Ajuma Wars: Return of the Mad
For those of you loyal readers who've been following along with our international modeling saga, there's been a new... ummm... altercation. I'll get to that in a sec. I just want to thank those of you out there that are loyal readers. It's kind of nice to know that someone is reading my tortured prose besides my obliging husband and dutiful mother. And I really appreciate the comments, too. Of course, I've opened up the comments section to a whole host of advertisers as well. Don't be surprised if when reading the comments section you are informed of medical break throughs guaranteed to make your dick grow by three inches. It'll happen. Soon.
Anyway....
So last time, we left our two international modeling agents, Ajuma (pronounced "ah-joo-ma") and Ajuma the Second, arguing in the Burger King over would lay claim to my sweet cherubs. Well, no. That's not entirely true. I did have that crazy run in with Ajuma II near the hemorrhoid creams at the PX. Yes, yes. Now I remember. How could I forget?
Then we did the Cheju trip with Gina, an entirely unrelated third party. It was a good trip other than my near death run in with streptococcus from which I'm finally completely healed up. And after that, well, we heard nothing from any of the international modeling agents. I just figured we had had our fifteen minutes of fame, collected our thousand bucks, and were now retired from the scene. I didn't really give it much thought. But today, as I pulled into the parking lot of our gym, I thought about how nice it would be to bring in just a bit of money to cover the monthly cost of our gym membership and the kids' activities.
"Wouldn't it be nice?" thinks I.
Not fifteen minutes later, as I was attempting to purge myself of these 15 recently regained pounds (yes, I did say FIFTEEN! What's it to ya?) on the elliptical trainer, my phone rang.
"Hello?" I panted, praying it wasn't a call from either kid's school.
"Hedderpeet?" Yes, the voice on the phone referred to my name as one big, long, ugly word.
"Yessssssssss..." I responded with a nugget of suspicion dipped in honey sauce. "Yes, this is Heather Peet."
"This is [Ajuma], international modeling agent. I want your kids tomorrow. Is it okay? Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? For what? What time?" I asked. Really, what I wanted to say was, "Who? What? When? Where? And can't you tell I'm this close to dying here on this elliptical? Leave me alone!" I refrained, however.
"One o'clock. Okay? I pick you up? Okay?"
"Ummm... okay." Remember now, I cannot say "no." It is just not in my temperament.
"Okay. Bye." And then she hung up.
This whole conversation might have seemed strange to me except for a few things. One, it is Korea and these strange things happen. Two, it was the international modeling agent and we all know that when they're around, even stranger things happen. Three, I was working out and pretty sure I was about to cough up a major organ so I wasn't too focused on the phone call. And lastly, Meet the Press came on AFKN and I never get to see Meet the Press anymore. I love me some Tim Russert. Of course, now that I actually looked it up to put the link in this here blog, I see that I can watch the show, in its entirety, on the website any time I want. Nice to know.
I redoubled my efforts on the elliptical and focused my attention on Joel Osteen gushing about God's love to Russert's audience. But before I could figure out where he was going with all this love and honey (or is that money, Joel?), my blasted phone rang again.
"Hello?" I barely eeked out.
"Hedderpeet? You can send me your picture. Okay?" It was Ajuma again.
"You already have pictures of the kids," I reminded her quickly. I really wanted to get back to my show and cardioburn.
"No, no. You had better send a picture of yourself. I need you."
"Sure. Okay. No problem. Later." And I hung up.
Then... Then. It. Hit. Me. She wants a picture of ME? No, no. Not good. Not a good idea at all. The very last thing I want at this point is for some Korean to tell me that I'm too jiggly in the belly to be in their photos. Not to mention, my broken nose that faces every direction but straight. Oh, and have I told you about my two inch roots? I'm terrified to go into a salon and get my highlights touched up. Last time I lived in Korea, I wound up with yellow looking hair that smelled like burning garbage. So, at present, I'm living with trailer trash roots because somehow in my warped mind that is better. I'll let you know when I lose a front tooth and start looking for "mah babeh daddy."
