When They Call Me Well Endowed

The best thing about expanding the team is that we're getting a whole new crew of awesome people with even better names. I've mentioned the previous crop of eyebrow-raising names when I first arrived in China. But our new team is giving the Cinderella, Elvis, and Hawk of yesteryears a run for their holy-crap-how-did-you-pick-that-name money.

Introducing the new lineup:

First, there's our bubbly over-the-top foodie who doubled as our course developer by day. In our first standup team meeting when we're all doing self-introductions, she looked at me dead pan in the eye and said "Smile." I did, awkwardly. Then I realized that she wasn't commanding me to smile - that's her name. Smile. Her last name was Li. So she's Smile Li (read it) and then she later switched to Smiley Li because she wanted a singalong three syllable.

One of the new QA engineers shyly introduced herself to me as Nemo. I welcomed her and mentioned that we'd had another Nemo before and asked if she really liked the movie. She looked startled for a minute and shook her head slowly as if surprised that my English was so bad - "No, no. My name is nee-mon. You know, the fruit." Ah. Lemon. Too bad that Apple had left us already, otherwise we could have a fruit salad party.

Out of the blue, we also hired two app developers who were called Seven and Cywen, but both pronounced them like the number. They were going to do a stone paper scissors for the rights, when Seven told us that his name reminded him of his first love because he used to hang out in his ex-girlfriend's college dorm of six girls all day long and got tagged as the seventh. Cywen just deflated after that and settled for a life of being called Max. We were all disappointed he didn't pick Eleven, but certainly glad that he passed on Six because he always said sex instead.

I won't even mention Coco (guy), Afra (girl), and Hello Kitty (asexual?). Ok, well Hello Kitty was really an American intern called Katie but the staff just thought it's hilarious and so Japanese hip to call her a cartoon instead.

Then in walked a girl who sweetly whispered on her first day that her name was Sissi.

I spent my entire childhood glaring at people who pronounced my name "Sis - see". I even ran a high school student body president campaign on the slogan "Sisi not a Sissy." But, even though HR had called to persuade new girl to give up her name because there's already another Sisi around, she still showed up, utterly unrepentant. So now it's Big S and Small S. I'm technically Big S and she's Small S even though we're the same size and I'm younger. But I'm going to put a stop to that too because sometimes the local Chinese staff slip and say "Big Ass" instead.

Good thing that was never my nick name in high school. I wouldn't have known how to work that one into a pep rally slogan.

Nothing to do with names but this is a shirt

 I regularly see at the office. 

Caption: "THE MAN: The employees walked

around in jeans and sweaters."

Now that's how you show attitude around here. 

Preggo Diaries (From a Non-Pregnant Girl)

I knew this day would come eventually. I just didn't expect that it would happen so soon.

Virtually within one day of finding out she was pregnant, girl 1 all of a sudden started waddling in a maddeningly slow pace, nursing her thermos of herbal tea in her hands, and painstakingly steadying every chair before lowering her imaginary weight down on it.

The day before, she was rock climbing and bouncing around with the best of us.

Then girl 2 also announced that she was pregnant by first sending a lawyer's letter invoking China's overly progressive maternity law, kindly informing us that we had to keep her on regardless of lack of performance and attendance for the next two years until her child was weaned. She also accompanied it with an immediate request for three months off work to relax during her first trimester.

I had never felt so much angst over somebody else's pregnancy.

Perhaps it's because I have never been pregnant. Or wasn't raised in a traditionally Chinese household. But either way, it is stretching my Asian imagination to fully comprehend some of the 'musts' surrounding pregnancy.

After the dual baby announcements were made, the two ladies started fussing about seat arrangement. Apparently they could no longer sit next to (aka three feet away from) the printer because the printer is a source of radiation.

Yeah. Radiation.

Girl 2 can't even work on reports from home because the laptop has too much radiation. But she can use her iPad and watch TV with reckless abandon.

Girl 1 says that she can't do conference calls because five minutes on the phone is her max. Once again, radiation.

They even wear special flimsy aprons all day around the office, which supposedly can shield their baby from radiation.

I finally put my foot down when they begin wearing pajamas to work.

I have always thought of myself as a sympathetic leader who encourages people to tend to their family/ personal needs first. When they're looking drowsy in the afternoon, I tell them to go home. When they're alone at home, I call to see if I could bring dinner over.

But I still have to insist on some work. So, I finally explained that no pregnant woman in America has ever heard of the concept of guarding against radiation in every day electronics. They looked shocked.

Really?! 

Yeah, people tend to go about their normal lives up till the last few weeks of pregnancy. 

