Progress

Today I am pleased to announce that I am finally starting to really believe that I'm really back home: Bossed around by sister? Check. Thrift store clothes and hand-me-ups piling up faster than I can wear them? Check. Dad nitpicking my writing attempts? Check. Mom giving me the stinkeye for crumbs on the counter and naked children? Check! If I had a Magic Eight Ball it would totally be saying 'All signs point to yes'. We all know that a toy that exists solely in my imagination would never lie so it must be true.

Now that I have had a chance to catch my breath a little, I fear I might have left out some salient points in my previous post where I was comparing the relative merits of Korean Air and United Airlines. I know this because I have been laying awake at night thinking about it. It drives me crazy when I think I have left something out or used a badly constructed sentence or a less than optimal word. It's actually possibly slightly obsessive (see all those '-ly' words all in a row? Sure to elicit a comment- CHECK!) In fact, I know it is, because one time in about 1990 I used 'prescription' when I meant 'subscription', and I STILL THINK ABOUT IT.

Anyway, she typed, dragging her attention back to the matter at hand, now that I'm in a one computer/three addict house, the situation around the singularity can get a bit dicey and I might have been rushed off the computer at icepick point before my thoughts were fully unveiled. But after I've had a few nights to ruminate over the issue, I've come to the logical conclusion: A new reality show! You take any random KAL trans-pacific flight and a similar United flight (or any other airline if you're really feeling saucy) and give them some zany in-flight challenges to overcome while still fulfilling all the standard responsibilities. For the opener, the teams would have to design and then make a gown for an extravagant wedding and simultaneously deliver twin lambs. KAL would kick United ass, because I swear, those flight attendants keep springing fully formed out of the overhead compartments or something, each one more charming and accomplished than the last. They would have that mother sheep parked on a business class seat with their arms up inside before the beleaguered United crew could even adjust their trusses.

Sadly, the reality show idea is perhaps not an entirely practical one for security reasons. Most of my challenges involve sharp implements and/or fire, but wouldn't it make an outstanding series of commercials? I can picture it now: the smiling KAL crew is turning backflips down the aisle and building a go-kart in the galley while their rivals lumber around, banging into each other with stupid looks on their faces. If anyone from the KAL marketing department is reading this, my ad concepts are available at a low, low price and an advantageous exchange rate. Rest assured, there's plenty more where this one came from. Call me!

Cape Fear

I really, really want a cape. That's not weird, right? Not a Dracula cape or some bogus magician's cape or a superhero cape, but a real George-Washington-Crossing-the-Delaware cape. Wouldn't that look AWESOME on me? Not in red and blue though; those totally aren't my colors. I was thinking more chocolate and cream, or chocolate and a soft apricot; what do you think? Ummm, chocolate and apricots, now I'm hungry. This isn't just some crazy whim, either. I have actually been coveting a cape for quite a while. I just happened to be reminded last night because I was watching the 'Seinfeld' where George's father is hanging around with a guy in a cape and Jerry and the gang all think wearing a cape is VERY strange. That's pretty rich coming from a guy that wears white sneakers with jeans every single day, now isn't it? But I'm a little nervous, because a cape IS a bit bold. I was thinking of having one made here. Right off base are a million tailors who will make anything you want. It's risky at best, though. This is the 'Land of the Not Quite Right' (I did not make that up, though I wish I had), and I have seen plenty of custom made garments that deserve the NQR label. I went to bed last night thinking about the cape.

And I woke up thinking about it. Then I got up and flipped on the TV so the kids would shut their gobs for twenty seconds and I could have some coffee and Facebook. To my dismay, there was a big warning not to drink the water. As it turns out, it was just a practice warning, and I felt a little sheepish for being worried about it. Baaaaaaaaah, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. But then I got to thinking: In a place where the water sometimes ISN'T safe to drink, where the elevators don't always work, where the washing machines have been known to catch on fire, and where the dryers eat holes in clothes, perhaps assuming the worst is a reasonable reaction. Oops, sorry! My short-timer's bitterness is showing again. I bet a generously cut cape would cover that nicely, though.

