gobsmacked!

When was the last time you interacted with any sort of wildlife?
Submitted by warpedreality.

About two hours ago, when I walked into my class.

What, to you, is the first sign of spring? Have you seen it yet?
Submitted by Spy.

The first sign of spring where I live, is the return of the swallows. They all sit on the wire directly in front of my house, on level with the third floor. The result is a spectacular line of white bird poop, starting from my front door. Oh, and all over my scooter, which is parked by my front door. (Mmm, maybe I should take a pic, it is hard to describe Taiwanese style houses... where I live, there are no front or backyards, just a communal road and tiny porches to park your bike/scooter.)  It is a massive pain in the arse, but at least it only lasts a few weeks, they do eat all the bloody mosquitoes and it is the only time I get to see any wildlife in Taiwan!

How have people mispronounced your name?  How is it supposed to sound? 
Submitted by Lorie.   

Not just how, but all the time. My surname is Thè. As in French for tea. Pronounced "tay". Regardless of the grave accent mark, most everybody thinks it is "the". My first name also has the same accent mark, and I think Adèl Thè looks somewhat pretentious in writing, but c'est la vie! Admittedly, I don't suffer as much as a friend of mine with the surname Ng...

Going to the hairdresser is always an adventure where I live. And after all these years I should have learned my lesson ages ago. Really.

I am not attached to my hair. I cut it short, I grow it, I dye it whatever colour I feel like. My self-esteem is in no way linked to the length or colour of my hair. I don't care; short, long, dark, light, whatever strikes my fancy. So, I decided that my hair was just too long, too straight and too boring and that it was time for a change. I figured I'd go for a cut and a perm to add some body. I armed myself with a Taiwanese girlfriend who speaks excellent English (in the hopes of improving communication) and went off to the hairdresser on Sunday morning.

We explained very clearly what I wanted, maybe too clearly.

"Cut off a lot. Layer it.'
"NO! I don't care, just cut it."
"God, NO! I don't need to look cute, so don't worry about that."
"NOOO! I DO NOT need lots of curls. No, really, I don't want to look like orphan Annie. Just gimme some body."
"I have lots of hair, but it is very fine and you need to be careful with the perm lotion, please."
"No, I am not too fussy, just be careful not to damage it with the perm lotion."

Right, she cut, layered, rinsed, shampood and conditioned. And it looked great, really nice actually. I should have heeded this omen. Over here, when things turn out great the first time round, you really need to go with it. But no, not me. Out came the perm machine. Yes, machine. First, they smeared some protective goop all over my head. They cling-wrapped my head and stuck it under a heater. For an hour.

Rinsed, shampood and conditioned again.

Then came more goop and little curlers all over, which they then attached to the machine. My god. I looked like something out of an alien experiment. Hundreds of little wires attached to my brain head. Weird and heavy and very, very hot. This stayed in for another hour. Lucky me.

Then she unplugged the whole lot, took the curlers out, pinned the ringlets (no, please god, no!) with little shiny pins, sprayed some more goop on it, cling-wrapped it again and stuck my head under the heater again. Another hour. Bliss.

Finally, we rinsed and shampood and conditioned again. I went back to my chair. Everyone gathered round for the lifting of the towel. Just a quick mention, once more, that I live in a small town, in a mono-cultural society, where foreigners are obviously not having their hair permed too often. Therefore, I had quite a crowd of interested women around me. Anyway, off came the towel and a huge collective gasp filled the air. Seriously, none of us could believe what we saw: There was not a single fucking curl to be seen anywhere. I was tortured for nearly four hours and got nothing. Nada. Bugger-all. I will not get into the emotional upheaval that I felt at the time. It is just not worth it.

The poor hairdresser was stumped. She reckoned that foreign hair is just too different from local hair. Yes! That's it! My hair is just too foreign. She then insisted on trying again, using a different method. I absolutely refused. No way. No, no, no, no! I like straight hair. I love straight hair. I have never wanted straight hair more! The poor hairdresser got tears in her eyes, she was truly upset. My friend explained to me that she had just lost a massive amount of face, that it is her professional reputation at stake and she had to show all those present that she is capable of making my hair curl. Well, for god's sake, I never even wanted curls.

