Monday, August 31, 2009


Tomorrow, something new and exciting. Today, more of the same:

I found out what the 'Gender Report' is and it's even worse than I thought. It was posted at the BX today with a note from the school nurse, bless her heart. It's a nasty note about how the children on the list, reported by age, gender and classroom, have not received their 'required shots' and will not be allowed to attend school until they do. So now, in addition to blatantly threatening the safety of the elementary school children, they are publicly displaying their private medical information.

I could call someone, but I know what they would say: the nurse is the only one we have for all three schools since our school budget got cut. She doesn't have time to write, call or email people about the shots, and besides, we're on a military base; it's perfectly safe. One of those excuses is irrelevant, and one is laughable, but it doesn't matter. So.... I have nothing more to say about that. I tried to have something to say several times but I couldn't write anything that wasn't bitter and angry. And, I recently read Kristen's excellent post about how you don't really HAVE to post everything you think of. Or at least you should carefully consider it first. I try really hard not to be a pain in the ass around here and it's EXHAUSTING. But now I'm done.

And on a completely unrelated note, I have mentioned before that sometimes there might be a little tiny fib or two on here. So, no, I do not have a stripper pole or road rash from vomiting on the sidewalk. That you know of.

Oh yeah, on another completely unrelated note, if you are interested in dog-eating in Korea (and come on, who's not?), check out this fascinating post from Ask A Korean.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sort of

It's Sunday night. Sort of. Sunday night in Korea is late Saturday night/early Sunday morning in the states, and is thus very boring. Everything is closed, no one is on the computer to talk to. And to make matters worse, tomorrow is Monday, sort of. Monday morning here is Sunday afternoon there, and there is a total blackout all day. No new blog entries + quiet Facebook + no emails= AGONY.

I used a recipe for dinner. Sort of. I read this book, 'The Ungarnished Truth', by Ellie Mathews. She is a Seattle hippiegeek (new word; do you like it? I'm aware that individual people have already used it, but I'm using it to sterotype an entire group of people. I'm still toying with the capitalization issue; I'll keep you posted), who won the Pillsbury Bake-off for her recipe for salsa couscous chicken a few years ago. I had to make a few substitutions, of course. There is no way on God's green earth you would find currants at the commissary, so I had to use chopped up apricots instead. There is, however, plenty of soy sauce, Crisco and Count Chocula, should you want to whip up something scrumptious with those.

On the topic of the commissary, which we were, sort of, I found the commissary more appalling than usual today. Right in the front where you walk in, where you would expect to find the ads posted in a normal store, was a display titled 'Gender Report'. It was exactly what it sounds like- a report listing elementary school students by classroom and gender. Also a perfect pedophile's shopping list but no one asked me. I am reminded every single day that no one has any privacy here: you can't even have a few beers too many and throw up on the sidewalk without someone making a big deal about it; you have to have your ID scanned at the BX to buy Oxi-clean and Maalox; and when your new stripper pole comes in the mail everyone knows about it. I can live with those things, sort of, but if my kid's name was on the 'Gender Report' posted at the commissary I would be beyond furious. Not that anyone cares.

I'm ready to start a new week. Sort of. We are leaving here soon, sort of, and the weeks are going slowly now and my energy and enthusiasm are waning. There are never enough books, enough time, but always too much laundry, too many eggs mashed into the carpet and too much noise. I want to write, sort of. There are lots of ideas, but never enough time and always too much noise. I can ignore the laundry, sort of, so here you go: I updated my blog. Sort of.

Thursday, August 27, 2009


Lately I've been thinking about things I'm pretty sure I should know but don't. These are real, actual questions with answers I just don't know, not rhetorical un-answerable questions like why can Lloyd fly an airplane to a tiny spot in the dark halfway around the world but can't find the ketchup standing right in front of him in the refrigerator:

1. What is wiki mean, and how does Wikipedia work? They claim anyone in the whole world can edit the entries, right, and they don't do any oversight. How is that even possible and what keeps it from descending into constant chaos?