Once I found out that a shower probably wasn't going to poison me, I took one and went to get the mail and go to the library. The mail sucked: a crumpled up 'Redbook' magazine, which I barely even read anymore, and a reminder that I've been neglecting my Roth lately. So I don't get enough exercise, my hair has been out since 1989 and I'm going to die a bag lady, quite possibly soon. Blah blah blah, what else is new? Off to the library, where I returned 'Under the Dome' after reading about half of it. I still want to know what happens but not badly enough to slog through the last 500 pages. I'm sure I can find an outline of all the important spoilers online, and just for the record, I'm willing to bet there's cannibalism involved. I squatted down in front of the new book rack to pick up 'Bobby and Jackie: A Love Story' (every word true, no doubt) when I heard the terrifying and distinctive sound of my pants ripping right down the middle. Luckily, the book racks are always deserted so no one saw, but of course, I had to go home. Wearing pants with a rip down the crotch, in weather so cold that it turns snot into boogercicles. And me with no cape. I have never run so fast in my life.

Sometimes

Sometimes when people update their blog, they have exciting news to share. Sometimes they have a fun list of new blogs to for their friends and readers. Sometimes they have words of wisdom for those who might be considering a liver or colon cleanse. And sometimes, the same old post at the top of their blog is driving them insane and they have no good ideas so they have to post whatever ridiculous foolishness spews out of their fingertips. Not wanting to be one of THOSE people, I thought I would give the other ideas a shot.

Exciting News: Today I purchased a carton of half and half that has an expiration date that comes AFTER the day we leave here. I have been waiting for this day FOREVER! It's ultra-pasteurized, of course, but STILL.

New Blogs: We all know I am a blogaholic and I am ALWAYS looking for new blogs to read. If you have one I don't already read or know of some I might like, please share in the comments. And here are some new ones I've been reading lately:

Confessions from Household Six

Kimchi Mamas

Cliff Mass Weather Blog

Diary of a Sadman

Liver Cleanse: This is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard. And I live in Korea. With two small sons. And a pilot. How does this sound for funsies?Fast for a day or two, then drink a bunch of epsom salts in water and olive oil mixed with grapefruit juice, then check out your poop for green globules that are supposed to be cholesterol and/or toxins from your liver. Ummm, epsom salts! You can find out the whole truth here, but if you don't want to read all the gross details, I'll give away the secret. The excreted green globules are actually the result of ingesting large amounts of olive oil mixed with grapefruit juice! And, if you are really brave, check out the colon cleanse post. Here's a handy tip: unless you are Elvis Presley or Lindsay Lohan, your liver and colon do a very nice job of cleansing themselves and they will thank you for leaving them alone to do it in peace. Oooh, or Dick Cheney. I'm betting he could use some help with his colon because there is for sure something up there. I think it might be a giant stick, though. The cleanse would probable be overwhelmed when presented with Dick's colon, and my dad always says to take the time to find the right tool for the job. This one definitely calls for a chainsaw. Or a skidder.

2010

2010 is my year, baby! I can feel it. If you've been reading here for any length of time, you might have seen one or more of my escape attempts. They're sort of reminiscent of the castaways' efforts to leave Gilligan's Island. You might not be quite old enough to be a Gilligan's Island fan, so let me summarize, just in case: A small group of innocent victims volunteered for a short pleasant tour to an exotic location. Some of them HAD to go on the tour, because it was their job. The rest of them were just along for the ride. Alas, things did not go quite as they had expected: the weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed. Onto a deserted island, with a giant hole in the side. The boatmates, of varying attractiveness, intelligence, and temperament,made many, many, brilliant plans to get off the island, only to see them thwarted by ham-handed operator errors. Is any of this ringing a bell?

