The Death of Creativity in Korea

Remember this guy? And this one?

Remember how I broke my back to help build something really amazing that made me proud and excited to go to work every day? I just got word that Creativity School will close at the end of January. The University board was taken over by the publishing company that held a few of its seats and Creativity School was deemed unnecessary.

And so all I can do is spend a few minutes in gratitude for the time that I had there...strangely enough, all the people that were 'mine', Krisanne, Geoffrey, Lumina, Jill...would all have been gone by this February anyway. It almost feels a little like it existed just to be a vehicle for our growth and experience. BUT there is still something tragic about many people I love (my korean friends) losing their jobs and the fruits of their countless sleepless nights in the pursuit of excellence.

So here's to Hong Shilkjongnim. Elina. Erica. Sunny. Debby. Kitchen Teacher. Bus Teacher (haha). Library Teacher. Here's to all the people who stay and for whom the school closing does not just mean an early flight back to their real lives. Thanks for the years of paper bag costumes, concerts, beach sets, puppet shows and children's cd's, Changwehakkyo. Thanks for the little people that I loved and the countless lessons in humility and process. Thanks for teaching me how to teach and letting me explore things that other schools never would have allowed. Thanks for being forward thinking. It's so strange to be so removed and still have to let go.

NinnyBeth Takes A Rickshaw Ride

When in Colorado, one must ride in a bicycle rickshaw and while one is in the rickshaw, one must think about the sheer power and strength of the little man pulling one and one's boss and their normal girl bodies through the streets of denver. It was the MOST fun.

Mormons On Parade

Today I will tell you a story that I should probably save for some girls camp testimony meeting or general conference talk that I will never actually be asked to give:

One christmas, my boss, who is not mormon but has many mormon friends and lives right next to the LDS temple in DC, bounded into my office with unbridled enthusiasm and said to me, "I have an idea! Let's get everyone in our office together to eat dinner at my house and then go to the LDS visitors center to see the festival of lights!" Since I AM mormon and generally like to share what is most important in my life with those around me (you'll recall the many posts about bathrooms, vegetables, Smart Boy, diet coke, Smart Boy, God, Thrift Stores, diet cherry coke, oh, and SB) you might think that I would be as excited as Boss, right? WRONG. I smiled woodenly as I listened to her plan for a weeknight sometime in the next two weeks thinking to myself that I would rather poke a hot iron into my eyeball than hang out with work after work. Not because I don't love my work friends and my job, but I have things to do and people to see and presents to make and buy.

But then I started to think about it. Really. How often does your non-mormon boss want to plan your missionary opportunities for you? And how often do you get the chance to really talk about the things that are most important in the world in meaningful ways with people who you spend all day with? And frankly, what kind of disciple of Christ am I if I can't do what I said I would do and share the most important message of the restoration of the fullness of Christ's gospel (even if it is in an informative, un-preachy, professional sort of way)? So, I popped into Boss' office the next day and with renewed enthusiasm, I said, "Hey! let's do it next Thursday!"

And we did it. It was really really wonderful to share the things that I love the most with these good friends. At one point in the evening, I think I sounded a little like Ms. Teen South Carolina when I bumblingly tried to explain the "Temple In Terms We Can All Understand". "like, we don't totally do like ancestor worship, but such and we like, there is baptism, but not like people baptism, but like and such and yeah." So, false doctrine aside, I did get to talk about moroni and the book of mormon and The Savior was everywhere.

And there were Ukrainians.

Adorable little Ukranian children waving their hands and talking in stage voices that reminded me of "Waiting for Guffman". Hilarious and sweet.

7 Ways to Tell That You Should Stop Reading Dating Advice

1. You identify with EVERY SINGLE ARTICLE YOU EVER READ. "7 ways to know you are a desperate dater". "7 Ways To Know That You Are Not Desperate Enough" "7 Ways To Know If Your Partner Is Enough and Desperate" "7 Ways To Read This Article With Desperation"

2. You don't identify with ANY article you read.

3. You accidently refer to your friends as Relationship Experts.

4. You start to notice that every movie, every song, every television show is full of crap and doesn't apply to real life at all and it's all emotionally manipulative swill that teaches us to distort reality.

