have this happen, should I so desire. While it’s occasionally beneficial to duck people, it’s not something that I’m really accustomed to doing. Being Small Town Girl and all, I’m used to running into every undesirable personality that I’ve ever come across, each and every time I leave the house. There is comfort in familiarity; even if that familiarity is occasionally unsavory.

Essentially, my Daegu Problem began with the comfort I found from the small-town feel that I get from Daegu. Combine this with the fact that I’ve now established a really good group of female friends there, and The Daegu Problem doesn’t appear to have an end in sight.

Until the Summer, that is. And by Summer, I mean Spring. Busan has 23423 beaches. As soon as it's hot enough to dress inappropriately and jump in, I'm there. At that point I’m going to have to get used to the idea of my friends sleeping on my floor. It’s the least I can do after months of crashing with them in Daegu. I might even be nice and get them a floor mat thingy! Maybe. Hospitality has never been one of my strong points, years of employment in customer service be damned.

So, until the weather gets hot, the title of my blog is a total farce. Aside from my moniker, of course. So long as I'm in Korea, I will always be Big White Barbie.

Barbie Receives January Hours; Has a Conniption

Every month I receive a new class schedule from The Boss Man. More often than not it looks eerily similar to the last. Until this month, that is. Public schools in Korea are closed for holidays until after the Lunar New Year in February. Yet, enrollment at my hagwon is down slightly from the past two months. The other “native English speaker” at my school is no longer working for us. The result? My hours for the month of January are total balls.

I have previously boasted about how awesome it is to get paid full-time for a part-time gig. I used to spend 25-30 hours per week at my school, thanks largely to my classes falling back-to-back-to-back rather than slipping between numerous breaks. This month, The Boss Man decided that it would be awesome to give me two breaks on Mondays and Wednesdays, with two hours falling between my second to last and last classes on each of these days. Rather than spending 5-7 hours per day at work, I now have to spend 8-9 hours. Except on Fridays, where I get off an hour earlier in exchange for showing up to teach yet another room of 5 year old Munchkins. Needless to say, I am less than thrilled with this arrangement. 8-9 hour work days? Are you fucking kidding me? Who works these kinds of hours?! Shut up, Canada. This is exactly why we broke up. If I wanted a real job with real hours I wouldn’t have degraded myself to the level of Talking Monkey and come to Korea in the first place.

Fortunately, other people associated with my hagwon are far more screwed than I am. Because it’s perfectly natural and healthy to find comfort in knowing that other people’s lives suck considerably more than yours! The other “native English speaker” at my school is, as it was initially explained to me, “no longer with us”. After about five minutes of digging I determined that she was actually fired, apparently as a result of low enrollment. One of these days I may point out that “she is no longer with us” is a grossly inappropriate way of delivering this news. Regardless, she was probably fired at least in part for being confrontational and taking a week off to go to Seoul in December. The reality of Korea is that she’s not White, so it’s much harder for her to pull that stuff off; especially when she’s only part time, and not the only “native English speaker”. That and this was just one of several jobs that she was floating. Probably illegally. A pity that she’s gone, as I was planning on using that as collateral should The Boss man ever try to pull anything shifty my way. The Boss Man has his reasons for not being amused at the thought of his Big White Barbie going to the Ministry of Labour. Now, one of those reasons is gone. Sniff.

While this had nothing to do with her firing, her credentials as a “native English speaker” are highly doubtful to anybody that actually has an ear for the language. In other words, I’m the only one in the building that could possibly have picked up on this. Apparently I’m the only one in several buildings that noticed, or she wouldn’t have been floating three different jobs. Let’s just say that there is no where in the English speaking world that one develops an accent like hers. When I first met her, she informed me that she was from Oregon, just outside of Portland. I immediately wanted to call bullshit on this, but thought better of it. It was my first week and it was probably not best to stir the pot with the only other “native English speaker” in the building. I have it stuck in my head that she speaks English with a faint Russian accent, but the truth is that I haven’t a clue what the origins of her accent are. I just know that it sure as fuck isn’t the USA. Or Canada. Or anywhere else that English is the predominant language.

As if Native English Speaker getting fired wasn’t enough to make me feel better about my craptacular hours this month, it turns out that all of the teachers whom haven’t been fire yet are totally screwed too! Isn’t that fantastic? They’re even more fucked than I am! My Korean co-teachers, who already work 5 times harder than I do, have to pick up the slack that is left from Native English Teacher’s departure. I generally teach far more classes than they do. This month, they’re teaching the same number of classes. So while I sit around on break and between classes, marveling at the ease of being a Talking Monkey for Hire, they are busy prepping, calling parents, and grading. Despite my being a total dick at the moment and taking comfort in their misery, I do feel badly for them. I sincerely hope that The Boss Man hires another teacher for next month so that my poor coworkers and friends don’t get burnt out.

The long and the short of this is that my January is going to be total balls. I have to get up earlier, stay at the school longer, and even pull the occasional Saturday. The good news is that the Lunar New Year is right around the corner, at which point I will have a full 5 days off to act like a complete moron again. I didn’t do that nearly enough during my first winter vacation! Big White Barbie Spends Winter Vacation on an Embarrassing Drunken Rampage: The Sequel. Then, I will be able to recover from my Lunar New Year holiday hang over with later start times and shorter working hours, as my hagwon will be back on it’s regular timetable. Ah. Relief.

Before Big White Barbie There Was… Well, Not Much

Big White Barbie is Bad Decision Bear. My 2007 is most aptly summed up as the Year of Regrettable Decisions. My first ill advised attempt to turn my year around was to quit The Job From Hell in April without bothering to secure further employment. Naturally this was followed up with another 3 craptacular jobs between May and September. At some point I actually attempted dating a guy who had no idea who Anne Frank was. How does that even happen? I tried to rectify this by later sleeping with a second guy whose sole purpose of being in Korea is seemingly to nail as many women as possible. Welcome to my reality. Numerous so-called friendships that really should never have been in the first place completely fell apart. I contracted shingles in March, because apparently I’m 75 years old. Friendships that I believed were true were abruptly ended without explanation. I completely lost the plot.

A review of The Year of Regrettable Decisions reveals only one good choice that stands out. After years of dreaming followed by months of planning my escape, I hopped on a plane to South Korea with 300 bucks in my pocket and not a penny further to my name. Somehow in the midst of a year littered with stupidity I managed to pull of the most ridiculous, yet awesome stunt of my life.