2. Scientific notation; do you count the zero in the 10 as an extra one, or do you just use the number in the superscript? This one I might actually need to figure out soon, because Weston is supremely interested in really big numbers. We told him googol was the biggest number with a name, and he wrote it out, a one followed by a hundred zeroes. Then he said, 'Nine with a million zeroes is the biggest number with a name. I named it!' I asked him what he named it, and he said, as if I were stupid (and maybe he's onto something here) 'Nine with a million zeroes!'

3. Is it better to buy organic produce that had to get a passport to get to your supermarket, or local produce that's conventionally grown?

4. What does 'preternatural' mean?

5. How do I cut and paste lickety-split with my new Mac, without using the edit menu? And does it need virus protection that I don't have? And why can't I watch Helen's videos?

Boy, I better stop now or you all will think I'm a total moron. Oops, too late!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


It was ever-so-gently brought to my attention recently that I had neglected to tie up a few loose ends around here, so I have a few updates:

1. Mrs. Osan Pageant: We have many lovely ladies here, and I did receive some additional entries, but it is just so hard to choose! I will make an effort to crown a winner in the not-too-distant future, so don't give up hope, Osan beauties!

2. Normal or not (military spouse poll): The poll closed and the result are striking. I do, indeed, have a theory and hope to share it soon.

3. Tapping: I was a little hesitant to share this earlier, but I have been a nail biter since I was a wee lass. I tapped on it, and I have had no urge to nibble my nails or chew on my cuticles since. They are growing nicely and I may need a manicure soon. Coincidence? I think not. I'm not a fan of coincidences, which is interestingly the subject of post I have in the works. What a strange and fortuitous occurrence!

Nighty-night from Korea!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009



Here in South Korea, two traditional enemies are considering high level talks to resolve their long-term conflict, despite repeated failure of diplomatic efforts.

Stories From Korea and her Jeans have had a tense and stressful relationship since the early 80's when a simmering dispute over a split seam erupted into all-out war.

A tentative peace was reached after months of battle, only to end in the ugly and notorious 'Judas Priest Concert/Duct Tape' dispute, which was closely followed by the drawn-out 'Freshman 15' struggle. Since then, relations have been strained, consisting of a cold war marked with occasional skirmishes and border disputes, usually sparked by special events such as reunions and homecoming queen sightings. The steadily worsening relationship deteriorated further during 2001-2007 with SFK's marriage and the birth of her two children. Good faith efforts to negotiate a deal were made by SFK in 2008, but the Jeans maintained a hard line stance, despite impassioned pleas from Spandex, a special envoy dispatched in desperation.

The ongoing tense relationship has taken a severe toll on the entire region. Representatives for the other parties in the Wardrobe Coalition expressed cautious optimism today over the prospect of reunification of the warring parties. One official, speaking on the condition of anonymity, stated that a peace treaty would be well received by the Bikini community, as well as by their close allies, the Articles of Underclothing.

However, there are several potentially insurmountable obstacles to a successful negotiation. SFK would be forced to give up late night cheese snacks and regular second glasses of wine and hand over her breakfast chocolate; concessions she has so far been unwilling to make. Her longstanding position has been that in order to even consider such drastic moves, the Jeans would have to immediately provide several inches of accomodation. To date, requests of this nature have been met with outright refusal by the Jeans.

Interested parties watch from around the region, while the Foundation Garment Party sits poised to swoop in and seize power, a move that would be disastrous for all concerned.

Sunday, August 23, 2009


You guys know how I'm always looking for a book that will change my life, right? Well, I found another one! Pretty soon I won't even recognize myself. This one might work out for you, too, not like that last one.  It's called 'The Tapping Cure', by Roberta Temes.  I heard about the tapping from my sister, but I thought it was a little woo-woo for me. She nagged me until I bought it, so I tried it out. 

The basic idea is that there are acupressure spots on your face, hands and chest that can be used to release negative feelings.  You can see the face and collarbone spots in the picture, and there is also one running down the pinkie side of each hand,  on each finger (except the ring fingers) on the bottom corner of the nail on the thumb side, one on the left side of the chest under the collarbone, and one on each side under your arm where your bra gush is. Where mine is, I mean. Only on you. I certainly don't mean to imply that you might have bra gush. Moving on,  I had intended to mark each spot with a tidy circle, but I couldn't find a single one of the 736321 washable crayola markers I have purchased. Instead, I used some goopy face paints my generous friend Helen left me when she escaped Korea. Wasn't that sweet of her?

