Sitting B!tch

…you have the best poops. It’s true. Every time I get back home from a trip, whether just a quick weekend jaunt or a multi-week extravaganza, I have my most satisfying poops. The comfort level just adds that extra “gusto.”

Kansas City’s claim to having great BBQ is warranted. They also have classy casinos, particularly The Argosy, which appears to be the result of an LSD-influenced design dream of the responsible architect. It’s exterior is essentially a combination of every style of castle that you can imagine while the interior sports nautical decor. I was impressed. [This is me being sarcastic]

Living and learning: If you’re a guest at a wedding and the bride challenges you to a dance-off, let her win. If you’re in the wedding party and the bride challenges you to a dance-off, let her win. If you’re the love-child of Usher and Jennifer Lopez and the bride challenges you to a dance-off, let her win. Trust me, it’s in everyone’s best interest.

Nothing compares to hanging with locals while on vacation. I crashed on my friend’s couch while visiting Hawaii last week. It’s a very family-centric culture, with the household usually including several aunts, uncles, and cousins all living together. Aside from having to wait to take a shower and/or a dump, it also means that the driveway has multiple cars blocking each other in. One morning (around 6:00AM), I was shaken awake by a Hawaiian Don Vito yelling at me to move my car. Obviously he had me mistaken for someone else, but it was still traumatizing for at least one party involved.

Hawaii is the equivalent of happy hour all day. No worries, booze, beautiful women, and good/cheap food. People are very generous, warm, and welcoming. Even when they get pissed off, simply throwing in “Mahalo!” at the end of everything makes it seem OK — “Get the fuck out of the way, asshole!…mahalo” or “Shut the fuck up!…mahalo“–it’s pretty amazing. There are also great beaches that beg you to veg out and do nothing. I love it.

For the story: Sometimes it’s attempting to eat hot wings in India, and other times it’s jumping off 40+foot waterfall. Either way, both provide an extreme adrenaline rush and pose potentially hazardous effects to your health…

I bought two bumble bee costumes that I’m going to have two friends wear while gallivanting along the Las Vegas Strip on Labor Day weekend. The plan is to have Blind Melon’s No Rain playing out loud while they dance around and sting people with the included butt-stingers. We’ll see if they’re still my friends afterwards…stay tuned.

… you just have to pee. Today, my friend linked me to this ingenious, laughable, somewhat-gross-but-incredibly-practical urination aid for women. Resourceful feminism at its finest!

Naturally, whoever developed this idea knew to cater their business model to the female tendency of cleanliness…no woman in her right mind would actually reuse this thing more than once, right?

Let’s face it, guys will get every last bit of worth from shit we buy (see: holes in socks and underwear, pit-stained shirts, funky shoes, etc.). Women are clean, beautiful creatures. Hence, the value-pack of pee funnels:

I’m not sure how I’d feel if my girlfriend busted one of these out and started to hose down the grass. Standing up while peeing isn’t atop my list of sexy things that women do. But I will admit that upright urination is one of nature’s simplest, most useful capabilities that keep me convinced that …

RIP JB and LP. But I digress.

All too often, I say to myself, “Self, if you had thought of this simple idea before they did, we’d be rich right now.” This has applied to many things in the past day–ice trays, paper towel dispensers, Q-tips, and collapsible laundry baskets–and I have now added another to that ever-growing list: the pee funnel for girls.

On a completely different note, I’ve heard the 1995 classic emo-R&B ballad Nobody Knows by The Tony Rich Project three times in the last 48 hours, all at the most random places:

1) In one of the small SF Chinatown shops while my younger brother (he’s 26 years old, btw) was buying stink bombs.

2) Playing Pandora on my phone while taking a dump in my apartment this morning

3) Right now, at work, because I looked it up on YouTube.