They thought about it.

Well, Americans are naturally more built to have children. Look how big and fat they can get.

See. Can't win with logic.

A foreign colleague suggested that I talked to the HR lady to ask her how to best communicate with them about maintaining productivity during this special time. Then I realized that they got their magical radiation-proof aprons from her.

Resigned, I signed off on their requests for time off. Three months for one. One month for the other. And they both just got pregnant. After they give birth, they will each need another four months off for the recovery period. Chinese women are even more fanatical about post-birth rituals. No stepping outside of the house for both mother and child. No makeup. No cold drinks. No showers.

I suppose, in that state, I wouldn't want them to come to work any ways.

Magical Aprons.

It's quite a big industry here.

#IfWeDate

I am a Twitter neub (@sisimessick) and decided to poke around the world of hashtags and shortened URLs to figure out how to make myself sound unbearably witty/ slightly outrageous/ remotely cool.

Amidst all the fantastic startup articles and NYT news that I got buried under, I stumbled upon #IfWeDate.

The thing is, I think these people are for real . . . which makes me wonder if that's the reason why they are not dating.

I've left out the grossly sexual ones (ugh, men) or the sickly cutesy ones ("#IfWeDate, I will 4eva have butterflies in mah stomach!") below, but curated the ones that seemed to hit "slightly outrageous" out of the park.

#IfWeDate just know you are not the NUMBER one priority in my life. I'm not getting left behind by putting you first.

#IfWeDate its probably going to be in your dreams.

#ifwedate im not going to cheat on you..Even if you cheat on me. (I will break up with you and date your best friends)

#IfWeDate I'll let you pay for everything! Hahahaha

#IfWeDate you gottah feed me grapes in my mouth like a boss.

#IfWeDate you can't be in love with Justin Bieber, Zac Efron, Cody Simpson, Harry Styles, Channing Tatum, and me. That doesn't work out.

#ifwedate I want a good morning text 3x a week

#ifwedate I like my sandwiches without crust.” ☝And triple stacked.

#IfWeDate my enimies are yours and yours are mine

#IfWeDate I'll make sure to... Who am I kidding, here. You're going to go date the douchebag and leave me hanging again.

#IfWeDate we can be like Jack and Sally or if you're black Jay-z and Beyonce. Which means you're out of my league.

Pretty much #IfWeDate just be chill.. I don't like Crazy.. lol.. We'll smoke weed and do whatever!

The Stereotypical Cruise

The evening shows that feature "Direct from Las Vegas" probably means "Retired from Las Vegas."

Forty year old male performers sashaying to oldies and shaking their butts on stage before singling out and serenading fifty year old women off stage. Those moms scream like little girls for Justin Bieber.

Kids order room service for eight plates of chicken tenders at midnight and then want five more plates of cookies.

Seniors inch along the hallways, blocking the restaurant entrances, with their rolling walkers somehow cruise along just fine on bingo  nights.

Seniors weaving bingo cards into garlands for their hair and wearing them to dinner.

Bingo lady in the middle. Sorry for the blur. It was a quick creeper shot.

Seniors who love the cruise so much that they don't leave the boat when we dock at ports.

Older couples, without walkers, dress up to the nines to their own theme every night. Boas. Retro glasses. Caps with little spinning helicopter blades on top. Pill hats. And they whip out awesome dance moves.

Ostentatiously classy families that sit next to the top deck window, sipping champagne, and habitually ignoring pudgy junior who is trying not to fiddle with his bow tie.

College students making out in the jacuzzi on the top deck shamelessly (best way to make sure nobody else joins you!) while everybody else is shielding his/her face in parkas from the whipping Alaskan wind.

Tourists trying to earn back their cruise money, one pound of food at a time.

"Washy washy, happy happy!!" chorus by friendly filipino staff holding anti-septic spray bottles at the restaurant entrances. It's amazing how many different ways there are to sing washy washy. Reference for future parenting.

Wife gets picked for Deal or No Deal cruise edition. Last five suitcases. She's on a winning streak. She wants to take the $532 offered her and end it. Offstage, her husband shakes his head emphatically. She hesitates and keeps playing and loses it all. Final haul: fifty cents and a frustrated couple.

Audience members that get excited by a Deal or No Deal "celebrity sighting." Oh. Good. They are talking to each other again now. Glad that the game show did not ruin their marriage.

Immune. What a funny word.

Official countdown to Kenya: Ten days. 