The similarities are striking, I think. All except the varying attractiveness intelligence and temperament part, of course. All the folks here in our little slice of paradise are exceptionally gorgeous and whip-smart, and super polite. Take my friend, Pam, for example. She just posted her Christmas pictures on Facebook, and she is a beaut, for sure. A right vision in her Christmas finery. All she needed was my festive Christmas ornament necklace and she could have been on the cover of Vogue. Hey, that reminds me! You guys are not going to believe this; I totally have to tell you! My Aunt Ina, who lives in the poshest part of Oregon, if such a thing can be said to exist, says that all the fancy gals in her town are wearing ornament jewelry! It's quite the trend among the smart set there. Can you believe how they ripped off my idea?!?!? They probably thought they would get away with it since I'm stuck on this island peninsula. Well, I'm onto them!

And I'm not done with Gilligan's Island, either. I just have to say here that they didn't have it so bad: there were plenty of coconut cream pies, stylish clean clothes and an efficient bicycle-powered dishwasher. The weather was beautiful, they had American radio and they were infectious disease free. Even the occasional visitor, some of whom looked exactly like one or more of them! I have none of those things here, people! And what I couldn't do with a body double, let me tell you. The possibilities are endless, and extremely intriguing. But you won't hear me complaining, no sir! Because this is the year I'm getting out of here. I know, I know, you're smart to be suspicious. I've been working on it for a while now, to no avail. You might remember the time I pretended I was crazy, or the time I tried to hitch a ride on Air Force One, or the time I seriously considered stowing away on our van as it headed out across the Pacific on a freighter, just to name a few zany episodes.

Hey, have you noticed how my thoughts are kind of wandering? That can be a sign of dementia, right? Maybe I should give that pretending to be crazy thing another go. I think I was really close to making that fly, don't you? It's my year, you know. And I'll try anything once twice.

Stories from Korea wishes you the very best 2010: May you have lots of pies, only good visitors and no midnight fire alarms.

Tequila

I think we call agree that tequila is an extremely useful substance. Versatile, too. There's nothing better if you're looking to land yourself in a filthy bathtub with abrasions around your waist from diving through a very small bathroom window after running down a dark alley after a guy in a bronco offered you some wine coolers while he was chopping coke on a box of bullets with a giant hunting knife. Not that I would know. His name was Lloyd, too, isn't that a freaky slash creepy coincidence?

Anyhoo, that was a long time ago, and after that I wasn't much of a tequila fan, not that I'm any too picky about filthy bathtubs. But here at Osan, the best drinking is at the Chili's, and the wine selection is weak to say the least. So margaritas it is, and with a lot of effort, I have overcome my tequila aversion. Last night, I sat there for several hours with one of my favorite friends, and sucked down quite some volume of frozen green happiness.

After a few, I noticed something funny: I had a stinging sensation right in the middle of my upper lip. Right there where teeny tiny babies get their nursing blisters. The parallels astound, but I won't go into that here. I got to thinking, and when that happens, you know a brilliant idea is soon to follow.

So, here it is, and it kind of matches up nicely with my latest cleaning scheme. The tequila abraded my lip because it's caustic, right? Especially when you mix it with lime juice and salt! And I'm always looking for a way to clean the grout, the burnt on crud on the stove top, and the disgusting ring in the washing machine. Well, okay, that's a lie. I really couldn't care less about any of that. But I MIGHT try to get it off now that I have this tequila idea. We could share: one shot for the floor, one shot for me. One shot for the floor, two shots for me. It's not THAT outlandish; people do use vodka to clean, you know. You can read about it here. That would never work for me, though. I've worked really hard but I still haven't managed to vanquish my longstanding vodka phobia. I'm definitely willing to give it a try, but someone better come check on me in a few days.

Fear

I am so very relieved; there has been no apparent backlash against my anti-poetry tirade of the other day. I keep whirling around, trenchcoat flapping, to make sure there are no mad poets skulking around as I go about my daily business. So far, so good! I'm not THAT worried, I have an idea that any poet worth his or her salt would really stand out here. They're all dirty, with long scraggly hair and ugly little mustaches, right? And that's just the women. Hyuk, hyuk. There is definitely no one like that around here, so I'm moving on with my life free of a pervasive fear of deadly poets.

