I reconnected with my long lost friend Anushay the other day on MSN. I have to say, she is by far my hottest friend– she’s from Bangladesh; super gorgeous with a heart of gold (she works in gender and development). Anyway, we go way back to my FMF days… She’s in London at the moment. Actually, she’s been in the UK a couple of years now and only recently, has she discovered the magic of MSN Messenger. I know, I really have to get all my friends on board. I don’t understand why anyone would fight the gravitational pull of constant internet connection. ANYway, so we did some catching up… went through all the updates. And omg, did she have a story.

So way back in 2003, she was seeing this dude kinda on and off. Really clicked, was just really into him. For geographical reasons, the relationship never truly solidified, but even three years later (now), they stayed in touch. Then, one day she randomly googled his name… the dude is frickin’ MARRIED. Was married three years ago, is married still. WHAT. THE. FUCK. I don’t even want to get started on this whole issue of infidelity but well, no stopping me now. Oddly, I’ve been bumping into the issue left and right lately. I just don’t get it. Seriously. How fucking selfish and immature and deceptive. Now, I’m not going to make some blanket statement about guys being the perpetrators; I have girlfriends who have cheated. I just shake my head. No matter how they explain it, I never understand the rationale. It’s like some bullshit, messed up reasoning, like they cheated because they wanted to test something. It’s such a load of dogshit. I mean, bottom line is that you are weak, you are impulsive, and you’re a self-serving asshole. Oh, how infidelity enrages me! So the other day, Pamela and I watched the movie Unfaithful. I’ve seen it before but still, every time, I just want to shake Diane Lane. What the hell are you doing? Am I missing something here? I mean, how hard is it if, for example, you’re pissed off at your partner. Or you’re not getting along. Or you want a break. How difficult is it to just tell the person? Isn’t that still easier than sneaking around and keeping up two separate lives? Let’s say, you’re ultra pissed at your partner. You don’t even want to talk to him/her for a few days. Fine. Send a goddamn email saying you want a break. Yes, it should be done in person or on the phone, but jesus, at the point that you’re going to cheat? Screw the Miss Manners bullshit and notify in whatever method you can manage. Or what if there’s someone at work or school you’re attracted to… fine. John’s ex once said, “Just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.” Personally, when I’m on a diet, I don’t look at the menu, but… ok, if you’re attracted to someone else, fine. Admit it, but don’t deny the attraction and then proceed to act on it… Argh. I’m getting so pissy now thinking about all of this.

It’s just that… what is going through that person’s head? If someone’s not interested in being monogamous, then don’t be in a romantic partnership. It’s not rocket science. To me, it doesn’t even matter whether you’re married or not. Are you or aren’t you in an exclusive relationship? If both parties know or are down with the swingers thing, fine. But god, I hate lying players. I really really hate that attitude like you can fuck with people and get away with it and it’s ok. It’s not ok. At all. People sometimes say, “things just happen.” What the hell is that? Have you no control? It’s like you have to take a leak. Do you just piss in your pants right then and there? No! You hold it and wait until you can fucking relieve yourself at the appropriate place. And I mean, are you totally oblivious to what is happening? The growing attraction, the changing dynamics? Sorry, I’m totally on my soapbox now… and don’t misinterpret me. I’m not saying I have some storybook relationship. I’m not intending that at all. I’m just frustrated, because I see infidelity everywhere. And it’s a sad thing when people break hearts, because hearts don’t mend so easily.

I hosted Game Night II last night… the inaugural one last April was a pizza party. Yesterday’s was a BBQ. Usually, John’s the grillmaster when we BBQ, so I never actually learned what to do– how to start the fire and how to prep/cook the meat. Luckily, earlier last week Pamela schooled me on the secrets of operating a charcoal grill. Haha, even John’s a little shaky on that (he’s used to the instant gratification of a gas grill). I think I have some pyromanical tendencies, because I really get a kick out of playing with fire. Starting the grill is somewhat challenging, but at least now I’m in on the trick: use an oil-soaked cloth to seed the fire. A basketball air pump (my idea) also comes in super handy for precise, targeted fanning. We got the fire so hot early on that we had to close the vents on the bottomside of the grill. That move bit us in the ass later in the evening when Joon had to grill two steaks… but all in all, the food was all good. Peppercorn/blue cheese steaks, Hawaiian chicken, pork/radish/mushroom dumplings… Who me? A former vegetarian? Poor John, he’s missing out on me in my carnivore heyday. Once I return to the States, I do plan to jump back on the veg bandwagon. California offers so many more veg options. Plus, the logic of Peter Singer simply cannot be denied. And I can’t quite cope with the long-term guilt.