Or rather a bunch of shots. Hepatitis A. Typhoid. Yellow fever. I also took a ton of pills for cholera and whatever else today. I got chatty with the nurse and so she pulled up my recent health check up report. Part of the screen started flashing red. She looked at me and then started asking questions about my health. Apparently I had more than normal level of Hepatitis B antibodies. So she thinks that I must have recently gotten the virus but, luckily, didn't contract anything.

Well strike one copperhead bite, strike two Hepatitis B virus, strike three  . . . mauled by a lion?

That would really hurt.

Anyhow, for better or for worse, I'm now immunized against Asian guys.

------

I notice that one of my older colleagues sometimes sneak photos of me with his phone while I'm doing my own thing. Like today, I was on a conference call and I looked up because of the flash. He later said that it's because I looked good talking on the phone. This wasn't the first time I caught him. Am I just being weird about it or is it kinda creepy?

A Sexy Interview

The boys at the office noticed her tight dress.

I noticed her tooth. A singular jagged canine that hangs out when her lips are pursed.

I never thought I would say this, but we were actually interviewing a sexy Nanny McPhee.

She was a salesperson who wants to be our COO assistant. But it's a pity because she's obviously very good at her sales job.

She bragged about her tactics. Since most of her work involved cold calling clients, she would often "accidentally" mention her QQ number (China's MSN equivalent) so that the clients could chat with her online. Where, of course, they would see her picture. And then talk some more.

At around 4:30 or 5:00 p.m., she would switch her computer's time clock to 10:30 p.m. and then email her clients. And casually drop in a post script about how she's so lonely at the office because she's slaving away on client X's project. But she didn't mind because she would be going back to an empty apartment anyways.

At the end of the interview (I was translating), she looked at me and asked me to flatter my boss for her.

I was shocked. She even outsourced her sucking up.

And yet, I liked her. Those sales people are dangerous.

An Irreverent Class Portrait

Welcome to my Chinese class.

Girl J keeps her hands tucked into her sleeves like the emperor in Mulan. She seems like the type who would like cats.

When boy X wants to catch my attention, instead of raising his hands, he throws up a peace sign. As if that would get on my Asian radar a little faster.

Then there's girl K who looks like she's going to cry every time I speak to her.

I almost stopped calling on boy U out of guilt. The deer in the headlight moment has passed. His looks are those of a dying deer, resigned to his fate of being lost in Chinese.

Boy Z shyly asks if we can be friends outside of the classroom. And if he can call me by my first name. How sweet.

It's been a constant struggle to explain to boy C that his Chinese sentences have to make sense. And that in China, dogs don't eat children. Every time, he looks at me as if I'm being unreasonable.

Then of course there's girl S (or me). The small Asian girl who gestures and repeats almost everything she says. It's like watching a free circus show. Rumor has it that she's a tough little teacher. (Is it still a rumor if it's true?)

Flirting . . . with Chinese characteristics

A scene at the metro today. This is classic Chinese flirting, known as Sajiao 撒娇.

Girl: You don't like me at all.

Boy: What do you mean? I really like you.

Girl: Liar.

Boy pouts.

Girl slaps him on the face.

Me shocked.

Boy: Don't be like that.

Boy smiles and tries to hug her.

Girl slaps him again.

Boy tries even harder to hug her.

Girl pretends to struggle. She thumps him repeatedly on the chest.

She gives up.

They cuddle. All the way till the end of the line.

In awe.

She's my idol.

Girl clad in black stiletto-heeled leather boots over her designer jeans.

Walking precariously on the slippery black ice.

While pushing a baby pram.

Presumably with a baby inside, scared for his/her life.

She's pregnant too.

Worse, she's headed for a downhill slope.

I guess that's what married women do for kicks.

The law of attraction

I'm considering going to law school so I've been to quite a few pre-law events recently. I can't help but notice that these events generally attract certain types of personalities. At the risk of offending some die-hard future lawyers (Andrea!), I present to you my shameless stereotypes:

1. THE GUNNERS
Slick hairdo combined with ultra shiny shoes and a legal note pad in one hand. They raise their hands several times eagerly to ask "out of the box" questions but somehow just seem to annoy the heck out of everybody else. I really don't know why but whenever they speak, others in the room just tend to roll their eyes. You get the sense that they would climb on top of you if it means getting up the rankings just one more notch.

2. THE WIVES/ GIRLFRIENDS (AKA CHEERLEADERS)
The Harvard dean of admissions came to speak at BYU and there were probably around 90 people in the room. I counted 13 girls. 6 of whom I was pretty sure were there accompanying their bf/husbands/fiancees. Whenever somebody brought up how hard it was to get into Harvard, this girl in front of me would whisper (what I imagine to be) sweet nothings in her husband's ear to encourage him. It must be nice to be so supported.

