At Last

An old friend from NYC, "Belle," showed up recently. She had quit her job in Manhattan at our old non-profit and joined NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership Academy). She's probably THE most active, outdoorsy, fit person I have ever known. In fact, she's on her way to Tucson now where she'll take a climbing course in the desert.

One fun thing is that she is a Thai-phile like me, and LOVES to chat in Thai - her skills being far more advanced than my own, which is slowly slipping away save for some choice food vocabulary (of course). She and a local friend met Beau and I at a local Thai restaurant for lunch, and I had a really nice time.

Over some very delicious pad thai, Belle chastised me though for not keeping in touch since I came to Montana. This is the same problem I've had for the past year -- I haven't really kept in touch with people because I feel I have nothing good to say. "Yes, I'm still temping, Beau's still at Wally World, no, there really AREN'T any teaching jobs, yes, we're broke and cranky, and we're starting to hate Montana." Who wants to hear that shit over and over? (Sorry guys, you all who read this are given little choice!). So, I've just been waiting until I had some good news to report. Sadly, I've been waiting a year. Still, at the meal, Beau and I told our story, tried not to dive too deep into the Life Sucks pool, and attempted to focus on the many irons we have in the fire: Beau's recent interview at the University of Montana, as well as his initial interview with a Missouri high school, my recent interview at University of Missouri, and another upcoming interview at Missouri State for me, and Beau's attempts to get us back to New Zealand.

And of course, Belle's Missoula friend, who has lived here about three years, talked about how her first two years in Missoula were total professional hell and how she had "gone into a deep depression" because of it. Now, she has a great job at a great non-profit, but she understood our gripes. Naturally, I liked her. ;)

Belle, who can be quite the happy optimist at times, was full of enthusiasm, "Something will happen soon! Something's gotta! You're both so smart!" We smiled and nodded hopefully, and then Beau had to leave to go to work at Wally World. We've heard that before, but if we lose our hope, we're finished. Later, when Belle was driving me back to work, she reiterated, "You know something will happen. You're the hardest worker I've ever known, J., you always make it work, no matter where you are or where you go." Flattery is nice, but a paycheck is nicer. :/

About an hour later back at my office, I got a phone call from Beau.

"I got the university job," he said.

What happened next was me pulling out every self-control trick I could summon to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs and doing cartwheels (I can still do them!) down the hallway. I seriously started to tear up. I wanted to laugh and sob. My happiness (and relief) for Beau were so powerful I felt like I was overflowing. I dashed into my boss' office and jabbered off the news, while profusely thanking her for her husband's help - he is a professor on campus who was able to lend Beau some scientific equipment for his university interview, as well as chat about what Beau planned to do (a fun experiment involving a vacuum pump, bell jar, and some marshmallows).

There are so many wonderful levels to this: Beau will have a REAL job that involves science and education, and a great deal of professional advancement as well. He will have the opportunity to expand his scientific knowledge and collaborate with local educators. Although the job is only 6 hours a day, he will be paid several dollars more an hour than Wally World. He will get medical insurance, which he definitely needs! He will get tuition reimbursement at the university, as well as retirement. And best of all...

HE CAN FUCKING QUIT WALLY WORLD!!!!!!!

I texted Belle and told her she must be good luck, for he got the job after all. She called back and was completely thrilled, almost matching my own enthusiasm. Who knows, maybe she did bring us a bit of luck after all?

I don't know what this all means for our future, since we really do want to return to New Zealand, or at least, Missouri, but we are so focused on the here and now - that the present is all that matters.

Yay!

New Kid in Town

A childhood friend of mine is in town and staying with me. We've known each other since we were five years old and have grown up together on the same street most of our childhood 'til graduation day (when I happily took off days later). I don't get to see her that much anymore, and am very excited she's here.

And she brought her kid.

Her daughter is nine years old and an only child. As far as "spoiled" I would say 'yes' and 'no.' She is not horribly spoiled in the sense where all you fantasize about is dropping her out a 12-story window, but since she is an only child, she has that sort of whiny, need-to-be-the-center-of-attention, used-to-getting-her-way kind of thing that can grind on your nerves and test your patience. Most of the time she's a pretty happy and animated kid, but she does need to be the star of the show all the time which is very annoying when you want to catch up with a friend you haven't seen in two years.

