It's OK Because I Don't Have Readers

So it's been a good 3 months since I've had the time/patience to deal with a proxy to make a new post on my blog ... but as I so elegantly stated in my title ... I don't think anyone has noticed.

Regardless I think I'll provide a quick recap for those who may want to know where I've been:

- In June I made a 2 week trip the SF, henceforth known as the happiest place on earth. I also went indoor skydiving, pictures of which I would LOVE to add, but unfortunately ... can't?
- In July I turned 24
- In August I took a 5 day trip to Langkawi, Malaysia with H and Ber, who I hadn't seen in almost TWO YEARS since living together in college. Pictures are pretty hysterical.

This weekend I'm taking another Shanghai Sea Dragons trip, this time to Hong Kong. Sadly I'm not allowed to play in this tournament, but I've decided to look on the bright side ... no responsibility! Stories to come!

Jogging is Hard

Leave it to me to get lost running in my own neighborhood ... Check out my route last night:

Lao Wang!

Alright, so this isn't actually Lao Wang, but it is Lao Wang's friend who is now H and my new best friend. No really, we are going to his house on Wednesday night for dinner.


We met him on Qingming (Tomb Sweeping Day, Monday, May 6) at Xiangyang Park. We were sitting on our bench sipping coronas and enjoying the first day of spring when he moseyed on up and welcomed himself to the spot between us. He actually was born in Singapore and speaks excellent English. He used to export silk, and claims he is going to give us some when we come over on Wednesday.

He claims he has a 20 year old son, and when we guessed his age as 64, he squeeled "TOO OLLLD!!!" and laughed uncontrollably, claiming he is younger. He never told us exactly how old he is ... but whatever he would have said I wouldn't have believed him.

As she will report ... he was quite fond of H. Must have a thing for blondes.

RUGBY SEVENS!

Best weekend ever. That's it.

Obligatory Wynn and Emily Photo

Me and my new boyfriend

6th Grade BFFs

Me, Wynn, Erika

"Fags on Vacation"

FIJI players! Aka Champions

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I’ve been trying to decide, recently, whether or not it’s cool to be a regular. There have been times when I thought it would be great to have my very own version of Cheers, where I could walk in at ease and everyone would, well, know my name. But at what point does that start to get kind of awkward or depressing even? At what point does the bartender knowing what you want before you ask, or every staff member in your coffee shop saying “Hi Emily!” when you walk in become just kind of sad?

Thus far I seem to have managed to reach regular status at 3 venues in Shanghai: Wagas – the friendly coffee shop, Oscars – the ladies night destination, and the Beaver – the frequented bar.

At Wagas the progression was somewhat natural, and really only shows that I am a. extremely predictable, and b. addicted to caffeine. It started this summer when my intern and I used to take the subway to work and stop by for an iced latte to keep us cool on the ten minute walk to the office. Finally, after several weeks of our daily visits, Karen at the register asked us our names. A few weeks later, she told us that we were her “best friends” at work. After the intern left, and the weather started to get cold, I started taking the bus to work, and my morning iced lattes became midday large lattes with skim milk and one equal. Now whenever I walk in I am greeted by name by not only Karen, but also Emily (another register worker) and every single other employee in the café. A large latte with skim milk and one equal has become the “Emily latte” and I don’t even have to ask for it. They just know. Once they even spotted me at the ATM outside and my drink was ready before I even reached the register. I kind of liked it.

At Oscars it’s a little weird. H and I go there almost every Weds for ladies night, which means free cocktails and shots from 8pm to 11pm. The point of any ladies night is to draw the women, which will draw the men, who will talk to the women and spend money on their own drinks. Oscars isn’t like that, especially not for us. We walk in, bypass the open mic night and head straight upstairs to hide in a corner near the second floor bar. Within seconds, David the Chinese bar tender has placed 2 long island iced teas in front of us. We never even have to ask for refills … they just appear as soon as the glass begins to look low. Does that make us cool … or just lushes?

Nice shirt, David

The third locale is becoming somewhat controversial. I actually read about the Beav on City Weekend when I first moved to Shanghai, and so when H told me it was one of her favorites I knew we would be fast friends. Overtime, our somewhat frequent nights there turned into weekly visits, then multiple times a week, until we became friends with Kit the owner and eventually started getting VIP treatment (free drinks and permission to hoola-hoop and beat a piñata indoors). We still love the Beaver, we do. But it turns out being a regular at a dive bar in Shanghai doesn’t exactly get you access to the most eligible bachelors in town. Kit’s … interesting … love for H aside, we have started to realize that if we want to be among the best, we are going to have to start to class it up. Wish us luck on that one …

You'd think that with Shanghai growing so quickly in anticipation of the World Expo 2010, we would have an endless supply of new venues to try out. Perhaps we do? I think its time I stopped pretending to be set in my ways and start exploring again.

