I quit. I’ve decided to stop investing energy in everything I’ve been doing and become a panda instead. What a life.
a) You’re fat and you don’t mind at all. In fact, it’s part of your appeal.
b) Your entire day is dedicated to shredding kilos of bamboo, sleeping for about twenty hours or so, and in your off time being all roly-poly with your friends, for crowds full of giggling people.
c) You’re extra huggable.
Pandas are just a bunch of lazy, lollygagging, bamboo eating sweethearts, and if I can’t have one, I want to be one. They had a little movie playing about them in the café. I was able to educate myself on pandas, accompanied by a cappuccino. They said that the pandas at the research center have caught on that being pregnant gets you special treatment, so they’ve actually learned to be fake pregnant to cash in on it. Amazing. They also said that after having her cubs a mother will cuddle and coo her newborn “much like a Chinese woman after giving birth.” That’s quality narration.
My days in China are numbered. October 1st I’ll be in Tibet and then on the 6th I’ll arrive in Nepal. It’s much easier to be here now that high season for tourism has passed, the heat has waned, and the crowds have thinned, but China is still up to its old tricks. While I was waiting for my train to Chengdu a cute little boy squatted down in front of my bags and peed on the train station floor through the slit in his toddler pants. His mother looked on adoringly while he did, and then looked away dispassionately as dozens of waiting passengers traipsed through his puddle of urine. And for some odd reason every bus trip I’ve taken since getting back from Mongolia has had a number of people puking on it, into buckets and onto the floor, smearing it to the side with napkins and letting it sit. Life can be so glamorous.
Last night I had a dream that I was cramming chocolate chip cookies the size of dinner plates into my mouth en masse. Although generally delicious, I think I may be reaching my Chinese food max. The locate-your-food-in-a-photo-and-point-to-it method of ordering meals has been continually failing me. You can’t see bones in the photos. Chinese have exceptionally agile mouths, and are able to somehow navigate their way around the bone, separate the meat, and discard the un-chewable without appearing undignified. I think it’s because of this talent that they are hell bent on inserting bones into every meal. They must need that extra challenge. Luckily the hostel has nicely made, boneless, Chinese food for foreigner consumption.
While I was waiting for my dinner the other night a guy in the hostel passed by and stopped to ask if I wanted to join him at some food event that was going on next door. That was nice enough, although I had already ordered something, but then he continued on and said, twice, that it was just because he didn’t want to sit alone. His demonstration of feeble backpedaling has inspired me to get all advicy and break some things down here. Are you ready? OK, get ready.
Guys, (Girls too for that matter, although I can’t speak for the male voice of attraction, but I have a general belief that we are all essentially the same, even if some of our methods differ slightly.) if you’re hoping to gain the time, attention, and/or interest of a girl don’t ever tell her it’s because you’ve got nothing better cooking. I know everyone thinks they’re really slick with all the little games of disinterest they try to play, but even when people are being too polite to call you out on it, we all know what you’re doing.
I’ve had pretty close to zero guys in my life ever express a clear-cut interest, even when they’re clearly interested, and I can guess from movies I’ve watched and conversations I’ve had that this technique is suppose to cultivate more interest from the other person somehow. I obviously don’t need to be the one to point out how flaccid this approach is. You may inspire some initial desperate response from someone who craves the validation, but ultimately you’ve created a losing system for the both of you to flail around in, if they choose to engage you in it.
Here’s my solution; if you’re interested in someone TELL THEM. Like I said, I have not experienced this often, but the few times I have, it’s been from guys I wasn’t particularly struck by at first, but was won over by their unabashed honesty. Chances are you could still get shut down, but at least there will be no doubt in your mind about what could have been. Besides, I think practicing the art of accepting rejection gracefully is something we all should do more of. It’s even kind of fun once you get into the swing of things. You see how unimportant it actually is. No one ever talks about climbing molehills, people want to climb mountains, so when we’ve got nothing doing in our lives we take our molehills and make mountains out of them to inflate our sense of self worth. Drama pumps us up, and we turn this tiny stuff monumental. It’s not. Really.
If you like someone, and for whatever reason they don’t return the sentiment, that ain’t no thang. Having an interest in other people is good, it’s human, and we need it to happen. If someone makes you feel bad about that they are the dick, not you. But mostly people will be pretty gentle if they’re intent on going their own way. So, it’s up to you. Be brave. Hand out some compliments with no expectations of what you should receive in return. Tell a girl she’s pretty. Invite a guy to dinner. Call your friend again even when they haven’t called you back. Stop pretending you don’t care, because we all know you do, and you’re doing everyone a disservice when you don’t acknowledge that.
Anyway, I didn’t accompany him so I could fill the role of the second person at the table. I stayed on my own and enjoyed my dinner. I sat alone, cheerfully. I’m sure if he wasn’t able to find his wingman that evening he will eventually, and they can live happily ever after, making mountains out of molehills together.