I wouldn't call the child klutzy or destructive, but since they've arrived, the following have happened, in no particular order:

- a large picture frame fell off the wall and the glass smashed
- the 20-inch TV and cable box catapulted off the TV stand and onto the floor (THANKFULLY not broken!)
- the kitchen sink clogged (with Lucky Charms)
- the shower drain clogged (with god only knows)
- my keys were dropped down the elevator shaft
- the blinds in the living room window were pulled all the way down and will no longer roll up.
- my large basket of make-up/hair stuff "fell all by itself" and dumped itself all over the floor
- mysteriously, my expensive, last-for-six-months eye makeup remover now only has a dribble left in the bottle
- my cats aren't speaking to me

That's all I can think of right now. That's enough. I know there's a couple more. To be fair, I cannot directly contribute each thing to the daughter (let's call her Britney), but when stuff that doesn't normally happen starts happening, you get suspicious. Truthfully, I'm a little bit terrified of what might happen in the next few days (they're here 'til Thursday). I feel powerless to stop this tide of fate.

And to try and be even fairer, we have done some great things while they've been here. I think my friend is afraid she will never go on a real vacation again (besides the surrounding areas in Arizona where she lives), and is doing one of these "pack 500 activities into each day" kind of things. As someone who lives and works here, that is just too exhausting.

But I did discover that you CAN go onto the roof of my building and seeing as how I'm on Avenue C, I had an incredible view of the fireworks! (though I missed the majority of it waiting for the elevator technician to show up with my keys). I got to go to the Met which I should have done by now, but never got around to (though Britney basically sprinted through the whole museum and whined when her mother lagged behind). I also saw Spiderman 2 (in my beloved Astor Plaza theater) which I thought kicked ass! Britney was quite good then.

I always go through this strange thing with people, particularly guests. It's like, I let them kind of take advantage of me, and I get super pissed off inside, but then I'm like, "They're the guest, you have to show them the time of their life. It's just a small bit of inconvenience for you! It's worth it if they have a wonderful time!" But somehow, the resentment inside me, though I try to hide it, kind of shines through and then the person ends up resenting me. I'm shit socially. This is why I should live alone...forever!

Like, last night, after an exhausting trip through the Met and a substantial amount of time spent in the NBC "Experience" store, I told my friend and her daughter that I was going to head home because a) i was exhausted, b) i had lots of laundry to do and c) i had to work tomorrow so couldn't run myself ragged today. All of these were true, but also, there was d) I need to be ALONE and away from you, no matter how cool you are! It's not just them, though I needed to get away from Britney for awhile, it's just that I can be like this with anyone if I'm spending 24/7 with. It's just too taxing on me. After living alone for the past 8 years (it's only the past 7 months I've had roommates again), it's very difficult for me to be in close contact with an individual non-stop like that. I start to feel suffocated and cranky. I thought I was going to KILL my mother during her two weeks in Thailand with me. With a whiny child, it's unbearable. Back in my apartment, I felt so free. I cooled down, played computer games, ate a gallon or two of chips and salsa, soothed my cats, watched copious amounts of Law & Order, took a shower, and did the laundry. It was great. I thought, maybe about 2 hours of freedom. That was about 6pm.

Then it was 9pm. Then 10pm. Then 11pm. No call. Oh god! My friend in NYC with a kid and she's like dead or something! I tried her cellphone -- no luck. Well, I told myself, maybe she did get those half-priced Broadway tickets after all and is enjoying a lively showing of The Lion King. Or, maybe she's in the morgue!

She finally called about 15 minutes later -- they had been spending most of the time at the Empire State Building -- and they were coming back. They wouldn't return til past midnight. I was kind of pissed off because I had to work the next day and would be getting up at 6:30p.m. My friend had already hinted earlier that she was a little disappointed that we hadn't gotten a chance to really talk since when we get home so late at night, I make sure they're settled in and then go to bed. Well, damn, I've been fucking exhausted each night! And it's not like I've been going to bed at 9pm either; it's been late! I do want to talk to her, but it's hard to have a heart to heart when there's Britney around. She stays up just as late as the mother.

I have grown nervous that my long-time friendship with my friend will now suffer due to my annoyance. It's hard to love a friend who is growing increasingly annoyed by your kid, I know that. I was hoping that maybe tonight we can have one of those long, lazy dinners... though I'm also concerned that it's still another week til payday and her visit has slowly drained my finances (she's been very generous with me as well).