5. You find yourself curled up in a ball under your desk at work clutching your cell phone to your heart repeating the words, "I should call. I shouldn't call. I should call. I shouldn't call."

6. You start to think you've got it all figured out.

7. You realize you will never actually have it all figured out no matter how many boards of directors you employ or msn relationship articles you read and the truth is that this is between you and your "partner" and God and at some point, you do it your way and someone sees through it and somehow falls in love with what's rolled up in the crazy.

Bathroom Cookies/ Urinal Cakes

I left my camera in NYC a few weekends ago and have not had the wherewithall (I just wanted to say wherewithall) to get it back quite yet so this update is sans pictures. I'm a little boring to myself without pictures but so it is...

The bathrooms are back! After two months of painful, bladder exploding, stair running, pilgrammage jokes at work, we are able to walk down the hall to go to the bathroom again. I was so excited about the announcement that I made bathroom cookies to celebrate. They were affectionately dubbed "urinal cakes" by my office friends and I'm happy to report that they were snapped up immediately and filled the measure of their creation. (I laced them with fiber. I wasn't messing around.)

I spent thanksgiving with my grandparents and I made yeast rolls that turned out like my mommas except that they looked sadly phallic in a droopy kind of way. The good news is that they tasted just fine. fine indeed.

I took the GRE! I did it and I got high enough on the math portion that it doesn't look like I filled in bubbles randomly...it just looks like I'm mildly retarded which is much, much better. I would like to take the time now, in this forum to thank SB and my roommates and that guy who helped me with square roots when he could have been playing rock band. I whined for weeks and made myself an absolute bore. I cried openly about my lack of left brain will power and my slowly shrinking vocabulary to anyone who would listen and blamed genetics, the long haul to the bathroom at work and carb-loading for my failure to understand the whole point about prime numbers and equilateral triangles. Won't being with me through grad school be a pleasure???

I've been sick and it's been the best diet ever. I reached a milestone today that will bring me so much closer to my WW goal than I have ever been in my entire adult life. And the best part about it is that I did it slowly, tenatiously and healthily. I realized recently that this whole body image, weight thing has been one of the most important journeys of my life and has really shown me that change is not only possible but inevitable. The key is three things 1.) Every day is different and you really can start over 2.) spend time getting used to each plateau so that you know how you have to eat at each weight to maintain and then when you are ready ramp it up 3.) Choose to be honest. Step on a scale even in you're scared you've made mistakes. It is better to face each week in the know than to pretend you don't see what's happening. That's the only way to move forward.

The cool thing is that these three principles apply to just about everything that you are trying to accomplish. We get nothing out of dishonesty. We sometimes need to rest and let our bodies and our minds adjust to new situations. Nothing is ever a lost cause. All this is gospel stuff, but it's like I just discovered that it applies to life for ril.

Ok, now I am done being didactic (gre word).

Sometimes I Speak My Heart And My Heart Wins

Sometimes I tell you what I am really feeling, unafraid of the consequences because this is what love and trust are and I am nothing without those two things in my life.
Sometimes I let the chips fall as they will and believe that God makes everything work for the good of those who believe in Him.
Sometimes I have the courage to choose myself.
And sometimes, I am rewarded for my efforts - maybe not in the way the world understands reward, but in my way.
Integrity is your lesson to me. I will not forget it. I am changed.

Colorado Called....

She said to say hi and tell you not to feel guilty about all the times you never came to visit. She found some very nice people from DC who will play bridge with her and call her "home" for a few days. She'll be just fine. No, really. Just. Fine.

Celebrity Look-Alike (part 3) Mrs. Beasley

The other day, I walked into work and my boss kept staring at me kind of funny. You know that look. The one that says you have broccoli stuck in your teeth. After a while, in the middle of a conversation about some microbiological thing, she leaped out of her chair and screamed, "MRS BEASLEY!!!!" I don't know who Mrs. Beasley is, so I just sort of turned uncomfortably in my chair to see if there was someone outside the door named Mrs. Beasley. No. Turns out, I AM MRS. BEASLEY. A doll. A creepy, old lady doll from the show Family Affair. Does she talk? I really hope not, because I don't know if I could handle the sad plummeting value of the real estate of me that has gone from Drew Barrymore (before braces) to Charlize Theron (once) to the bird guy from that sci-fi show to Kate Gosselin to a creepy freaky doll beloved by a sitcom child named Buffy (with a brother with a girl's name). I'm all out of surgery cards (stimulus), so I guess I'll just have to wait patiently for the tide to turn in the market and someone somewhere to tell me I look like, oh, I don't know, my grandmother (would do me just fine).

