I Battled Yo Mama, In 5-7-5

As I’m sure you all remember (because honestly, how could you forget), back in December my friend Jeremy, the head honcho over at Gosen Community Effort, had a fundraiser comprised of a 90s dance battle to raise money for those kids who want to attend high school way out yonder in Namibia.  Word To Yo Mama’s High Waisted Jeans won the glory of the champion title, and my ass got a beating on the concrete.  But a good ass beating is sometimes worth it.

Well, it was about time for another one of those fundraisers, and this time Polio swindled me into competing in his damn Yo Mama Haiku battle.  He wooed me with bribes like “it’s an opportunity for self growth” and “you’ll probably win”, along with the daily Kakao’d haiku for good measure.  I gave in, but as each day passed, I really wanted to bail because my nerves were rising. I couldn’t handle anymore nerves on my plate!  Then all the shit that Polio would give me for bailing, coupled with that damned opportunity for self growth, cancelled my escape route.

The fundraiser went down at the new Southern Sons bar, owned by some chingus from Texas, where 8 battlers competed for the best in Yo Mama shit talking. Each pair of us were given a topic ~ stupid, fat, bald, and so on, that we had to write 3 Yo Mama jokes in haiku form for, except for the finals, which consisted of 5 haikus on anything shaming Yo Mama.  For those who don’t know what a haiku is, I don’t know how you graduated 5th grade, but in any event, it follows a syllable format of 5-7-5.

After each battle we went around and hustled the crowd for raffle tickets that attendees purchased, and at the conclusion of each round raffle tickets were counted and winners progressed to the next round. The perk of having all your remaining friends still living in the country in attendance means you find yourself in the finals like so.

haiku battle

I actually cringe when I listen to my voice in these battles, but you gotta put on yo gangsta face when duty calls. This clearly proves that A) I don’t have a good poker face and can’t not laugh at my competition, B) I am so white, and C) this was a good outlet for my vulgar mouth.

Now here I grace you with the awkwardness of a Haiku Battle.  A video of round 1 and the finals, and a photo of round 2 against the guy I thought should have won. HE WAS SO FUNNY! There’s no video of it though because I guess all of my friends were too enamored by my haiku spitting about yo mama’s mustache to capture a video.

round 2

“Yo mama so bald, She used all your dad’s back hair, To make her own weave.”

In the end, I came in 2nd place, or as I like to put it, 1st is the worst, 2nd is the best. It turned out to be so much fun and I’m so happy I did it, even if I wasn’t the 2 time fundraising champion.  Also, given that I want to tackle doing stand up at least once in my life, ’twas a nice little segue.

I hope you enjoyed, and peace and yo mama’s mustache grease.


WTF?! Wednesday ~ A Poo-tiful Afternoon At Mr. Toilet House Museum

We’re gonna get shitty with today’s WTF?! Wednesday.  And when I say shitty, I mean it in the most entertaining of ways possible.

Korea has this really odd fascination with poop, and well, poop is hilarious to me so it works out swimmingly. A past boyfriend and I always used to have long weird conversations about poop and all the whathaveyous of it, but that was in the privacy of our own banter (and apparently now the rest of cyber space). Little did I think that many years down the line I’d move to a country that for some strange reason has a very impassioned love affair with the matter. But I did, and I’ve documented the mosaic’d and artistically crafted shit throughout this weird country I live in.

Well, unbeknownst to me, the shitty (“city” said with a Korean accent) of Suwon is where the great Toilet Culture Movement started, and since it’s inception in the late 1990s by Mr. Sim Jae-duck (respectfully nicknamed Mr. Toilet), it has really swept the nation and beyond in an effort to improve the “toilet culture” for all mankind. His dedication to the cause birthed the Mr. Toilet House Museum, and I of course had to make a trip down there.  So me, Andria and the beautiful Steven made an excursion down south to get educated in the culture of excrement.

mr. toilet

Nestled deep in Suwon is Haewoojae, otherwise known as Mr. Toilet House.  This museum and poop park used to be the home of Mr. Toilet, who after having been born in his grandmother’s toilet and nicknamed Gaetong-i (doggy poop), felt an intense connection to the porcelain God for the remainder of his life. His love of the toilet ranged from ensuring that toilets were hygienic and efficient, to remodeling his house in the shape of a toilet bowl. Talk about a passionate man!

toilet house

When you first arrive at Mr. Toilet House, you are greeted by Toile, the mascot of the museum. He is a, and I quote, “cute little poop character” there to guide you on your journey through the world of toilet culture.


