Pee Pee Paradise Part 3: Picture Parade

Today's Thoughts...

Finally, after a looooong several weeks interlude, it seems about time to finish the Koh Phi Phi week of bliss. Thinking on it, I realized, what better way to take you all to paradise than to show you? So I present you with the Pee Pee Paradise Picture Parade:


Whipping through the waters at breakneck speed (no not really, but it sounded cool).











Our beachside treehouse home. A child's dream built for grown folk paradise.











Elena and I consuming interesting "buckets" at Tiger Bar. Genius. Genius I tell you. Give them half the liquor, charge them four times the price, but-- put it in a bucket!











Becca post beating the crap out of some unsuspecting girl in Muay Thai boxing.












Dylan feeding the monkeys. A kindergarten teacher somewhere is cringing right now.













Me snorkeling! My first time on an island and snorkeling EVER! I loves the colorful fishies!!












Kids don't do this at home. Apparently southern Thailand is the pyro capital of Asia :)














Just enjoying the bliss.... :)












Phi Phi at dusk...sheer majestic beauty.

"There was a snap, a crackle, and a pop. That’s when I knew I was in love”

Today's Thoughts...

"There was a snap, a crackle, and a pop. That’s when I knew I was in love”… with a stripper. Okay, so not really a stripper, but definitely the equivalent of one. Last night we were invited to the Glass Onion. Let’s just recount the club names here for a minute: Glass Onion, Moisture, Warm-Up, Spicy, Blar Blar Bar, Monkey Club—I’m never quite sure if I’m getting my late night shake on or whipping up soufflé for my pet chimpanzee. Strange. Very strange. Anyway, so we make our way to the Glass Onion for its Ladies Night celebration sponsored by City Life, the lifestyles magazine of the blossoming Chiang Mai socialite or so we’ll pretend because I don’t know if we count in that category just yet or ever will. The place is across the alley (meaning ten feet) from an adorable pet shop filled with puppies in the glass window snoozing in the middle of the night when we got there. Picture this: twentys and thirtys-something women hormones raging and biological clocks spinning out of control and cages filled with adorable fuzzy creatures. Perfect recipe for baby voices. The oohs and the aahs and the wickle ickle sweethearts dripped like saccharine love all down that storefront glass. I choose one and fondly named him Francis, or Cissy, my soon-to-be overstuffed pet pug. So precious!
Okay so reeling back in from the mommy puppy overload. We get to the street where the place is supposed to be and wouldn’t you know, it isn’t there. We’ve found that it’s the Thai way or at least the Chiang Mai way I suppose to sort of give you the general directions to a place. Ehh, somewhere around Soi 17 or Huay Kaew, in that general vicinity really. How did we finally find the place you ask? Well obviously we just asked the Mexican night guard on the corner and he pointed us in the right direction. Wait. We’ll do that again. Obviously we just asked the Mexican night guard on the corner and he pointed us in the right direction. (Yes, Mexican not Guatemalteco or Cubano or Puertorriqueño) Last time I checked we were in Thailand. In Asia. For a second I had to do a double take because I was pretty sure I had just walked down the street in LA or Santa Fe or somewhere that was not the back alley of an obscure street in southeast Asia. Crazy. I’m sure he blinked and thought he was back in a back alley in Brooklyn or the Bronx. Could be wrong, but he might, might have had the almost imperceptible of inklings to reach for his gun. I’d like to think we shared a moment at least. A wait-I-don’t-belong-here-anymore-than-you-do-wtf sort of moment.



Inside the bar/club was another story altogether. We were greeted at the door by shirtless Chip n’Dales with rainbow belts (it is Thailand after all and what’s homophobia really? Insecurity to embrace pink shirts and rainbow belts, that’s what). They ushered us in on plush red carpet with women teetering about in their high high shoes and slinky cut dresses, clinking cosmos, metros, and other urban delights. We found a group of our friends and spent the night immersed in the wonders of Thai women and their sheer openness and hospitality. I took pictures with more women I’ve never met and will likely never see again than I think I’ve ever taken with my mother. It was paparazzi madness and almost all done by women with beautiful smiles and waists the size of my index finger. Now I know what celebrities go through and my calves don’t envy them one bit. When we finally did get to sit down, the picture flurry somewhat died down or rather taken over by the squealing greetings and hugs all around us, we were able to sit back, observe, and really enjoy the place. In the corner was the 800 year old DJ (by which I mean 70 or so) blasting Michael Jackson and Flo Rida side by side. You do it, grandpa. He was great. We hung out there nursing oversized martini glasses until late (I was good and only had one!) and finally hurried our way back home to finish grading papers. I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a good mood grading. The kids got lucky last night. I think almost everyone got A’s ;P

Twenty-two going on Thirty

Today's Thoughts...

