There are two things that I hate now and have always hated:
1. Loud noises
2. Crowds
I like to blame things on being an introvert, so I'm going to assume that's partially why these are two things I despise. Loud noises are overstimulating and make my brain shut down, and crowds are places for me to simultaneously worry about being in people's way while being angry that they're in my way. I also don't like to be touched by strangers.
Sure, I'm getting old and curmudgeonly, but let's be real about this. I've always had a little bit of "get off my lawn" in me, even in my days as a wee grumpy child. It might surprise you to learn that, not only do I hate it now, but I have always hated live music. Why? Well, obviously because it's a combination of the two aforementioned aversions: crowds + loud noises.
Let me preface this to say that I DO attend concerts of artists I enjoy, and I do enjoy those concerts. It's very cool to see someone you really like perform right in front of you. For one night, I try my hardest to put aside my hatred of crowds and loud noises to appreciate seeing an awesome performance. I do highly prefer indoor concerts at places that have assigned seating, however, because even though we don't sit down, the seat area gives me a "personal space zone" that I can't get at "general admission" concerts. God I do love my personal space.
But concerts I want to attend are few and far between, because I'm not a self-proclaimed "music lover." I have music that I love, but I'm not one of those people who enjoys all music for its, uh, musicality. Honestly, if it's not either a specific artist or genre, I probably don't want to hear it. Especially if it's country.
Nothing compares to the overwhelming feeling of dread that I get when I'm somewhere and some guy just whips out an acoustic guitar. Don't ruin my goddamned campfire with your whiny rendition of overplayed pop songs, Brent. I was having a great time talking to my friends and making smores, and now for some reason everyone wants to sing along with to the goddamned Barenaked Ladies. Fuck the Barenaked Ladies, and fuck you, Brent.
If I go out to a bar, I generally want to do one of two things: talk to my friends or dance. I don't want someone coming in while I'm having a nice drink and conversation with my friends and turning on amps made for a stadium inside the tiny dive bar to explode my eardrums. I also don't want you pushing out the DJ for your stupid sensitive guitar bro music if I'm getting my dance on. I want nothing to do with your goddamned live music in my goddamned bar.
Even though I've never been to SXSW in all its glory, back in the early 2000s when I was in college, I do remember that going to 6th Street that weekend was the ACTUAL WORST. The bars we'd always hit up for their good DJs would be overtaken with randos with their unknown bands, playing very un-danceable shit and often trying to charge us cover to get in.
Now the supercool hip fun thing is music fests. If there is a hell that's individually tailored to the person, mine will be an outdoor music festival. Loud noises, crowds, drunk people, dirt, heat, sweat, inadequate plumbing, sitting through music I don't like to make it to the one act I do like... I would have loved to see Dr Dre and Snoop together, plus the Tupac hologram, but having to suffer through anything else about Coachella to see them? Not worth it. I live-streamed it on YouTube and that was as close as I cared to get.
And then there's the general awkwardness of watching someone sing really close to you. If you're in a bar or small restaurant and there's live music, it almost seems rude to talk while the person is playing. I've mentioned this before - what do you do when someone is playing music at you? Stare at them? Continue your conversation? That seems rude, but also I mean I didn't ASK you to whip out your pan flute, motherfucker. I JUST CAME HERE FOR A DRINK WITH MY FRIEND BUT NOW WE CAN'T TALK BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING US WATCH YOU DO THIS THING WE DON'T EVEN WANT YOU TO DO. WE DON'T LIKE YOUR MUSIC BUT WE HAVE TO PRETEND WE DO BECAUSE SOCIETY TELLS US THAT'S HOW WE ACT. And then we have to clap when you're done, but that's only ENCOURAGING THIS BEHAVIOR that we want you to stop.
So for the love of god, stop springing live music on unsuspecting victims in public places, unless I'm allowed to throw rotten vegetables like in those 1930s Mickey Mouse cartoons.
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
AN INTROVERT'S PARADISE
Hi, let me introduce myself. I'm an introvert and have moderate social anxiety. Please don't talk to me more than is absolutely necessary or I may short circuit. Thanks.
Let's be honest - I was slightly terrified about how my social anxiety would handle having to communicate with people in a foreign language that I barely knew and could hardly read. You would be as surprised as I was to find out that living in a place where I don't really know the language is a goddamn blessing in disguise for introverts and the socially anxious. People DON'T TALK TO YOU. It's exactly the way I want America to be!
While I would have to plan how to order a coffee or sandwich for about ten minutes before actually approaching the counter at a restaurant, this inconvenience was minor compared to the glorious silence I felt at all other times. Being a foreigner, and not only that, a very OBVIOUS foreigner, made it easy for salespeople, servers, random strangers, and creepy guys to decide that I would not be a very reliable object of conversation and keep their interactions with me to a minimum. I got so used to shopping without speaking to anyone aside from a rare "annyeonghaseyo" and small nod when I walked in a store that it felt like I never had to interact with ANYONE. It was seriously grand.
I was occasionally reminded of what I was (not) missing out on in America when I went to the touristy parts of town where salespeople spoke English. I learned quickly to stay away from those areas if I wanted people to leave me the hell alone.
No one spoke to me when I got on an elevator. No one tried to strike up a conversation on the subway. Taxi drivers would generally be silent the entire ride. Anyone who may have found me attractive didn't dare try out their broken English on me. Store clerks didn't bother telling me about specials. And the best part? NO ONE THOUGHT I WAS RUDE FOR NOT TALKING TO THEM. A polite smile and nod was enough.
Then I came back to the US. I was unprepared not only because I had enjoyed so many months without being bothered, but also because I was out of practice and literally had forgotten how to speak to other human beings I didn't know. My first time at Starbucks, a couple of hours after landing, I had to step back and actually formulate the order in my brain. I used to order the same thing every single day, and now I needed a moment to compose myself before I had such an intense interaction with an English-speaking human.
The same thing happened when I went shopping. People tried to talk to me, and my smile and nod wasn't cutting it. I had actually physically forgotten how to make small talk. It was like one of those things you hate to do so the second you don't have to do it, you erase that part of your brain to make room for something new. That, and I wasn't used to speaking English to anyone I didn't know relatively well, so I couldn't even remember what was appropriate to talk about with strangers.