Of Anxiety and Happiness

Two totally unrelated emotional events today:

1. Sitting on the bus as it barrels through the streets of NW DC. The sun is shining. It's abnormally hot for October, but it feels good. I'm peeking through the window, thinking and texting in between the spindles of prayer that are seeping from my brain to the heavens. I see a man playing the trumpet but I can't hear him. He's homeless or at least slightly destitute. Another man in a business suit walks up to him, hand outstretched and I can see there's something in his palm...he slips it gently into the palm of the trumpet player. I think maybe it's a cigarette. The trumpet player smiles big, wide, overbearingly at the palmer and hugs him in an awkward hold. Words are coming out of his mouth now- these men are old friends. I imagine business suit gives trumpet a cigarette every morning. They are friends! I still can't hear the conversation, I'm just a bus observer, just like always...But then. Then. The suit walks away, shaking his head and smiling just as the bus rolls slowly past the trumpet. The trumpet is blowing hard, long notes. His cheeks distended like dizzy. A triumphal shout to his friend and the cigarette at 8 am. I can actually hear it and this makes me as happy as anyone.

2. New drug. New dread. Everyday at 1 o'clock, I think the sky is falling for about two hours. I can't think. I can't do much of anything except bounce my leg and blink. I've been taking the NSAID for three weeks and now I can bend, stand and jump without breaking. But this gross cloud of two hour anxiety is NOT working. I texted you once and asked if you were ok? Is something terrible going to happen? You said you were fine. I thought it was intuition. Turns out it was just the damn drugs. I guess I'm not a visionary afterall.

Stories I will probably tell my children Part 3

NINNY BETH GETS EVICTED

So my landlords are getting a divorce. It's a quiet sort of separation. We don't hear from them often unless we have a fly infestation (true story) or the air conditioning breaks down during the hottest week of the summer (true story). That's why the email we got at the end September was so alarming- NOTICE: 30 days to vacate. In this communication, the landlady expressed her sorrow at having to kick us out, but she needs a place to live and a home for her children. Are you kidding???? The letter was overly dramatic and cc'd the landman who happened to be at our house fixing the squealing dryer (true story) so I assumed it was a passive aggressive ode to divorce if ever such a thing existed. And it was. Turns out, she had no legal ground to stand on and we get to keep our lovely home at least until February when we may be booted out into the winter snow drifts of northern virginia (lie).























NINNY BETH FINDS JOY TUCKED AWAY IN A CUPBOARD AND THEN THROWS IT AWAY BECAUSE IT'S OLD.

NINNY BETH REUNITES WITH HER KOREAN ROOTS.

There was this time I saw Dai and Scott in Virginia!

We did as we always do: smile for the camera (cheese-uh), eat korean food from dubious vendors, buy tights that are made to look like skinny jeans and watch some serious b-boy action. All in the parking lot of a K-mart. I love

NINNYBETH AND THE CHLOES.

I got a new calling. I'm in the Young Women's Presidency and I have the charge to befriend the chloes. That's right. Two completely adorable blondies who flip their hair and exclaim "awwww, that's sooooooooooo Sweeeeeeeeeeet!" to everything you say. The best part about this is that I am once again reminded of how NOT cool I was at 14 (true story). But if you look at the chloe's hair and compare it to the picture of me on the right (don't get confused) you might see that was headed in the right direction (lie).

At any rate, it's back to mutual for the likes of me...young women values, charm bracelets and awkward teen angst. It's good for me. It's good for me. It's good for me.

Well, This Is Most Inconvenient, Indeed

How many times do I go to the bathroom in a day?
How many minutes after drinking a thimble of water do I need to use the facilities?
How often have I purposely chosen dehydration in fear of no discernable (or less desireable) toileting options?