It's a good thing, too, because I don't have the energy to be afraid. Last night, Shane was awake in the night for hours. From approximately 01:22:17 to 03:34:22. We don't leave him alone to scream, though I can certainly understand the temptation, and so Lloyd was in there with him. Until Lloyd had to go to work at 02:45 in the icy snow, on foot, at the behest of a person I will call, ummm, 'Dick Schmucky'. It wasn't one of our Osan Schmuckys, of course, as they are all kindhearted souls who hand out fine chocolates and big fat cigars instead of late night assignments, but rather one of the Schmuckys from elsewhere. Lloyd couldn't drive to work because our van is on the slow boat to America (I would be dying of envy, or stowed away, but I get very seasick) and he couldn't bike because it was snowing and he has a road bike with skinny tires. The alarm blared, Lloyd had to get up, and Shane was still awake. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep while I lay frozen in position, terrified to move for fear the noise would start again.

We knew in advance that he was going to have to go in and also that Shane was likely to wake up, so we had a plan: Lloyd was going to sleep in the boys' room hoping to get Shane right back to sleep, because it seems to work better for him than for me, while I slept in our room with the alarm clock. It would go off, wake me, and I would go wake Lloyd up. All these complicated logistical arrangements are necessary because the last time Lloyd had to get up in the night to go to work, the alarm woke up everyone in the house except for him and I had to get up and shake him awake after I tried to flush the clock down the toilet to silence its hateful shrieking. Seriously, the sound is otherworldly. In fact, I call the thing 'the hateful clock' because it is so heinous. And, to make it better, we have two of them. They are atomic clocks, similar to this one, given to us several Christmases ago by my in-laws. Two of them, do you get it? One each, so that we can both get up on time, up and at 'em from our twin beds, located several rooms apart, right?

You can tell we need a lot of things here, but a new alarm clock is at the top of my list. Only not a regular, noise making alarm clock. I need something revolutionary: it should utilize some sort of pinching, poking or biting system designed to instantly wake Lloyd while simultaneously silencing his screams and dampening his thrashing so as not to wake me or the boys. I asked my Facebook friends for help, but they didn't really get what I was going for. One of my them did have a useful idea involving a stun gun and a gag. That might work, but I was thinking more of a timer-operated leg-trap type device. Oh, and he could sleep inside a soundproofed isolation pod. The in-laws would like that, and it would be easy to clean up the blood. I'm a little sleep deprived so my scheme could probably use a little work. As always, input is welcome here at Stories from Korea.

Warning

Just so you know, we've all been sick for about a million years. Fever, earaches, stomachaches, dizzy spells, and coughing. Even vomiting, and not the good kind. And here's the scary part: I have a strange compulsion to write a poem about it, so you might want to steer clear of Stories from Korea for a few days. I don't want you to get sick, after all.

Four Eyes

As you can clearly see, I've had glasses before. My mother was thoughtful enough to send me these pictures, and she practically DEMANDED that I put them up. Yes, I am aware that I am likely violating copyright law by doing so.

If you are reading this and you own the copyright to stacks of moldy class photos from Washington Elementary circa mid 1970's, MY MOTHER MADE ME DO IT! DON'T SUE ME! Now, don't get me wrong- I'm a big fan of copyright law but I think it might have gone a little too far lately.

I just read a post on Consumerist about some poor schmoe who went to the-store-who-must-not-be-named to get some photos printed for a relative's funeral. The photos included some school pictures, similar to mine above. Well, except for the glasses, probably. The store, despite all evidence to the contrary, apparently considers itself a beacon of justice in a cruel, dark world, and refused to print the school pictures, citing copyright law.

