Kim Jong-Il Wasser

My mother always says, "you don't get bored..  you get boring." As I find myself every Wednesday night in a class from 6-9pm painstakingly bored, I have started to accept that it may just be me.

In this  "world negotiations and affairs" class, our final project is to simulate the 6 party talks. For all those including myself who have no idea what the 6-party talks are... they are negotiations between North and South Korea, Russia, China, Japan, the US, and the UN, mainly revolving around North Korea's Nuclear Program.  And while your thinking, if thats not boring I don't know what is, my professor gave us all an opportunity to stop being bored and transversely, so boring. 

We were each assigned roles, and my professor clearly seeing my star power, or the fact that I hadn't yet purchased a textbook, made me Kim Jong-Il. 

For those who don't know 'little Kim', as he stands 5 foot 3 inches, he is the actual axis of the axis of evil, dictator of North Korea, and almost every question was going to be fielded eventually to him, or well.. me. What my professor didn't realize is that I am not one to take starring roles lightly. Do you honestly think that you can make me Kim Jong-Il and have me not take full advantage? He might of thought himself tricky by testing my knowledge, however I hail from Crafty City: Population: Me.

My plan prey tell? I would make up for all I lacked in knowledge with creativity. Rather then write my paper that has been outstanding for a good two weeks (what! the email I sent didn't go through... again!?), I found myself rummaging thrift shops and costume stores searching for the perfect outfit that would just scream communist dictator. Although I should take a serious look into my time management, what I found? Gold.

As most Wednesday nights, I am supposed to be reading the subtitles of Korean movies, however find myself doing anything but, I've become excellent at the "Easy Kentucky Crosswords Online", and have become a overwhelmingly more efficient facebook creep - move over, "I Know What You Did Last Summer", I can now walk into a lecture hall, look around the room and script, "I Know What All of You In the Back Row did Last Night" This being said, the fact that I hadn't read all semester meant only one thing: I have to give this all I've got, which certainty isn't information so I will refer to another one of my mothers fond sayings; "You don't have to be the smartest person in the room - as long as you look the best".... and I did. So good in fact, I felt the need to share.

Enter Kim Jong-Il [Wasser] to the podium please:

Oh no... this is no joke. What was a joke however was the proceedings that took place AFTER I rented a zip car, found out that someone actually owned a full on, khaki jumpsuit, followed by my bringing a woman's wig to my hair guy who laughed, and then started cutting.

"Delegates" from all countries arrived in full ego and preposterous seriousness. Condi-sleez-a Rice actually snarled at me, South Korea wouldn't share their cookies and representatives from China,.. don't even get me started. The only team that had anyone normal who realized that we were in fact, not in the UN, but next to a starbucks in the School of Management study lounge was Russia. When Russia is the only straight thinking nation... what in the hell is going on. 

Simulation 1: While being Kim Jong-Il means that everyone greets you with hostility, I took matters into my own hands by replying with outlandish statements such as, "Do you know who I am? Talk to me that way again, you'll be getting your thank you note via missile" and when the US tried to say it sent good will through the NY Philharmonic's visit to North Korea as a negotiating tactic, I informed them, "I've heard the NY Philharmonic... it wasn't such a gift."

Lets just say the UN wasn't pleased.  

Simulation 2: A COUP HITS NORTH KOREA and Kim Jong-Il is out. You have got to be kidding me. Do you know how long it took me to find an authentic jacket, wig, glasses, platforms and jumpsuit!? In a moment of panic, I think... What Would Kim Jong-Il do? I know! Strike a deal with Putin to have Russia back my new regime and get me back into power and out of exile. Apparently, we were not allowed to do that. Strike 2? I think Kim Jong-Il would whine, and he would definitely not go down without a fight. Furthermore, now who I am going to say I am... some idiot who happens to have a striking resemblance to the prior dear leader? Assuring all nations of the world that my people will not be happy if I am not there to extend their work hours, spend their wages on the military, and create international unrest - somehow this was not persuasive enough and Kim Jong-Il was now deceased.

