WHY Swimsuit, WHY!?

This weekend we're on our way to Sunyeudo with a bunch of our teaching homeboys and girls for some fun beach oriented times. The BEST part of this foray is the fact that one of the Korean teachers has MAD negotiating skills and has not only talked one of the bus drivers from our school into driving us to the ferry to get there for a mere fraction of the cost for all 16 of us to take the "normal" bus, but has also managed to procure us a place to stay in spite of the fact that all of the motels on the island have been booked solid for weeks! Even better? This place she's gotten us to stay is the home of one of the hotel/motel owners Ajuma (Grandmother) who will be away for the weekend! This trip contains a serious bulk of Sarah's favourite things! Throw in a pug dog and some pesto and they'll pretty much have to drag me off this island kicking and screaming.

Okay, so one problem here folks: swimsuits are EVIL. In preparation for this magical journey I felt the need to try on the two "beach suits" (as opposed to "pool suits" which are designed specifically for laps and not meant for lounging about in oceans...or pools for that matter...and should therefore not be worn unless one intends to be doing laps/lengths or some other format of water based exercise including but not limited to "aqua aerobics" or "water jogging"...all of which I suppose could be done in an ocean, sea or lake with a small degree of increased difficulty but you kind of get the point...right?) I'd brought along for purposes just like this and we got into a bit of a conflict.

Now, as a far-too-fat-type woman I've always been quite the fan of one piece suits and the occasional tankini...at least since they came into fashion in my mid-teens. In spite of my body positive attitude, though I do own one, I really can't bring myself to wear a belly-baring bikini outside of the house. Sure it would be mighty controversial and probably turn some heads, but after years and years of negative reinforcement about my "unsightly" mid-section, I've kind of internalized the idea that the world just doesn't want to see my bellyful belly and have ensured that my "beach suits" have a fairly large area of coverage...this, my friends, is where the conflict arises.

I have yet to figure out how to turn on the air conditioner in our apartment (in spite of our neighbour's kind help) and am therefore roasting alive in the 27 degree humidity pool that is today (*cries pitifully*...it is seriously too hot to MOVE! It feels like I'm swimming in hot...hence "humidity pool")Sitting about in all of this heat really got me to thinking about the joyous swims I plan to have this weekend and so I decided it was time for annual swimsuit try on time. Now, as far as I know, many women strongly dislike shopping for a new swimsuit. I'm not extremely opposed to it personally, at least not as opposed as I am to trying on the swimsuits that one already owns. At least when you don't like the swimsuit you've got draped over you in the change room, you can just stroll past, hand it to an attendant and say firmly "rejected". When the suits already belong to you, however, no such luck! Especially when you find yourself in the SK where it's unlikely that a large, lovely lady like myself will find anything big enough in the swimwear department to fit over even one of my voluptuous thighs! I likely should have done the yearly try on before I left home, but as previously mentioned, I was a bit swamped for time what with all of my worldly goods strewn across my (highly accommodating) grandparents' living room and only so many hours to get them squared away into too few pieces of baggage. Sure I could have taken the time to weigh my options while I packed, but that's just not what happened. Which is why today I found myself standing in front of our bathroom mirror (no, we didn't even have a full length for this dubious task, which basically meant that in order to check out the proportions of my bare thighs, I had to stand precariously on one leg, half-way out the bathroom door. Great.) trying desperately to make my cleavage a little bit less cleavagey in a desperate attempt not to offend in a country that is far more concerned with decorum and modesty than my (rather permissive) own. (BAH! I can't help it that I'm too voluptuous over here people! Believe me, especially when it comes to far too cleavage-y cleavage, keeping it under wraps is definitely one of those situations where I would if I could...but I can't!)

After wiggling around, readjusting and ensuring all of the important jiggly bits remained fully and entirely covered, half an hour, one cleavage-tastic one piece and a tankini later, I was just about ready to collapse from heat exhaustion!

