Warning: The longest blog post you have ever read ahead!

The strange thing was after the decision was made to escape to the land of hockey, my life in Korea had an immediate shift to the realm of the more interesting. Sure, I have lots of interesting stories, particularly those relating to the fact that my nickname was “Man Eater” (what does that even mean?!), however, for those last couple months I had toned a lot of stuff down for health reasons, etc. Anyway, those last few days turned out to be epic in true Psycho form.

My flight was booked somewhere around 3AM on Friday morning, which prompted me to have “holy shit” insomnia until I was safely back home six days later. I had the best of intentions for my final weekend in Ulsan. I was going to be a good girl and get all my packing done, and say good bye to the people that had come to mean the most to me on the quiet. However, one of my friends has a bit of a gambling problem, and on that final Friday night my arm was twisted to partake in yet another Busan casino run.

The previous weekend I got suckered in for a poker stint of nearly 48 hours straight. I’ve seen this friend be up 2 Mil and end up in the hole 900K, and it seems I have to spend at least one portion of every trip playing the banker and managing his funds. This weekend was no different. I had told him I would only go on the condition that I did not see the sunrise Saturday morning (for once). We had agreed that we would only stay until 3AM, but of course once 3AM rolled around I was up 500K, and he was down 1.4M. Ouch. Finally, when all the chips were gone, and his bank account had been drained, I succeeded in getting him to take me back to my suitcases maybe 15 minutes before the sun came up. Two days later I would find out that once he dropped me off, he turned around and drove the hour back to Busan and tried to win back his money until 7PM Saturday night. Needless to say, he lost.

When I came to my final Sunday in Korea I had most of the packing finished, and was set to have individual get-togethers with various friends. I was having dinner with Cherry that night over by Lotte Department Store. For some reason I was really nervous about being there like I somehow knew that a showdown was going to take place. As we walked up to the concourse where the restaurant was, I was looking down at my feet hoping not to see who I knew in my gut I was going to see that night. However, as soon as we walked up to the door Cherry explained in a shocked and amused tone that The Dick was on the concourse. I took a deep breath and released a heavy sigh. For two months I purposely went out of my way to avoid him altogether. It’s hard to do successfully when you’re living abroad and the foreign bars in your town are few. After what I had been through because of him, though, I knew something ugly would happen if we had any run ins – and this was the night it was going to go down.

“Great!” I cried in defeat, “Why’d you have to say that? Now I have to go and slap him in the face.” I clutched my weapon of choice firmly in my fist. I figured a leather glove was the best option because I didn’t want to injure my own hand with the amount of force that was going to strike him. Plus a public glove slapping is obviously the ultimate shame for any man. Cherry followed behind me with anticipation he could hardly contain. He had clearly been spending too much time watching reruns of Gossip Girl. When I got to the non-hockey loving American, I tapped him on the shoulder and struck before he was even aware of who was behind him. The look on his face was probably the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. He was totally stunned, and with an unwavering tone I can’t even described he said, “Oh my God. You’re fucking crazy.” It’s the quote of the century.

The thing is he’s right. What I learned from this whole experience is that I am crazy. I knew that before, but now I understand that it’s not quirky, it’s a problem. I get this feeling that I’m too insane to ever actually be with anyone. Anyone half way normal will not be able to handle me, and only scary things can come from a union with someone just like me. But why change? I just don’t care anymore.

My whole relationship with the American was fucked up from the start. For reasons I can’t even explain, my attraction to him was one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever felt in my life. I had seen him around probably five or six times in my first three weeks in Korea. Like I said, it’s unavoidable. But every time I saw him, it wasn’t intrigue or even lust that I felt, it was these horrible unexplainable feelings that I shouldn’t have been having for someone I hadn’t even spoken to or even really made eye contact with. I felt things like jealousy, and frustration, and maybe even anger, or at least some variation on the emotion that may or may not have a name in English. I didn’t even know him yet, and I was already acting like a crazy ex girlfriend. It was like I was already feeling the strain of our relationship before it had even started. I remember the first time he talked to me, my tone was really hostile at the beginning of the conversation. I was practically yelling at him when I asked what his name was.

