Pedro and his Posse… and a Bunch of Other Thoughts

Many of you have been asking me about "Pedro".  I know haven't written about him in a while, but frankly, I haven't written much at all lately - there's been too much going on!

I promise to do better...

As for Pedro, I have not seen much of the man lately, sadly...but I do have a massage story or two for you…

But first, you have to suffer through the background.  I dislocated my shoulder a few weeks back.  I went to take Harley for his morning constitutional, and I threw on a pair of flip flops for the venture.  I unlocked the door and saw that it was raining.  These particular shoes usually skid a little on the ceramic tiles under the awning, but once I hit brick (about 4 feet away), I'm fine.  So, even though it was raining, I saw no need to turn back.

Unfortunately, someone brilliantly decided that dry ceramic needed to be mopped on a rainy day.  So, I opened the door, took a step, and went down like a cartoon cat on a banana peel.  Gracefulness is not a gift I can claim, so I can only imagine what I looked like.  It was especially nice of Harley to not even look back, but head straight for the trees, pulling my beaten body with him.

I went one way, and my arm went another.  Seering pain shot through me.  I managed to get my arm back in place (Mel Gibson has nothing on me), despite the woman who was grabbing it to try to help me up.  How do you say "Don't touch my arm!" in Chinese?  You don't… you scream and slap at the offender.  After putting my arm in my spare sling (sadly, I keep one around for just such an occasion), I went to work. 

A few days later, it was still a little wobbly, so I went to visit my friend Maryann, the international doctor.  I needed a firmer sling, and I wanted her to double check that I put it back in place properly.  She sent me to the Chinese hospital for x-rays.  I was hoping to avoid a hospital during my stay here.  After my mom's emergency surgery in Egypt during our vacation last year, I'm a little jaded on the medical system in developing nations.

The hospital was so depressing.  There was an entire open-air room near the front dedicated to blood transfusions.  Row after row of chairs and gurneys with drips attached.  There were gurneys full of elderly people lined up down the hallways.

The x-ray section was depressing in a different way.  I bypassed all of the locals who were waiting there, simply because I am a foreigner.  Nice for me, but I felt horrible for them.  I was ushered into a state-of-the-art x-ray room, where I was given a lead waist apron to wear.  I felt so exposed everywhere else, but I don't remember if this is normal in the US as well.  I just felt (mentally) the radiation shooting through my chest.  There is NO WAY this could be good!

Afterward, I was given my new sling from one of the nurses dressed like a Chinese Florence Nightingale.  It consisted of a square of fabric, tied in a knot at the elbow and in another knot around my neck.  I felt like an extra from the set of M*A*S*H.  And I looked it too!  But thank God, all was fine and it just needed to heal.

I was aiming for pathetic with
this picture... how'd I do?

So, I took a few weeks off from visiting Pedro to let myself heal.  I had a hard time managing for the week I was slinging – it's really hard to type when your dominant hand is becoming intimately familiar with it's opposite breast.    Eating with chopsticks is not natural to begin with… I was forced to do it with my wrong hand…  I was flicking peanuts everywhere!

Any who… after babying the arm for a while, I decided to go to Shanghai for a weekend to get my hair cut and colored.  I know, it sounds nuts, but I did not trust a salon in Nanjing (NJ), and I had heard horror stories of blue hair and fried ends…

So off I went to spend the weekend with my buddy, Steve, so that another Steve could make me beautiful.  His exact words were "your color is scrumptious, and the texture is delicious!"  But I digress….. 

While in Shanghai, Steve (friend, not colorist) and I opted to get foot massages from a local place.  Enter the obligatory watermelon and tea.  Enter the half barrel full of warm water.  Enter the 2 men to rub our feet. 

Steve's masseuse (we'll just call him Chatty Chang) would not hush.  Steve and I each had our magazines and we really didn't even want to talk to each other.  But Chatty Chang was all about the dialogue.  Non-stop questions…so not relaxing!  Fortunately, I was able to hide behind my magazine while Steve played 20 questions with Chatty.

Steve wanted a woman masseuse, but I insisted that he have a man do the job – they do better work, in my (self-declared) expert opinion.  Unfortunately, Steve's a wimp, and Chatty was apparently inflicting more pain than he could bear.  When Steve advised Chatty of this pain in his foot, Chang replied – "well I have to do this to get rid of your fat belly."

So many thoughts went through my head at that moment. 

·    First, "where do I spit my tea?"  Steve's face was PRICELESS!

·    Second, "WTF is he talking about?  Pedro's been abusing me for weeks and I haven't lost a flipping pound!"

·    Third, "WTF has Pedro been doing wrong that I haven't lost a pound?"

·    Fourth, "OMG – what must this guy think while he's working on my feet?  Tackling my petroleum belly must be like a mission to conquer Everest!"

·    And finally, "Seriously, where the hell do I spit my tea?!?!!?!"

I thought that just might top my massage humiliation …. But no, it's not even close.

The next week, I went back to visit with Pedro but he wasn't there.  So, one of his coworkers, The Replacement, came to do the job.  It was going fine, but he didn't have Pedro's touch.  What can I say?  I grew accustomed to the man!  So, rub this, knead that, blah blah…

Then he flipped me over.