Ladies, this trying on of swimsuits is truly a trial...am I right? I mean mens swimsuits (at least outside of Europe...) are all non-spandexy and non-form fitting. In fact, for the most part they're just pretty comfortable pairs of shorts with a built in net to keep your jiggly bits all comfy and stuff. You just kind of put them on and off you go. There might be a little netting related chaffing, but your flesh is certainly not going to come tumbling out of those bad boys by surprise...at least not if you stay away from anyone with a penchant for pantsing. There's very little wigglying involved in getting in our out of trunks, at least not last time I tried some on. As far as I remember, the hardest part was making sure that both of my feet made it through the netting underpants and out the legs without me falling to the ground in my typically clumsy way. They were comfortable, I didn't have to worry about post-swim, tacky thigh skin chaffing and there was no awkward attempt at getting them to cover my chest required (although, just think about it...wouldn't that have been funny?) With women's suits, you just can't win! Even if the world sanctions your wearing of a bikini, you've still got to make sure that you're all trimmed up "down bellow" AND that the girls don't go on a wild adventure, either full on escaping or engaging in some unwanted exhibitionism. And then when you have to squiggle out of those tacky mo-fos while post-swim wet? Well forget about it! I always end up narrowly missing the sink with my head.

I've had it with this insanity. Seriously, lets all put a stop to all of this immediately and just swim naked! Come on everyone...are you with me? I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it while I'm in South Korea though...otherwise I'm pretty sure I'll get deported.

Talking to strangers.

You aren't supposed to talk to strangers...especially if they have candy...or a dog...or anything even remotely interesting you might like to eat or pet or look at! We all had this simple rule hammered into us at age three people! In fact, it would seem that a certain number of us remain wary of chatting it up with the unknowns into adulthood, even in well lit social situations. Some people are just awkward, yes, but sometimes I'd swear that the shybee over by the punch bowl seriously thinks that something HORRIBLE will happen if ze walks up to ze's nearest fellow human and simply strikes up a conversation. I mean, I know, I know...our parents and kindergarten teachers were just trying to keep us safe from sharks and bears and other "predators"...but seriously, I think some people may have been seriously stunted...

Not me people, not me! In keeping with my strict policy of talking (loudly) to just about anyone, I have taken up a whole new hobby in my spare, stay at home non-mom time: talking to strangers on the internets! Sure I'd love to talk to all of you, friends and family back in Canada and in other parts asunder, but the fact of the matter is that when I'm extra lonely after everyone else I know here in the SK has gone off to work in the late afternoon, for the lot of you it's somewhere between 2-8 am, and quite frankly, none of you are terribly chatty when you're sleeping! But never fear, www.omegle.com provides the perfect solution! While you never know what might assault your eyes on Chatroulette, on Omegle you have the option of non-video chat with strangers from across the globe. Sure there's a whole host of creepers (like there are anywhere else), but there's also lots and lots of people who are bored (just like MEEEEEE!) and looking to pass the time chatting it up with a brand new pal! I know, I know, talking to strangers on the internet is nothing new, or terribly exciting to the rest of you, and you're all sitting there saying "hello woman, there have been chat rooms on the internet since like 1994 you weiner! Seriously, calm your self immediately!", but GUYS, this is different...because I'm doing it! No, but seriously, you know how in chat rooms, usually there's a pre-determined topic before you join and there's multiple people chatting it up on said topic at any given time? Well this is the best because you get to talk to just one person at a time and the two of you get to determine a topic of conversation between the two of you which certainly spices things up! And since there's not moderator, you can talk like to real people...even if that means you feel the need to argue from time to time. And if things get too out of control and you want to get the heck away from the freak you're chatting with, you can just end your convo and start up a new one at the drop of a hat! I love it. I just do. It's like freaking speed dating without the awkward that comes around when you sit down with someone you just don't like...you can just run away with no hurt feelings and little to no guilt! It's okay not to like the people you talk to...but sometimes you do! I've had some really great chats with some fine folks from Germany (Hey Jan!), India, Thailand, Indonesia, France, Tunisia, Sweden, home and even further away. I'm a big fan of global dialogue, and I love having the opportunity to chat with people about the places they live, the things they do and what they believe. Even if we don't become Facebook besties, and even if we never come into contact in any way ever again, every stranger becomes a little less strange after a five minute chat, and somehow, that's pretty encouraging. I know it's cheesy, but it makes me believe that maybe every roomful of strangers really is just a roomful of friends just waiting to be made. So get your butt away from that freakin' punch bowl and make some new friends everybody! (That's right everyone, I am literally just a giant pile of cheddar! Deal with it!)

Proccurring THINGS!