It's funny, before I was a teacher, I wasn't a great lover of kids. I didn't dislike them, it's just that I was never that person who says, "Oh I love children!" I always thought that was just a crock of shit -- something someone says to try and sound like a good person. When I became a teacher, and eventually had my own class (6th graders), finally, after awhile... I fell in love with them. I mean, I just loved them so much, I lived and breathed for them. Even today, I find myself coming up with great ideas for them, and then I realize that I'm not their teacher anymore (I'm not anyone's teacher anymore). When that happened, when I started to just love them, I found that I started to love all children. When I saw them on the street I often smiled or talked to them, and I found that I had a minor gift in communicating with them. Children (as well as cats) have always been drawn to me whether or not I wanted them to be, but now I welcomed it.

But, now, after about 7-8 months in NYC, that feeling is beginning to fade away. Now, I often find children to be annoying -- an obstacle in my way. This feeling really has more to do with the parents whom I find absolutely fucking intolerable (see some of my old posts regarding parents and children), and of course, those feelings spread to their kids. I still resent the parent marching down the street with their SUV-sized stroller acting like they're driving a fucking tank through Tiananmen Square. I'm not going to be run into the street by a baby stroller because you think you have some sort of moral imperative! *pant pant*

I'm calm now.

And now, after spending time with Britney, I'm starting to wonder about having kids. I've talked about it before, how so many of my friends are consciously choosing to never have children. I've been fascinated by this, and admiring it, though never really wanting it for myself. Still, at this moment, I want children, or at least one, though I wonder if I am unselfish enough for one. I feel like it's taken me my whole life to be happy, feel good, be relatively well-adjusted, to enjoy being alone, to be content with the way things are (except money), etc. Now that I'm enjoying myself, it's hard to imagine having to take care of a kid. I just am so totally selfish a person. And what if my kid sucks? It's not like you can take it back to the pound.

Well, I've written plenty and my lunch break is over. Time to go....blah.

My Personal Experience with Hugh Jackman and The Boy from Oz

The thrills, the excitement, and how this writer made Hugh's life a little less enjoyable.



Oh. My. God. Where do I begin?

Okay, first of all, I'll just say, if you're in NYC and you're going to do what everyone should do once in their life, go to a Broadway show, GO SEE The Boy from Oz! You won't regret it. It's such a good time. The bio-musical of the Australian Peter Allen, flamboyant performer, songwriter, one-time husband of Liza Minelli and lover of men and women alike (mostly men). Hugh Jackman is incredible in an energetic performance that makes YOU feel tired by the end.


He's got this powerful voice that just spreads out and covers the entire audience, and he can shake his bon bon in such a way to demand Ricky Martin renounce his crown. Oh, and Hugh just got nominated for Best Actor in a Musical for the Tony Awards (the show itself got several other nominations as well). In addition, the performances of Isabel Keating as Julie Garland and Stephanie J. Block as Liza Minelli were incredible. Not only are these women fantastic singers and performers overall, but they had to do it in Julie's/Liza's voice, and they were both pretty damn accurate, especially Block who blew me away. Mitchell David Federan, who played Allen as a young boy, completely stole the show each time he appeared. Every time he or Hugh leaped onto or off of the piano, I winced in anticipation of some horrible accident. Luckily there was none. I hope they have some good traction on those things.


One great thing about Hugh's performance, was that even though it was quite obvious the audience was filled with screaming, drooling women who wanted to see and talk to HUGH, Hugh stayed deeply entrenched within character. He WAS Peter Allen the entire time and skillfully controlled the audience, when they were either trying to get "Hugh" to come out during the occasional interactions, or when they were just shouting out and interrupting the performance in their excitement. I could see how that might easily get out of hand, as in the first number when Hugh came out by himself to sing, "The Lives of Me," and people were just screaming. He kind of cocked his head toward the crowd and said, "Hey, let me sing for a minute." The audience laughed and then immediately quieted down. Sure anyone could say that, but how many people can deliver it in such a way to get results?

Anyway, onto ridiculous me. I’ve become a thirty-one year old groupie with a fifteen year old’s personality. Last Friday I had tickets, along with three friends, to see The Boy from Oz. It’s something that we’ve been planning for a long time. But finally, our good friend made it to NYC, and we bought the tickets. I mentioned our plans to a friend, Jessica. She mentioned knowing someone in the ensemble cast and maybe backstage passes could be finagled. Was I interested?

Um…
YES!
Wait, can I say that again? Yes! Yes! Yes!