Also recently, I read about a woman who has been blogging as 'Frugalista' for some time, only to be sued by someone who just copyrighted the term. I didn't realize you could copyright words, but I definitely want to get some. I haven't decided which ones I want, because I especially like quite a few: 'cacophony', 'disingenuous' and 'martini' spring to mind. I don't want to be selfish and take more than my share, so I guess I should try to figure out how many words there are and then how many people might want some and divide to determine my personal quota. When I'm done, I'll let you know so you can get some for yourself, too. Not everyone will want some, so there should be plenty to go around.

Rats! Now I find myself in need of an ending, and nothing comes to mind. Oh! Someone else must have already taken the words I want. THAT'S the trouble. Greedy bastards.

Eye can read!

Today I had to haul myself out into the windy cold, all the way across the street to the clinic to see the eye doctor. I have been having to zoom the computer screen in two times lately to do my required daily blog reading and annoy my friends on Facebook.

While I was waiting for Lloyd to come home from work so I could go, I noticed a creepily lifelike stuffed cat lying on the floor. This is not unusual at all, of course; there are many, many things of every shape and kind on the floor all the time. But instead of kicking it aside like I normally would have, I looked down at it and had an intriguing thought.

Would people think I was crazy if I took it to the eye doctor with me? Regular people that don't read my blog, I mean. If I carried it and talked to it? Exactly how nutty would I have to act around here to make people think I was truly crazy? This is a small base; it wouldn't take long for word to get around that I finally lost it. And then what? Well, you've all heard of Corporal Max Klinger, right? You might remember the ridiculous lengths he went to to try to prove to the Army that he was crazy so they would send him home from Korea. I should have thought of this AGES ago!

Off I went to the eye doctor with my brain churning. The doc was a perky little guy, probably not even old enough to remember M*A*S*H, or to remember when only Big Bird could see Snuffy. I'm sure he's plenty smart; he can probably spot a glaucoma a mile away, but he looks young and naive. Just what I'm looking for. He says that I need reading glasses. I say, 'HAVE YOU MET MY CAT, DOC?'

I hear you knocking, but you can't come in

Happy Halloween, everyone! We had a successful party: plenty of witch's brew, sugar peaks and valleys, toy battles, and banged noggins. The only thing that prevented it from being absolute perfection was those blasted trick or treaters that kept ringing the bell. I swear, someone had to get up every five seconds to hand out candy. We did try the bowl by the door, but that cut down on the volume only a little. Some kids still knocked or rang, and others took way more than a little candy, requiring someone to get up every ten seconds and refill the bowl.

Unfortunately none of us will be together next year for a Halloween hall party, but that didn't stop us from devising a plan to solve this serious problem. I have to give total credit for this idea to Lauren, so don't come crying to me when you try it out and someone gets hurt. Here it is: the treat-dispensing funnelator! The idea needs a little work; currently any sort of funnelator requires three people to operate it: one on each end to hold the tubing, and one in the middle to fire. I'll get back to you as soon as I figure out how to automate it. I'm pretty sure it will be way before next Halloween because I can already see some outstanding year-round applications for it. Oh, and if you're coming to visit me anytime soon, you might want to call first.

Progress

As you may know, I have a finely honed sense of civic duty, and I have been diligently working to perfect my effort-free cleaning/feeding scheme from yesterday. I LIVE for public service, y'all.

In an effort to spare you some... ummm, missteps, here's a handy list of tips I've compiled over the last day:

1. Flour and water paste is quite nutritious, especially if you use the whole wheat flour and filtered water, but the cats won't eat it and it dries quickly into a substance closely resembling cement, only not nearly as attractive.

2. Tuna fish isn't the greatest cleaning product either; the cats love it but it sort of soaks into the walls and the mercury probably isn't good for the paint.

3. Frosting is really a better match for the wall color in the tower apartments here on base than pudding is, but it may give your child (or cat) a rash (or vicious hairball).