In a world where every other foreigner you meet has an equally awesome story to tell, it’s very easy to lose sight of the courage and head strong ambition that we all required to get us here in the fist place. Or a sense of desperation and the flare for insanity, I suppose. We’re all motivated by different things. Some of us have massive debts back home which our not-so-fancy degrees have done little to help us pay off. Others just want to travel and experience a new culture. Some are in flux and hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time! Others still weren’t happy at home and are trying to run far far away from the one thing that they can’t escape in this life: themselves. Most of the people whom I’ve encountered here have come for a combination of reasons, some of which I have failed to even touch upon here. As for me, the day that I learned I could each overseas once I had a university degree was the day that I decided I would eventually do something like this. I chose Korea as my location because I was dirt poor and have mounds of debt weighing me down in Canada Land. I decided to come when I did because I felt that I had absolutely nothing left to lose. There was simply no time like the present to try to turn my life around and become The Big Deal that I’ve always imagined myself to be.

I naively expected that I could come to Korea and instantaneously become The Awesome Force that my Ideal Self happens to be. Sadly, it never quite works out that way. The Atlantic Ocean isn’t quite the vacuum of negativity, insecurity, and unfortunate memories that I had hoped. Much to my disappointment, I arrived in Korea every bit the tragically flawed, quirky character that I was when I left home. I still drank like a sieve. I spent impulsively. I chased men whom had as much respect for me as I had for myself. I befriended anybody who would smile my way. I pitifully pandered for acceptance at every given opportunity. The result is that rather than become closer to my Ideal Self, I’ve morphed into some sort of exaggerated, cartoon version of myself. While this undoubtedly makes me wildly entertaining to others, it does little for self improvement.

I rarely make serious New Year’s resolutions. For one thing, if I happen to remember my resolution in the first place, I rarely follow through with it. For another, I find it rather meaningless to make a promise to myself for no better reason than it being a particular date on the calendar. This year I will make an exception and not only make a resolution, but share it with those you unfortunate enough to have waded through my tripe long enough to make it to this point in the post. Somewhere between my Ideal Self and the cartoon that is Big White Barbie there is a realistic, attainable compromise. To reach this, I’ll face my biggest challenge yet. Not just anybody will hop on a plane to Nowhere with a few hundred bucks in hand; fewer of us still will ever know what it is to truly love oneself. I’ve demonstrated to myself that I’m clearly capable of the former. In a world where so many of us are swimming in a sea of self loathing, learning to love myself will undoubtedly do little to cure the insomnia. Yet, I'm willing to give anything a try. That's how I roll. Wish me luck and I'll buy the next round.

Barbie Pees on Jesus

At some point during the holidays, I turned into one of those obnoxious drunken foreigners that are apparently an embarrassment to the more productive foreigners. Now, I could feel badly about this and resolve to spend my 2008 being a more productive foreigner. Or, I could say Fuck That Noise and live it up. Given that I'm somebody who honestly hasn't had a lot of fun in her life, I think that I'm going to go for the latter. I recently told a friend of mine that I was currently having the most fun that I've ever had. His response was that he wasn't sure if he should feel happy or sad for me. In this case, I much prefer the former. There is little use in being depressed about events that have long since passed when I can be having the time of my life right now. This being my current disposition, it goes a long way to explaining why I've been acting like a college student lately. While I've certainly done some regrettable things and met some people I'd rather forget in the last couple of months, I've made a few fantastic friends along the way. Without them, Christmas Day 2007 wouldn't have been the Spectacular Random Show that it was.

Christmas morning didn't quite happen, as I slept happily on my friend, The Aussie Madam's, floor-mat until about 2 in the afternoon. Christmas "breakfast" consisted of fried eggs and toast. Aussie Madam is a much better host than I am, as there is no way that I would have gotten out of bed to cook had she been in Busan with me. She gets an A for effort. The original plan had been to meet another friend of ours, The Hoover, downtown for some afternoon shopping. We forwent shopping in favour of not getting off of our asses until 5 and then grabbing dinner at this cute little Italian restaurant, Italy Italy. It was here that our evening of spectacular randomness began.

While waiting for a table at Italy Italy, The Aussie Madam noticed a coworker of hers waiting ahead of us. Alone. On Christmas. In Korea. The Aussie Madam quickly noticed the level of suck in this situation and invited her coworker to join us. The coworker accepted her offer, if only because it meant that she'd get a table sooner than if she were to eat alone. Given the great warmth of the reception we received from her, I suspect that was actually the sole reason. As it turns out, The Aussie Madam's coworker is apparently not a huge fan of people, The Aussie Madam especially. After attempting to make polite small talk with the coworker, it quickly dawned on me that this girl sucked. She sucked hard. Throughout the meal The Girl Who Sucked was curt, dismissive, spent most of her time texting people on her phone, and made absolutely no effort whatsoever to involve herself in the conversation or get to know us. The Girl Who Sucked was so bloody Bah Hambug that when she finally got up to go to the bathroom, the three of us stared at each other in stunned silence for a few moments. After taking moment to collect her thoughts, The Hoover spoke first. "Is she angry or something?" My response: "Dude, that chick sucks!" We quickly come to agreement that The Girl Who Sucked sucked so hard that it was shocking that her mother hadn't spontaneously aborted her as a fetus. Thankfully, The Girl Who Sucked finished her meal very quickly and took her miserable ass elsewhere. Roughly half an hour after The Girl Who Sucked's departure, The Aussie Madam received the following text message from her: Thank your friends for the crudest dinner conversation that I've ever had. Bah Fucking Humbug, eh?

The Hoover felt that Christmas wasn't Christmas without a religious experience. We collected our other friend, SGTF (She's Got The Fever) and made our way to the closest church. The "church" looked more or less like a kimbap restaurant with a cross on the wall and a picture with Jesus and Friends on the door. The Hoover decided that instead of going in, she'd just have a photo op in front of the building. Me being the dirty little attention whore that I am decided that I wanted in on this action too. Naturally, I put a leg in the air over the photo of Jesus and friends and posed for a shot. As I was holding this pose, which SGTF suggested looked somewhat like I was pissing on Jesus, a couple of men from the church walked passed us. I temporarily feared a verbal lashing in response to the graphic disrespect that I was showing their church. I had clearly forgotten that I was in Korea. As opposed to questioning what we were doing or looking alarmed, the men remarked: "so beautiful!" That's right, folks. Pissing on Jesus is a beautiful thing. Only in Korea Land.

Sometime after this I encouraged the girls to go out drinking. Again. As a result, I missed the last train back to Busan. When I arrived at the train station at 3am they advised me that the next train left at 6am. I considered my options and decided that instead of getting a hotel room that I'd hit up a PC Bang (internet cafe) for a couple of hours. In that PC Bang around 4:30am, I finally let go and did what I had wanted to do for the last couple of days: I cried. I cried, half a world away from the place that I'm supposed to belong; a place that I never felt I belonged in the first place.