I am officially a thirty-something woman at this point. I signed up for a gym and definitely participated in my first ever step jazzercise aerobics course. I am shamed to no end that I was quite pleased however awfully I managed to keep up, nearly crashing to the floor at least twice and losing rhythm and nearly knocking one unsuspecting woman off her feet once. Today I went back and took part in Latin Burning, a cover for body rolls, hip thrusts, and spicy spins we’ll say. Utter hilarity watching a brave Thai man in pink shirt shake what his mama gave him during the butt thrusts and shimmies. I was proud of him. He was almost as good as our step aerobics instructor last week who insisted on blasting Beyonce and hurtling across the step platform at inhuman speeds I failed miserably to keep pace with. Oh booty pops and body rolls. It was fun. And that scares me.

One of these things is not like the other

Today's Thoughts...

Well, Elena and I thought it would be a great idea since we were talking about heroes, heroines, and celebrities to have our kids present on who their idols were, who they admired we said. Okay so I got a bunch of different answers—my Mom, Michael Jackson, the Princess of Thailand, Barack Obama— you know, the expected. And then…strangely enough I got hit with two doubles: Angelina Jolie and… Jesus Christ. Why two people in two separate classes both chose to do Jesus and Angelina (these being the ONLY repeat idols), I’m not quite sure? Perhaps there’s something of a resemblance going on there? You tell me. I mean… maybe… if you squint a bit. Long dark hair, even toned skin, the lips? I don’t know.





When I’m not being proselytized by my students, I sometimes visit hospitals in my spare time. As it worked out, to get a work permit you need a Thai health check up. To get a check up, you walk into a hospital, a sort of open air facility with a dog laying dead-like on the front porch (as they seem to do everywhere), a security guard on his cell phone (often bright red or pinkish with a dangly Hello Kitty or Pokemon charm if you look closely), and several women bustling about with papers dressed in white frocks with surgical masks. Well actually everyone has on a surgical mask except for you because you are foolish enough to come to an Asian country without yours seeing as how even when there is no H1N1 scare (swine flu), a good 1/5 of the population has one on at any given time. We have to wear them between classes to prevent the spread! More hygienic I think. Regardless, I was sure that if there was anywhere I was going to get H1N1 it was going to be here. I hear that sometimes the masks just block out nasty smells like car pollution, sewage water in the streets, and that large sweating tourist sitting next to you in the songtaew. But then again if it’s good scents you’re after, just grab a whiff of the good old sniff stick, a menthol stick that smells sort of like Vicks, makes you feel mildly lightheaded, relieves all smells, good and bad, and is religiously snorted by several of my less-than-attentive students in the back row of my General English class. I promise you they’re getting high back there, but I have yet to find a way to bust them for it. I mean, what would you say? Stop right now and give me that crack stick? That nose plug? That menthol-injecting rod? Back to the hospital.

We walk in. Step up to the receptionist and say: Work Permit. Check Up. Perfectly mimicking the tones that our teacher friends taught us to say our non-tonal English words in because if you use the wrong tone even in English sometimes you do not say real words… what? English is English! There are no tones! Why on earth am I trying to remember how to say “Wok Paaaaahmeet. Chik. AAhp.” Last time I checked, they were English words! Ah, but in Thailand, we do it the Thai way and when you’ve spoken a tonal language all your life like most everyone here has, it is certainly hard to change midstream whatever new language you are acquiring. So we interlopers in this Thai paradise adapt. Wok Paaaaahmeet it is then.