4. Toothpaste is surprisingly effective at removing earwax, blood, chocolate and boogers, plus it leaves shiny clean teeth and fingernails, but apparently fluoride is poisonous in fairly small doses. On a related note, home stomach-pumping equipment is pretty easy to devise with a little creativity.

Add your lessons in the comments; there's nothing like cooperativism to lick a problem, unless it's a cat! Loredana recommends using guacamole and salsa, which sounds fabulous, and it gave me another labor-saving idea: MATCH YOUR WALLS TO YOUR FAVORITE FOODS! It doesn't get any better than that, people. I'm painting mine deep brown and maroon immediately, so if you have any chocolate-loving, wine-swilling cats, please send me two three right away. Oh, and if you have a way to get peanut butter and moon sand out of the drain on my deck, please let me know. Quick.

Cleanliness is next to impossible

I've tried lots of techniques for keeping my house clean over the years: The Flylady, the plan-a-big-party-and-invite-snooty-people method (no, I'm not talking about you), a daily schedule, and many more. Until today what has worked best for me is ignoring the growing mold, laundry piles, broken toys and crushed cheerios until my head is about to explode, and then screaming at the kids that if they don't get all their junk picked up in the next five seconds I'm going to light it on fire and toast their favorite toys for supper and there will be no cookies for the next five years. That won't scar them for life, right?

But now I have a better way. I've been tinkering with better ways for a long time, but everything I come up with seems to have a flaw or two. Click here and here to see what I mean. If you're here from that stupid Nobel Prize committee that's been ignoring me for so long, pay close attention. This is your last chance, people-who-think-you're-so-smart-but-can't-recognize-a-revolutionary-idea-when-it-smacks-you-in-the-face! You're not going to have me to kick around anymore! I'm going to start my own committee and not even invite you! Okay, so all you need is a few kids, the more the better, some shaving cream and some semi-clean rags. Clean rags would be fine, too, but semi-clean is all I have. Let them smear the shaving cream all over the house and themselves, and then simply withhold food until they wipe it all up. With any luck, every single filthy item in your house will be covered in shaving cream and you will be relieved of cooking duty for hours. Brilliant! Check out the 'before' photos and then the video to see how it works.

But wait! It gets better, thanks to one of my clever friends. I posted one of these pictures on Facebook this morning and was asked if that was shaving cream or whipped cream, which gave me an even more brilliant plan: give them whipped cream, pudding, or organic yogurt, if you're a nutrition-nazi type, instead of shaving cream. That way, they occupy themselves while you read your latest issue of 'Star', the house gets cleaned and they get fed, ALL AT THE SAME TIME! Plus it might smell better; that cheap shaving cream I buy kind of reeks. But all that food is expensive and I'm not going to lie; this process does result in some wastage. I'm definitely onto something here; I'll let you know when I think of the perfect pleasant-smelling, cheap and nutritious cleaning product. Ooh, I know! CATS! Cats are the answer! Get whatever food you like the smell of, then get a few cats to lick the extra off! It won't cost extra because you won't have to buy cat food! What could possibly go wrong, I ask you?

Shavings

My thriftiness knows no bounds, my friends! Look what I've done now! Shane has needed a haircut for AGES, and last night I decided to take matters into my own hands, saving approximately $8. I didn't really WANT to do it; his little curls are so cute and I would have totally just let them grow until Lloyd squealed about him looking like a girl, but he doesn't always like having it combed and he gets these little matted proto-dreds. Those, too, were cute, but I was worried he might get fruit flies, and the Pig-pen look is not the greatest.

Some of you might think I'm not capable of a reasonable hair-cutting job, all because of some ridiculous, greatly exaggerated dog trimming incident that may or may not have occurred MANY years ago. For the record, she SAID I could do it; it's not my fault her dog doesn't trim well. I'm not going to let The Man keep me down anymore! If I want to cut hair, I will! Wanna come over? I'll snip you up reaaaaaalllll nice.

