Hermit Kingdom: My apartment.

Yes, I'm the worst person in the world and I'm ignoring my phone again. Mr. Willie takes off back for The Real World today -- best of luck to our mister -- he will certainly be missed by this little hermit.

I had vague intentions, after growling a big, overly dramatic "noooooooo I'm not drinking ANYMORE!" down the phone to him last night, of ringing Smalltown to see if he'd be up for Indian food this afternoon, but blew it off in favor of scrubbing my bathroom for an hour, finishing yet another book, and going to the coffee shop up the way to try to make headway in the gigantic All of Korean History Ever book I've been creeping through (I'm almost up to 1945!).

One of the most annoying things one can encounter out in public (especially when one is already straining over generic jazz music blasting from a semi-faulty speaker overhead to understand a history book on a subject one is generally completely ignorant of) is The Young Korean Couple. God bless 'em. I'm happy for them, really. But do they always have to sit right next to me? I'm sort of asking for it, stepping foot in a coffee shop in the ROK to begin with. But between her smacking her kimbap in an intentionally childish, "cute" manner, literally whining and stomping her feet for no apparent reason, and him calling just about everyone in his phone book just to ask where they are and flamboyantly cuss them out for whatever their answer is, I really just want to pull a 9mm out of my bag and hold them at gunpoint, insisting they commit self-criticism and reform, for the good of the Korean public.

I try to be understanding that Koreans generally don't encounter the opposite sex in any real way until university, reasoning that American fourteen year olds can be seen making the same kind of scenes all over Bumblefuck, Middle America. But sometimes it's hard not to have a visible, physical reaction to a twenty-something grown ass woman letting out a high pitched shrieking whine, followed by a swift smack right across her boyfriend's face. Playful, of course. It's perplexing, to say the least.

Anyway, I didn't last long in that environment, pathetically milling through about 20 pages in just over an hour, so I peaced the fuck out and headed to the shop up the road to grab a screwdriver to put together some small furniture and some junk to make a nice Western dinner, which will be lovely after weeks of nothing but Korean food (even at home). Fuck the world. I can make a better iced coffee than anyone else in the ROK, and inside my apartment, I don't have to wear pants to read! It's a win-win.

And no more alcohol. Ever. Or at least for the next three incoming phone calls.