In the past couple of days I've read articles relating to the recent upswing in crazy helicopter parents and how to not raise whiny kids. While I am not a parent, I speak from experience as a former child who grew up in the no-Pinterest no-organic no-hippie dippy crazy shit era.
I of all people can speak from experience about caring what others think. I was the most shy, insecure adolescent, preteen and teen you can imagine. I wore certain things to not get made fun of, not necessarily because I thought they were awesome. In 6th grade I couldn't have cared less about Girbaud jeans (you know you remember them), but my classmates did, so I begged my mom to get me some in an effort to simply not be the butt of jokes in class.
Then there was this magical time, I'll call it "college," when suddenly it all made sense. I was successfully living a life giving very few fucks and not getting called out for things I had once thought would make or break my existence. I'd go to a party thrown by people I barely knew and wasn't afraid to turn down the Natty Light offered to me and ask where the Smirnoff Ice was. Shut up, it was 2001. You really can't get on my case for preferring raspberry fizzy booze over beer that tastes like watered down cat piss, and if someone did, I'd tell them to enjoy their cat piss.
Now I'm 31 and can be seen at any random time wearing things that range from a panda hat to blue moccasins to heart sunglasses and a unicorn bag. Oh you think it's stupid? Who cares? My life was affected 0% by your dislike of my outfit. I love cats. I have two. They are my furry babies. I'm a cat lady? Cool, I probably am. I don't give a fuck. My friends haven't yet found my pets to be a source of contention in our relationship, and it's not the cats keeping eligible bachelors away (it's probably the panda hat).
I'm on Pinterest. I find Pinterest to be an awesomely fun time-waster. I personally use it for what I like to call "design porn," which is pictures of various houses and interiors of modern design - that board has about 600 pins on it. Am I really going to go back to my Pinterest board and take in all of the design elements I posted years ago when I'm 50 and am actually able to afford to remodel or build my own house? Fuck no. It's for fun.
Maybe I'm doing it wrong, but I pin pictures of food I'd like to eat. Not ones I'd like to cook, but ones I'd like to have cooked FOR me. I never read the recipes. "That looks fucking delicious." *click* On to the next. And yes, like most females, I have a wedding board. I want a small wedding. I want to spend money on booze and a decent location, and then have a big dance party to 90s rap music with my friends. I would also like to marry an orphan so I don't have to worry about his side of the family. That's just more money I don't want to spend.
I'm not looking at all the DIY stuff thinking about how I can save money by making my own this or that. I don't want to make a freakin chandelier. I also don't want to make paper flowers, or whimsical wedding favors that people will likely toss out as they leave. People aren't going to leave my wedding saying "Wow, that was so beautiful." They're going to leave saying "That was a fucking awesome good time. I want to go back." I've never left a wedding commenting on how tasteful the place cards were, or what the flowers were like (or even noticed if there WERE flowers). "Oh, well this is just how it's done." Nope, not how I roll. My wedding, my rules, get your bullshit traditions and details out of my way so I can legally be married and go party.
And the children part is ridiculous. I don't have children, nor do I plan to, but like I mentioned before, as a former child, I feel I have a decent amount of insight into the mind of one. Guess what? I don't remember my first birthday. Or my second. I don't remember tiny little Christmas decorations, but I remember the Strawberry Shortcake dream house I got. I fucking loved my Rainbow Brite valentines and so did everyone else, dammit. They came in a red box, just like all the other ones, and I had to tear apart each one from its perfectly perforated collection, write on it, and put it in a tiny envelope. I'm pretty sure my mom had 0 regrets or shame about this. I too have 0 regrets.
The first birthday I actually remember I had an ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins. It was god damn delicious. Was I angry that my mom didn't go all out and create cupcakes that looked like individual Mickey and Minnies? Nope. When I went to birthday parties, I cared about 2 things: whether they had a pool and what kind of cake they were having. The pool was slightly more important.
What I'm saying is, YOUR KIDS DON'T CARE. THEY WON'T REMEMBER. And deep down inside you know this, so that means you're doing it to impress other moms. It's like a competition of who can out-Pinterest the others. Remember me, that person who wears blue shoes and a mammal on her head and may or may not have gone to Home Depot at 9pm wearing Ugg boots, mesh shorts and a ratty tank top to buy a saw while sweating profusely? Yeah, you used to be like me. Or did you? Perhaps at one time, before getting married and having kids, you didn't give a fuck. And your life was not so bad. Probably less stressful too.
So remember this. I had ice cream cakes, store-bought Valentines, a tree full of awesome old Christmas lights my dad brought from his childhood, homemade Halloween costumes, and non-designer baby and child wear and guess what? My childhood was awesome.
And you know what? No one's going to remember that intricate $3000 first birthday party you threw for your kid when my (imaginary) kid gets his acceptance letter from Harvard, now will they?
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Monday, July 8, 2013
THINGS NOT TO DO WHILE WALKING
Starring: the citizens of Hong Kong! Each one of these things I have actually seen IN REAL LIFE.
1) Stare at your phone without looking up even for a second, either to read or WATCH MOVIES, despite the fact that the one I saw was, in fact, the Hangover.
2) Actively play a GAME on your phone, once again, without so much as glancing forwards every now and then.
3) READ A BOOK. This one seems obvious, but apparently I have to tell you. READING + WALKING = NO.
4) STOP. Do not EVER stop spontaneously while walking. Do you not see that you're in a sea of people? Do you not realize that the person behind you has about 4 inches before they run smack into you with the force of 30 more people behind them? You wouldn't stop your car abruptly in the middle of the highway, so DON'T STOP WALKING ABRUPTLY WITHOUT GETTING OUT OF THE WAY.
5) Go at any speed slower than those around you. Once again, with the highway analogy - everyone wants to kill that guy on the 10 that's going 45, and they angrily speed by you and cut you off. SPEED THE FUCK UP OR GET OUT THE WAY
6) Be a child.
7) Have a child.
8) Insist on walking side by side with five of your friends, giggling stupidly and walking slower than everyone, creating an angry flow that will burst through your little friendship chain at any moment.