And all this hair cutting has another benefit: now I have a ziploc baggie full of matted dirty blond curls to add to my Christmas list. Also, one of my more brilliant readers pointed out that I also have a bunch of unused and expensive coffee filters. So, now I have dried beans, lint, fingernail clippings, hair trimmings and coffee filters. Crafty paradise awaits!

Savings

As you might recall, lately we've been living the frugal life, practicing for when we might need to eat dandelions and dried up worms off the sidewalk instead of the delicious recipes I've been making with goods purchased from the commissary. Of course, the savings come in handy; someday I might really need that extra $3 I made by depriving myself of the Kettle's Salt and Pepper potato chips that make my life tolerable, but mostly we have nothing better to do.

We have been trying new money-saving techniques every week. This week, I dumped the small bits of shampoo left in six different bottles together and shook it up into a homogenous mixture. Then I bought the conditioner that was on sale at the commissary for $0.69, saving me between $8 and $20, depending on which shampoo and conditioner I would have otherwise purchased. I have also been using cheap soap instead of facial wash, and frankly, my skin and hair are just as beautiful as they've ever been. I also use the cheap soap for Weston and Shane instead of the $4 bottles of baby wash and shampoo that they just dump out into the tub. They're just as clean, and when they throw hard soap at each other in the tub the bruises are free, because no soap is lost in the process. That saves about a quarter for each bathtub fight, which adds up to about a million dollars so far.

Even my morning coffee is not exempt from our ruthless cost-cutting measures. This morning, I switched to the french press instead of the coffee maker. The french press is smaller so it takes less coffee, and we don't need a filter. Those filters cost several cents apiece, you know. The only flaw I see so far is that right now is that it's not even 9 a.m. and I'm already making my third batch. But the potential extra coffee cost is more than offset by all the cost-saving ideas that are swirling around in my head. I swear, there are more with every sip! For example, one of the best ways to save money is to use the things you already have, instead of buying new things. Weston's birthday and the holidays are coming up, so I'm trying to think of great presents that are generated from items we don't have to buy. The things we have in ample supply are beans, dryer lint and fingernail clippings; ever since I cured my nail-biting habit with tapping, those those sharp little cuttings are coming out of my ears. At first I thought we could use them for toothpicks, but they're not quite long enough, so it was back to the drawing board on that one. I haven't quite worked all the kinks out of my gift-giving plan, but I'm pretty sure I just need a little more coffee; I'll keep you posted.

New

After a long and distinguished career as an Air Force spouse, I will be retiring in the spring with the treadmarks from Uncle Sam's boots still on my ass everlasting gratitude of my country and a miniscule small barely adequate if I was a German Sheperd pension. We will be moving to the Puget Sound area, and Lloyd will have to find a job so we have food. Let's face it: no one ever got rich off the military. Except Dick Cheney, of course, and he only eats elderly nuns, crippled children and wide-eyed kittens. I hear he likes the kittens best because he loves to suck the juice out of their eyeballs and spit the skins at the crippled children just before he crunches their bones between his teeth. It's probably just one of those internet rumors, though. Like the one about my stripper pole. Sheesh, don't people have better things to do than make up ridiculous stories and spread them around the internet?

Anyway, Lloyd would like to work as a pilot, but we recently read a stories about these guys, so I'm not sure how well that's going to work out. I mean, only so many pilots can work the street corners in one town before they start having turf wars, right? I can just see them strutting down the sidewalks in their most enticing uniforms, pushing and shoving each other to get to the best prospective employers: 'Hey, Mister! Over here! I'll take you around the world! Satisfaction guaranteed!'

Major economic indicators at Osan (knockoff bag and pirated video sales) are strong and unchanged from the time of our arrival here. Back in Seattle, where the intellectual property theft that drives the economy is lost to the annals of history instead of parading itself on every street corner, apparently the conditions are not quite so rosy, and it might be a while before Lloyd finds a job. Before you get all huffy, yes, I could work and leave Lloyd home with the boys. We did talk about that but we agree that it's better if he works for money instead of me. Plus my main skills these days are tapping and producing milk, and there's not much of a market for those. But there totally SHOULD be. I have an awesome idea for building a human milk factory but I can't seem to find any investors.

