I finished my short story. . . I don't think i have the last two or three parts posted on here. At this point I'm "editing". That means, in my world, "ignoring it". Because i haven't touched the edits for a couple months even though i bled all over the first three parts and changes a lot. It's sort of mentally exhausting, and is, perhaps one of the many reasons I'm not a novelist. Once the story is written. . . it's just exhausting going back over it.
I have an unfinished essay about Leslie's chemo/cancer, and unedited short story for kicks, and 1/4-written novel for Emma. I feel REALLY guilty about the Emma thing. Considering I told her I'd write it before she started second grade and she's midway through third.
To be fair to me, i was just going to write her a short story and then fell "in love" with the idea of writing a full length novel.
"But love grows old,
and waxes cold,
and fades away,
like morning dew."
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thai Foon
I had a yummy lunch with my little sewing circle today. We went to a place called Thai Foon. It’s a thai place. Clever huh? I had the “Shrimp Jap Chop”. The last few times I’ve been there I ordered the Pad Thai, which was excellent, but I don’t like sticking with the same thing too long. . . it’s a character flaw. So I’d never heard of Shrimp Jap Chop, but that made it intriguing.
The waitress asked me what I wanted and I told her, "Shrimp Slap Chop", but she didn't crack a smile and just wrote down "Shrimp Jap Chop."
We waited at our table, which was a round, but somehow too small. Everyone seemed too far away, and if one of us pulled it close enough the rest were way too far.
A little asian man came over with our food. He said, “Shi-sha-sho?”
“What?” I said, confused.
“Shi-sha-sho?” Just as quickly, just as unintelligibly. I turned it over and over in my mind for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, but for what was in all actuality maybe a second at most.
“That’s mine,” I said. I wasn’t positive that it was, but I figured that’s just how you said it, if you were from Thailand. The rest of the table looked curiously at me. I looked up. “Shrimp Jap Chop. . . shi-sha-sho.” I gestured at the bowl of noodles with my fork. They chuckled.
It was excellent. We finished and stood to pay at the counter. The woman there was NOT thai. She asked me which meal ticket was mine. I pointed and said, “Shi-sha-sho!” I’d been practicing. She had no fucking idea what I was talking about. “Shrimp Jap Chop”, I said, disappointed.
Good lunch.
The waitress asked me what I wanted and I told her, "Shrimp Slap Chop", but she didn't crack a smile and just wrote down "Shrimp Jap Chop."
We waited at our table, which was a round, but somehow too small. Everyone seemed too far away, and if one of us pulled it close enough the rest were way too far.
A little asian man came over with our food. He said, “Shi-sha-sho?”
“What?” I said, confused.
“Shi-sha-sho?” Just as quickly, just as unintelligibly. I turned it over and over in my mind for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, but for what was in all actuality maybe a second at most.
“That’s mine,” I said. I wasn’t positive that it was, but I figured that’s just how you said it, if you were from Thailand. The rest of the table looked curiously at me. I looked up. “Shrimp Jap Chop. . . shi-sha-sho.” I gestured at the bowl of noodles with my fork. They chuckled.
It was excellent. We finished and stood to pay at the counter. The woman there was NOT thai. She asked me which meal ticket was mine. I pointed and said, “Shi-sha-sho!” I’d been practicing. She had no fucking idea what I was talking about. “Shrimp Jap Chop”, I said, disappointed.
Good lunch.
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