9) Wavering slowly from side to side on the sidewalk while I try to pass you, each time getting stopped by the tiny 3-inch margin you leave between you and the wall/street/other human.
10) Eat anything with chopsticks. I'm sorry, no matter how good you are with chopsticks, you have to actually look at your food to pick it up, slowing down traffic. Some things are edible on the run - anything that doesn't require utensils. And I'll give you the occasional frozen yogurt because you can pretty much wing that and come up with something on your spoon.
And sort of falling under #6, if you are a child, do not do stupid shit while walking. Don't poke your mom, don't kick your brother, and for god's sake, don't run at full speed towards a blind corner where I happen to be coming from another direction and run SMACK INTO ME. And I don't know what your mom screamed at you since I don't speak Cantonese, but suffice it to say she was about as angry as I was and unlike me, you have to go home with her. Get your shit together, son.
1) Stare at your phone without looking up even for a second, either to read or WATCH MOVIES, despite the fact that the one I saw was, in fact, the Hangover.
2) Actively play a GAME on your phone, once again, without so much as glancing forwards every now and then.
3) READ A BOOK. This one seems obvious, but apparently I have to tell you. READING + WALKING = NO.
4) STOP. Do not EVER stop spontaneously while walking. Do you not see that you're in a sea of people? Do you not realize that the person behind you has about 4 inches before they run smack into you with the force of 30 more people behind them? You wouldn't stop your car abruptly in the middle of the highway, so DON'T STOP WALKING ABRUPTLY WITHOUT GETTING OUT OF THE WAY.
5) Go at any speed slower than those around you. Once again, with the highway analogy - everyone wants to kill that guy on the 10 that's going 45, and they angrily speed by you and cut you off. SPEED THE FUCK UP OR GET OUT THE WAY
6) Be a child.
7) Have a child.
8) Insist on walking side by side with five of your friends, giggling stupidly and walking slower than everyone, creating an angry flow that will burst through your little friendship chain at any moment.
9) Wavering slowly from side to side on the sidewalk while I try to pass you, each time getting stopped by the tiny 3-inch margin you leave between you and the wall/street/other human.
10) Eat anything with chopsticks. I'm sorry, no matter how good you are with chopsticks, you have to actually look at your food to pick it up, slowing down traffic. Some things are edible on the run - anything that doesn't require utensils. And I'll give you the occasional frozen yogurt because you can pretty much wing that and come up with something on your spoon.
And sort of falling under #6, if you are a child, do not do stupid shit while walking. Don't poke your mom, don't kick your brother, and for god's sake, don't run at full speed towards a blind corner where I happen to be coming from another direction and run SMACK INTO ME. And I don't know what your mom screamed at you since I don't speak Cantonese, but suffice it to say she was about as angry as I was and unlike me, you have to go home with her. Get your shit together, son.
Monday, July 1, 2013
SOME LIKE IT HOT
This is, by far, the most annoying, unpleasant and generally ridiculous part of Hong Kong, and China in general.
2) HOT THINGS-
Hong Kong is hot. Painfully, humidly, stickily hot. It's absolutely unlivable. I can't walk more than two blocks before I start sweating, and if I walk more than five, I look like I've just worked out. It's abhorrent. 90 degrees and 90% humidity. It actually makes you feel heavier and harder to breathe. You find yourself taking elevators in places you'd normally take the stairs because most elevators have AC.
I've lived in places with weather like this before - possibly slightly less humid since it wasn't subtropical, but in 17 years in Texas I saw my fair share of heat. But you know what we did when it was hot as balls? STAYED INSIDE. You went from your air conditioned house to your air conditioned car (that hopefully had stayed all night in a garage or covered place) and drove to your air conditioned work, and were outside in the horrible death heat for approximately 5 total minutes if you really tried.
Here I don't have a car. I have a subway. What's the problem with the subway? It's not 10 feet from my house, that's what. By the time I make it to the subway, I look like I've run a marathon and my nice work clothes are sticky and smelly. I feel dirty within 2 minutes of exiting my building. I want to take 7 showers a day. It's fucking ridiculous. So you'd think, having this climate of excruciatingly balls-hot days and a lot of unnecessary outdoor time, that Hong Kongers would appreciate a large, cold bottle of water.
NOPE. One of the first places I went to eat, I asked for water. I drink tea, water, and whatever's in the alcoholic beverage I'm given. I try to stay hydrated, seeing as I've fainted twice in the past 9 months and had to get an IV. Anyway, I ask for water. The woman looked at me oddly. Perhaps she didn't understand - there's sometimes a language barrier with the older generations. "Ice water?" I ask, trying to clarify.
Still confusion. "Bottle water?" Finally one of my Chinese classmates was able to tell her I just wanted a glass of water, to which she STILL looked like I'd asked for a pig's blood frappucino, but walked away seeming to understand. About three minutes later, I see her returning with a glass of water, sadly ice-free. She sets it in front of me and I'm about to pick it up when I notice it's HOT water. Not room temperature. HOT ASS WATER. She had to put EFFORT into making it hot, because things are not naturally steaming. Why the fuck would I want a GLASS of HOT WATER? I already have HOT TEA that's for the table, I obviously need something to, I don't know, STOP ME FROM SWEATING? Do you not see that I'm soaking through my shirt here, lady?
It was at this time I was informed by our chaperones and my Chinese friends that cold things (drinks, food, whatever) are considered "bad" for your health. I mean Chinese medicine is wacky enough, but to completely restrict the drinking of cold beverages in a climate that melts my makeup off in record time? That's fucking ridiculous.
I began to take note of things as time progressed - most people in restaurants do not order a drink. Yeah you heard me. No drink. If it's a Chinese restaurant it often comes with hot tea, which is good, but I have to let it cool down to "room temperature" tea before I can even consider drinking it. Then you stuff yourself with HOT FOOD. If you order noodles or soup, it's inedibly hot for ten minutes, unless your mouth is a steel machine like the natives. After the first bite I'm dying for a cold glass of SOMETHING, but instead I just have to keep eating my hot food and sweating as though I was walking around outside.