As I've mentioned before, I have a fairly intense love of stuff...so intense in fact that in the majority of my homes many people find it quite difficult to move around without colliding with some sort of junk. Scarves fall off the walls and onto people's heads, precariously balanced tchotchkes crash to the floor sometimes shattering into several pieces (along with my heart) and my couches and beds are typically rendered all but unsitable by a plethora of throw pillows. This is the way I LOVE to live! Cluttered, cramped and joyfully inundated by my THINGS! Consumerism is no laughing matter, certainly, but when my consumptive urges give me the hypocrite jitters, I can usually comfort myself with the thought that the majority of these marvelous things came to me by way of thrift stores well stocked with the contents of elderly women's homes (all the better since they're another of my favourites!) and that if I didn't invite to come to live with me in my cramped little caves, they'd end up in a landfill somewhere and that somehow I'm being environmentally friendly...right?

With only 100 lbs of luggage to work with when packing to come to Korea (Damn you Air Canada, WHY? WHY!? I'm not going to freaking Cancun for a WEEK, I'm moving to Korea FOR A YEAR!!! A WHOLE YEAR PEOPLE! I need more than a bikini and a prayer...ridiculous.), I was beside myself at the thought of being separated from my precious THINGS for an entire year and forced to live in a bare shelved and walled prison for an entire year...basically, I was left weeping in the corner thinking of my life without all of my Mother Mary figurines, tiki mugs, porcelain owls and novelty salt and pepper shakers...*tear*. My family ended up taking pity on my pathetisad, tearful self and coughed up the extra THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS (WHAT?!) so that I could have something closer to 200lbs of luggage, but all the same, when all was said and done and the absurd drama of packing finally ended (seriously people, my grandparents officially didn't have a living room for the better part of a week... it became an impassable sea of mismatched garments all waiting in limbo to find out their packing fate...gold pants, tutu and inca print body suit, my apologies for your exile) I really didn't have room for any beloved THINGS that couldn't be draped on my body in a clothes like fashion. While this did mean that I managed to bring a fairly absurd number of scarves, it also meant that I wasn't able to squeeze in anything larger or heavier than the lovely "We Love You!" banner E.Stan made to cheer me up when I get lonely here (thanks lady! It's already come in handy a few times!) and the very most beloved of my knick-knacks, the one, the only the fabulous mister Dancaturtle! I guess a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...

When we got to our apartment that first night, it seemed so big and empty and devoid of anything even resembling a piece of flare that I could have just cried! It's a pretty big apartment in comparison to some of the other closets I've hear of other teachers living in, and while any rational person would have celebrated this fact, I just couldn't see this empty expanse in a positive light with the thought that I'd never be able to fill it up with a bunch of junk! Even though I'd accepted that, as a large lovely lady, I'd have quite the time finding garments to fit my voluptuous frame here in the land of South Korea, and that if I had any intention of looking presentable outside of the house, I'd have to deal with a less than ornate interior, I still couldn't help feeling a bit downhearted at the thought of living for a whole year without THINGS flying off of shelves and into my eyes, onto my head,into the toilet, under the kitchen sink and or behind the couch. I felt so...barren.

For the first couple of weeks, things didn't improve all that much. I mean, I was making do just fine...I suppose... Within the first couple of days I'd hung up my banner and filled our bedroom walls with my absurd number of scarves, necklaces and earrings...and we'd even purchased a clock and a coat rack, but they just didn't have any personality and the place still looked...blah...Unlike every dwelling I've ever occupied, the living room just seemed...too expansive. In short, the place was really lacking in the highly necessary clutter department. Very unlike any of my previous habitats indeed. And then it happened. Some of the other teachers started to leave. They started to leave and they just didn't have the room to take along all of their THINGS!

First we found THE BEST porcelain elephant plant holder in the garbage one Sunday afternoon while on our way to recovering by way of soft pretzel from a long night of Soju. I couldn't lift it in my less than prime state, but Bryan happily carted it upstairs in hopes that I'd finally stop whining about the lack of clutter. We're not super clear on whether or not it belonged to one of the other teachers, but we'll just go with that theory for fun, shall we? When the (extremely lovely, kind and sweet!) teacher Bryan has replaced was packing, she was kind enough to give us quite a large selection of her unwanted possessions. In addition to some super soft blankets, we also got a rather large cooking pot (difficult to come by as far as we can tell so far), a little book shelf for Bryan's non-existent books, three beautiful house plants and a super sweet oversized chair complete with wooden arm rests that are perfect for holding both books and drinks. I am in love! As much as I hate to loose friends, this chair really has "cushioned" the blow (hahahahahahaha...so so clever...*shakes head at self*)In any case, the place really is starting to look a little bit more clutterful...in other words, like home.