If you know the answer to any of these questions, you will understand why the CLOSED (for one month) BATHROOMS ON THE SECOND FLOOR (my floor) of my workplace is distressing. NAY, unacceptable. There are a few reasons this has driven me to consider a removable catheter:

1. Other people (my boss) will now be very aware of JUST how many times I go to the bathroom every day (10) as I will be missing from my office for 15 (30) minutes at a time.
2. Strangers use the other bathrooms...STRANGERS! People I DON"T KNOW are sitting their naked bums on the same seat as me. At least on my floor I know everyone and can ascertain to some acceptable degree their cleanliness and hygiene. I don't know those other butts.
3. There are stairs. Just in case you were confused about that...the 1st floor and 3rd floor require that I walk up STAIRS. Try navigating stairs with your legs crossed. not easy.
4. Kidney failure imminent. Holding it, not good.
5. Though I have ceased and desisted (for the most part) with caffeinated beverages of the diet variety, I still like to retain the possibility that I could drink a diuretic if necessary. But not so now. No no. This bathroom situation has killed HOPE.

That is all.

All This Going To Crazy

I don't know how else to say this so I just will. I'm crazy. I have been for a long time, I feel like I will be for a long time to come. I can not rest my brain. It swirls and buzzes with all manner of thoughts, ideas, stories, weirdness. I hyperfocus on somethings, blow off others. Right now, in this space, I am hyperfocusing on why I am not married. An ex sent me an email link to an article about why men marry some women and not others. I can't stop thinking about it. There are all these women all over the streets of DC. They have rings, they have husbands, they have babies in little baskets in their bikes. They are on their cell phones talking about the ring, husband and baby in basket. I walk with my face turned to the sun, wind whipping my hair, thinking about everything dying and wondering how I got so shaken. How I got so wobbly.

What's so very interesting is that I feel ashamed. Ashamed that no one has chosen me. Embarrassed that I wear a badge that screams unwanted. I know I can't be the only person to feel shame at being single, but it's a new emotional revelation to me. The thing is that I realize this feeling is so outside of me... that my shame is based on the idea that others are judging me when in reality, no one probably even gives a crap. Most importantly (and perhaps ironically?), why do I feel the need to say it out loud to my blog? To the very audience that could be that silent judge I beat back with feverish prayers and moments of hard earned clarity from a source outside of myself. But, still I do...I need to tell you about it. I feel like this is so big in my body right now that if I don't put it somewhere it will implode and I will be lost.

Caviat: I'm not the bitter type and I'm not heartbroken. Please don't respond to this with how men are jerks and I'm perfectly ok. I'm working through these thought processes so I can eventually have the kind of marriage that I want to have. I brought you along for the ride. I'm willing to experience a little discomfort in this endeavor. It quiets my brain for while.

Hated for Loving

I don't know when it all changed. Once upon a time, they had to beg me to eat my vegetables, practically shoving them down my throat under severe duress. But like any good romance novel, those hateful, violent first glances soon began to turn and before I could say, "WHAT THE ...WHAT?" I was accidently brushing up against brussel sprouts only to discover a gentle flame fanning in my loins. (has anyone else noticed a recent theme in my blog posts? or is it only the single mormon man backing away carefully who can hear my shriveling eggs screaming?)

So yes, I love the carrot, the spinach, the tomato, the eggplant, the asparagus, the pepper and even the aforementioned sprout. In fact, I love them so much the I routinely add them to everything I consume...you'll find them sneaked in to the most unassuming dishes...chili with broccoli, eggs with spinach, burritos with EVERYTHING. I've even started tossing a handful of normandy blend and brussel sprouts into my carcinogenic microwaved lunches. But here's where I'm confused. Instead of being CELEBRATED for my healthy ways, I am mocked. Routinely. My coworkers stand at the door of my office, shake their heads and laugh while saying things like, "What the hell is that? Carrots? Only you would eat carrots." Really? I'm really the only person you've ever known to ever eat carrots?

or my favorite "Why are you eating broccoli????!!!"