At the places that DO have iced drinks, they COST MORE. The food court has a combo option of a meal plus a drink - but if you want a cold drink, that's $3 more. WHAT?? I honestly can't believe these people aren't passing out left and right, since I never see them drink water. EVER. They might get a small hot tea, or a small coffee, but all damn day I haven't seen a single Asian drinking water. HOW DO THEY HYDRATE?? Even McDonald's, which has bottled water on the menu, does not understand how to substitute a BOTTLE OF WATER for the requisite soft drink in a combo order. I asked for one once, pointed to it on the menu, and it required a conference of three employees to figure out how to charge me.
Sadly I've realized that in any vaguely non-Western restaurant the only way I'll get a cold drink is to order a soda. I don't drink soda. I don't even particularly enjoy it anymore, despite drinking about 10 Dr. Peppers a day when I was in high school. But I will set aside pretty much all drink restrictions just to have something that I know came out of the refrigerator. So here I am, living in a climate that makes me sweat out all liquid in a ten-minute period and not being able to find something to replenish said liquid at any normal place where you EAT AND DRINK.
Since the first week, I have begun hoarding large bottles of water I buy at 7/11 downstairs in my tiny mini-fridge. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one buying the water. I just can't wrap my head around walking around all day, sweating my ass off and NOT finding great pleasure in the consuming coldest water (or other drink of choice) humanly possible. Now I understand my dad's crazed ice-Nazi behavior when we went to Europe - room temperature is not ok. And 3 ice cubes is not enough. But that's damn well better than a glass of hot water after you've just walked 10 blocks in 90 degree heat and humidity.
I follow up with three questions:
1) How the hell am I the only person with glistening, sweaty skin at any point in the day when I'm generally wearing less clothing than say, oh, ANYONE?
2) Why the hell are you wearing JEANS and LONG SLEEVES?
3) In a place that used to be owned by Britain, how on earth have you not figured out that Westerners like a cold drink every now and then? SERIOUSLY WTF.
2) HOT THINGS-
Hong Kong is hot. Painfully, humidly, stickily hot. It's absolutely unlivable. I can't walk more than two blocks before I start sweating, and if I walk more than five, I look like I've just worked out. It's abhorrent. 90 degrees and 90% humidity. It actually makes you feel heavier and harder to breathe. You find yourself taking elevators in places you'd normally take the stairs because most elevators have AC.
I've lived in places with weather like this before - possibly slightly less humid since it wasn't subtropical, but in 17 years in Texas I saw my fair share of heat. But you know what we did when it was hot as balls? STAYED INSIDE. You went from your air conditioned house to your air conditioned car (that hopefully had stayed all night in a garage or covered place) and drove to your air conditioned work, and were outside in the horrible death heat for approximately 5 total minutes if you really tried.
Here I don't have a car. I have a subway. What's the problem with the subway? It's not 10 feet from my house, that's what. By the time I make it to the subway, I look like I've run a marathon and my nice work clothes are sticky and smelly. I feel dirty within 2 minutes of exiting my building. I want to take 7 showers a day. It's fucking ridiculous. So you'd think, having this climate of excruciatingly balls-hot days and a lot of unnecessary outdoor time, that Hong Kongers would appreciate a large, cold bottle of water.
NOPE. One of the first places I went to eat, I asked for water. I drink tea, water, and whatever's in the alcoholic beverage I'm given. I try to stay hydrated, seeing as I've fainted twice in the past 9 months and had to get an IV. Anyway, I ask for water. The woman looked at me oddly. Perhaps she didn't understand - there's sometimes a language barrier with the older generations. "Ice water?" I ask, trying to clarify.
Still confusion. "Bottle water?" Finally one of my Chinese classmates was able to tell her I just wanted a glass of water, to which she STILL looked like I'd asked for a pig's blood frappucino, but walked away seeming to understand. About three minutes later, I see her returning with a glass of water, sadly ice-free. She sets it in front of me and I'm about to pick it up when I notice it's HOT water. Not room temperature. HOT ASS WATER. She had to put EFFORT into making it hot, because things are not naturally steaming. Why the fuck would I want a GLASS of HOT WATER? I already have HOT TEA that's for the table, I obviously need something to, I don't know, STOP ME FROM SWEATING? Do you not see that I'm soaking through my shirt here, lady?
It was at this time I was informed by our chaperones and my Chinese friends that cold things (drinks, food, whatever) are considered "bad" for your health. I mean Chinese medicine is wacky enough, but to completely restrict the drinking of cold beverages in a climate that melts my makeup off in record time? That's fucking ridiculous.
I began to take note of things as time progressed - most people in restaurants do not order a drink. Yeah you heard me. No drink. If it's a Chinese restaurant it often comes with hot tea, which is good, but I have to let it cool down to "room temperature" tea before I can even consider drinking it. Then you stuff yourself with HOT FOOD. If you order noodles or soup, it's inedibly hot for ten minutes, unless your mouth is a steel machine like the natives. After the first bite I'm dying for a cold glass of SOMETHING, but instead I just have to keep eating my hot food and sweating as though I was walking around outside.
At the places that DO have iced drinks, they COST MORE. The food court has a combo option of a meal plus a drink - but if you want a cold drink, that's $3 more. WHAT?? I honestly can't believe these people aren't passing out left and right, since I never see them drink water. EVER. They might get a small hot tea, or a small coffee, but all damn day I haven't seen a single Asian drinking water. HOW DO THEY HYDRATE?? Even McDonald's, which has bottled water on the menu, does not understand how to substitute a BOTTLE OF WATER for the requisite soft drink in a combo order. I asked for one once, pointed to it on the menu, and it required a conference of three employees to figure out how to charge me.
Sadly I've realized that in any vaguely non-Western restaurant the only way I'll get a cold drink is to order a soda. I don't drink soda. I don't even particularly enjoy it anymore, despite drinking about 10 Dr. Peppers a day when I was in high school. But I will set aside pretty much all drink restrictions just to have something that I know came out of the refrigerator. So here I am, living in a climate that makes me sweat out all liquid in a ten-minute period and not being able to find something to replenish said liquid at any normal place where you EAT AND DRINK.
