Where the hell do you find a bathing suit?

When you haven't been anticipating the need to get beach-body ready, the prospect of running around 95% naked is a little.. unnerving. I had to rummage through my drawers a little, but I found every bathing suit or bikini that I've had since high school, including a Speedo that no one above the age of 9 should attempt to wear. When did I think I was going to be a competitive swimmer?

The problem is that in the last couple of years, my child-bearing hips have been eagerly anticipating birthing something. I almost want to have x-rays taken of my hips to make sure there isn't something amiss. Are you supposed to have your hips protrude out twice? And thank you, Google, for I now know what a "saddlebag" is. I wish my birth control would tell them that they don't need to do that, so please hold off for, oh.. 5 years?

Anyway, I’m kind of lost on where to get a new one, how not to spend $100 (Have they gotten more expensive?! Why do I not remember them being so pricey?), and what shape to even buy. I want something that covers, so maybe this?

Wholesome Wear

I showed these to Karen who told me, "if a man still wants to see you after you wear one of those, he's the guy for you." Sounds like a win-win situation to me.

My Mother again.

For starters, I've changed the title of this blog. My intent was to redesign it as well and do a whole big Tada! but.. meh.

The reason for the change is that for the past year, I've been lying. I have been seeing a therapist, and praise Allah, he's fantastic. If you have ever wondered about what it might be like, go find one, spill your beans, and let the magic happen.

The other reason for the change is that the more I discuss my life happenings with friends, the more we are convinced that my life is Made-for-TV. And because I cannot explain how and why am I such a mess, I'm just going blame it on my Koreanness, and that my people have a penchant for the dramatics.

Case in point: the New Year's phone call from my mother:

Mom: Good morning, Yuree. Happy New Year!
Me: Hi umma, Happy New Year!
Mom: Hm, I'm sorry you woke up alone. You must be lonely.
Me: ...
Mom: Don't worry, good things will happen this year.
Me: Yes, I'm sure they will. I'm gonna go now.
Mom: Okay, byeee! I lub you.

Day 6 of my eight-day Chicago stay.

This was my first trip in ten years to celebrate Thanksgiving at home, and any intent to steer clear of gluten or dairy was promptly set aside the minute I set foot in the city. Oh well.

As I'm sure you've all noticed with your parents or relatives, mine have adopted some interesting behaviors since the house emptied out.

For example, in the shower is a bottle of shampoo from Pantene's Relaxed & Natural line, which "gently cleanses African-American hair without over-drying." My guess is that my Dad picked that one up. I call him the Enabler because he allows my Mom to get away with some very pampered behavior.  Earlier this evening she was laying in bed and her cell phone rang. Did she stir? Of course not. My Dad stopped doing the dishes, ran with her purse from the kitchen to their bedroom, and handed it to her.

Speaking of phones ringing, my parents have installed phones in the kitchen, living room, their bedroom, and one in the family room. (My house is not big). While they have figured out how to turn up the phones to full volume, they have yet to sync up the ringtones. So despite the abundance of phones around the house, absolute chaos ensues anytime someone calls because four different songs are playing at full blast until someone answers the phone.

I am just also amazed by the quantity of food in this house. Twenty minutes and two exasperated outbursts from yours truly later, I was finally able to Tetris in a bottle of orange juice, two packages of Brussels sprouts, and a half gallon of milk. I took a picture of the inside of the refrigerator to show you how much food my Mom keeps for a household of two people. Keep in mind that they have another refrigerator just for their kimchi.

Suburbia scares me.

Who gives a shit where (politician/actor/sportsball player) put his dong*, and why is it taking over national headlines? That is all.

*unless that would be in or around a minor, or other related heinous offenses. In those instances, castration is one solution that I think is quite appropriate.

Koreans are scary.