We are handed several forms with moderately intimidating information and fill out precisely three blanks: name, birth date, request: Work Permit. No passport, no cell number, no emergency contact, no prior health care, nada. We sit for a bit in the waiting room. A small boy on a stretcher rolls by, his leg bandaged and his mother clutching the gurney. A bit unsettling. Then a nurse approaches us and I am systematically weighed and found to be fat. I’m not told this of course, but the look on the nurse’s face when she reads my whopping 59kg (roughly 130 lbs.) was enough to assure me that I was mammoth. Then I am asked: Have any allergies? No. Have any sick? No. Have any problems? No. Please sit. So we sit some more. An elderly lady is rolled past on a bed, staring open-mouthed at the ceiling. I'm sure she has H1N1 or worse or maybe she's just bored. Her gurney comes to a halt not far from us while the nurses chatter about near her. No, she looks like I feel— terrified. She is wheeled away. Several more limping, hobbling, and otherwise not so happy looking patrons roll and stroll through as we wait. Then we are finally called in to see the doctor.

Sit please. English language or pasa Thai? English, please. Have any allergies? No. Have any sick? No. Have any problems? No. Please breathe (she holds the stethoscope to my chest). Yes. Very good. Healthy. And she signs my form and off we go to pay our hefty 100 baht fee for the check up. 100 baht? Yes, that’s $3.50. We walk out with our papers, eager to flee the sick ward, but thoroughly pleased. Sometimes, I just love this place.

Pee Pee Interlude Again—Rage Against the Songtaew

Today's Thoughts...

Okay so interrupting the island broadcast once again, I’ve got a little volcano to spew forth. The past few days, I’ve been extremely and inexplicably ill, almost certain I had the pig disease or worse so many apologies for the writing gap. But now that I’m on the up and up, I thought I’d keep my jabbering. If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it now—I can’t stand the freakin songtaews. Oh sure, they’re loads of fun the first time you pile into one with its flashy red exterior and open air interior. Great little red pick-ups these things are, but for goodness sakes don’t come to depend on them for daily transport. After school, we usually get stuck with the "Little Taew" as I've not so fondly come to call it which is precisely what happened yesterday as I weakly climbed in, sick and ready to collapse. This songtaew is about half the size of a normal one in its exterior and I swear is powered Fred Flintstone style with this guy's feet slapping pavement through the bottom. Undoubtedly the SLOWEST one I've ever been in, we get stuck with it because the other drivers think it's hilarious (and always point and laugh) when Elena and I get ushered to it by its overeager driver. I think we're his only customers all day and I would pity that, really I would, but by the glint in his eye we know he KNOWS it's awful to be in the back of that thing. He's got these very large, very wide eyes that light up when he sees us come and this ridiculous grin on a very thin face that just looks so out of place and so mischievously gleeful to have us as he pushes us into the death wagon. It bumbles along the highway slower than the slowest motorbike, hitting every bump and jut along the way and sending us flying every time he swerves which is quite frequent as he tends to swerve when he honks and he gaily honks more than he steers, more to give a shout to passersby that his Little Taew is coming through than anything else. I mean even the horn squeaks when he honks it, yet he insists he has something to honk about as everyone steadily passes us on the highway. I can't tell whether to call him Happy Honk or Golem for his eerie love of his precious wagon. Worst idea ever to take these things as Elena and I are still stranded without motorbikes.

In the mornings, there are a good half dozen or so that go by every four to five minutes so they are very plentiful which would be great if they actually took you where you wanted to go. If you hop in the back, good luck. If you’re in the cab, you might fare a little better. At first, our annoyance was mild— the constant stops to pick up additional passengers when you’re in a rush, but hey, these guys have to make money somehow, right? Then it turns into them always dropping the farangs (non-Thai people) off last no matter when you get on. Okay, it makes me a little peevish, but whatever. Then comes the day when it’s raining, you’re pissed because you’ve been standing soaking wet. You clamber in, knowing you’re being charged up the yin yang for the ride and will inevitably have to haggle forever, as usual, and, running late for work already, find that Mr. Songtaew Man wants to take a detour through town, pick up two Thai women, drop them off, drop his wife off, pick up lunch, do laundry, and then get lost on his way to your destination. This all makes you unnecessarily late to work for what should have been a 15 minute ride down the highway. ARGH!!!!! Makes you want to shoot someone, but instead when he smiles in your face, knowing he screwed you over, you are expected to just grin and bear it because that’s the Thai way. Well, I’ve only lost it twice and today was one of those days.

