Thursday, December 25, 2014

The Dividing Line

The plan for my birthday was quite simple. We were going to make a fuck tonne of food, hang out, drink and meet up with people. The Kiterunner was coming up to tell stories of her new life as the prize foreigner pet in the Korean monastery system. I would meet a lady friend of my lady love, we would eat, and drink and entertain. In all it sounded like a good plan for the day.

Her phone rings in the afternoon. We had spent most of the day lounging and cooking a turkey. I drank up all her coffee with the gusto of an addict.

“You have plenty of coffee.”

“No, you are addicted, this is your number-one drug, and I don’t have enough to last through your visit.”

“I’ll get you more.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’ll send you more.”

We went back and forth on the coffee for a bit, but she was right. I mused as she regaled me with stories of the Kiterunner’s move, which at this point was taking on the hints of an epic journey into the abyss where only those with the strongest souls would be able to return from the adventure.  So far the strongest souls had been my lady love and her friend Heels, a new girl who had happily wandered into both their lives.

We were waiting for Kitrunner when both our phones lit up “SEND HER DOWN!” was the message as I was basically being summoned to descend and let the Kiterunner in. So I hit the elevator and went to go figure out what was going on while planning and putting together of festivities continued in the kitchen.

I got of the elevator to screaming.


I was being photobombed, but not in the way you think, more in the way of sneaky surprise photos were being taken of me without my knowledge. After the bombing I was instructed to take the large box at her feet and haul it upstairs. The box contained a good amount of cheese, booze, and (for no readily apparent reason) enough pretzels to kill a man. We sat around and talked, drank, I napped, and generally amused ourselves until Heels and my lady love’s husband returned home.

“What do you want to drink? How about tequila? Did you show her the tequila?” Kitrunner asks. At this point they pull out a bottle of tequila, as liquor was apparently a fun part of the move that had been entertaining people for weeks.

“OH MY GOD, I have the tequila, at least it is a liquid.” Unlike, apparently a bottle of Irish cream that had been unearthed from 20+ years of accumulated nonsense, the tequila was still drinkable. Granted, it had been originally bottled sometime in 1994, but it had been kept in reasonable good condition and so, was therefore, something that could still be consumed.

We enjoyed our conversation, and later our turkey. Heels turned out to be good company, as did the husband, and we were all stuffed full of turkey, chicken, and other Thanksgiving sundries, though I skipped out on most of the carbs and went for the booze instead. We relaxed, expats in a strange land enjoying the most American of traditions while discussing at length our lives and troubles, our amusement with Korea. It was the most family thing I had done all year, and one of the most worthwhile.

How strange it is that 6,000 miles is often the dividing line between me and family.

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