LIVE: Ginger Goes to Jury Duty

I love iPhone! Look...I take picture of where I park, then I find car soooo easy later! I say..."oh no, where I park?" iPhone say, "you take picture, you park here, remember, lady?" Love you iPhone! Muahhhhh!



I'm here!!! Doing my civic duty. I have to wear this sticker on my shirt...it says "juror" so I'm like all official, y'all. I hate these stickers cuz everyone puts 'em on their chest...that's where they GO and I know this, but when you're a lady-type, that sticker sits right on top of yo boob and it's like a neon sign screaming, "Hey, y'all! Look at my right boob! L@@K!!! There's a sticker there! And underneath...a boob!" I thought about putting it somewhere else, like on my belly button, but really, that would just cause people to say, "hey, shouldn't that be right THERE...you know...on your boob?"



The slide show started y'all. It says "Welcome to jury duty." Awww...isn't that nice? After the first slide I am not feeling so welcome. There are lots of slides that, in a nutshell, say, "YOU PARK HERE! NOT THERE!!! YOU PARK THERE, YOU GET TICKET! YOU PAY NOWWWW, MISTER!!!"

Nobody is sitting next to each other! Why dey do dis? It's like on an airplane. You know eventually the empty seats around you will be filled but for those first 15 glorious minutes before the flight takes off you delude yourself into thinking you will have space. WRONG!!! No space for you! Flight is full suckaaaaa!!! I chose an aisle seat, FYI... What? A girl's got to go potty without trippin' over a buncha dumb legs. Gosh!

OMG! We've been waiting 30 minutes since we checked in...what is going to happen next? What are they going to tell us?? We need informations right now. It's soooo quiet in here with all these people, yet so noisy. Sooo many noises. Sniffing, coughing, throat clearing, nose blowing, whispering, scratching, papers rattling, sipping, oh my!!!

Oh! It's video time! Being a juror is fun, video says, it is your civic duty. You do good job, or else! You do it NOWWWW!!! Even judges have to be jurors, and retirees and moms and dads and smelly men and perfumed ladies and people with no teeth and and and...

After video the judge is coming to talk to us. The JUDGE! He's like a celebrity! What will he say? Maybe we will get a stern lecture with lots of finger pointing and eyebrow furling. Or maybe he will tell a joke to lighten the mood. I like jokes. I bet he tells one that starts off with a priest and a rabbi walking into a bar....oh wait, here he is. Oh my gosh, his name is Judge Lynch. Hahahahahaha!!! Hee hee hee!! Oh...ouch...that struck my funny bone hard. LULZ!!! It turns out that the prosecution's eye witness was a flaky mcflakerpants and the whole case has been dismissed. We are free to go. What a let down! I feel robbed! I want to be jury NOWWWW!!!

Well, I have my day back, what should I do now...hmmm....how's about I go to my favorite restaurant since I'm already downtown. LUCILLE'S for the win! I love love love this place! It's a Cajun restaurant in an old downtown house. They serve spicy iced tea and beignets and grits and oh my gosh I love it soooo much. Before your meal they bring you a biscuit. Biscuit, oh boy!!!! That is a biiiig biscuit, enough for four people! There's apple butter and strawberry rhubarb preserves on the table...homemade...in little crocks, sooo cute! Yum. By the way, what the heck is a preserve? That's what I wanna know.



Don't eat too much biscuit, don't do it. Real food is next, nobody wants to fill up on biscuit, that's just silly!

Also, iPhone is my dining companion. Isn't he cute? Just sitting here hanging out with me. The chair's too big for him so I just hold him in my wittle hand, pushing all the buttons, typing things, reading stuff. What a good little iPhone. I am NOT the cat lady! NO! I am the iPhone Chica! I could have used the iPhone, to, you know...call someone to go out to eat with me, but that's too much trouble. People are so unpredictable with their silly schedules, and work and kids and crap. iPhone always there! iPhone go to breakfast with me! Thank you iPhone!