3. THE TOURISTS
They are just shopping around for law schools. Not a single clue which one's better than the others. Just know that Harvard is probably somewhere up there after watching Legally Blonde. Probably just woke up one morning and said, "I think I'm going to go to law school." I know I did.

4. THE REGULARS
Your standard law buffs. Not quite as die-hard as the gunners but more serious than the "tourists". They feel that they are meant for law school and will work hard to get in, but probably not break their backs doing so. They appreciate the pizza at the events as much as the speakers. Generally nice, down-to-earth people.

Here are some photos just in case you haven't figured out which type I think I am:


Me playing the tourist in front of the Supreme Court



Dressing up as the Supreme Court Justice!

Kissy kissy

At first I thought it was a joke. Then I saw it again two weeks later at another metro station. The "Kiss & Ride" sign in the parking lot right outside the metro was probably just some painter's idea of fun, although I don't really know what it could have meant.




I do have a couple of ideas though:
Spicing things up on the metro: Kiss cam!
Free rides for free kisses.
Left over celebration from Valentine's day?

Eventually I looked it up. Apparently the Kiss and Ride is a section where drivers can drop off their passenger and not have to leave immediately. It is a silly-cute tradition for the drivers to be able to kiss the commuters before they head off to work. How considerate.

Overhearing

There is a very thin line between overhearing and eavesdropping - especially while I'm walking around on campus. Here are a couple of things that I overheard (and then heard some more as I perked my ears up) while minding my own business:

"What on earth do they have in common? One's a food science major and the other is an economist major . . . I'm telling you, he should have asked me out instead."
- by a somewhat animated girl in a purple dress

"My patriarchal blessing doesn't even mention a wife. Or a family. But it does mention my mom though."
- from a guy to another; they looked at me weirdly when I actually laughed aloud

"My wife is having a baby!"
- good for him!

"Mom, you need to stop trying to set me up on dates, the last one wasn't even pretty."
- an unappreciative son

"She cheated on me. First she dated my room mate and then my home teacher...."
- he went on and on for a while. I was walking home and he was in front of me the whole time.

An hour at the bus stop

Riding the bus is a big deal for me.

The first time I took a bus here in Utah, I didn't realize that I was on the wrong bus until, two hours later, the bus driver asked me if it was the first time I had ridden a bus. So when Chad asked me to take the bus up to Sandy to go and hang out with his family, I was nervous. Chelsea and J.C. dropped me off at the bus stop and I stood there for a good long while until I realized that I had already missed the bus. I had another hour to kill until the next bus came around, so I stood, somewhat stranded, and waited. Meanwhile, I sat in the bus stop booth and watched.

I felt protected in my glass booth, leaving me somewhat removed in my human observatory. I watched all the people who passed by me, either on foot or on wheels. There was the happy couple who biked past me, laughing and joking as they passed. I don't know how they had managed to bike this whole time without crashing - they were gazing steadily into each others' eyes and mouthing I-love-yous that made me, who was inconspicuously watching, feel like I was intruding. There was really some Hollywood material right there.

I noticed the joggers, some more red-faced than the others, and wondered how they could find time to do all they had to and still make it to their daily jogs. Then I realized that I was the one who just planned on sitting at a bus stop for an hour, studying people.

Of course, there were the cars whizzing past. I liked looking at the people in the cars. Why is his music so loud? Are those two people dating? She is huge - when is she due? One honked at me and laughed. I felt a little indignant - I wasn't in his way. They all seemed to be in such a hurry.

But my favorite was the homeless man who shuffled past me. He was one of the stereotypical ones who stuffed his trolley with plastic bags full of stuff. I was tempted to start talking to him and ask him what he was carrying around all day long. I watched him for a long time. He peered into the garbage bin and gingerly picked up a disposed drink. He must not have liked the flavor (it was apple beer, I heard the man who threw it away tell his girlfriend) because he chucked it almost as soon as he sipped at the straw. Readjusting his hat, he continued onwards, seemingly oblivious to my obvious fascination in him. As I timed how often he heaved his giant backpack (on average, once every eight seconds!), I wondered where he was going. Did he know what his destination was? Did he even care? With the backdrop of cars whizzing past me, all determined to reach a set destination, I couldn't help but think about him when he disappeared around the corner.

Finally, the bus came. I boarded and picked a seat next to the window. After a couple of minutes, I saw the same trolley and giant backpack, this time abandoned on the side of the road. I craned my neck, concerned. I couldn't help smiling when I caught a quick glance of him sitting in Panda Express, enjoying his Chinese.

I guess he did know where he was going after all.