I've tried to understand this phenomenon and explain it away. The truth is that these people have not been with me on my journey toward a healthy self/body image and the subsequent change from a costco sized bag of cheetos for breakfast to a handful of baked cheetos and a sweet potato for lunch. But it still doesn't really make sense. It's not like I am that naturally skinny girl who can pound a pizza and then wake up the next morning bloat free. We're all allowed to hate her and be annoyed when she says, "I'm on a diet. I'm fat. Watch me eat my celery and pills for lunch." I LOOK at a piece of pizza and my face starts to swell. That's painfully obvious to anyone who's seen me post-papa john's two for 10.

So what's the deal? At what point did the sentiment change from, "oh, look, that fat girl is eating green things instead of a pint of ben and jerry's. Good." to "I will point and mock and make you seem like a freakish vegetable eating outsider." ? I can't be the only one eating carrots and wondering about this?

It's Saturday and I'm at work. :(

What did you do today?

Don't Get Jealous

Dear Korea-

Do you remember all those times when your nose was running, your face was melting, you coughed all over me and I was breathing your stale sick air while your head bobbed back and forth on my shoulder as you passed out on the bus from sheer exhaustion? That was a special time. A time when you should NOT HAVE COME INTO WORK and INFECTED ME WITH YOUR BACTERIAL SWILL.

But I'm not angry. No no...I understand that you thought the problem was me. I refused to wear one of those surgical masks to protect me. But I just wasn't willing to let go of one of the most amazing parts of American culture. You see, I still believed in the "sick day"- that glorious invention by which those who are deathly, infectiously ill stay home and get better and then go back to work after the potential for passing on the pinkeye/flu/stomach virus/H1N1/ herpes outbreak has passed. YES SUH! I BEEEEEEEELIEEEEEEEVE!

And now that I've been home for 6 months and employed again for 2, I've been happily reunited with the Sick Day. And we are in love. This morning in fact, we lolled around in bed together after a fitful night of sleeplessness which ended in an ill advised fistful of Tylenol PM.

And then I came to work where I was NOT greeted by harried coworkers who had to cover my classes and did NOT reek of guilt for taking some time to myself to make sure I was functional.

but don't get jealous Korea, because before sick day and I had our tryst, you and I were getting busy in America over the weekend. Don't you remember? I took pictures to prove it. I'll post them soon so you can put them in your scrap book.

xoxox,
NB

RHETT MILLER DAY!!!

No seriously, this is the best we could do. I left my camera in the car and SB brought his BB but Rhett was rocking and rolling so VERY much that the crappy "smart phone" couldn't even contain all his glory. '

And it was GLORIOUS. OH, Rhett charms the ladies and even the mens with his wit and sweaty hip gyrations. Before we even got to the Black Cat, SB told me that he thought he was probably going to throw up just a little in his mouth as he watched me swoon over Stuart Ransom Miller III. But truth be told, By the time Rhett finished breathing out one of his seminal geniusy twangy ditties "The last thing I need....is another girlfriend.... two's enough for me...two's enough....and you would make three!" I do think it was he who was swooning (this is a lie. It was definitely still me.)

sigh. Every day should be Rhett day. more sighing.

Cliche

I do my best.
I put my whole heart into it.
I swirl it around in the pot
soaking it with cilantro, peppers, chiles,
(the green ones you like)- turn out another
bubbling witch's brew of nice try.

The Fall and Rise

I'm not who you think I am. However you've imagined me in your mind's eye, whatever you drew on that paper of yours, I'm different in countless ways. That's the problem with perception. Or maybe it's the genius of perception? It means that everytime we look at another person, there is a universe to uncover- a million hidden quirks swirling around birthing a complex new interaction with the world.

This weekend I faced my greatest fear. I stood at the threshold of the moment that I thought would destroy me, riddle me with holes large enough for the best parts of me to seep out, uncollectible. But it was miraculous, really. I remained. And I didn't just remain. I stood full.

We are all spinning around the edges, bumping into one another, creating friction that has the power to transform. I have an idea today that I will try harder to be honest about who I am and will try a little harder to let you tell me who you are. Honesty is that scariest leap from the precipice but it makes us possible to be healed. And I will pray for it.

