Two of the things that I think make you an "adult" are being able to balance your check book and cooking a darn good meal. You can hold a job, own a car, pay your bills, have a house, be married and even have kids, but to me those two things are what really separates the mice from men.
So one of the things that has always made me feel like I wasn't a full fledged adult was my grasp on finances (or lack there of). I didn’t really have to be in charge of my own budgeting until I was in college and I had my first job. It was just a little part time job at the library but I had to use the money for food, utilities, and fun money. I lived in an on campus apartment (so housing was covered) and my car was second hand and therefor paid for (plus, my dad paid for insurance and gave me a gas card, like dad’s do). It should have been pretty simple, but I feel like I was overdrawn every other month. Mostly from shopping for clothes.
Flash forward, until quite recently, I’ve never successfully designed a budget that works. It's based on percentages and it's very helpful to me because it basically tells you how much you Should be spending in each category (like housing, auto, utilities, food, insurance, saving, fun, etc) you can adjust it to your own needs, but it's a great place to start.
I hated math when I was in school, but now numbers fascinate me. I enjoy seeing how all the parts come together and have the pleasure when the numbers add up. Lame, nah. We have been using our new budget plan for a few months now, and we're getting the hang of it. I'm not saying I haven't spent too much at the grocery store, but it's defiantly made me feel a little bit more like I'm in control of my life. (Big love to my honey bunny for being extremely understanding when I either don't understand how something adds up and/ or go way over budget like I did on vacation… and my birthday… and when I bought that life size R2-D2 trash can).
So that leaves cooking food that is nutritious, delicious and doesn't cost an arm and a leg in time or money. Enter Alton Brown, our new favorite show and guru. Justin and I tried eating out around here (both off and on base) but we haven't had good luck with anything (or they just steal our credit card number). Then one night we had particularly horrible "Italian" food. It was just awful, we looked at each other and said 'we can do better than that' and so we started cooking at home almost exclusively.
At first we used Allrecipes.com, which was fine, but with our lack of good oven (see other post), and lack of planning it didn't go badly but it wasn't wild cooking success. I'd seen Alton Brown's show before and liked it, so we got all the seasons, and we sat down to learn. Also, most of his recipes are on the foodnetwork website.
We are still trying to prefect our pizza crust, but we can now cook a pizza that you'd think was gourmet. Our Mexican food is fantastic (probably because we are most familiar with how that's supposed to turn out) we make enchiladas in a snap, beef tacos in our sleep and we just made our first batch of Tamales. Italian now boasts garlic butter shrimp that is dreamy, but I still need to learn a good lasagna. And surprisingly Chinese food is pretty darn good too, egg drop soup, fried rice, teriyaki chicken, etc. We do a real good pineapple pork and some normal fast couscous with sausage. Fish is limited by the fact that it's frozen and not great quality but we've done a couple batter/frying that's gone well. Oh, and when we feel like it Parmesan chicken tenders that are really good.
All in all, I wouldn't feel bad for making people ate our food anymore and we have fun in the kitchen (usually, unless I'm grumpy because I'm too hungry while cooking). So yay me, and yay us I feel like it's a good few steps down the road of being An Adult.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Do you want the truth or the polite answer?
The other night I woke up and thought I heard bombs falling. If I had been almost anywhere else in the world I would have told myself I was being silly and gone back to sleep. But being here, in Seoul, South Korea, and within strike range of North Korea I listened and debated if I should wake Justin up. The sound was like fireworks, which I’ve heard from the house before, but there was no holiday and it was 4am. It sounded like thunder, but we don’t get that here, and a big dumpster truck which they also don’t have because there are no dumpsters. And that whistling sound you hear in movies when they drop a bomb from an airplane before it hits the ground. It was that last sound which had me holding my breath to try and hear better and thinking through everything we should grab if we had to evacuate quickly. I eventually decided it was a police siren and some large truck, maybe a fire engine shaking the ground. But it’s these little things that make you realize, you aren’t in American anymore.