If James Lipton could see me now, this is what he would call an actors delima. I have been written out of the script, but there I am - still standing, in full costume. Taking the high road, I decide to stay in character. If I were little Kim, I'd be pissed. I wouldn't be taking this lying down! I put that snake general in power, and by george, I will take him out, and all before 9pm. Channeling the anger of Kim Jong-Il and of course none of my own for the fact that my entire day has gone to waste and my wig is starting to get itchy, I did what any manical dictator would do. Negotiations went from marginally intelligent to this: 

To the Nations present:
Are you willing to do anything to help us keep south korean special forces off our shores? 
signed from the grave,
kim jong-il

Lil' Kim:

What are you willing to give us for that? Land perhaps? A hand in the government?
Putin

Vlad - 
No land, no hand... just the urn of Kim Jong-il and good will in the future of dealing with this new bullshit regime.

Thank You!

When I started this blog, I fully expected only those forced to read it and through crooked smiles tell me how fabulous it was. On the contrary, people I know, people I don't, and those I haven't seen for years have read, laughed, enjoyed and let me know. I want to thank all for clicking here, and for the really great messages. I'd thought I'd share a few of my favorites:

"In true stalker fashion I came across your blog and I have to say that it is fucking hilarious. Erika, I have never laughed with such abandon. You are hysterical and every entry is bloody brilliant. I know it´s been years but I really could´t help myself and had to tell you." - Sofia A.

"I do enjoy your writing a lot, amazing vocab - wonderful use of bold. and by the way, if you don't go to hell, heaven has gotten way to lenient" - Andrew Rackoff

"THE BLOG! I am nowhere to be found. What the hell is that shit! Take down the picture of that French Canadian fossil (man in photo above) and put up a picture of me ASAP!" - Jamie Ascernese.

Keep Reading, Keep Writing In, I'll Keep Posting. Thanks again and much love - Erika

Third Try Truly a Charm: Red Ball for Aids.

Date Occurred: April 1. 2008

Last night was no ordinary night of binge drinking. Last night I drank for AIDS. Leah, my roommate, is in a sorority; a sorority I too once belonged to until I realized that my $250 a semester would be better spent on gum that someone made me lick off the bottom of their shoe; however you give me a charity and an open bar wrist bracelet - come hell or high water, I'll be there. (I'm very philanthropic that way)

To be honest, I was very much on the fence about going to this soiree. You don't disaffiliate from a sorority with the best of friends - however I wasn't going to stay in an organization that fined me for my absences when I didn't show, and for my behavior when I did. Secondly, every event I did attend seemed to go from congenial to calamity within a matter of one drink. 

If you've ever seen Long Island boys try to mack it to Long Island girls.. you have just been to any and every event Boston University Greek life has ever had. For those who can't envision this hodge-podge, the boys aspire to emulate 

"Growing Up Gotti" and the girls are all too cool to pretend they'll hit it until about three drinks in. I mean, com'on - let them save face before having to level with the fact that their personality, or lack there of, still doesn't compensate for the sense of self-entitlement that comes from the amount they paid for that nose**. Welcome to the jungle.

(**Note: There are many exceptions to this stereotype, as I am friends with many of them, but overall, all long island love aside this is pretty spot on)

Freshman year philanthropy event: 2006. One of the Greek frat's got the sorority involved in a breast cancer benefit. Living in the same apartment building as the fraternities president, I helped to plan the event. We had everything that one needs to make a great party: music, a great venue, edible food,... and booze to an under 21 crowd. All went off without a hitch aside from a slight debacle including a "greater then thou" frat boy, a raffle and a mic. Declaring himself emcee, rather then congratulate winners on their prize, he would verbally and sexually harass them, give shout outs to the brothers they were sleeping with if he found them attractive and then would play the "oh, you almost grabbed it but not quick enough" game while handing them their prize, which for each winner was a different variation of dollar store du jour.

My name was called, I hid behind the bar - there was just no way. Seeming like such an event could easily ruin an evening, this became one of the highlights in retrospect - go figure.

Sophomore year philanthropy event: 2007... lets just say the only highlight was leaving. Deciding to stick with breast cancer, we also decided to ditch the other Greek organizations that helped to pack the place and make the event more then a glorified chapter - but that's just one girls opinion. Regardless, if you say you're having a benefit, I'll bring friends - and I did. As most of my friends weren't in the sorority I had 5 of them come, at $50 a ticket, and as one of the only people to bring more then the mandatory me, myself and I, cut me some slack. 