The first time I was on my way to work in the rain and ended up furiously pounding on the window of the cab until he pulled over, I with flamingly enraged face jabbed my finger at my watch and screamed NOW! and we got to school with five minutes to spare. Today, on my way back from the store, I walked over to the stand where all the trucks sat and asked to be taken to where I live. Considering that it was only a 10 minute ride, I knew the price should be around 20 or 30 baht. When he looked at my bags, including a newly purchased suitcase and charged me 85, I nearly laughed. “No,” I told him in Thai. “I don’t have 85 baht. 30 baht.” (Mai chai. Mai mee baad sip haa. Saam sip haa, kaa.) He actually laughed at me and pointed to a bench for me to wait for more passengers. Knowing full well that hardly anyone took trucks back from this store (everyone rides their bikes and piles on the loads of purchased goods), I knew I was in for a doosy. He proceeded to walk to his group of friends and in a shrill voice imitate me and the price I asked for (the normal rate!) and laugh before propping his feet up to watch TV (because everyone has a roadside TV here and don’t ask me why). After about 20 or 25 minutes, I was fed up, so without a word, I stood and started walking. He chased after a bit calling to me and shouting, but I refused to turn around. I was tired and livid and lugging a suitcase full of purchased goods. I hit the main road to the highway in no time and immediately spotted another red truck on the other side of the road. Across the four lane street, he shouted something sounding like: “Tee nai, krup!” (Where, please!) I shouted back the name of my street. He shouted across a price— 40 baht (see sip!). Three motorbikes whizzed by followed by a Honda. Fully aware that this must have looked ridiculous with me on the other side of a four-lane road, I shouted back 30 baht (saam sip!) and was tempted to yell dammit, but refrained. I was seriously not about to play this game again. He considered and nodded his head. Done and done. With pride, I marched across the four lanes, my rolling suitcase bouncing along behind me. Looks like Mr. Cheat from the store probably didn’t get a customer all day. Ha. Don’t mess with me.

Your Paradise Awaits... Pee Pee Paradise Part Two

Today's Thoughts...

Saturday: So we finally made it to Phuket after much delay and Dylan jumped on board to join us Friday night. We crashed in Patong on Patong Beach, Phuket, enduring the ridiculousness of Patong night life. Very much like a huge adult carnival filled with ladyboys and ping pong balls. More than most of us expected I think. Flashing lights, discoteques, costumes, drinks everywhere, and lots of foreign men; sort of like a big bachelor party. Having our ample fill of that, we got up the next morning and piled into a cramped minivan with a bunch of others from around Europe and the US (Holland, UK, etc.) and bump bumped our way over a mountain to the seaport. We grab tickets set to leave at 2pm and jump onto a pretty decent sized daytime cruiser. After baking in the sun for two hours, the boat finally takes off at 3pm (no questions asked of course), and we dock into Koh Phi Phi (pronounced Ko Pee Pee) just before 5 covered in sea salt spray and more sun. After being hassled along the pier (“Need taxi? Want taxi? Where you go? I take you there. Have hotel? Want booking? I take you there. Come, come!), we make it to our own personal long tail to head to our hotel. So a longtail is what’s in the picture; sort of gondola-looking thing decked out with colorful ties and flowers. Agile men with feet for hands clamber about around, over, and under these things navigating a cross between a car engine and a propeller than juts out in the water. The most rudimentary form of easy transportation. We hop in and in ten minutes glide or rather half glide, half bump, half jettison our way into shore, our own personal private hotel beach. So it turns out we’re staying in a resort…not a hotel. A crew of Brits welcomes us onshore to their slice of paradise; the saying sticks ;P Greeted by a sun-kissed Thai man with long, fluffy hair adorned with beads and colorful string we suddenly realize-- we’re not in Chiang Mai no more.

Our villa is a HUGE tree house with two large rooms, a wraparound deck terrace, reggae music, a huge staircase, and our own kittens that seem to adopt us for the week. Two hammocks, a rocking swing, and a huge wooden table with glasstop; it’s blissfully wonderful. Now I’m not one to complain about modern amenities at all. I love roughing it as much as the next girl; not that that description sounds like roughing it at all, but the no AC issue damn near killed me by the end of the trip, quite literally. No one told us that killer mosquitoes would appear religiously every night to pock our skin and suck the living daylights out of us. I felt like I was trapped in a Hitchcock film some nights. Me, mosquito net closed all around me, poised, listening, my ears flicking every so slightly with the wind. I crouch, hidden tiger position, wait, rocking slightly on my heels and—bzzzz! GOTCHA! And that’s for your little friend too! It was all out war and though I took down at least, at least 20 of them (being generous here), I still managed to limp home from Phi Phi with 46 bites covered my arms, legs, back, hands, rear, and forehead. How the heck they got to those last two, the world will never know.