I haven’t really talked about my view of Army life and living in South Korea before. The truth is, I’m not really crazy about it. South Korea was never even on my long list of places to visit someday, much less on my list of Places to Live for a Year (the south of France is at the top of that list, by the way). I’ll get into details in a minute.
The other half of this equation is Army life. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my husband being assigned here. The thing is, I don’t consider myself an “Army Wife”, and I don’t really see us as a military family. When I married my husband he only had about a year and a half left in the service and would be spending that time in South Korea. I’ve never had to deal with the nightmare of having my husband deployed to a war zone. And even when we were apart, I got to talk to him every day on Skype.
The other part of this is I’m not command sponsored. This means, while the army pays for my housing where-ever I live, I don’t really have any other privileges. SO when we decided that we wanted to live together (even if it meant in South Korea) I moved here (as in bought my own plane ticket and only brought what I could carry) and changed my residency with the Army, etc and Justin did a bunch of paper work. The end result being that we get a housing allowance and some utilities paid to us each month that we have to put to housing costs. And to-da! I live in South Korea with my husband.
This also means that I’m the low man on the totem pole. If I ever wanted to fly Space A, I’d be last. If I ever wanted to go get flu shots, I’d be last, if I ever wanted to take the bus home from the airport to base, I’d be last. Funny story, while they pay my housing cost to live here, when Justin applied to get Army loaned furniture they would only give him enough for Him because he was here “unaccompanied”, so we’ve been sleeping on a full sized bed since last February, and our cat has his own (empty) room because we only have enough furniture to sparsely furnish our place.
There is also zero community, Army or otherwise. We live off base, in non military housing, so no one near us is military. (Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE our apartment), I’m not in any wives club, I don’t have kids so I’m not in any school groups, etc. There just isn’t much here in the way of community, like none. We have the good fortune to be friends with a wonderful couple (Justin works with the husband) and there is probably one other family we talk to, but that’s it.
Coupled with that is the fact that we live in Seoul, I think it’s the second largest city in the world or something like that, and because we’re not in any Korean groups, we don’t have any Korean friends. Not to mention the fact that the culture differences are pretty big and it’s a lot of work just trying to communicate with the shop owners or taxi drivers.
I sometimes feel like a second class citizen living here too, for a number of reasons.
One, I don’t talk to people on the street and they don’t talk to me.
Two, Korean people spit on the street often, sometimes suspiciously close to me as I’m walking by.
Three, I have to show my ID to get onto base, and every store on base as well.
Four, I have to walk every where- which I don’t mind, until I have something to carry like packages to mail or groceries. I then have to take a taxi which is a whole other post, but they are hit or miss on the friendly scale.
Five, Justin and I share a phone (our choice) but we can’t really get a hold of each other unless he’s at work and I’m at home.
Six, the commissary (or grocery store to you non military folks) will run out of their already small selection. For example, they ran out of redi-whip (you know, that whip cream that comes out of the spray can, not essential, but still lame), and they weren’t going to get any for another two weeks. It’s not like I could just go to another store, there is only the one store. That actually happens a lot, I went to buy a kitchen trash can from the PX and they were out of trashcans and all plastic storage things.
Errands actually take up a lot of my time, much more time than they would if I was doing comparable errands in the states.
To go buy groceries: I have to walk to the store, which isn’t too far, but it’s the farthest thing I walk to. I don’t mind walking if it’s not too hot, or raining, or too cold. Then I have to have my ID and ration card (oh yes, we have ration cards that keep track of how much of what we buy and you can’t go over in some categories), I then push my cart up and down every aisle and hope they have the thing I need (if it’s even a little obscure it’s hard to find, ie lard or molasses, forget it) and hope I like the selection of what they do have (only one kind of baking soda, no choice of aluminum free, Alton Brown). Then wait in line, pay, tip the baggers (because you have to), have them push my cart to the taxi stand and wait in line for a taxi (on a good day takes 5 minutes, on a very bad day it takes an hour or more). Load the food, tell the taxi how to get to my house and hope he speaks good enough English to understand, pay him and lug my groceries to the kitchen in several stages. (my groceries go from cart to conveyer belt, to baggers to cart, to taxi to my front gate to mudroom, to kitchen… and hope I haven’t forgotten a bag anywhere).