I have to say, the most overwhelming part of coming back was being bombarded by people who speak your language and might actually be talking to you. In a weird backwards reaction, I actually felt like everyone was staring at me in the US, as opposed to the place where I actually stood out. I felt like I was doing things weirdly, and that people would notice, or that I was saying things wrong.
You might notice that this post isn't particularly funny, unless you're laughing AT me right now. Yeah, I actually FORGOT HOW TO BE FUNNY because I had to interact with so few English-speaking strangers. Sometimes on Saturdays when I went out exploring by myself I wouldn't speak English at all for the whole day. Funny things would happen, but when I would attempt to retell the story later, I had forgotten how to use words in a way that conveyed anything but the most mundane facts.
My snarkiness has been misplaced, with the exception of a rare one-liner here and there. I feel like I've reverted to "Your mom..." and have to work back up to reasonably intelligent conversation. Talking to people I didn't talk to or text with frequently in Korea is difficult, because I'm so self-conscious now that I'm back. My shrink said this was normal, but I feel like it's been too long to still be culture shock.
After 2 weeks at work in St. Louis, where I was relatively quiet because there might be Trump supporters there, and then 2 weeks of work in LA, I'm finally starting to feel comfortable talking to coworkers again. But I guarantee you if you asked people at the first job I had when I came back who I was, they wouldn't remember me because I was quiet and boring as fuck.
But almost 3 months back, I'm getting a little better. I only hesitate a split second when ordering my Starbucks now, I've remembered to keep my headphones in at all times when on public transportation or walking around downtown (lest a creepy dude try to talk to me), and my thoughts are somewhat coming back to my mouth in an understandable format. But be patient. I promise somewhere in my brain, there's funny stuff and whining and sarcasm, but I just don't remember how to articulate it quite yet...
Let's be honest - I was slightly terrified about how my social anxiety would handle having to communicate with people in a foreign language that I barely knew and could hardly read. You would be as surprised as I was to find out that living in a place where I don't really know the language is a goddamn blessing in disguise for introverts and the socially anxious. People DON'T TALK TO YOU. It's exactly the way I want America to be!
While I would have to plan how to order a coffee or sandwich for about ten minutes before actually approaching the counter at a restaurant, this inconvenience was minor compared to the glorious silence I felt at all other times. Being a foreigner, and not only that, a very OBVIOUS foreigner, made it easy for salespeople, servers, random strangers, and creepy guys to decide that I would not be a very reliable object of conversation and keep their interactions with me to a minimum. I got so used to shopping without speaking to anyone aside from a rare "annyeonghaseyo" and small nod when I walked in a store that it felt like I never had to interact with ANYONE. It was seriously grand.
I was occasionally reminded of what I was (not) missing out on in America when I went to the touristy parts of town where salespeople spoke English. I learned quickly to stay away from those areas if I wanted people to leave me the hell alone.
No one spoke to me when I got on an elevator. No one tried to strike up a conversation on the subway. Taxi drivers would generally be silent the entire ride. Anyone who may have found me attractive didn't dare try out their broken English on me. Store clerks didn't bother telling me about specials. And the best part? NO ONE THOUGHT I WAS RUDE FOR NOT TALKING TO THEM. A polite smile and nod was enough.
Then I came back to the US. I was unprepared not only because I had enjoyed so many months without being bothered, but also because I was out of practice and literally had forgotten how to speak to other human beings I didn't know. My first time at Starbucks, a couple of hours after landing, I had to step back and actually formulate the order in my brain. I used to order the same thing every single day, and now I needed a moment to compose myself before I had such an intense interaction with an English-speaking human.
The same thing happened when I went shopping. People tried to talk to me, and my smile and nod wasn't cutting it. I had actually physically forgotten how to make small talk. It was like one of those things you hate to do so the second you don't have to do it, you erase that part of your brain to make room for something new. That, and I wasn't used to speaking English to anyone I didn't know relatively well, so I couldn't even remember what was appropriate to talk about with strangers.
I have to say, the most overwhelming part of coming back was being bombarded by people who speak your language and might actually be talking to you. In a weird backwards reaction, I actually felt like everyone was staring at me in the US, as opposed to the place where I actually stood out. I felt like I was doing things weirdly, and that people would notice, or that I was saying things wrong.
You might notice that this post isn't particularly funny, unless you're laughing AT me right now. Yeah, I actually FORGOT HOW TO BE FUNNY because I had to interact with so few English-speaking strangers. Sometimes on Saturdays when I went out exploring by myself I wouldn't speak English at all for the whole day. Funny things would happen, but when I would attempt to retell the story later, I had forgotten how to use words in a way that conveyed anything but the most mundane facts.
My snarkiness has been misplaced, with the exception of a rare one-liner here and there. I feel like I've reverted to "Your mom..." and have to work back up to reasonably intelligent conversation. Talking to people I didn't talk to or text with frequently in Korea is difficult, because I'm so self-conscious now that I'm back. My shrink said this was normal, but I feel like it's been too long to still be culture shock.
After 2 weeks at work in St. Louis, where I was relatively quiet because there might be Trump supporters there, and then 2 weeks of work in LA, I'm finally starting to feel comfortable talking to coworkers again. But I guarantee you if you asked people at the first job I had when I came back who I was, they wouldn't remember me because I was quiet and boring as fuck.
But almost 3 months back, I'm getting a little better. I only hesitate a split second when ordering my Starbucks now, I've remembered to keep my headphones in at all times when on public transportation or walking around downtown (lest a creepy dude try to talk to me), and my thoughts are somewhat coming back to my mouth in an understandable format. But be patient. I promise somewhere in my brain, there's funny stuff and whining and sarcasm, but I just don't remember how to articulate it quite yet...
Monday, July 23, 2018
THINGS I WILL AND WILL NOT MISS ABOUT KOREA
Foreward:
I have been back in the US for about two weeks now, and I've already experienced some hilarious culture-shocky things. For example, I still try to hand cashiers my credit card with two hands, and I got some weird ass looks at Starbucks the other day. I feel weird wearing shoes inside, but am also grateful that I can sit down to tie them so I don't fall on my ass. I have also indulged in glorious things like BBQ, Mexican food, soft cookies, and non-fatty meat, and missed them oh so much. And then I have had to take my purse with me when I got up to get food at a restaurant because Americans are awful and will steal your shit. So that's where we are now.