Oh look...here's the real food. The only thing I ever order at Lucille's...Eggs Pontchatrain...oh how I love thee! Let me count the ways! I love your yummy pan fried trout and your fluffy scrambled eggs and your down south grits and your rich hollandaise sauce. Right now you are my besttttt friend and I will eat you all up!



So breakfast is done, jury duty out of the way for another year...now it's time to go home, where I'll sit next to a lazy dog on the couch, watch crappy tv shows on netflix and write things to people on my laptop. Eventually this excitement will be just too much for me and I will require a long nap because after all, I have an overnight shift to look forward to at the good old police department. Yay for having a job! YAYYY!!! And boooo for having a shitty schedule. BOOOO!!!

Stupid Light Bulbs...And Other Things I Wanna Punch!

I know the day has gone to hell in a handbasket when I find myself telling the pencil I just dropped to fuck off. Stupid pencil better learn his place! I came up with a theory recently...bear with me. Ok, I think the days where everything goes wrong are actually worse than a really truly bad day. What's a really truly bad day? Your dog dies. That's a really bad fucking day. Crash your car into a telephone pole? Yes...also a bad day. But here's the thing...on these truly awful days you have a real tangible reason to be pissed off or sad. But on pencil dropping days, you're stomping around the house mad at the world for no good reason. And people are all...hey, why are you in a bad mood? And really, the only appropriate response to that is I DON'T KNOW! Now fuck off! You and the pencil can both go to hell!

You laugh, but you know you've been there. I'm there today. Welcome to my hell. My kitchen light burnt out. Mere annoyance. I can deal with that...change the bulb and I'm on my way. But noooooo, it can't be that simple, now can it? Brand new light bulbs installed, I flip the switch and damn it all to hell if there ain't no light coming out of them!!! Hmm...check the breaker (note: I know this is not the problem, but decide to go look at the little fuse thingys anyway) all is good in the breaker box...so my next course of action is to stomp back inside the house and flip off the kitchen light as hard as I can with BOTH HANDS!!! Grrrrr!!!



I went to the doctor yesterday and the nice lady at the front desk asked for my insurance card. I handed it over, somewhat nervously, because I am on a new health insurance plan. All I could think was pleeeease accept my insurance, I looove my doctor. The last thing I need is one more FUCKING change I didn't sign up for. She entered the info and asked if my ex was still the primary subscriber and I had to of course explain to ONE MORE PERSON that doesn't really need to know, that, no...he's long gone and I'm the primary. So then she looks at me over the top of her glasses and says, "well then, whoooo will your emergency contact be now?" I wanted to yell at her "NO-FUCKING-BODY!!!!" How about THAT you snarky tip of the nose glasses wearing office lady? How about THAT! I decided against that after having a moment of clarity. I said, "Keep my ex as the emergency contact, HE can deal with my dead body!" Yeah, stick it to the mannnnnnnn!!!! Hahahaha! (Side note: I don't really know who the man is, thus I'm not sure who will have it "stuck to them.")

Sigh...I just went to make myself a bowl of cereal. I like cereal. It is delicious. Also a good snack late at night when cooking is out of the question. I opened the drawer to grab a spoon and to my surprise there are only big spoons left, the small spoon slot left bare yet again. Fucking big spoon, AGAIN?? Whyyyyy???? Why me? Why do I ALWAYS get stuck with the spoon so big I have to open wiiiiide for every bite? Oh oh, I get it...it's a fat joke. Haha, joke's on me! Chubby girl gets the big spoon. That's a good one. Maybe I'll start hiding a small spoon just for me. MAYBE. I. WILL. But then...I'd probably forget where I hid it...and then...I'd hide another small spoon and forget where I hid that one. This isn't going anywhere good. Maybe I'll just stop eating things that require spoons. That'll show those big spoons! They'll never get used again. Muwahahahahaha!!!