To pay rent: All South Koreans pay rent in cash to the bank on the first. If they do otherwise, I sure don’t know about it. To pay our rent I have to walk to base to our bank there (too much to get out of an ATM), withdraw the money and hope the exchange rate is good, carry about $3,500 in cash back to our neighborhood to the Korean bank there, take a number and wait to be called. I give the teller the money and a “rent book” which has our landlords deposit info in it. They count the money and the amount and date gets printed by computer into the rent book that I keep as a kind of running receipt. If you go at the wrong time of day the bank is full of Koreans with rent books and it takes forever.
To pay utilities: I don’t know if you Can pay bills any other way than in person. I asked our one Korean acquaintance (our realtor) what to do about our bills because we were going to be gone for a month and a half, she said that when Korean’s go on vacation, they just pay a late fee when they get home. Anyway, we get two bills delivered to our front gate/shared mail box. I only know A) they are ours because they have Justin’s name on them and B) what amount to pay because I just look for the number that is repeated the most all over the bill, as they are not in English. I can just go to an ATM near the bank to get this money, then I take the money (rounded up to the nearest won) and the bills to the Korean bank. I go in, take a number, wait to be called, give the teller my bills and money and she gives me a little change plus a receipt stapled to my bills.
Trash: I’ve talked about trash before, so I’ll just mention a few things here. But I think we have a pretty good system in place now, it’s been running smoothly for a while. So I have small trashcans lined with grocery bags in the bathroom and under the kitchen sink. When those are full, I tie them off and put them in a large trash can in the laundry room lined with the Official Trash Bag of Korea- I don’t know what it’s called, but you have to buy them from the equivalent of a 7-11 BUT in your neighborhood (so I’ve been told, I can’t read the bags), when the large bag is full I tie it up and take it across the street to lean against the wall (which is where I was told to leave trash) it gets picked up, there is no such thing as a curb trash can here (as far as I can tell). For food waste, you have smaller yellow bags (all gotten at the Korean 7-11) and we have another small trash can under the kitchen sink for the food waste. When that gets full and /or smells too much I tie it up and carry it down the street until one of my neighbors has left out their gray and orange box for these bags (this is also what I was told to do, why we don’t have our own box I don’t know, but they seen to have about one per block). Recycling, I can just put in a clear trash bag and put it next to the trash. And cardboard is taped or tied together in 13x13 bundles. I don’t know what happens to these things, but the old man with the green vest doesn’t yell at me anymore when I take things outside. He also has a broom and leaves a bill in our mail box, I just let the landlord take care of that one since I have no idea what it says.
Our oven... is probably the one thing in the apartment that is complain worthy. It’s gas, which is okay, but it’s the size of a cracker box and it doesn’t have any kind of top heating element so it doesn’t brown food At All. I’ve gotten more cookies burned because they didn’t look done on top but were black on the bottom. I’ve had to return a few pans and cookie sheets because they literally didn’t fit in the oven. Most of the pans we Do have only fit one way. And there is defiantly only one rack in there, I think you can move it, but it really wouldn’t make a difference.
If I want to talk to family or friends we can call them on Skype or just the Skype phone part, and since my parents are so busy I tend to just call them on their phone. BUT there is that pesky 17 hour time difference that makes getting a hold of people so hard.
The phone/time zone thing,
in combination with the cultural isolation from Koreans,
and the differences in Army-life,
and the difficulty of daily necessary tasks-
makes life here a little harder.
But I would not change this year for anything. You see, I haven’t been alone in all this and I’m not here for myself. I wanted to come here and be here every second because I didn’t want to leave Justin alone in all this difficulty. I met Justin when he was home on leave and I talked to him every day when he went back to Korea. I could see the effect it had on him, I could see the strain from daily living taking a toll on him. I felt so helpless being so far from him. When he came back home, on leave again, and we got married we decided that I would come to Korea. Mostly because we didn’t want to be apart for a year or more, but also because I didn’t want to leave him alone in a place as unwelcoming as this and can still be called civilized.