Things I will totally miss about Korea:
I have been back in the US for about two weeks now, and I've already experienced some hilarious culture-shocky things. For example, I still try to hand cashiers my credit card with two hands, and I got some weird ass looks at Starbucks the other day. I feel weird wearing shoes inside, but am also grateful that I can sit down to tie them so I don't fall on my ass. I have also indulged in glorious things like BBQ, Mexican food, soft cookies, and non-fatty meat, and missed them oh so much. And then I have had to take my purse with me when I got up to get food at a restaurant because Americans are awful and will steal your shit. So that's where we are now.
Things I will totally miss about Korea:
- The safety. I can walk down the street at night and nothing happens. NOTHING. It's like it's daytime. And in the daytime, I can LEAVE MY PHONE ON A TABLE to reserve it while I go pick up my coffee at the counter. You can leave your laptop on a table when you go to the restroom. You can leave your phone on a bus and SOMEONE WILL RETURN IT. It's seriously the safest place in the goddamned world.
- The cleanliness. Korea is very clean, probably because most of it is very new. The subway is so clean you could eat off the floor (but you best not be eating on the subway, you heathen), literally 0 things smell like pee - not subway stations, not buses, not sidewalks in urban areas, NOTHING. Other than my apartment building, everything is well-maintained and cleaned frequently. Nothing is sketchy or dirty.
- The shopping. Like much of Asia, Korea has plenty of places to buy uber cheap clothes. Unlike much of Asia, however, everything is often very well-made and soft. It's like there's some sort of law here about what material clothes are made of. Sweaters aren't scratchy. T-shirts are super stretchy. Even from international brands like H&M and Forever21 the clothes feel softer than in the US.
- THE MAKEUP. I was already using Korean makeup and skincare before I moved here, and I had to order everything online. Now I can walk down the street and find every single skincare brand I love within 2 minutes of each other. It's like goddamned makeup Disneyland. And it's reasonably priced! I'm hoping more brands are now in LA so it'll be easier to find when I get back.
- Public transit. I take a bus every day. I'm not afraid I will get murdered or mugged on said bus. They're very clean, efficient, and comfortable. I have ridden two buses in LA, and both times I kept a tight hold on my purse so someone wouldn't snatch it or ask me for change. The subway is by far the greatest thing ever - as I said before, it's brand new and clean, goes literally everywhere you need to go, and is cheap. People have cars here, but you definitely don't need one to go anywhere.
- People don't talk to me. I'm sure it's both a language and culture thing. I'm very obviously not Korean, so most people assume I speak 0 words of Korean. I'm fine with this - I can impress them when I do know some words. But also I think it's just fucking weird to them to go up and start chit chatting with strangers. And you know what? IT IS WEIRD. Goddamnit America, we don't need to talk to everyone we see. We can put our headphones in and ignore the world. I don't ride buses or go shopping or to a museum to make new friends, just shut the hell up and leave me alone. Everyone should be more like Koreans in this way (I think this is prevalent in many Asian countries so GO ASIA).
- Proximity to other places I want to visit. I went to Japan for a WEEKEND. Because my flight was 2 hours. That's shorter than LA to my parents' house. JAPAN YOU GUYS. Beijing is the same distance, but I didn't go because the visa is expensive and time consuming. But Japan, Taiwan, China, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam... Such cheap flights and such awesome places. I will really miss the ability to travel on a whim.
Things I miss about NOT living in Korea:
- Mexican food. I can find most types of food here, including damn good Indian food, but I need Mexican food. NEED.
- Good pieces of meat. I think many countries outside North America (who am I kidding, probably LITERALLY just the US and Canada) think it's perfectly acceptable to eat gross, fatty, grisly pieces of meat. Chicken skin. Dark meat. Well, you know what? It's not. I want some goddamned white meat chicken, beef without huge veins of fat, and pork that's not full of gristle. Samgyeopsal (pork belly) is the biggest thing here, and it's fucking nasty. 30% of it is edible, lean meat. 70% is big, thick, chewy pieces of fat. I want to go somewhere and order a meat dish and know I don't have to leave half of it on my plate because it's inedible.
- SOFT FUCKING COOKIES. It's like soft cookies invaded Korea and killed all their moms. Cookies exist here, all the normal kinds, but they're all CRUNCHY. It's nasty. Nobody wants to eat a fucking crunchy cookie. I haven't had a soft cookie since I've been here, and it's a goddamned travesty.
- The weather. Sweet merciful shit, it's like living in Antarctica in winter and Florida in the summer. In 10 months, there have been a total of about 10 "pleasant" days, which is ironically the same number of unpleasant days LA has per year. I can tolerate snow, but 6 months of dead, brown plants and trees is too much for me. It's so depressing. And the moment shit starts growing, the humidity comes in and makes you not want to be outside ever. If someone asked me if I could get rid of Trump OR never feel humidity again in my life, I would have to take a week to decide.
- Non-Korean food. Coming from a place that is a mishmash of cultures and foods, it's hard to understand how people can eat one type of food all the time. Korean food all has a very similar flavor to it, and even if it's spicy, it's kind of bland. I don't love most of it. Indian food has a similar flavor to it all, but that flavor is GODDAMNED HEAVEN. I really only like a couple of Korean foods, yet it's 80% of all the restaurants. And sometimes they even Korean-ify foreign dishes, by somehow making them less flavorful.
- Being a foreigner. Sometimes it's a blessing (because no one tries to talk to me) but other times it's a problem. You have to really plan things so you don't have to ask people questions. You can't order complicated things on a menu because you don't know enough of the language for them to get your order right. I'd like to go to the dentist, but it's too much trouble. Finding any kind of service is difficult because my minimal Korean and their minimal English cannot specify what you need help with.
- Good tea. BUT YOU'RE IN ASIA, you say. Well, I discovered that Korean tea is gross. They don't have just plain green tea. They always add something to it, and not fruit or something. It's like BARLEY or rice, or some other kind of root or grain, or CORN SILK. Imagine you are drinking green tea. Now imagine it has the aftertaste of an unsweetened puffed rice cereal. Not great. There's one place I can go to buy my favorite brand of Japanese tea, and I feel like a goddamned traitor every time I do. But seriously Korea, stop fucking up tea. It's good without being adulterated.