Barbie Steals Free Hugs

My Christmas Even 2007 "celebrations" are best appreciated if you keep in mind that it's been a rather lonely few days. That's not to say that Barbie has any reason to be lonely, exactly. I am constantly surrounded by people here; whether I like it or not. When I need people to go drink with, I can find people to drink with. When I need to grab a meal, I can find somebody who will get some grub with me. If I need a lay, I could probably find that too. When I want everybody to fuck off and die, I go to the only place that I don't find people: my apartment. No, I'm not lacking in things or people to do. I'm just overwhelmed by the sense that nothing that really matters to me is here. Miss Independence is fully getting her pout-on over having missed Christmas with her family and friends. The result of this was that I felt compelled to keep myself busy doing crazy shit in the vain hope that I could distract myself for long enough to make it through the holidays without tears.

To start off, the plans that I had made to have Christmas in Busan appeared to be falling through in a serious way. A friend of mine in Busan, whom I shall refer to as The Golden Drunk, wasn't able to promise her attendance at the event. As I faced the prospect of getting ditched on Christmas in Busan, I hopped on the first train to Daegu after work on Christmas Eve. The plan was to meet up with a few friends in Daegu, get drunk off my ass, and try to keep the holiday blues away by keeping things Random and Ridiculous. There was no solid plan on when exactly I would leave Daegu or where the Hell I would stay when there; merely the obligation to be in Busan in time for my 3:50pm class on Boxing Day. No good could possibly come of this.

I'll spare you 37 detailed paragraphs on Tuesday night, if only because Christmas Eve 2007 will never be anything more than a ridiculous blur to me. I absolutely drank my face off. Somehow. I don't remember there be any more than 8 drinks, so I'm confused as to how this happened. But it happened. Some of the things that may or may have not actually occurred would include:

1) Nobody seemed to be able to verify that the subway station would be open the next day. Forgetting for a moment that Korea totally hates Jesus, I humoured the ridiculous possibility that perhaps the subway would close on Christmas. The result was that for the entire night I had to carry around a fucking portable computer bag which contained clean underwear, toothpaste, and other personal essentials. Awesome.

2) There was an Ugly Sweater Contest going on at some bar that we weren't actually at. Upon learning this, for some reason I got really excited at the prospect of ugly sweaters and began insisting that we hop bars in search of them. My goal was to obtain one of these ugly sweaters. The idea was to get one without having to sleep with anybody for it, but somehow nobody really believed me.

3) A friend of somebody whom I used to work with happens to be in Daegu. I ran into him as the first bar after randomly hearing somebody call out "Peterborough!" as I walked by his table. So, my Christmas wasn't entirely lacking in The Peterborough. This makes for the second Peterborough-ite that I've stumbled across in Daegu. Apparently Peterborough blows so hard that we end up on the other side of the world.

4) Somehow we ended up hopping to a third bar. I'm not sure what prompted this, or how we got there. I certainly don't remember there being any ugly sweaters there to lure me. All I know is that there are random photos taken in between bars of me putting my legs in the air and mounting things, and there are photos of my friends touching random cars and looking like they're ready for a little anal action. It's an absolute mystery to me how any of this happened. I merely know that I should not be allowed outdoors without my brain on, because these things seem to happen.

5) A friend of mine in Daegu, whom I shall refer to as Free Hugger, decided there was no time like the present at Old School for the group of us to do a round of tequila shots. Normally, I am the Fucking Tequila Queen. Tequila and Frat Boys are one in the same to me: I have infinite amounts of fun with both and can't seem to keep off of either, but neither is a particularly fantastic idea. This time was no different. That tequila hit me like a rock and I had the spins for the next 20 minutes. The result of this was that we had to spend those 20 minutes hanging out with these guys who completely, and totally sucked. They sucked so hard that Free Hugger felt the need to text me from across the table with: "dude, these guys suck!!!" Thanks for the memo, Free Hugger. I totally hadn't noticed.

When it finally comes time that I feel I can get up without immediately falling over, I begin gathering my belongings and explain that we can leave now. Free Hugger explains that it actually might be best if we chill for another 5 minutes or so, because he just threw up in the bathroom and needs a moment. Naturally, I then laugh in his face, as this totally makes me feel like less of a drunk asshole for having kept them at the bar with The Guys That Suck. Free Hugger manages to redeem himself a few minutes later by getting rid of The Guys That Suck. Of course,I get an assist here, since Free Hugger used me and my drunken stupor as our excuse for why we couldn't hop to the next bar with them.

6) I've determined that I need to be kept far, far away from phones when I'm drinking. When I first started drinking in Korea, I would regularly make drunk calls home from public pay phones. This never turned out well. Now that I have a cell phone, I apparently think that it's totally okay to text in search of inappropriate activities at ungodly times in the morning. In other words, I apparently thought that Christmas Eve was a really good time to try to work out a booty call. Note to self: when drunk, hide the cell phone. Or don't. While my idiocy is occasionally embarrassing, I'm told that other people find it greatly entertaining.

7) We decided to conclude the evening by eating at some Korean Restaurant that my friend, whom shall be referred to as SGTF (She's Got The Fever), seems to drag me to every time that I drink with her. Frankly, I prefer McDonald's drunk. The things that I do for other people. Tsk. Regardless, on the way to said restaurant, SGTF finds a sign in the middle of the road that reads: "Free Hugs!" You see, for some reason which is completely beyond me, random Koreans like to sometimes go out in public with these signs. Probably because they don't touch each other nearly enough. My response to being advised of this was to pick it up, proudly wave it around, and carry it to the restaurant with us. I would have happily carried it all the way back to Busan, but Free Hugger seemed really keen on bringing it to his Christmas Day party. It being Christmas and all, and my being so fucking fantastic, I decide to let him have it.

And that? More or less concludes Christmas Eve 2007. Totally unfortunate, I know.

Big White Barbie Declares Korea Broken

This just in: Korea is broken. Totally. Fucking. Broken. So, incredibly broken, that I'm not even sure where one begins to explain it. The mind numbs just thinking about it. It appears that I've officially hit That Stage, whereby I feel that I've earned the right to take an obnoxiously negative and culturally ignorant Time Out. After more than two months of dripping in respectful commentary I'm long overdue for a long winded Korean-hating diatribe, if for no other reason than to make other foreigners embarrassed to be associated with me. Not that they shouldn't already be, but there seems to be some gross misconception here that I'm Some Kind of Wonderful. As my friend's back in The Real World are fully aware, this couldn't be further from the truth. Korea's manner of grossly overrating me is perhaps the only thing that it has going for it. That and my paychecks. And possibly the never ending flow of booze.