When we were home on vacation people asked me all the time; How do you like living in Korea? I’d say ‘Do you want the truth or the polite answer?’
I haven’t really talked about my view of Army life and living in South Korea before. The truth is, I’m not really crazy about it. South Korea was never even on my long list of places to visit someday, much less on my list of Places to Live for a Year (the south of France is at the top of that list, by the way). I’ll get into details in a minute.
The other half of this equation is Army life. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my husband being assigned here. The thing is, I don’t consider myself an “Army Wife”, and I don’t really see us as a military family. When I married my husband he only had about a year and a half left in the service and would be spending that time in South Korea. I’ve never had to deal with the nightmare of having my husband deployed to a war zone. And even when we were apart, I got to talk to him every day on Skype.
The other part of this is I’m not command sponsored. This means, while the army pays for my housing where-ever I live, I don’t really have any other privileges. SO when we decided that we wanted to live together (even if it meant in South Korea) I moved here (as in bought my own plane ticket and only brought what I could carry) and changed my residency with the Army, etc and Justin did a bunch of paper work. The end result being that we get a housing allowance and some utilities paid to us each month that we have to put to housing costs. And to-da! I live in South Korea with my husband.
This also means that I’m the low man on the totem pole. If I ever wanted to fly Space A, I’d be last. If I ever wanted to go get flu shots, I’d be last, if I ever wanted to take the bus home from the airport to base, I’d be last. Funny story, while they pay my housing cost to live here, when Justin applied to get Army loaned furniture they would only give him enough for Him because he was here “unaccompanied”, so we’ve been sleeping on a full sized bed since last February, and our cat has his own (empty) room because we only have enough furniture to sparsely furnish our place.
There is also zero community, Army or otherwise. We live off base, in non military housing, so no one near us is military. (Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE our apartment), I’m not in any wives club, I don’t have kids so I’m not in any school groups, etc. There just isn’t much here in the way of community, like none. We have the good fortune to be friends with a wonderful couple (Justin works with the husband) and there is probably one other family we talk to, but that’s it.
Coupled with that is the fact that we live in Seoul, I think it’s the second largest city in the world or something like that, and because we’re not in any Korean groups, we don’t have any Korean friends. Not to mention the fact that the culture differences are pretty big and it’s a lot of work just trying to communicate with the shop owners or taxi drivers.
I sometimes feel like a second class citizen living here too, for a number of reasons.
One, I don’t talk to people on the street and they don’t talk to me.
Two, Korean people spit on the street often, sometimes suspiciously close to me as I’m walking by.
Three, I have to show my ID to get onto base, and every store on base as well.
Four, I have to walk every where- which I don’t mind, until I have something to carry like packages to mail or groceries. I then have to take a taxi which is a whole other post, but they are hit or miss on the friendly scale.
Five, Justin and I share a phone (our choice) but we can’t really get a hold of each other unless he’s at work and I’m at home.
Six, the commissary (or grocery store to you non military folks) will run out of their already small selection. For example, they ran out of redi-whip (you know, that whip cream that comes out of the spray can, not essential, but still lame), and they weren’t going to get any for another two weeks. It’s not like I could just go to another store, there is only the one store. That actually happens a lot, I went to buy a kitchen trash can from the PX and they were out of trashcans and all plastic storage things.
Errands actually take up a lot of my time, much more time than they would if I was doing comparable errands in the states.
To go buy groceries: I have to walk to the store, which isn’t too far, but it’s the farthest thing I walk to. I don’t mind walking if it’s not too hot, or raining, or too cold. Then I have to have my ID and ration card (oh yes, we have ration cards that keep track of how much of what we buy and you can’t go over in some categories), I then push my cart up and down every aisle and hope they have the thing I need (if it’s even a little obscure it’s hard to find, ie lard or molasses, forget it) and hope I like the selection of what they do have (only one kind of baking soda, no choice of aluminum free, Alton Brown). Then wait in line, pay, tip the baggers (because you have to), have them push my cart to the taxi stand and wait in line for a taxi (on a good day takes 5 minutes, on a very bad day it takes an hour or more). Load the food, tell the taxi how to get to my house and hope he speaks good enough English to understand, pay him and lug my groceries to the kitchen in several stages. (my groceries go from cart to conveyer belt, to baggers to cart, to taxi to my front gate to mudroom, to kitchen… and hope I haven’t forgotten a bag anywhere).