After a day like this, filled with stupid light bulbs, dumb ass spoons, and obnoxious pencils, I just wanna come home, climb into bed and chat with my friends who live inside my computer box. Avoiding the real world? Maybe. Cat lady-like behavior? Could be. Do I care??? Noooooo. (Ok, maybe a little.)

How I Got Somethin' For Free...And Other Amusing Things I Like To Blame On My Divorce....

Ugh...I trade my shame for your amusement...

Most days start off for me like this..."hey, didn't we have that one thing we had to do today...at that...um...place?"

This post on pause for the following reason: 13 year old daughter just walked up to me, laid her head on the dining table and said, "Mom...you're gonna be a cat lady. You need to get OUT there...I mean, not to the bars, mom, but NOT on facebook or online or whatever, ok?" Well fuckity fuck fuck fuck and excuuuuuse me! I'll just go drink a big fat glass of tequila and pass out so I can forget what a LOSER I am because I don't have a boyfriend.

Disclaimer: I will not be drinking any tequila because I don't want my momma to be disappointed in me. Also. Puking. I don't like that.

Update: I did drink the tequila. (Sorry Mop, and Pop, if that sorta thing matters to you.) Sometimes, and holy shit, it's not often, you just wanna be like, hey! Let's have a drink and forget all the stupid shit that happened today. And then, next thing you know, you're sad and pathetic and you have to be up in 3 hours and your best friend is NOWHERE to be found and you're all, why did I drink this nasty shit? Oh yeah, to forget. Forget about what? I dunno. Fuck, I already forgot. See? Mission accomplished!

Yay! All is forgotten...except the following dumb ass things...

1. I took Danika to a cheerleading class today that she wasn't enrolled in. Yeah, see, THAT is how I get free shit. See, what had happened was, I didn't talk to Ben and you know, ask him when her class ended, so I brought her today like a TOTAL dumb ass and the teacher asked to talk to me after class. And I was like, uh oh! What did I do...so I texted Ben, and I'm like, is this class over and he's all yeah and I'm all like shit, because she's in there now, cheering away! Hahaha! Joke is on me. But, whatever, cuz...free class!

2. I am watching Ben's girlfriend's dog while they go away for the week together. Does that make me a pushover? Maybe it does. MAYBE. IT. DOES. But, ya know what? One day, I'm gonna need a HUGE ass favor, ya know? And they'll be all...remember how nice and AWESOME Ginger has always been? She watched our ugly dog! What a pal! Yeah, THAT is how it is going to go down...and then they'll be all...we'll fuckin' do anything for her! She is the best ex-wife EVERRRRRRRR!!! You think this shit happens by accident...nope! I have a plan. Be nice and some good shit is gonna happen. Mmmmhhhmmmmm!!! Yes it will!!!

3. I forgot what I was doing here. What are these numbers for?

4. See, I was sitting at the dining table tonight typing to some friends and listening to music and hanging out while Rocky worked on a school project. I thought we were having fun. And then. BLAM. Out of nowhere, we were most certainly NOT having fun! Rocky laid her head on the dining table and said in the most serious kidding voice she could muster, "Mom, you are going to be the cat lady. You need to get out. Not to bars, Mom, and not on facebook or the internet either!" Well great...OMG, I just realized I already told this story at the top of the page! See kids? THIS is what tequila does to you. It steals your short term memory.

5. Ok, so I am trying to figure out what a boyfriend is good for. Because I'm thinking adding an extra person will be kiiind of a headache. Like for example, dinner. I'll have to start saying, "honey, what do you want for dinner?" When, really, I don't give a rat's ass what he wants for dinner. Also, he might want to watch something on tv I hate. FAIL! What if he has too many clothes and they won't fit in my closet? I mean, really...I think that's automatic grounds for a break up, don't you? What if he's messy and leaves his crap everywhere, like socks in the dining room. OMG, even worse! What if he's a neat freak! I am a slob at heart! I can't deal with a neat freak! All the messes I make must be able to be blamed on him, a neat freak would know he didn't leave out a bowl of guacamole and a half drank root beer overnight, but a slob? He'd be like...hmmm...maybe I did that and then I could be like yes you did! You ALWAYS leave guacamole out and I have to clean up after you! You owe me, you piggggggg!!! Yeah! That'll show him!!