Shared Birthday Update

I wasn't so sure that sharing my birthday with SB was going to make me happy. I mean, birthdays are all about ME ME ME and we all know that I like ME ME ME. But I discovered the exciting, perfect, upside of sharing your birthday with another person that you like:

CAKE!!!!! TWO TIMES THE CAKE!!!!

This is the cake I'm going to eat tonight. Chocolate. Chocolate and More Chocolate. This is the costco 6 pound cake. I've been dreaming about this cake for years. Chocolate. I CAN'T WAIT!!!This is the austrian sachertorte that I made for SB. I took me two and half hours and is also going to be consumed tonight. Chocolate, apricots glaze, chocolate ganache, heavy whipping cream and more chocolate. That's right...TWO birthday cakes.
I couldn't be happier. Thanks, SB for being born on the same day as me and Elvis.

to: you from: SB re: the birth of first child

SmartBoy told me that if he ever gets really passionate about some event or experience in his life and wanted to capture the moment, he would not write a passionate poem. He would not write a passionate song. He would not write a passionate sonnet, speech or essay.

He would probably write, oh, i don't know.... a passionate memo?

This is why I laughed for 10 minutes straight without breathing, near tears on Sunday night.

A passionate MEMO. be still, my beating heart.

Disgusting Eater Syndrome

Have you been to dinner with me lately? Did you secretely want to throw up a little bit in your mouth as you watched me eat? THere's a joke flying around these parts that I have Disgusting Eater Syndrome. Evidently, unbeknownst to me, I have somehow failed to develop eating habits worthy of the 1st world. As SB (resident food snob and he- who- eats -everything (including pizza?) -with -a -fork- and- knife) pointed out, There is no doubt as to my ability to "clean up" when necessary ...this syndrome is obviously a CHOICE.

Here are my self-admitted evidences of DE syndrome:

I pull things apart with my fingers at most restaurants.
I dissect most food in an attempt to see what's really in that sandwich.
I think it's almost always funny to show people the chewed food in my mouth.
I sometimes can't stop talking long enough to actually chew the food.
I need 5 times the amount of napkins required by most functional adults.

Now a bit more on the idea of choice. I admit that I am motivated in my actions by a certain desire to be funny, charming, childlike and cute. That can lead to some rather silly dinners. However, I think the problem is really that I LIKE high falutin' stuff (goat cheeses, nice breads, delicious organic produce whipped into a salmon frenzy) BUT I am just as happy, if not more so when we pull up to a 7-11 and run in for a chili dog (with that orange cheese goop...oh...my!) and a big gulp. I mean, I've been on weightwatchers since birth so a redrobin which is generally off limits during low points weeks can look like disney land with their never ending baskets of rectangular fried starch deliciousness. And these foods are a little messier and a little harder to eat gracefully. Maybe?

This penchant for diners, any restaurant with a booth and keep it coming diet coke with lime does NOT make me impervious to the delights of fine dining. I ooh'd and ahh'd appropriately when I had my $100 meal at the Hyatt in downtown Seoul and I dont' think I showed the chewed food in my mouth once during that experience. But after accidently ordering my second $8 thimble of diet coke (that's right $16 worth of Diet Coke that ended up being approximately HALF of a 20 oz bottle) the magic of the fine food experience wore off and I started wishing I was tucked in a booth, asking the waitress for more napkins so I could wipe the dripping grease from my palms as I pulled a Whiskey River Burger apart to evenly spread out the onion rings.

So I'm a DE. Maybe it's because I'm red blooded American? Maybe it's because of WW deprivation? Maybe it's a result of a childhood in which every meal started and ended with some form of hamburger, tomato sauce, potato casserole? I don't know where it came from and I'm sorry if you have to eat with me. But just know that I'm enjoying it. (I guess you'll know when I open my mouth mid bite to tell you how much "I love this spinach dip!!!")

The Blog has gone out of me...

But I'm going to put my head down and power through. You see, I just can't seem to get excited about writing because most of the things I want to write about are now off limits. I'm back in America and that means that I can't post cute pictures of adorable children whose parents don't speak enough english to find me. Here in America, that's creepy. I can't post about my new job at a trade association for scientists which starts next Tuesday. That's unprofessional. I can't post about my current pre-boyfriend aka SmartBoy(who is DREAMY and WONDERFUL and HILARIOUS and ADORABLE). That's relationship suicide. And I can't very well write about the joys of Diet Coke now that I'm off the caffeinated version and what's left is NOTHING to sing about. That's lame. So what's a girl supposed to write about???

