Just a Couple Things From the Inside of My Head.

I think to myself all the time, "tonight I will write something for my poor neglected blog." Then I think up things to write about, and I'm all "Oh! That's a good idea," and "Hey! I'm going to write about this!" (whatever it is that's happening at the time) and then I come home and realize I've forgotten what it was I was going to write about. Then I realize I'm tired and then I wake up and the grey light of dawn is creeping through the spaces in my broken blinds.

My blinds have been broken for about a year now. I don't feel like buying any because I don't feel like spending any money on this shithole apartment. I don't even feel like cleaning it anymore. I'd rather burn it to the ground and start all over. I've been thinking about the amount of money my boss is going to have to cough up in a few weeks. He's going to pay me a double salary as well as well as pay for my one-way plane ticket, and the new person's plane ticket, as well as other little things like a bye-bye dinner for me, and a lot of stuff to make this apartment presentable. When I arrived here the place had these totally fugly orange pleather chairs that were surely snagged from a noraebang gone out of business. Their fugliness has been super-fuglified by the fact that Kamikaze has been jumping up on them, employing his claws to do so and has shredded them quite nicely. All of them. My boss is a cheap little rat-bag, but I doubt he's going to use duct tape on them and pass them off as okay. Likewise with the broken blinds, whose pull stringey chain thing broke and now when I want to get some light in here, I tack them up manually with a couple of big laundry clamps. So ghetto-trailer parkish. The TV is near-dead. Everything on the screen is orange, and when the TV Fixer guy came to repair it months ago, he asked, "How old is it?" I told him I didn't know, at least eight years old. "I think maybe twenty years old" he guesstimated before declaring it un-fixable. It's watchable if you're watching something that's occurring in a well-lit studio or in the daylight. If the scene is at night, forget about it. The screen is black, so you can just listen to the dialogue and imagine what's happening. If there's no dialogue, tough luck. It's like the TV has been turned off.

I'm taking every single thing I've bought for the place when I leave, be it extra spoons and chopsticks or pots and pans. I'm still thinking that I'm going to do one more year in Korea starting in September. I'd like to have my last experience here be a positive one, and that's not really the case with the feelings I'm having as I leave this job. I'd also like to teach adults, and am going to be looking into teaching at a university. I'm not going to take a job that's not AWESOME, though. I'm looking for a LOT of vacation rather than a huge increase in salary, though it would be nice to get a lot of time off as well as buckets full of money every month. Anyhow, back to the glee I feel thinking about how much dough my cheap-ass boss is going to shell out in June when I leave. It pleases me. Makes me almost giddy.

Then again, I imagine it's going to cost me an arm and a leg just getting Kamikaze back to Canada. He's a big boy, and going to take up half the plane's cargo hold.

I noticed two dixie cups with cola remnants stuck in the recycling bag the other day. I knew it wouldn't have been any of the teachers that put them there, and furthermore knew that the only cola in the fridge was mine. So I wondered what the deal was. Two of my co-workers were in the office and said they hadn't drank any of my Coca-cola Light. The only other suspect was my nemesis Alice, who was teaching a class. I'd have to find out what happened the following day. So I came in and said hello and settled in and all that, and then asked her all casual-like, "Oh, hey. Did you drink my diet coke?"

No, she replied. She hadn't. And then she BLAMED IT ON THE STUDENTS!! This isn't the first time she's sacrificed the students, and the other times have been flat out lies as well. There's just NO WAY that a student would grab a cup, open up the fridge in the teacher's room and help himself to the contents. NO WAY. It's an absolute assuredness that Alice offered them the cola, no question. I just don't understand her thinking. She didn't buy the soda. Does she think it just magically appears in there? Where does she get off offering things that aren't hers to other people? (It's not the first time this has happened by any means. Whenever I go on a trip my candy supply, or ice cream I've bought has magically disappeared.) But then for Alice to blame the students when she gets called out,...it's disgraceful. Of course she didn't offer to replace the cola (and why should she, seeing as it was the evil students who drank it?) I should have called the boys in and asked them about it with Alice translating. It would have been fun to see their confusion,...though Alice would probably tell them in Korean "take the blame for this and I'll buy you a pizza."

So, there. I have written. I'll even do it again soon. I do have a bunch of pictures on my camera that I haven't uploaded that go along with posts that I haven't written. Honestly, I'll do my best to get 'er done in a very timely manner. If you've read this far and haven't fallen asleep I thank you. If you're still hanging in with me on this here blog, I really thank you. So, thanks!

Sign Off

My father left his estate, like his life in general and his relationships with everyone, in quite a bit of a mess. He doesn't have a signed Will, so the government has to become involved. We should see everything wrapping up in about 2018 or so.

