06 NOV 2010
So last Wednesday, a few friends and I decided to get some delicious spicy grilled octopus for dinner after work. It also happened to be the last night my couchsurfer Ben would be in Seoul, so we wanted to show him a good time. In true korean style, maekju (beer) and soju were heavily consumed at the restaurant, before makin moves to a funny private-cubicle bar across the street. (The bar is called Dorothy's Diary. A really, really creepy blonde mannequin is positioned at a table in the foyer, wearing sunglasses and Barbie-fashion clothing, her arm in a permanent "hello!" gesture, her head slightly cocked to one side. The wallpaper and other decor looks like it should be in a doll house. *shiver*) Naturally, multiple 2.7 liter pitchers were ordered, drinking games ensued, and we stumbled out of the odd drinking establishment in time to catch the last subway. Part of the group went downstairs and outside while Hannah, Ben and I emptied our bladders. I was convinced that everyone else had descended ALL of the stairs, into the basement noraebang (singin room -- Korean karaoke), so the peeing crew followed me down to find them, doubting my idea the whole way. When I figured out they were right, a few steps into the hall of the noraebang, I started running, trying to lose them in the hall-maze, then trying to hide so I could scare them. Completely logical, I know, seeing as how I haven't a single fast-twitch muscle in my body, and they were miiiiles behind me (about 3 steps). Up ahead, I saw the perfect opportunity to gain another step, action- and/or thriller-movie style: run through the open door, then close it behind me, so my pursuers have to open it again, thus, slowing them down (in)significantly. Somewhere between the hall and the stairs, in the doorway where one would expect, a 'floor-jam' somehow became a brick wall against my toe, stopping the movement of at least one of my feet, but not getting the better of inertia against my many kilos of body mass and six feet of person, sending me flying through the air, landing on my stomach, and sliding across the floor, in flying squirrel position. Sometimes, I can be unbelievably graceful.
Here's to another year of turdery and more reasons to point and laugh at it... or at least 228 more days of telling it to the Internets.
Coming soon: "2011, I will make you my bitch!" list!