But boy did we have a spread yesterday. In addition to the meats, we had salad, french bread, fresh popcorn (Pamela showed me how to do that on the stovetop as well), apples, banana bread, and of course a host of toxic beverages. Good times, but I need to get more boardgames. We’re going through the Taboo cards awfully quickly. How to restock in China? A quick search on Taobao returned Hustler Taboo. I don’t even want to know.

Now is one of the best times of the year to be in Shanghai. The weather, when it’s good, is really good: plenty of sunshine with a nice, easy breeze. The only bad thing about warmer weather here is mosquitoes. Such loathsome creatures! Thankfully, I have erected a net-tent over the bed. I must say, the net is actually pretty kick-ass; it even has a mini plastic ceiling fan for the extra hot summer nights (hot temperatures… must I stipulate this?!).

So the first evening I pitched the tent, I went to bed feeling totally safe and secure. Then, in the middle of the night, my arm began itching. Soon after, I heard, “bzzzzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz” around my ears. Fuck! I popped up, unzipped the tent, crawled out, turned on the light, and began the hunt. I can never rest until the mosquito is captured and killed. Sure enough, there it was on the INSIDE of my fucking security barrier. INSIDE!! Whap! Killed the sucker and in my palms, the blood she had stolen from me. Goddamnit bitch! Already, my arm was scratched raw. After that, I couldn’t fall back asleep. It was 3 am.

I swear, someone needs to make an alarm clock that buzzes like a mosquito. Screw the annoying beeping models. The insect buzz would be so much more effective than a little meep meep. Oh well. The lesson learned is that you really have to keep the net zipped at all times. Yesterday, one little corner flap was open during the day and sure enough, just as my head sank into the pillow, no more than five seconds later, I was up with all the lights on, hunting for the killer. I do love my net. I’m taking it back with me to the States in July. For sure (even though John claims San Mateo doesn’t have mosquitoes… whatever!).

Note the cute lil’ ceiling fan. And yes, I have my laptop inside the tent (like a true internet junkie).

OMG!! That woman in my class!!! She’s driving me up the wall. Yes, the cell phone lady. Today? Jesus Christ. Sleeping in class! Like not even involuntary dozing off kind of sleeping. Ah uh. No. Blatant, disrespectful, arms-crossed-on-the-desk, head-down sleeping! Can you fucking believe this shit? Seriously, where are people like her from? I mean, I was butt tired today. In the last week, Shanghai has had torrential rains and then clear skies and sunshine. Both times it rained, I miscalculated and left the house without rain gear. Long story short, I was sick last night. Watery eyes, headache, stuffy nose. I went through two boxes of tissues. And because I had that stupid quiz this morning, I was up too damn late. Point is, I was dog-ass tired. But did I sit in front of the teacher, cross my arms, and then proceed to sleep in his class? No! Why? Because if I really wanted to sleep, I would frickin’ GO HOME! What a stupid fuck. I hate her.

Btw, since I told her to take her phone conversation (during our midterm exam) outside, she has never spoken to me again. Goddamn idiot. I hope she falls off her bike and gets sloshed in a mud puddle. (I know, I could wish her a slow and painful death, but I’m not that much of a beotch). Ugh. Definitely can’t stand her though.

When John and I first arrived in Shanghai, I called up this guy whose client (an area school) was looking for English teachers. Based on my resume, he had decided I was worth an interview. When I called to schedule it, I asked for him in Chinese. Big mistake. He immediately asked if I was ethnically Chinese, because if yes, his client wasn’t interested. They wanted a “Caucasian face.” I argued that I was American-born, that my first time to China was September 2003. He asked if I was mixed. Almost instinctively, I seized that as my crowbar to pry open the door. I am “purebred” Chinese-American, but, I explained, people often ask if I’m mixed. In the past, people have asked if I was part-native American Indian or part-Latina even. The guy agreed to an interview. After I got off the phone, John shook his head and burst out in laughter, “Native-American Indian? Are you kidding?” What? It’s true, damnit. When I was younger, I’d get really dark being out in the sun. People said I looked N.A. Indian. I mean, of course now that I’m NOT tan, the comment sounds a bit ludicrous but whatever man, it’s not like I’m lying. Anyway, John’s never let me live that one down. And actually, when I met the guy for the interview, the first thing he said was, “Yeah, you look totally Chinese to me.” Well gee, sorry to disappoint. Whatever. It shouldn’t even be relevant, but you asked and I told the truth: that’s what other people have said. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job. And to make matters worse, he asked if John wanted to teach. Apparently his client’s only prerequisite is white skin. No teaching experience? No problem. Nice.

