Wedding dress: go

When I set out on my quest for a wedding dress, I had visions of a dress that classic, simple and light enough for a wedding in Mexico, but didn’t look like a slip or a nightgown either. Designers of the world, is that so much to ask? Are there really women out there willing to wear whatever you, designer, decided to pile on? There must be or you wouldn’t buy magazine ads. What is up with all the overpriced, blaring white, lace-and-tulle-and-glitz crusted barf piles?

That became my attitude, and I admit my attitude was bad. But I was losing hope; and I had precious few wedding magazines to look through, the ones our families kindly sent our way. I perused a wedding dress mall in Beijing that was full of gigantic cupcake dresses, which are en vogue with the Chinese gals. No luck there. I found a tailor, and that gave me hope; the prices seemed reasonable, cheaper than off-the-rack options. But what would I have made?

I hit the internet, and luckily found a great selection of dresses to peruse. I want to recommend www.brides.com. It has an awesome gallery of wedding dress pics, and the pics include front and back shots, both close up and far away. I found what I was looking for in the Vera Wang Spring 2008 gallery. Don’t all the model brides look like starving zombie bride-sticks?: “Feeed usss.” Actually, I thought many of these dresses from the collection were unflattering for “normal” women, and even made the zombie bride-sticks look fat. All those pleats right at the waist? C’mon. The mermaid look? C’mon. Good solely for hip magnification. I wanted an empire-waist fitted A-line, a dress cut that is a friend to all women. I found one I thought pretty and took a gamble.

And now, after all that searching, hemming and hawing, and bitching, and many trips to Beijing, I picked up my wedding dress from Yashow Market. It is similar to this dress.

Except, without that big silver doohicky and the little piece of material fanning up in front. Also, I have boobs and hips and an actual waist, unlike the yard stick. Eat a steak, woman. And a dinner roll or five. My dress doesn’t have the big burst of volume in the back. It has a very slight train. I actually thought all of that material in the back was interesting and lovely, but not really in sync with a casual affair in Mexico. And I’m sure I’d trip on it. I made the back dramatically lower, but not, you know, slutty. My dress is lined with silk and has a top layer of silk organza. It does have the cool organza bow and some extra flowy organza attached to the bow. I can’t stop saying organza. Silk organza. What a great word. I added an extra lining because even after those two layers were sewn the overall look was nightgown-ish and thin. The English speaking tailor assistant and I fought about the third layer, for some reason. We basically yelled at each other and then she hung up on me. But after the dust settled, the dress was perfectly lined and I paid an extra $14 for the fabric and work. The whole thing took five or so fittings and I’m overall so satisfied. These tailors are amazing. I showed them a picture and they cut the fabric and produced a dress without even a pattern.

That being said, the process wasn’t a cinch. Bargaining for a big purchase in China isn’t friendly and it isn’t pretty. It’s kind of like a war combined with psychological dance. If any Beijing or expat-bride-to-be-on-a-budget reads this, I would advise you to ask about the price per meter of each different silk you are interested in. Have an assistant measure you and tell you exactly how much fabric you need for what you want. Have them then make an itemized list of exactly what you are paying for. Then, try to beat down the price on each item: work and different fabrics. Maybe even do this at two or three places to get an idea before you settle. Stage a few walk offs. I told the sales girl that another place had agreed to make my dress for half as much as she quoted me, which wasn’t true. And then I walked away to think about the offer. When I came back, she lowered the price by another $30. I didn’t do the itemizing strategy for my wedding dress, but I have ordered two more dresses and and this saved major cash. Because, as a foreigner, you are especially subject to higher prices than what a local person would pay. Automatically, the price went down on the two dresses I ordered after my wedding dress as it became clear with some itemizing that the tailor’s assistant was doing some interesting “rounding up” and also quoting me for a silk lining when I said I wanted a cheap whatever lining.

Once the price is settled, you have to do a lot of nitpicking. If there is a seam crooked here or a funky pleat there, I told them to fix it and exactly how it should be fixed. They then told me if what I wanted was feasible or not; usually, it was. This was a downside only in that it was weird for me as I’m not used to pointing out mistakes and making demands. It was good for me though, too. I learned how to better say what I want, without posing it as a wimpy question. But I always found something nice to say to the tailor before I told him to redo something else.