Entertaining history with this song…

It was the Spring of ’96, I was in the 8th grade. My girlfriend had just dumped me because I went on a vacation to Mexico with my family during Spring break instead of staying at home to talk to her on the phone that week. Seriously, that’s why she broke up with me. Anyway, to help me cope, I proceeded to buy the cassette single of this song at Walgreens and play it on repeat with my Sony Walkman knock-off [It was particularly tedious because the JVC version I had didn't even have a <<Rewind<< button or the fancy Auto-Reverse feature, so I'd have to flip the cassette and >>Fast Forward>> it to <<Rewind<< it].

A week goes by after the dumpage and I’m back to normal.  I put all of the stuff  that she gave me during our torrid love affair [sarcasm] into a shoe box and returned it to her, including the cassette single since I was bored of it already. Around the same time, she finally received the letter that I had sent to her on the first day of Spring break (snail mail from Mexico to the US, mind you). My romantic literary prowess (pfffffffft) coupled with the lyrics of this song must’ve misled her. Turns out that she decided to get back together with me and figured that I wanted to also, based on the song’s lyrics. I probably would have, too, since she was the hottest of the 5 girls in my class, but at the time I understood girls even less than I do now if that’s possible…according to historians (ie that girl, we’re friends now), she asked me to call her that night with the sole intent of getting back together. However, when i called her, all I talked about was how much fun I had on my vacation.

{sigh} An idiot then, an idiot now, but at least I’m consistent.

Last night in India. It’s been quite the 12-day run.

Seeing the Taj Mahal up close and personal was surreal. The pictures don’t do it justice, that monument is majestic. I’ve never described anything as majestic. Staring at the white marble behemoth transcended me from reality for a moment, but I was brought crashing back down when I saw a kid urinating in the courtyard garden.

What else?

I never got used to the head-bobble. My bottled water consumption in the past two weeks single-handedly negated my conservation efforts that I’ve made in the last 6 months. You can buy a 2-bedroom luxury condo in downtown Hyderabad for $30,000. You can buy a Chicken Maharaja Mac at a local McD’s for $1.26. Thick, voluminous mustaches are “in,” tanned skin is “out.” In some restaurants, a shot of Scotch costs more than your entrée.

When people sporadically speak to each other in their native tongue around you, it’s because they’re talking about you. When you speak to them in English, particularly in restaurants, it’s fair to assume that their comprehension hovers around 73% accuracy, so manage expectations accordingly. A non-veg breakfast typically means that you’ll get a boiled egg. Cheese is a luxurious commodity–corn is not. Dinner is usually no earlier than 9:00PM, and pizza dough is rarely baked. I will not voluntarily order chicken at a restaurant for the next few weeks.

Swindling tourists is part of the tourism industry’s culture. Once you realize that, rest assured that you’ll still be subjected to con-men. The streets are filled with the poop of too many species of humans and beasts. All men pee freely on the streets…some stand, others squat. Those that squat tend to look around while they do it, making themselves more apparent while trying to blend in. The public toilets in India are by far the nastiest I’ve ever seen/smelled/heard.

In general, India cars have the steering wheel on the right and drive on the left side of the road. I say in general because occasionally there’s an impatient asshole who creates his own lane roads from narrow one-way alleys. This normally wouldn’t be a huge issue since I don’t drive here, but pedestrians also follow that same rule. Since I normally default to the right side when approaching oncoming foot traffic, I’ve become that asshole that makes his own lane.

The trains in India have become infamous for their overcrowded cars and tragic collisions. What’s not reported are the eunuchs that frequent most of the train cars on any/all trips…

A little impromptu history lesson: the eunuch community is not recognized by the India government since they’re not categorized as either male or female. Consequently, they are not allowed to hold any official jobs or own any property, leaving them to a life of panhandling on the streets and trains. The more you know…

Allegedly, they travel in packs of 4-6 and harass passengers on non-A/C cars (they’re not allowed in the high-class A/C cars) until they receive money. If you refuse to pay them, they lift their sarees and flash their bean-less franks at you until you change your mind. If you have a strong stomach and don’t respond to their display, they’ll resort to groping you. Since the other passengers don’t want to be you, no one helps you. I didn’t get to ride a train on this trip because I got scammed upon arriving in Delhi [blessing in disguise, I suppose]…but if I had, it may have been a great opportunity to opt out of the A/C car…you can’t put a price on doing it for the story.