There are a variety of techniques you can try, but they all instruct you to tap, rub or press these spots while talking to yourself aloud.  I know, it sounds crazy, right? So crazy it just might work! And I've always been one to embrace my crazy, so I'm just the girl to test it out.
I started out by tapping away some general stress. I usually post about how great Lloyd is, so it might shock you to hear that he can occasionally vex me. Last night, instead of scowling, I just started tapping and it worked great! He was a little extra-vexacious, so I just kept tapping until the cranky feelings were gone. Now I just have to figure out a way to fill those bloody holes on my face; the blue paint doesn't really do it for me. Hahahaha, that's a good one, huh? See, he was so maddening I just had to keep tapping until I had worn holes in my skin. Oh, never mind. But for real, it worked; I tapped for 30 seconds or so while concentrating on my irritation, and I immediately felt much more peaceful! 

 The book is full of uses for tapping; you can get rid of bad habits, fears, chronic anxieties and more. I almost wish I had a phobia, like say, an irrational fear of washing dishes, so I could tap it away in minutes! Or not. You can even use it to shut your kids up! The spot on the side of the hand between the pinkie and wrist is a good one to use for little kids, and bigger kids can be taught to tap themselves. Plus it makes a great threat: 'Stop that howling or I'll tap you into next week!' Only instead of calling CPS, people will be in awe of your parenting skills! I tried it on Weston when he was upset over a yogurt dispute, then asked him how it felt. He reports that he prefers rubbing to tapping and it makes him feel all purplish and salty. So there you have it.

Of course, there are some catches. You have to know what your problem is to concentrate on or talk about while you're tapping. If you're trying to tap away rage when you're really sad and don't know it, it won't work at all. You also can't change what someone else is doing, only how it makes you feel. So, for example, I can tap on 'Even though Lloyd is irritating me, I am okay', but not 'I wish Lloyd would be quiet about his stupid boat'.

There are all sorts of sequences you can use to solve a variety of problems, but to start, you can just tap on the spots in the picture or check out for tons of good free instructions. Try it out, 10 seconds or so on each spot, and tell me how it works for you!

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Reality is King

I just watched the worst tv show ever. I don't watch a lot of tv and now I know why. Here at Osan, all we get is AFN (Armed Forces Network), unless you go through all kinds of complicated and expensive machinations to get more channels.

Since I don't watch much tv and I have a special loathing for reality tv, it is entirely possible that 'Rock of Love' is not, in fact, the worst show ever, but it is surely in the top ten. If you are not familiar with it, it stars Bret Michaels, a washed-up rock star trying to hang onto his glory days. He is looking for his one true love, that splendid and devoted lass that won't mind him sleeping with groupies on the road. The show is in season 11, so he doesn't seem to be having much luck.

Twenty-seven years ago, Stephen King published a story called '
The Running Man'. You can read the plot synopsis if you click on the link, but it's a story about a network that runs 'game shows' in which people die, for entertainment. The contestants are forced into appearing, either for punishment, or because they are desperate for one reason or another. In 1982, the year the story was published, MTV's 'The Real World' was still ten years away. 'The Real World' was the first American foray into what we now call reality tv, though there had already been some similar European and Japanese efforts. 

I'm paraphrasing King's thoughts here, because I can't recall the source for his words; it could have been the preface to the book, or it could have been his book on writing, or perhaps an interview. He was addressing the idea that the game shows in the story were outrageous and ridiculously far-fetched, and pointed out that humans have been entertaining themselves by torturing and killing each other since humanity began, and used the excellent and appropriate example of the Romans 'gaming' with Christians and others in the Coliseum. He said that game shows like the ones he described were in our future.

Is 'Rock of Love' in the same category as 'The Running Man' game? Well, probably not. Yet. But a society in which thousands of women will audition to be on a show where they will demean themselves and one another while viciously competing to be the future ex-girlfriend of a stringy-haired, makeup-wearing guitar player is but a few steps away. Maybe next season the ratings will go down, so instead of putting the contestants in bikinis and hooker heels, they'll give them whips. Then, the pool of volunteers might go down, because now it's dangerous. So, the network works a deal with the LA court system: The show will provide employment and oversight of the most attractive minor offenders to save the taxpayers the cost of trying and punishing them. Everyone wins!

