So I write this as I wait for the food my host mother ordered for me. I got home this afternoon around 5 having not eaten anything all day except 3 cups of coffee and a strawberry cream puff. I stopped at this place called Vavas to get one of these things that I've been eyeing on their sign for a while, turns out it's just a waffle with ketchup, cheese, a single slice of peperoni, and msg inside. I then figured I'd stop at the street vendor that lives outside my house, but she was closed down. I actually think she packed up for the winter, but her truck is still there and I guess it's not a crime to leave your car obstructing the roadway for multiple weeks because now that I think about it, I haven't seen her since I went to Seoul 3 weeks ago. Anyway, I got home and my host mother informed me that she had a toothache and was going to the bathhouse so she would not cook dinner tonight. She told me that I would go out to dinner with my host dad and brother, probably because the dad doesn't know what a stove is and doesn't want his son to prove how domestic he can be (that's another story for another day). I should make it clear that the dad also confirmed this time with me when he came home. The point is with all this banter, that at 7pm when I was informed we would go across the street to eat, I realized that the brother was still not home. I had no problem with his tardiness as I was catching up on some of my old favorites, such as The Negotiator with Samuel L. Jackson and Kevin Spacey (I'm aware that that phrase is used with novels and not movies, and that's the joke). God, I'm totally distracted, I need that fucking food. I'm not even writing in paragraph form, Patrick's gonna rag on me for sure. Ok, so then, after the movie finished, I realized that it was 7:30 and the brother was still MIA and the father behind his closed bedroom door. So I knocked on the door and heard no response. Then, like magic, the front door swung open to reveal a strange man. This man came to change the lightbulb that my host father has been struggling to change for 2 weeks. I'm not joking. I would have offered to help him, but I just don't give a damn about it, and it's funnier to watch him stand on a chair for 10 minutes every other day and fail. I constantly think about the joke: How many ______ does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Unfortunately, he wasn't able to finish the joke for me because he called in a professional (the guy even brought his own step ladder). Jesus Christ! I'm off the wall with hunger. Ok, so after said repairman enters, I think to myself, "oh, maybe I was supposed to meet them at the restaurant at 7pm! When did the host dad sneak by me? Shit. I should go and see if they're there!" Well, I debated my tactic, because as those who have visited Korea know, you can't enter any store, restaurant or department store without being doted upon and (in my opinion) harrassed by the employees. So I figured I'd just sneak around and look through the windows of the place. It didn't seem out of line to do because every local here assumes I'm a criminal anyway. But just as I was putting my sweatshirt on, the door opens again, but this time it's my host mother and she is curious as to why I'm not at the restaurant. She asks if we already ate and I say, "no". She then marches into the bedroom and starts speaking (though it all sounds like heated language to me) to the father. I can hear his responses and he's just groaning, not out of pain, but annoyance; also, "uh" in Korea is slang for "yes" which is what I heard a lot of from the bedroom. There's actually no bed, so I guess it should be called a yohroom, but that's besides the point. THE POINT IS, my father is a deuchebag and could have at least told me that we weren't going out to eat, which I still wonder why we didn't. Some things will remain a mystery. And look at this perfect timing (well I guess you can't see, and for most of you it's way past the fact), but here is my Dol Sot Bibimbap!