I was on pins and needles for two days, waiting to get the answer back. A backstage pass is the kind of thing that just doesn’t happen to me. I was feeling incredibly lucky. And then, Jessica came through. We were going to meet Leslie Alexander. Our instructions were to enjoy the show, and immediately afterwards move our butts to the backstage door, pushing our way through the fawning females (and there were MANY) and announce Leslie’s name.

So, I had my dress, my Hugh dress. I work in the garment district and each day passed this gorgeous, Springy, yellow dress in the window. Most of these shops are wholesale only and will not really sell to you off the street, but I couldn’t really resist. I just liked the dress a lot, and it was yellow! I don’t think I own a single yellow piece of clothing in my entire “wardrobe.” I made friends with the owner and he was nice enough to sell it to me “at cost” (I think, it sure was inexpensive). It’s nice to have something you feel at least semi-attractive in after a few months of feeling…bloated.


I picked a nice little Greek restaurant just a half a block from the theater (I’m always in charge of restaurant-picking and so far have had tremendous luck), and we had a nice meal. After a few glasses of red wine, I was READY for The Boy from Oz! We scurried to the theater, and I quickly bought some cheap binoculars, haggling with the storekeeper, and getting them down almost half of the ticketed price. Then we shuffled in with the other cattle through the open doors. I quickly bought a sparkly t-shirt knowing that I desperately wanted one (like I don’t have enough t-shirts!) and that there wouldn’t be time after the show.
Then we were inside! There’s something really exciting about first entering a theater before a show, and I’m not even a ‘theater person’ (I’m a movie gal). The lights are on, but kind of dim, people are talking, it’s kind of warm, you’re settling into your seat, you feel this excitement and chat with your friends about how great this is, how you can’t wait.
Then, it began! Complete darkness fell only to be relieved by Hugh at the piano. The crowd went wild. And I won’t pretend I wasn’t just as stupid, lustful, loud, and starstruck as the rest. I was.
The rest of the show was just a delight. Hugh Jackman is just an incredibly charistmatic guy. He seems to be having such a great time, smiling, leaping around, singing with such gusto, you can’t help but think the guy must collapse from exhaustion after each show. He engaged the audience frequently, choosing a few lucky individuals in the few front rows.

Okay, just a minute, I have to express one serious beef I have with performers in concerts, musicals, or plays. EVERY time you are at one, and the performer happens to interact with audience members, it’s always someone in the first four rows. Now, I know that on a common sense level, you communicate with the person closest to you, the person you can see. But, coming from a person who, due to financial reasons (it almost killed me to cough up the $100 for this show, the first several rows are $250!!!), is always a couple dozen rows back, it is always so heart-wrenching to watch. The people in the front just have more money, they aren’t any bigger of fans. And I’m sure the older man “Eugene,” who was cool and totally game with Hugh’s suggestions, was just some old guy from Jersey who came over for the show and wasn’t wondering how he was going to eat lunch for the next two weeks before his next paycheck. Now, the performers are very much in sync with the guys who control those lights, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to seek out someone who is sitting back there in, let’s just say….the Front Mezzanine section 1, seat E1.


Anyway, enough of my bitterness, on to the sweet! The show was really incredible. Half fantastically fun musical, half like a rock concert with the multitudes of screaming women. Shannon and I kept swooning in
to each other at each suggestive Hugh move. And there were plenty, including his “dirty dancing” which almost sent me off the deep end. I haven’t felt lust that strong in…well, in a little while. I’m not dead yet. But I have to tell you, I know I was acting like one of those teenagers on the Ed Sullivan Show when the Beatles showed up, but I didn’t care. I was having such a great time.
After the catchy, bounce around in your head all day song-of-happiness, “I Go to Rio” played at the finale, I was off, losing half my party in my mission to get to the backstage door as soon as possible. Luckily, we all met up again minutes later. It was chaos. The place was packed with women, pushing and shoving each other, pressing against the barricades in hopes of getting close to Hugh when he emerged.
I was instructed to push my way through to the door, and I did. A “security guard” of sorts was there and he was truly enjoying his “bad ass” persona. He confronted us and I told him we were there for Leslie Alexander, and he practically shoved us toward the gaping backstage door. Just as we were reaching it, out came Hugh. Shannon and I began to pass him, but naturally, we paused. Hugh looked at us, a bit confused of why were there (and not behind the barricades), said, "Hi" and then was ushered on, and we were ushered in. I don't think I actually made a sound.

