Not feeling it

Since I have been back in the US, I don't really have anything to say anymore. Not that there is not a lot of things to talk about, like overwhelming numbers of fat people, people with dogs, fat people with dogs, trucks, fat people in trucks, fat people with dogs in trucks, etc.

America has become really, really boring to me. Actually, more annoying than boring. After hearing what people have to say in this country, and watching TV that I can understand for the first time in a year, I actually miss not understanding what people are saying.

I was at the local grange with my daughter, picking up hay and goat food for "Crazy old one tit" When I heard a couple of fat American women talking about their dogs.

"The thing about Callie here is she has a really unique personality"

"Wow, really?"

"You know how some dogs get excited when they see people or other dogs?"

"Oh, tell me about it. My dogs get really excited when they see people or other dogs."

"Well, her is the thing about my Callie. She gets really, really excited when she sees people or other dogs!"

"NO, WAY!"

I cant actually remember what they said, but I was just struck by how stupid their fucking conversation about their stupid dogs was. Its a fucking dog, everyone in america has one, and they might seem like they are unique and interesting to you, but at the end of the day, it eats, it shits, it barks. It is still just a fucking dog.

Then my daughter went on an overnight camping trip. On the trip the teachers made all the students try some salad. One of the students gagged, because she had never had salad before. She spit it out and said. "This is not real food."

OMFG. This is why our kids are fat. Well not my kids. My kids eat salad. Your kids are fat.

My boobs hurt

I finally made it to the gym on friday. The gym I joined is slightly below ground level, and it has windows along the street. As I worked out for a good hour or so on friday, I noticed all the people stopping and staring at the Waegook working out. Some of them were my students, who stupidly waved and gestured through the windows at me.

I felt more awkward and uncomfortable than I ever have at a gym. Its not that the equipment was that different, or hard to use, but the gym manager insisted on following me around and explaining on how to use everything. I kept telling him that I did not need help, but that only seemed to encourage him.

He showed me how to use the treadmill, no different from those in the US, save the 20 inch TV screen mounted on each one, with a remote control. I have to admit that is pretty cool.

He showed me how to adjust the standard equipment equipment found in every gym in the world.

The only thing I had to ask about was the water. There was a water cooler with what looked like a box of tissues on top of it, and no cups in sight. I asked him how you get the water. He looked at me like I was an idiot, and pointed to the box of tissues. The tissues turned out to be little paper envelopes that you fill with water and then discard. I felt kind of stupid.

When he finally left me alone I worked out. I lifted, sweated, and struggled my way through a lose upper body workout and then called it quits.

I grabbed a couple tissue sized towels and headed to the locker room. I need to take a piss, but strangely there was no toilet in the locker room. I decided to hold it. I took a shower. No one was there. I decided not to hold it.

I left the steamy, slightly urine smelling shower, got dressed and went home.

And now my boobs are sore, my triceps are sore, every part of my body that I worked out is sore.

Why the hell did I want to join a gym so bad?

Quadruple fail.

Uhhhhhh!!!! I forgot my shoes yesterday, AGAIN! I will never work out, ever...I am doomed to be a fat usless lump, oh well.

In other news, I shall recount the riveting tale of my stinky shoes that was accidentally deleted on Wednesday.

It all started one fateful morning. Having failed the previous two attempts to join a gym and work out, I got on that bus with my determination in my heart, and a bag with spare shoes clutched tightly in my sweaty little hand. The bus that day was not packed to massive forced dry-humping standards as is the usual 7:50 bus to work. So the day was starting out with a bang and not a gang bang, but still I was in a good mood. I chose to stand next to the rear exit for easy egress, just in case the bus became once again packed to the gills.

The woman who was fortunate enough to claim a much coveted seat on the public bus, had the bad fortune to pick the one next to where I would stand. The poor thing had a kind heart and graciously offered to hold my bag of shoes, whilst I clung for dear life to one of the few vertical poles on the bus.

For those that don't know, riding public transportation in Korea is considered a full body workout, even while seated. Fun fact! 50% of reported injuries and fatalities caused by buses in Korea actually happen inside the buses! They are caused when a person loses their grip and are flung around inside the rocketing vehicle until their neck snaps.

Bus drivers are hired out of local insane asylums and sent to America to train on the NASCAR circuit. The regular foot brakes in all buses are removed, and thus only the emergency break can be used to stop the vehicle. All the drivers have been convinced that there is a bomb on the bus and if it slows down to below 55 at anytime between assigned stops it will go off, just like in speed.

The woman smiled at me and motioned for me to give her the bag, she was not robbing me of course, she was just trying to be polite. I had seen people do this before, so I knew she wasn't going to "Jack my shoes". I briefly considered not giving the her the bag to hold onto, but I have a family that depends on me, so I decided not to risk only being able to cling for dear life with one hand. As soon as her tiny hands latched onto the plastic wrapped payload, the smile disappeared.

Perhaps some background on my feet is in order. Many years ago, when money was very tight my wife and I heard about selling shoes on E-Bay. We found out that there are people with specific fetishes especially for used shoes. Yes, people on E-Bay would like to buy my used running, workout, and work shoes and sandals. There were two requirements for this though. The shoes had to be worn enough that there was an imprint of my feet in the souls and the second was, the stinkier the better. If your shoes really smelled, you would get good reviews, and if they really, really smelled they would offer you more money if they could send the shoes back to have them "recharged". (this is all true) What was really funny is that I often sold my shoes for more than what I originally paid for them.

To comply with EPA regulations I should have labeled that bag with a Bio-hazard symbol. The woman began to look kind of uneasy holding the bag, and maybe it was just motion sickness from the bus, but she began to look kind of sick too. I felt bad for handing them to her, but she wanted to do it. When someone finally exited the bus, leaving a seat open, she frantically gestured towards it. She thrust the bag at me, and I took it thereby ending her suffering. I sat down and in my lap, closer to my face. I could barely tolerate the smell wafting from the bag. And everyone always prefers their own product.

Son of a BITCH!

On my google Dashboard I have a tool that allows me to compose and publish my blog. I just spent the last 20 or minutes composing one of the funnest, most insightful and brilliant posts of all time!

Well probably not, it was about my stinky shoes.

Anyway as I was wrapping up the tale of riding on the bus, carrying my stinky shoes in a bag, the story suddenly disappeared. I don't know if it was from my ham-fisted typing, or if the screen just refreshed, but everything was lost. In a blink of the eye, a page and a half long essay about my odoriferous feet coverings disappeared into the ether of the net.

I will try to retype the masterpiece, but I fear the brilliance, the shine, the shear beauty of what was lost, will never again be found. You will never know the joys of this flash of brilliance, a post which would have surely been remembered for all time.