Yesterday, my six-year-old daughter had a playdate with a girl from school.  These two girls’ friendship is based solely on the fact that they are both named Elizabeth; which, when you are in 1st grade makes you instant soul-mates, kindred spirits and best friends.  Whereas my Elizabeth only uses her full name at school and at home goes by Ellie, the other Elizabeth goes by Liz all the time.  I’ve decided that the name Liz is much more sophisticated than the name Ellie (think Liz Taylor vs. Ellie Mae Clampett).   Which is probably the reason the child Liz is better behaved than the child Ellie.  It has nothing to do with parenting and everything to do with naming.  No parenting book or expert is going to convince me otherwise.  (Although I’m sure that Ellie Mae Clampett could totally take Liz Taylor in mud wrestling.)

So yesterday I was taking Liz home after the playdate and I walked her up to her apartment and then spent a few minutes talking to her mother, a lovely Chinese woman named Christine (another sophisticated name, much more so than the name Erin.)  During our conversation Christine told me that she loves to have Ellie over and that she would like to have her over more often if possible because every afternoon they have Pie.  This statement caused me to immediately size up Christine’s hips and wonder how on earth someone who has pie every afternoon could possibly be the size 0 that she obviously was.  What kind of freaky Chinese metabolism is that?!

She then said some more things that I didn’t hear because I was completely lost in thought over the pie every afternoon comment when she shook me out of my thought process by introducing me not to the large fruit or cream filled tart I was thinking of, but instead to her Thai domestic helper named Pie (or Pi, or maybe Py, or possibly Pai or maybe even π.  Not sure which she prefers).

I’m certain that if I had a domestic helper named Pie I would weigh 250 lbs. since just the mention of the word gives me a hankerin’.

Mmmm, pie!

This afternoon, as is often the case, I was running late.  I was late leaving the house to drive down the mountain to pick up my 14-year-old daughter from school.  I had to pick her up and take her to the mall to find some very, very, very important Spandex shorts that she could wear under the dress she is modeling in the Taipei American School Charity Fashion Show this Friday evening.  Apparently, if your designer tells you to buy Spandex, especially if said designer is a Senior, you don’t ask why, you just buy the Spandex.  Hence the reason for the trip to the mall.

So, as I said before, I was late leaving the house to drive down the mountain to the school, and I was in a hurry.  Now, there are basically two roads down the mountain (in reality, there is a third, but I’ve only been down it once and I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t think I could actually find it again.)  The main road is full of goat carts and speed traps so I don’t usually like to go down it.  OK, that’s not actually true.  I completely made that up, except for the “I don’t usually like to go down it” part.  Truth is, the traffic on it can at times be dicey and I have on more than one occasion seen full-sized city buses passing other full-sized city buses on the two lane, double middle lined, serpentine road.  The back road is much faster and has much less traffic and it lets me off very close to the school, so I use it whenever possible.  But many people I know avoid the back road at peril of death and claim that the only thing the back road will get you is dings and side-swipes on your car.

If you read/viewed my husband’s last blog post (which included riveting video footage) you got a good feel for the back road.  And I have to say that when I’m on that scooter by myself I go much, much faster.  It’s quite a thrill-ride and it turns out that at 42 I’m a bit of an endorphin junkie.

Anyway, so I was heading down the back road in my black mafia-mom mini-van and I got to the part, toward the bottom where the road becomes a one-laned, bottleneck mess.  Every time I get to the bottleneck, whether I’m alone in the car or not, I say out loud, “OK everyone, suck it in!”  And then I suck in my gut, hoping that my mini-van will follow my lead and suck in its gut.

So I was going through the bottleneck, sucking in my gut, when I rounded a bend and saw, at the very worst point in the bottleneck, a very large utility truck coming my way, hogging up a good 3/4 of the road.  The gentleman driver (if you can call him that; maybe surly fellow is a better term) saw my van and stopped, opened his window and blew cigarette smoke my direction.  He then gave me a “I ain’t puttin’ this truck in reverse, sistah” look.  With that, I pursed my lips, unrolled my window, pulled in my side-view mirror and shot back a “Bring it on, brothah” look.  I then took my foot off my brake, one second at a time and inched my way past him while he sat and did nothing.

Now here comes my moment of glory; after I finished inching my way past the truck, the people in the taxi that was stopped directly behind the truck unrolled their windows and all four of them, including the driver started clapping their hands and while giving me the thumbs-up sign yelled , in English, “Good Job!!!”

For those few seconds of inching my way through the bottleneck in my black mafia-mom mini-van, I was the back road Rock Star!

Since arriving in Taipei I’ve had my share of embarrassing experiences.  Most of them involve my very sad Mandarin skills or other communication issues.  Here are a few of the many:

Once, while trying to say “I like to eat delicious shrimp” I told my Mandarin teacher, “I like to eat delicious children.”  Her reaction was a dumbfounded look of horror.

Then, this week I thought I would look all smart if I asked the Chinese lady at the information desk at Taipei American School where the nurses office was in Mandarin.  So I got the question all worked out in my head and walked up and asked her.  Perplexed stare.  I asked her again.  Another perplexed stare.  So then I just asked her in English.  Her response in English, “Why did you say it like that?”  My response, “Because I’m a stupid American who can’t speak Mandarin.”

And now for the coup de grâce.  Last night we went to dinner at Taipei 101 with some friends.  After dinner we went to Cold Stone in the food court for some ice cream.  The teenage boy at the cash register wore a name tag which indicated that his English name was “Edge”.  So naturally I asked him if he was a big U2 fan.

Edge:  (expressionless blank stare)

Me:  You know, the rock group, U2!

Edge: (expressionless blank stare)

Me:  U2!  Bono!

Edge: (expressionless blank stare)

Me: (resorting to singing in the food court, with some dance moves thrown in for good measure) ♬It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right.  She moves in mysterious ways, oh-h-h.♬

Edge: (slightly wider-eyed expressionless blank stare)

Me: (turning to Shaun, the husband of the couple we were with, who speaks fluent Mandarin) Ask him if his name is after The Edge from U2.

Edge and Shaun: (polite interchange in Mandarin)

Shaun:  He said that Edge is after an American WWF wrestler.

Me:  Well that’s just sad!

Jason:  You’re a complete embarrassment.