Me on the piano keys staircase used in the finale Inside, we stood around awkwardly for a moment, feeling like we were in everyone's way. We slowly wandered out onto the stage where I sat on the piano key stairs and posed, as seen in the photo above. It didn't come out very well, but I know what I look like.

Leslie was great. She was enthusiastic and graciously answered all our stupid questions. We took a photo with her, looked around a bit more, and then we left. It was a great experience. Thank you Leslie and Jessica for the opportunity

The Next Day - Saturday Matinee

Since we didn't get much of a chance to have any contact with Hugh the day before, and since we were still buzzing like bees about the performance, Shannon and I decided to go once again to the backstage door to wait for Hugh to come out after the Saturday matinee. We timed it perfectly and showed up just as the show was letting out and women were rushing forward to press against the barricades once more. This time we were right in front, clutching our playbills and feeling rather ridiculous. The only unpleasant things were the security guard (same guy from the night before) who acted like a total pig (he made numerous lewd comments about Shannon's breasts), and the occasional aggressive woman pushing us from behind. I really have to admire her though, she took all his comments in stride and with grace. Not something easy to do in such a situation.

The actor Tony Goldwyn showed up with his very large brood in tow. In case you don't know him simply from his last name, he was the really bad guy in Ghost. See the photo to the right.


After a bit of a wait, Hugh came out, as you see depicted in all the photos above. True to what they say about him, he was gracious and kind, signing numerous autographs and greeting everyone. He signed my playbill, I took all the pictures left on my roll, and after 5-10 minutes, he ducked back into the theater and it was over.
This is when things got weird for me. Being front and center, I was in the perfect place to just observe him the whole time. I've always thought myself a pretty good judge of body language and I am one of those people who like to sit in a park, eat lunch, and just watch all the different types of people walk by.


Watching his face and body, it soon became apparent to me that what he was doing was a complete obligation. Okay, I know, DUH! The required 5-10 minutes of autograph signing is the kind of thing all big actors have to do after each show, though I have no idea if they actually DO. And yes, we were all a bunch of slobbering women (I think I spotted about three men) who were just dying for the chance to look in his eyes and have him fall instantly in love with us (though of course, we all just respect him for being such a family guy! -- a woman next to me said that while making dramatic gagging gestures) but...but... I don't know. I could tell by his face that this was all a bit tiresome, all a bit overwhelming, all a bit unpleasant. Did he explicitly show this? Oh no! If you look at the photos, you see how great he was. Smiling, signing autographs, saying hello and waving. One woman, in a moment I found a bit creepy, even gave him a science book that she had read his son really enjoyed.
He did his "job," and that's what it suddenly seemed like. A job, or a requirement for your benefit, like going for your annual visit to the gynecologist. It all ended so quickly, and I was standing there, filled with these bipolar feelings. I was thrilled that I'd gotten photos, that he'd signed my playbill, and that Shannon and I had just even DONE this (we had our doubts if we should even go since it was a bit silly), but at the same time, I felt as if I just became a part of his life that he found obligatory and mildly distasteful. I mean, there's a part of you that always knows this deep down, but I was just sort of confronted with it and felt awful about it. When you see a movie, TV show, or play that really means something to you, and you feel yourself so drawn toward an actor/actress, you want to be a part of his or her life. That's what celebrity is all about, isn't it? Naturally, you always assume that that actor is a cool guy, someone just like you, someone you could hang out with, talk to, fall in love with. When you discover s/he is not, you get that jarring reality check that the individual is an ACTOR. According to several interviews and Leslie herself, it is all true -- Hugh is a great guy. And then there was I, being a part of the icky side of fame. Sorry, Hugh. Well, I did have an amazing time. That's got to be worth some small fragment of discomfort. Right?

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

So, I have this good friend back from the States. When I knew her a few years ago (before I left for Thailand), she was so great. Young, beautiful, bright, energetic, and fun. She worked as one of my assistant’s at my last job in the U.S., and I always stated that she “was the best assistant I ever had.” And I still mean it today.

So, when a few months ago she wrote me, looking for a job, and I just HAPPENED to have an opening, it seemed perfect. In a frenzy of excited emails and lots of paperwork and preparation, the friend arrived! (Let’s just call her “Rory”). I was so excited to see her at the airport, and we talked of things we might do. I found her a little bit more reserved than I’d remembered her, but 1) she was a couple years older now and 2) she’d just got off one of the most hellish things a person can do – fly transcontinentally.