And I had a lot of moments after a fitting where I thought it looked like crap and I would utterly freak out and get really down about it on the bus ride home. That felt incredibly lonely; I needed my mom and sisters in those moments. I think we will go fake wedding dress shopping as soon as I get home, just for fun. Actually, even though I have my dress, I’m really excited about that. And looking forward to being with my family again. I better not see a dress I like better, though!

If there was a problem, by the next fitting, the problem was typically fixed or vastly improved upon. I should mention that not included in the amazing low low price of the dress ($170) was all the money and time I spent going back and forth to Beijing; by bus it’s about three and a half hours away. This was a fun part of the process for me, though. I love going to a big city. I got to travel by myself in another country, and one of my favorite things to do is just zone out on a train or a bus with a book or music or a magazine or pad of paper with a mug of coffee.

When I was with Mark (he never came with me to the tailor, don’t worry) or anyone else, we would make a point to get a great lunch. Because there is no decent western food in Qinhuangdao, except for McDonald’s, we always go to Grandma’s Kitchen near the embassies for down home diner food. I had an excuse to stay in a Hutong hostel, shop at antique and various other markets. And any excuse to shop puts a smile on my face.

I’m really spoiling myself and also having my own version of this dress made.

Except, sans those pleats around the waist that will make me look six months pregnant. C’mon, Vera! Get a clue.

For laughs, check out this site: www.uglydress.com.

Nanjing Liam

I’m cold. The gov. turns off the heat in early April. Our building has concrete walls for insulation. The cold made me think of Nanjing, when we were stuck in a gigantor snow storm that crippled China’s transportation system at the height of Spring Festival travel season. Spring festival travel is like Christmas season travel, but five times worse, as there are five times as many people on the move. Mark and I, therefore, stayed in Nanjing for three extra days. We used a bit of time to visit the Nanjing Massacre Museum. The museum documents war atrocities committed during the occupation of China by Japan. We exited into a courtyard. The courtyard was like a maze and we couldn’t get out. We bumped into a Brit named Liam who said, “Do you know where the exit is? Do you remember how to say exit? I’ve been in China going on a year and I can’t remember how to say exit.” Liam, a portly and rosy cheeked fellow, was flipping through a phrase book. ” We didn’t, but Liam found the word and said “Chukou zai nar” in this really awfully British-tinged Chinese accent, not that I can talk. We found our way out of the museum courtyard. I will always love Liam. Here’s why:

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“”ow old are you?”

“Twenty eight,” I said.

“Christ, you’re kidding.” He looked shocked. “I thought you were maybe 21.”

We found out Liam, 21, taught in Harbin.

“Can I ask you a person question?”

He asked us how much we made and we told him. He was very pleased that he made a bit more. We thought he was getting ripped off for working somewhere so cold. Like, Siberian cold, which we told him.

We shared a cab. Cabs were absolutely impossible to find in Nanjing, especially with all that snow on the ground.

He went on, “Do you like swords?” except, he said it like “swooords.” Liam collects swords; and here you can get a good sword for about 50 RMB-$7 USD. You can take them back in your luggage, no problem. Liam had been to Guangzhou and a number of other cities in China. Every girl he met in Guangzhou had her purse snatched by a motorcyclist. Liam bought a junk knock off watch for 15 RMB ($2) for the heck of it and it broke the next day. He had never been pick pocketed. Caught someone with a hand in his pocket though, once. And got a knife drawn on him by a cabbie once. We asked where he might like to go if he visited America.
“Arkansas,” he said.

“Really? Why there?”

“I rather like red necks,” he replied. He told us about his friend, Billy, who was an utter red neck and he knew it. Billy was from Arkansas and was an ESL teacher at his university in Harbin. But moving to Hangzhou, where it was warmer. Billy fought with his boss, which you just don’t do in China. “Yeah, he had a father who was terminally ill. And he was happy about it. Awful man, his father. I might go to Hangzhou next. Billy needs a roommate, but I don’t know if I can handle him, all the time.”

He told us about a girl named Emily. She taught at an elementary school. She only lasted two weeks in China. Here is why:

“She was a bit fat, you see.”

“Oh? Why did that matter.”

“Well, I’m fat and I know it. But I’m a guy. If someone says something to me, I can handle it. But, her students would come up to her and pinch her fat. She was mortified. And the parents, other teachers, would ask her how much she weighed. All the time.”

“Yeah, that isn’t easy to get used to.”