They talked me into it. The poor, desperate, face-less hairdresser and my well-meaning friend. They then permed it the usual way. Curlers in - another 45 minutes (I really have a lot of hair). Perm lotion on for 30 minutes. Rinse. Setting lotion... And on and on it went. By this time I no longer gave a flying fuck. I was ready to fake a heart attack. I needed a fag, I needed several drinks, I also needed food and to get the hell out of there.

More than six hours later I left with a head of wildly curling hair. Thank the powers that be she left it fairly long. I seriously can not go around looking like orphan Annie. And, pretty please, do not do me the injustice of asking for a photo - I am finally capable of killing - and that over a head of hair.

What's the best thing since sliced bread?

Caller ID.

Vox Hunt: This Is DIY

Show us something that's DIY. 
Submitted by Jenstar.

Naaah, don't think so - where I live, DIY is slang for masturbation.

It was one of the first things I learned over here, being box-fresh in country-side Shongolololand. I remember standing in front of my first class ever (about 35 junior high school boys), when the class clown stuck its paw in the air and said, "Adda (Adel, pronounced local style means mentally retarded) do you DIY?" Having just valiantly DIYed a bookshelf and having absolutely no idea what was going on, I said yes. You can just imagine their reaction. After some of the commotion and wanking motions died down, the little miscreant struck again: "Adda, you are ay eye dee esse!!!" Huh? Turns out, he was trying to say that I have AIDS.

After a speedy deliberation and hasty inner debate, I decided to report him. That will teach the little snot to mess with me. Hah! I am from Jo'burg after all and can dish out way more than they can take. Or so I thought.  

"What's your name, sonny?"

"Holy Shine For," he said.

"Holy Shine For? How do you spell that?"

"You know, Adda, Hoooleeeeey Shyyyy Foooor from Indian Joe!"

Aha! Bingo! Harrison Ford from Indiana Jones. Wtf kind of name is that? This little shit is obviously taking the piss! I asked the boy next to him for his name. Turned out to be Mary. Mmm. The next one? Kellogs. We also had: BMW, Nokia, Made In USA, Sandy, Motorola, Apple, Ted The Good Student, Mountain, Lala, Brain, Booladoo Pitoo (Brad Pitt). Seriously worked up, I demanded their Chinese names. That turned out to be utterly useless since I could never in a million years pronounce, remember or even begin to write it down.

They asked me for my Chinese name. It was generated by some government office worker somewhere in Taipei and meant absolutely nothing to me. But in good faith I had memorized it and, needless to say, paid no attention to any of the tones. Anyway, I proudly and loudly stated my Chinese name. They convulsed, turned inside out and wet themselves laughing at my expense, because I had just told them that my family name was Tzin and my first name was Clit.

They finally took pity on the stupid big nose* and explained that they all get to choose their English names themselves, for the very reason stated above. We then made a deal. In exchange for any further useful information and explanations, I won't report them. I left the class armoured to the teeth that day. One of the things they told me about was papaya milk. Over here, people believe that drinking a lot of it will make your breasts bigger. So, whenever a student even starts with "Adda, you like drink pap...?" I switch on my death-stare, stick out my well-endowed chest and ask them if they would like to be a baker when they grow up! According to my junior high informants, only extremely stupid people grow up to be bakers.

Anyway, with a name like Mentally Retarded Clit and having big boobs, I was a massively popular teacher that year!

*Nothing to do with the size of my nose - just slang for foreigner.

Show us your favorite animal.
Inspired by the Emporer.

Jellyfish

We are off to Seoul in a few hours - whoohoooooooo! 

What's the most memorable building you've lived in?
Submitted by Shelly.

The one that just about collapsed after the ginormous earthquake in Taiwan on September 21, 1999. It had about ten floors and I lived on the first. I could fit half my wardrobe in the cracks in the walls. What a pity that I was way too shellshocked to even think of taking a pic, dang! Might still be shellshocked actually. *twitch* It would certainly explain a lot.