Monsoon season here is no joke. Umbrellas are futile, particularly the Walgreens-quality ones that the street vendors peddle. After witnessing tourists’ umbrellas invert and succumb to the gusty winds and heavy downpours within minutes of purchase, I said ‘fuggit’ and embraced the rain.

It’s somewhat liberating to walk around in a downpour, but in India it’s also incredibly disgusting. Why? Well, most of the streets in India (Delhi in particular) are legitimately filled with shit. When it downpours, the streets flood pretty quickly. What happens when these streets start to flood? The shit grows legs and frolics around. Ungood.

I got a haircut at one of the posh L’Oréal-trained salons here. Locals told me that it cost 4x more than the normal salon for a shampoo and cut, but I still went despite their advice…because it was only the equivalent of $4. Sometimes you can’t help but feel like asshole.

My time here is almost up. When I get back in a few days, I’m looking forward to breathing some clean air, eating a fat steak and slugging some tap water just because I can. But it’s still going to be a little bittersweet. Believe it or not, although I’ve been swindled, lied to, ripped-off, and food-poisoned (unintentionally, of course) in the last 10 days, it’s been a great experience. Most of the people here have been great–very warm, welcoming and always willing to help.

While wandering down a random street in Hyderabad last night, my friend and I spotted what appeared to be a Church’s Chicken sign inside a nearby shopping mall. However, upon closer inspection, it wasn’t, but better:

After the initial hilarity from the visually blatant plagiarism/copyright infringement of the logo coupled with it being Texas-branded “halal” chicken, the Man v. Food rip-off challenge caught my eye. For a mere 135 Rs (~$2.93), I could take a shot at India strip mall immortality. And that’s just what I did…

Let me paint a more vivid picture of the ambience for this challenge: me, said friend, 8 Texas Chicken employees, and a security guard at the front door splitting his time between manning the metal detector and watching my attempt.

I know that you might be thinking, “You’re an idiot.” Trust me, I was thinking the same thing, but do it for the story, right?

I may have failed the challenge, but I like to think that I won in life. Naht.

Side note: It was Mexican day at my office cafeteria, a once-a-month themed cuisine day. People waited 10-15 mins for what they called “live” tacos, or essentially a taco bar where someone makes you custom creations. Custom, extremely tiny creations:

(Beside a Nexus One, for perspective)

It’s been raining pretty regularly for the last 3 days, so the dirt roads are now flooded and filled with muddy sinkholes. India’s monsoon season gets rid of the heat and mosquitoes at the cost of muddied clothes and an added swamp-ass factor to the local aroma.

Random occurrence: While walking through a local hotel, I spotted a bootleg Tom from Tom & Jerry babysitting a handful of kids while their parents dined at the buffet. Based on how he was moving around, he either didn’t understand the kids’ Hindi-English or couldn’t see through the mask. Probably a little of both.

Random observation: While talking to locals here, they do a “bobble head” move while maintaining eye contact with you. It’s bizarre and trips me out every time. Legend has it that it’s in lieu of nodding the head. I think it’s disturbing.

Local food is a lot spicier than the US versions that I’ve sampled, which undoubtedly contributes to the stank factor. What do I know? Well, I ate some sort of deep-fried veggie snack that was abnormally spiced out, then went for a workout an hour later and noticed that my sweat smelled extra spicy.