Since the first week, I have begun hoarding large bottles of water I buy at 7/11 downstairs in my tiny mini-fridge. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one buying the water. I just can't wrap my head around walking around all day, sweating my ass off and NOT finding great pleasure in the consuming coldest water (or other drink of choice) humanly possible. Now I understand my dad's crazed ice-Nazi behavior when we went to Europe - room temperature is not ok. And 3 ice cubes is not enough. But that's damn well better than a glass of hot water after you've just walked 10 blocks in 90 degree heat and humidity.
I follow up with three questions:
1) How the hell am I the only person with glistening, sweaty skin at any point in the day when I'm generally wearing less clothing than say, oh, ANYONE?
2) Why the hell are you wearing JEANS and LONG SLEEVES?
3) In a place that used to be owned by Britain, how on earth have you not figured out that Westerners like a cold drink every now and then? SERIOUSLY WTF.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
"CULTURAL SENSITIVITY" PART 1
I've been in Hong Kong almost a whole month now, and I've posted about as many pictures as there are hours in a day, so it's obvious that I'm enjoying myself. But I also know that I'm funnier and tell better stories when I'm bitching about something than when I'm describing how awesome it is. It's the hard truth. So putting the label on this that I'm thoroughly enjoying my time here, the bitching (while true) is simply for entertainment, so calm the fuck down.
1) The toilets. Let's have a little chat about bathrooms, shall we? Hong Kong is a very clean city. VERY clean. There are no pieces of gun stuck to the streets, and not a single mark of graffiti anywhere in the city. That being said, while the restrooms are also very clean, there are some issues for someone like myself - especially if said person has not been forewarned.
Many of the restrooms in HK and China are BYOTP. Yes, that means BRING YOUR OWN TOILET PAPER. Ok, so you want me to buy a roll to keep in my purse IN CASE I leave the house?? Are you really serious with this? What if you happen to be unaware of such practices and therefore are stuck mid-pee looking around for where the TP might be hidden? That happened to me ONCE, and I was so horrified that I felt dirty all day. I still feel dirty thinking about it. Ugghh. And then there's this:
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OH HELLLLLLLLL NO. Yes. That is a toilet you squat over. Ironically they provided you toilet paper for this one, probably since it's impossible not to piss all over yourself. I first saw this at the public restroom at the beach we went to. While surprised, I wasn't COMPLETELY shocked since if you're going to see a squat toilet it's going to be at some public recreational facility that's dirty and rarely kept up. Up until now I had been in toilets in civilized places, such as my apartment, nice restaurants, my office, etc. Then we went to mainland China. Guess what's the norm? YEP, THAT. In rest stops, in the hotel lobby (thank god our room was safe from this travesty of hygiene), in NICE RESTAURANTS. I managed to get through 90% of the weekend finding the handicapped single restroom and using that, since you can't expect a paraplegic or an 80-year-old to squat over a hole.
Then it happened. I had to pee and there were no civilized places within walking distance. The ONE restroom had 4 stalls of this bullshit, and of course, no TP. The worst possible scenario. I had no choice. I went balls to the wall, literally removing the bottom half of my clothing and hanging it up to prevent me pissing all over my shorts, which if I wanted that to happen I could've just pissed my pants and avoided this squatting nonsense altogether. Then I started getting all confused. Do I face the wall or the door? Does it matter? How far away do I need to be? Will I lose my balance and fall into this porcelain urine-soaked abyss, forever scarred from using public toilets?
Yes, it was very uncomfortable. Yes, it was exactly as horrifying as I imagined. Yes, I used an entire travel bottle of hand sanitizer for the next hour and a half. No, I will not be doing this again. Ever. And I sincerely apologize to the person who used the stall after me, since let's just say I haven't had as much practice as they have. My bladder will physically burst before I put myself through the squat toilet ever again. And for those of you wondering, no, I don't go camping, and yes, this is primarily why.
Travelers, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Part 2 upcoming...
1) The toilets. Let's have a little chat about bathrooms, shall we? Hong Kong is a very clean city. VERY clean. There are no pieces of gun stuck to the streets, and not a single mark of graffiti anywhere in the city. That being said, while the restrooms are also very clean, there are some issues for someone like myself - especially if said person has not been forewarned.
Many of the restrooms in HK and China are BYOTP. Yes, that means BRING YOUR OWN TOILET PAPER. Ok, so you want me to buy a roll to keep in my purse IN CASE I leave the house?? Are you really serious with this? What if you happen to be unaware of such practices and therefore are stuck mid-pee looking around for where the TP might be hidden? That happened to me ONCE, and I was so horrified that I felt dirty all day. I still feel dirty thinking about it. Ugghh. And then there's this:
.JPG)
Then it happened. I had to pee and there were no civilized places within walking distance. The ONE restroom had 4 stalls of this bullshit, and of course, no TP. The worst possible scenario. I had no choice. I went balls to the wall, literally removing the bottom half of my clothing and hanging it up to prevent me pissing all over my shorts, which if I wanted that to happen I could've just pissed my pants and avoided this squatting nonsense altogether. Then I started getting all confused. Do I face the wall or the door? Does it matter? How far away do I need to be? Will I lose my balance and fall into this porcelain urine-soaked abyss, forever scarred from using public toilets?
Yes, it was very uncomfortable. Yes, it was exactly as horrifying as I imagined. Yes, I used an entire travel bottle of hand sanitizer for the next hour and a half. No, I will not be doing this again. Ever. And I sincerely apologize to the person who used the stall after me, since let's just say I haven't had as much practice as they have. My bladder will physically burst before I put myself through the squat toilet ever again. And for those of you wondering, no, I don't go camping, and yes, this is primarily why.
Travelers, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Part 2 upcoming...