As the days went forward, strange things began to surface. I was a little surprised at her immediate need to be in luxurious western malls, hanging out in Starbucks and downing Dairy Queen on a daily basis (usually you don’t need your “western fix” until a great deal of time has gone by and the veneer of Bangkok begins to rub off). I was also surprised by her insistence that she live in a “foreigner” area. This is Thailand after all, filled with….Thais. Sure, there are a couple foreigner areas, pockets really, and very expensive (the people who live there are often paid Western salaries which enables them to live like emperors and emperoresses here. I didn’t really yearn to be around Westerners until like a year and a half had gone by and I started to fantasize about Mexican food, Barnes & Nobles, and speaking English how I normally would (and not slowed down or dumbed down). I think that’s when I started watching a lot of movies here (something I still enjoy a great deal).

Yet, she was very determined to do certain things like finding a dream apartment, locating a long and beautiful place to walk, and using her new job here to quickly dig herself out of debt. Quickly, I tried to tell her that all three things were a little far-fetched for Bangkok unless you work for the U.S. Embassy, Unocal, or a drug lord.

“There is NO ‘Target’ in Bangkok.”

This my own personal saying, and what it means is this: in Bangkok, there are usually only two tiers to things – really cheap and fairly shitty quality, and super expensive and fantastic quality. The “Target Department Store” genre (cheap to mid-priced items of fair to good quality) is not readily available. I’ve found this annoying myself, especially when it comes to clothes. I am not fat, but I am big (tall with a medium build). Considering most Thai women have narrow shoulders, tiny chests, and could fit their entire body in a shot glass, you can imagine how finding clothes to fit my Nordic frame isn’t so simple. I’ve only found two places to buy clothes easily “off the rack,” and at both of them I spend much more money on something like a t-shirt, than I EVER spent back in the U.S. That’s just the way it is.

Rory had a very difficult time finding her dream apartment (1-bedroom with all the foreigner stuff that are considered treasured amenities here, i.e. a large room, air-con, hot water, pool, work-out room, etc.). Also, she was disappointed by the location of our school (Northwest Bangkok, a bit of a distance from the “foreigner” or “farang” areas which are in the south and southwest part of Bangkok).

Also, she realized (this one surprised me) that she wasn’t going to get rich teaching in Thailand (no one ever does…this isn’t Japan or Korea five years ago!). Admittedly, I have more disposable income than I have EVER had in my life due to the incredibly cheap cost of food and relatively cheap cost of living overall. And, during my three years here, I have JUST managed to pay off all my evil credit cards back in the U.S., and this was with me wiring a very hefty chunk of my paycheck home each month.

Rory was taken around to five apartments in the immediate area (we have long since learned that a teacher living too far from school is a VERY unhappy teacher). Dealing with Bangkok’s early morning traffic can send anyone over the edge. Rory wasn’t too pleased, or couldn’t afford them, and looked further. It became a rabid quest with her, and consumed her day and night, leading to hours on the internet searching out websites, and calling brokers. Luck wasn’t with her, and as the days slowly crept buy, she became increasingly frantic. I didn’t know what to do since we always offer our new teachers the five local apartment complexes and that’s about it. I myself am a teacher, and not an apartment broker, and my limited Thai doesn’t enable me to find out where the good places to live are.

During all of this, I kept urging Rory to come to work. We had an interim course which is basically like a light-hearted summer school course until the next semester begins. This was her chance to teach a no-failure class and get her feet wet before the next semester began and it got real serious. After being denied several days in a row for various reasons (I was being pretty patient, wanting her to be able to do her own thing), finally the final day of interim courses arrived.

I informed her cheerfully that this was “the big day” as I woke her up that morning (she’d been staying with me). She asked what I was talking about, and though a little surprised and annoyed, tried to keep my chipper exterior and remind her that this was the last day to teach. She asked if she could “come later in the afternoon,” and I felt myself sink inside. I felt I had been patient long enough, and had felt quite alarmed at her lack of “get up and go.” She’d always been so take charge back at the previous job. I never had to tell her anything twice, and she worked by herself well. This time, she seemed to grudgingly drag herself from event to event. She informed me that she had a meeting at 10am with the broker again. I firmly asked her to change the appointment. This was the last day and there wasn’t time for her to show up late in the day (most classes are taught before noon). She reluctantly got up, showered, and then came out solemnly in a towel and sat on the couch. After a moment, she said,

“Um, I have something I need to tell you. You may be angry.”

