The Vietnamese language is a real enigma for me. My wife and mother-in-law understand much of what I say in Vietnamese (God bless ém). But when I go to a coffee shop and order "cafe sua nong", which translates, more or less, to coffee milk hot, the young girls and guys working there look at me like I'm speaking Swahili, or Klingon. I get the hand waves in my face, and screwed-up looks like I'm the biggest butt face in the world. That may be the case, but my Vietnamese isn't as bad as these folks act. Sometimes, I become irritated and get up and leave. The kids couldn't care less if the White Monkey is a satisfied customer or does business there. But if the owner happens to be in the vicinity when I order, the kids shockingly show more patience and understanding trying to understand the White Monkey. In fact, the kids suddenly seem to understand what I'm ordering. Hot coffee with milk. After all, it's maybe the most popular drink in the coffee shops, so what the hell else would I be ordering .... a double chubby chuck burger? On three occasions, at three different coffee shops, the owners gave the waiters or waitresses hell for treating me like, well, a White Monkey. And that's the God's truth. The owners understood my order and barked at the kids to stop acting stupid and get my cafe sua nong. I love those guys. And at Hanh Phuc bakery today (May 28), the girl said, "Your Vietnamese is very good." By the way, I love that girl, too. I'm surprised I get ridiculed as much as I do because I am trying to speak the language, but perhaps some people enjoy having the upper hand over someone like me who they perceive as wealthy, arrogant and condescending. Well, other than wealthy, they're on the mark. But all that said, what I really want is a HOT COFFEE WITH MILK.
The doctor told Phuong to cut back on her eating a little because our baby is getting quite big. The baby weighs more than six pounds and there's more than a month until the due date of July 4. The doctor also said the baby could come any time before July 4. It's difficult to say. We don't know the sex, which shocks the locals, but I feel we're having a girl. I'll say it again and again: We don't care boy or girl as long the baby is healthy and normal and all goes well with the delivery. Phuong is doing everything in her power to make that happen. God, I love that woman.
Phuong looks great for a pregnant woman. But I'm a mess. My back is hurting all the time since my second motorbike wreck. I can't lay down without pain, so I can't really sleep. I watch Richard Quest on CNN all night and try to nap during the day. Pain and lack of sleep have almost destroyed what little patience I had in the first place. Again, Phuong is incredibly understanding. No one else gives a crap and I don't blame them. I'm bored with me as well. And here's a weird item. The nails on my two big toes have turned purple because the shoes Phuong bought me here are too tight. But they're the biggest size they sell so I'm screwed until I go to the U.S. in November. I won't post a picture of my purple toenails because I want people to look at my blog.
The other day I was doing some tai chi in the park and a young girl selling lottery tickets -- these girls are all over town -- approached me. But to her credit, she didn't interrupt me. I was so impressed with her behavior that when I saw her on my way home, I bought a lottery ticket from her. I put on my headphones, got in my post-chi groove and continued on my way. Then, in an alley near my house, I unexpectedly felt a hand on my shoulder. I almost crapped my pants and had a heart attack, in that order. I spun around and there was the lottery girl with a lottery girl buddy. The buddy held out a cell phone to me and from what I gathered, wanted to exchange phone numbers. I waved her away. The whole scene was a little too weird. That's what I get for being nice, I guess.
And damn-it, I'm still not smoking cigarettes.
I'm calling "slow life", "Hollygood", and "summarize" Phuongisms. These are Phuong's way of saying American words and phrases ... in her style. A new Phuongism is "smash potato" instead of mashed potatoes. Unbelievable!
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