To pay rent: All South Koreans pay rent in cash to the bank on the first. If they do otherwise, I sure don’t know about it. To pay our rent I have to walk to base to our bank there (too much to get out of an ATM), withdraw the money and hope the exchange rate is good, carry about $3,500 in cash back to our neighborhood to the Korean bank there, take a number and wait to be called. I give the teller the money and a “rent book” which has our landlords deposit info in it. They count the money and the amount and date gets printed by computer into the rent book that I keep as a kind of running receipt. If you go at the wrong time of day the bank is full of Koreans with rent books and it takes forever.
To pay utilities: I don’t know if you Can pay bills any other way than in person. I asked our one Korean acquaintance (our realtor) what to do about our bills because we were going to be gone for a month and a half, she said that when Korean’s go on vacation, they just pay a late fee when they get home. Anyway, we get two bills delivered to our front gate/shared mail box. I only know A) they are ours because they have Justin’s name on them and B) what amount to pay because I just look for the number that is repeated the most all over the bill, as they are not in English. I can just go to an ATM near the bank to get this money, then I take the money (rounded up to the nearest won) and the bills to the Korean bank. I go in, take a number, wait to be called, give the teller my bills and money and she gives me a little change plus a receipt stapled to my bills.
Trash: I’ve talked about trash before, so I’ll just mention a few things here. But I think we have a pretty good system in place now, it’s been running smoothly for a while. So I have small trashcans lined with grocery bags in the bathroom and under the kitchen sink. When those are full, I tie them off and put them in a large trash can in the laundry room lined with the Official Trash Bag of Korea- I don’t know what it’s called, but you have to buy them from the equivalent of a 7-11 BUT in your neighborhood (so I’ve been told, I can’t read the bags), when the large bag is full I tie it up and take it across the street to lean against the wall (which is where I was told to leave trash) it gets picked up, there is no such thing as a curb trash can here (as far as I can tell). For food waste, you have smaller yellow bags (all gotten at the Korean 7-11) and we have another small trash can under the kitchen sink for the food waste. When that gets full and /or smells too much I tie it up and carry it down the street until one of my neighbors has left out their gray and orange box for these bags (this is also what I was told to do, why we don’t have our own box I don’t know, but they seen to have about one per block). Recycling, I can just put in a clear trash bag and put it next to the trash. And cardboard is taped or tied together in 13x13 bundles. I don’t know what happens to these things, but the old man with the green vest doesn’t yell at me anymore when I take things outside. He also has a broom and leaves a bill in our mail box, I just let the landlord take care of that one since I have no idea what it says.
Our oven... is probably the one thing in the apartment that is complain worthy. It’s gas, which is okay, but it’s the size of a cracker box and it doesn’t have any kind of top heating element so it doesn’t brown food At All. I’ve gotten more cookies burned because they didn’t look done on top but were black on the bottom. I’ve had to return a few pans and cookie sheets because they literally didn’t fit in the oven. Most of the pans we Do have only fit one way. And there is defiantly only one rack in there, I think you can move it, but it really wouldn’t make a difference.
If I want to talk to family or friends we can call them on Skype or just the Skype phone part, and since my parents are so busy I tend to just call them on their phone. BUT there is that pesky 17 hour time difference that makes getting a hold of people so hard.
The phone/time zone thing,
in combination with the cultural isolation from Koreans,
and the differences in Army-life,
and the difficulty of daily necessary tasks-
makes life here a little harder.