6. Ok, things a boyfriend would be good for. I can do this, hold on. Ok, like when I am out with friends and every last mother fucker there is coupled up, if I had a boyfriend then I could be like, ha ha ha hee hee hee, we have our own private jokes and they are soooo funny! Ya know, I could stop being the third wheel. Also...food. If he had something delicious to eat I could be like, hey, boyfriend, lemme have a damn bite of that, that looks gooood, and he'd be like, yessssss, because he is my boyfriend and that is what they DO! Ooooh! He could drive! Yessss!!! OMG, I want a driver! Please! Ok, I will totally take a boyfriend if he will drive. Sold! Broke stuff. He could fix broke stuff! OMG, I am soooo happy about this boyfriend, hahahaha! You know why? Because I am freaking SICK of fixing broke stuff! Broke stuff = man's job, and as far as I know, I am not, nor never have been a man!!!

7. I changed my mind. All that stuff on #6. I can do that myself. None of that crap is worth the heartbreak when the lousy SOB leaves and breaks my fragile lil heart. (See that...that was bitterness there, yeah, I have a little. And it just came out. Which means...it must be time for bed. FML.)

I just realized I didn't talk about anything in this post I meant to. In fact, I don't even freaking remember what I had planned to write at all. Instead I ended up with this crap??? Really???

Oh! The tomato seed! Rocky hates tomatoes. We went to Applebee's. She ordered food. There was a tomato seed on her plate. She gingerly (see what I did there? haha) wiped it on her napkin. About 5 minutes later, the tomato seed was on her wrist. She wiped it on the table. A few minutes after that the tomato seed was on her arm. Hahahaha, at this point I was giggling. Because up until that moment, tomato seeds were not humorous in the least. But now? Freaking hilarious! Finally, she flinged (flung?) the seed across the restaurant. I didn't see where it went, but I bet it landed somewhere and some other tomato hater is gonna go home with that tomato seed plastered to their arm, LOL!!!!

It's Fine, I'll Wait...

An hour ago Rocky chastised me for eating airport mexican food right before a 3 hour flight. I DO know better, but the huevos rancheros were calling my name.

Sandwiched between Danika and a man reading a yellow book, I'm silently plotting my escape. We're at 10,000 feet just a few minutes into the flight and it's ok for everyone to turn on their iPods now, but standing up? NO! That is still forbidden. My tummy is rumbling. Ohhhh green chili you were soooo very delicious on the way in. Why are you trying to kill me now? My face is sweating...maybe if I hold onto the armrest a little tighter the cramps will go away. Why the f*ck is that g*d damned seat belt sign still on? I can't see the ground anymore, we are high enough! Come on!!!

Sitting next to a 6 year old in the tiny confines of an airplane requires a bit of patience. Danika's 8 X 11 tray table is covered with drawing paper, crayons, hot chocolate, a tortilla, a pen and a hashbrown. With predictable frequency something falls to the floor and the pile on her tray table quickly becomes the pile on my tray table. Up goes her tray and in a flash she's on the floor retrieving a wayward crayon.

I've been holding the hot chocolate steady on Danika's tray for 20 minutes and I know it's coming, I just don't know when. A notebook slips off the tray, I pick up the drink, Danika rushes to the floor, grabs the notebook, pops back up and elbows the hot chocolate and there it is folks. First spill of the day, all over the paper I'm currently writing on. The child is oblivious. Up and down she goes until I finally ask, "How many more times do you think you'll be doing that, sweetie?" Her response..."Depends on how much stuff I drop, Mom!" Oh well...duhhhhh!!!

