New ways to say “I Hate You”

Dim sum has never been this hateful.

In typical fashion Sunday morning came too early. Rolling out of bed at 7 am isn’t anything new to me. As any of the girls unlucky enough to share a weekend morning with me can attest to, I pathologically rise too early for any of the activities I was engaged in the night before. Sometimes I can be coaxed back to bed, but often I just sally forth.

7 am is one of those hours that shouldn’t be seen after having seen 1 am that same morning. Unfortunately for most of America, youtube video viewing is not a marketable skill, so despite having had a fulfilling and mirth filled evening, I am filled with a pressing need to rise. Whether it is my bladder, or a deeper need to justify my place in this world today, I can’t say.
Coffee with honey and milk is a new trick that Janette taught me. Apparently they do things differently on the other side of the world; despite it being quite tasty, I’ve never heard of honey in coffee, but after taking a look at the Google Machine it seems a rather prevalent idea. I’ll be making this a repeat. Japan-style fried eggs, bacon and an English muffin round out a balanced breakfast and I’m off into the city again.

I love California. I love San Francisco. Living in the city is different than just about any place I have ever been. Everyone walks all over the place, and despite the recent push of much of the alternative-hippie side of humanity towards scooters, the city is populated with motorcycles 10 to 1 over anything resembling a scooter. It warms my heart.

Going to the gym in the city is a different experience. Half because of the gaggle of gay guys gawking at anything with a penis, and half because the gym is filled with the most beautiful Asian women I have seen in my life. Despite the sea of eye candy floating around me, I still managed to attack the weights with enough intensity to satisfy my guilty conscience for all the drinking I’ve been doing this weekend. The approving eyes of a Chinese fitness model, coupled with the smile she gives me when i wink on the way out made the trip worth it.

Jared, Toune, Kevin, Janette, and I all convened for Dim Sum from random parts of the city to a place called Mayflower. I don’t know how that name works, since the Mayflower brought god fearing Puritans to America who wound up murdering or giving typhoid blankets to the first other ethnic group they sat down to eat with. No one ever said Chinese were all that great at handling the English language and its nuances, though. My chinese pronunciation is terrible, despite the sincere efforts of a good friend and Asian Rodeo Prom Queen, but I didn’t know there were so many ways to say “I Hate You” in Chinese.

This place was crazy busy. Millions of people running around and no one speaking English. Jared put our names in and it looks like they gave him a piece of paper scribbled with what resembles an infinity symbol followed by a W. We decide it is the number 83 and wait our turn patiently. It’s easy to pass time in conversation with good friends you haven’t seen in a while, but after a bit it became painfully apparent that they are seating everyone of Asian descent before the group with the white guys in it; Us.

After some pointed words and some forceful finger pointing on the part of 4 foot tall Toune, we found ourselves seated at a table and waiting on dim sum to be delivered to us. Siu Mai, dumplings, tofu, hot tea, radish cakes and other things I have no desire to know what they were are delivered infrequently but often enough to keep us munching, but the minute we needed to ask for anything we send the help scurrying.

No one that worked at Mayflower seemed to speak more than the most rudimentary of English. The word ‘water’ seemed beyond their ability to understand. And when ordering cokes, whatever server was unfortunate to be called upon by our party started gesturing wildly and speaking loudly (probably saying, I hate you) in Chinese and then stomping off while pointing in the general direction of another server. We repeated this process about another 4 times before a plump Chinese girl finally took pity on us and began delivering our special request items… water and coca-cola.

As the people around the table add an immeasurable amount of light and positive energy to my life, and because I think it would be nearly impossible for us to communicate that we need separate checks for dim sum, I picked up the tab.

We rolled off to check out Jared’s new apartment and watch the Pacific ocean while experiencing the 70 degree weather and sunshine. Sitting on Jared’s balcony feeling the ocean breeze play across the California sunlight on my face was a moment of rare majesty. I have to come back here some day and live here; call this city ‘home.’

Janette is a hostess of rare quality. After having spent the say Saturday up in Sonoma County visiting wineries, we picked up several bottles of our favorites. Today, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, it seems a smashing idea to take a couple bottles over to Toune’s flat and have dinner and drinks with friends.

Arrowood was absolutely the best wine we encountered the entire day, so we add a bottle from Arrowood and one from neighboring Kenwood and roll over to the Marina.

The magic of Toune’s place is not that it is extravagant or loud, or in the thick of the city; it is magic simply because it is a safe place to experience the warmth of friends. I’ve spent a great many Sunday afternoons watching who knows what on television, reviewing new costume designs, playing games, and discussing things of no importance in complete comfort. The furniture is re-arranged and there is some new paint and artwork, but the feeling is the same. For a first toast over an excellent bottle of wine among great friends, I say, “Here’s to not being dead.”