Elyse Sewell (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} elysesewell) wrote,@ 2008-03-24 20:49:00 |
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third girl
Spring sprung suddenly on Korea; sap rising, spirits high, weltschmerz practically nonexistent. I've been tripping through the streets scantily clad, perpetrating obnoxious sillinesses like sniffing at my arm appreciating the way the scent of my new Korean rosemary soap lingered on my pelt. Mm, spring fever.
I had this lush lunch:
At this cool place:
And I found a sweet potato-flavored snack cake that I liked the first time I came to Seoul in 2005. Unfortunately, my #1 favorite snack from that trip, the soft tomato-flavored popsicle, seems to have been deep-sixed.
Kvetchka has returned to deepest Siberia, leaving behind only the bag of millet that she would make for breakfast, hot, with milk and sugar. She was replaced immediately with Becky. She's from Tashkent, but in reply to my thrilling conversational gambit, "So you are Uzbek?" she shrieked, possibly offended, "No! I am Russian and Tartar!" Hm, OK. I haven't a clue about which races of Mother Russia don't want to be mistaken for which. Incidentally, Kvetchka's final treachery was to break this posted rule, leaving me with a tolet stool full of soil into which I DROPPED MY STICK DEODORANT. This is no small matter; a tube of Secret is a treasure to hoard here on the continent of the rolling-ball kind.
And finally, this isn't a club banger, just a quick video of my eerily quiet ride on the train Saturday afternoon.
Spring sprung suddenly on Korea; sap rising, spirits high, weltschmerz practically nonexistent. I've been tripping through the streets scantily clad, perpetrating obnoxious sillinesses like sniffing at my arm appreciating the way the scent of my new Korean rosemary soap lingered on my pelt. Mm, spring fever.
I had this lush lunch:
At this cool place:
And I found a sweet potato-flavored snack cake that I liked the first time I came to Seoul in 2005. Unfortunately, my #1 favorite snack from that trip, the soft tomato-flavored popsicle, seems to have been deep-sixed.
Kvetchka has returned to deepest Siberia, leaving behind only the bag of millet that she would make for breakfast, hot, with milk and sugar. She was replaced immediately with Becky. She's from Tashkent, but in reply to my thrilling conversational gambit, "So you are Uzbek?" she shrieked, possibly offended, "No! I am Russian and Tartar!" Hm, OK. I haven't a clue about which races of Mother Russia don't want to be mistaken for which. Incidentally, Kvetchka's final treachery was to break this posted rule, leaving me with a tolet stool full of soil into which I DROPPED MY STICK DEODORANT. This is no small matter; a tube of Secret is a treasure to hoard here on the continent of the rolling-ball kind.
And finally, this isn't a club banger, just a quick video of my eerily quiet ride on the train Saturday afternoon.