Meanwhile, the sign is still on. "Keep your seat belts fastened, you are not free to move about the cabin." Look, I don't want to move about the cabin, I want to SIT about the bathroom. Please? My tummy has the rumblies. I'm dying here, y'all, if Danika bumps me ONE.MORE.TIME it's gonna be a green chili egg explosion. I swear!



The flight attendant whizzes by for the 8th time and I'm starting to get annoyed. Apparently she has super standing up powers on this flight. I call out to her, "Is it ok if I take her to the bathroom?" Using the child to get a little sympathy... (The man next to me with the yellow book is looking at my paper. Hi man with yellow book. Blink twice if you can see this. No? Ok, fine, I was just trying to be funny. You can ignore me if you want, you killjoy!) The flight attendant informs me with great inflection in her voice that she cannot GIVE me permission to use the lavatory while the ever present seat belt sign is on, but sometimes you have to DO what you have to DO. Oh realllly??? That sortaaaaa sounds like permission to me!

Woo hoo! Mama's goin potty! Yessssss!!!! Let's go! I'm gonna run RUN back there, stomach cramps be damned, I have a secret rendez vous with a barbie sized potty! And then...the light flickers off. And I'm free to move about the cabin...and so is everyone else. The aisle quickly fills and there I am. DEAD LAST. Noooooooooo!!!!! Randomly, Danika asks, "Mom, how many more seconds til we get to Flooooridaaaa???" And she expects an accurate answer. Before I can multiply up an answer for her she wails, moooommmm I'm hungry! I take a mental inventory and wonder how this is remotely possible. Six year old child plus ziploc baggie of cocoa puffs, plus egg McMuffin, plus hashbrown, plus orange juice, plus airplane bag of cookies, plus hot chocolate and nutty bar all in a span of less than 5 hours and THAT equals hungry?

And finally...it's my turn to "go." I don't think I really even need to anymore. I take my place on the tiny throne and all I hear is trickle-trickle-trickle! Really? I had to pee sooo bad! Full bladder! FULL! I ate MEXICAN food for craps sake! And that's it??? Trickle? I'm starting to think my stomach is a bit of a drama queen!

And back to my seat I go just in time for another round of "I dropped my crayon" and "Mommy I spilled" and other exciting in flight games.

My Stupid Pants

I have this pair of pants...everytime I see them I always say, "oh God, I hate those f*%$ing pants." EVERY.TIME. I can just hear my friend Mike saying, "why you gotta be hatin' on those pants, lady, what did those pants ever do to you?" I'll tell you what those pants did to me...oh I'll tell you alright.

Ya see, it all started when I went to that one store, yeah, you know the one I'm talking about...the one targeted for the "bigger gal." Uh huh, THAT one. So there I am, minding my own business, when I see stacks and stack of jeans. Blue jeans. Black jeans. I love jeans. They're so comfy and you can't really see the crap I wipe on them throughout the day. Wash hands. Dry on jeans. Sneeze. Wipe on jeans. Dog slobber. Rub into jeans.

Like I said, there I was...eyeballin' all these jeans, trying to figure out which ones I wanted to try on when the buxom clerk walked up to me with a tape measure and asked if I wanted a bra fitting. Well heck yeah I did! No! No, really, I didn't. All I wanted was to snag a few pairs of jeans and get the heck outta there. And if that's what happened I wouldn't be telling this story, would I?

The clerk stood there looking me up and down, chin in hand, index finger tapping her lip, deep in thought. "Blue dot," she says. "Huh? Blue dot?" Says I. "Yes," she explains. "You see," she says, "studies have shown that larger women don't like the double digits in their dress sizes, it makes them feel...well... large...so we decided to revamp our store's entire sizing system and you, my dear, are a blue dot." Well ain't that some sh#*...ok, ok, fine, hand me the damn pants, and I'll put my big blue dot ass in 'em and we'll just see how this goes down. I mean, I don't want to feel LARGE, or anything...