- Taking off my goddamned shoes. I usually don't wear my shoes around the house, but I don't take them off at the door. I walk over to my couch or something. I am so fucking tired of stopping at every door and taking off my shoes. I don't even wear shoes that aren't slip ons anymore. They're too much trouble. And if you take too long taking off your shoes, people get all impatient. WHY DON'T YOU JUST LET ME WEAR THEM THEN!?
- The pollution. Coming from Los Angeles, I though I understood pollution. I did not. LA is a beautiful clean-aired paradise compared to Korea. Has anyone seen pictures of LA in the 70s? Where you can't see more than a mile away? That's Korea. The sky is often yellow. Clear days are maybe once a month. They have pollution alerts. It's gotten me very sick with respiratory shit, and it's completely messed up my skin. After only 2 days in Japan, my skin was looking great. I get back to Korea, and BAM, zit factory again. I can't wait to get back to air that doesn't cause me to break out. Or not breathe. Or shorten my lifespan.
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
FLASHBACK THURSDAY - THE HAWAII SAGA OF 2007
**ORIGINALLY POSTED IN AUGUST 2007**
-OR- WHY I CAME BACK FROM HONOLULU NOT VERY TAN
Brad and I arrive in Hawaii around 4pm last Wednesday. We check into our hotel, and after some confusion and explanations of overbooking the hotel, we're given one of the huge suites at the top of one of the towers that is larger than my apartment. It, however, doesn't have a bed in it, so they roll up two roll away beds for us to sleep in, which honestly aren't that bad. For our "inconvenience," we get 2 free coupons for the dinner buffet, saving us $70. They also throw at us each a breakfast coupon, good for free breakfast every morning we're here at 2 of the different restaurants. Things are going well, and we haven't paid for a meal yet. We should have kept it that way.
Thursday we go to Lanikai beach, probably the nicest beach I've ever been to. Crystal clear water, white sand, few people, and tropical plants all around, complete with 2 little islands in the distance to add to the view. Upon our return to civilization, we're starving. Our first mistake is to stop at L&L Drive In, and my second is to order fried seafood. The third is to eat it all.
A couple of hours later, after our shower, we decide to go for a drive up into the mountains to check out some views. We get over by the University of Hawaii when I start feeling kinda gross. I'm not worried, I overeat frequently, and get mild bloating and wooziness on occasion. Going on winding mountain roads, however, doesn't help. After about 15 minutes I convince Brad that I'm feeling kinda gross and would rather lay down than explore right now, so he heads back to the hotel. I'm getting worse as the minutes pass. Right as we turn into downtown Waikiki, onto the strip with the thousands of tourists and Louis Vuitton stores and restaurants galore, I roll down the window and have a good, long puke.
We stop at a stoplight and I puke again and again, right in front of the outdoor seating area for this restaurant. I couldn't help but think as I puked how funny I'd find this later, especially since there was one middle aged Japanese man who was enthralled with my sickness and couldn't tear his eyes away. All humor subsided, however, when I let out my last hurrah and it was combined with a fart...or what I hoped was merely a fart. I was so so wrong.
Suffice it to say, I had to wrap my jacket around my waist, waddle through our humongous hotel to the 30th floor and change my clothes. But it didn't stop there. We returned home around 6pm. I basically puked nonstop for the next 6 hours. When I say nonstop, I mean no puke and rest, no down time, no moments of calm and lacking in nausea. Complete six-hour constant nausea puke (and poo)-til-there's-nothing-left. The last hour nothing was even coming out. I just kept dry heaving.
My experience with throwing up has never been pleasant, but at least it's been predictable. Usually I'll throw up once or twice, feel so much better, and pass out. Other times I'll throw up, feel better, and then feel bad again in about half an hour and do it all again. Once everything's out, I can relax and go to sleep or at least calm down for a bit. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe that I could throw up everything in my body, lose all fluids through two different ways, and STILL attempt to throw up. What horrible thing was left inside me to get out? IT'S ALL GONE, GODDAMNIT!
After 6 hours had passed, I began to go numb. My extremities tingled, like your feet do when they fall asleep. I couldn't stand up because I had no control over my legs. I couldn't even get to the bathroom anymore, I was a ball on the floor clutching a neverending cycle of trash cans, provided by the greatest and most understanding boyfriend ever. Once I realized I couldn't walk and could barely feel my fingers, I knew that something was horribly wrong. I'd never been this bad before. I told Brad to take me to the hospital.
I made a valiant effort to move, but knowing that we were on the 30th floor, that we were one of 4 towers in probably the largest hotel in the entire state, and we would have to cross the lobby, a bar, some restaurants, and an entire shopping plaza before even reaching the parking garage, I knew there was no way in my wildest dreams that I'd make it to the car without being wheeled. Discussion of a wheelchair from the front desk subsided, and the decision was made to call an ambulance.
By this time I could barely even turn over. I had managed somehow to get on the bed, probably at Brad's coaxing to get me out of the bathroom floor so the medics could more easily reach me. They arrived and started asking me questions. Although now I realize that they're supposed to talk to me and keep me conscious, I was getting immensely pissed off that they weren't just asking Brad. He was FINE. He could answer anything you wanted. Why do you care where I'm from? Can't he tell you where we ate? I don't even know what time it is, what day it is, or anything other than I want you to fucking put a goddamned IV in me and shoot me up with anti nausea medicine STAT.
I vaguely remember being wheeled through the service elevator and out through some weird non-public garage under the hotel into a waiting ambulance that happened to be 20 below zero and caused me to go into violent convulsive shivers, because of course I had a fever. They didn't even turn the sirens on for me. YOU NEED TO SPEED. THE ANTI NAUSEA MEDICINE ISN'T IN THIS CAR. IF I WERE ABLE TO MOVE I'D KILL YOU.
I was given an IV in the ambulance, but no medicine, just fluids (which I suppose I needed even more at that point). We arrived at the hospital, I was questioned some more (all the while looking at Brad and saying "ask him"), and after what seemed like forever, I was finally given some of my glorious anti-nausea medicine that worked after about 5 minutes. I could finally relax, even though I still couldn't feel my feet or hands.
I spent 3 hours in the emergency room. 2 of them were wonderful, filled with non-nauseated sleep. I was given 2 full IV bags of fluid, whatever the hell kind they put in those things, and some potassium because I'd lost a significant amount and they said that might have contributed to my tingles. It tasted like metamucil, but at this point I was willing to put anything in my body to make myself better. I didn't even flinch, with my horrible fear of needles, at the IV or the blood test. At that point I was willing to have them cut off my finger if it cured my illness.