The museum is really bizarre, as you can imagine. It basically consists of old photos chronicling the growth of the Toilet Association, the evolution of the toilet since the 1950s, really graphic pooping statues, and different toilet symbols from around the globe.  Shockingly, I have never seen any of these so I’m calling bullshit on them. But still, funny nonetheless.

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My personal favorite big breasted woman enjoying some alone time.


In the middle of the bottom floor in Mr. Toilet House is the bathroom, which we only thought was for show.  However, this bathroom is actually functional and pretty special because A) when the lights are turned on from the inside, you can watch everyone outside while you do your business, but the glass is opaque from the outside, and B) because Mr. Toilet hovers over you as you relieve yourself. He may even get a special treat as well (if he’s lucky!)



When you decide to exit the actual house, there is a poop park outside. This park shows the evolution of the toilet since the before Christ days.

Baby’s first toilet ~ Mom’s hand.


Years of perfecting that squat, and it still suffers from stage fright in Southeast Asia.


Cute pooping friends.


Some would say they do their best thinking on the toilet.


Stepping in shit has never looked or felt so awesome!


In all seriousness though, I guess we really can thank Suwon and Mr. Toilet for the cleanliness of the public restrooms in Korea. I was telling Jin this morning about our gallivanting at the Toilet museum, and she told me that prior to the 2002 World Cup in Korea, the public restroom situation was actually really disgusting. In order to make the facilities more appealing to the foreign community visiting Korea, the Toilet Association of Suwon stepped in to tidy things up.  Since then, the “toilet culture” of Korea has been held to very high standards.

There is also a video at the end of the tour showing the devastation that comes from the lack of proper toilets in nearly 40% of the world. As a result, 2 million people die each year from waterborne contagious diseases.  Ridiculous museum with a meaningful message, I suppose. I wonder if they actually donate the money from the Toilet Angels to fund toilet installation in less fortunate countries.


Happy pooping peeps, and remember: “The first thing a human being is required to do for sustainable life is to defecate.  That is why feces can be such a ‘poo-tiful’ (beautiful) thing.”

WTF?! Wednesday ~ Would You Like Some Pig Midriff?

I’ve been super busy the past couple weeks, so apologies for my neglect on the WTF?! Wednesday front. I’m going to be moving when I return from Bali at the end of August, so Jeewon and I have been lugging our sweaty asses threw dingy shoebox apartment one after another until I finally found a cute little one bedroom to call my own! Praise all that is glorious and holy in this universe! My Vice Principal can finally lay off the overbearing mother role.

Now onto the weird.

This week and next week I have English camp, so that means I get off work at 12:40 everyday. This leaves lots of time to run errands and mosey around town in the sweltering dumpling cooker weather. On Monday I had to visit the US Embassy to add 48 more pages to my passport (!!!!), so I went on a long stroll after I was done with that.

The Embassy is located in my favorite part of Seoul, the Gwanghwamun/Jongno area. As I was just wandering down one of the tiny side streets in search of a naengmyeon restaurant to cool myself down, my eyes caught this awesome menu item.


Yes, would anyone care for some PIG MIDRIFF for dinner? I don’t know about you, but when I think of pig midriff I think of a pig dancing around in a belly shirt circa the Britney Spears hey day era. It also comes by the “slaughter expert’s recommendation”.

So yea, instead of some pork belly, you get a PHAT slab of midriff. I hope it tastes sexy.

WTF?! Wednesday ~ A Row Of Phalluses

HI guys! Another week, another WTF?! Wednesday! It totally crept up on me this week because my weekend all blended together.  I was chosen to go on a 4 day trip with the Seoul Office of Education to the island of Dokdo along with 35 other native English teachers, so the weekend and the week have flown! That being said, a post about Dokdo will be coming shortly because that is a very special island to the people of Korea, so you’ll want to hear a little bit about it.  You’ll also want to know why I’ve since acquired a new sense of good luck now that I’ve been there.

ANYWAYS, for this week’s WTF?! Wednesday I’m presenting you with something phallic.  I think it’s absolutely odd that Korea has parks and sculptures enshrined all over the country dedicated to the male member, when anything related to sex is so taboo.  Many Koreans when asked don’t even know the scientific words for penis or vagina.  It’s BIZARRO.

While in Samcheok this weekend, we were walking up to the top of a mountain to pray (for the millionth time) for good weather so that we’d be able to reach Dokdo’s holy soil.  As we were walking, we passed this row of glorified penises. The boys I was with walked right past them at first, but I of course caught wind of them and lept at the photographic opportunity.