Now, before we decide to be huffy and get our panties in a twist over the cultural ignorance that is to come, let it be clear that I happen to think Canada is broken too. I've been bitching about how broken Canada is for the past 25 years. I'm tired of Broken Canada. That's why I came to Korea; I ran out of things to bitch about back home. So, without further ado, here are just a couple of reasons that Korean is fucking broken:

1) Koreans are socially retarded. I don't mean this in the sense that I'm socially retarded. They fail to pull off the Drunken Uncle Without Male Qualities character quite like I do. They skip Drunk Uncle and go straight to Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

To start, Koreans generally meet other people by being introduced via a third party. The Western Way of simply wandering around a bar and talking to complete strangers until you pick one to go home with is simply not done by Proper Koreans. Only Pregnant Foreign Sluts engage in such inappropriate behaviour. And the Japanese, of course. The result is that unless they've been introduced to you, you don't exist to a Korean. The only people that exist are those whom they've been introduced to. Hence, there is no need to be polite to 99% of the population. You can't be polite to people that aren't there! That's crazy talk. Hence, people jump ahead of you in line at the supermarket, shove passed you to get on the subway, and walk right into you when there is nobody else in the room. They're not being rude! You're just not there. Got it?

2) Despite their overwhelming desire to be one, many Koreans hate white people. The Hate-On is so strong that they fail to see the irony in it and appreciate this as the massive inferiority complex that it is. If anybody is equipped to recognize a national inferiority complex, it's a Canadian.

Everywhere you turn in Busan, there is a cosmetic surgery advertisement. For some inexplicable reason, Koreans hate looking Korean. Their ideal is to sport a "high nose", "small face", and a double-eyelid. In other words, their ideal is to have Caucasian features. Being held to such an impossible ideal is grossly unfortunate. Koreans that aren't putting their paychecks on the table to go under the knife in search of a Caucasian identity are no less attractive than those that do. Just don't tell them that! They won't believe you. I've tried.

Everywhere you turn in Busan that there isn't a cosmetic surgery advertisement, there is a little reminder of Uncle Sam. McDonald's, Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, Hollywood, random MLB signs in shop windows, Coca Cola; Korea is almost the Canada of Asia in this regard. Almost. There is still a distinct Korean identity, which Canadians lack.

What results is that in spite of being held to a Euro-centric beauty ideal, in spite of the abundance of American imports, Koreans are primed from birth to believe that Koreans are the Best People on Earth. Absolutely no other nationality compares to the awesomeness of being Korean. The social hierarchy works something like this: Koreans, other Asians, animals, foreigners. Hence, Koreans pay Random Whitey's a relatively handsome wage to attend their school and Be White. A Random White Face at a private academy is gold to the school's director. Yet, because you're a foreigner, few people actually respect you. You're below chihuahuas on the social hierarchy. It doesn't matter that they want a nose like yours, watch American movies, and just had a dose of McDonald's for lunch. It doesn't matter that you're the native English speaker; the Korean teachers taught them English the correct way, damnit! They're not going to "change-y" it just because some foreigner thinks they know more about pronouncing the English Language than they do. Your place in this society will never be higher than rock bottom. At the end of the day, you will always be the Pregnant, AIDS Ridden, Dirty Foreigner Slut.

Rock on.

Barbie Tells The Boss Man What's What

Wednesday, December 19 is election day in Korea. What this means is that the annoying election vans that go up and down all the main streets, blaring really awful music and probably some useless slogans, will finally go back to the scrap metal heap where they belong. What it also means is that Barbie gets the day off. At least, that's what it's supposed to mean. Election Day is a National Holiday. I read my contract quite thoroughly and insisted that my school add certain details to it prior to my agreeing to sign it. Among these was a guarantee that I would not have to work national holidays. Of course, I don't have to work these anyways, but it's a Hell of a lot easier to deal with your boss when you get what you're legally entitled to written into your contact. As you can imagine, when I found out last week that the school would be open on Election Day and I was to treat this as a regular work day (read: no overtime, no "thanks for coming out!"), I was less than amused. Something had to be give, and it sure as Heck wasn't going to be me. Barbie's not much of a giver. Not! A! Giver!

I decided that the best approach was to wait until two days prior to Election Day to bring it up. Back in Canada Land, I would never have tried to pull last minute stunt like this. Yet here in Korea Land, everything happens at the last minute. Had I approached him a moment earlier, he would have forgotten by the time Election Day actually rolled around. Then, 27 phone calls later, I would have spent the entirety Election Day having the same discussion with him.

I intended to press the issue that I had been sick and needed the day off anyways, yet I was sure to carefully highlight the valid points of my contract prior approaching The Boss Man. Wisely done, as The Boss Man's response to my needing a day off was to babble about the school calender and how taking Election Day off meant reducing our already dismal Christmas holidays by another day. I politely pulled out my contract at this point and explained that while I understand the necessity of following the school calender, that I agreed to come to Hagwon Hell on the premise that I would have National Holidays off work and one week of winter vacation. The Boss Man takes the contract from Barbie and gazes at it in confusion, before grabbing his cell phone and disappearing for a while. I was grossly confused as to what was going on with him and moderately irritated, but I had brats to attend to for the next couple of hours, so I brushed the thoughts aside and made my way to Brat Haven to be fill my role as Big White Barbie.

The Boss Man apparently spent a good deal of time on the phone with other schools in the Hagwon Hell franchise, looking for advice on how to convince the silly Barbie that she does not, in fact, get all National Holidays after work. He was totally just kidding about that whole contract thing! Made you look!

Now, The Boss Man speaks limited English, so he decides that the best means of negotiation is to have one of the least fluent Korean teachers translate for us. Brilliant. The Boss Man starts off by explaining that foreigners at other branches of Hawgon Hell will also have to work election. I tell the Korean teacher to tell The Boss Man that other foreigners have a tendency to either not know what they are entitled to, or to be afraid to ask for it. I know what I'm entitled to and am not afraid to ask for it. The Korean teacher and The Boss Man ramble at each other for a while. Next, The Boss Man explains that Election Day is a "special holiday" that doesn't really count as a "National Holiday" like in the contract. Here, he's clearing insulting my intelligence. Never a good tactic.