I make my way to the dressing room, pull down my pants as fast as I can and slip on the new ones to find that they fit ok. Great, they button, they zip. I'm all set, that's all I need. I stop and realize for a moment that I am generally too hasty in this clothes shopping game but decide that I really don't care. I'm not in the mood for breathlessly trying on outfits for the next hour to find just the right one. These jeans ZIP UP! That's all I need to know, I'm OUTTA here. I'm DONE.

I proudly take my new blue dots to the register and pay entirely too much, but that's ok, 'cuz I'm in the "big store" where no skinny clerks are allowed and the fat girl section is not located DIRECTLY next to the maternity section. OMFG what flippin brainiac came up with that idea? Do you know how many maternity shirts I've mistakenly bought at Target? FML! Maybe, I dunno, just MAYBE, they could put maternity clothes next to the infant clothes??? But what do I know, I just work here....or whatever, you know what I mean. Major sidetrack, sorry...

I take my new clothes home and excitedly rip the tags off and throw those bad boys on. New clothes must be worn right away. Everyone knows this. I spend the next several hours relaxing at home, watching tv, doing dishes, talking on the phone in the new duds. It doesn't take long for me to absolutely abhor everything about these new fangled jeans. They're just weird. First of all, there is enough space in the back side for at least three asses. Not three cheeks, y'all. THREE.WHOLE.ASSES. That's right...SIX cheeks. They're like stretchy or something, so everytime I walk, more space stretches out for more asses. I don't know how big the clerk thought my stomach bone was, but I'm noticing that the top of the jeans are resting right under...well, right under my boobies, ok? This is not good. These are not polyester pants and this chick ain't 82 years old. I have a shape and it ain't the kool-aid man. Also...there's a weird smell. Burnt plastic, maybe? With a little bit of sulfur on the side. I do not like this smell. No. These pants are all wrong.

I know what you're thinking...why don't you take them back? And I swear, I had every intention to do it, but day after day, I'd remember, "Oh, I have to take those craptastic pants back!" And as soon as I'd remember, the thought had floated right on out of my head. And after a while the blue dots were part of my wardrobe, in the weekly laundry cycle, the last choice to wear for the day, mind you, but sometimes I do slip 'em on and silently curse the day I paid forty dollars so I wouldn't have to see a number in my pants. I've thus far been unsuccessful in finding any other asses to share them with. And honestly, if I took them back, what "size" would I exchange them for? Yellow triangles? Blue moons? You'll never get me lucky charms!

And now...for a completely inappropriate, yet funny picture, brought to you by Natalie Dee at http://www.nataliedee.com/

What I See at the Spelling Beeeee

So here I am at the Colorado Convention Center in a long desolate hallway while my lovely 13 year old daughter is herded into a giant room with several hundred other nerdy kids who can spell things like pnuematic and phlegm. She'll be in there for the next 90 minutes taking a written test to determine if she will be going on stage for the oral portion of the day. I'm not nervous for the kid...this sort of thing comes naturally to her, she's like...so totally talented.

Meanwhile her mama is waiting anxiously at a large round table that seats eight with another lady who was here first. Though we are sharing the table equally, she was here before me, so I am trying to keep my table drumming and foot tapping to a minimum. I sooo enjoy people watching and this hallway is ripe with entertaining folks to observe.

Downtown Denver


The lady at my table is wearing a pink t-shirt and pink headphones and every so often she giggles softly while reading a book that looks like it's straight out of Oprah's Book Club. To my left is a lady in the typical Colorado fleece winter vest complete with that crazy ski goggle sunburnt face. I can't help but notice that "goggle face lady" is missing the pinky finger on her left hand...and she's doing a crossword puzzle, writing with that same left hand. I pick up my own pencil, right handed, of course, and try to simualate what it would be like to write with no pinky...giggling to myself, I remember this is the exact thing I would snap at Danika for doing. You don't call attention to the different people, Danika! For what it's worth, I think I can live without a pinky.

