Boredom, stress, frustration; all contributing factors to last night’s orgy of excess. The full effects of which are still unknown.

The night before last, King and I (the King of surprises), went clubbing. Yes, King went clubbing. Not a few days before (did he hear me?) I said to T how I never go out with King, because he doesn’t drink and he doesn’t dance and I wonder if he likes to go out at all.

Oh wait, has he been reading my Blog? Haha.

Anyway, so we were on the bus going to Liuyan for God knows what, when he chatted up a then-unknown girl sitting next to him. He’s smooth. Next thing I know we’re getting off in Wuyan, she calls another female friend and there the four of us are on our way to the club.

We spent too much money on whisky, which neither King nor I really drink or enjoy, and then spent the rest of the night dancing. It was fun. It was surprising. It left us wanting more.

I think with both of us being bored, terribly, terribly bored, we fancied some substance abuse, so last night we figured we’d party hard. The problem is, the drink is very expensive, and the night before drinking only the whisky, we hardly felt tipsy.

Last night we bought some evil, evil Bai Guo, and just writing about it now is making me want to vomit. We cheers’ed away a bottle between us, King having eaten nothing, and then started for the club.

My theory on Bai Guo has always been that it hits fast and hard, but it’s effects are short. So we giggled a bit and thought we felt fine. At the club, just me and him, the two main dudes that we thought we were, we ordered another over-priced and under-appreciated whisky combo. A smallish bottle of Chivas, 3 cans of Pepsi and a bowl of popcorn. Finally King got something to eat.

So we cheers’ed each other and people at random tables around us, using rather large shot glasses of neat Chivas. We also bumped into people we met the previous night, amongst them quite a tall, beautiful and well endowed Chinese girl, Mung Li. Dancing ensued.

The dusk of drunkenness fell suddenly. My theory about the evil, evil Bai Guo’s shortness of effect, was proven horribly, harribly wrong.

Beyond this point the details get blurry. I remember drinking too much. I remember coming back to our table from the dance floor only to find our flask of Chivas and Pepsi (sacralidge, I know) empty, but I can’t remember if we emptied it. I remember King falling over on the dance floor, sleeping at the table and then being taken home by one of our new male friends.

I remember handing him his jacket before he left, speaking enough, and fluently so, instructions in Chinese for the coat-check girl to hand me only his jacket. I remember beers appearing, but I don’t remember paying for it, which I must have as my big money had been spent (either that or robbed, but there was still change left).

I remember the beers being finished, but I don’t remember drinking it all. Altough I do remember puking in the loo shortly following half a beer, dirtying a tiny cubicle, because there was no western style loo, just the porcelein trench into which I couldn’t aim very well.

I remember SMS’ing Lara, sarcasticly saying ‘Thank You’, she replied, ‘why’ and I replied ‘for not phoning me’. This morning I saw I sent the message at 9:15pm and replied at 00:45. I cannot account for the time in between and know I was already pissed when I sent the first message.

I notice I have two new numbers on my cellphone, but I don’t remember who put it there and I can’t pronounce the names recorded in Chinese characters. I’m sure I made an arse of myself, embarresed myself, but that I don’t remember (thankfully?).

I threw up. Just as well. I think if I had to carry all the alcohol with me to bed, I would have been near dead this morning.

So, anyway - an interesting adventure and a grim reminder of why not to mix your alcohols or drink too much. And why never ever to turn your back on evil, evil Bai Guo.

We’re having coffee later with our ’saviour’, the young Chinese guy we befriended who can speak a little English and saw both King and I home, seperately.

Top class guy. Maybe he can fill in the blanks.

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Sitting in front of the computer is fun. Unless you are engrossed in something and you don’t notice the time pass.

Before you know it, you’ve sat in one position, hand on the mouse, for 3 hours. No problem, you’re a keyboard monkey and can do this for days.

However, you try to move your arm, and a spasm is produced in your back, so painful it hurts to breathe.

Yup, that is what I got for quickly completing 2 modules of my TEFL course, no noticing 5 hours slip past. I wondered why they warned me to take hourly 15 minute breaks.

Later on, I spoke to Shawn about a massage. He’s in the know, especially about massages. I was invisioning insence, aromatherapy, a beautiful girl washing away the pain in my back with the pleasurable strokes of her soft hands.