Of late, I’ve been getting these ethnicity questions again. Cabbies. Salon people. Classmates. Random people in the elevator. I just want to know what it is that throws them off? Is it the Chinese face and the native English. I mean, hello? Chinese are all over the damn world… it’s not that difficult to fathom overseas-born Chinese! Or maybe it’s the Chinese face coupled with the stilted Mandarin? Like the Mandarin isn’t exactly local but it’s also not completely foreign. I don’t know. Half the time, I don’t even speak. Beats the hell out of me. All I know is people give me very confused looks. What’s puzzling them? I’m not that difficult to figure out. Really. My blog is public after all.

I met up with my LifeLine crew this evening. Tegan, the former program manager (and a kickass one at that), is headed back to Australia. At the end of two and a half years, her partner’s construction management gig is done. They’re taking off 3-6 months (depending on who you ask) to travel the Outback. Got a tricked out SUV, complete with a refrigerator that runs off power from the engine. They’re rock climbers, so they plan to camp and climb all over. She said their suitcases for the flight out on Monday are packed to the brim with climbing equipment. So. Hard. Core. I mean, yeah I guess they’re putting a twist on the whole camping experience (with the refrigerator and all), but still. Six months in a tent? Even if they cheat a few nights and sleep in the SUV, that’s still NOT a bed!

So we had a very nice sushi/sashimi buffet at Hatsuhana in Gubei. Aaah, you can’t beat the smooth tingle of hot saki. I’m typically not a fan of alcohol and up until 2003, I almost never drank. Then, I discovered Bloody Marys. Man, how I craved that peppery tomato zing. Unfortunately, John’s friend made the mistake of telling us the sodium content, and just like that I was off the bandwagon. White wine is tasty too, but really, saki does the trick. It’s so deceptively dainty with the vase-like carafe and the tiny ceramic cups: you feel like you’re drinking tea.

ANYway, back to Tegan. It’s a shame to see her go but then again, you can’t feel too sad about it– she is going to be traveling around Australia with her lovey… so romantic. Sigh! June and July are busy months: three others will head out the next few weeks and then I’m out in mid July. Begin the farewell preparations, y’all!

1. Try to get into the cab through the rear left door.
2. Incorrectly assume cabbies are middle class: ask details about Shanghai real estate (for example, apartment sizes, unit prices, average rent, interest rates, etc.)
2. Say “yi” instead of “yao” when reading the numeral 1
3. Call air conditioning “leng qi” instead of “kong tiao”

This middle-aged Taiwanese guy (who lives in the Bay area) kept talking to me on the flight back to Shanghai. I didn’t really have anything in common with him; he kept saying that he viewed China as an investment opportunity and a chance to become “powerful.” Wtf? Like I give a shit. Anyway, we ended up sharing a cab into town, and man, he reeked foreigner.

I don’t watch CSI. I don’t watch any cop/investigative shows for that matter. You see, I don’t need to because I have my very own cop drama going down. Well, I guess not me exactly, but my friend. I’m involved for translation services…

Poor SZ. She had a stash of cash put away in the bedroom. Went away for May holiday. Came back three weeks later, and all the cash was gone. Oddly, nothing was disheveled, and nothing else was taken. Watches, a couple US dollars, an old cell phone, some jewelry– all still there. So the big mystery… what the hell happened?

First clue: SZ asked the ayi to do major spring cleaning during the break. I’m often the translator for her ayi; I’ve met her and I like her. She’s been working there since November. Money lying around the apartment; never had a problem. Still, you can’t help but consider her a possible culprit. Outside of SZ and hubby, the landlord, and property manager, the ayi’s the only other person with the key. I know, I say only other person but clearly there are already five people involved given the five sets of keys. When SZ first told me the news, my immediate response was to call the ayi and demand an explanation. Yes, I was totally in accusation mode. (I’m a hothead!) Fortunately, SZ didn’t want to falsely accuse, plus she wanted to ask the ayi in person so… that was what I was called to do today.