I think there are two kinds of attractions in this world. There’s the “logical” attraction where on paper you know that this person would be a good catch. Maybe that person has a commercial look, and a good job, and supports your social status. You become attracted to ideas and material things, and make the relationship work solely because you think you should. Then there are the “illogical” ones that you can’t explain. The ones that evoke these strong emotions that seem to come out of nowhere and are directed towards a person you’ve never even met. Consciously you know you shouldn’t be with this person. You’d rather have the person that looks better on paper, but somehow you still can’t fight it. And my God, I swear to you, I didn’t want him. I knew he wasn’t for me; the total opposite of me, in fact. I told myself each time I saw him that it would be the last.

I really believe that we were both constantly straddling the fine line between love and hate. He would act like an angry little boy who wasn’t allowed to buy a new Batman toy when he didn’t get his way. When he was mad he’d do ridiculous things to try to get even with me, like posting questionable Facebook statuses, or “Unliking” the Psycho Lady Hockey page (LOL!). I’m surprised the guy didn’t make a Twitter account to rub his life in my face. However, after something like this would happen, the next minute he’d be on his knees at my front door, slobbering all over me, and begging me to “need” him. It was a volatile situation completely driven on passion. And while a passionate relationship can be fun for a while, it’s definitely not stable, and the fire will eventually just burn out – especially when you have no other common ground to connect on.

So I had glove slapped him (twice) as one final act of unbridled passion for not only the trouble he caused me, but because I felt I lost myself a little just in knowing him. He changed me – that’s for sure. You wonder why this website was quiet for the most part over the last seven months. Hockey had no place in my life. Clinging to hockey was like trying desperately to cling to a past life. It was almost impossible, and hockey started to have a smaller and smaller place in my life. Now that I’m back, I’m trying to test the waters and see if that fire, the one that drove me to hockey arenas all over the world, is still there. But what if it’s not? What if I’m over it? I guess we’ll find out this week.

Anyway, the second slap was four times as hard as the first. I turned away from him in triumph and walked back towards the restaurant where Cherry was watching from with an expression on his face like he had just been watching Brad Pitt make out with a Play Girl model. He would later tell me that he thought this was fate. That God knew I was leaving and gave me one last chance to “slap him in his fucking face.” I never looked back, and I didn’t bother to mention that in less than three days I’d be gone forever.

On Monday I decided I wasn’t going to go to work to simply keep up the façade. I called in sick, which meant that doing last minute errands like closing bank accounts and shipping boxes had to be done incognito a.k.a while wearing a brunette wig. I felt super sketchy walking on certain parts of the road, and turning away from the street while waiting for the lights to change, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Truthfully, I didn’t trust my employer not to fuck with my life if I had given them warning that I was leaving. They could have done something with my bank account, or locked me out of my own apartment. And they seemed to be the type to do this after what they had already proven themselves capable of.

I met up for some Korean BBQ and drinks with friends that night, again being careful to avoid certain places. So, it was a late night, but the insomnia insured that I wouldn’t sleep anyway. Around two in the morning I decided to take a shower. I had packed all but one towel, and I was trying to keep that last towel as dry as possible. So I had opted for the “air dry” option that night, and I was sitting around completely in the buff when I started to hear a banging at my window.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved in seven months ago was that the Winnie the Pooh film they covered my windows with, so people couldn’t see in, was botched. There was a long slit in the side of the window that caused a substantial peephole, which I knew would be trouble if any creepers were to learn of it. Of course, on my second last night the hole would be discovered. Two men tried to break into my apartment for the better part of an hour. I had no options. My cell phone had run out of time, and I didn’t see the point in topping up for another month when I was leaving in two days, so I couldn’t call the police. No one in Korea was on Facebook or MSN at the time, so I couldn’t get someone to help me out. I decided the best course of action was to completely ignore the commotion. I figured if they couldn’t get my attention they might go away. This is actually pretty sound logic. In Korea, men generally assume western women are prostitutes, which, therefore, makes breaking and entering and/or rape an OK thing. Most women who have lived in my city have a story or two about being followed home, or getting propositioned by cab drivers. It’s pretty much a fact of life there.

Without raising suspicion I casually shifted my body away from the window to be less exposed than I already was. I think they were still getting some side boob action, but it clearly wasn’t as much as they were seeing before. Over time I managed to nonchalantly put the towel around myself, and arm myself with a pomegranate stained butcher knife, but the whole ordeal lasted an hour, and I was surprisingly shaken up about it. However, being the opportunist that I am, I decided to think of the best possible way to turn this frown upside down.

*Compose New Message*

Dear guy who is way too hot for me,

Thanks.