Speaking of the local cuisine, I’ve decided not to take the Travel Channel shows as truth anymore. Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmern made India street food look so colorful, delightful, and acceptably clean. In actuality, the local street food carts are filthy, sketchy, and not nearly as aesthetically pleasing. Add the fact that the servers have grimy hands and you’ll find me at the local McDonald’s for my daily chaat.

Local expats took me to Mebaz, a custom-tailored clothing store for men. I don’t normally wear dress shirts, but the salespeople managed to sell me 5 button-down shirts after throwing two-dozen spools of fabric around me. It was too tough to pass up $22 custom-tailored shirts…but we’ll see how the finished products turn out. The best part was that I got fitted after going to a gluttonous buffet lunch, so the measurements will probably be off. Icing on the cake, they also convinced me that I wanted a pair of cashmere pants–I haven’t worn a pair of “dress pants” in over 3 years. Then came the up-sell…

Sales guy: “Sir, pure silk lining for added comfort and warmth?”

Me: “Hmm…How much?”

Sales guy: “200 Rupees…[jabbing his calculator]…or $4.37 for you.”

Me: “Wow. $4.37….I dunno.”

Sales guy: “150 Rupees, sir…[jabbing his calculator]…or $3.26 for you”

Me: “[Sigh] Ok, I suppose I can spoil myself…but only because I like you.”

Arrived in Hyderebad, India this morning at 3:00AM local time. I unsuccessfully tried to “check in” via Gowalla and Yelp. However, I successfully “checked in” using Google Latitude. Now, if I only had more than 6 friends using Latitude, we might be on to something. Might. I’ll be here for two weeks to “work.” It’s OK, I laughed, too.

Initial impression: Not nearly as hot as people warned me about.

Full disclosure: It’s pouring rain outside.

Secondary impression: I stand out because of how different I look.

Full disclosure: That happens everywhere I go.

After getting settled and taking a nap, I went on a local city tour with my assigned driver for the day, Ghikil. We cruised the muddied streets of Hyderabad in our silver Ford Fusion, dodging and dipping and dodging the motorized rickshaws, motorbikes, bicycles, cars, and pedestrians. It reminded me a lot of metro Manila, except that the streets were filled with Indians instead of Filipinos and I couldn’t understand their English very well.

Our first venture was a city-wide car tour of the various neighborhoods of the city, ranging from the old town district, to the bar scene (he just assumed I wanted to go there, go figure) and to where the Bollywood stars live. Then we hit up the legendary Charminar mosque, the trademark of the city and home to a bustling marketplace.

They charge locals 25 Rs (About $0.50) to climb to the top. They charge foreigners 100 Rs. A total rip-off in principle, but I decided to contribute to their local economy:

We later stopped by an all-marble mosque, but no cameras/phones/camera phones were allowed. I had to take my shoes off, so I ran up and down the steps in socks. It wouldn’t have been an issue, except I saw a woman with a gnarly little toe that looked like it was fighting to run away from her foot. Also, it started to pour rain while we were up top, so while running back to the car and I almost took out the people waiting in line for coconuts (the seasonal offering to the deities) at the bottom.  A picture of that would have been priceless.

On the way back to the guest house we stopped at a local bakery because I wanted to get a snack. I got mine to-go, which Ghikil didn’t expect. When I got back to the car, he was elbows deep in some grub (curried mutton and rice from what I could see and smell) that he had brought from home. After an initial awkwardness on his part, I assured him that it was OK for him to chow down while I killed time playing games on my phone. I had a chicken samosa and banana nut muffin, ef why I.

Day 1 ended with dinner at the company guest house, where a resident chef prepares dinner for expats 6 days a week (we’re spoiled). Tonight he served a version of pizza that I can’t honestly say I’ve ever had before. The dough was unbaked naan (so unnaturally soft) and the tomato sauce…wasn’t. I asked homie what it was made of, but all that I heard/understood was “beans.” Geww. Either way, I would have been OK with just one slice of the non-vegetarian pizza, but he’s a really nice guy and insisted that I try the vegetarian one…Saturdays are pretty slow for the dining hall, and it became apparent that I’d probably be their only customer that night.