Well, this ended up being a six-hour affair. My god. Ayi came for her normal shift. I tried to be as tactful as possible… I asked if anyone had come in with her when she cleaned the last three weeks. No one. Are you sure? Yes, why? So I said things were missing. And I saw immediately, this heart-sinking expression on her face. What to do? What was taken? Was it a lot? Then she said there was one day when she noticed the curtains weren’t pulled fully tight like she always leaves them. When she re-checked the 4-panel sliding glass doors, the far right one was unlocked. At first, she thought maybe SZ was back (we didn’t tell her the exact travel dates), but nothing inside had changed. Maybe SZ had left the door unlocked? She locked it and thought nothing more. Meanwhile, she cleaned as she was instructed: specifically, she wiped down the windows, mopped the floors, wiped down all the furniture…

What to do, what to do. I told ayi I had to report it to the complex… maybe they had outdoor cameras installed. Ayi agreed… anything to clear her. The community agent came. They relocked the doors… whaddya know, a couple hard jiggles and the right-panel lock popped right open. And SZ never used the alarm system (management never gave her the instructions). So very quickly, these little details culminated into a bad situation.

So many lingering questions. If it were indeed an ordinary thief, why didn’t he/she clear everything out? Why take just the cash? And why worry about keeping everything in the original state? We called the cops. Two uniformed dudes arrived. Ayi was freaking out… clearly worried about keeping her job. A PI-looking guy also came, as well as a fingerprinting guy. I must have explained the scenario a million times. So many questions. What does the hubby do? What does his company do? What does SZ do? How much is rent? What’s his salary? Really invasive questions. And frankly, I didn’t see the relevance. But they’re cops… all you can do is tell them or say you don’t know. The whole thing was very uncomfortable. They took notes, jotted down records… the fingerprinting guy tried dusting a few places, but he said any oils/evidence would have been removed by the ayi’s cleaning or would have degraded by now considering this happened three weeks ago.

I have no idea why, but we had to go to the police station to file yet another report. The fingerprinting guy gave us a ride in the back of his cop car. That’s right, we were in the backseat of a copster. And let me tell you, that car was a piece of shit. Super junky. Worse than a cab. Dunno how they’re supposed to catch people with a jalopy like that. I mean, what about high-speed chases and shoot-downs and shit? Oh well, at least we got to bust through red lights and stuff. Yeah, we badasses man. Should have gotten some pictures for you, but well, pulling out the camera didn’t exactly seem appropriate given the circumstance.

So we show up at the station. Go through the whole story AGAIN. I really don’t understand what’s up with all the repetition but like I say, these are cops. I don’t question them; I just cooperate. Really sucks, but in the end, I don’t want any trouble, you know what I mean? I’m definitely not about to piss one off and get thrown in the Chinese slammer.

So I’m back home now. Exhausted. You know, with calling the cops, we had hoped they could collect some kind of evidence… even if it were just another set of fingerprints to clear the ayi. We also thought, why not gain some insight into crime investigations… hey this could be interesting? And for me, this was another opportunity to test my Mandarin chops. Yeah, yeah all those were good reasons for about ten minutes. Then lunch quickly came and went. I found myself reciting details like a robot. By hour five, we just wanted out. End the process. Right. Now. Please. The money is gone forever. Game over, you know? The cops say they’ll pursue the 5 sets of keys lead… We won’t be holding our breaths.

On my way home, I thought more on all of this. I suspect someone saw them placing the money into their drawers, and someone saw them leaving with their suitcases. I came home and locked all my windows even though I live on the 17th floor. The material stuff and money is of lesser concern, but how freaky to have someone in your home while you’re there? Yikes, gives me chills.

So about a week into my Stateside vacay, I finally figured out what was keeping me down. At first I thought it was just general laziness or jetlag or moodiness issues. All of those certainly could have contributed to my overall discomfort, but the main problem was allergies. Turns out, I had picked the perfect time of year for the Bay area. Trees, flowers, grasses– they were simultanously pumping out the pollen, and according to the Chinese radio station, this year was especially bad due to the unseasonably wet period last month. No wonder my eyes were constantly irritated, and I was having sneezing attacks (like ten sneezes at a time). I know, I really should have put two and two together sooner…

I decided to head back to the acupuncturist. Usually, results take a few sessions; this gave my dad (the western med advocate) and John more reasons to call acupuncture a scam. Maybe, but I did acupuncture for allergies last year and thought the treatment was really effective. Before that, I had tried the pills, but they only worked to a point. The ENT doctor said Nasonex was the only thing for me, but being someone already prone to nose bleeds, I wanted other options.