Korea, you cray!


65 Is The New 31 If You’re A Baller.

Absolutely nothing about the following song reminds me of the Baller, except for one significant opening line…..”You remind me of my Gucci shoes.”

During our first year out of college, Bret and I used to talk on the phone every morning on our horrendously long traffic filled commutes to work. Along with hearing about his morning coffee consumption and other morning *movements*….I got to hear his sweet “sweet” rendition of Monica’s A Dozen Roses. Only for the longest time, I had absolutely NO idea what song he was singing because his annoying, nasally, almost Urkel-esq version was so far off from the sultry jam, that I was floored when I finally heard the actual song he was mimicking. He still doesn’t understand where my auditory disconnect went awry.

His awful singing voice aside, per his Facebook page, Bretty is turning a ripe 65 years young today, and his bone structure wouldn’t let you believe he’s a day over 31. He is the reason I love White Russians, why I’ll always find being called a whore endearing (but only by him of course), why I’ll always refer to that *classy* blue liquor that only grill-wearing ballers drink as “The Hypo”, why I’ll always remember my Women in Film class because of his incessant knee shakes, why men’s ties and the word “Façonnable” will always roll off my tongue, and why a New Years Eve will always be somewhat empty if he’s not there to grace me with his *sensational* hip-swiveling and claptastic dance moves. He’s the best roomie I’ve ever had, and the best platonic manfriend a girl could ever ask for. He’s the baller to my whore, and thank you UCSB and that lovely apartment complex on one Segovia Rd. for introducing us.

Oh, and Happy 31st Birthday old man. I hope your racquetball ankle sprain heels in a jiffy.

Now for a little time travel complete with a dance video, or two, because this post would be incomplete without.  Apologies in advance for the embarrassment.

I think this is the first photo we took as the best foursome of neighbors on the block. By this time I knew his name and wasn’t calling him “the Matthew McConaughey guy” anymore.


Winter came, Natty Lite and White Russians got us super acquainted, I called him Doug Funnie nose, and I actually remember this hug quite vividly. We totes became BFFs then and there.


I turned 21. White Russian, sweaty face and awful tank top. He also cracked open his very special bottle of “Hypo” on my very special day.


He especially loved 2am wake-up calls from his awesome sisters and their friends down the way when he had water polo practice in 4 hours.


He loved repaying the favor by jumping on his sister while he was intoxicated and she was trying to sleep. This is actually still one of my all time fave Baller/Jones photos. High 5!


We also had Three’s Company naptime on the famous couches after a long day of watching Sex and the City or Desperate Housewives, two of Bretty’s favorite TV shows.


Then the Baller and Whore 1 & 2 graduated ❤ Santa Barbara would have never ever been the same without these two.


After graduating, Bret moved back up north to Coup Town and me to LA, and I was SO sad, but it honestly never really felt like it, aside from not seeing him everyday.  Since then we’ve spent I think nearly every New Years Eve together and a couple trips either him down to LA or me up to San Francisco within the years.

Botched trips up north for Oktoberfest, only to be greeted with the alternate gay Love Fest, have never been sweeter.


And mind-altering afternoons in LA laughing our asses off while watching Borat have never been funnier.

When I came home after a year and a half in Korea, the Baller (and Rami!!) came to LA for my birthday weekend, and it was the best gift ever!!


We of course danced, and he spent a lot of time practicing his dance moves and gettin’ low…..his “specialty”.


A tribute to the Baller wouldn’t be complete without documentation of some of those masterpieces he likes to whip up. Please. Indulge your eyeballs.

Here he is dancing to his own natural rhythm. His own essence. Really feelin’ that music. Pardon the side angle.

And rounding it all out with my personal fave. Everytime I watch this video I can’t not laugh. It gets me every, EVERYtime.

Love you to the moon Baller, and I hope you get over your fear of Asian cuisine and come visit me in the Orient. I’ve got a live octopus with your name on it waiting.




Your favorite Whore

WTF?! Wednesday

Hi guys!! Quick lil thang first off! I’ve decided to make an ever-so-slight change to my Wednesday weekly posting and will now be calling it WTF?! Wednesday.

Since Korea is a dream boat for all things weird and WTF, this will give me free reign to show you all the great Engrish fails PLUS all the other amazingly ridiculous things this country has come up with.  It’s absolutely fascinating.

