Welcome to Seoul

Actually, I've been here for almost five months. I've stayed out all night, I've eaten food I didn't know existed, I ran away from a security guard, I dressed up as a zombie, sang at a norebang, and I even did some cultural stuff.

I want to try to actually keep track of what I do in Seoul. It's a wonderful place. But sometimes, too much soju might rot your memories away.

New York, I love you

But sometimes you do bring down. Especially when I'm trying to get home and my L train is running screwy. I just finished up with karaoke practice for my league (yes, we did dominate) and wanted to get home. I know, shocking. I didn't want to spend a hour hanging out at various subway stops. I waited at one stop for 30 minutes and some train personnel told us to get in the Manhattan-bound train to get to Brooklyn. A little odd, but I trust them and hop on. Train does travel in correct direction, but goes very slow. We get to the first stop in Brooklyn and they tell us to get off and we wait another 30 minutes for a train to show up on the correct track. I had thought about getting a cab or calling my roommate to get me, but the train did show up.

And that's not that unusual an occurrence. The trains are only strange at night and on weekends, so the regular working folk aren't inconvenienced. Just us party-people.

On a more pleasant note, I got to met a blogger I've been following since I was 18 or so. She's a doll-baby from Russia who created her own makeup line. It's fun stuff, though I will say the lipstick is not very moisturizing. Her makeup line is called LimeCrime, and her blog is Doe Deere Blogazine. She was very sweet and didn't make me feel creepy for knowing a lot about her. I guess she's used to it because she has a lot of fans.

I was talking about internet celebrity with a friend. (Actually a new friend, one of my competitors in the karaoke league). It's an interesting idea that among a small group of people someone can be really famous, well-known and respected and the rest of the world has no idea that person exists. I, myself, am merely a legend in my own mind, but that could change.

There's a million things that have happened between now and February, but it's so hard to live your life and document. Please forgive me, my gentle readers. You are beautiful and I love you.

Peking Duck and the Brooklyn Bridge

I had a wonderful date in a lovely city. Too bad the man was not to my taste. We've been on five dates, I believe, and he treats me like a princess. Which I am, so I guess it's just my due.

We met in Brooklyn and walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, which gives you a beautiful view of the city. Have I mentioned that I love this city?

Then he suggested a restaurant in Chinatown that he believed was a must-see of NYC. It was called Peking Duck, so you can guess what we ate. The dinner special was soup, and appetizer, duck, entree and fruit. Quite a lovely meal in theory. But I don't care for duck or sea bass, which is what F wanted to have for the entree. I made a half-hearted offer to pay, but he said not worry about it. The meal was $80, plus tip. I spend less than that for two weeks of food.

We kissed goodbye on the train, as I was switching to the L train and he lives in midtown Manhattan.

It never seems like it's that hard for me to meet a man that will treat me like something precious. The problem is I've always been more interested in the ones that play games with me and break my heart. I'm trying to change, to date the right type of man, but I find it so boring after the drama of the heartache. No one who knows me wonders why I'm single.

Man, when will my feet stop hurting? I think a little bone that I broke in my foot years ago never healed properly.

I thought I lost this

Uh, I just found out where drafts get saved. This is the first draft of the blog post "Peking Duck and the Brooklyn Bridge", from February. Read it if you want. Or skip it. It's not that necessary.

Ah, another wonderful date in a fabulous city. I just wish the boy were a bit more handsome. I guess I'm just too ethnocentric to get into those Portuguese boys who descend from Moorish people.

I looked great, just so you know. Just a touch of goth. I had on a very Victorian-influenced plum skirt and black puff-sleeved shirt. We met in Brooklyn and walked across the bridge. Such a lovely view of the city. I heart NYC.

It's just one of those things. I'm actually used to men treating me like something to be treasured, so I guess I just don't really appreciate it. As everyone knows, I tend to spend more time obsessing about the ones that cause drama in my life, than the one's that buy me dinner.

I know no one wonders why I'm single.

The Highs and Lows of Living in a Hipster Commune

I am really starting to like where I live. It took a little while to get used to the environment, but this bougie girl is getting used to living like a starving artist.

I got home from a lukewarm date (and if you're familiar with your Bible, you'll know how Jesus feels about lukewarm stuff), and heard a party going on down that hallway. It wasn't so loud I couldn't go to sleep, but I wasn't ready to go to sleep and I wanted to get the bad taste of a lukewarm date out of my mouth. My roommate told me to crash it.