But I would not change this year for anything. You see, I haven’t been alone in all this and I’m not here for myself. I wanted to come here and be here every second because I didn’t want to leave Justin alone in all this difficulty. I met Justin when he was home on leave and I talked to him every day when he went back to Korea. I could see the effect it had on him, I could see the strain from daily living taking a toll on him. I felt so helpless being so far from him. When he came back home, on leave again, and we got married we decided that I would come to Korea. Mostly because we didn’t want to be apart for a year or more, but also because I didn’t want to leave him alone in a place as unwelcoming as this and can still be called civilized.
When we were home on vacation people asked me all the time; How do you like living in Korea? I’d say ‘Do you want the truth or the polite answer?’
If you're awkward and you know it, clap your hands!
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not the best random conversationalist. Even when I’m with people I know, I won’t have anything interesting to say or I won’t know how to phrase what I’m thinking about. My confusion is usually because I’m so busy thinking about a dozen other things while trying to talk. So, when I DO have a “successful” conversation, i.e. my point is made clearly or I don’t feel awkward and/or make other people feel awkward, I feel rightfully proud of my self.
I have had several successful conversations recently, if I only knew what the secret was I wouldn’t be writing a blog about the few times it has happened.
The first was pretty much on accident. Justin and I were leaving the commissary right as it closed so there was a line at the taxi stand. The first thing I notice (after the line) is the cutest, tiniest, white dog I have ever seen in person. (I also happen to be obsessed with tiny white dogs currently. I would have one already but I’m not ready to have a dog in an apartment). Anyway, so I see this cute dog and am gravitationally pulled towards it. I am even reaching out to take the dog from it’s owners before I even realize that I’ll have to at least say ‘hello’ and ‘can I pet your dog’. The owners seem to be used to the effect their dog has on people because the guy holding the dog just hands it to me (it’s like 2 whole pounds. adorable). Now I have the dog snuggled in my arms and I feel obliged to talk to these people so they know I’m not going to run away with their dog, which I might have considered doing anyway. It’s a young solider who is waiting outside with his friend while he waits for his girlfriend to finish shopping. I probably talked to these two guys for like half an hour, while their tiny adorable dog falls asleep in my arms. I was coherent, pleasant, and not awkward.
The girlfriend finally came out of the store and she had a very young little brother, he was probably 4 years old. He saw I was holding their dog and assumed that he knew me. So I had a small child talking to me about... I’m not even sure what, but I’m going to count this as a win too. Until the little boy asked me about my Dad. They were waiting for their Dad to come pick them up, and he wanted to know if I was waiting for my Dad to come pick me up to. I explained that, no, I wasn’t waiting for my Dad, but that my husband and I were waiting for a taxi. I point Justin out to him (who is being so good and waiting in line while I sit down with a cute dog). The little boy then thinks that Justin is my Dad and I only try one more time to impress the word ‘husband’ on him before I give up. The taxi line wasn't moving, so Justin and I finally decide to just walk home and I have to give the dog back and we leave.
The second random successful conversation I had with people was even more unexpected. I was on my way to base to run some errands when I saw that the beauty shop I have to pass had some cute lotions back in stock that I had wanted. So I stopped in to buy them and was waiting to pay for them when I heard people speaking Spanish! There were two women and a younger girl in front of me who were speaking Spanish with each other. I was so excited. I decided to go ahead and try to speak my crappy Spanish to them. I asked the lady who was closer to me, 'donde tu eras?' which should be ‘where are you from?’ She said Columbia (which thankfully sounds like it’s English name) and which point, I was out of Spanish to speak. She asked me where I was from, I said California. She asked me something like, how long have you been here, but like I said I was all out of my speaking Spanish, and she could tell so she (graciously) switched to English for me.
The women were here because the other lady, whom I hadn't spoken to, and her daughter were here with her husband who was in the military. They had just moved to Korea and wanted to get my phone number so they could have coffee with me and get some advice about living here. I’m not sure how to explain it, maybe because I grew up listening to Spanish, but it was infinitely more refreshing to hear Them talk than to hear people speaking Korean. We are all standing outside talking when the girl, who was probably 11 years old, asked me if my Dad was in the Army too. I told them no, my husband was and I was here with him. They all said how young I looked, etc, we parted ways happily.