Half an hour in and I've gone potty...yeah, I call it potty, what's it to ya??? I've gotten my make up on so I don't have to hear every Tom, Dick, and Harry comment that I look soooo tired...am I ok? Eyeliner really does work wonders. I love you eyeliner...and mascara...and lipgloss...oh how I loooove you! iTunes is blasting in my ears...Olivia Newton John wants to get Physical and Kool Moe Dee is rappin' about the Wild Wild West and Ginger just wants to get up and do a few cartwheels and dance around for a few minutes in this wide open space. But that just isn't done, is it? Us humans have to follow the rules, don't we? No random dancing, NO! Dancing can only happen at weddings and at late night drunken bar runs and in the privacy of your living room when the kids are off to school. Those are the rules and they must be followed lest we endure the judgemental stares from "people". For now I'll settle with a little chair dancing, wallflower style. Nobody puts baby in the corner!

Slight interruption from my good friend Davey updating me on his latest love interest. The boy always has his head in the clouds, hopeless romantic that he is, the conversation is over as quickly as it started, he must get back to the girl. That's always the way, isn't it? Friends become scarce when girlfriends and boyfriends come out to play. If we haven't found it already we're always out looking for our one true love. Sigh.

The guy at the end of the hallway has been smiling ever since he got here 45 minutes ago. His laughter is infectious and the crowd gathered at his table are clearly entertained by his over the top stories, wild hand movements and genuine happiness that exudes from his every cell. I'd love to get closer to hear what is so dang funny but I'm sure that awkard encounter would put a screeching halt to the good time. A tap on my shoulder...it's a tiny Korean woman shoving the daily newspaper under my nose..."Rook! The sperring bee is in da paper!" I thank her for the info and am impressed that she was willing to approach me even though her English is not perfect. I remember how daunting it was to live in Korea and know the language but be so afraid to talk for fear that I would be misundersood or made fun of. Never happened once. I think it's true that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. But I'm still scared of stuff.

Rocky's finished with the written test and makes her way down the hall to where I'm camped out with my laptop, pepsi, make up, peanut butter cookies, cell phone and sunflower seeds. She's chuckling to herself as she tells me that some kids asked for alternate "pronounciations" of words. Is that ironic? Hahaha, Yes, I think it is! We're sitting here sharing my headphones and listening to Journey...Any way you want it! That's the way you need it!!!! I love how an iPod can transform your boring day into a little internal dance party. And can I just say with my out loud voice how much I am enjoying a little alone time with this awesome girl? She was the only child for 5 years and once her brother and sister were born I haven't had much one on one time with her. She is a cool kid who is currently drawing a coconut tree on a beach. Coconut has to be my FAVORITE smell everrrrr!!! It makes me think of beaches and sun and all sorts of deliciousness...tropical drinks, swimming, salty air, and sleeping in a hammock.



I suppose I should post the finale of this story. The real reason we are here is for the Rock Star to shine, not for me to fine tune my people watching skills. So...the family all arrived at lunchtime and we sat around a big round table, all of us together, eating a little something. Sally made us an "invention". Saltine crackers with turkey and cheese...little cracker sandwiches were the invention of the day! We sat patiently through a speech given by last year's winner, man, spelling bee kids are such nerds! I'm surprised he didn't have like a golden dictionary as his trophy. The nerd's speech was charming, but I really had to laugh at his aim high and reach for the stars motivational words...really kid? Is spelling misanthrope really gonna make me a realllly successful ladyyyyy??? I dunno.