I rarely watch scary movies because I'm one of those individuals who replays images in their heads, re-scares themselves, and then ducks under the covers to hide (which only makes it worse, btw). Nonetheless, for Halloween, my roommate and I watched a CREEPY Korean movie called A Tale of Two Sisters. Why are my people so good at making messed up movies?!? I only saw 70% because I was covering my face with a blanket through most of it. Actually, make that 60%. For a good portion, I wasn't even facing the screen, and only glanced at it through my peripheral vision. I'm a big baby - I am owning this.

Anyway, I thereafter realized my missed opportunity. I have an appointment tonight to cut off my hair. Right now it's halfway down my back, and by tonight, I will look like a 7-year-old boy. After watching the movie, I saw that I have all the makings for a Korean movie ghost: long creepy hair, bitchface, and glaring eyes. The only thing I need is a white gown. This almost makes me want to keep my hair for Halloween 2013.

I searched for some images on Google for those of you who may not be familiar with the Korean gwishin. I happened to find one of me at work on a good day.

I think I am an adult now.

I was just talking with my friend, Karen, about how we should plan a trip to Europe. The last time I was there was in 2005 when I studied abroad in Brussels. Two thoughts come to mind about those 6 months. The first is that I'm both proud and also surprised by how dumb I was. I went on a two week trip through Spain and Portugal by myself. (Youth and naïveté are quite amazing.) My understanding of Spanish: passable; my understanding of Catalán: nil. Thus being mostly in Sevilla, lots of pointing, nodding and smiling.

Portugal was even better. After a 6 hour busride, we arrived at 11PM in Lagos, Portugal. I headed towards the nearest lights I could see, which happened to be a gas station. (I'm pretty sure this is how murder scenes begin.)

Me: Bonsoir, je cherche pour Casa Amarela dans la Rua Infante de Sagres.
Attendant: blank stare
Me: Oh right, I'm in Portugal. Lo siento, buscando para Casa Amarela? La Rua Infante de Sagres.
Attendant: furrowed brows
Me: F*ck. Er. I'm looking for Casa Amarela. It's right here on the map..
Attendant: Yeah, go down this street. It's a five minute walk.

I clearly did not speak a lick of Portuguese, I did not have any cash (ATM card was stolen a few days before my trip), and I was sent walking down a dark street by a gas station clerk, who very well could have sent me down an alley to be robbed. Smart, Nora.

The other thing that comes to mind is that within a month of Belgian fries, cheese, chocolates, and waffles, I tore my jeans. The insides of my thighs resented the constraint of denim, and self-destructed. Do you know how horrible jeans shopping in Europe is? 97% of the jeans didn't come up past my hips, and the 3% that did dragged on the ground. I probably had 6 inches of material dragging behind me. I tried to pass it off as the "rolled cuff" look.

Anyway, I think I am an adult now. However, I just ate a large bag of "chips" for lunch. I say "chips" because the bag says "we don't fry it... we don't bake it... we start with some wholesome potatoes, add a little heat and pressure, and pop! it's a chip." Specious.

I hate being a girl sometimes.

Forget about not being able to pee while standing, or the fact that we may potentially have to squeeze a watermelon-sized child out of our lady parts.

Unfortunately, I left my headphones at home. When you are at a cafe, this means that you are at the mercy of your neighbor's conversations. Today's topic focused on a girl with a "botched tooth job" and her second racecar driver boyfriend ("this must be her thing..") One of the bottle blondes refused to admit that the new boyfriend is hot ("is this a recent picture?"), while the other tried to be a little less jealous ("well, he was nice and he's pretty funny.."). I don't know how you botch a tooth job, but if that's all they can point out as her flaw, she's probably pretty awesome, and just doesn't know how to pick out friends. Then they moved onto The Bachelorette and I really wanted to stab my fork into my ears.

My other thought as I tried really hard not to listen: I miss cackling with my friends and having strangers judge our conversations as childish and dumb. I can't wait for Meena's return to the US in a few days!! I have a lot to catch her up on. Our neighboring tables are going to hate us.