Paris Hilton Britney Spears

Psyche! this post isn’t about them. It’s about goldfish, and the Monkey Man, and other matters. But I noticed that, the other day, when I mentioned Vince Vaughn, someone landed in my blog. I was writing about Mark and I bringing Popeye’s Chicken to the extras in his old Chicago neighborhood, whilst stalking around “The Break Up” set. You see, WordPress lets you know what Google search terms lead people to your blog, and there he was: “Vince Vaughn.” So maybe, in the middle of sentences, I’ll start to mention celebrity names. I think that will be Angelina Jolie quite effective, don’t you? And I’d like to add that I’m sure Jennifer Aniston did not have the Popeye’s, because isn’t she on The Zone diet for life?

I really hope that I’m not reincarnated as a monkey. Specifically, a baboon or a gibbon, that live in China, and belong to a man with yellow teeth and a big round leathery head and a loud voice and a whip and a soggy cig hanging out the corner of his mouth. He comes around McDonald’s on the weekends in downtown Qinhuangdao. So do we. Unsurprisingly, we call him “Monkey Man.” He has four monkeys: one is a small baboon, the rest gibbons that wear little jackets with stars on them. They all have chains around their little monkey necks. He yells, and I don’t know what he yells, and he cracks his whip, and his monkeys do tricks. Like, jump up in the air and catch a ball, or jump onto his shoulder. But really, they are just trying to avoid the whip. They don’t get treats afterwards. They usually just get yanked around a bit more by the neck. I mean, I know a brother’s gotta make a living, but, eh, I feel bad for the monkeys.

I had a “sick of China” moment while I paused to look at Monkey Man’s show. It had nothing to do with the monkeys and everything to do with the fat 11 year old who looked at me screamed “Laowaiiiii!” At the top of his lungs. Laowai is the common term for foreigner. We also get “Waiguo ren,” which means outside person and is a little more polite. We hear it all the time; it’s odd at first, but they really aren’t used to seeing white people here, so it’s not a big deal. But this kid. Ach. First he made me mad because he was a portly fellow. That sounds mean, but I had a feeling that his being pudgy and standing outside of McDonald’s were not two unrelated occurrences. So maybe I wasn’t mad at him, I was mad at McDonald’s. I can’t decide. Secondly, I was more than perturbed that he yelled “Laowai” at the top of his lungs. Was that necessary? Really? I gave him the stink eye and walked away before I popped him in his obnoxious mouth.

Mark and I had, earlier, gone to the pet store, which is a row of animal cages on the sidewalk, also outside of McDonald’s. Every time we pet the puppies, something bad happens to Mark a few days later. For instance, one time, Mark held a puppy, and then he became violently ill two days later. Another time, he pet a puppy, and he got a zit that turned into weird face boil. The face boil went away and a new crop of mutant pimples cropped up.

So, now we look at the puppies, from a distance, and take pictures of them. There are also turtles and lizards and goldfish. We bought some a few weeks ago. Those died, in, like, days. And we bought a few more. Those are thriving! We have six; two look pregnant. They are either gold or speckled black, white and gold. We stole a crumbled piece of the Great Wall, and it is in the bottom of their bowl. It looks just like any other rock. These are the first pets Mark and I have owned together. Every woman looks at the way her man handles pets, and her mind automatically rushes forward, to child rearing. I have done this with the goldfish, which is in every way ridiculous. But things are looking good. Mark tenderly moves the fish tank from our kitchen table to the window sill, but only when the sunlight is not direct. This is to give the fish a better view. He positions our plant over the fish tank, to make them feel more at home. He faithfully changes their water, letting it sit out all night. It is also his job to feed the fish, which he does dutifully. We both talk to the fish every day, usually with a resounding, “Hello fishes!” said for unknown reasons in a southern accent. Sometimes I sing them a tune, and they come to the surface and make fish faces. When we leave, we will release them into our campus’s pond.

I’m off to the coffee shop to enter my students’ grades on their letters to Yahoo’s Dan Wetzel.

All true

This week is All True English Week at our college. Why is it “All True”? I couldn’t tell you, but it is. There have been lots of speeches, debates, drama competitions, lectures and so on for the English students. I gave a lecture today on my marvelous and notorious home of the last four years: Chicago. For some reason, I got a really bad case of the nerves; maybe because the deans were sitting in, and so were the other foreign teachers. I felt all stiff and I sped through a few of the points of history. For instance, I didn’t properly definine mafia, prohibition, riot, etc. etc. etc. I put up a big map of the US and said, “Chicago is located in the Midwest,” without pointing out where the Midwest was. It went OK after the beginning, and the students asked lots of questions and I told some tales. For instance, the time Mark and I stalked around the movie set of “The Break Up” and were mistaken for stage hands. We delivered Popeye’s chicken to the extras-but surely Vince Vaughn had a bite.