That night, in sheer awe of this island getaway, we dive right into the warm warm waters and spend most of the evening frolicking along the beach before we venture into town for a deliciously overpriced meal. I’ve got to hand it to Phi Phi; the place is gorgeous, but the prices for food are outrageous. Of course I’m complaining about $10 dinners and $7 lunches, but that’s absurd in a country where you pay $2 for lunch and $4 for dinner on average. Simply preposterous! But I will say we chowed down on some fine Thai and Italian food, the latter being the choice items on the menu at every restaurant we ate at. Pizzas the size of your head, yummy rice and curry, and buckets, buckets, buckets!! That night we discovered the magic of Phi Phi night life—small colorful buckets of mixed drinks and cocktails! WHAT?! Whoever came up with that idea was a sheer genius. Take one colorful bucket, add lots of ice, many shots of whatever’s behind the bar, and the mixer of your choosing and viola! Recipe for liquored success! We ordered a few buckets and sampled them all, some for better, others for worse. But, a bucket? Why?! Not exactly world's chic and all, but highly functional.

Anyhoo, we rolled into one bar, Tiger Bar, one of the places where they pass out free buckets on the hour. After wrestling with some stank bargirl who refused to give me a bucket after we waited in line and she served all my friends, I snatched a bucket from her filled with weak whiskey (Southeast asian drink of choice) and coke. Not the best drink ever, but it did the job. It did the job so well that within no time, still sober mind you, Becca and Dylan decide it’d be a great time to hop up on the stage and… pole dance. Horrific sight if I do say so myself. Not Becca, but Dylan’s midair poses on the pole (now tell me again when he master air aerobics?) sent us and everyone else in the bar into stitches. Worse still when he dedicated his antics to me and managed to straddle/climb the pole amidst hysterical laughter.

To close the evening, we headed to Reggae Bar where they hand drunken tourists a pair of Thai boxing gloves and gear and say go for it in the ring. Becca decided this would be a fabulous idea and jumped right on in to box with a British girl she had just met. This followed an episode between a very drunk girl whose friends kept egging her on and what appeared to be a certified femme fighter who knocked the crap out of her and then hugged her at the end, so we were all more than a little concerned. But Becca held her own, complete with ringside pit crew hydrating and toweling her periodically as we cheered from the sidelines. Though she whopped the girl good in 7 rounds, somehow the Brit was declared the winner. Didn’t matter though. Becca was still awarded her very own victory bucket and bottle of water. Not satisfied with fighting escapades alone, we befriended the British girl, Margot, and her posse of British guys and headed down to the beach for the beachside clubs into the wee morning. Standing on the receding tidal flats with squishy wet sand between our toes, we couldn’t help but grin like idiots and collapse. What a night.

The remaining days of island escape TBC :)

Mother Hen Takes Flight (Pee Pee Interlude)

Today's Thoughts...
(picture from Wai Kru Teacher Appreciation Ceremony last week)

Before I dive back into island mode, I have to deposit a thought about today. Two adorable events that made me swell with the pride of a new mother. So the day is bopping along as per usual. Long lesson about the Trojan War and the history of Troy, Homer, the Iliad, good stuff. Then off I go blissfully to lunch in the afternoon, ready to settle in for a heaping bowl of whatever I manage to stammer in broken Thai or scribble in English on little scraps of paper. Before I get there though, I am accosted, no bombarded, no stampeded by a crowd of exactly 19 of my third-year conversation students (two were in the toilet so they couldn’t join the impromptu meeting; why they were in the toilet together, I don’t need to know). “Ajarn! Ajarn!” they call out, practically squealing as the wave of students run down two flights of stairs to get to me, innocently on my way to the pot before lunch. Overwhelmed, I manage to wave and crack a smile. What’s going on?

They surround me, swarming like a hive of buzzing bees as in scattered fashion, they all try to tell me the same information at once. It sounded sort of like: Teacha! Ajarn! Can’t! Want! Meeting! No good! Ah! Squeak! Ah! Snapping into teacher mode (can I even say that after a month?), I ask them to please speak one at a time. From what I gather from the then 6 students talking instead of 19, there is some sort of an assembly or maybe five that they have to go to during our class time and maybe before or possibly after or maybe all night. I’m not really sure. I just gather that they cannot be in class and they are somehow devastated by this fact. Sad faces, pouting lips, and puppy dog eyes stare as they all chatter around me. “We cannot come to class today. So sorry. This assembly is no good. So sorry to tell you now, teacher.” I nod, still a bit dazed, but slowly understanding. They assure me that they want to make up the class on Monday and then sort of take flight once again in their massive hive.