I threw in the towel. Literally. I got off the trainer, tossed my sweat towel in the bin, and headed down to the locker room. Just as I put my key in the lock to open the locker door, the phone rings yet again. This time, I know it is her. I recognize the number.
"Yes?" I asked with sneer.
"Hedderpeet? What time you send me a photo?"
"Late this afternoon. I am not home now. It'll have to wait till after 4."
"You have computer? You email me from computer."
"Yes. Sure. I will. But I am not home right now."
"You don't have computer with you?"
Now, I know there are plenty of people who do carry around their computers with them. And then there are those berry things that people walk around emailing each other with. But I'm just a fat housewife. Cell phones are about as high tech as we get. So when she asked me this, I responded with outright, mocking laughter.
"I'll send it around 4 or 4:30," I managed through giggles and then hung up.
I took a quick shower, got dressed, had a coffee with Mike and then went to pick up Roman from his school. As I was buckling him into his carseat, my phone rang again. This time I didn't recognize the number. I actually hoped it was a wrong number.
"Hello?"
"Hello. This is international modeling agent. Can you meet us today for try on clothes?"
"Sure," I told her curtly.
"What size your daughter? What size your son?"
I told her their sizes and made plans for them to meet us at Reilly Kate's preschool. Which they did. I was greeted in the parking lot by a gaggle of Korean women, one of whom I thought looked familiar, but I just wasn't sure. They took Reilly Kate into the back of the minivan to undress and dress while I stood, half in, half out, of the front passenger side. Just as I had finished explaining to them that Reilly Kate doesn't wear panties (no, she no longer will wear underwear of any kind -- please, do not ask me to elaborate now), my phone rang, again.
"Hello?" I answered, knowing full well it was Elizabeth and wondering why she had to call me now, while her people were doing the clothes fitting and why she herself didn't come.
"Hedderpeet? I don't need your pictures. I come to pick you tomorrow morning. Okay? What time? What time? I pick you up maybe 9:30? You can give me directions now."
I was about to say, "We're being fitted right now for the clothes. I'll give the directions to your staff," when I felt my gut fall.
"Hold on," I muttered and pulled the phone away from my face. I looked over at the oldest of the gaggle ooohing and ahhhing over Reilly Kate in the back of the minivan sporting overpriced denim duds.
"Are you Elizabeth staff?" I asked her, the phone still safely down by my knees. The words hadn't even fully left my oral cavity before I knew I had just sparked a war.
"No. I am [Ajuma II]. We met at Burger King. And PX. Don't you remember?" she said dripping with dismay.
"Is this for tomorrow?" I stammered, feeling suddenly a bit woozy, and red faced.
"No. This is for May 2nd." she answered then laughed. "Mix up." Followed by more nervous laughter as her staff joined in.
"I'll have to call you back. I'm in the middle of something," I told Ajuma and hung up on her.
I rambled an apology to Ajuma II that I'm sure didn't make any logical sense. She told me not to worry about it, but her facial expressions told me otherwise.
The kids are still on for May 2nd, though. So that's good. I've been told by the other modeling moms that Ajuma II is the gold standard of agents. She's the one you want handling your kids. Or so I'm told. I'm also told that Ajuma II is very territorial and expects loyalty. May 2nd will probably be the first, last, and only time Ajuma II handles my kids. Oh well. I mean, really, how the hell do they both call me within minutes of each other after not having heard a word for months? Explain that to me, would ya?
It's just my luck. My freakin' luck.
I've also heard from Ajuma three times so far tonight. Between her and her assistant I'm not sure who is picking us up, where, or at precisely what time. I also do not know what shoes they want Reilly Kate wearing, whether gym shoes or black patent leather. I know they want some specific shoes, it is just the deciphering what exactly that I haven't achieved. I'll bring both. And just pray we don't run into Ajuma II. I don't want to see blood spilled. Not over my kids. Or on their new shoes.
Anyway....