I left out some key facts about Chicago, like the fact there were 32 shootings and six murders last weekend. Or the story about the time Mark and I were strolling down the street eating ice cream cones and came upon a cocaine bust.

It’s not unusual to be asked to sing a song or perform something for one ceremony or another here. For English Week’s opening ceremonies, the foreign teachers preformed an improvisational skit. And tomorrow, Friday, there will be more skits, singing and so on for a closing ceremony. In fact, after the opening ceremonies, I was linked into singing a song. A former student asked me to sing a song with her, because “I’m going to miss you!” How could I say no? We are singing “A Tear Fell,” which was written in 1956. I’m all nervous and tonight I practiced up in Candace’s room. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to sing. My business class roped me into doing a rousing bout of “Jingle Bells” at the end of last term.

Saturday I’m going to Beijing to pick up my wedding dress. Hopefully, it is all set. I’ll have fittings for the other two, also. I doubt I’ll ever have anything made like this back in the U S of A. I’m off to watch a movie.

Hey there Mr. Dan Wetzel

Well wax my brows off and call me Tammy Faye, Wetzel responded to my blog. My guess is frequent self-Googler. Just got the letters back from my class and they are sparking like gun powder, which the Chinese invented, they’d like you to know.

We’ll send them after a first edit next week. If you haven’t yet, check out his column to which my students have responded, in their second language, mind you. The column is: “Fanning the flame of controversy.” Anyhow, won’t it be interesting to hear from average Chinese folk? I think so. Wetzel, should I send them to your Royal Oak office or to Nicol in Santa Monica? Xie xie.

Big Trouble, Little China

If you haven’t seen that movie, I highly recommend it. Kurt Russell at his finest.

Things in Qinhuangdao are lovely as always. They are knocking down very ugly stores and homes on Hebei Road, the road on which you will find the Olympic soccer stadium. I do wonder where all of those people scratching out their livings from those hovels have gone, but that’s neither here nor there. One of the most shocking things about China has actually been the horrific architecture blighting the countryside and city. Traditional Chinese architecture is gorgeous, but that has, for the most part, gone by the wayside (unless you count “restoration” initiatives, which usually include knocking down ancient structures to build fake, new old-looking ones). One of my students describes the majority buildings in China as “Doufu buildings.” Doufu is tofu, often sold here off of the backs of motorcycles. It comes in big, gray-white blocks. A guy smoking a cig and wielding a spatula scrapes the doufu blocks off a slat of wood and into a plastic baggie for you. And, it is true that most of the buildings we see are big, gray-white blocks, jutting out helter skelter from the earth. Back in my days as a community news reporter on the mean streets of Orland Park, I sat in on planning meetings, listening to developers and zoning commission battle it out over the placement of berms and right of ways and frontage parking lots. I decided then that hell must be a never ending zoning commission meeting. As city planners tried in vain to turn around Orland Park’s strip mall image, I mustered all of my eye socket strength to stay awake. Dare I admit that now, finally, I see a point to the boring jargon and long-term planning?

On an unrelated note, I want to take a moment to give a shout out to the taxi drivers of Qinhuangdao. I read so much about taxi scams before I came here that just getting in a cab sent me into a jaded, skeptical place. I hope that people visiting Qinhuangdao for the Olympics don’t go to that suspicious place and that they always treat the taxi drivers well. Also, do realize that traffic laws are enforced rarely (if there are any at all). Your driver might take it upon himself to pass at full speed on a two-lane road with a city bus, two scooters and a pedestrian in his oncoming path. He will blare the horn at each and every last one of them. And yes, your seatbelt is probably broken, but really, it’s all part of the thrill. In cities in the south (Shanghai and Nanjing, especially) it felt impossible to get a cab. Nanjing cab drivers just ignored us, and in Shanghai they were all full. Qinhuangdao cabbies always stop and I’ve never been mislead by them. They crowd around bus and train stations vying for your attention and business but you need not fear them as they shout “Laowai!” (Foreigner!…or “Waiguoren”- outside person!”) with a look of sheer amazement in their eye. They are not predators; there are just too many taxi drivers and not enough business, and they can’t believe they are seeing real live white folk. They just want to give you a ride. If you’re lucky, you might get a cab with a tricked-out horn and a good selection of Chinese pop, which will be blared for your entertainment as the driver revs his ride.