Oh fuck. So many times in Thailand I have had “the talk” (in its various forms) with many people. It is never good, and it’s always dramatic. I waited tensely. I was informed that she really wasn’t going to see the broker, but in fact was scheduled for an interview an ANOTHER school that was paying about 10,000 baht more ($250 USD) a month.

I felt a wave of anger wash over me like rapid lava. I felt my hands begin to shake. I was shocked at how angry I was. I was simply shocked. I had given my FRIEND a job which had made me feel a little weird, but since she was such a good person and such a fantastic worker, I thought I could be fully justified. I had pulled strings to get her here. We had done tomes of paperwork justifying hiring her from the U.S. I was letting her stay in my home (until the arrival of my mother two weeks later). I had let her avoid work, (something I would have been firmer with another new employee), and I had ignored her distant, sullen nature in telling myself that it was jet lag, new country jitters, homesickness, etc. I kept thinking she’d snap out of it once she found this coveted apartment. I was a fool. Again.

She spluttered that she probably wouldn’t get the job anyway, that she “MIGHT not take it,” and that she “might not like the school.” Ha, fat chance. An American girl here is like a golden nugget. It’s probably the most sought-after teacher of all native English speakers. American accents are often preferred and women are a rarity (and deeply desired, especially in international kindergartens). It just happened to be an international kindergarten. Fuck.

Not to be overly dramatic myself, but I felt rather betrayed. I guess there’s so much background she couldn’t have known – how fantastically difficult it is to find good teachers in Thailand. How excited we were to have a happy, energetic woman on board (the school will be all male after my departure). How there was only a week and a half until the next semester began! Whoever we desperately found to replace her would be rushed into writing long plans for the entire semester in a short amount of time (unfair to him/her). And of course, this was my friend. Someone who had come all the way across the U.S. For me to give her a new life, for her to take a position teaching position she was well-suited for.

A few more days went by, and there was no apartment. She was leaving early in the morning to seek out long walks, and coming back with meat on sticks (she’s into the no-carbos diet which was intriguing and yet mystifying to me! There’s nothing like that here, especially with the required quota of rice each Thai must intake in a day). Finally, this morning while entering a local internet café to search for apartments again, she was suddenly bitten by a small, stupid, yippy dog (I hate these fucking things. Thais love them and will pay through the nose to own the snobbish little overly-breeded rats). This was the last straw. She was in tears. She was utterly miserable. First, she called home. Then, she asked to talk about it with me. She was so sad, which I felt terrible about, but didn’t really know how to deal with. At some point she began to lash out at me for my lack of assistance, caring, understanding, etc. (another stunning moment). I was immediately defensive, as I thought about how hard I had tried to do everything right. Giving lots of advice when needed (often feeling like I was annoying her with too much), and backing off when she was hinting how much she needed to be alone.

I tried to calm myself down after that and explain to her that I wasn’t trying to be critical or negative (wow, she’s REALLY sensitive about any criticism about her no-carbs diet), but was trying to keep her realistic. Her expectations really were only going to give her future grief (like living far from work or pining for the perfect pad). I think she …kind of… understood after that, and though she said she wasn’t “blaming” or “accusing” me, I had the distinct feeling she really was.

Within minutes she was on the back of my motorcycle on what would be a lengthy and exhausting dash across town to purchase her a plane ticket back to the U.S. (and later another lengthy wait at the hospital to get a just-in-case rabies shot). That’s right, a week after her arrival, she was packing it up and shipping it out. God. I have to admit, after all this, I was a little relieved. I have been here awhile and have seen people like this again and again and AGAIN. The best thing is to let them escape as soon as possible. If you try to keep them “to the end of the semester” (to please parents or make things cleaner), everyone ends up unhappy, including the children.

So, tomorrow as the sun is rising over the Chao Phya river, Rory will be soaring toward the Pacific, back the “comforts” of home (she has her own demons to face back there). As much as I hate how this all ended up, I know it’s really for the best. “It’s something unpredictable, but in the end was right. I hope you had the time of your life.”

A Star Called Henry by Roddy Doyle -- A-
This book follows the life of "Henry," a strong, street smart child who grows up in the slums of Dublin, and later becomes involved in the formation of the IRA and the revolution surrounding it. Though slow to get into, the book is a fantastic read and is more than the typical "God, nothing could be possibly more miserable than being poor and growing up in Ireland" book. It delves into so many areas, explores so many issues, and was so intertwined with real historical events (including the many appearances of Michael Collins), that I kept wondering if Henry Smart was a real historical figures (nope). Good historical fiction, as well as a good look at poltiics, family relationships, feminism, and the effectiveness of violent revolution.

