Pocket Pecker

From all accounts I have heard and read, sex toys are illegal in Thailand.  (Though, let it be noted that you can buy giant dildos freely from street vendors who also sell brass knuckles, tasers, and pirated porn.)  So, you can imagine our surprise and the hilarity that ensued when, after lunch in the basement of a shiny, new, and "healthy lifestyle" complex in central Bangkok, we came across a store selling these vibrators transparently masquerading as personal, hand-held shoulder massagers:

 

 Apparently, Thrive is a Japanese brand of body massagers, promoting "Relaxing Time".   

 

"Relax muscles temporarily, only for yourself"

Thai Me Up in Guilt and Shame

ฉัน ไม่ พูด ภาษา ไทย.

I don't speak Thai.

I am one of those embarrassing expats.  I admit it.  I can't speak Thai.  When I first moved here, I looked down on people like me.  "How colonialist to live in a country as an expat and not bother learning the language," I'd rant.  I have now lived here for almost four years and my Thai language skills have not progressed beyond the taxi/restaurant competency level.  I took lessons for a few months and made moderate headway, but then life got in the way and the future was up in the air.  My mentality has been: Why invest a lot of time and energy and money in learning a language I find difficult, aurally unpleasant, and rather useless outside of the country if I will be leaving soon?  But I have been thinking that way almost since the beginning.  When it comes down to it, I'd rather study French or Spanish or Italian.

I'd like to rid myself of this constant guilt/inertia surrounding Thai lessons (or lack thereof).  (I know the easy answer would be to start lessons.  I assure you that I have planned on doing so for months now.  No dice.  Yet.)  I'm ready to hit the road and return to a country where the language is accessible, familiar or simply beautiful and where I have an easier time relating to people and have more in common with my peers.  Being closer to my family would be a bonus, too.  

So, with my limited Thai skills and the utter foreignness of tonal languages, I find communicating here a bit like trying to remember a forgotten password.  You know there are only so many variations and you begin trying them all, making singulars into plurals, changing punctuation and numbers, adding capital letters.  When I speak Thai, if my first attempt elicits a blank stare, I embark on trying other permutations --changing to a rising tone or a falling tone, softening some consonants and making others stronger-- until a spark of recognition appears.  I then breath a sigh of relief, grateful that I have broken the code, but, feel a pang of remorse at not having taken the time to learn the native language.   

Yes, I am ashamed. 

Image via

Reunited

 

via

Lost and Found

via 

 The work of street photographer, Vivian Maier, was unknown until a man named John Maloof stumbled upon her negatives at a furniture and antiques auction in Chicago and decided to make a blog (and soon a book) about her.  She was a strong, independent French woman who emigrated to the US as a child in the 1930's.  "She was a Socialist, a Feminist, a movie critic, and a tell-it-like-it-is type of person. She learned English by going to theaters, which she loved. She wore a men's jacket, men's shoes and a large hat most of the time. She was constantly taking pictures, which she didn't show anyone."

Not only was she a quirky, hip lady, she was also a talented artist.

 

Peace and Quiet

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With T in Vietnam all week, I have remembered how much I like being alone.  I'm sure if it were a regular occurrence, I wouldn't appreciate it so much, but now and then it's really nice to enjoy my own company.  This week I've taken pleasure in:

A quiet apartment (More often than not, when home, T usually has the TV on.  Loud.  I can now completely relate to my parents' reactions when I watched TV as a kid--which, I must say was infrequent since the TV-watching rules were pretty strict.);

Flexibility to eat whatever I want whenever I want (T's a meat and potatoes kind of guy and more of a "live to eat" person than an "eat to live" one like me and that often limits dinner options.);

Freedom to watch Gossip Girl (My guilty pleasure.  Don't judge.) without feeling guilty for not spending or without wanting to spend the evening with T;

And privacy to write here (my little secret, mwahahahaha!)

Nevertheless, I'm excited for T's return tomorrow night.  As much as alone time is nice, there's nothing sweeter than dinner for two, movies in bed, and a shoulder to fall asleep on.

Lust

You know that old trick of making an ordinary statement sound funny/titilating by adding "in bed" at the end of it?  (For example: "I like wearing high heels...in bed.")  Well, when shopping I tend to add "in black" to the end of all my comments.  (For example:  "Ooh, I love that gray jacket...in black.")  Sadly, thus is the case with this perfectly rockstar- chic bag I stumbled across this Knot Group N/S Hobo by Olivia Harris by Joy Gryson at The Cut:

 I love the smooth leather, simplicity, size, and subtle edginess  If it were black and $300 cheaper, I would be poorer and happier..in style.

London Score

I bought one thing for myself in London (with the exception of some Valrhona dark chocolate): a Kate Sheridan clutch at Spitalfields Market.  Kate is a UK designer with a 6-year-old company that produces bi-yearly collections of "off beat, poppy and unique bags and accessories".  I was in the market for a small bag to take out on the town and for rockstar apparel (of course).  The bag I chose is more Anthropologie than rockstar and maybe more daytime than nighttime.  But I love it nonetheless.  It's a medium sized leather clutch with navy blue on one side and, on the other, a navy and off-white print of owls sitting in clouds.   It has an antiquey looking brass clasp and--best of all--I can fit all my junk in it without paring down my wallet to the bare necessities.  (T is in Vietnam for the week and has the camera, but once he's back, I will post a photo.)  When I met E for dinner last night, I took it out for its virgin ride on the town; upon seeing me/it, E said I looked very chic.  I couldn't believe it since I thought I looked like a slob with my messy hair and yellow pregnant-lady-style Target tee.  It must have been the clutch.  It's magical.

In my online search for a photo of my new bag, I stumbled upon  Allison Ball's charming lino prints.