Here's what I do know...the announcer lady announced all the finalists for the oral round of the spelling bee. The eight of us sat around the table waiting to hear Rocky's name called. We waited til the end and her name was not called. And there was that split second when we all felt a little defeated by this crazy state spelling bee. Rocky allowed a tear to form in her eye and almost as soon as it was there, it was wiped away and she was off to collect her test results. Poor kid, I think she was shocked by what she found. So many of the words on that list were REALLY hard! I'm impressed she got to go to the State Spelling Bee, amazing kid, that one. I guess she forgot to memorize the dictionary. Sue us!

Back In The Day...The Korea Headache Story

Quick Background: I lived in Seoul, South Korea for 3 years from 1999-2002 with my now ex-husband and oldest daughter who was 2 years old at the time. He was stationed there with the military and I worked as an English teacher part time. Boring stuff outta the way, on to the story...

Having newly arrived in Korea, Ben and I wanted to set out on adventure for the day. We had heard about this amazing place called Lotte World (pronounced low-tay), so we hopped on the subway to see what we could see, Hey! Lotte World is a huge indoor and outdoor amusement park. Along with a huge mall. And food court. And ice skating rink. You could spend days there entertaining yourself. On this day we decided to browse the mall, grab a bite to eat, just take a look around. Soak it all in.

Ginger and Rocky at Lotte World


As we were perusing the various shops, I noticed Ben wasn't feeling so great. He kept rubbing his head and he had this awful scowl on his face. I asked what was wrong and he said he had a headache but didn't have his usual supply of advil with him. I knew if we didn't act fast this headache would be a total buzz kill to our day. I mean...we all know men have a very low tolerance for pain and a headache could mean a few days in bed and chicken noodle soup and could you go get me a movie and where's my coke and fluff my pillow, oh my! Yeah, the man needed to be medicated ASAP!

There was a pharmacy inside the mall but the military had mandated that US military members not enter Korean pharmacies. I suppose they were worried about people buying medicines in Korea that would be illegal in the US. Valid concern I guess, but we needed aspirin and we needed it now! Ben agonized over this...he wanted the headache to be gone but he didn't want to break the rules. We finally came up with the brilliant idea that I could go buy the drugs! I wasn't in the military anymore so clearly I was exempt from their silly rules.

Korean Pharmacy, pronounced kang yak gook. Yak gook is the word for pharmacy, kang is the name of this particular pharmacy.


I walked into the pharmacy, ready to impress the pharmacist with my Korean Language skills and to save the day with a box of aspirin. I looked at the pharmacist and said the following in Korean...well, at least this is what I THOUGHT I was saying.

Ginger: "Hello. My husband has a headache. Do you have any aspirin for his headache?"
Pharmacist: "What?"
Ginger: "My husband has a HEADACHE (louder...because that's what you DO when someone can't understand you.) Do you have ASPIRIN?"
Pharmacist: "What? What do you want?"
Ginger: "HEADACHE. NEED ASPIRIN." (No more polite talk, just blunt and to the point.)
Pharmacist: "Aspirin? Okkkkkk...." (That okkkkk was accompanied by a huge eye roll, by the way.)

I walked out of the store, aspirin in hand feeling totally dejected. All I wanted was to buy some aspirin and impress the Korean dude with my language skills. He didn't seem at all impressed and acted like buying aspirin was the most ridiculous thing in the world!

Ben asked what had taken so long and I said, I don't know I guess he just didn't understand my accent or something because it took forever for him to figure out that I wanted to buy a box of aspirin...all I was said was, "제 남편은 머리카락 있어요. 아스피린 있어요?" Ben stopped opening the aspirin, looked at me and started chuckling. He said, "Oh Ginger...Ginger Ginger Maringer, you just told him that I had HAIR and that I needed aspirin for my HAIR, ha ha ha ha!"

And that is the Korea Headache story...I still giggle about it and try not to be too harsh to the foreigners I meet when they ask ME for aspirin for their hair. I mean, it's the least I can do.