Although the tingling and numbness hadn't completely subsided, the doctor assured me that now that I was hydrated and full of potassium I'd be fine and it would slowly go away. I was sent home with no-poo and no-puke prescriptions and passed the fuck out.
The next day we decided to go to Diamond Head. That involves hiking uphill in the sunlight for like 30 minutes each way. Little old ladies were passing me as I took breaks at the side of the trail. But I did it, and have the pictures to prove it. That pretty much did me in for the next 24 hours, and after a couple of throw up episodes (his were normal, sporadic, and not dehydrating) of his own, Brad and I slept THE ENTIRE DAY on Saturday.
Now I'm home, somewhat weak and tired, but able to eat normal food. I'm also about 5lbs lighter. So much for gaining weight on vacation.
-OR- WHY I CAME BACK FROM HONOLULU NOT VERY TAN
Brad and I arrive in Hawaii around 4pm last Wednesday. We check into our hotel, and after some confusion and explanations of overbooking the hotel, we're given one of the huge suites at the top of one of the towers that is larger than my apartment. It, however, doesn't have a bed in it, so they roll up two roll away beds for us to sleep in, which honestly aren't that bad. For our "inconvenience," we get 2 free coupons for the dinner buffet, saving us $70. They also throw at us each a breakfast coupon, good for free breakfast every morning we're here at 2 of the different restaurants. Things are going well, and we haven't paid for a meal yet. We should have kept it that way.
Thursday we go to Lanikai beach, probably the nicest beach I've ever been to. Crystal clear water, white sand, few people, and tropical plants all around, complete with 2 little islands in the distance to add to the view. Upon our return to civilization, we're starving. Our first mistake is to stop at L&L Drive In, and my second is to order fried seafood. The third is to eat it all.
A couple of hours later, after our shower, we decide to go for a drive up into the mountains to check out some views. We get over by the University of Hawaii when I start feeling kinda gross. I'm not worried, I overeat frequently, and get mild bloating and wooziness on occasion. Going on winding mountain roads, however, doesn't help. After about 15 minutes I convince Brad that I'm feeling kinda gross and would rather lay down than explore right now, so he heads back to the hotel. I'm getting worse as the minutes pass. Right as we turn into downtown Waikiki, onto the strip with the thousands of tourists and Louis Vuitton stores and restaurants galore, I roll down the window and have a good, long puke.
We stop at a stoplight and I puke again and again, right in front of the outdoor seating area for this restaurant. I couldn't help but think as I puked how funny I'd find this later, especially since there was one middle aged Japanese man who was enthralled with my sickness and couldn't tear his eyes away. All humor subsided, however, when I let out my last hurrah and it was combined with a fart...or what I hoped was merely a fart. I was so so wrong.
Suffice it to say, I had to wrap my jacket around my waist, waddle through our humongous hotel to the 30th floor and change my clothes. But it didn't stop there. We returned home around 6pm. I basically puked nonstop for the next 6 hours. When I say nonstop, I mean no puke and rest, no down time, no moments of calm and lacking in nausea. Complete six-hour constant nausea puke (and poo)-til-there's-nothing-left. The last hour nothing was even coming out. I just kept dry heaving.
My experience with throwing up has never been pleasant, but at least it's been predictable. Usually I'll throw up once or twice, feel so much better, and pass out. Other times I'll throw up, feel better, and then feel bad again in about half an hour and do it all again. Once everything's out, I can relax and go to sleep or at least calm down for a bit. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe that I could throw up everything in my body, lose all fluids through two different ways, and STILL attempt to throw up. What horrible thing was left inside me to get out? IT'S ALL GONE, GODDAMNIT!
After 6 hours had passed, I began to go numb. My extremities tingled, like your feet do when they fall asleep. I couldn't stand up because I had no control over my legs. I couldn't even get to the bathroom anymore, I was a ball on the floor clutching a neverending cycle of trash cans, provided by the greatest and most understanding boyfriend ever. Once I realized I couldn't walk and could barely feel my fingers, I knew that something was horribly wrong. I'd never been this bad before. I told Brad to take me to the hospital.
I made a valiant effort to move, but knowing that we were on the 30th floor, that we were one of 4 towers in probably the largest hotel in the entire state, and we would have to cross the lobby, a bar, some restaurants, and an entire shopping plaza before even reaching the parking garage, I knew there was no way in my wildest dreams that I'd make it to the car without being wheeled. Discussion of a wheelchair from the front desk subsided, and the decision was made to call an ambulance.
By this time I could barely even turn over. I had managed somehow to get on the bed, probably at Brad's coaxing to get me out of the bathroom floor so the medics could more easily reach me. They arrived and started asking me questions. Although now I realize that they're supposed to talk to me and keep me conscious, I was getting immensely pissed off that they weren't just asking Brad. He was FINE. He could answer anything you wanted. Why do you care where I'm from? Can't he tell you where we ate? I don't even know what time it is, what day it is, or anything other than I want you to fucking put a goddamned IV in me and shoot me up with anti nausea medicine STAT.
I vaguely remember being wheeled through the service elevator and out through some weird non-public garage under the hotel into a waiting ambulance that happened to be 20 below zero and caused me to go into violent convulsive shivers, because of course I had a fever. They didn't even turn the sirens on for me. YOU NEED TO SPEED. THE ANTI NAUSEA MEDICINE ISN'T IN THIS CAR. IF I WERE ABLE TO MOVE I'D KILL YOU.
I was given an IV in the ambulance, but no medicine, just fluids (which I suppose I needed even more at that point). We arrived at the hospital, I was questioned some more (all the while looking at Brad and saying "ask him"), and after what seemed like forever, I was finally given some of my glorious anti-nausea medicine that worked after about 5 minutes. I could finally relax, even though I still couldn't feel my feet or hands.
I spent 3 hours in the emergency room. 2 of them were wonderful, filled with non-nauseated sleep. I was given 2 full IV bags of fluid, whatever the hell kind they put in those things, and some potassium because I'd lost a significant amount and they said that might have contributed to my tingles. It tasted like metamucil, but at this point I was willing to put anything in my body to make myself better. I didn't even flinch, with my horrible fear of needles, at the IV or the blood test. At that point I was willing to have them cut off my finger if it cured my illness.
