I Am A Golden Gawd

My hand was stuck in the paint bucket loading up the roller when my pocket started to vibrate. I juggled the roller and the bucket and reached into my pocket making sure to wipe off my paint covered hands. I slid my phone from its holder and looked at the email message illuminated on the screen. Someone named Anonymous was trying to leave me a comment on a post I wrote a couple of months ago. I scrolled down and noticed it was in Chinese.


誰でも知ってるモバゲーは人気SNS！当然出合いを求めてる人も多い！そこで男女が出合えるコミュニティー


I am not sure how my story translates into Chinese about Nurse Meme getting her hairs did but evidently they really enjoy it, the Chinese that is. It seems just about every day I get an odd comment in a bunch of characters that I can not read. I hit the reject button on my comment moderation figuring it’s just another person telling me that I need to grow my pianist longer. Well, you know what? The joke is on you! I don’t have a piano.

I slid my phone back into its little leather jacket, because it thinks it is Fonzi, and stuck it back in my pocket. The phone, not Author Fonzerelli.

I began to roll paint on the wall. Now painting is one of those physical tasks that leave your brain to wander into places it shouldn’t. There are many of these task which take no mental aerobics other than “stay between the lines” and that’s what my mind says when I’m driving and painting. So there I stand roller in hand with the mantra ‘stay between the lines’ singing in my brain when it starts to wander. My brain not the paint roller.

Someone in China is reading my blog. They are eating their Dim Sum and drinking their jasmine tea and reading Gladys. What must they think? How do they relate? “Oh Gladys, you’re so funny. I know exactly what you are talking about. My dad calls them winders too.” I look out the window into the bright sunny Southern California afternoon and think “I wonder if they get my humor?” Then I wonder “does anyone get my humor?” Then I snort and laugh at myself because, I GET my humor. So I have decided that this person who comments on my blog in Chinese is probably telling me how funny I am. They are extolling my hilariousness in their native tongue. They are telling me that they have had similar circumstances happen to them while waiting in line at their local Home of the Depot. They too remember their mother going to the beauty parlor and getting their hairs did. Yes, I decide this is definitely what they are telling me.

Well of course I am instantly flattered. I am in fact feeling very fulfilled and superior. I wonder if other bloggers, say Dooce or PDub, have their very own Chinese speaking/writing commenter. I wonder if they get adulations and solicitations from the provinces of Hubei 

or Chongqing. I know I only have 92 followers and they, Dooce and the P-Dub, have thousands each but hey who knows maybe I am something of a blogiberty in Wuhan.

 Stop laughing, it could happen.

I vow to learn more about China and its people. This means of course more trips to the Hot China take out for noodles. I make a mental note to look up China on Wikipedia to learn the particulars of climate and culture. I rack my brain trying to remember anything I might have gleaned about China from my elementary Social Studies class. The only thing I remember is most of my toys came from someplace called Taiwan, pronounced in my house Tie – Wand, and that was almost China. I also remember a friend of mine thought she spoke Chinese because she would put ting, gong, fong or wong on the end of words pig Latin style. She-gong was-ting crazy-fong.

Then I remembered something else about China. I remembered that Nurse Meme always wanted me to clean my plate because there were starving people in China. I never understood how me eating all the liver on my plate would make someone on the other side of the globe satiated. I thought maybe it was one of those hungry Chinese writing me and thanking me for eating for them when I was a child. Then again they may have been chewing me out for eating liver and Brussels sprouts.

Yes I was convinced that the people of China loved me. I was exalted in their eyes. I was a golden god! I daydreamed of arriving in Tiajin or Shanghai to throngs of paparazzi and adoring fans. I would of course be holding The Boz and waving looking just like Grace Kelly.

The Chinese people would fawn over me and bring me steaming bowls of herbal soups and rice wine. I was standing holding the roller when I heard Kahuna “what the hell are you doing? You’re waving that roller all over the place and splattering pant.”

I came back to reality. Cleaned up my mess and realized the bathroom had been painted while I was visiting Bejing. I washed my hands and decided that I would just see what my Chinese friend had to say. So I highlighted the text and hit translate.

people not good luck with women until recently but now popular with people with no sign of the future, to change lives with women who do not experience a checker at once more popular. No encounters at a well site that is linked to, get advice on caring results. It has changed my life in which people.

See I told you I had fans in China.