My uncle had been vying to be the Executor of said Estate, a move I wasn't entirely comfortable with because for reasons unknown but just very recently learned, he is no fan of mine. (This obviously also means he is insane and lacks sound judgement and good taste, reasons numbers two, three, and four why he shouldn't be the Executor.) Because he lives out of province, the lawyers have decided he's not the best choice for the job, so I got the following email from my brother:

From: Jeff Vxxxxxx (jvxxxx@knxxxxxxx.ca)
Sent: April 8, 2010 8:47:51 PM
To: Jelly Vxxxxxx (jelly@hotmail.com); Barbara Vxxxxxx (bvxxxxxx@coxxxxxx.com)
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Hey Bunn and Poopie-pants*,

It turns out that I may end up executor of the estate. The lawyer is asking if either of you would have any objections to this? If not, would you mind signing a document to that effect?

Let me know.

Tata.

Jeff

Well this news pleased me, but still - I thought it maybe wasn't a good idea to just go signing off on things willy nilly, so I sent back a carefully thought out and well crafted response. Just to make sure, you know, we were on the same page and all that.

RE: Would you mind?‏
From: Jelly Vxxxxxx (jelly@hotmail.com)
Sent: April 8, 2010 9:39:25 PM
To: Jeff Vxxxxxx (jvxxxx@knxxxxxxx.ca); Barbara Vxxxxxx (bvxxxxxx@coxxxxxx.com)
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image003.jpg (3.2 KB)

Jeff?
You? The Executor? Of the Estate? YOU?!?? (Bunny,...is this e-mail from Jeff? Is he serious? He's going to Execute the Estate? For realz?)

Well, Jeff - before I agree to you being the Executor of Anything,...I have a few questions. I hope you won't mind answering them.

(A.) If you are the Executor, am I going to have to call you that? Like, when you call my house am I going to have to greet you as "Hello, Mister Executor!" before you will speak to me?

(B.) Are you planning on cutting me out - - no, no - - cutting everyone out and running away to Cuba with your bags of money?

(C.) If you say I don't have to call you "Mister Executor" are you going to turn around afterwards and make me call you something similar? Like "Zhine Exhecutoor" or "The Big Ex?"

(D.) Do you solemnly swear that you will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, the Executorship of My Dad's Estate, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States the Estate of My Dad and heretofor all said Things Having to Do With Said Estate forever and ever, Amen?

(E.) Can I have Dad's Big-Ass TV?

(F.) If there is some sort of course you should take in order to be the Best Executor You Can Be, will you attend said classes faithfully and do said homework diligently? (I don't know if there is such a class, but I'm going to ask Google after I e-mail this.)

(G.) Do I have to pay you to be The Executor?

(H.) Seriously,...that Big-Ass TV,...it's not like he's going to be watching it. Bro, can you hook me up?

(I.) Are you planning on exploiting the Estate of Our Father (who art in Heaven?) in any manner - such as appearing on some trash-reality show like "Pimp My Estate," or "The Biggest Loser (in Estate Executionism)?" or writing a tell-all memoir?

Okay,...for now that's all the questions I can think of, but if you answer these questions in the right way, (that would be "No, no, no, yes, yes, yes, no, for SURE YES, no") then OKAY! YOU CAN BE THE EXECUTOR and I shall sign a document to that effect! Congratulations!

Love, Your Just Making Sure Sis

So, I still haven't signed the document. Did I leave anything out, or have I covered all the bases well? Comments are a-oh-diddly-kay.

*This is not a common nickname of mine, so if you see me walking down the street and shout out "Hey, Poopie-Pants!" don't be surprised if I fail to turn around. I think my brother just addresses the e-mails he writes to me with whatever happens to pop into his head. I surveyed five random e-mails from him and they were addressed to "doiyoi, Dinger Donger, J-Poo, Homie, and Hey Favourite Sister of Mine."** "Bunn" and "Bunny" refer to my mother who would most definitely turn around if you shouted that name at her on the street. In fact, I think that's what her street gang nicknamed her when they jumped her in.

**That last one is most assuredly true, but I am also his Only Sister of His. I assume in that e-mail he wanted something. Maybe he needed me to sign off on his being "Master of the Universe" or "Space Cowboy of the Galaxy."

In The Weeds

Life seems cartoonish.

I spent last week trying not to stew and stress, but I wasn't very successful. I didn't feel that bad overall, but nevertheless threw up Thursday night for no reason and then proceeded to throw up about fifty more times. Not, like, in rapid succession - but over the course of the next day and a half. Unlike the last time, I didn't wait around for half a day to see if I was going to get better on my own. I had gone to sleep after the first puke and woke up having to run to the washroom for the second. I barely made it. I recognized the wretched feeling - overwhelming nausea and muscle ache - which was the same as the last time, and I headed on into the ER. So, in less than two months I've been admitted twice. I was even in the same room on the sixth floor, albeit with different roommates this time around. They were still all in-my-face but I didn't care. For the first twelve hours or so I couldn't really speak. I slept, sort of, in between having to lean over the side of the bed to hurl. One of the worst things was how awfully thirsty I was. I knew I couldn't keep anything down, but that didn't stop me from greedily gulping a mug of wonderfully cold water that I should have been just rinsing my mouth out with in the ER. It was still cool when it came back up a few minutes later. On Friday evening, when I finally felt like I had enough ooomph to wobble down to the store a few hundred metres outside the hospital, I bought a small can of coke and a 500ml bottle of Pocari Sweat, which isn't sweat, but this ionized lightly carbonated beverage. Even though I knew what the outcome would be, I downed them both and just waited a few minutes before projectile vomiting them all over the pavement. It was worth it.