I guess I could write about how I live in Washington DC now. I moved here over the 4th of July weekend in the go-cart packed to the hilt with my stuff which has been sadly reduced to a pre-adolescent proportions due to my NON STOP NEVER ENDING wanderlust. I could write about how the road trip was one of the most memorable of my life, not because I got pulled over and given a $140 ticket in Indiana for speeding...and certainly not because of the $59 a night motel that I stayed in which had a shower cap AND makeup remover in the toiletries (better than the W, right KA?)
but probably because we spent 2 hours at a crackerbarrel in ohio just because we could.
I guess I could also write about how I've had so many Korea reunions that it isn't even funny... (that's Rpotter who graciously agreed to meet with me even though she was now a movie star)
(this is me and alissa, reunited in the only place that was big enough for me, her and her massive bucket of cheezeballs...TARGET!) (those are lady willoughby's floral pants and her camera)

(this is J...one of my students...this is his aunt and H Mart in Annandale, VA which could double for seoul if it smelled a little bit more like pig parts and had more old men spitting in the streets)

I guess I could write about how I'm sampling the local fare and trying to remain a dedicated WW accolyte even in the face of BEN's CHILI BOWL (I've now eaten at more than two DC establishments where President Obama's one time visit has sparked a media and customer frenzy. I'm surprised they haven't framed his used napkins right next to the zagat rating on the door)

(sorry SB, this picture proves two things: We really were at Ben's and you really CAN fall asleep anywhere!)

I guess I could write about how AWESOME america is...how nice it is to be home and how much fun I'm having. Well, now that I have a job, a bed and airconditioning. Ok, so I guess I have some things to write about. xoxoxo NB

Accounted for...

If you're anything like me, you might be a wondering if Ninny Beth's traveling companion has left her stranded without a phone, purse or car at some random gas station in Wyoming. Well, rest assured she is still alive and texting.
-Alie

Here We Go Again

Sigh.

Is it True?

Am I a mid-single????!!! I'm 31 and apparently in mormon land, I'm no longer fit for Young Single Adult consumption and have been thrown into the murky waters of the Single Adult Program which Nichole just reminded me does have an age cut off: DEATH. I already kind of knew all about this because of my calling in Korea as the single adult rep for the entire english speaking world in the ROK, but I didn't really understand what it meant for me until tonight when I accidently attended my first American SA dance...technically, I was only there to assist with the dessert but then they broke out some Bon Jovi and a couple of Beyonce bootie shakers and suddenly I was an attendee.

Yes. It was revelatory.

The weirdest part (and please forgive me for venting) was that there was one guy, one really good looking guy there. He was THAT GUY...you know, tight fitted black button down with some sort of necklace and those designer jeans that have the gay (it's ok, I have gay friends and they would agree) pockets with embroidery on the butt. And he was checking me out all night. At first I decided to smile at him, mostly because I was enjoying the fact that for ONCE IN MY LIFE, I was the young biscuit at a church dance. I was tempted to pull out my gum and twirl it around on my finger and go flat iron my hair ril quick in the bathroom. It was almost as exciting as that moment when the 50 something woman came huffing into the kitchen and told us we needed to find the police NOW! because something was going down. (the something going down was apparently her ex-husband trying to register for the dance at the makeshift welcome table in the foyer).

But back to me...so TG is making regular eye contact in between his usual bouts of body rubbing with girls named Ginger and Stacey who are wearing the girl version (ha!) of the gay jeans. And then I started to get kind of angry. Not because of Ginger and Stacey, but because I realize that this joker is the kind of guy who NEVER WOULD HAVE LOOKED AT ME TWICE 65.2 pounds ago. And I was the same girl, damnit! I was just as effervescent! Just as interesting! and now, Angry! Justifiably Annoyed! Righteous! Anger!