Although the tingling and numbness hadn't completely subsided, the doctor assured me that now that I was hydrated and full of potassium I'd be fine and it would slowly go away. I was sent home with no-poo and no-puke prescriptions and passed the fuck out.
The next day we decided to go to Diamond Head. That involves hiking uphill in the sunlight for like 30 minutes each way. Little old ladies were passing me as I took breaks at the side of the trail. But I did it, and have the pictures to prove it. That pretty much did me in for the next 24 hours, and after a couple of throw up episodes (his were normal, sporadic, and not dehydrating) of his own, Brad and I slept THE ENTIRE DAY on Saturday.
Now I'm home, somewhat weak and tired, but able to eat normal food. I'm also about 5lbs lighter. So much for gaining weight on vacation.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
36 HOURS IN JAPAN: PART 2
After hitting 10,000 steps somewhere along the hill at Fushimi Inari, I headed back to the train station to go on to my next point of interest. One stop north was the Tofukuji Temple, a Zen Buddhist temple that was established in the 1200s. Yeah, that's not a typo. The current buildings were constructed after a fire in the 15th century, which is the 1400s, so still, SUPER OLD.
<<<Kyoto Tower
Because I have "iron boogers" and always know what direction I'm facing, I had no problem wandering from the train station about 3/4 of a mile to the temple with little to no signage (in English). Once again, anyone with any type of travel anxiety or planning compulsion would probably have freaked out, but as I'm perfectly comfortable wandering towards something that's "in this general direction" with my mental map, I had no problems.
There's something calming about Kyoto. It wasn't nearly as small as I'd imagined it, but the old-style Japanese architecture with the dark wood paneling and white screens was all around, and it felt very peaceful. There were giant trees, and even though it was too hot and humid for this west coast girl, it was still a lovely walk. Jeans were, however, a bad choice.
Tofukuji temple was, well, epic. The buildings were very simple, but at the same time they were really magnificent and grand. It very randomly reminded me somewhat of northern California - the trees I think, and the fact that everything was made out of dark, unpainted wood. It was, as a Zen Buddhist temple should be, very zen.
THEY EVEN HAD A REAL ZEN GARDEN. You know, like those things you put on your desk with the sand...
You had to take your shoes off to walk on the wood floors inside the temple and by the zen garden, and the floorboards squeaked - intentionally. I'll explain that later when I'm at Nijo Castle. But even with crowds of people, Tofukuji temple was beautiful and incredibly calming, and left me feeling all one with nature and shit like that. I had a nice little walkabout sans shoes, then I headed back to the train station for my next stop on the rush tour of Kyoto.
I made it back to Kyoto Station, and it was finally late enough in the afternoon for me to check into my "guesthouse" and drop some of my stuff off (that had been stashed in a convenient locker at the station). It was only about 3 blocks away from the station, which was nice since everywhere I went started from there - and there was a nice view of Kyoto Tower.
<<<Kyoto Tower
My guesthouse>>>
Because I hate people, I booked the only "private room" in what is essentially a capsule hotel. I have an intense hatred of snoring, so the thought of being in a room with other people that I wasn't legally allowed to assault in the wee hours of the morning to shut them up was terrifying. I had a nice, tiny room with a door, my own AC, and a TV that I didn't turn on. After hours of walking, I immediately shut myself in my 30 square foot room and blasted the AC to try to dry the layers of sweat, and put my swollen feet up for a few minutes.
Since I was on a time crunch, I didn't get an actual nap as I would have liked - I sat for 30 minutes and changed clothes, then it was time to head out for dinner. I took one of the 900 trains from Kyoto Station to the Gion area (which may sound familiar to anyone who read Memoirs of a Geisha) because a) it was supposed to be cute and traditional and b) there was a Sanrio store there. Priorities.
I walked another 9 billion steps along the main drag full of traditional shops selling tea, cute things, stuff made from kimono fabric, jewelry, delicious foodstuffs, Japanese candies, legit actual kimonos that cost as much as a nice apartment, and other fancy things. I found my Sanrio store, bought some cute Aggretsuko socks and a little plushie, and set out in search of sushi.
Since my main requirement for restaurants was either an English menu or recognizable photographs of food, I walked a while before I found something suitable. I went into a big department store and, as I've learned in Korea, headed for the top floor (where the food is). I was not disappointed, because I found a sweet conveyor belt sushi restaurant and only had to wait about 10 minutes for a seat at the bar. They gave me a number, and because I speak literally one single word of Japanese, I had to google how to say "66" in Japanese so I'd know when they called me. Even so, I was so obviously out of place that when the guy came out, he looked at my receipt and saw that I was the one he was looking for instead of trying to scream Japanese numbers at a foreigner. Bless him.
It. Was. Glorious. Was it better than sushi outside of Japan? Yes, yes it was. How? Well, the only way I can explain it is the way pineapple tastes in Hawaii. It's different, it's better, but I can't really explain how. So yeah. Here's a haphazard photo of the first of many delicious plates of sushi:
Plus the free matcha tea that just comes with your meal.
After dinner, my feet had grown to the size of small grapefruits and my body hated me for being awake and mobile for nearly 20 hours, so I took a quick walk down Ponto-cho, an adorably traditional restaurant street in Gion, and headed back to my tiny air-conditioned shipping container for some intense sleep. It was only 9:30pm, but I was dead, and honestly, there's not much touristing to do after dark.
I wanted some damn ice cream, because if I'm going to burn more calories than I'm physically able to consume in a day, I'm going to have some ice cream. But sadly, the ice cream places I'd passed on the way to dinner had closed, because they suck, so I went into McDonald's and had a cone with chocolate syrup and almonds that I devoured in approximately 3 minutes like a drunken bear. I was sweaty, with giant swollen feet and ice cream on my shirt, just like everyone abroad imagines Americans to be. I had succeeded in staying awake until dark after waking up at 5am, which to me, was a giant success. Time to sleep at least 10 hours.
To be continued...
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
JAPAN: LIKE EPCOT, BUT REAL!
Last weekend I had the fortuitous pleasure to be able to spend a whopping 36 hours in Kyoto, Japan. It's one of the many perks of living in Korea - an hour-and-a-half-long flight from Seoul and BAM, I'm in another country. And not even some "shithole" country (yep, I went there), but legitimately one of the places I'd been dreaming about since I was a child.