They unhooked me from the IV on Saturday morning, and I asked to go home that afternoon. They sent me down to the lab for a blood test and jabbed me in the arm with a hepatitis vaccination before agreeing to let me go. I had to ask to divide my bill in half as I didn't have enough money to pay it in full.

Between the couple trips to Japan and having to pay for Shingles/PHN medicine, my savings had been dwindling. Ponying up for the cost to go back to Canada and the money I spent while I was there has pretty much wiped me out. It's pathetic, and I'm not used to living paycheque to paycheque. I cut open the plastic gold pig I've been shoving coins in for about a year on Sunday evening and counted out ₩140,000 to give to the hospital Monday. I expect that my next paycheque (Friday) is going to be cut in half as well. My boss doesn't have to pay me for the time I was in Canada, but it would be a generous gesture. Then again, we're talking about the man who threatened to fire me if I didn't return from Canada after a week, so I'm not expecting any kindness from him. My first day back he gave me two envelopes: "condolence money" from him and the teachers. His was ₩100,000 and the teachers all put in a whopping 10,000 won each to total ₩60,000.

My boss tried to make good his threat about firing me, this time because of my having missed work on Friday. We had met last week to talk about my upcoming contract. He wanted me to sign on again for another year, and I stalled - telling him I needed to speak to my family before I made any decisions. Really, I have no intention of working there another year, but I was wrestling with the idea of being honest about that - and having to deal with whatever underhanded crap he might pull between finding out I was finishing and my actually finishing - or telling him that I intended to work for another year and then letting him know thirty days before my contract was finished that I had changed my mind. Revenge. Hopefully that would leave him scrambling to find a replacement. None of that matters now, as he attempted to axe me Monday evening. He likes me and the kids love me, he assured me - but my absences are causing problems and the parents have been complaining. Other than the two weeks I spent in Canada, I've missed two days this year, both times having been IN the hospital hooked up to a pole. He makes it sound like I've been taking time off to have a good 'ol party. "So," he told me through my translating thorn in my side bitch manager, "you will finish at the end of April."

"No, I won't." I argued. "My contract finishes in June. I'll finish then."
"He will pay you double salary at the end of April." the manager said.
"As well as severance pay?" I asked.
"Uhhh, no," she stammered. "It's a type of severance pay. Double sala-"
"No. I will finish in June."

I'm tempted to just get the hell out of here. I'm so tired of working at my school. I haven't written about it yet, but while I was in Canada the new teacher that just started a few weeks ago quit and they ended up hiring one of my former adult students. I was really pleased to hear that, as the new teacher was bonkers and I love my former student Anne. My adult class was halted a couple months ago when the students had dwindled down to just one. Anne had quit my class after Christmas because her mother-in-law was in the hospital with the same sort of brain tumor as Kevin's mom had. Anne's mom-in-law ended up passing away at the beginning of March. While I'm happy to see her everyday, Anne has told me she regrets having taken the job because "the atmosphere is not good." She ain't kidding about that. I cannot remember the last person that I loathed so thoroughly and completely before my manager, but I just absolutely hate her. Along with being the worst manager/co-worker I've ever had the misfortune to work with, she's a moody seemingly bi-polar miserable bitch with the worst listening skills that I have ever come across in a person. Today's exchange, two hours after I arrived to work and she still hadn't spoken to me was, "By the way, hello." from me, and "I'm okay, thanks." from her. I'm already stressed to a near breaking point - or at least to the point where I can't stop puking, and seeing her face every work day just makes me want to,...

I've been really hoping that no one gives me reason to snap and unleash the rage I feel hulking beneath my deceivingly calm exterior. I feel like I could just beat someone to a pulp.

Exhausted, broke, and stressed out I'm having to take it hour by hour and just hold it together well enough to get through a day. I just have to shake my head. Almost six years here at the same school and for what? Passed from boss to boss only to end up with this heartless little rat-bag of a director I feel like a grubby whore. Sorry to sound so ugly, but that's how I feel these days. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. My boss might try to re-fire me. I'm sure it doesn't go over very well with him (or his bitchy wife) that he tells me things are going to be one way and I insist that no, they're not. We shall see.

On a stupid note, though - one side effect of the sicknesses and the stresses has been that I've lost quite a bit of weight. The jeans I wore today didn't just slip down a little - they fell down to my ankles. Twice. Luckily the shirt I was wearing went down past my hips, providing me with enough underwear coverage. But, still. The vegetable-selling grannies out in front of my school had a good hearty laugh at pantsless me this afternoon. The second falling took place in an empty classroom, and I finally thought to use some string to tie my belt loops together, cinching the waist enough to stay up and let me use my hands for more than just holding my jeans up.

Now they're free to smack someone in the head.