Have you ever tried to open a Snapple bottle by thrusting the heel of your palm upward at the bottom of the bottle, thereby forcing enough pressure to pop the air seal? 

Well, that Snapple bottle was my body.  And that bottom was MY bottom.  And when the heel of his palm met the tail of my bone, the air seal popped completely – I actually burped. 

Heretofore, The Replacement shall be named Sadie.  Because, much like a 1950's housewife, he burped me like a Tupperware.

Steve's probably going to read this and gloat that his belly fat discussion doesn't really look too bad now. 

 

And if he ever says as much, I might have to stab him with a sharp pencil.  And I think I'd be justified in doing so.

And in case you were wondering…even after THAT move, my belly fat remains intact....

SIGH!

Drunk Diva

I’m prefacing this blog with two comments: a) I’m drunk.  And b) I apologize that I have so many entertaining blogs to write, yet THIS is what I’m choosing to document now.

In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny:  On with the show, this is it….

Well, it finally happened.  I got drunk in front of Mr Zheng.

When you live in an ex-pat environment where you have a driver, at some point you realize that you are in this vehicle you own with a virtual stranger every single time you get in the car.  And you get over it.

When I lived in NY, I commuted on the 6:59 AM LIRR train from Wantagh to Penn Station every morning.  And every morning, I stood in the same spot on the platform, and I got in the same car, and I sat in the same 5 person seat section.

Also every morning, the nice man I named “Nose Hair” (really, there’s no subtlety here), got in the same car at the Bellmore Station and sat across from me, reading the Wall Street Journal.  To this day, I can no longer read a newspaper without folding it as he taught me.  Curiously, I watched this man every single morning, reading his paper, drinking his coffee.  I started my job in January 1998.  It took until May before we acknowledged each other’s presence despite seeing each other every single morning.  And even then, we would smile, nod, and go back to our tasks – he to his newspaper, me to whatever I was reading, crocheting, or paying.

Fast forward 3 years to when I moved to Michigan.  Strangers did not invade my car; I drove the Southfield in virtual anonymity.  I had whatever emotion I chose, in my car, with my music, and at my control.  Quite different from the days of Nose Hair and me (or I?).

Fast forward 10 MORE years to present day Nanjing.  Here, I live a hybrid of my past lives - I am in a space with a virtual stranger every single day.  Only this time, my life is in the hands of said stranger, and he’s in my vehicle.

Poor Zheng-y….he didn’t know what a nutcase he was getting stuck with!!!

The man has witness me happy, sad, confused, angry, pensive, exhausted, ill, relaxed, anxious, busy, and even gimping with my arm in a sling.  But today, he saw me drunk. There are many phases to “Drunk Rita”…he got the adorable one (thank God!). 

Alcohol seems to be a way of life in China.  I NEVER drank this much in my college or immediately thereafter, and yet here..it’s a norm.  Dinners, nights out, etc. all seems to revolve around the drink. I think it’s because of the lack of movie theaters, live performances, and salty popcorn.  Just a theory….

 As a closet stress manager, I needed wine tonight.  I had what I’ve dubbed, “Circular Logic Tuesday”, and I was done.  Beaten down.  Dragging my tail.  So, I called on Matt, another ex-pat who is amazing at listening on my “wow-I-need-wine” days.  We went to a nice German restaurant, Secco, where we enjoyed a quiet dinner and I consumed a lot of alcohol. 

WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME!!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!

As I said, alcohol seems to be prevalent among the ex-pats here.  In my drunken haze, I find this humorous…  I won’t soak in a tub of the water here.  God help me if I don’t sanitize every piece of fruit before I consume it.  And I keep a bottle of water next to my toothbrush so I don’t wash with tainted water.  Mr. Zheng changes his shirt every afternoon so I am not subjected to second-hand smoke, and yet… I am pickling my liver as a sometimes daily means of survival.

Go figure….

I’ll leave that to the sober brainiacs to debate… I’m too tired and too buzzed right now… but at least I led the horses to water, right!?!

Anywho… back to Zheng-y…

That poor man…. I left work tonight and said to him:  “Jin tian bu hao” – my warped form of “today sucked”.  Then I raspberried like Archie Bunker (you youngsters who don’t get the reference – keep it to yourselves and look it up on Wikipedia!) to emphasize the point.  He knew he was in trouble.

At some point after my bottle of Chilean wine, I vaguely recall asking Matt to translate that I wanted to put Zheng-y in a take home container (da bao) and ship him to America (Mei Guo).    For some reason, Matt couldn’t think of the Chinese for “Crap Ass Day”, so I raspberried again to show Mr Zheng how bad it was.

That poor man!

After Matt left, I also think I told Zheng-y that his lao ban (Boss) is crazy and needs a vacation (jia qi).  And that he needs a vacation from me. 

He told me I was in a ‘Mood’ (from his dian hua translator on his phone) and he promptly deposited me in the parking garage at my apartment, so I didn’t have to stumble home above ground, in front of the guards.

This is a virtual stranger who is welcome in my car ANYTIME.

I just hope I can look him in the eye tomorrow morning!!!