I’m back: February’s over! WherethehelldoIgonow? Beer Time. Critique not Books

I know I haven’t written in awhile (déjà vu?), and I’m a little bit inspired simply because today’s date is 3-3-3. I think that’s pretty cool. Anyway, you must understand the month of February in Bangkok. It’s pure evil. Well, if you’re a teacher who works on the Thailand, rather than the international, school, schedule. February has two demons buried in its belly: 1) final exams, for which a Thai 2nd grader shoulders as much pressure as an American first year med school student. And 2) the final end-of-the-year, you-must-be-successful-or-just-go-kill-yourself, the-English-better-sound-clear-and-fluent Performance Extravaganza! *throws confetti* The foreign teachers are totally focused on their upcoming, drawn-out vacation, the Thai teachers are going out of their damn minds trying to get the kids to dance well and review Math all at the same time. The parents are competing with each other over their child’s rank (yes, they are ranked from 1-loser), and the kids, well, they’re just confused.

Yeah, it was a fun month.

Now, I’m free! *dance dance dance* Yeah, scoff at my cutsie astericks, but that’s how I feel! It was a tough month, a tough year, filled with all the laughter and tears of a Lifetime Channel movie. The funny thing is, now that I’m free, I don’t know what the hell to do with myself. I’m sort of stuck in one of those situations where you desperately need to save money, and at the same time you’re like an agitated horse in the gate, waiting for Kentucky Derby to start. I’m in Thailand! There’s dozens of interesting, gorgeous places to go! And I’m surrounded by fantastic places, both near and far. How can I just waste time and my LIFE by not exploring everything like a rapid bloodhound? Or maybe I should use this money to go back to New Zealand and try to find a job there (it’s where I’d really really really like to live next, probably won’t happen though).

Besides spending money, the only other drawback is my solitary status. As I’ve mentioned in the past, I quite enjoy living alone and doing things by myself. Sometimes, I actually turn down invitations to go out, or to a party because I’d rather just stay home and do what I want to do. I hate the thought of being “stuck” somewhere for hours and hours with people who may or may not be interesting. And as you know, when you go out, “beer time” does not equate real, Greenwich time. For instance, when you’re out at a bar, and someone says, “I wanna go home soon,” and you’re already thinking the same thing, your heart soars! You’re probably drunk and tired (and a little bored), or you’re sober and REALLY bored. But of course “soon” in beer time is at LEAST one hour, sometimes two. You just have to sit back. Or the other infamous words, “Just let me finish my drink first.” *wince* I know what this means, the 45 minute, nursed beer.

I’m not trying to say I don’t enjoy going out, I really do! In fact, just recently I went out with some friends and had the most fantastic time. It was one of the few times I found tequila really fun as well. (Unfortunately, not all my friends found tequila to be such a chummy companion by the end of the night). But I guess I hate not being in control of what I can do. I have this good friend who lives way out in the boonies and is hosting a party at his house. 1) The distance = a total loss in power for me. I can’t just leave so easily or “disappear” as friends do at times when you go out and they’re either drunk and wandering or drunk and about to shag someone. 2) There is the very distinct possibility that many people I feel rather awkward around will be there as well. What do I do? Strand myself out in the middle of a rice field with people who make me give that fake, corners-turned-down smile? Or am I a bitch of a friend and make some obvious excuse? Ahhh the boring choices of an obsessive girl.

Well, the great thing about vacation though, is now I can read even more!!! Man, I really love reading. And though I imposed a total moratorium on buying ANY books for the next 8 months, I’ve already broken it and bought THREE yesterday. A book on Phuket. A Milan Kundera novel (love him!). And another by Matthew Kneale who is my new “favorite author RIGHT now!!!!” author. I’d love to write my own critiques about books, but I am not confident that I could possibly add anything worthwhile to the monumental amount of nauseating criticism already out there. Nor do I feel like I have the intellectual lingo to do it right. This is not a statement of insecurity, just of fact. I will be happy to discuss the fantastic, “English Passengers” by Matthew Kneale if anyone likes, or the fantastically tedious “The Map that Changed the World” (why the fuck is this an international bestseller??) with anyone who’d like to. It’s just that if I add something to the world of writing, I want it to be original, in the sense that it’s me, and not another one of them.