Okay, I was late - but the check didn't bounce.

Long story short, the benefit was held in the equivalent of a classroom building, and between the florescent lighting, acapella groups and the fact that the bar was in a closet, closely guarded by two men with guns - after the second rendition of "com'on Eileen" it was time for me to go. I turn to Jamie: "If I have to stay here any longer, I will volunteer a breast". Although the bar was under lock down, I clearly was drunk enough not to be very discreet. Did I mention I also have a problem controlling the volume of my voice? I think you can figure the rest of this one out, in this case I've been verbal enough.

Back to present time, this year they (I say they now, because I am no longer apart of "we") decided the breasts were safe, on to pediatric AIDS. (Which FYI I truly think is an excellent cause, as is breast cancer) Lets hope third times a charm. It was being held at a respectable place, there was a new philanthropy chair and lets be honest, my roommate had to sell 3 tickets so there I was. Sure, throw me into the social lions den, and make me pay for it, but I usually owe her something and as such will attend. 

Someone up top was looking out for me and all my fears dissipated when I found out there was a pre-game, also known as, were going to get so sloshed prior to arrival, every one of your past relationships could be in the same room and you still won't give a damn. This is probably the only thing I miss. Only in Greek life can a benefit for pediatric aids be synonymous with 3 handles of vodka, 4 bottles of wine and a lot of pot to get into the groove of giving. I was going to be just fine.

I arrive at the "red ball", look around and realize one thing: a benefit for AIDS in sorority speak is a reason to rent out a place to condone underage drinking and look as promiscuous as physically possible, which in my thinking only perpetuates the whole epidemic so give me back my $15.

Leah is now convinced she can dress me up - but she can't take me anywhere.

I proceed to head to the bar, claw past the newly initiated freshman, claim superiority and chardonnay. At this point I am happily drunk and solely because I am not 18, feel full of wisdom that, of course, I feel the need to share. I wish when I was a freshman there was a Wasser Welcome Wagon to slap me out of my hideous bangs and tell me that nothing good happens in a frat house basement - ever. Luckily, I did know that lesson. Upon going to college my dad assured me that "I didn't have to go" and instead could hang with him. I had already packed so I was going. Once that was decided, it went from, "don't go" to "just don't go and get a reputation". As the Wasser Welcome Wagon is funded by the Pappa Wasser Work Week, I made mental note.

The one perk of joining a sorority, denouncing said sorority and then showing up to their events is that you are a hot commodity. I was the Jennifer Aniston at Angelina's 22nd orphans first birthday party. Its a big deal she's there, but they can't kick her out so instead lets all re-pose for W magazine and play family? And thats exactly what I did. All of a sudden I had grand-littles, and little's, and littles big sisters cousins. I met little's of bigs I never knew. Everyone was excited to see me, some not so much but so is life?... No, Not Erika Wasser's life.

I'm about two bottles in, when you see me, you better shut up, smile and keep your stink eye to yourself. If not, I will stand there until you do, which is exactly what I did until I became too large an embarrassment to my roommate and retired my negotiating tactics; headed to the diner next door where I proceeded to try and out sass our waiter who may I add was a very large, very sassy (although he will deny that comment), bouncer-esque black man. Best decision? I think not, but that's never stopped me before, right?

Between the waiter and my back and forth, my friend and I did manage to plan the most fruitful part of the whole evening: the framework for operation: Leah freedom; our plan to get my roommate a little something something. As she's started locking her bedroom door, we chanted this plan to her through the plywood when we returned to Casa Wassa to a muffled yet clear enough, "fuck you".  Clearly no good deed goes unpunished. 

If any are interested email but more details on that to come. Here's to hoping it goes better then operation: Iraqi freedom, which is where we get our name. I have hope, even though we're planning without the use of think tanks, elected officials and the like - which may ironically be the cause for our success. 

P.S. Shout out to planner of said "Red Ball"...  job very well done. (I give credit where it is due)