In class news, I thought it might be clever to have my students respond to a very nasty column by one Dan Wetzel, a Yahoo.com sports correspondent. The piece, “Fanning the flame of controversy” aims to criticize International Olympic Committee for choosing to host the Olympics here. But along the way the writer rips apart China with gross generalizations, sprinkled with good old, stereotypical American arrogance. He goes so far as to complain about squat toilets. His niche, like so many a columnist, is that of loud-mouthed thorn-in-the-side. I get it. Even so, he made me un-proud to be an American, not to mention embarrassed for sports journalism and disgusted that the 24-7 news cycle would stoop to this. And this published on a Web site that claims 20+ times more readership than the Wallstreet Journal. The writer’s dabble from sports into political musings wasn’t exactly Bono-esque. No, it was shallow. Shallow like Tara Reid making speeches at a congressional hearing and about as endearing as her wilted breast implants. Given the fact that I was so offended, I wondered how my students would feel, and I took the column to class. I immediately regretted it. I’ve never seen sadder faces in my life. His words created a shadow of the doom. “How do you feel?” I asked. “Angry,” offered one student, the rest sitting dejected in stone silence. We next talked about the various points he made in the column. “Good,” I said. “I want you to use this column to craft an argumentative response letter. Then, we’ll send them all to his office!” My enthusiasm was met at first with blank stares. But one by one, they began to write. One of my students walked to the front of the room. “Teacher, we usually don’t respond to things like this. He uses barely any facts.” “You’re right,” I said. “He is doing something called generalizing. And you can respond to generalizations with facts. Then your writing will naturally make good points. And you can even say, ‘Normally, I wouldn’t respond, but this is a class assignment; I am being forced.’”Tomorrow we’ll go over the letters in class; and then, off they go to Yahoo corporate.

Hello from Qinhuangdao

I have suddenly found myself quite busy. Classes are in full swing, and I picked up a few extra: a night class that meets twice a week, and a class of Korean ladies who want to learn English twice a week. I have a lot of fun with the ladies. Their English is really basic, so we do a lot of acting out of dialogues, which they find highly entertaining. And I act out words they don’t understand, during which time they are practically rolling on the floor. Ah, to entertain so easily.

In other news, my writin’ pals and I are coming out with our third issue of Spry (www.sprymag.com). It’s been tough to keep updating the site. Editor-in-chief Lauren is finishing grad school and working full time. But no matter. As we’re winos, our site is sure to age like wine. That is, it will only get better.

In wedding news, I’m going to Beijing for a second time to look into getting a wedding dress made. Hopefully, this will actually result in a dress. Hopefully, it will turn out like the pictures I’m bringing with me. (Vera Wang knock-off, anyone?) It’s hard to know what to do here, as a lot of the good information is on the Web, but in Chinese. I’m going to have it made at Yashow market, which is a place a lot of foreigners go for gifts, clothes, and shoes and assorted tchotchkes and fakes. The fourth floor is full of tailor shops. The shop I picked has bolts anad bolts of silk to choose from, and I like being able to pick the fabric. Plus, the worker there speaks English. The ready-made Chinese-style western wedding dresses I’ve seen are a bit, shall we say…much? Like cupcakes topped with glitter and lace. Blegh!

Also…I will be sending an e-mail shortly to those who are considering coming with us to Mexico with info on places to stay. I don’t have my save the date cards done. I am a bad wedding planner so far. Sorry…I’ll get on it!

Meanwhile, I did a really interesting activity in a few classes called “create a country.” The activity alleges that the students’ country randomly gives away a chunk of land for 20,000 folks (stress imagination). Then, the students have to create a government and laws for the new piece of imaginary land. Interestingly, about ¾ of my students picked socialism, and ¼ democracy for this “new” country. One group (students in a class of 35 were in groups of two to four students each) also picked communism and one, anarchy. Then, ¼ of students thought there should be censorship (especially on violent and pornographic material) and ¾ thought there should be none. The death penalty was about half and half. One group thought it better to cane people for their wrong doings ala Singapore, whilst another preferred lifelong work sentences. No guns in the new country. Environmental laws would be very, very strict. Interesting, indeed!