See what a slippery slope it is? And when Stephen King is accurately predicting the future, it's time to wake up and smell the offal.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


I have been to hell and back, my friends, and I have lived to tell the tale. Yesterday morning started just like any other morning: I awoke to the sound of a slamming door as Shane ran into the bedroom, vigorously shut the door behind him, and pig-piled me for his morning nursies. I stumbled into the kitchen and made some coffee, went into the computer room to check my email, Facebook and SFK for blog updates.

The computer was frozen, a not uncommon occurrence, and we decided it was time to part with the hard-earned fifty bucks and have the thing cleaned up at the BX. So, we reluctantly disconnected it and Lloyd took it down there. He had called ahead to see how long it would take and was told we would have to suffer approximately 24 hours with no computer. Lloyd's plan was to drop it off, then cajole, threaten or bribe the computer guy into fixing it immediately because we would SHRIVEL UP AND DIE with no computer for an entire day. All was going well with the plan, until Lloyd called after we couldn't stand it anymore (approximately 20 minutes) and was told that the computer was not fixable; something something, BIOS motherboard, blah blah blah, no fixee, no fixee.

Facing the prospect of the whole, boring-ass Korean day in front of me, I tried to make the best of it. It will be good for me, I thought. I spend too much time on the computer anyway, I told myself. But deep inside, a glimmer of hope was growing. I have been wanting a new Mac for quite a while; maybe now was the time! Lloyd tried to convince me to hook the 10 year old Compaq that's gathering dust in the laundry room back up, but I wasn't going for it. He finally caved in and came home from work early so I could go down to the BX and see what they had. I walked, because there are never parking spots at the BX, and planned to take a cab home if I needed to. Lloyd, as desperate as me but perhaps hiding it a little better, feverishly instructed me not to come home without a computer.

I hiked down to the Mustang Mall (oh, yes, that's really what it's called) in the broiling late afternoon heat and inspected the meager computer selection: four desktops (two Macs and two PC's) and approximately 27 laptops that all looked the same. I snapped up the Mac I wanted and the Office for Mac suite and handed over my credit card. Which was declined. Twice. Now, having your credit card declined ALWAYS sucks, but at the BX, it is ultra-embarrassing, because the person in line behind you is probably either your husband's boss or that snooty mom who always sneers at you when your kids run by her apartment naked. Not that I would know.

Furious at the stupid bank who issued the card, I stalked home to get another card and call up USAA to yell at them. To save time, I threw the card at Lloyd and told him to call and yell at them while I took the other card to get the computer. This time, I managed to get all the way home and get the computer up on the desk, at which time I noticed a crack across the corner of the screen. Because it was a Mac and not a Windows-running machine, we were pretty sure that the crack was not, in fact, a standard feature, and we took it back and exchanged it. Then I discovered that the credit card was an old one that had been replaced and not shredded- oops! Sorry, USAA, my bad. I take back all the nasty thoughts I had about you. Well, not ALL. You still suck, but thanks for replacing a perfectly good credit card with a new one with a different account number because you misplaced our personal information.

Now it's hooked up and working fine, if a little slow, and I have learned two things:

1. I spend WAY too much time on the computer. Seriously, I was totally jonesing for email ALL DAY, like every five minutes. Someday, I might actually try to do something about it, but probably not today.

2. My messy house and unkempt children cannot be blamed on my computer addiction; after an entire day offline, conditions are not improved. I am not sure what this says about me, but I think I like it!

Sunday, August 16, 2009


Know what's weird? Blogging about blogging is weird. There are actually blogs about blogging. Hell, for all I know there are blogs about blogging about blogging. Personally, I think blog posts about blogging are usually boooooring: blog or do not blog; take the goodie bags or don't; have ads or don't have ads; blah, blah, blah- it's all the same to me. Or maybe it's mildly interesting sometimes, but definitely not worth all the angst and drama.