So last time, we left our two international modeling agents, Ajuma (pronounced "ah-joo-ma") and Ajuma the Second, arguing in the Burger King over would lay claim to my sweet cherubs. Well, no. That's not entirely true. I did have that crazy run in with Ajuma II near the hemorrhoid creams at the PX. Yes, yes. Now I remember. How could I forget?
Then we did the Cheju trip with Gina, an entirely unrelated third party. It was a good trip other than my near death run in with streptococcus from which I'm finally completely healed up. And after that, well, we heard nothing from any of the international modeling agents. I just figured we had had our fifteen minutes of fame, collected our thousand bucks, and were now retired from the scene. I didn't really give it much thought. But today, as I pulled into the parking lot of our gym, I thought about how nice it would be to bring in just a bit of money to cover the monthly cost of our gym membership and the kids' activities.
"Wouldn't it be nice?" thinks I.
Not fifteen minutes later, as I was attempting to purge myself of these 15 recently regained pounds (yes, I did say FIFTEEN! What's it to ya?) on the elliptical trainer, my phone rang.
"Hello?" I panted, praying it wasn't a call from either kid's school.
"Hedderpeet?" Yes, the voice on the phone referred to my name as one big, long, ugly word.
"Yessssssssss..." I responded with a nugget of suspicion dipped in honey sauce. "Yes, this is Heather Peet."
"This is [Ajuma], international modeling agent. I want your kids tomorrow. Is it okay? Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? For what? What time?" I asked. Really, what I wanted to say was, "Who? What? When? Where? And can't you tell I'm this close to dying here on this elliptical? Leave me alone!" I refrained, however.
"One o'clock. Okay? I pick you up? Okay?"
"Ummm... okay." Remember now, I cannot say "no." It is just not in my temperament.
"Okay. Bye." And then she hung up.
This whole conversation might have seemed strange to me except for a few things. One, it is Korea and these strange things happen. Two, it was the international modeling agent and we all know that when they're around, even stranger things happen. Three, I was working out and pretty sure I was about to cough up a major organ so I wasn't too focused on the phone call. And lastly, Meet the Press came on AFKN and I never get to see Meet the Press anymore. I love me some Tim Russert. Of course, now that I actually looked it up to put the link in this here blog, I see that I can watch the show, in its entirety, on the website any time I want. Nice to know.
I redoubled my efforts on the elliptical and focused my attention on Joel Osteen gushing about God's love to Russert's audience. But before I could figure out where he was going with all this love and honey (or is that money, Joel?), my blasted phone rang again.
"Hello?" I barely eeked out.
"Hedderpeet? You can send me your picture. Okay?" It was Ajuma again.
"You already have pictures of the kids," I reminded her quickly. I really wanted to get back to my show and cardioburn.
"No, no. You had better send a picture of yourself. I need you."
"Sure. Okay. No problem. Later." And I hung up.
Then... Then. It. Hit. Me. She wants a picture of ME? No, no. Not good. Not a good idea at all. The very last thing I want at this point is for some Korean to tell me that I'm too jiggly in the belly to be in their photos. Not to mention, my broken nose that faces every direction but straight. Oh, and have I told you about my two inch roots? I'm terrified to go into a salon and get my highlights touched up. Last time I lived in Korea, I wound up with yellow looking hair that smelled like burning garbage. So, at present, I'm living with trailer trash roots because somehow in my warped mind that is better. I'll let you know when I lose a front tooth and start looking for "mah babeh daddy."
I threw in the towel. Literally. I got off the trainer, tossed my sweat towel in the bin, and headed down to the locker room. Just as I put my key in the lock to open the locker door, the phone rings yet again. This time, I know it is her. I recognize the number.
"Yes?" I asked with sneer.
"Hedderpeet? What time you send me a photo?"
"Late this afternoon. I am not home now. It'll have to wait till after 4."
"You have computer? You email me from computer."
"Yes. Sure. I will. But I am not home right now."
"You don't have computer with you?"