SO, for today’s WTF?! Wednesday, I’m treating you to one of my personal faves.  This photo just goes to show that anything goes and zero f*cks (or many, according to this young lady’s head piece) are given over here in the name of fashion.  In this girl’s case I wouldn’t really qualify a bucket hat as fashionable, but that’s neither here nor there.

I was sitting across from this girl on the subway, and when I looked up from my phone I had to do a double take and reread because I thought my eyes were fooling me. They weren’t, and BOY what a statement she chose to make!

The hat really is a masterpiece.


Your eyes are not deceiving you.  It does in fact say “FUCK IT” around the entire bucket and rim.

Perhaps her boyfriend broke up with her the day she made the purchase? Or she just liked the style? Or she’s never listened to rap music? Or foreign movies? I’m at a loss.

Whatever the reason, she gave zero fucks that day and it definitely made my day!

KoKo’s Resident Klutz

I was sitting with Jeewon, Tim and Andria Friday night at a failed evening of watching Reservoir Dogs on the rooftop at Platoon in Gangnam, and somehow my still (almost 2 months later) sprained ankle came up.  Then I got to pondering all my epic falls since coming to Korea.  I mean, if anyone knows me you know I’m a klutz, but ever since coming to this country I seem to have forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other.  It’s a bit absurd, I’m the first to admit.

Well, I made a tiny list of some of my goodies so they’ll never ever be forgotten once the bones heal and the bruises fade.

1 – ~6: Winter 2011

While still learning how to walk on snow and ice, I had quite a few tumbles that first winter. Many of them were in the Family Mart right by my school.  And many came back to back, as in right after I got up I fell back down again, and took down a few bags of chips with me. Actually, I could probably tack on a few more falls to that number up there, but we’ll just keep it at ~6 for my own sanity.

Remarkably, this past winter I don’t recall falling in the snow.  Job well done, me.

Note: Don’t wear Uggs in the snow.

7. Japanese Karaoke Room during a typhoon

During a typhooning evening in Kyoto, Japan,  30 bottles of sake took over a karaoke room.  Somewhere between not all of it making it into the appropriate glasses, and my own sheer excitement over singing the next Celine Dion or Disney tune, I collided with a puddle of sake on the ground and nearly broke my hand.  It didn’t feel right for a good month afterwards, but somehow it healed itself, and Japan will go down as how I came to be Noraebang obsessed.

8. 80s Roller Derby

This is easy.  I hadn’t legit roller skated in a really long time and someone had extra WD40’d those roller skates because were really slippery.  It was a given that I was going to plummet either face first or tuchous first. Thank heavens I’ve been blessed with a padded posterior.

9. 90s Dance Off for Namibia

The floor was slippery, I was in tap shoes.  It was a recipe for disaster.  At least I can say I tapped my ass off and we WON.  Let’s relive it again, shall we? It gets good at 2:26. And really good at 2:34.


2 weekends ago was Buddha’s Birthday so we had a 3 day weekend.  Andria and I decided we wanted to breathe some fresh air, so we headed out of Seoul and up to Paju, about 45 minutes away by bus, and about a hop, skip and a jump from the North Korean barbed wire border. Despite the locale, it’s a really cute little town with lots of coffee shops and random little art and chatchky galleries that we were excited to take advantage of.

But that’s besides my point right now.

Before I even stepped foot in Hyeri, the area of Paju that we were going to, my fun had already begun!

As I was swiping my T-Money card to get off the bus, I somehow missed the middle step in my footing, and in a nanosecond my whole body went repelling downwards.  I was caught somewhere between a lunge and a split from the top to the bottom step, and GOD BLESS my cat like reflexes, because if I hadn’t jut my arms all the way up and back to grab those metal bars I surely would have eaten that pavement and my teeth straight off the bus. My wallet went flying back and all I could scream to Andria was “SWIPE MY CARD!” Heaven forbid I get charged an extra 2,000won on the return having not swiped out on this journey!

Shockingly, the whole bus of Koreans let out gasps of horror, which is quite unusual, as people are so mum here and usually have nothing to do with people when something horrific or embarrassing happens on any mode of public transport. Anyways, I hoisted my lame body up and *gracefully* moved out of the way of the bus, let out a few cryscreams at the side of the rode as I held my aching knees, and checked to see if my tights had ripped (they hadn’t). Then I let out the heartiest laugh.  OF COURSE I FELL OFF A BUS.

This is what my left leg looked like the next day.  BATTLE WOUNDS.


Fallin’ all over the world since this epic fall at the Colosseum of Rome in 2006.

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