Eliots Hit the Hai

I had the greatest time with my family last week on their extremely brief trip through Shanghai. We walked around the city, had a taste of true China at Fuxing Park, a taste of retail heaven (read: Barbie Store!) and an even bigger taste of retail hell (read: Fake Market). I finally went to M on the Bund, which yes, had an amazing view of both sides of the Bund.

Here are a couple gems from the visit ... somewhere there is a shot of Daddio getting a mani/pedi too, but sadly its not on my camera.

Why are the Eliot sisters wearing mustaches you might ask? We threw H a Mexico themed 25th bday party, of course. My mom supplied the pinata, pin the tail on the donkey, and all kinds of goodies.

Family minus me at Fuxing Park ... there is an amazing maraca dance party going on behind them in case you cant tell.

Me at Yu Gardens ... I gathered several giggling fans when I did this.

Thats it for now! I'm trying to make these shorter so I post more often. Those of you who know me, though, know that I struggle with brevity.

Cut Your Damn Hair!

I've never really been the type to spend money on beauty extravagances. I get my hair cut maybe twice a year, generally experimenting with a new look each time, I don’t like facials, get bruises from massages, and I didn’t even get a manicure before my senior prom. But somehow, since moving to China it’s as if I’ve become a whole new woman. I purchased my very first hair straightener within weeks of moving here, my massage appointments seem to be increasing exponentially, and I have even started to skip lunch during the week to sneak off and get a midday mani/pedi.

One of my favorite new activities is going to get my hair washed. I know, it sounds a little ridiculous, but don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it my friends. On the occasional weekend, after getting dressed and doing our makeup, H (my lone female friend and thus beauty companion) and I grab a couple beers and head to “Super Star” and for a mere RMB 30, get our hair washed, rinsed, blow-dried and styled (I tend to go straight, while H goes for the curls). They even throw in a little massage to relieve the stress of being waited on hand and food … and head.

This being China, of course, even getting your hair washed at the salon isn’t exactly how you might picture it. Instead of leaning back with your hair in a sink, at “Super Star” (and most salons in China) they dump shampoo on your head while you’re in the chair and squirt on water slowly until you have just the right amount of lather. They then proceed to massage your hair into hilariously unflattering shapes until its squeaky clean, all with you sitting up, sipping on your beer, and remaining impressively dry.

Fun right? Well, there is one small catch.

See “Super Star” isn’t exactly the most high-end salon around (hard to tell with a name like “Super Star,” I know), and it seems their electrical set up is a little outdated. H says the power has gone out four times while she’s been there, but she’s generally been just about finished and therefore just paid and headed out. Last time we went, we weren’t so lucky. We had just finished getting all lathered up, both of us had heads full of shampoo and I had just been led over to start my rinse when, BOOM!

Blackout. I blame it on the lady whose hair was so ridiculously long they had to use two blow-driers at once just to have any hope of getting it dry.

This was quite a pickle. My hair was wet and full of suds, and H’s was somewhat resembling a beehive held together with bubbles. There was no electricity, meaning no lights, no more hot water to rinse, and of course, no blow-driers. We were laughing hysterically at the whole situation, much to the relief of the salon workers, but we couldn’t exactly hit up our favorite bars with our current looks. We needed a solution.

“No problem,” they said (speaking Chinese). “We can go down the street to another salon.” Oh good … classy. The hair washers carefully wrap our heads in white towels and hand us our purses, and leaving coats and beers behind, H and I headed outside and proceeded to jog after our hairdressers down about a block-and-a-half to the tiniest little hole in the wall salon I’ve seen. Standing in the back of this maybe 10 sqm establishment were three incredibly angry looking prostitutes, one of which was not pleased she had to vacant her perch on the washing chair so that I could finish my rinse. H and I each took our turns rinsing out the suds, and then sat down in our swivel chairs for blow-dry and styling, which also turned out to be a less than relaxing experience. H’s hairdresser kept getting so distracted by the Chinese soap opera on TV that he would momentarily space out mid-curl, and I was not appreciating the prostitute stink-eye.

I will give “Super Star” some credit for thinking on their toes. Regardless of the power drama, they were still able to make us pretty, and we even managed to get one of the hairdressers to pop back over to the first salon and grab our beers so we could at least numb ourselves to the hilarity a little bit.

I feel like every day I have an experience that leads me to sigh, “Only in China.” Bizarre things like this just don’t seem to happen elsewhere. At this point I’ve seen a lot of crazy sights in Shanghai, and been part of even more. It seems two white girls running down the street with their hair full of shampoo is just another oddity to add to the list. I will definitely be back to “Super Star,” probably soon. Next time I’m just going to have to check out the other customers, and if anyone has hair past their shoulders, I’ll just have to come back another time.