I have many character flaws: I'm stubborn as fuck, I regularly say inappropriate things at the worst possible time, I lack tact, my fondness of black comedy has demented my sense of humour, I frequently overlook the obvious, I do everything at the last minute, and I bury my tragic insecurities with a guise of conceit. All that said, I'm relatively easy going. I can take good natured ripping; in fact, you're not really my friend unless you mock me from time to time. Yet, seriously insulting my intelligence is just a major, major no-no. So, when The Boss Man treated me as if I had no idea what I was talking about, as if I hadn't done hours of research on this garbage prior to even coming here, he was in for a real treat. Not only did Big White Barbie know how to read, but she had discovered the internet! And she wasn't afraid to stick up for herself! A dangerous, dangerous combination.

I tell the Korean teacher to tell The Boss Man that I am perfectly aware of what Election Day is and that it most certainly is a National Holiday. At this point I offer to gather some resources for them in Korean if that would help. The two of them blabber at each other for a moment and The Boss Man says that would be nice. So, I tell The Boss Man that I know where the Ministry of Labour is in Busan and that I can go there the next day. The Boss Man and Other Dude start speaking to each other a little more frantically at this point.

Conclusion? Barbie gets Election Day off. And The Boss Man giggles on his way out the door and kindly asks Barbie to never, ever go to the labour board.

Now, I am torn here. Should I be proud that I stood up for myself, or was this profoundly stupid? I more or less put all my eggs in on basket when I pulled the Ministry of Labour Card. Either I was going to get whatever the heck I wanted, or it was going to get really ugly. Given my financial standing at the moment, I can't afford to go home if things get ugly. I also can't imagine allowing my employer to walk all over me for the next 9 1/2 months. If I don't show some spine now, I'm going to get screwed later on because they'll assume that I'm just a Stupid Foreigner Who Knows Nothing. So, I pulled out all of the stops. And still got a ride home from work from The Boss Man that night.

Big White Barbie: 1
The Boss Man: 0

Barbie rarely picks a battle which she can't win.

Stay tuned for the rematch.

Barbie, Pay Phones and Soju Date Man

Prior to the stupidity that was my accidentally deleting the original Barbie Blog, I had posted a lengthy note which detailed a particular encounter with a drunken Korean. Here I will revisit said encounter with Soju Date Man, and comment on similar other events.

On Saturday, I finally purchased a cell phone. Up until this point I've either used a pay phone or leeched off a friend who had already joined the rest of you in the new millennium by getting a phone. During my first few weeks here, this resulted in many a drunken-call-home to my not-so-lucky friends back in the The Patch. They were forewarned prior to my departure that the drunken-calls-home were definitely going to happen. Whether or not they were actually prepared for the ridiculous blather that was spewed from my drunken sailor mouth in the middle of their afternoon is debatable.

My encounter Soju Date Man by the phone booth occurred during a drunken-call-home that may have gone something like this:

Rebecca: Hey! It's totally me! So, like, how is stuff?!
The Unfortunate Friend: Err, hi? Rebecca? Stuff is...what the Hell time is it?
Rebecca: Oh, uh, hang on, I'll check my phone. I totally brought my phone from Canada and it fully doesn't work, but it totally tells me the time and stuff! Woo! Oh, look! A whitey in a phone booth! Quick! Everybody stare! Uh, sorry. You see, sometimes people look at me here. Something about being white. Or something. You know...
The Unfortunate Friend: Rebecca, is must be almost 4am. Go to bed!
Rebecca: Actually, it's 5am. Get your timezones right, fucko. This is Korea! 5am is early goings! You have no idea, my Friend. Oh, look. More people looking at me! Woo! Random whitey in the phone booth! Call me!
The Unfortunate Friend: Um. Okay. So... how is stuff?
Rebecca: Stuff is fucking fantastic. I made friends tonight! I think. You see, the thing about making friends here is that nothing that happens in Korea actually counts. Everything I do is just to fill a void of time, before I come home. You know? Hang on, some random Korean wants to use the phone.
The Unfortunate Friend: If you say so, Becca...
Rebecca: Dude, what the Hell. He doesn't want the phone at all. I tried to ask if that was the deal, yo, and he spat out 'Soju Date?' in response. No, I don't want to go on a Soju Date with you. Honestly. Why do these people think that I want to talk to them when I'm on a pay phone? Do I look Russian?
The Unfortunate Friend: Maybe you should go home... you can always call me back later, you know.
Rebecca: No! I will not submiss to the sexual harassment of drunken Koreans by changing my daily routine! This is my neighborhood and I'm going to use the pay phone when I please! Uh... what the Hell? This guy is totally getting into the pay phone with me. This isn't a fucking restaurant where you can sit at my table! Okay, I'll call you back in 10 minutes. Don't worry, I've got this shit under control.
The Unfortunate Friend: Okay then.
CLICK


True story. Some random drunken Korean got into the phone booth with me and tried to strike up conversation, while I was on the phone to Canada. Needless to say, he went home alone. And by home, I mean a piss infested alleyway where he hopefully choked on his vomit shortly after passing out. Of course, this would have been well after he followed me up the street, continually tried to grab my arm, and refused to understand that "Fuck off and die" does not mean "Yes, I totally want your babies! My apartment is this way!!!"

Had I been at home, I would have gladly ensured there would be no babies coming from this fellow. Ever. Of course, this probably wouldn't happen at home. If I was being blatantly sexually harassed by some drunk idiot in The Patch, there wouldn't be at least 10 other drunken men also in the vicinity whom would stand back and watch in silent amusement. At least one other drunken idiot would have jumped in and tried to Save The Day. Then the drunken idiots would have boxed it out until they eventually passed out in each other's vomit, as I made my way home without further issue. Ah, home. How I occasionally miss you so. Only occasionally.

I wish that I could say that this was an isolated incident. It was the first time somebody either tried to join me in the phone booth as I was using the phone or otherwise interrupted me, but it wasn't the last. It's absolutely mind numbing how in the Hell people like that happen, but it almost makes sense when you consider the following: 1) Koreans don't have the same understanding of personal space as we do, and 2) foreigners are at the very bottom of Korea's social hierarchy. On one hand, Korean women are getting plastic surgery up the wazoo so that they can look more like you, parents are pumping more money into your hagwon because your white face happens to show up there from time to time, and Americanization is everywhere you turn here. On the other hand, there are students who don't respect you because you're "only" a foreigner, employers that don't take you seriously, and drunken men who will treat you like you're a sex trade worker. The latter refers to my experience as a female, of course, though I've heard various bits of feedback from my male friends about similar disrespectful treatment they've received from some women here.

On the whole, I don't allow the drunken idiots that try to join me in a phone booth to paint my picture of Korea. They're just part of the story. The Good is really good. The Bad is Super Suck. More or less like anywhere else I could be right now.