After a few moments to gather myself, I puff up like an indignant hen, angry that anyone would dare steal my chicks from me for our Friday afternoon. Somewhat defensively, my chin held a little too high, I march back to my desk, if only mildly outraged. The feeling is only compounded when two hours later, in my last class of the day, I confront a student about her week long absence from class only to learn that her boyfriend was stolen by another girl in the class and she couldn’t come because she was heartbroken and never wants to see her again and can she switch sections, oh please teacher please? What is a mother hen to answer to that? Don’t worry about that mean-ole girl, whichever one she is. You are beautiful and will find yourself a new boy soon so soon, don’t worry. Oh and by the way, homework this weekend is to write about your future love life….ouch (it actually is…) Oh my chickadees.

More on Ko Phi Phi tonight!

Pee Pee Paradise Part 1

Today's Thoughts...

Clearly there has been a dire radio silence for the past few days. Well, there is an explanation for that! No, I was not carried off by rogue elephants, attacked by wily monkeys, or maimed in a songtaew wreck; never quite so interesting. In fact, the past week found me lounging on a beach in absolute paradise in Koh Phi Phi, Thailand also known as the on site location for… heartthrob addicts unite… Leonardo DiCaprio’s “The Beach” (that one’s for you Whit ;)). Because Buddhist holidays abound in Thailand, schools were lucky enough to get off three (yes three!) full days of work, extending the weekend to six days as of good ole Friday. In due fashion, Elena, Becca, Jessica, and I got off work Friday afternoon and hopped onto the highway headed straight for the airport barely half an hour after our last classes. The week went a little something like this:

Friday: Mad dash to the airport; no time to spare. Panting, sweating (as usual), and dragging our bags, we race inside only to find that in appropriate Air Asia style, our flight is delayed an hour. Oh joy. That wouldn’t have been so bad probably if an hour in Thai time didn’t translate to two and a half hours real time. What to do with so much time on our hands? First, we run into Ted Conbeer, a PiAer who is taking off after his year working at a rock climbing company in Chiang Mai; encounter complete with bright smiles, awkward realizations that we didn’t come all the way to the airport to say our good byes, and then a sudden flurry of activity as he takes off to catch his flight out of Thailand for good. Weird, trippy feelings of symmetry going on there, like looking in a mirror. Next, hungry as we of course were, we head to the only restaurant in the domestic departures, a Friday’s esque burger joint where we order over priced bacon (can we call it that?) cheese burgers and tuna melts. Mmm mmm good. Just like home…. sort of.

Now, through airport security we go with momentary panic that Elena has to throw away a $40 bottle of high end face wash because it’s more than the liquid allowance for a carry-on. In a sudden brain blast, I send her off to buy two travel sized bottles of Listerine and as the Thai women working the counter look on giggling behind their palms, we foolish Americans proceed to dump the Listerine in the trash and meticulously rinse the bottles with bottled H20 to fill them with green face goop. No one understands what the big deal is, but I mean, it’s $40 down the drain! (Or bottle rather). FINALLY, after almost three hours delay, we board something resembling a plane with leather interior (fancy!) and take off for Bangkok only to realize that we are late for our second flight and by ridiculous policy, will be forced to exit the airport, re-enter, and re-check in at Bangkok. WTF?! We do it and catch our plane just barely. JUST barely.

More thoughts to be continued tomorrow....

Teacher is sooooo sexy…

Today's Thoughts...

So there are many things I love about my job. The wonderful women who coo over me and Elena constantly. The delicious treats, cakes, and goodies they drop on our desks throughout the day. The hilariously awkward and wonderful encounters translating obscure texts and documents into grammatically sound English. For example, a marketing launch aimed at promoting the conversion of human waste into biogas: “Conservation of Energy through Human Biowaste Redistribution at the Domestic Level.” WHAT? Since when did I become an environmental scientist overnight?! This is someone’s life’s work we’re talking about here! But I mean, no pressure, of course. So yes, I love the women at work. But I ADORE the kids in my classes. Okay, when I’m not teaching them things that as a native speaker I don’t even understand why they need to know (like the fact that you read the words “big glasses” as “biglasses” when pronounced naturally). Or when have you EVER tried to explain what the word ‘mean’…well… ‘means’? Why is that more important than how to properly form a sentence? Why do my students need to learn the word suede when they can’t say fabric? Or how to write compound-complex sentences with complements when they can’t read the simple ones? The world will never know.