In light of our upcoming reality, we are doing some things differently now. We're practicing for the days to come when we have to make Christmas presents out of empty beer cans and tape and play with boogers instead those spendy thrift store toys. We have stopped throwing away diapers after only one use, and for dessert we make the boys lick the old popsicle juice and applesauce spatters off the walls. And I only go to the thrift store on bag sale day. Oh, okay, that one's a lie. I would NEVER skip the thrift store just to save a little money.

But the big exciting change is meal planning. For every day in September, I have plans for both lunch and dinner. Some days I have complete meals figured out but I still have some holes to fill. People claim you can save tons of money on groceries by doing this because you buy just what you need to make your pre-planned meals instead of throwing things willy-nilly into the cart. I'm not sure who these 'people' are but maybe they're on to something here.

I'll keep you posted as September progresses. Tonight is lime cilantro chicken. I have no recipe, but I figure I'll just make one up and enter it in the Pillsbury bake-off contest and win the million dollars. Who knew meal planning could be so lucrative? I just need to incorporate some refrigerated dough of the appropriate brand and come up with a snazzy name. I think 'Island Chicken' has a nice ring to it. I could put it on sticks and bake it with the biscuit dough, sort of like a Cuban corn dog.

That's the news from the kitchen in Korea! And, Lloyd's your man if you're looking for a pilot to take you on a wild trip. In an airplane, I mean.

Tap

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 www.emofree.com for tons of good free instructions. Try it out, 10 seconds or so on each spot, and tell me how it works for you!

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.

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.

Pieces

I've read blog posts titled 'Pieces' before; they're always very poignant and chock-full of greater emotional truth about something or other. Well, not on Stories from Korea; No, Sir! I try to steer clear of all that boring self-important crap.

Nope, my 'Pieces' is all about my... pieces, and how they are falling apart. Seriously, if I was a car I would be a rusty, dented-up '68 VW bug. A sort of beigish, pasty-looking one with a dragging muffler and a bashed-in door. If I were groceries I would be a soggy, brown, smooshed-up banana, fit only for muffins and fruit flies. If I were clothes, I would be the last grimy pair of granny panties crumpled up in the back corner of the drawer; the ones you wear when you are desperate because everything else is piled up in a stinking heap on the laundry room floor. No? Well, maybe it's just me.

I'm pretty healthy: I drink my quota (and possibly yours) of red wine, I exercise a reasonable amount (the wine store is SO far away!), I take my vitamins, I eat tons of fruit and vegetables, I floss my teeth and I wear sunscreen every day. And a fat lot of good all that stupid stuff has done me, I will tell you what.

Right now, as I sit here, I have a rash of unknown origin all over my neck and chest, some sort of toddler carrying injury in my left arm and a pulled ligament in in my left foot from... are you ready for this? GETTING OUT OF BED. I know, it sounds totally ridiculous, but it's true.

Clearly, I have been going about things in completely the wrong way, so I'm turning over a new leaf. Goodbye floss, hello Coke mouthwash. Goodbye vitamins, hello Red Bull. Goodbye fruits and veggies, hello Crisco and Twinkies. Out with the old and in with the new! Well, except for the wine. A girl can't totally abandon her health, right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I know, I know: no new posts AGAIN. Sorry, AGAIN. Sincerely, I have been running myself ragged with all the thrifting. No lie, I am actually sore. My thrifting muscles must be in real disrepair. I'm not really sure what that says about me, but I'm thinking it could be a new sport. My sister has gotten interested in 'chi running' and I totally think I could invent 'chi thrifting'. It would be very cool, all zen and jedi master-ish, my basket would be full of effortless bargains and there would be no pain.

No? Well, then, just check out my latest scores! Is this not the most awesome coat you have ever seen? Five bucks, baby! I just can't wait for that Osan winter.