Saturday, June 15, 2013
YOU TOUCH, YOU BUY
With work taking up my weekdays and rain taking up my weekends, I have turned to excessive shopping to get through the weather setbacks in Hong Kong. It's not hard. Every 10 feet there's a mall, shop, market or something that you can indulge in, especially since my office is IN A MALL. These people don't joke around.
I've noticed a problem, however. Sure, you expect the hard sell at the trinket markets where they try to bargain you down so you leave with SOMETHING, but I wasn't expecting it in normal malls.
A week or so ago I went to a street market, basically like the fashion district with some Chinese tchotchkes thrown in, and all I had to do was TOUCH something and I had a saleslady breathing down my neck. "Only $200, look so pretty on you." I'd try to explain I was just looking, and keep walking through the stall. She followed me within 2 inches. "Ok, ok, $150, I go 150 for you." No, I'm not interested in the panda keychain I merely touched for 2 seconds upon entering your place of business. I politely say "no thank you" and walk out of her stall.
Here's where it gets weird. She GRABS MY ARM. "OK OK $100! I give you for 100, special price just for you!" Dude. No. I don't want it for any price. I smile and shake my head no and get the hell out of there. This happened at least 5 times, every time I forgot that touching something meant I obviously want to purchase it. I had at least two women grab my arm to keep me in the store as they constantly lowered the price of something I didn't want.
In the cheap "malls" which are basically indoor stalls to sell uber cheap clothing (see my engrish tshirt posts), I walk in a store and once again, touch something. "That's only $79." Touch another item. "That's $79 too." YES I SEE THE GIANT PRICE TAGS THANK YOU. "Just browsing" is a term they've never heard.
The absolute CREEPIEST part is the silent stalker. Today I went to a nicer mall with mid-range foreign stores (plus a Haagen Daas, since they love their ice cream), and EVERY SINGLE TIME I walked into one, a salesperson would immediately start following me around. The store would be about the size of a small shoe store in the US, where you can easily see everything and offer sizes standing next to the counter. I started testing this girl out, because I thought being followed was freaky. She said nothing, but literally followed me in 3 complete circles of the store, stopping whenever I'd stop.
I know this is the customer service culture of Asia, which I was told by my Chinese friends, but sweet lord, it makes me feel like a criminal. If someone were to follow you around a store silently about 2 feet behind you every step of the way in the US, you'd be convinced they thought you were about to shoplift. And having been a prosecutor, this is EXACTLY what they ARE doing.
It got to be a game, where I'd try to move quickly in odd directions to see if they could keep up, like I was being tailed in a car trying to lose them. The ways they compensated made me giggle, as I quickly dodged in and out of racks thwarting their creepy sales stalking. They were so persistent! They never gave up their chase, but they also didn't do the things the salespeople in the cheap places did - they just remained silent.
My last stop was a cheap Chinese trinket shop that sold everything from jade to dresses to Chinese print glasses cases. I was just taking it all in, enjoying the masses of random things, when I noticed someone close behind me. The passages were really small, so I stepped aside to let the person pass me while I looked at something so I wouldn't be in their way. She stood there. Ok...I did it a few more times to let others actually pass, but she never did. I didn't catch on that she was an employee until I'd done this at least 3 times, then I started to get pissed off. I wanted to browse, look at all the random things, pick up bracelets, touch fans, shuffle through dresses on the rack. It's like some people with peeing in public. I'm sorry, I don't shop with an audience. It's fucking weird. I did finally manage to get her stuck behind a dad and his son looking at some toys, where I bolted out of sight to continue shopping in peace.
In a place where everyone pretty much ignores each other (on the subway, on the street, in restaurants, in any other public space), this kind of attention bothered the shit out of me. And it wasn't because I was a westerner - I saw it happen to Chinese shoppers too. I couldn't wait to get back on the glorious anonymity that was the MTR and get the hell back to my tiny prison-cell-sized apartment to hide from people. I'm taking a break from shopping for a bit.
I've noticed a problem, however. Sure, you expect the hard sell at the trinket markets where they try to bargain you down so you leave with SOMETHING, but I wasn't expecting it in normal malls.
A week or so ago I went to a street market, basically like the fashion district with some Chinese tchotchkes thrown in, and all I had to do was TOUCH something and I had a saleslady breathing down my neck. "Only $200, look so pretty on you." I'd try to explain I was just looking, and keep walking through the stall. She followed me within 2 inches. "Ok, ok, $150, I go 150 for you." No, I'm not interested in the panda keychain I merely touched for 2 seconds upon entering your place of business. I politely say "no thank you" and walk out of her stall.
Here's where it gets weird. She GRABS MY ARM. "OK OK $100! I give you for 100, special price just for you!" Dude. No. I don't want it for any price. I smile and shake my head no and get the hell out of there. This happened at least 5 times, every time I forgot that touching something meant I obviously want to purchase it. I had at least two women grab my arm to keep me in the store as they constantly lowered the price of something I didn't want.
In the cheap "malls" which are basically indoor stalls to sell uber cheap clothing (see my engrish tshirt posts), I walk in a store and once again, touch something. "That's only $79." Touch another item. "That's $79 too." YES I SEE THE GIANT PRICE TAGS THANK YOU. "Just browsing" is a term they've never heard.
The absolute CREEPIEST part is the silent stalker. Today I went to a nicer mall with mid-range foreign stores (plus a Haagen Daas, since they love their ice cream), and EVERY SINGLE TIME I walked into one, a salesperson would immediately start following me around. The store would be about the size of a small shoe store in the US, where you can easily see everything and offer sizes standing next to the counter. I started testing this girl out, because I thought being followed was freaky. She said nothing, but literally followed me in 3 complete circles of the store, stopping whenever I'd stop.
I know this is the customer service culture of Asia, which I was told by my Chinese friends, but sweet lord, it makes me feel like a criminal. If someone were to follow you around a store silently about 2 feet behind you every step of the way in the US, you'd be convinced they thought you were about to shoplift. And having been a prosecutor, this is EXACTLY what they ARE doing.