“Come”, he said, “let’s go for a massage”. “You dirty boy”, I thought as we walked down Chow Yun Lu, “to which dodgy joint are you taking me?” As we turned into a medical clinic, my fantasy started to sterilise. We went up to the 11th floor of what looked like an apartment block.

As we entered the converted apartment of some industrious medical people, my little vision shattered. There were 3 beds, currently occupied by rather elderly people. “He’s blind”, said Shawn about the guy in dark classes with all his weight on his elbow, which in turn was scewering the vertebre of the elderly woman pinned beneath him.

Blind people are good at massage, because they need to feel their way through, rather than look. I didn’t feel too comfortable with the look of agony on the woman’s face though, but my back was killing me and would have killed me had I tried to run.

When my turn came around, I crawled on the bed, face down, feeling confident. The lady was old, she’s fragile, how much could it really hurt. For the next eternity, which is how long he made the hour feel, I was tortured in the most inhumane way imaginable.

He’s knowledgeable, I will give him that. He pushed every single pressure point in my body, many of which felt like the ‘off’ switch to my life, because I felt seriously close to the brink of death. He worked my spine in a way that had me imagine how much of my body would be paralised if he broke whatever piece of me he was pounding.

And the particular part of my back that was causing me pain? He rubbed, and pounded, and rolled, and squeezed, and pushed that muscle as if it was a dead rat he was trying to force out from under the floor boards. At one point he was working it like you would a legitimate knot in the back, but I wanted to tell him “Oi! That is actually my muscle, it’s supposed to be there!”. But I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t see, flashes of white light blinding my vision; so I suffered in silence.

After my prolonged preview of what Hell could be like, it was over. For a brief period, the pain in my back was shared by my whole body. Eventually, after sitting in a daze for a few minutes, the pain from my whole body dissapeared and concentrated again on that part of my back that actually hurt before this whole traumatic experience.

“Three or four sessions more”, said Shawn as he translated what the Blind Man had said. “My ass”, I thought as I was wiggling my fingers and toes to make sure no nerves were severely damaged.

“Next time”, I said to Shawn as I paid the man 30 Yuan in aid of his sadistic establishment and practices, “You take me to an erotic massage”.

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Yesterday (I think, I can’t remeber clearly anymore) I finally enrolled for a TEFL course.

Through a recently acquired South African friend of mine, I got some money transfered to my account there. Significant, because my credit card is linked to that previously-empty account. This was an exercise which, before, was extremely expensive, but with his help it cost no more than the exchange rate and a small banking fee.

Needless to say, I quickly spent, or shall I say ‘invested’, the money on this TEFL course. I came to China 5 months ago with only general knowledge and determination, and although I can continue to feel my way in the dark, I thought I should ease my own suffering, and that of my students, by learning what I don’t know (and should know), ie. how to teach properly.

I scratched around on the internet before, looking for respectable on-line courses. TEFL is not a standard accreditation as aparently there is no single governing body. This means that even a circus monkey dancing to the tune of some clown playing a windup piano can offer you TEFL. So caution is advised. The best one I’ve read about from several sources, is the Trinity Certification, but it’s no more official than the rest, and they do not offer it on-line.

Eventually I settled on www.i-to-i.com. Their price is competative, they have an extra module I was interested in (TEFL for Young Learners) and, I have to admit, the main reason I chose them was because their site worked in my Opera browser.

There’s another on-line course provider, Lingua Bridge or something, who’s course is actually cheaper. But I didn’t get a good impression about quality when their site bombed in Opera.

So, here I am, a student once more. It feels good, I’m improving myself and will hopefully soon be able to provide my students with better quality (and helpful) classes. The allowed time to complete the course is 6 months, although you could do it in two weeks, depending on how hard and often you work at it.

I had my CD, with the classroom tutorial, sent to South Africa though, because I’ve had some trouble with lost mail here, so that may delay the completion of this course for me.

Anyway, we’ll see how it goes. Let’s get cracking.

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Ah, money. Money and China. Money and China and getting money out of China.

Several months ago I wanted to send a little money to my account in South Africa, so as to replenish what little there was to pay my bills with. It ended up being the most expensive money I have ever sent.

