The Airplane Game

When I went to Ireland, Claire’s parents welcomed both me, her former host in America, and Dan, who’s host family was unable to host him. Though her parents set up a separate room for him, the three of us spent most of our time hanging out in Claire’s room.

Flying to Ireland was my first overseas trip. Even though I was only 16, we were rarely carded, and so it was there that I first went to a bar. Three days into my trip, we had plans to go out partying. We pre-drank before the party. I had a Jack and coke and two Heinekens, then threw up all night. Another first.

Claire had bunk beds, and I slept on top. I first saw The Labyrinth from the top bunk, while Claire and Dan cuddled below. I was fascinated by the puppets and David Bowie’s spandex outfits, but spent half of my time cringing from the kissing sounds that came from the bed below. Eventually I wound up spending a few nights in Dan’s room to give him and Claire some privacy.

One day Dan and I were sitting on the top bunk discussing the airplane game, usually played with kids, where the child lies stomach-down on the adults feet and pretends to fly in the air. “I’ve got strong legs, I could even lift you,” I bragged to Dan.

“All right, let’s do it,” he said.

I swiveled to face him, then lay down. He knelt in front of me and I placed my feet against his stomach. We grabbed each other’s hands. I bent my legs until he was right above me, and then lifted him off the bed.

We sat this way for a moment, eyes connected. I let go of his hands and held him in the air with my powerful legs.

Dan must have gotten a twinge of nervousness, because he shifted a bit, and I did too, to compensate for his movement. He, possibly realizing that I had him hovering on a top bunk, pretty far from the ground, flinched. His knee hit me squarely in the vagina.

I gasped and kicked both legs upward. He splattered on the ceiling. His eyes bugged out, while his mouth formed a small o. His arms both swung wide. It lasted less than a second, and then I dropped him back to the foot of the bed.

I grabbed my crotch and moaned, while he rubbed his stomach, coughing.

“I’m sorry I kicked. You kneed me!” I said. And I started laughing at the memory of his shocked face.

“That really hurt my back,” he said. “Shit, look.” I followed his gaze. On the ceiling above me there were four small dots in a row. They were dark green, the same shade as Dan’s shirt.

“Is that from your spine?”

Dan nodded. I started laughing again, uncontrollably, feeling tears forming in my eyes. Dan smiled.

Claire had been in the bathroom while Dan and I executed our poorly thought-out plan. She returned to see both of us laughing. I pointed at the spine-dots on the ceiling and tried to sputter out the story. She smiled too, and climbed up the ladder to join us on the top bunk.

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Why I haven’t been actively blogging…

book cover

Hey readers and fellow bloggers!

I took a bit of a hiatus from my blog while I was busy working on my book! It’s finally finished, and available on Amazon (kindle or paperback).

OneSexPlease is a series of funny stories of traveling Southeast Asia and teaching English in South Korea. Get your copy today!

OneSexPlease by Anna Sweet

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Best to Forget

Last weekend I had a wonderfully flamboyant gay man staying at the hotel. Besides having a ridiculously loud and high laugh, he complimented each drink I served him telling his friends repeatedly that he loved me. I loved him too.

Then he suddenly remembered something.

“I can’t believe what I did last night, oh my God,” he said.


“Well there was this lady, and she was all about me, and so we were drinking all night and doing shots. I knew I was at my drinking limit but she kept buying more, so I did that one bartender trick? With the water?…”

“I know the one, take a shot, take a drink, spit the shot out,” I said.

“YEAH! So I took the shot and then put the water glass to my mouth and just spit it out. But then SHE thought that HER shot was too harsh, and so she reached for my water to chase it, and she took a sip, and said, ‘there’s something in this water!’ Oh my God, I was dying!”

I scrunched up my nose. “So she drank your shot backwash water?”

He nodded and laughed. “I couldn’t tell her though, no one knew but me.”

“Gross!” We smiled at each other, in on the secret of some woman who was better off not knowing what was in the water she’d had the night before. “I have one for you,” I told the guy.

“Oooh, tell!”

“So one night I served this couple some appetizers right before I closed the kitchen. And they had like, mozzarella sticks and edamame. They killed the motz sticks, but only ate about half their edamame. And instead of using the extra bowl for their garbage, they were just putting the chewed pods back onto the same plate as the untouched beans. Then they left and this drunk dude came in and sat beside where they had been. He asked me if the kitchen was open, and I told him it wasn’t. I went to grab him some delivery menus, and when I came back to the bar, he was eating from their leftover edamame dish, only he couldn’t distinguish their chewed garbage from the good food, so everything went into his mouth!”

The guy laughed loudly, and I laughed at his laugh.

When I left work that day I kept thinking about things that only drunk people do. The worst I’d ever seen happened on New Year’s Eve one year. I was stuck cocktail waitressing on this horrendous night. And by 5 a.m. I was cranky, tired, and ready for all the drunken stragglers to go home. The crowd had thinned and the bar would be closed soon. I cleaned the empty tables in the bar, dumping all half-drunk drinks into one glass, and taking all the empties to the bar.