It got to be a game, where I'd try to move quickly in odd directions to see if they could keep up, like I was being tailed in a car trying to lose them. The ways they compensated made me giggle, as I quickly dodged in and out of racks thwarting their creepy sales stalking. They were so persistent! They never gave up their chase, but they also didn't do the things the salespeople in the cheap places did - they just remained silent.
My last stop was a cheap Chinese trinket shop that sold everything from jade to dresses to Chinese print glasses cases. I was just taking it all in, enjoying the masses of random things, when I noticed someone close behind me. The passages were really small, so I stepped aside to let the person pass me while I looked at something so I wouldn't be in their way. She stood there. Ok...I did it a few more times to let others actually pass, but she never did. I didn't catch on that she was an employee until I'd done this at least 3 times, then I started to get pissed off. I wanted to browse, look at all the random things, pick up bracelets, touch fans, shuffle through dresses on the rack. It's like some people with peeing in public. I'm sorry, I don't shop with an audience. It's fucking weird. I did finally manage to get her stuck behind a dad and his son looking at some toys, where I bolted out of sight to continue shopping in peace.
In a place where everyone pretty much ignores each other (on the subway, on the street, in restaurants, in any other public space), this kind of attention bothered the shit out of me. And it wasn't because I was a westerner - I saw it happen to Chinese shoppers too. I couldn't wait to get back on the glorious anonymity that was the MTR and get the hell back to my tiny prison-cell-sized apartment to hide from people. I'm taking a break from shopping for a bit.
Monday, June 3, 2013
BLONDE IN HONG KONG, PART 1
Last week I traveled into the future on an airplane. It was kind of awesome because I got to skip Monday entirely. No one likes Mondays.
I obviously haven't flown anything but Southwest in many a year, so I found my economy class seat on the giant Asiana airlines jet to be magical and full of glory. Aisle seat, yay! More legroom, yay! Personal tv, yay! Then they come by with the meals. It's a Korean airline, so they offered two - bibimbap (Korean deliciousness) or the "western" meal of beef stew and mashed potatoes. Being very obviously one of the only westerners on the flight, and definitely the only blonde, the stewardess switched the order in which she offered the meals:
"Would you like BEEF STEW...?" followed by a look that said "of course you do, I don't need to ask, silly American." When I paused, she proceeded to tell me about the Korean meal in great detail as if I had never heard of it before (to be fair, I'm sure some people who don't have a Koreatown near them probably haven't) to which I replied "I'll have the bibimbap." She handed me my meal with a combination of confusion and worry that I would be calling her back later to request the stew instead. I cleaned my plate.
After sitting for 15 hours, we finally reached Hong Kong, and there were a few things I immediately noticed: 1) It is absolutely beautiful, with lush green mountains and blue water and surprisingly Hawaii-esque, 2) driving (or being driven) on the wrong side of the road makes me believe I'm going to die at any moment, and 3) it is the equivalent of combining the heat and humidity of Houston, New Orleans, and Florida all into one.
Within hours I realized I hadn't packed NEARLY enough, since in my silliness I thought I could get through a whole day in a single outfit, as I do at home. No no, I sweat through the first one and have to change before dinner. To be fair, I sweat like an old man. I have walked around the city for hours a day for a week and have NEVER seen someone as sweaty as I was. I don't know if my body just isn't used to this weather and will adjust sooner or later, or if I legitimately make more sweat than 90% of the world's population, but either way I'm a disgusting, stinky mess within 30 minutes. I don't mind being shoved into the subway, but I feel terrible for the people stuck to my stinky body for the whole ride, and I sure as hell won't raise my arms to hold the handles from the ceiling, someone might die.
The money situation is also very weird. $100 US is approximately $800 HK. So I see a tshirt that's $115 and nearly shit my pants before realizing it's really about $14. Bargaining at the street market for a long jade bead necklace, the lady started out at $350, and even when I walked out with it at $100 I felt ripped off and like I just spent my life savings. I have a currency calculator app on my iphone so that in these moments I can look up the real price and relax knowing I got a pretty nice necklace for $11. And some fake Toms, same price.
It feels weird getting someone to make change for a $500 bill at a restaurant. I hand it over with this guilty look on my face like I just overburdened them for making change when in reality that's perfectly normal. It also kind of makes me feel like a high roller, which I'm obviously not, but I've never touched a $500 bill in US money. Let me dream.
My current obsession is finding the cheap CHEAP clothing stores that sell the tshirts (like the zebra one I posted) that say things like "finding light under starry love happy world." They're all about $5-6 and I'm coming home with so many of them it'll be all I wear. Or something weird like a cat wearing a crown that says "dance princess." You will all be jealous of my hilarious wardrobe upon my return.
A woman also approached me to sell me a "whitening" face mask at a cosmetics store, to which I stared at her in disbelief and wondered if she could actually see the color of my skin. True, Asians want whiter skin (why, I don't know), but the pale ass blonde chick? I'm good, thanks. Any paler and we'd be working on translucent.
I have still not found the elusive fake Louis. The ones at the markets were obvious fakes, with the slight changes to the logo that make them a little less illegal. I've been in crappy shop after crappy shop looking desperately for the really really good fakes that I know exist, and have not succeeded. This frustrates me but my determination will not waver. I will return home with the damndest most authentic-looking Louis Vuitton you've ever seen, mark my words.
For now, I must move the one foot over to my bed to watch an undisclosed number of episodes of the Killing before passing out and hauling it back off to work tomorrow, after taking a shower over the sink and toilet in my multi-purpose one-room bathroom. More photos coming soon.
I obviously haven't flown anything but Southwest in many a year, so I found my economy class seat on the giant Asiana airlines jet to be magical and full of glory. Aisle seat, yay! More legroom, yay! Personal tv, yay! Then they come by with the meals. It's a Korean airline, so they offered two - bibimbap (Korean deliciousness) or the "western" meal of beef stew and mashed potatoes. Being very obviously one of the only westerners on the flight, and definitely the only blonde, the stewardess switched the order in which she offered the meals:
"Would you like BEEF STEW...?" followed by a look that said "of course you do, I don't need to ask, silly American." When I paused, she proceeded to tell me about the Korean meal in great detail as if I had never heard of it before (to be fair, I'm sure some people who don't have a Koreatown near them probably haven't) to which I replied "I'll have the bibimbap." She handed me my meal with a combination of confusion and worry that I would be calling her back later to request the stew instead. I cleaned my plate.