But the students, ah, the students! So true, sometimes my lessons are a little hit or miss like when I decided in my Greek Mythology class that it’d be a great idea to teach my kids about the concept of fate and what it means when something is ill-fated without explaining that fate can be good as well as bad. For instance, if your dog gets hit by a car and you try to save him but can’t— fate. When two lovers are separated for a long time and then are reunited— fate. Same fate, different situations. Well, neglecting this, I donned my Dear Abby cap and proceeded to respond to 30 some personal entries about how fate had ruined my students’ lives. I’m talking death of pets, family members, suicides of friends, terminal illnesses, flunking out of classes, and failing the citywide entrance exam for state university, thereby forcing their parents to pay for them to go to our school instead. Phew! Talk about a downer or 30. Geez. But just when I think I’m sliding down a slippery slope into the pit of teaching despair (mayday, mayday, teacher going down), there’s a little bit of hope that shines through. Like when one student comes up to me, beaming and explaining that this is the only class in which he blinks and the time has flown because he’s having such a good time in the Antigone trial or the scenes from Prometheus Bound or the Midas debate or whatever. Ah! My heart melts! Of course I don’t dare mention that I’m actually a Spanish major who knows far more about Ferdinand and Isabel than Achilles and Hector. No, they don't need to know that one.

So why is teacher sexy you ask? Sexy, is the ‘it’ word in Thailand. Everything is sexy oh so sexy! (including teacher). So when I walked into my conversation class only to have one of my girls shout—“Oh teacher, you are soooo sexy!”—I had precisely three thoughts: 1) I’m covered in a sticky mixture of chalk dust and salty sweat, none too attractive; 2) college is a period of questioning and discovery, right? so maybe there's something she needs to tell me; and 3) isn’t this called a ‘teaching moment’ for a reason? So I whipped out some chalk and got to writing amidst hysterical giggles and pointing. Sexy is a term used to describe attraction to a person’s physique usually in a sexual way. Hot is the term used to describe the relative attractiveness of a person, regardless of your interest in their particular physique. Teacher is “hot,” I said, or beautiful or pretty or attractive, not sexy. At least if you think she is, you probably shouldn’t be telling her that. More hysterical laughter. Okay, logically moving on-- hook-ups.

Now Elena and I figured it was necessary to teach about hook-ups because the term is thrown about constantly by American college kids, so why no teach it to our Thai pupils? Well, you try explaining the “bases” and levels of touching (your hand, your hair, your face, your…you get the picture) as it pertains to the myriad definitions of “hook-up”. Hey Susie, did you hook up with Sam last night? Yeah and then I couldn’t get rid of him this morning! Hey Susie, did you hook up with Sam last night? Yeah, we made out but it didn’t go too far. Hey Susie… (and so the list goes). Moreover, how do you explain that you can hook-up, that girl was your hook-up, and that guy is your hook-up buddy to kids who think seeing pictures of kissing is scandalous? Hooking up? Whaaaaat? Awkward dance as your desperate teacher draws a flow chart with the word “hook-up” and sketches bearing striking resemblance to scenes from the kama sutra on the board. One student raises his hand: “Teacher, who do YOU hook-up with?”

Okay, guys, so that’s enough hooking-up for today…

Friday Night in Chiang Mai

Today's Thoughts...