I’ll admit relief from allergies seemed a little harder won this year than last. The other day, I was in the middle of a full-on attack when I entered Dr. Lin’s office for session 4. My eyes were red and watery, the eyelids swollen (Think Benicio del Toro, aka Mr. Bee-stung Eyes), the nose enlarged… I was a damn mess, and a total zombie. I suppose Dr. Lin realized I was really desperate, because she jabbed me with many more needles than usual, like five on my nose alone plus a ton around my sinus pressure points and on my hand and legs. Despite being very fine gage, those needle can really pack a punch when piercing through. But it worked! I felt ten times better the next day. Dr. Lin also gave me herbal tablets… I think the conclusion is clear: acupuncture works for allergies.

I used to consider myself a dog person. It was a label I liked, welcomed even. After meeting the founder of an online social networking/dating service (he contacted me through StarPups*Shanghai) a year ago, I realized dogs could be my filter for meeting cool people. Well, I take that back now. Why? Because there are dog people who are insane. They don’t understand that dogs are still just dogs. They pamper and baby and basically anthropomorphize their dogs to death. In other words, they fuck up their animals. And it happens a lot. Just watch Dog Whisperer, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s not the dogs. It’s their owners. Like Caesar says, “I rehabilitate dogs. I train people.” His clients are very obviously messed up, and lucky for me, many of them congregate at the dog park.

So there’s this huge 3-acre fenced-in dog park in San Mateo. The park is relatively new and was built on an old landfill (hurray for land reuse!). Last week, I took the pups there. Remy’s always been a bit uneasy initially at dogparks. Nothing really worrisome, but her hackles go up and sometimes, she flashes some teeth towards other dogs. The dogs establish their placement in the hierarchy and everything is fine in a matter of seconds. So the other day, a lady is there with her just-groomed (read: prissy) Bouvier. Remy does her thing, but he continues to show interest and prance around her. Obviously, he doesn’t feel threatened if he’s still wagging his tail, bopping around. Remy flashes some teeth then barks twice. I say “No” firmly, because I realize this isn’t optimal behavior. Of course, zippo aggression is ideal. Well, the owner throws her hands up and is like “What’s the problem?” Seconds later, Remy turns towards the Bouvier and gets down on her front paws, in play position. The lady, worried already, calls Bo to come. He ignores her and continues bouncing around Remy. I tell her they’re just playing. Do you know how she responds? “Well, I don’t want them playing if they’re not going to play properly.” What the fuck? Play properly? Are you serious? They’re goddamn dogs. What do you want them to do, shake hands first? Ask permission beforehand? And who the hell are you, the dog playground police? I mean, if you really have issue with who your dog interacts with, get control of your animal. Teach him to actually respond to his moronic, lame-o name! Fucking bitch. I was so angered by her snotty, log-up-the-ass reply. And yet, in true passive aggressive fashion, I said nothing. I just held Remy until Bo ran off. Later, Martin started playing in a group that included Bo. Remy joined in and started nipping Martin on his back. She harasses him like this all the time. This is normal behavior between the two. I don’t think freaky lady knew R&M were together, and she had his horrified look on her face like Remy was brutalizing Martin. Jesus Christ. Then, she tried to get Bo away from the group again, because attack dog Remy was involved. I mean, fine. You don’t have to like my Remy. But then don’t be an asshole either. Stop putzing around the exit gate: clear out so people can go to the damn water fountain area. She took her damn time exiting, and then she started chit chatting with some dude, who had just arrived with his dog. Then, get this: she covered her mouth and whispered to him as they both looked at Remy. Gee, I wonder what she told him. Yes, you’re right. Remy is a bloody fighting dog. She’s gonna kill your poofy, sheltered dog (who also happens to be double Remy’s size). You’d better warn the other park goers. Their dogs are in danger too.

This is exactly what I’m talking about: overprotective, psycho dog people. They’re like the people who refuse to clip the nails because the dog yelps and cries. Or they won’t spay/neuter, because the animal endures some post-op discomfort and pain. I mean, what about human pain? I cut my finger on cardboard, so should I never open a package again? These are not my kind of dog people. But they are fucking everywhere. And they only feed my misanthropic tendencies.