Update: How Fat White Guys Get Laid in China

Update! Special alert! I have written far too much about white men being treated like gods in China by the local women and I swore to leave that topic forever. However, I did have an update I think is worthy of posting: according to a friend, if you go to Maggie's early in the evening, there are no women there.

My new friend Thor reports that he went to Maggie's on my recommendation and there was not one single chick there. Not one. It was full of mostly white men in various stages of attractiveness: some young and thin, some old and fat, some well dressed, all with different expressions of hopefulness and disappointment playing on their features. It was only nine in the evening, but it was a Saturday night. So go figure. He finally left. However, my friend Little Nicky (yes, that's really his name) went in around three a.m. and claims he scooped up two for the price of one. (He said, rather gallantly, that they're all fairly attractive after you take out your contact lenses, beer goggles be damned.)

So I don't know. I'm kind of old and I don't spend much time in night clubs unless I'm watching a friend perform or having a gig myself, the latter happening very rarely these days. I think I should actually go to Maggie's myself and I've asked my friend The Rose to arrange for us to broadcast one of his shows out of there so we can report on the action blow-by-blow, so to speak. If nothing else, I can write about the food as I understand they serve a hell of a hotdog. That's not code for anything, I hear they do have good food and that's about my only interest, aside from checking out the ladies and the skanky men who frequent the bar. So afraid I'll bump into a former boss there...well, as long as it isn't a student's parent, everything should be fine.

I Miss Television

I do have a satellite dish, but the channels originate out of the Philippines, which means for every "good" station like HBO (which I loathe, incidentally) there are four channels broadcasting evangelical Catholic programs, such as Family Mass and Mother Maria TV. Most feature a motley collection of priests and nuns in tropical-weight habits (think shorter sleeves) and occasionally, if you flick through the channels fast enough, you will see the same priest giving a talk or singing mass on two different channels to two different audiences. The timing is set for the Philippines as well: the screen may show that it's really showing The Glee Project 2, but what's on is a tagalogized version of Red Dawn. ("Ka barkada mo, motherfucker!") Just today the screen announced it was showing Family Mass but it was actually broadcasting Party Philippinas, a sort of Girls Gone Wild with everyone keeping their modest bikinis firmly in place.

I do miss television. I don't enjoy Chinese tv, largely for the reason that I'm not a moron. I have one channel that shows some American television (I love New Girl) but for the most part, it's reruns of the most loathesome TV show ever, next to Alf and Small Wonder, namely, According to Jim. Ugh.

The time has come for me to go back to teaching, which means 14 hour days, coming home to walk the dogs, eat dinner, and crawl into bed exhausted. I won't be sitting around following Idol and eating potato chips while drinking diet Coke: it's far more likely I'll be coming home with a suitcase full of laminated letter shapes that need cutting out for tomorrow's opening activity. However, it IS nice, particularly as an expat, to have a weekly show to anchor yourself to the rest of the world with: how nice to watch Big Bang Theory, for example, and to be able to chat with your friends back home about it without a year-long delay. We seek as expats to adjust ourselves to a new world daily: how can we do that when we don't have some ties to home? If we cut ourselves off from our own cultural literacy, one which expands and changes daily, we risk becoming stuck in our old experiences, knowledge, and expectations. Our language becomes stale and outdated.  We become That Expat, the crazy lady with a goose in her purse, saying "groovy" and "beautiful" and "marvelous" and blinking uncomprehendingly when someone says, "Jealous much?"

Is it too much to ask that China gets one channel going for expats (and Chinese) which actually shows real American shows? For god's sake, it could be Donna Reed, The Brady Bunch, and Dark Shadows 24/7 for very little money.  I wouldn't complain. Classic comedies from the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties would do more to enhance the English language acquisition of the local population than any thousand broadcasts of CCTV English Outlook (which is now a show on food anyway.) I don't want to have a satellite dish anymore. I would watch Chinese tv if there was even one single channel that showed anything good, however outmoded.

Indulgence

I've just spent a few weeks on the East Coast, not of China, but of the US. I love New England and I'm always glad when I have a chance to spend some time there. Once I get over the shock of the ocean being on the wrong side (I'm from California) I get along just fine. The fashion! The food! The ethnic diversity! But mostly, the food.

I had not planned on getting out of China this summer but I was starting to hate everybody and everything, which was a sure sign that it was time to get out. They say when the footprints on the toilet seat are yours, it's time to leave. I was staying at a five-star hotel, dashed into the lobby toilet to wee, and found the tell-tale footprints. (Not mine, but still...it was a five star hotel! Who could afford to stay there who was still so City Mouse that they were STILL jumping up on the Western toilet seat and treating it like a squatter?)

The flight over was a nightmare. It was a packed flight, mostly Chinese on their way to shop for bargains. (Yeah, I know. The irony.)  The passengers were the sort who had brought their own food and who refused to sit in their assigned seats. Much food was passed back and forth among family members, cucumbers and jianbing being passed over my head, tossed to Grandma up in Business class down to Young Male Shit of the Family up in first, from Mom in Steerage. Ugh. 