After sitting for 15 hours, we finally reached Hong Kong, and there were a few things I immediately noticed: 1) It is absolutely beautiful, with lush green mountains and blue water and surprisingly Hawaii-esque, 2) driving (or being driven) on the wrong side of the road makes me believe I'm going to die at any moment, and 3) it is the equivalent of combining the heat and humidity of Houston, New Orleans, and Florida all into one.
Within hours I realized I hadn't packed NEARLY enough, since in my silliness I thought I could get through a whole day in a single outfit, as I do at home. No no, I sweat through the first one and have to change before dinner. To be fair, I sweat like an old man. I have walked around the city for hours a day for a week and have NEVER seen someone as sweaty as I was. I don't know if my body just isn't used to this weather and will adjust sooner or later, or if I legitimately make more sweat than 90% of the world's population, but either way I'm a disgusting, stinky mess within 30 minutes. I don't mind being shoved into the subway, but I feel terrible for the people stuck to my stinky body for the whole ride, and I sure as hell won't raise my arms to hold the handles from the ceiling, someone might die.
The money situation is also very weird. $100 US is approximately $800 HK. So I see a tshirt that's $115 and nearly shit my pants before realizing it's really about $14. Bargaining at the street market for a long jade bead necklace, the lady started out at $350, and even when I walked out with it at $100 I felt ripped off and like I just spent my life savings. I have a currency calculator app on my iphone so that in these moments I can look up the real price and relax knowing I got a pretty nice necklace for $11. And some fake Toms, same price.
It feels weird getting someone to make change for a $500 bill at a restaurant. I hand it over with this guilty look on my face like I just overburdened them for making change when in reality that's perfectly normal. It also kind of makes me feel like a high roller, which I'm obviously not, but I've never touched a $500 bill in US money. Let me dream.
My current obsession is finding the cheap CHEAP clothing stores that sell the tshirts (like the zebra one I posted) that say things like "finding light under starry love happy world." They're all about $5-6 and I'm coming home with so many of them it'll be all I wear. Or something weird like a cat wearing a crown that says "dance princess." You will all be jealous of my hilarious wardrobe upon my return.
A woman also approached me to sell me a "whitening" face mask at a cosmetics store, to which I stared at her in disbelief and wondered if she could actually see the color of my skin. True, Asians want whiter skin (why, I don't know), but the pale ass blonde chick? I'm good, thanks. Any paler and we'd be working on translucent.
I have still not found the elusive fake Louis. The ones at the markets were obvious fakes, with the slight changes to the logo that make them a little less illegal. I've been in crappy shop after crappy shop looking desperately for the really really good fakes that I know exist, and have not succeeded. This frustrates me but my determination will not waver. I will return home with the damndest most authentic-looking Louis Vuitton you've ever seen, mark my words.
For now, I must move the one foot over to my bed to watch an undisclosed number of episodes of the Killing before passing out and hauling it back off to work tomorrow, after taking a shower over the sink and toilet in my multi-purpose one-room bathroom. More photos coming soon.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
PRETTY PRETTY PRINCESS
Everyone has certain ways of describing other people, and everyone has a personality trait that dominates to be the most likely candidate for description. I have friends that I would describe a number of different ways, but overall they have similar personalities because that's obviously why we're all friends.
I've heard many descriptions of myself, from sarcastic to smart, funny to lazy. I'd say all of those hit the mark to some degree, even the negative ones. However, there's always one word that freaks me the hell out when someone uses it to describe me, because I honestly cannot see where it comes from: sweet. I've had a very small number of people in the past few years, generally people I don't know very well, tell me that I'm sweet. This isn't your grandmother telling me I'm sweet, this is a fellow student or coworker close to my own age. I'm baffled.
The few times someone has called me sweet I've actually looked at them like they had just grown a sparkly unicorn horn right in front of my eyes. I search my brain for anything that could possibly have led to this conclusion by this person. I'm confident that all these people had a strong grip on the English language and were very aware of the connotation of the word sweet, versus nice or friendly. "Sweet?" I usually repeat, in a way that's asking if they're sure that's the word they meant to use.
"Yep, you're really sweet," they usually reply. I likely haven't erased the look off my face when I honestly tell them "I don't really get that a lot..." to which they think I'm just being modest. No. I'm not. I'm not a sweet person. I may do sweet things, as may many other people whom you wouldn't describe as sweet. Just because someone does a sweet thing for her grandma one day out of three years doesn't change her general personality description.
I'm a nice person. I'll take nice. I'm polite. I'm a good friend. Yes, even though I find your dog highly irritating I would run into traffic to save it because I care about YOU and want to keep you from suffering. I could also take "friendly," but not in the way of being a social butterfly with strangers, just able to engage others in pleasant conversation. I'm thoughtful, I will say that. I frequently think of friends and family when I see something in a store, or I might send a funny card when someone isn't having a great month. I'm the kind of girlfriend that, if I was somewhere and saw a tshirt my boyfriend would find hilarious, I'd just buy it for him for no occasion.
But sweet really conjures up an unpleasant image of pink sparkly ruffles and hugs and bubbles, things that are whimsical (another word I strongly dislike). Sweet to me is a cupcake with pink icing and sprinkles that makes your stomach hurt. Sweet is someone who tries too hard and waits on you hand and foot - and literally would tie your shoes if you asked. Sweet is, honestly, likely someone I find highly annoying while still understanding that they're coming from a good place. I don't want to hang out with sweet. Sweet is boring.
I actually consider myself somewhat of a dick. Why "dick" and not "bitch," you ask? "Bitch," while being the general go-to word for a mean female, infers cattiness. A bitch is a person who would start something, or cause a scene to get what they want. Bitches are the girls in high school who think it's fun to make other people feel bad about themselves. I've worked with bitches. Even into their 30s, they still want to make people feel bad about themselves.