I knew it wouldn’t take much. Dangling that last chance carrot is a difficult thing for a guy who already wants you to pass up. I met him a few days after things ended with the American. We went out a few times, but between him going away on vacation, and me leaving town on the weekends to avoid confrontation and alcohol, I just never really made the effort to start anything with him even though I wanted to. He had only just arrived back in town on Sunday, so the timing was kind of good for this whole mess at my apartment to happen, and, of course, he was more than willing to lend me his hospitality.

He is definitely one of the best looking guys I have ever seen, and while he’d probably be considered in the top percentile of attractive people no matter where he went, in Korea, however, this basically translates to him being able to get anything he wants. Not to mention the Ironman competitions, the fact that he wasn’t an English teacher like most of the foreigners there, and the Scottish accent (a.k.a. my new favourite accent a.k.a. Continent Challenge) didn’t hurt his stock either. However, he is probably just as crazy as I am. Our birthdays were four days apart, which made him a psycho Gemini as well. What’s worse was that he even had a Gemini tattoo, so you knew he really identified with the fact that we’re practically born to be semi- bipolar. We probably would have made a scary combination.

I obviously knew what was going to happen that night. He wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart. In the past we’ve been in similar situations. He would lure me over there with red wine and back massages, and I would watch him squirm with great satisfaction as he struggled to take it any further. There’s obviously more incentive to man-up when you know that you won’t get another chance to go for what you want again. But…for my own amusement I still wasn’t going to help him out, though I did manipulate the situation a little bit. “Can we watch one of the movies on your PVR thingie. *Fake shocked gasp* Oh my, what’s this porn folder doing here?! *click*” Yeah, I had made a mental note of said porn file the last time I was there when we were watching 300. I knew I could use it to my advantage some day, and, boy, did I ever! Over brunch the following day, I referred to this act as, “tying up all the loose ends.”

I still couldn’t sleep that night, and in the wee hours of the morning, I crept out of bed and walked over to the window. Since we were so high up, I didn’t have to worry about any peeping toms seeing me stark naked. I watched the spinning beam from the lighthouse just off the coast illuminate the midnight ships as they pulled in and out of the port. It had been months since I had actually appreciated the Korean landscape. I had been so preoccupied with health issues, and high school drama, and couldn’t help but resent everything around me for what seemed like forever. But I stood at that window for at least half an hour that night trying to hold on to that image of the sea and the stars, and remember the prettier parts of my life over the last six and a half months.

Earlier that week, for the first time in my life I was able to see the two different paths I could take. I knew what kind of life I would have if I stayed, and what kind of life I would have if I went back to the old ways. Obviously, on that final night I had no choice but to get on a plane the next morning, and leave everything behind. As I watched the light spinning on the water, I wonder what would have happened if I had chose to live my life like second chances didn’t exist, like every day could have been my last day in Korea. Like, what would have happened if I had seriously tried to get things going with the Scottie-Aussie before my last night on the other end of the Earth? P.S. Remember back in March when I said my mission in Korea was to find the mythical Irish-Australian man?

Yes, even then I was considering that my switch to the Phoenix Coyotes was going to turn sour, and drive me away to the comforting arms of *crosses fingers* an Irish-Australian.

Well, that was before I realized the Scottish accent was way hotter. So, I’m just going to go ahead and give myself the two points and a check in the win column. Anyway, I guess these last few days gave me a new perspective on life.

Did I start to regret my decision that night? Maybe a little. All I can do is hope that something better is waiting for me just off in the horizon. The funny thing was I knew a month earlier that I was going home. Some people have warning signs; numbers or some other “omen” they feel is guiding them on their path. For me, Arizona has come to be that “sign.” Although, I’ll never be sure what the Arizona Prophecy was all about, it still seems to haunt me every now and then. I remember the moment that I knew I was going home. It was about a month before I actually left. We had a new coworker starting. For months we were told that he was coming from the UK, but when he showed up and I introduced myself to him, the accent I heard didn’t match up. “Where are you from?” I asked even though I knew exactly what he was going to say. “Phoenix,” he replied. I smiled the most bitter smile I have ever felt curl across my face, and I even felt myself laughing in the back of my throat. Even though this introduction would take place days before I got my test results from the doctor, and about a week before my employer would screw me over on the medical leave, I thought to myself, “Well, looks like I’m going home.”

Top Photo: Back to brunette. My mother saw me get off the plane and basically got on the phone to her hair stylist LOL!