The High

So I crash the party with a mug full of Jack. I've been watching too much of the Pick-Up Artist and I decide I should quickly approach a "set" because I look like a weirdo hanging out against the wall. The first set of boys not that interested in talking to me. The second set had a guy who was all into me, but he was just into anything not a boy. Then I started chatting to a cool girl and the party started. I talked to everyone, made friends with the DJ, a boy wrote his name on my arm...

And then this hottie started talking to me, the usual happened, he liked my hair and thought my conservative viewpoints were interesting and different. I got some very warm and lovely kisses, so I brought him home and dumped him on the couch.

The Low

Around 8 in the morning, a boy crawls into bed with me. I don't really mind. It's almost time to get up and I can always kick him out if he gets annoying. He does start to get annoying, so I tell him he has to go home. Only he doesn't have blond hair like hottie did. Also, he's ugly. I wasn't sober the night before, but I was pretty sure I've never kissed an ugly man before. I was very confused until I realized that the hottie was still asleep on the couch.

Okay, so maybe I had too much Jack and was distracted by hottie. I forgot to lock the door. I guess living in some alternative universe means there will be nights you meet random cute 22 years old, but wake up the next day with ugly ducklings in your bed.

Alexander McQueen

Yes, I am aware that this isn't a fashion blog. But I am in NYC, fashion capital of America. And he was so lovely. He's also among my top favorite designers. I bought almost everything sold through his Target line. (I don't have a couture income.)

Today was actually shaping up to be a good day. But whenever someone commits suicide, it makes you realize that there are lots of people out there with hidden problems. And that genius doesn't come without a price. It's the simple folks that are the happiest. I'll always believe that. Being gifted doesn't make you happy, it just adds to your responsibilities to the world.

But in other news, I bought a white netbook, because I thought it would look awesome. And if I needed to hide from Soviet agents in the snow, I could use it without being seen.

Tomorrow is my first NYC house party. It will be of the grown up variety, but I'm still looking forward to it.

Until then, dear readers, I leave you with sweet dreams and glasses of Jack Daniel's on the rocks.

All's Quiet on the Western Front

McKibbin Street is actually turning out to be not that bad. My roomies are quiet and so are the neighbors. I've heard some band practice going on, but not late at night and not for very long. I've walked home twice now in the middle of the night and haven't felt like I was in any danger. I think the most disappointing thing about my new home is the fact that the local Thai place makes sub par green curry.

I guess the trick now will be to find a job.

Moving to NYC

I think I need to change the direction of this blog. Sure, I could brag about my conquests and all the awesome people I know, but really, who hasn't read about that already?

Instead, I'm going to focus on what's happening now. Which I just discovered is pretty interesting. A week ago, I packed up two duffel bags, a suit case, a carry-on bag, a book bag and my dad's garment bag and hopped a train to NYC. I arrived to the open arms of a charming man and his charming west side studio apartment in Manhattan. Then a week went by and he told me get the hell out (he said it nicer than that).

So I looked for a place to stay. I found a charming room to rent in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. You would have loved it. Two days before I was supposed to be out of the charming man's apartment, the subletter called to let me know she was ripping up my check and renting the room to her roommate's friend instead.

What ensued next was a mad dash across Craigslist and across Brooklyn via the L train. I found one place, but it was only available for a month. No way was I moving again at the end of February. I found a great place I could have rented from three months to whenever, but then I got a call a few hours later saying they were renting to someone hipper than me. I finally found a place available for three months and dirt cheap.

In the heat of the moment, the place was perfect. It was furnished (mattress on the floor, though relatively new, an "armoire", a "chair" and a bedside table the perfect height for a mattress on the floor), it was cheap, my roommates were a gay dude and a sweet guy, and the room seemed pretty secure.

In the sober light of day I realized that kids play drums in the apartment late at night, that there is a real possibility of getting jumped coming home at night and the sweet guy is actually a lesbian (though still sweet).

I think I will take this experience as a lesson: I am not as hip as I pretend to be. I am a middle class attorney, not an artist, and, though not afraid to die, I am afraid of pain and getting my money stolen.

Please stay tuned for whatever next comes my way.