Now, this was back in the days when smoking was still legal in bars. I was used to cleaning gum, spit, ash and butts out of ashtrays, and I was used to emptying PBR cans and finding floating cigarettes inside. I worked quickly, dumping, pouring, and tossing out garbage, trying to clean the post-party evidence as fast as I could.

One girl wandered over, wearing a shiny and short dress. I ignored her and began wiping down the tables that I’d successfully cleared off. All of a sudden, I heard her coughing. I walked to her side, and asked, “You okay?”

She fluttered her hand in front of her mouth. “My red bull vodka tastes like cigarettes.”

I looked at what she was holding and instantly felt like vomiting.  She had left her friends to cross the empty area of the bar and pick up my swill compilation cup. The contents of this plastic cup included some, if not all of the following: beer, water, ice, vodka, coke, rum, cigarette butts, ash, and small string of phlegm.

I pulled the cup from her weak grip and threw it away. Before I could explain to her what a horrible mistake she’d made, she had wandered off back to where she’d come from, to dance wobbly in her stilettos with her equally drunk friends.

I shrugged and kept cleaning. It was probably better she didn’t know anyway. When it comes to other people’s leftovers and germs, it’s always best to forget.

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Tales from Behind the Bar (Part 1)

I’ve been in the service industry for ten years.  I have to admit, I get cheekeir and less patient as the years go on.  The things that I used to let slide I speak up against now.  And while it’s a good job most of the time (or why else would I do it?), there are still moments that shock me, fluster me, and surprise me.  Here’s just a handful of stores from my side of the bar. Continue reading

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Tomato Bisque Recipe

I became a bit addicted to tomato bisque over the winter.  I bought a quart once a week from the soup market by my house.  For a quart of soup with bread, I spent $14.  “This is outrageous!”  I thought.  “I know I can make a soup that’s delicious and cheaper than this!!

After several attempts, this is what I wound up with.  It’s crazy cheap to make and very simple too.  I make a big batch but it is easy to cut this recipe in half.

Chop up a small/medium onion, 2 celery stalks, and 2 large carrots119

Put a dash of olive oil in a frying pan and cook up the veggies (just a few minutes)120 Continue reading


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The Tale of the Tip Jar Thief

           I spent my college years working at a local sandwich shop.  It was our store policy to give free sandwiches to any on duty police officers who came in.  Being fairly fresh out of high school, I was still of the mindset that cops were out to get all the wrong people, profiling shaggy-haired stoner-looking kids.  I held my dreadlocked-head high and didn’t smile a bit as I handed them their free subs.

            I complained to my managers after store hours.  If we were giving sandwiches out to cops, why not also give them to fire-fighters, or teachers, or doctors?  I was told that the cops were out protecting us.  Secretly I suspected we gave sandwiches out so that the cops looked the other way when our delivery drivers sped past.  Continue reading


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When to Play Dumb

Lately I’ve been amusing myself by playing dumb with strangers.  It first occurred in the elevator in my apartment building.  There was one man in alone in the elevator when I got in, and the air was thick with the distinct scent of marijuana.

I waited a few seconds before I spoke, then I looked at him and said, “Isn’t it weird how sometimes this elevator really smells like weed and sometimes it doesn’t?”

He looked at me, startled.  Possibly he was debating if I was really that stupid, or possibly I sent him into a fit of paranoia.  I smiled sweetly as we reached the first floor, and then I walked out. Continue reading

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Of Underwear and Ripped Jeans

Kevin’s not a big fan of wearing underwear.  I realized this early on in our relationship, but having spent many years bra-less, I felt that passing judgment would be hypocritical.

However, when he moved to Korea to be with me, ending our long-distance-relationship era, his lack of underwear became a problem.  For one thing, being the minimalist that he is, he’d only brought two pairs of jeans that were full of holes and rips, and one pair of underwear.  Also, he was planning to find work teaching, and though some jobs were casual, none were casual enough for ripped jeans over an otherwise naked body.  And finally, Kevin, though lean, is also tall.  The Korean pants ran too tight and short for his frame, so he had nothing to purchase to make himself look decent. Continue reading


Filed under Asia, South Korea, Vietnam

50 Reasons I’m Grateful to be Car-less

Like most Americans, I began driving when I was 16.  I bought my mom’s car when she got a new one, and I found myself with a 1996 Plymouth Acclaim.  I drove to high school and back, to parties and to work.  I sped and got tickets, and I bumped against enough curbs to lose all of my hubcaps.  When I was 18, I sold my car.  And unlike most Americans, I didn’t get a new one.

In two weeks I’ll turn 28, marking my ten-year anniversary of being car-less.  I’ll admit, when I’m cyclying to work in the blistering heat or pouring rain, when I’m walking home from the grocery store with my hiking bag full of food weighing down on my shoulders, and when I want to visit my friends who don’t live in the city, I glance at the passing traffic wistfully.

So why don’t I drive?  Because I’m a travel junkie.   Continue reading


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Clowning Around

A sudden evening breeze rushed at Jason’s neck and he zipped his jacket all the way up.  Angry, he sighed behind his clown mask.  The neighborhood kids were out trick or treating.  Last year he’d been walking door to door too, stocking up on candy.  Now he was in high school, and if his best friend Dennis hadn’t gotten grounded, they’d be spending this night scaring the neighborhood kids. Continue reading

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