But today, I had a blogging milestone, so I had to blog about it: someone recognized me from my blog! I felt like Dooce! As an aside, I am not a huge Dooce fan. Going to Dooce is kind of like going to Macy's instead of the thrift store, or to WalMart instead of that cute little handcrafted toy store down the street. You know how I love bargains and things that are a little off the beaten path, so I go to Cecily for my crazy, even though Heather cornered the market on PPD long ago. But she is totally getting a bad rap in the press these days for no reason that I can discern. Although I see from her post today that she is going on Dr. Phil, so maybe she DOES deserve it. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

What's important here is my Q rating. I'm not too savvy about this popularity thing; I thought it was a Q factor, which turned out to be WAY more complicated. Phew, good thing I'm a out of work geologist mom domestic engineer hopped up lushblog writer, instead of a physicist!

I know you're dying to hear how it happened, so here it is: I was at church, chatting with my friend MeLissa and killing time when a new family came in. They were a little late, so they were the only game in town, and the church ladies pounced on them. After the parents got all greeted up and delivered their kids to vacation bible school, they came back by me with the deer in the headlights looks wiped off their faces, and the mom said, 'Do you have a blog?' She recognized me from here before she even got to Osan! Probably from this post, because that's my most common look. And,she actually likes it!

Of course, I acted all cool, like that happens to me all the time, but I thought I had died and gone to heaven, right there in the foyer of the Mission Baptist Church. Thanks, J!

Now, let's get down to the nitty gritty; the really important part of this post: which is my best side? I really need to know; I have an image to uphold, you know.

Friday, August 14, 2009

On Vices

I'm a fan of vices. Really, I'm not sure what I'd do without them. Especially here at Osan. You NEED your vices here, there's no question about it. But unfortunately, the vice options are limited. Your choices are: alcohol, coffee, OTC drugs, and online shopping. Oh, I guess I could smoke, chew or devour online po.rn, but I do have SOME standards. So anyway, leaving out the more odious choices, I'm batting about .500 here, which is working out okay for me, but I really need to up my average a little bit or I might get cut from the team. Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, we were discussing what a hopped-up drunk I am.

This place is BORING, people. If I was clever, crafty, or perhaps even just smart, I could produce something with my free time: sloppy sewing projects, hideous scrapbooks or appalling art. Maybe even a crappy book! Or I could embark on a no-holds-barred self-improvement plan. A motivated person could really whip herself into shape here: stair climbing every day, kimchi for three meals a day... This place would definitely make a high quality fat camp. I could even keep my house clean cleaner.

But nope, none of those things for me! Part of the problem, of course, is that my 'free time' is after the boys go to bed, and I am a mere husk of a woman; the deflated remains of a slightly overripe fruit, innards sucked dry. But that's not why, if the truth be known.

The truth is, I don't WANT to do any of those things. I don't need improvement or ugly crafts. I'm good enough.

Unfortunately, though, I do have a little issue: vices are quite costly, I'm finding. I just spent almost $100 to have a couple of months' worth of coffee shipped here, and let's not even talk about the wine bills. I was thinking of whipping up some home brew but that would be venturing perilously close to producing something useful with my free time (see above). So, I welcome suggestions from all my clever friends in the computer! I also welcome coffee and wine. And chocolate.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Fins: Don't send Lloyd to the BX

Fins to the left, Fins to the right, and I'm the only bait in town.... isn't that how it goes?

This is the newest member of our family, Neptune. As you may know, we have another fish, Mars. They are both Siamese Fighting Fish.

Lloyd went to the BX last night. We needed one of those booger-sucking bulb things (BX FAIL), Flinstones vitamins and a few other things. He came home with beer, two tabloids, and Neptune. Sadly, this did not surprise me. And I was not altogether disappointed, I must admit. Except for the fish; now THAT was disappointing.

Now, as you are probably aware, you cannot put two Siamese Fighting Fish in the same tank. They are called 'Fighting Fish' for a reason. This is why they are always in teeny-tiny individual bowls at the evil fish-selling store. Apparently, this was news to Lloyd because he had fully intended to just dump Neptune into Mars's tank, 'because he needed a friend'.

I hate to say it, but Lloyd's fish care skills leave a little to be desired. While I was scrounging a bowl for Neptune, Lloyd gave the plastic bag holding him to Shane. I'm sure he thought Shane would hold the bag gently and lovingly, and was beyond shocked when he started agitating poor Neptune like a human blender or a Korean washer. Then, he mocked me when I insisted on dechlorinating the water for Neptune.

