Oh Those Mild Friday Nights, Oh Those Convalescing Saturdays.

On Friday night Amanda and I got dolled up and went to a burlesque show at a bar called Berlin, all of which sounds cooler than it actually was.  Maybe I had my expectations a bit high, maybe I thought there’d be a stage.  The drinks were reasonably priced and strong, even if the bartenders can’t make them under 5 minutes.  It was standing room only.  The company was good though, and we stood in front of a bank of open doors which looked over some bushes, a busy intersection, and had a peek-a-boo view of the Dongdaeumun, Heyhwa downtown (Seoul doesn’t have one downtown, but several).  There were lots of trees, and we got a great breeze from the air conditioning and fromt nature.  My drink got me tipsy quickly, and I got a little high just talking about my plans for the future.    After the show we went to a Moroccan bar hole-in-the-wall, sat, smoked a hookah, ate, and made friends with some people.  There was a cute Welsh guy who had a cute English girlfriend.  They were fighting, and he said meeting me was refreshing, and you can tell he’s a flirt.   Ah well.  Then all of us go to another bar I’ve never been to before.  It was big and loud, and playing a lot of Michael Jackson.  Amanda flirted with the  young, cute Moroccan guy, and I somehow was stuck with the old owner.  He looked like a miniature Robin Williams.  He sat too close to me and tried to take up as much space as possible, which also meant making me take up less space, which is a pretty dick move considering I was three times his size.  It was loud and mildly shitty, and also really late, so I left Amanda to her dubious quarry.  I took a taxi back to my apartment and the taxi driver, predictably, tried to take me to the south side of the Han river though the place I asked to be taken was on the north side.  This happens alot when I take a taxi early in the morning after drinking.  I made myself two bacon sandwiches then fell asleep after 5 a.m.   I woke up sweaty and nude, feeling like my brains had been replaced with firey-hot rocks.  To distract myself, I picked up the nearest reading, “Guide to Living and Teaching in Seoul.”  It makes pretty strong threats against teachers who act in a disrespectful manner, which I found vague, or who make any racist slurs, or treat students or staff in an abusive manner.  That seemed pretty rich, coming from such a racist society.  I wish they’d give my students that strong of an edict, and some of the older male teachers.  The other day one of my male students told me to “Speak Korean in Korea”.  They enjoy trying to raise my hackles by swearing in English, or calling me sexy or ugly.  Damn boys.   Then I read that Korean kindergartens, to appeal to the parent’s high academic expectations, have pompous, impressive graduations, complete with diplomas, academic caps and gowns.   Then I remembered I drank a strong LIT, a dirty martini, a glass of white wine and four beers.  I thought it was pretty impressive I hadn’t been sick, then I promptly felt nauseous and got sick.  I made pasta, I fell asleep again.  I woke up at 4 pm, took a shower, didn’t put on any makeup, and got a steak dinner and saw the only English movie playing at my local theater.