I'm sure it comes as no surprise that my childhood dream destinations were China and Japan, since I have in no way ever fallen into the "typical" child category. When I was obscenely young, probably 4 or 5, I became randomly obsessed with the China and Japan pavilions at EPCOT Center at Disney World. I didn't want to be a princess, or go to Paris, or have a pony - I just wanted to go to Asia. It didn't help that in MY FAVORITE Reading Rainbow episode that LaVar went to Japan, and it was dreamy and wonderful and perfect. (My second favorite episode is where he makes paper out of jeans...) Somewhere in my parents' house I'm sure they still have my child-sized kimono (with professionally matched obi belt courtesy of the nice lady at Japan EPCOT).
Well, 36 years later, I made my dream come true. I bought a ticket on a discount and entirely magenta Japanese airline to leave at 7:30am on a Saturday and return at 9pm the following evening (shout out to Peach Airlines, the Southwest of Japan). Pumped with adrenaline and the fact that the sun is FULLY UP at 5am in Korea, I was rearing to go. As we landed at 9:10am in Osaka, I was ready to walk the (spoiler alert) 28,145 steps of that Saturday all around Japan.
Thing one I noticed about Japan: it is chaotic. Even just reading the signs at the airport. They're colorful and taking up EVERY SURFACE, so you don't know where to look - oh, and they're all in Japanese. You laugh, but coming from Korea, where I am able to at least read the language (whether or not I actually know what it means), it was a little shocking to be surrounded by a language I couldn't even begin to phonetically butcher looking at its characters. There was some English, which sent me to the train ticket place, but anyone with any kind of travel anxiety might have simply melted into a puddle on the floor.
I wanted to take the bullet train because OF COURSE, but the bullet train didn't have this adorable ticket option:
So I took the hour-ish train from Osaka to Kyoto Station, using the on-train WiFi to catch up on episodes of My Favorite Murder (as you do). When I arrived at Kyoto Station, I hadn't eaten in nearly six hours, which is unheard of for me, so I stopped at one of the TEN ramen restaurants inside the station and had a wonderful bowl of the most satisfying miso ramen.
I used the age-old "point and nod" since my Japanese is limited to "thank you" (which I learned from Mr. Roboto). Thank god for photographs of food on menus. It tasted like delicious salty, pork-y heaven, and was exactly what I needed before my half marathon walk ahead of me.
My first touristy trek, since it was only 11am, was the Fushimi Inari shrine - better known as "that place with all the orange gates that people post on Instagram." It was an easy two-stop train ride south of the station. Apparently everyone else had the same idea - Instagram makes you believe that it's deserted and quiet, but it's packed to the brim with tourists from all over the world, as well as some Japanese school kids in their cute little uniforms.
The whole place is covered in statues of foxes - apparently the foxes are some kind of messengers and so all the little stores have little white fox souvenirs. They're pretty cute, actually. You can see them in front of all the buildings (above) and randomly along the walk up the mountain.
The torii (orange gates) are actually all the way up this huge hill (mountain?) so while I thought I'd never get my perfect "abandoned" Instagram shot because of all the tourists, it did start to thin out the further up the hill I got. There's something magical about being at a place that is hundreds of years old - I believe the most recent reconstruction dated back to the 1600s- and Kyoto is pretty much entirely that. Since the Japanese were almost never attacked on their own soil, all the historical sites have literally remained untouched for hundreds of years. In comparison, poor Korea has had most of their historical sites and buildings either destroyed and rebuilt, or "repurposed" during occupation by China or *ahem* Japan.
Part of my 28,000 steps was this whole damned hill that just kept going, but it was beautiful. I did finally get my solitary Fushimi Inari photo sans other tourists:
*Instagram perfection*
Once you make it to the top of the hill, the orange torii stop and you start walking down past a ton of shrines (that I found out later were GRAVEYARDS, YIKES). But because Japan is wonderful, and you should never hike without hydration, randomly along the path down the hill were vending machines. Full. Of. Green. Tea. My joy was palpable because OH GOD I LOVE JAPANESE TEA. And let's get real here for a second - Korea doesn't have good tea. It's all weird barley or corn or some other grain tea, and it's NOT GOOD. But rejoice! Every few hundred feet would be one of these:
That's my favorite brand - I have gotten it for years, and here it is at ¥150, or LESS THAN $1.50. In Korea I can find it at ONE PLACE for $2.50. Also look, MINI SIZES!
And if that wasn't enough to make my whole entire visit complete, it was lunch time for the adorable shrine kitties:
Speaking of kitties, there was another shrine kitty up on the hill by the torii, who sat off the path about six feet and just yelled at everyone passing by, like "HEY WHAT UP, TOURIST." I, of course, was like "HIIII KITTYYYY" and the people passing me thought I was nuts, but whatever.
Somewhere along the hill I hit 10,000 steps, something I usually do around 8pm on a normal day (or if it was before I moved to Korea, oh, about NEVER o'clock), and it was only noon. I got myself a little hangy thing and my friend a magnet (I GOT YOU SARA) and headed back to the train station for what will become Part II of the Japan Saga.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
GARBAGE DISPOSALS: THE UNSUNG HEROES OF THE KITCHEN
It's like that old saying: you don't know what you've got til it's gone. And damn, do I miss my old buddy Garbage Disposal.
You've likely never thought about your garbage disposal, or at least, if you have, only in times when it's broken, or you shoved too many potato peels into it and it overflows. You've probably never thought, "Why do we have this weird grinder thing in our sink? What would my life be like without it? Do I really need it?"
I've only been without a garbage disposal twice - once in a building built in the 1920s that, despite being updated in most aspects, still had the original kitchen sink (sans disposal); and now, in my apartment in Korea. Apparently, according to BuzzFeed, garbage disposals are a uniquely American phenomenon.
I grew up using the garbage disposal as the place to put food trash. You didn't throw pieces of food in the garbage - that would make it stink. You threw it in the garbage disposal, turned it on, and bam, your food was whisked away to a magical world where you didn't have to worry about flies in your kitchen trash. It was a beautiful world. Where do you put eggshells? Disposal. That burned piece of steak your kid won't eat? Disposal. All those onion pieces you picked out of your food? Yep, disposal. Piece of the plant that fell on the floor? Why not? An entire lemon? Sure! Literally anything that might possibly rot ever? YES.