Big White Barbie Loves Needles

I love needles. There is simply no rush like the rush that comes with having some IV fluids pumped into your system. Prior to Saturday I had no appreciation whatsoever for heroin. Now I desperately want to try it out. Okay, not really. But I did need to go back to the hospital for more antibiotics. That's apparently how they make money here; health care is relatively cheap, but they make you come back every 2-3 days to spend more money. Those wily bastards! When all is said and done I will have spent 150 dollars at the hospital this week. No Christmas presents for you!

I enter the Emergency Room of the hospital sometime late Monday evening. Given that this is where I was last seen and the doctor whom advised me to come back on Monday did not indicate that I was to go elsewhere, it made perfect, logical sense that this is where I would go. Apparently logic does not apply to Mr Korean Doctor Man. Mr Korean Doctor Man, whom I had never seen in my entire life, rolls his eyes at me and explains that when he saw me last that he advised me to go check in as an out patient. Given that his English is poor, and my Korean is even worse, I let go of the fact that he is making absolutely no sense whatsoever. I smile, nod, say that I'm sorry for not knowing any better, then start wincing in pain and telling them that I need drugs noooooow!

The doctor finally moves me over to a cot and explains that they are going to run a bunch of tests on me. You know, exactly like they did two fucking days prior to this. He hasn't yet asked what is wrong with me, though he did take a moment to ask if I was pregnant. Being a foreigner there is at least a 95% chance that I'm knocked up, he figures. I explain that I'm not paying for tests which they already ran, and that he can check my profile if he needs to confirm that The Foreign Slut does not have HIV.

A few moments later I find myself lying on a cot, hooked up to yet another delicious IV. Joyful, joyful! I don't remember my first Korean IV experience taking 45 minutes to drip-out, but this one sure did. At one point, one of the nurses came over and draped a blanket on me. So there I am, lying in a hospital cot in a busy emergency room, IV in hand, eyes starting to waver a little bit. Just when I start to get comfortable enough to nod off, I see an elderly gentlemen walk by, do a double take, then run over to his son/friend/whatever, who happens to be in the bed beside me, and yap about how there is totally a Foreign Slut in the bed to his left! From this point until they finally left the room about 15 minutes later, this man made frequent walk-by-and-stares of my cot, loosely guised as trips to the water machine. Foreign Slut so pretty!!!

After Creepy Staring Man buggered off, I hoped for a few minutes of solitude with my IV bag. As with most things I wish for, it just wasn't meant to be. A moment later one of the nurses whom hadn't been dealing with me comes over to my bed and nervously hands me a slip of paper which says something to the effect of: "Hi! My name is something-or-other! I go to America in soon! You help me?!" I realize that this nurse is asking me to help her learn English. I want her to go away happy, so I smile and say "okay". She's acting like a kid in a candy store at this point, just about jumping up and down with enthusiasm. She nods back and asks "okay?!" I confirm that this is what I said, and she runs back to the nurses station and jumps up and down while telling the other nurse that Barbie totally said yes!

Now, I don't actually have any interest in doing private lessons here. Ignoring the fact that they're illegal anyways, I simply don't have the time. Or I don't want to make the time. My weeks involve sleeping in, work, grabbing dinner/drinks. My weekends involve sleeping in, grabbing drinks, doing something interesting during the day if I'm not hurting too badly, and getting the Hell out of here every couple of weeks. Anything that interrupts my routine is strictly prohibited. That said, I would consider it unwise to slight the women that are responsible for ensuring your immediate health and safety. So the right answer was "okay", regardless of my actual intentions. A few minutes later, both of the nurses are dropping their emails on me as they remove the IV.

An hour after admittance, I leave the hospital in slightly less pain than I was upon entry, with an even slightly bigger ego than before. In case anybody failed to get the memo, I'm sort of A Big Deal.

Barbie Teacher Brings the Lisp to Korea

Anybody who has ever taken the time to actually listen to the words that fly out of my mouth will have noticed that I have a slight lisp. This has always been the case. I received speech therapy for it when I was younger but, like most things with me (college majors, careers, men), it simply didn't stick. I can speak without a lisp, but this would be akin to you intentionally speaking with a lisp at all times. It would be forced. It's not natural, so I don't do it. I stopped having any interest in what I sounded like to other people quite some time ago. There is no known physiological excuse for my lisp. As far as I'm aware, I don't have an enlarged tongue or unfortunate jaw properties. This is just how I happen to roll. Barbie has a lisp, and unlike almost everything else in my life, the lisp sticks.

A few of my friends still get a kick out of hearing me say "physics" or "sixth", words which are like poison to me, but I expect my friends to mock my quirks. You haven't truly been initiated as a Friend of Barbie until you've spotted and mocked The Crazy. Some do this within 5 minutes of meeting me; others never quite make it.

One of my more darling friends brought it to my attention prior to departure for Korea that I was going to create a population of Koreans who speak English with a lisp. I advised them that I would do my best to bastardize the English language while in Korea.

I had more or less forgotten about all of this until today. As one of my obligations for an evening class I am required to go through an activity called "pronunciation clinic". This redundant, yet necessary activity entails that I ensure that the students can recognize the difference between similar sounds. Today we discussed "s" and "z". While my lisp doesn't prevent me from differentiating between "Sue" and "zoo", this activity did require my rhyming off a long list of S-words. I quickly recalled my conversation with friends from home and saw The Funny in this. It's really only a matter of time before I'm going to be sucked into discussing TH-words versus S-words. And that? Is going to be a whole lot of Funny.

All of this said, it's unlikely that my students are going to pick up my lisp-ery pronunciation of the English language. Even if they did, their accents are such that you wouldn't really notice anyways. Hence, my plan to infiltrate Korea with Canadian accents and lisps is half defeated; back to getting my students to use "eh".

Big White Barbie Pees in a Cup

There are two topics which I pointedly don't blog about: my sex life and my health. Were I to blog strictly on the former, there would practically be no blog whatsoever. That is to say, I don't get a lot! And even if I did, it's not really my thing to write home about it. While I may live almost every last detail of my life on the internet, there are some things that have to remain sacred. As for my health, there is rarely anything going on in that regard that inspires me to ramble. The odd time that there is, it's either private or just not particularly interesting. Yet today, I'm about to break tradition and ramble off about one of things.

I woke up Saturday morning with the distinct impression that something was wrong. As a result of the discomfort, I was unable to get my hung over ass back to sleep; not the nicest 9am wakeup call of my life. I realized within about 10 minutes that I had no other option than to go to a hospital that day. There was no way that I was going anywhere for several hours, so I withered around in discomfort and pain for a few hours, as I attempted to sleep my stupor off. This was met with little success, so I finally crawled out of bed and made my way to the hospital.