Miraculously, Neptune did get safely into a tank and survive the night. It was touch and go for a while, though, because Weston really wanted to sleep with him.

Lloyd is already working on a plan to smuggle the fish back to the states come PCS time. Thank God he has found an adoptive home for his turtle, that's all I have to say. Oh, and now she feels like a remora......

Sunday, August 9, 2009


Well, it happened. I got unfriended. I suppose it was inevitable; the circle of life and all that. It's true; I say a lot of ridiculous things. I swear, just a smidge. But still, I was a little surprised. It was a friendly acquaintance, not just someone I knew a long time ago. I mean, what did I do wrong? Was it my goofy status updates or my smart-ass comments?

Surely, she didn't really mean to unfriend me. It must be a Facebook mistake. Maybe some sort of computer glitch; I'll just refriend her. She just has to confirm me. Any time now; I'm sure it will be fine.

Who the hell does she think she is? This really pisses me off. What did I ever do to her? So my posts are kind of ridiculous; screw her if she can't take a joke! Whatever, I don't need her anyway; I wouldn't friend her if she was the last person on earth!

Well, maybe we could be friends. If she would just be friends with me again, I would write nicer things. I would even make those little hearts and smiley faces, if only she would come back and confirm me.

Oh, I can't stand it! I don't deserve this; it's such a burden on my soul. I know, I can have other friends, but it's just not the same; will I ever feel whole?

Hey, you got any wine? Yeah, I'd love some. What? Oh, her? Yeah, we used to be friends, but it's over now. It's all good.

Saturday, August 8, 2009


I had been planning on taking this picture of Lloyd in his mess dress for a long time. He had a ceremony to go to tonight and we have been scrounging up the bits and pieces of the uniform for WEEKS: the buttons, the cuff links, the bow tie; it's all very complicated. The clip-on bow tie, in particular, is surprisingly vexing.

And while he is very handsome in his mess dress, that is not why I wanted the picture. No, I wanted the picture because, unless something goes dreadfully awry, it is the very last time he will wear it. Ever. Never again. I took the picture because I relish every indication that our Air Force time is drawing to a close. He looks a little grumpy because he felt I was not taking the primping and polishing quite seriously enough, but he did consent to pose.

And that was going to be the end of this post. Oh, I might have gone on a bit about how I'm going to dance naked around a uniform bonfire when we get out of here, or how I'm counting down the coffee filters (187), but that was basically it. But then....

But then, as Lloyd was walking out the door in his fancy outfit, Shane fell, jumped or was pushed off the back of the couch, smashing the back of his head into one of the 45,873,912 toys laying on the floor behind it. And there was Lloyd, all dressed up with no place to go. Except the ER. And so we did, and instead of attending a fancy dinner party, Lloyd spent the evening in a dingy hospital basement and eating takeout pizza after Shane was cleared to go home and continue throwing himself around with reckless abandon.

So there you have it, the story of Lloyd's last dress-up party. Sniff. Now pass the matches.

Mrs. Osan Entry 2

For your viewing pleasure, here is a recent pageant entry in the 'Shiniest' category. This Osan lovely glows with the best of them, don't you think?

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Mrs. Osan Pageant update and Entry 1

The 'Queen of the Kitchen' category has been changed to the Talent Competition.

This was so the pageant doesn't discriminate against cooking-challenged entrants, such as our lovely Mrs.Osan number 1, who submitted the 'before' and 'after' photos showcasing her housekeeping skills.

Send in your entry today, and don't forget that frozen ground beef recipe! I mean, come on, people! Help me out here.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Here She Comes

Osan in August is pretty dull. And humid. And bug-ridden. Other than that it's a really great place, but it could use a little livening up. Fortunately, I got a brilliant idea at the playground this afternoon. No, really, it's true this time; not like that ridiculous poetry idea at all.

Okay, here it is. Are you ready for it? It's the Mrs. Osan Pageant! Something like the better known (but not for long) Miss American pageant, only better. Of course, I had to make some changes to the concept and categories because our pageant will be in a venue quite different than an air-conditioned casino in Atlantic City. Also because the Miss America pageant is stupid beyond words.