Two incidents: rather than speak to me in either English or Chinese, the girl on the inside seat of our row simply climbed over me---I was awakened by the rudest sort of lap dance from an unattractive bitch and while screaming out my objections in fluent Mandarin (I believe I said, "What, are you mute? I speak Chinese, damn it! You could have said something!") She blinked and from then on would jab me viciously in the shoulder every time she wanted to get up, which was every hour on the hour precisely. 

Second incident: waiting to use the toilet. Nice Older White Guy in front of me in the line. Young Male Shit of the Family exits toilet: Nice Older White Guy enters then walks out in fear and anger. "He pissed all over everything! The ceiling, the  floor, the walls, the sink, everything! Even on the toilet paper!" Then, to my intense surprise, Nice Older White Guy (NOWG) went back in, rolled up his sleeves, and CLEANED IT UP. All of it. After scrubbing the hell out of his hands, he locked the door, did his business, and then exited. I walked into a clean toilet. NOWG had even wiped the sink as a courtesy for me, the next passenger. The man deserves a medal and I said as much. He commented as he left, "These goddamn people get a little bit of money and stop being human."

I definitely needed an Attitude Adjustment, as I spent the first week glaring at anyone speaking Mandarin, wanting to shout, "Get back to China, dammit, and quit spoiling MY vacation!" I didn't mind hearing Cantonese, or Japanese, or Laotian, or French--just Mandarin set me off.

However, my anger began to subside with the first bite of lobster and by the time I had slammed down my last glass of Moxie, it was gone. I gained about eight pounds, but I lost the pissy attitude, which in the long run does my heart and soul rather more good.

This is a partial list of what I ate and drank:

Lobster rolls, lobster bisque, cheddar cheese nachos, sweet and sour chicken, ribs, brisket, real kosher dills the size of my fist, Manhattan Special Espresso Soda (both regular and sugar free), black and white cookies, Sabrett hot dogs, pastrami on rye, New York Cheesecake, pizza on the street, raspberry pie, blackberry pie, blueberry pie, chocolate chip cookies with Heath toffee bits, Moxie, deli sandwiches, pumpkin granola, vegetarian corn dogs, Dunkin Donuts, Honeydo Donuts, Hostess Lemon Pies, Snoballs, Ben and Jerry's Red Velvet Cake Ice Cream, Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Brownie Ice Cream, Popsicles, Fro Yo, Cheesecake Factory cheesecake (not as good as Moonstruck Deli's) and many, many Icees.

Look at the list and marvel that it was only eight pounds in two weeks. 

The Walk of Shame

The walk of shame is sometimes accompanied with a limp, but always with a bowed head and a bursting bladder. My roommate, the ineffable handsome young bachelor child Charlie, brings home the occasional overnight visitor who inevitably leaves her handbag in  the living room, thus necessitating a maneuver past me and my computer in the early hours of the morning to retrieve said handbag. This is done with an averted gaze on her part (I frankly stare) while she tiptoes in on little slut feet, picks up her handbag (usually a knock-off Coach) and tiptoes back out, little doggies barking madly with joy as they escort her to the door. Not only does Bachelor Child NOT accompany her to the door, but said maiden does not so much as stop by his bathroom to tinkle.

Now, I am not a slut and cannot ever hope to be one, but trust me, if I had spent the night slipping up and down on someone's cock, you can bet I'd be jumping up as soon as the ride was over to use the toilet, take a quick shower, and swig about a gallon of cranberry juice with a Flagyl chaser. I'd pee again the morning, first thing, BEFORE tiptoeing past the woman who actually pays the rent on the flat (must collect in cash from Bachelor Child, btw) who is sitting innocently, sipping coffee, and moaning as she looks at her bank statement. I would have offered her coffee, but I had the feeling her date, who was monitoring everything from behind the closed bedroom door, would not have approved of the gesture. 

THINGS I'VE HEARD RECENTLY

At the beauty parlor:

Speaker: well-dressed, educated, well-spoken British woman drinking champagne: I've learned so much living in Asia! For example, the nails on one hand don't have to be the same exact length as the nails on your other hand! Because no one ever sees your two hands together at the same time. So if you break a nail you don't have to file them all down!

At a restaurant:

Speaker: American woman with enormous breasts, tucking into a plate of beautifully carved fruit: Eating well gives me the strength to diet.

At a job interview:

Speaker; me, sniffing: I don't want to live anywhere hot enough to grow bananas!

Over lunch:

Speaker; male colleague, saying this to me during a meal in which I have just tearfully confessed to breaking up with my boyfriend and feeling very very miserable about it: I hate everyone gassing about their family! It really makes me feel bad to hear people go on and on about what I don't have. Such bad manners.  It's so insensitive when people rub your face in what they have and you don't have.  I'm divorced and I don't have my kids or wife around. Thank God I can go home and have my sexy Chinese girlfriend waiting for me in the bedroom.

At an English competition:

Speaker: very well known person in the linguistics field, addressing room full of contestants: We encourage all of you to enter the future by speaking Chinglish!

