Sunday, May 5, 2002.
In Korea, porn is called: "Eros." (You'll be tested later in this entry.)
You can get a "condom" hat like that (in the picture below):
when you buy the K-comedy, "The Foul King."Amy's due Date: NINE DAYS and counting. (I think she will be late.)
TATTOOS AND PELVIC EXAMS
It would be a quarter to five. I'd be on the road going to work (the late shift).I'd hit one of two preprogrammed numbers in my cellphone - Amy's cellphone number.
The other number is some tattoo school. I had briefly fantasized about learning how to tattoo in my spare time a while ago. My femininjas and yuhjuh-doe ("way of woman") warriors would be inscribed onto countless living breathing canvases, essentially becoming alive themselves. And possibly possessing the tattoo-wearers when all my plans were set into place.
I even had my own "angle." I mean, how many tattoo artists out there are real medical doctors with artistic talent?
Well apparently, the guy who owned this tattoo school was some sort of medical doctor himself. I only talked to him on the phone but after doing some research, it seemed far too expensive and time consuming. And unrealistic.
"Hel-lo?" Amy answers.
"Hey babkins, what're you doing?" I ask. ("Babkins" is a nickname that is often replaced with "babies," "baby," "babbages," "babilicious," and "baps.")
"I'm driving home. I had my doctor's appointment today."
"How'd it go?"
"I made a lot of noises when the doctor examined me?"
"Wha-? What do you mean, noises?" I ask suspiciously.
"It feels like she sticks her whole hand in there. And I go 'OHOHOHAGHGHGHHG' then I laugh when it's done. The nurse laughs too," Amy clarifies in explicit audio detail.
"The doctor felt the baby's head. She said it's dropped and my cervix is right where it should be. I have to go, baby," Amy says.
"Okay, I'll talk to you later."
"I love you," Amy tells me.
"I love you too," I tell her and she hangs up.
Amy and I were living in different worlds last month. Her work day ends at 5 p.m., while mine would begin at 5 p.m. When I got home, she'd always be asleep. When she went to work in the morning, I was always asleep. We really only got to see each other on weekends.
Sometimes we would see each other on the road driving past one another while one was going home and the other was going to work. Twice while we were actually talking to each other on our cellphones we would see the other drive by and laugh. Sometimes at stop light traffic too.
"Where are you?"
"I'm at 14 mile road now."
"So am I. Are you waiting at the light?"
"Yeah. I'm three cars behind the white truck in the middle lane. Can you see the truck? Where are you?...."
Car-crossed lovers, I guess. Expecting a special delivery from a UPS truck driven by a stork any day now.
It's probably about time I learned how to erase that tattoo school number from my cellphone too.
(I finished my night shift month last week fortunately.)
ALL THE WORLD'S A FETUS
I've been hearing a lot from other couples regarding their babies. Hearing "Oh your life is going to change so much!" Or "are you excited?"
And I'm always like "So I've heard" and "I am (excited, that is)."
I mean, I am, but it's just so hard to imagine that this is the end and beginning of a major point in my life.
The profound thing is that there are very few times in your life when you can honestly say my life is about to change in a HUGE way from here on. And it does.
Like when you move out of your parents' home. Or graduate. Or get married. Or accidentally return your own private homemade tape in place of the weekly K-pop Top10 tape. In Korean, gossip starts with a "K" ("ko-ship").
Actually, getting married didn't feel like much of a change at all for me or Amy. We were having fun before and after pretty much the same. We were pretty much "married" since Year One (or Year Two actually). Marriage didn't spoil anything (except I got stuck with cleaning the kitty litter box).
Even the one-sex-partner-in-my-entire-life thing didn't bother me that much. Amy is the only person I've ever had sex with and therefore the only person I can imagine having sex with. Sure, I joke a lot and have about 2.47 gigabytes of "eros" movies on my hard drive (the tech guys love it when I have to bring my computer in for repairs), but the idea of really having sex with someone else just seems ... alien.
Anyone who really knows me (you can count them on a shop teacher's "slow" hand) knows I wouldn't be caught dead in a hot tub with another person (*shivers*), much less flirting in real life, and definitely not fitting my size 11 in another woman's pink velvety slipper (I'm talking about shoes here, people. Okay ... and I'm really a size 10 1/2 ... or 7/12ths maybe).
But having a baby. That is a life altering milestone, I hear. No turning back from that one. No more "just you and me (and that brain-damage comatose cat)" at home sitting in our underwear (well, one of us at least) in the same place for eight hours straight.
To imagine that any day now my life will be totally different is ... well, really hard to imagine.
For instance, the last time I had a day off at home,
I woke up late (because I went to sleep too late),
surfed for a while,
got up to GRANDMASTER ranking on Virtua Fighter 4 (not an easy task mind you),
tasted something awful in my mouth,
realized that it WAS my mouth,
played some more,
put a shirt on (because my nips were getting cold),
played some more,
et cetera until Amy told me for the fourth time to shower because she wanted to go out to eat.I suspect this highly-productive routine may be altered by having a dependent little baby in the house. (No, ... The LIGER! doesn't count.)
I really am looking forward to finally being able to see and play with Baby Boy (and all that other nasty stuff you have to do). But it's a little hard to imagine I'll be turning into a different person any day now. Moving onto the next stage of life.
A friend (in real life) once told me about the five stages of life that his father had taught him.
"First stage," his Korean father would say, "is birth. Second, starts when you move out of your parents' house and can support yourself. Third is when you get married. Fourth starts when you have children. And the fifth stage you die."
To which my friend, who is single, in medical school, and still lives with his parents, said,
"I think my dad really just wanted me to move out of the house. According to that scale, I'm 29 years old and still a fetus."
So I guess it's getting close to that next stage of life. The really fun (but tiring) part, according to most parents I have talked to. Which I believe, since few things are nicer than a hug from my nieces.
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THINGS AMY SAID
COWORKER: "Should you be eating spicy food while you're pregnant?"
AMY: "THIS BABY'S KOREAN!!!"
CLEANING LADY: "Hey look, Amy's got tight pants on."
AMY: "These aren't tight pants. MY BUTT GOT BIG!"
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Even without their much-missed pictures, I still love reading Tracy and Betty.