First, the competition isn't restricted by age or gender. Stories from Korea, the pageant sponsor, has a strict 'don't ask, don't tell' policy about both of those things, so gentleman of Osan, get your applications ready!

Here are the categories, a brief description, and instructions about how to enter:

Shiniest: We all glisten around here, but some of you ladies (and you know who you are!) really have that golden glow. Send in a photo of yourself at your moistest, and/or measure and submit your sweat volume over a 24-hour period.

Scabbiest: Mosquitoes around here really leave their mark. If you bump up nicely, then claw at yourself until you bleed, this is your category! Check out the picture; I'm the walking scab to beat, so don't get your hopes up. Enter with a photo. Please, no scabs shoved under my door.

Queen of the Kitchen: The recipe that gets a meal based on frozen ground beef to the table the fastest wins. Send me the recipe. Before dinnertime, if possible.

The Rain Boot competition: The most stylish monsoon boots take the prize. Send a photo or drop the boots off. Entries become the property of the sponsor. Extra credit for size 9's.

Miss Schizophrenic: This goes to the craziest summer story. Have you taken two or more kids on a trip halfway around the world, by yourself, maybe even space-A*? Done something else that is totally nuts? Send in your story to win the prize.

Ex-Osanites and other members of society are permitted, nay, encouraged, to participate. I'm waiting for those entries, so go ahead and send them in right away. Especially the frozen ground beef recipe. Right now would be great. Seriously, right now. I'm waiting. Go ahead. Someone? Anyone? Dammit.

*Space-A stands for space available and refers to almost free travel on military aircraft. As you might expect, there are a million catches. You can read some hilarious accounts of such ill-conceived trips here and here.


***************FREAK ALERT**********

Okay, I am the first one to admit that I'm a little bit crazy but even I think this is a little extra nuts: Ever since I posted my poem, 'Vision: Ode to my new yellow purse' yesterday I have felt COMPELLED to explain to everyone that yes, I know the poem is TERRIBLE. I revel in its awfulness; that is the whole POINT, and yet I feel like I have to tell everyone I KNOW it is horrible, lest anyone think I think it is a real poem.

**Thank you for your attention. Real post coming soon; freak level to be determined.**

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Vision: Ode to my new yellow purse

I woke up this morning and said,
Korea again? Still? Oh, the despair!
Don't fret, they all said,
Go for a shop!
This is the land of fake purses aplenty;
it will cheer you right up!
Hmmmm, I thought, no fan of full price
It's Tuesday again, I'll hit the thrift!
And there it was,
my muse, my delight
Just the right size,
yellow, black and white
My heart sings with joy,
my wallet brims!
Shhhh, just don't tell Kate!

Thrift Store Kate Spade knockoff: $3
Composing appalling poetry and drinking wine on a balmy Korean night: Priceless

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Chaos Family Rules

I decided to password protect Chaos Family Rules. If you'd like access to it and don't yet have it, please let me know and I will add you to the reader list.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Moving on out

Do you know what this picture is? Do you? This is Lloyd hauling some stuff out of our storage room in extremely early preparation for our move. We didn't really plan to start moving today; it just seemed like a good idea. Here's how it happened:

Lloyd: Hey, we haven't grilled at all this year.
Me: Yeah, I was just thinking maybe we should move the grill off the deck so we have more room out there; it's pretty cramped.
Lloyd: Should we put it in the storage room? I'll have to move some stuff around in there.
We investigate storage room.
Me: A lot of that stuff goes to the thrift store. You could take it right now.
Lloyd: Yeah, okay. Hey, we don't need that Christmas tree, do we? And what about that car seat? Let's get rid of all of it! We're moving soon anyway.
We fill up the hallway with piles of crap.
Lloyd: Can I take those broken cabinet doors?
Me: No! I need those. For a project.
Lloyd rolls his eyes, then hauls junk out of the hallway for a very long time.

So all of this might make you think we are moving soon. And we are, if by soon, you mean long, interminable months from now. How many months, you might wonder. The answer is: So many that to write it will just depress me beyond words. Where are you moving to, you might wonder. The answer is: We have no idea! Does this make the time pass even more slowly? The answer is: Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. But at least we have a roomy deck and a clean storage room. And the thrift store has another pile of crap. All's well that ends well, I always say.