There was some confusion on my part as to whether or not I could even go straight into a hospital or if I needed to find a special clinic. For all I knew there was a doctor wagon that parked next to the street meet folk. Thankfully, a friend of mine here cleared things up for me quite nicely and explained that no, there is no doctor wagon so, yes, just go to the hospital.

I knew more or less what I had, and after finally being granted a chat with an English speaking doctor, I explained to her my suspicion. Unfortunately, they had to be sure. This resulted in my peeing in a cup, giving blood, and having chest x-rays done. Yes, chest x-rays! I think that they were checking for kidney stones or some blah. All I know is that I had to have them done twice because I left my necklace on and navel ring in the first time. Had the radiologist spoken a lick of English, or I spoken a lick of Korean, this could have been avoided. As it was, they're lucky that I didn't show up to the x-ray room butt-naked. Or unlucky, depending on how you want to look at it.

Now, I was suspicious that they were going through a large number of tests because I was clearly a dirty foreigner, hence I was clearly lying about my condition and actually had a nasty sexually transmitted disease. Because in case you didn't get the memo, all foreigners in South Korea have AIDS. We're here to spread the love! I suppose it's possible that they were also just being thorough, but it only required one test to prove what my issue was. Yet, I accepted my place in the hospital as The Foreign Slut and went through the battery of tests; with little other choice, I figured that I might as well enjoy the tag, in spite of being totally unworthy of it.

The first test was simply a urinary analysis; in other words, it was Pee-in-a-Cup time! One of my favourite sports in university; I was right at home! I Pee-in-a-Cup like a fucking pro. Thankfully I'm very skilled with this, or I might have been put off by the nurse handing me what appeared to be an unsanitized beaker. In Canada I had grown accustomed to urinating in a nice little sanitized cup that had it's own special lid and a label just for me! That's simply not how we roll here, in Korea. Sanitation and labels are for pussies! I took that unsanitized beaker up the hallway to the hospital's public toilet, filled it like a fucking champ, and walked it back down the hallway to hand to whichever lucky random doctor or nurse I ran into first.

After they gave up their vain search to prove that the dirty Foreign Slut had syphilis, the doctor agreed to put me on antibiotics. For some bizarre reason, they like to administer as much as possible via the needle here. Hence, I was put on an IV drip for the first time in my life. After that half hour of pleasure I was given a goody bag of pills to pop, and was on my way.

With that, I successfully survived my first trip to the hospital in Korea. I couldn't fool myself into thinking that it would be my last given that they insisted I return again on Monday so that I could pay them even more of my not-so-hard-earned cash. Round two, coming at you sometime later this week!

And you thought I was going to blog about my sex life. Tsk tsk.

Barbie Scores With the Kimbap Lady

My local kimbap-restaurant lady wants my babies. That or she thinks that I'm a stupid foreigner. It's probably a little bit of both, really. Either way, the free apricots and breast groping guarentee that I come out a winner.

As most of us are, I'm a creature of habit. When I'm comfortable with something, I tend to stick with it. Even if it's fucking awful. I drink terrible beer; it's cheap and I'm used to it. I tend to go to the same PC Room; I like the free "coffee" (this would more aptly be described as chemicals-in-a-cup) and the hospitality that I receive from the people who run the joint. I go to the McDonald's near my school 2-3 times a week for no other reason than the fact that it's right up the street and the lady who works the counter is nice to me. I miss her if too many days pass without a visit! I don't even really like McDonald's anymore. I still sleep with a fucking teddy bear for no better reason than it's the same one I've had since I was 7 and I've yet to find a good reason to break the habit. I'm sorry, but "Rebecca, you're fucking 25" is not good enough reason to break up with Zeddy. We're tight. I occasionally listen to really shitty music because I've become comfortable with hearing it. I know that it's bad, but old-skool Paula Abdul is just so damn catchy! I could continue on this tangent for another hour and lose my remaining two readers, but it's 5am and I need to put up a front that I actually have something better to do right now. I will conclude the tangent by pointing out that this also serves as a sufficient explanation of Rebecca's generally sordid history with men. In my pre-Barbie days I would intentionally run myself head first into Bad Ideas with regularlity, because that's what I was used to. There is comfort in familiarity, painful as it may be. I may rectify this during my days as Big White Barbie; or perhaps I'll just perfect the art. Either way, I digress. This is a topic for another day.

Now, my being a creature of habit naturally results in my regularly dining at the same local kimbap restaurant. I first started eating there as a result of the lady from the bar spotting me a free meal in exchange for my stupidity, as detailed in my Big White Barbie Eats Out post. I have since been going in 4-5 times per week. Each time I go in I seem to know a new Korean word or two, which always results in a giggle or two from the Kimbap Lady. For the first couple of weeks I would always order two rolls of kimbap. Hence, whenever I entered the restaurant she would smile, ramble some blah at me, and say "kimbap?" I've thrown her for a loop lately by going in for dinner and getting some variation of bi bim bap. Her response to this has been to sit with me after setting the bi bim bap platter on the table, so that she can mix it together for me and spoon feed me. You think that I'm kidding, but I'm not. This is how she rolls. I had eaten bi bim bap prior to coming to Korea and really don't need the Kimbap Lady to show me The Bi Bim Bap Ropes, but it seems to make her day to swing with a Big White Barbie, so who am I to crush her soul?

On Tuesday I ordered dol sot bi bim bap, which requires significantly less mixing then bi bim bap without the pretty hot bowl. Hence, there was really no reason for Kimbap Lady to coddle me. So, I spent most of my meal alone. This was nice, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't enjoy the company. As an aside, you know that something is wrong when you're looking to the Kimbap Lady to keep you company. Near the end of the meal, Kimbap Lady randomly comes over and takes a seat across from me. She watches me eat for a minute. I smile and tell her in Korean that it "tastes good!" Then I rub my belly and smile or something, because I'm such an excellent communicator. She continues to watch me and I decide that 1) this is a little weird and 2) if she's going to be sitting there she may as well be serving a greater purpose. I point to a side dish in front of me and say "kimchi". Then I point at one beside it and shrug. Kimbap Lady kindly tells me what it's called, and I repeat the word back. We go through this process for the entire collection of side dishes, after which point Kimbap Lady is Big White Barbi-ed out and goes back to the kitchen. Upon her return to the kitchen, I hear her reiterate the entire conversation that she just had with me to the Other Kimbap Lady. They both giggle. I learned new words and had some company. Everybody wins.

