Wednesday, March 23, 2016


Dude....after nearly 40 years of never winning contests (except fair princess once when I was 17, but that town was only made up of 300 people, so I'm not sure it counts) I actually won something!!

One of my favorite wig boutiques had a giveaway and I scored a very high end wig that I never would've afforded on my own.

Check it out....

Boom. Today I answer to "Glamazon". Booyah!

Thanks Heather! Click here to check out her store...she's fantastic, and her prices are comparable! (I love that!)

Sunday, March 20, 2016


My family and I went to a neighborhood in Seoul called Itaewon yesterday. It was a nice outing, mostly done because it's finally looking like spring here in South Korea, but also because there are a lot of English speaking stores/restaurants, etc, since there is an American military base nearby. The kids especially like the English bookstore, where they can get books written in the coveted English. (There is a library at their school, but popular books go fast, and my kids--much like their mother--prefers to own books they love. What can I say? We're book people.)

Look at this sculpture! Koreans love sculptures. They're everywhere...and so random!
I have weird kids.

While we were there, I stumbled upon a wig store, and did a happy dance. Having alopecia in South Korea is no walk in the park. For starters, women with hair loss here don't talk about it openly. It, like most everything else, is taboo, and so it's not like I can walk into a wig store in my little home city of Songdo and walk out with some lovely Jon Renau wigs to tide me over. And sadly, hair loss (for me) represents a loss of control, and I like having lots of wigs in lots of styles and colors, so that I can change them with my moods. This gives me back some of that "control" I feel like I've lost. But wig stores in South Korea. Or, not many, that is.

More sculptures...

Luckily for me, though, I found one in Itaewon. It caters more to black clients, and the occasional Korean, rather than painfully white, bordering on translucent, 40 year old me. Most of the wigs were pitch black in color, much too dark for me, but there were a couple that were light enough for me to try on. And lo and behold, I found one! Score! It was considerably cheaper than the wigs I order in America, so I don't expect it to last very long at all. And it doesn't feel like exceptional quality, but it looks cute! And I was able to alter the front hairline and create a part to make it look more natural once I got home. (It was super easy...I love YouTube!) All it will take is some darker eyebrow pencil to make it match, and maybe just maybe I can pull it off. (The woman who sold it to me--who is from Senegal--laughed as I was trying them on, and congratulated me on my first "black wig," and said she hoped I'd be back for more.)

Occasionally, I don't feel like such an outsider here in South Korea.  :)

Oh, I almost forgot to mention: we got some baklava! Itaewon is a great neighborhood for scoring international food... i.e. NOT Korean food. Barf. This place is crawling with taco joints, burger joints, and Turkish food. Which, is one of my favorites. The baklava is tremendous. And everywhere! I was in heaven. Because....well...baklava.

I like my new wig a lot. Whatcha think?

All in all, it was a good day outside in the sunshine. What did you do this weekend, reader and writer friends?


Thursday, March 10, 2016

Need a weekend read? How about one for only 99 cents....

Still haven't read The Art of Being Indifferent? Wet your whistle with an excerpt today: 

“No. Sorry.” I put my hands out. “I’m just… I dunno, getting to know you. Small talk.”

Her expression softened. “Sorry. Guess I’m used to people coming down on me.”

“I can relate.” I chucked another rock towards the water. “But seriously, you’re smart. Like, really smart. You could become anything. What would it be? A doctor? A lawyer?”

“Whatever.” Posey snorted. “How many doctors do you know that were former foster kids?”

My insides twisted even more. Is that what she thought of herself? That she was just a foster kid, and nothing more? “Come on,” I argued. “Don’t let that define you. I don’t let the fact that my dad’s an asshole define me.”

“Fine.” She looked at me through the corner of her eye. “A music teacher.”

My head snapped in her direction. “A what?”

Again, Posey grinned, and I caught a glimpse of that dimple. Hells bells, that thing was going to be the death of me. “Keep up, Drew,” she said, laughing. “I would be a music teacher. Probably for grade school kids. I love music. Sometimes…” She took a deep breath, and tugged her iPod out of her pocket.
“Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me hanging on. I keep it with me all the time.”


Posey was infinitely deeper than I’d given her credit for. Beneath the emo-girl top layer there were layers and layers of emotion and intelligence that nobody else at school got to see. It really sucked, too. If they knew how cool Posey was, they would feel like complete tools.

“Yeah, really.” She nodded. “What about you, Golden Boy? What keeps you hanging on? What do you want to do with your life? Besides get away from your dad?”

“What keeps me hanging on?” I looked up at the sky, once again grey and filled with clouds. “Swimming, I guess. I mean, I didn’t choose it for myself. My dad sort of chose it for me. But… I’m good at it. And when I do it, I feel strong. Powerful.” I felt Posey’s gaze on me, and ignored the way my stomach clenched.

“When I’m in the water, I can’t hear anything. I don’t hear my teachers, or my mom, or the coach, or my dad. I just hear my thoughts. And it’s perfect.”

“It’s your escape,” she said softly.

I nodded. “Yup.”

“So what about the future? What do you want to do in the long term?”

Closing my eyes, I tried to picture myself somewhere in my thirties. What the hell was I doing? How the hell was I paying the bills? “I have no idea,” I said finally. “I’ve never thought beyond swimming until I get that scholarship. I can see myself in college. Walking to classes and studying into the night, and all that crap. But I have no idea what the end result will be. I keep hoping that once I am away from here, away from him, I’ll be able to figure it out.”

I didn’t have to explain who I was talking about. Posey knew. And she was the only person in the world who actually got it.

“I’m sure you will.” She tugged her hand free of my hoodie, and patted my knee. “I have no doubt about it.”

Thursday, March 3, 2016


People change their mind. It's part of human nature to grow and evolve. 

Tastes in music or cuisine change. Feelings towards others wax and wane. Acceptance of others fluctuates. I've seen liberals go conservative, and conservatives go liberal. I've watched people of faith become agnostic, and even atheist, and back again. 

I've heard relatives throw around racial or gay jokes and slurs, only to change their tune in recent times. I went to high school with folks who peppered their conversations with very non-PC terms, and insulting generalizations every day, who now fight for civil rights. I could list off a few dozen contradictions and inconsistencies in the politics and religions of most of the people I know, publicly label them hypocrites, and mock them for their flip-flopping, but I choose not to. 

Because to change is to be human. 

To hate something one day, and appreciate it the next is normal. It's part of the natural man. It's part of life, this ebb and flow, and anybody claiming otherwise is purposefully ignoring their own evolution. Nobody's record is spotless, and growth and change is inevitable. 

Just because someones change is different from yours, or contradicts what you (currently) believe, doesn't mean their change is flawed, but yours is acceptable.