I, however, simply have a very low tolerance for stupidity and annoyances, and frequently respond to such situations with a smartass retort or, my personal favorite, an eloquent but condescending comment. I'm a dick because I find offensive things funny. I enjoy 13-year-old boy toilet humor.
Every time someone says a comment such as "I ate crab legs last night," no matter how innocuous, my brain desperately wants to respond "Your mom ate crab legs last night." Every. Single. Time. Yes, this happened in court, if you were wondering. I never said it, obviously, but I had to hold back many "Your mom only had two beers" and "Your mom didn't know that weed was in your pocket" statements. It was torturous sometimes.
If I think something's stupid, you'll know. If I think you're stupid, you'll know - that is unless you really are stupid, in which case you probably won't know and it makes my douchebaggery even more relevant. See, a bitch confronts a situation head-on - if she doesn't like someone, she'll go right up and tell them. A dick will generally avoid being around you, and when they can't avoid it, any conversation they have with that person will be a veritable cornucopia of sarcasm and patronizing remarks. And then when they're done, they'll be highly amused with themselves, telling their other dick friends about it and having a good laugh. Often times the stupid person won't even be aware that anything humorous took place at all. A bitch would make you very aware you were being mocked; a dick, however, enjoys covertly taking advantage of people. To them, it's just as funny if the person doesn't notice and you keep a straight face until you walk out the door. A bitch wants a reaction.
So for reference, someone who is a dick cannot also be sweet. The two are incompatible. I'm a dick. I'm sometimes a nice dick, a funny dick, a smart dick, or a lazy dick. I'm not a sweet dick. Say the words "sweet dick." Right now I'm laughing because I'm picturing you actually saying those words and realizing what you're saying. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes me a dick.
I've heard many descriptions of myself, from sarcastic to smart, funny to lazy. I'd say all of those hit the mark to some degree, even the negative ones. However, there's always one word that freaks me the hell out when someone uses it to describe me, because I honestly cannot see where it comes from: sweet. I've had a very small number of people in the past few years, generally people I don't know very well, tell me that I'm sweet. This isn't your grandmother telling me I'm sweet, this is a fellow student or coworker close to my own age. I'm baffled.
The few times someone has called me sweet I've actually looked at them like they had just grown a sparkly unicorn horn right in front of my eyes. I search my brain for anything that could possibly have led to this conclusion by this person. I'm confident that all these people had a strong grip on the English language and were very aware of the connotation of the word sweet, versus nice or friendly. "Sweet?" I usually repeat, in a way that's asking if they're sure that's the word they meant to use.
"Yep, you're really sweet," they usually reply. I likely haven't erased the look off my face when I honestly tell them "I don't really get that a lot..." to which they think I'm just being modest. No. I'm not. I'm not a sweet person. I may do sweet things, as may many other people whom you wouldn't describe as sweet. Just because someone does a sweet thing for her grandma one day out of three years doesn't change her general personality description.
I'm a nice person. I'll take nice. I'm polite. I'm a good friend. Yes, even though I find your dog highly irritating I would run into traffic to save it because I care about YOU and want to keep you from suffering. I could also take "friendly," but not in the way of being a social butterfly with strangers, just able to engage others in pleasant conversation. I'm thoughtful, I will say that. I frequently think of friends and family when I see something in a store, or I might send a funny card when someone isn't having a great month. I'm the kind of girlfriend that, if I was somewhere and saw a tshirt my boyfriend would find hilarious, I'd just buy it for him for no occasion.
But sweet really conjures up an unpleasant image of pink sparkly ruffles and hugs and bubbles, things that are whimsical (another word I strongly dislike). Sweet to me is a cupcake with pink icing and sprinkles that makes your stomach hurt. Sweet is someone who tries too hard and waits on you hand and foot - and literally would tie your shoes if you asked. Sweet is, honestly, likely someone I find highly annoying while still understanding that they're coming from a good place. I don't want to hang out with sweet. Sweet is boring.
I actually consider myself somewhat of a dick. Why "dick" and not "bitch," you ask? "Bitch," while being the general go-to word for a mean female, infers cattiness. A bitch is a person who would start something, or cause a scene to get what they want. Bitches are the girls in high school who think it's fun to make other people feel bad about themselves. I've worked with bitches. Even into their 30s, they still want to make people feel bad about themselves.
I, however, simply have a very low tolerance for stupidity and annoyances, and frequently respond to such situations with a smartass retort or, my personal favorite, an eloquent but condescending comment. I'm a dick because I find offensive things funny. I enjoy 13-year-old boy toilet humor.
Every time someone says a comment such as "I ate crab legs last night," no matter how innocuous, my brain desperately wants to respond "Your mom ate crab legs last night." Every. Single. Time. Yes, this happened in court, if you were wondering. I never said it, obviously, but I had to hold back many "Your mom only had two beers" and "Your mom didn't know that weed was in your pocket" statements. It was torturous sometimes.
If I think something's stupid, you'll know. If I think you're stupid, you'll know - that is unless you really are stupid, in which case you probably won't know and it makes my douchebaggery even more relevant. See, a bitch confronts a situation head-on - if she doesn't like someone, she'll go right up and tell them. A dick will generally avoid being around you, and when they can't avoid it, any conversation they have with that person will be a veritable cornucopia of sarcasm and patronizing remarks. And then when they're done, they'll be highly amused with themselves, telling their other dick friends about it and having a good laugh. Often times the stupid person won't even be aware that anything humorous took place at all. A bitch would make you very aware you were being mocked; a dick, however, enjoys covertly taking advantage of people. To them, it's just as funny if the person doesn't notice and you keep a straight face until you walk out the door. A bitch wants a reaction.
So for reference, someone who is a dick cannot also be sweet. The two are incompatible. I'm a dick. I'm sometimes a nice dick, a funny dick, a smart dick, or a lazy dick. I'm not a sweet dick. Say the words "sweet dick." Right now I'm laughing because I'm picturing you actually saying those words and realizing what you're saying. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes me a dick.
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