All that and I still haven't hit the good part. I totally got some action from Kimbap Lady! I was walking out the door backwards and waving goodbye after having paid for my meal, when Kimbap Lady took one look at my undone coat and sweater, shook her head and informed me in Korean that "it's cold!" She marched over to me, grabbed my scarf and started wrapping it frantically around my neck. She then tied it into a little bow, as only a Korean would, and patted it down my chest. It was at this point that I realize that doing up my scarf was totally just a cover for her to paw at my breasts. Kimbap Lady is a smooth playa, yo!

Kimbap Lady and I have a special, special bond. I'm her Big White Barbie. She's my Kimbap Lady. She gets to feel me up. I get felt up. Everybody wins.

Barbie's Random Weekend Musings

One of the many wonderful things about coming to South Korea was that I got to leave everybody elses problems at home. Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't love to hear everybody elses gossip. Au contraire, the only thing that I love talking about more than myself is other people! However, my last year was laced with a heavy dose of Suck, and after a while everything starts to wear on you a bit. My thought coming over here was that I wouldn't have to deal with anybody elses shit for a whole year. Fantastic! So I thought. I somehow failed to realize that in order to achieve this I would have to not only avoid making any friends here, but I'd also have to cut off contact with my friends at home. Essentially, I'd have to live in a box. Even I couldn't pull that off for more than a few days at a time. Who would I have to talk about myself with?

I got some news from back home on Friday afternoon which resulted in a ridiculous binge of randomness this weekend. Thankfully, nobody died. I merely had to accept the reality that a year is a long enough time that people close to me can go through massive fucking life changes that I'm going to miss entirely. That's the trade off of being a Fucking Rock Star, apparently. It's a trade off that I'm willing to take, but that doesn't make it any less of a Bag of Suck.

The binge began in Busan, wound it's way over to Daegu, then returned to Busan with little left in it's legs. All in all I probably spent 8 hours in my apartment the entire weekend. There were many bars, there was some poutine, there was bowling and ping pong, there were three McDonald's breakfasts in one morning, there may have been a D-grade film, and at some point I declared it that it was my Fucking Birthday. I even have a photo with a birthday hat that I found on a table. Because putting on random accessories that you find in a bar is always a good idea.

Yes, I finally found poutine. Fucking poutine. It was like, the best thing ever. Up until that point, anyways. If I could eat poutine every day, I would. Thighs be damned. It went really well with the quesadillas. Ass be damned! Poutine was most certainly among my three best choices for things to do this weekend. It was certainly better than my choice to eat three breakfasts at McDonald's at 530am on Satuday.

I capped the weekend by returning to Busan late afternoon on Sunday. I decided that going home to shower was grossly overrated and went to Seomyeon in search of my card-playing group. It turns out that cards was cancelled in favour of going to this arcade-type place. For 7 bucks you get three hours of unlimited bowling, ping pong, billiards, arcade games, computer games, air hockey, soccer and baseball simulator thingy-ma-jigs, and some other Blah. A blast was had by all. Sadly, I was pretty void of energy. I'll have to return another time when I have a bit more skip in my step.

Several days and dozens of drinks later, I have almost accepted the fact that life goes on without me back home. At least I can take comfort in knowing that it's not nearly as much fun without me.

Barbie Teacher is Angry Teacher

I like my job. I don't have a real job. I've covered this, but I'll reiterate: I sit on my ass, try to look pretty, and talk sometimes. That said, I take it seriously. Some of the kids really like me. In turn, I really like some of my students. I learn a lot about Korea through them, and hope that I make them feel positively about Canadians in return. Yet, with the good comes the bad. Today I got to start my day off with a taste of The Bad.

My first class on Mondays is an introductory level course. I have 4 students, 3 of whom sort of suck. By "sort of suck", I mean are pains in my ass. The student that I like in that class is actually the least skilled with English; but he's respectful and listens. Frankly, that's all I ask for. The other three speak out of turn, speak Korean (which is a no-no during English class), point at me and laugh... basically, they do whatever they feel like doing. I'd sort oflike to tape them to the wall, but that would probably make me a bad teacher. And maybe result in my getting arrested. This would actually make for a good enough story that it's almost worth doing it. Hmmm. I'll ponder the idea.

I was walking into the building for my 3pm class when my group of little brats comes running at me, yelling "teacher! teacher!" Two of them have food in their hands, which they promptly wave at me, asking "you want?!?!" I'm about to respond to this when they put the food in their mouths, suck on it, and pass it back my way, screaming "you want?! you want?!" again. I was a little annoyed at their idiocy, but was willing to let it pass with a simple "don't do that, it's rude", presuming they followed me to class and shut the fuck up. Two of them have some concept of what is good for them and did just that.

And then there was "Kevin". "Kevin" decided that it would be fun to continue waving food in my face, sucking on it, and then waving it back in my face. I advised him to come towards the door where I was standing so that I could lecture him on not being a pain in my ass. He looked at me, held his arms in front of his body and crossed them, and yelled "noooooooo!" This went on for about another 15 seconds before he finally got up, turned his back to me, and wiggled his butt. Yes, this actually happened. One of my students shook their ass at me when I was attempting to gain control. I had two choices at this point. Snap that little brat in half, or slam the door on the entire class and go find a Korean teacher to deal with this. I chose the latter option.

After slamming the door in front of the brat pack, I storm back to the office in search of a Korean coworker who can crush this little bitch's soul for me. Thankfully, I have really awesome coteachers, who don't think it's even remotely cool when the kids are rude to me. The woman who works the office was the only one available. When I made her aware of what was going on, she marched to my classroom before I could even finish the story. By the time I made it in behind her, she was giving the entire class a tongue lashing to remember. At least it would have been memorable had I any clue what on earth she was saying. Whatever it was, it worked. The little brat was afraid to speak for a good half hour after she left. I even started calling on him more often because I liked watching him squirm. Twerp.

Being a foreign teacher here is a bit of a double edged sword. On one hand, you're super fucking special. So beautiful! So handsome! On the other hand, some people here don't respect you as much because you are a foreigner. These are often the same people that get plastic surgery in order to look more like you. Nobody ever said that ignorance made sense. Regardless, there are idiots everywhere, so I don't let it bother me most days. Just leave it outside of my fucking classroom and you're golden.

My work day could have had a better beginning. Perhaps this was punishment for having a wee bit too much fun on the weekend? Nah. My day rebounded quite nicely from this only a few minutes after that class. One of my favourite students ran up to me in the hall and made some gesture with his hands, smacked his thigh, then walked off. I called him back to inquire as to what the heck he had just done. Given the treatment I had received an hour earlier, I was skeptical of any child that happened to look in my general direction. He repeated his hand signal and said "hip hop!", pumped his fist in the air, then danced down the hallway. And with that, an 8 year old totally made my day.