As a side note, my garbage disposal was replaced about a year ago when I lived in LA, and they put one in that was BIONIC. Like legit COULD chop up an entire whole lemon, unsliced. I may or may not have found myself throwing random (food) things in it to see how hard core it was, and it ATE EVERYTHING.
Now that I'm disposal-less, LIFE IS DIFFICULT. Korea makes you sort EVERYTHING, from traditional recyclables like plastic, paper, metal and glass, to "other garbage" and "food waste." "Other garbage" DOES NOT INCLUDE food waste. So you have to scrape any leftovers into a bag specifically for food waste, which is really fucking gross. Since I'm not accustomed to leaving much leftover after eating, I'll have two tiny pieces of food to put in that stupid plastic bag and I'm not walking that shit out to the damn food waste bin on the street every time I have a meal - and you can be proud of my laziness, because that also means I'm not throwing out a different plastic bag each time I have 3 square inches of food to toss.
Where do I put it? The freezer. Don't judge, that's where everyone else puts it too. But it's pretty nasty. In order to fill up a bag enough to feel like you're not wasting energy and bags by taking it out, you have to look at eggshells, potato peels, broccoli stalks, gross pieces I cut off the chicken before I cooked it, something that got moldy in the fridge, or brown avocado pieces every time I open the freezer just to get some damned ice cubes for AT LEAST a week.
SO WHY THE HELL DON'T THEY HAVE A MAGIC FOOD GRINDER IN THE SINK?? Who in their right mind wants to put that nasty shit in a bag and have to touch it and think about it again? The garbage disposal is the kitchen embodiment of Americans sweeping problems under the rug. MY PASTA SAUCE HAS MOLD ON IT, I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT, DOWN THE DRAIN YOU GO! You seriously want me to pour moldy pasta sauce (or other semi-liquid stuff) in a BAG? That's NASSSTY.
In one of the numerous BuzzFeed articles about dumb things America does (most of them are legit, America is dumb), one of the things mentioned was a garbage disposal. Someone commented about how ridiculous they were, and I was surprisingly offended. DON'T LIKE MY TRASH-EATING SINK?? FUCK YOUUU THEN. Have fun picking your potato peelings out of the sink ONE BY ONE with your FINGERS. Eww. Hope you eat everything on your plate, because there's NOWHERE FOR IT TO GO.
No, but like seriously, I really do eat crumbs off my plate now when I'm at home so I don't have food waste to throw away. I WANT MY GARBAGE DISPOSAL BACK. I WANT MY FREEDOM TO TOSS WHATEVER I WANT DOWN THE DRAIN ALL WILLY NILLY.
You've likely never thought about your garbage disposal, or at least, if you have, only in times when it's broken, or you shoved too many potato peels into it and it overflows. You've probably never thought, "Why do we have this weird grinder thing in our sink? What would my life be like without it? Do I really need it?"
I've only been without a garbage disposal twice - once in a building built in the 1920s that, despite being updated in most aspects, still had the original kitchen sink (sans disposal); and now, in my apartment in Korea. Apparently, according to BuzzFeed, garbage disposals are a uniquely American phenomenon.
I grew up using the garbage disposal as the place to put food trash. You didn't throw pieces of food in the garbage - that would make it stink. You threw it in the garbage disposal, turned it on, and bam, your food was whisked away to a magical world where you didn't have to worry about flies in your kitchen trash. It was a beautiful world. Where do you put eggshells? Disposal. That burned piece of steak your kid won't eat? Disposal. All those onion pieces you picked out of your food? Yep, disposal. Piece of the plant that fell on the floor? Why not? An entire lemon? Sure! Literally anything that might possibly rot ever? YES.
As a side note, my garbage disposal was replaced about a year ago when I lived in LA, and they put one in that was BIONIC. Like legit COULD chop up an entire whole lemon, unsliced. I may or may not have found myself throwing random (food) things in it to see how hard core it was, and it ATE EVERYTHING.
Now that I'm disposal-less, LIFE IS DIFFICULT. Korea makes you sort EVERYTHING, from traditional recyclables like plastic, paper, metal and glass, to "other garbage" and "food waste." "Other garbage" DOES NOT INCLUDE food waste. So you have to scrape any leftovers into a bag specifically for food waste, which is really fucking gross. Since I'm not accustomed to leaving much leftover after eating, I'll have two tiny pieces of food to put in that stupid plastic bag and I'm not walking that shit out to the damn food waste bin on the street every time I have a meal - and you can be proud of my laziness, because that also means I'm not throwing out a different plastic bag each time I have 3 square inches of food to toss.
Where do I put it? The freezer. Don't judge, that's where everyone else puts it too. But it's pretty nasty. In order to fill up a bag enough to feel like you're not wasting energy and bags by taking it out, you have to look at eggshells, potato peels, broccoli stalks, gross pieces I cut off the chicken before I cooked it, something that got moldy in the fridge, or brown avocado pieces every time I open the freezer just to get some damned ice cubes for AT LEAST a week.
SO WHY THE HELL DON'T THEY HAVE A MAGIC FOOD GRINDER IN THE SINK?? Who in their right mind wants to put that nasty shit in a bag and have to touch it and think about it again? The garbage disposal is the kitchen embodiment of Americans sweeping problems under the rug. MY PASTA SAUCE HAS MOLD ON IT, I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT, DOWN THE DRAIN YOU GO! You seriously want me to pour moldy pasta sauce (or other semi-liquid stuff) in a BAG? That's NASSSTY.
In one of the numerous BuzzFeed articles about dumb things America does (most of them are legit, America is dumb), one of the things mentioned was a garbage disposal. Someone commented about how ridiculous they were, and I was surprisingly offended. DON'T LIKE MY TRASH-EATING SINK?? FUCK YOUUU THEN. Have fun picking your potato peelings out of the sink ONE BY ONE with your FINGERS. Eww. Hope you eat everything on your plate, because there's NOWHERE FOR IT TO GO.
No, but like seriously, I really do eat crumbs off my plate now when I'm at home so I don't have food waste to throw away. I WANT MY GARBAGE DISPOSAL BACK. I WANT MY FREEDOM TO TOSS WHATEVER I WANT DOWN THE DRAIN ALL WILLY NILLY.
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