Most of our Friday nights seem to be and seem that they will continue to be low-key, chill events, given the hectic pace of the week and utter lack of sleeping time Monday through Thursday. This Friday, however proved to be quite different. Having met Jessica, a friend from a yoga studio Elena and Becca scoped out, we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of several varying groups of people and friends the whole night through. We started the night primping, standard fare for any night out in Thailand. Becca and I agree, we came here expecting to need to cover up, keep our shoulders hidden, and our knees kindly tucked from sight, loosening up only a little once classes let out for the day/week. Yet, looking at the transformations (yes, no other word properly describes the morphing ritual of young Thai ladies at night) of our native fellows, we quickly learned that our idea of dressing up for a night on the town was scarcely equivalent to the scandalous nightly parades we witnessed. Mind you, most girls are very thin so it is not at all impossible to get away with short skirts or low cut tops as long legs and small chests leave much room to do so. Hmmm…not so much for most American girls unfortunately, though there are many of those who will try. So, the average Thai girl dresses modestly during the day for the most part—short sleeved blouse (shoulders concealed), skirt or possibly jeans (not too revealing), and outrageously high and colored heels (standard fare any time of the day). At night, sleeves are torn away from blouses, necklines plunge far below sea level, hair grows magical inches, and skirts hike up so high you wonder where the shirt ends and the skirt begins. Heels, already bright and tottering, shoot up and come decked out with fancy, often shiny, garb. Really, it’s a sight to behold. It’s almost impossible to recognize people. It sure beats traipsing down to the Street in jeans and a ratty T-shirt any day (or Tower attire: whatever you wore to class that day with an awkward grin and beer cup).

So we “dress up” by our American standards (a little make-up, some nicer shoes, a more flattering hairstyle) and take to the streets. We start off at a rooftop bar. Very swank, very posh, extremely chic. About eight or nine floors up, we can see all of this side of the city from the bar top and it is gorgeous. After meeting up with several friends from CMU (Chiang Mai University) (fellow foreign teachers of English), we down some expensive cocktails (by which I mean less than $3) and take off once more. But not before swaying, bopping, and generally expressing great interest in our own personal live band playing hits from James Brown’s “I feel good” to Latin ballads and classics like “I will survive.” Considering that we were virtually the only customers in the bar, we got their full and undivided attention and crooning tunes. Despite being in a near empty bar/restaurant, in adequate Thai time, it still somehow managed to take almost 30 minutes for much of our order to arrive. I swear, I think they go out, hunt down whatever fowl or beast you’re planning to consume, kill it, shorn it, and proceed to cook it while you wait. In the case of our cocktails, who knows? I think the lime tree had to finish growing out back  But came they did and great they were! Off to the streets!

Next stop—house party! Jessica introduced us to two friends she met, also through yoga (sensing something I need to latch onto here…) and we crashed their glorious little shindig complete with lots of peoples, many Brits and Americans, two (yes two!) Black-esque-probably girls, adorable puppies, and all the mixed drinks we can handle. After some raspberry Smirnoff (so so tasty!) and strangely smelling Thai rum in a flask (mixed with ample bits of Coke and soda water which is a huge sensation here and adds loads of great bubbles to everything), I was set. Mmmm. Then of course, I made a beeline for the restroom and an unidentifiably wet floor. Ahh, alas, a commode is a commode after all  Outside the restroom, we met Corey, who decided to plop down and live in Chiang Mai as of February. After a long chat, we dashed off again to head to Warm-Up bar. To get there, we couldn’t find any songtaews to carry us so we opted to plod our way down the short stretch of highway until we got there. Note to self: fast trucks on highways at night. Walk slow and faaaaaar to the side.

We arrived at Warm-Up and instantly I had to go to the restroom, but not before running into a very chatty and very intoxicated student of mine. Cue awkward turtle dance. Or rather awkward hug, kiss on cheek, and five minute conversation in which she reminded me six times that she had been drinking and was “very, very drunk”, but hello teacher Lauren, and has Becca met me before because I teach her class at school? Never mind that I had introduced her to Becca myself a second before. After that somewhat awkward and adorable interaction, we met another of Jessica’s friends and her friends, found another restroom, and headed out once more as the bar closed for the night. Rather than dash off down town for the next club/bar scene, Elena and Jason and I opted to make out way back home, but not before a quick stop at our favorite ubiquitous convenience store, 7-11. Hungry and craving anything but noodles, we settled for sketchy heated chicken and cheese patty sandwich (75 cents), sketchy chicken and black pepper patty sandwich (75 cents), and sketchy bologna, mayo, and tuna sandwich (34 cents), respectively. Now whatever made me think it’d be a good idea to down an unrefrigerated bologna, tuna, and sweet mayo sandwich is beyond me. When I wake up, assuming I remember everything divulged herein (considering my sheer exhaustion and waning traces of a liquidated and lovely night), I am sure I will regret that foolish choice. Enough for now. Many good nights to all!