Now, I know there are plenty of people who do carry around their computers with them. And then there are those berry things that people walk around emailing each other with. But I'm just a fat housewife. Cell phones are about as high tech as we get. So when she asked me this, I responded with outright, mocking laughter.
"I'll send it around 4 or 4:30," I managed through giggles and then hung up.
I took a quick shower, got dressed, had a coffee with Mike and then went to pick up Roman from his school. As I was buckling him into his carseat, my phone rang again. This time I didn't recognize the number. I actually hoped it was a wrong number.
"Hello?"
"Hello. This is international modeling agent. Can you meet us today for try on clothes?"
"Sure," I told her curtly.
"What size your daughter? What size your son?"
I told her their sizes and made plans for them to meet us at Reilly Kate's preschool. Which they did. I was greeted in the parking lot by a gaggle of Korean women, one of whom I thought looked familiar, but I just wasn't sure. They took Reilly Kate into the back of the minivan to undress and dress while I stood, half in, half out, of the front passenger side. Just as I had finished explaining to them that Reilly Kate doesn't wear panties (no, she no longer will wear underwear of any kind -- please, do not ask me to elaborate now), my phone rang, again.
"Hello?" I answered, knowing full well it was Elizabeth and wondering why she had to call me now, while her people were doing the clothes fitting and why she herself didn't come.
"Hedderpeet? I don't need your pictures. I come to pick you tomorrow morning. Okay? What time? What time? I pick you up maybe 9:30? You can give me directions now."
I was about to say, "We're being fitted right now for the clothes. I'll give the directions to your staff," when I felt my gut fall.
"Hold on," I muttered and pulled the phone away from my face. I looked over at the oldest of the gaggle ooohing and ahhhing over Reilly Kate in the back of the minivan sporting overpriced denim duds.
"Are you Elizabeth staff?" I asked her, the phone still safely down by my knees. The words hadn't even fully left my oral cavity before I knew I had just sparked a war.
"No. I am [Ajuma II]. We met at Burger King. And PX. Don't you remember?" she said dripping with dismay.
"Is this for tomorrow?" I stammered, feeling suddenly a bit woozy, and red faced.
"No. This is for May 2nd." she answered then laughed. "Mix up." Followed by more nervous laughter as her staff joined in.
"I'll have to call you back. I'm in the middle of something," I told Ajuma and hung up on her.
I rambled an apology to Ajuma II that I'm sure didn't make any logical sense. She told me not to worry about it, but her facial expressions told me otherwise.
The kids are still on for May 2nd, though. So that's good. I've been told by the other modeling moms that Ajuma II is the gold standard of agents. She's the one you want handling your kids. Or so I'm told. I'm also told that Ajuma II is very territorial and expects loyalty. May 2nd will probably be the first, last, and only time Ajuma II handles my kids. Oh well. I mean, really, how the hell do they both call me within minutes of each other after not having heard a word for months? Explain that to me, would ya?
It's just my luck. My freakin' luck.
I've also heard from Ajuma three times so far tonight. Between her and her assistant I'm not sure who is picking us up, where, or at precisely what time. I also do not know what shoes they want Reilly Kate wearing, whether gym shoes or black patent leather. I know they want some specific shoes, it is just the deciphering what exactly that I haven't achieved. I'll bring both. And just pray we don't run into Ajuma II. I don't want to see blood spilled. Not over my kids. Or on their new shoes.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 8:41 AM
4 Comments:
I was just thinking, and typing elsewhere ;-), that it's about time these Korean folks ask for pictures of the beautiful Hedderpeet. I don't care about 15 lbs -- you look wonderful!!
THIS could get interesting, not that the rest of your life is not interesting at any momment in time! lol!
Boy, when it rains it pours! Maybe I need an umbrella.
BTW...you seemed to have learned a lot more Korean than I remember you knowing when we were there...I mean you always did pretty well, but from reading your blog it seems you have picked up quite a bit....when do you think the kids will start speaking the Hangul?
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