See, I cleverly thought doing a direct deposit into my account would be the easiest. After a week of visiting the Bank of China with several translations of what I wanted to do, I eventually managed to explain to them what I wanted. In the end, I paid 440 yuan to send what was about 1800 yuan.

Miscommunication (beware of those) or non-communication (beware of those too) resulted in them not explaining that whilst the money was being sent via New York, New York Bank of China would also take $22 (US) for their trouble. Sigh.

So in steps Western Union. This, of course, is not a solution for South Africa, because in South Africa there is no Western Union. But this time I wanted to send money to my son in Malaysia, ‘hong pau’ for Chinese New Year.

On my first visit I didn’t intend to accomplish anything other than picking up the form I had to fill out. A brief exchange followed about which form, ’sending money’ or ‘receiving money’, I wanted, and I was on my merry way.

The next day I returned at 1pm as previously instructed. No, he said, come back at two. I returned at two, and there were some queues. My turn came around and he took the form and asked where was the Dollars I had indicated. I gave my bank card and said take it from there.

As he called up my account, I could see he was looking for something that wasn’t there. I wondered if somebody had emptied my account. “Mei you Mei Chen” he said, meaning I don’t have US Dollars. Duh, I thought, and said he must convert the Yuan.

Oh no, he explained, they can’t convert US Dollars, I have to go to the Bank of China for that. Sigh. So here it starts, I thougt. I took the bus 3 stops down to my friends at the Bank and went to the Exchange window, wad of cash in hand.

“Wo xiang you Mei chen” I said, cleverly applying my new vocabulary, waving my cash at her. And she replied with several words, none of which was in my clever new vocabulary. Giving up, she pointed to the woman who last time didn’t help me so well. I couldn’t help but notice that the electronic “hows-my-service” thingy in front of her had only 2 stars on it (out of 5).

I walked over and showed her my Yuan and said I want “do las” She tapped a few keys on her calculator, showed me the ammount and took me back to the Exchange window to share her knowledge with the woman I had just visited. Wow, I thought, what a specialised function she performs. I handed over my Yuan to the cashier and moments later departed with my dollars.

In a blitz, having braved the overfull bus, I was back at the Agricultural Bank and Western Union agent. This time, the bank was as packed as the bus. I siged, and stood in line.

The guy noticed me and took pity on me, so a colleage of his who speaks English, called me to a vacant window, took and copied my passport and gave the form and money to the other guy… effectively cutting in front of the whole queue. Annoyed stares where directed my way.

For the next half hour they tried to record the details on the computer, but had ‘techincal mistakes’ that they couldn’t explain to me. Eventually they managed, and an hour after I started I was finished. Fairly hassleless compared to before, and a lot cheaper too.

I sms’ed my ex to send her to the bank, but I had no reply. Story of my life.

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What is it with the women in my life and their inabillity, or unwillingness, to reply to my communications?

I SMS Lara. Nothing. I SMS my Ex to find out about the money transfer. Nothing.

Maybe T hit the nail on the head the other night. I was bemoaning my loveless relationship with Lara when she said “You know, you look like a man, but sometimes you think like a child”.

A was stunned for a bit, but I know by know that apart from the Chinese being a direct bunch anyway, limited vocabulary sometimes force an even more direct approach. “Are you insulting me?” I asked, because I wanted to know where to file that comment.

I first had to explain the meaning of ‘insult’.

“No,” said S, who was also part of the conversation and tried to give me another male perspective on things “she means you’re lovely and innoncent, like a child”.

Oh, I thought, the word you are looking for is “naive”. Dictionary.com lists several entries for “naive”, mostly negative.

Yes, I guess, sometimes I do think a bit like a child, and thinking about it, I often act like one too. But doesn’t all men? I most certainly do not lack wordly experience or understanding. Perhaps the word she was looking for is “childlike”? To me, same as naive, but with more positive connotations.

Alas, I digress.

T said she means sometimes I think things are really simple, like you could just go from A to B without any hassles. But, she said feeling particularly wise, with Lara it’s not A to B, it’s more like A to G and I have to go through and consider all the points in between.

I think the course of action to take is to stop bemoaning what I don’t have and get what I want and forget what I can’t have. We all know who I’m referring too.

Yes, this Chinese girl that I have entangled my heart with, who is now playing ping-pong with it, and who for the life of me I just can’t walk away from.

Stupid, stupid, naive, childlike boy.

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