So I get home from said dance without ever speaking to TG and I tell my longsuffering brother about the encounter. And do you know what he said?????? Not a loving, "of course, dear sister, men are scum. You are righteously angered. I apologize like Obama for the whole of guydom." no. No. this is what he had to say:

"WAIT. You are NOT allowed to get angry at some guy you've never met, who never knew you and never did anything to you except pay you some attention. "

??????????????????????????????????????????//

"But!" I say, "He would have!! He would have!! I know that type and his jeans!"

"No, no." Says wise younger brother. "don't be THAT GIRL. Yes, I'm sure his jeans were terrible, but you've got to get over this need to be righteously angry at and make snap judgements about, I REPEAT, men you've never met who've never done anything to you except think you're cute. You'll turn into a weird bitter undateable hag. That is all. Now away with you to your computer to blog it all out."

And so, dear reader, you can see that I am certainly a mid-single with just as much baggage as the divorced ex-husband hater mentioned above. And as such I am going to try very hard to take my younger brother's advice and not be THAT GIRL. And I'm sorry Ginger and Stacey...I'm sure we'll be best friends at the next dance. (rilly).

Celebrity Look Alikes (part 2)

Every Aunt thinks her nephews and nieces are the cutest. But can every Aunt say that her 14 month old nephew looks like Bill Murray? I think not. And that's what makes this edition of celebrity look-a-like so magical. Take a look at the amazing Bill Murray Baby.

and this one just because HOW CUTE IS THIS BABY!???AND HOW CUTE IS THIS BILL MURRAY?!!???
The best part is that every time I call him Bill Murray, his brother (4 years old) yells, "HE IS NOT BILL MURRAY!"

Ninny LIVE! The eastcoast tour: Washington DC

Wonder where I've been? Wonder no more. I've been everywhere and nowhere. Still gainfully unemployed. Still wandering. Still trying to figure out america. First I drove to Utah, met up with dear friends, managed to remember where a few things were (you'd think after three years, I wouldn't forget major landmarks like the temple???) and checked on my stuff in my storage unit. Still there although there was a minor lizard scare.

DC was a stop along the way...I happily reunited with many dear dear friends and saw all that the district has to offer...Went to the LDS Temple in Maryland with my Nan and Pap. THis was a really lovely experience not only for the spiritual recharge but for the yummy Korean food we consumed beforehand. Nan killed it with her chopsticks and my Pap was taking care of some serious Jjigae. I got to speak some korean and it made me happy.
I took a tour of the Dirksen and Russell Senate buildings in DC. I hoped it would help me understand this great country of ours. The tour was led by my dear friend E, formerly of the Department of Justice. E is best known for his work with the crack whores of the south east but has in the last two years changed career track and now monitors the crack whores of the hill...He showed me the best the senate has to offer.

Sour Patch kids in brown paper bags (gov't version of the 40?) and old white guys.Here I saw Evita-esque views of Capitol Hill from the window balcony of a colleague's office and listened as E told a charming story of being unceremoniously shooed off said balcony by guards with AK47's during Obama's inauguration speech.

Let's just pause for a moment to admire the ease with which we wandered into Ted Kennedy's office and took a photograph. There. That was nice, wasn't it?

And now, some very important instruction for viewing these pictures: ignore my bad hair. There was this surprise east coast rain storm and I thought to myself, "surely, in the nation's capitol there will be a little man selling emergency umbrellas from the back of a taco truck or news stand for twice the usual price." Boy, was I mistaken. Nea'ry a taco truck or convenience store could be found. I knew I was in trouble when I saw lots and lots of stately looking people in very staid brown, black and navy outfits huddled in doorways of old buildings waiting for the rain to stop. I couldn't even find a stray newspaper to act as shield.

And so I walked in the rain and showed up at the dirksen senate building in GASP! brightly colored clothing and GASP! looking like I had just been given a swirly by John Kerry (I saw him BTW. E pointed him out to me during out SPOT THE SENATOR GAME (we saw 5!) and said, "You know who that is, don't you?" to which I answered, "uh, no." to which E said, "he ran for president." to which I replied, "heh. still don't know." at which point E decided that I didn't deserve the ride the special underground train from the senate building to the hill. I've got some work to do, America.)