So, I have to wonder, do I really look *that* young? I hear adults (when I say adults I mean people my parents age, or older. I know technically my generation are adults too, but it's a habit), anyway I hear adults say how young I look ALL. THE. TIME. But I don't mind really, as long as I'm not being carded for an R rated movie (which you have to be 17 years old to see) it's kind of nice to be called young in a flattering way. But if children think I look young and could possibly be in their age range, how young do I Really look? So that's my weird story about kids asking about my "Dad" and having "successful" conversations.
I have had several successful conversations recently, if I only knew what the secret was I wouldn’t be writing a blog about the few times it has happened.
The first was pretty much on accident. Justin and I were leaving the commissary right as it closed so there was a line at the taxi stand. The first thing I notice (after the line) is the cutest, tiniest, white dog I have ever seen in person. (I also happen to be obsessed with tiny white dogs currently. I would have one already but I’m not ready to have a dog in an apartment). Anyway, so I see this cute dog and am gravitationally pulled towards it. I am even reaching out to take the dog from it’s owners before I even realize that I’ll have to at least say ‘hello’ and ‘can I pet your dog’. The owners seem to be used to the effect their dog has on people because the guy holding the dog just hands it to me (it’s like 2 whole pounds. adorable). Now I have the dog snuggled in my arms and I feel obliged to talk to these people so they know I’m not going to run away with their dog, which I might have considered doing anyway. It’s a young solider who is waiting outside with his friend while he waits for his girlfriend to finish shopping. I probably talked to these two guys for like half an hour, while their tiny adorable dog falls asleep in my arms. I was coherent, pleasant, and not awkward.
The girlfriend finally came out of the store and she had a very young little brother, he was probably 4 years old. He saw I was holding their dog and assumed that he knew me. So I had a small child talking to me about... I’m not even sure what, but I’m going to count this as a win too. Until the little boy asked me about my Dad. They were waiting for their Dad to come pick them up, and he wanted to know if I was waiting for my Dad to come pick me up to. I explained that, no, I wasn’t waiting for my Dad, but that my husband and I were waiting for a taxi. I point Justin out to him (who is being so good and waiting in line while I sit down with a cute dog). The little boy then thinks that Justin is my Dad and I only try one more time to impress the word ‘husband’ on him before I give up. The taxi line wasn't moving, so Justin and I finally decide to just walk home and I have to give the dog back and we leave.
The second random successful conversation I had with people was even more unexpected. I was on my way to base to run some errands when I saw that the beauty shop I have to pass had some cute lotions back in stock that I had wanted. So I stopped in to buy them and was waiting to pay for them when I heard people speaking Spanish! There were two women and a younger girl in front of me who were speaking Spanish with each other. I was so excited. I decided to go ahead and try to speak my crappy Spanish to them. I asked the lady who was closer to me, 'donde tu eras?' which should be ‘where are you from?’ She said Columbia (which thankfully sounds like it’s English name) and which point, I was out of Spanish to speak. She asked me where I was from, I said California. She asked me something like, how long have you been here, but like I said I was all out of my speaking Spanish, and she could tell so she (graciously) switched to English for me.
The women were here because the other lady, whom I hadn't spoken to, and her daughter were here with her husband who was in the military. They had just moved to Korea and wanted to get my phone number so they could have coffee with me and get some advice about living here. I’m not sure how to explain it, maybe because I grew up listening to Spanish, but it was infinitely more refreshing to hear Them talk than to hear people speaking Korean. We are all standing outside talking when the girl, who was probably 11 years old, asked me if my Dad was in the Army too. I told them no, my husband was and I was here with him. They all said how young I looked, etc, we parted ways happily.
So, I have to wonder, do I really look *that* young? I hear adults (when I say adults I mean people my parents age, or older. I know technically my generation are adults too, but it's a habit), anyway I hear adults say how young I look ALL. THE. TIME. But I don't mind really, as long as I'm not being carded for an R rated movie (which you have to be 17 years old to see) it's kind of nice to be called young in a flattering way. But if children think I look young and could possibly be in their age range, how young do I Really look? So that's my weird story about kids asking about my "Dad" and having "successful" conversations.
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