Hmm, this entry was more than I bargained. If you read this, congratulations. I’m going to make any future posts more normal. Giddy up.

Foursquare, Gowalla, Yelp, StalkMe.net…Gen Y can’t get enough. I checked in at the India Visa Outsourcing place the other day using the Yelp Android app (F the iphone!). It asked me for any “tips.” I wrote, “This place stinks and has no ventilation, it gave me a headache.” I wasn’t being an asshole on purpose, and I almost felt bad for posting that…until they told me that the visa pickup would be delayed an additional 1.5 hours.

These location apps “award” me virtual badges. When did getting badges suddenly become cool? No one cared about my Weblo badges while I was a cub scout. I refused to have them sewn onto my shirt because being a cub scout was enough of a reason to make fun of me. Showing proof that sucking at life was my style and ease would’ve begged for an ass-kicking. See what I did there? I took the current slang, “steez,” and I expanded it to it’s non-hip origins. Badges on these networks are like your new crop of dingleberries on your virtual farms–no one else really cares, but you’re going to tell us about them anyway.

Are the electronic bidets on robotoilets designed to be used before or after you wipe? Or, does using the bidet mean that you don’t have to wipe, and just rely on the air dryer? Lastly, why are there so many power levels for the water spray? (It’s a Japanese invention, and from what I hear [chuckle] they’re into some freaky porn, so maybe they like having a fire house blast their bottoms). These are very important questions.

I can’t eat an Oh Yeah! protein bar without thinking about Randy “The Macho Man” Savage. Slap it to a Slim Jim.

There are thousands of people who look back on their daily lives and legitimately believe that it’d make for a great documentary, movie, comic strip, short story, romance novel, fiction, or instruction manual. I’m no exception. I think my life is a lot more entertaining than it probably is.

I wear a red watch. It’s really red. And it’s not small, it’s relatively huge. That’s what she said. It gets me a lot of attention, probably not in a good way. Guys think I’m “peacocking,” girls think I’m stuck in the early 90s (it’s a G-Shock). I just think it’s funny to wear because, well, it’s red and huge (TWSS sigh).

My friends and I were at a concert last Friday. There was this really drunk girl dancing up on my buddy and kicking strangers. Her friend told me that the drunkard was single. Since we couldn’t hear each other amidst the racket, I text messaged my friend, “she’s single”. He responded, “so what”. My rebuttal, “smash!” His counter argument, “no”. My retaliation was to choreograph what is now known as the “Chong Smash Dance”, which I proceeded to do the rest of the concert. The best part was the other girl had no idea what we meant by “smash,” so she was actively participating in the dance/encouragement. Maybe one day I’ll post a demo.

My birthday was 2 weeks ago. I had a great time. I found out about a few fights and drama-fo-yo-mama moments the next few days that followed. I didn’t remember any of that happening. I was almost disappointed.

Instead of attending a friend’s wedding ceremony, I opted to watch the USA v. Ghana World Cup match at a bar in downtown San Jose with my friend and fellow wedding ceremony-ditcher, Sakajamaymee. We were wearing our suits since we had to go straight to the reception afterwards. Patrons of downtown San Jose do not like it when two guys wearing suits hang out at a sports bar, especially if one of them has a purple shirt/tie on.

Last thought of the morning – Millionaires. This new trio of raunchy teenage-girls-turned-pop-stars is disturbing. I’m not sure if their lack of inhibitions and abundance of disturbing sexuality is good or bad for society. But I’m gonna go with good. Why? Because they’re ridiculous and give us someone to laugh at and ridicule. Why is that OK? Because that’s their goal, it’s what will keep them relevant until they have to go back to high school in the Fall. A win-win for both sides is always a good thing.

It’s another Gad Van Damme Friday

It ain’t pretty, but it’s damn funny.