Please poke out your eyes after reading this

I've just come back from a few days spent judging but yet another English contest here in the P R of C and I must say it was hideous. The Rose and I were together, which is an invitation to fun and/or danger, and we had our usual plans for that lovely city (not Beijing): We check into a suite at a five-star hotel and divvy up the sweet sweet privacy. I usually get the bedroom, while he flops on a very luxurious roll-out bed in the living area. I take multiple baths in the bathtub big enough for four, while The Rose records in the other room. I go to the gym while he naps: he goes to the gym while I nap. It's our sanity after a year of being in the city. Best of all, since we're on the executive floor, we can eat and drink  for free in the executive lounge, so it ends up costing us very little for our sanity.

So, after making reservations, and showing up at the gig that had sent us to that city in the first place, we were horrified to find that we were going to be sequestered in a rural three-star hotel, forbidden Internet access, and worse of all, told we'd be fired if we didn't hand over our cell phones. There's a lot I will do for cash in hand, but giving up my last link with my embassy ain't one of them. The Rose countered with some witty argument and in the end we were allowed our phones but told we HAD to stay in the hotel. We couldn't take pictures with our candidates, we were escorted to the toilets (I believe I told my handler rather acidly that I could wipe my own ass, a line I hadn't expected to use until I was eighty). Jurors on the OJ trial had more freedom.  I might add that my room was grotty, the TV was all Chinese (hardly stellar) and that my room had neither air conditioning nor a mini fridge. The Rose was next door, which was nice. My part in the show was done after the second day, so I elected to come back to Beijing so I could catch up on some work for graduate school.

Little did I know what consternation this would cause. Let's see, I've lived here twenty years, speak a moderate amount of Chinese, can read well enough to get around, and oh yes, I'm pushing fifty. The show was sent into a flurry: oh dear, they'd have to find a driver, they'd have to find an escort, they'd have to pay me (rather less than the amount I had bargained for) and in the end I was sent to the train station with two students, neither of whom spoke English as well as I can speak Chinese, one of whom got car sick and spent much of the time hanging out the window vomiting copious amounts of white fluid, the other a useless male who sat up front and listened to rap music. At the train station, the idiot escort got into the wrong line then pulled me out of the right line to queue up at an automatic ticket dispenser which of course I couldn't use as it was for Chinese citizens only... Escort thought I could breeze in, grab a ticket, and then swan several thousand meters away in less than two minutes and make the two o'clock train.. we had to line up back at the queue he had pulled me out of, where there was a twenty minute wait in line, then get my ticket, then I had to sprint the distance, only to have Escort try to make me go to the wrong terminal as he misread my seat number for the platform...when I finally ditched my escort and got on the train back to Beijing, my phone binging with the collection of messages and IMs and emails of two days without contact with the outside world, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I wish I had stayed, I wish I had spent more time with The Rose, but work calls, and I am always afraid that I'm boring The Rose. I don't know how anyone can be so witty and generous and kind: I keep waiting for him to be an ass, and when we work together, it just doesn't happen. The contest was the usual mix of misplaced egos and overconfidence, with a sprinkling of big words inappropriately used. There were also some sweet moments, kids from the sticks who were overwhelmed with what they had accomplished. As I stepped into an elevator at one point I realized I was probably the last generation to have the odd pleasure of witnessing someone's first elevator ride. While I kvetch a lot about the lack of air conditioning, the fact I couldn't stay where I wanted, or the lack of ice cubes, I do believe my heart is in the right place, and I am deeply grateful for those moments of clarity when I get to experience someone's pleased astonishment and surprise.

As for the contest, I can tell you nothing: I signed a confidentiality agreement, I can't tell you who was there, how anybody did, I couldn't take pictures, and while I could tell you more, we should leave it at this: Please poke your eyes out after reading this, and I'll let you live. 

The Three Dirtiest Words In My World

Just in case you don't know me, let me state this loud and clear: the three dirtiest words in my world are these: Girl. Scout. Cookies.

Thanks to the miracle that is airmail, the local Girl Scouts did indeed get a large, large shipment of Girl Scout Cookies flown into Beijing for sale throughout the local community. The hell with the presales: if I want some, I just have to go to the Troop Leader's classroom and hand over a large wad of cash (50 RMB) and then heaven is mine. I'm not in weight loss mode right now--maintenance is about all I have the time and patience for--and having a drawer full of heaven is not a good idea as I am powerless over Thin Mints and Nassaus. So, I bribed students to perform small errands (read: pranks) for me with a handful of cookies as a reward. One particularly fun prank earned its perpetrator an entire sleeve.

I've just spent 200 RMB to support the Girl Scouts and I am glad that I got to taste some of my childhood in return.

But one small note: Arnott's Mint Slice are way, way better than Girl Scout Thin Mints. Call me crazy, but  after you taste them you will once again concede that I am queen of the biscuits. All bow. Hmm, wonder if I can come up with a good homemade version of Mint Slice? With mint fondant, and a nice bittersweet coating? I think I have just decided what I'm doing this weekend...