Buying Time

While this zygote of a blog is still in the conceptualization and development phase, suck on these here tidbits, also known as Tales From Other Cities: (Reposted liberally from Fat Asian Baby.)

FAB's Air Travel Theorem*

On any given commercial flight, there will invariably be at least one, if not more, individuals whom you would fuck, under the proper circumstances of course. However, no matter how frequent a flier you may be, you will never be seated next to said individual.

Incidentally, this reminds me of D's subway game of whom would you fuck in this subway car if you had to fuck someone...a question that can be more horrifying and difficult than it might seem if you've never ridden the NYC subway very late at night when the pickins are particularly slim.

*Probably does not apply to the vast majority of heterosexual males as they have unusually broad standards for whom they would fuck, thereby skewing the probability of being seated next to a potential mate vastly in their favor.

FAB Hates England

The Fat Asian Baby should have known the trip was doomed when she first arrived in London and was forced out of the Underground several stops before her hotel due to security measures for the Formula One parade. Yes folks, an entire parade about, well, race car driving. Do not be fooled by the mullet, the Fat Asian Baby does not find the fact that cars go zoom exciting in the least and was dismayed to discover that she, with suitcase in tow, was trapped for several hours inside a ten block radius of parade route with what would seem to be the entire population of London. For the past four days, I have been in the company of a complete moron who can't spell (apparently, learning English not such a priority in England) and hadn't ever heard of Troy or Achilles before I so generously offered to see the Brad Pitt film because it's a stupid blockbuster movie and it's about war and stupid boys like war and blockbusters. The Fat Asian Baby never thought she'd complain about eating too much junk, but I haven't seen a whole vegetable since entering the fair island days ago, and, to add insult to injury, last night, some fool deep fried my veggie burger.


The Fat Asian Baby has long been aware that her Rather Ungracious Host is not exactly a rocket scientist. The other day, when he asked me how to spell claustrophobia because he had no idea, I smirked but figured, not a speller either, are we? Although, to be honest, and as you may have noticed, the Fat Asian Baby isn't such a stellar speller herself and claustrophobia is a rather long word. However, this incident pales in comparison to last night's spelling SNAFU. While attempting to send a text message, my Rather Ungracious Host, basking in the blue glow of his cell phone display, actually asked me whether the word "of" had one "f" or two. (Perhaps I shouldn't be so mean; at least he knew it was spelled with an "f" at all. I remember, and not without great pain, a week-long brain fart during which time I entirely forgot how to spell the word "of" and was forced to write the phonetic "uv" in its stead even though I was aware that it was terribly wrong. I was utterly mortified and filled with shame when my teacher finally looked at one of my papers and gently crossed out "uv" and wrote "of" underneath. I don't think I had ever been so embarrassed before in my life. But then again, I was only six years old at the time).


In all the unpleasantness of the England trip, the Fat Asian Baby forgot about the rather cheesily exciting thing that happened before leaving Paris. When I arrived, the Eurostar waiting room at the Gare du Nord was already quite crowded. I did a quick survey of the room and, out of the corner of my eye, located a prized empty seat next to two guys who looked to be in my own age group. In order to avoid exposing that I had chosen the seat because of said guys, I did not look directly at either and quickly settled into the seat with nose buried in Vogue Paris. However, I was unable to make much progress in said magazine as the two chaps turned out to be British, and I was forced to eavesdrop on their conversation, which included talking about me since they didn't know I was not a Frog. Anyway, dude next to me is clearly looking over my shoulder at magazine because he begins talking about Karl Lagerfeld, who was on the particular page I was pretending to read. Anyway, the conversation between the two took a turn towards designers and work and it soon became clear that they were both models. At this point, the Fat Asian Baby felt compelled to steal a glance, and lo and behold, I had hit the jackpot, not only were the guys my age, but they were fucking gorgeous. When one ran off to the bathroom for a moment, I took the opportunity to reveal my status as a fellow English-speaker and struck up conversation. Turns out they both were with the same agency and had been in Paris for some show or something modelly related. The Fat Asian Baby tried to act all nonchalant but inside could not help being quite pleased with herself that she unintentionally had positioned herself between two beautiful men with English accents who were both straight but could also appreciate fashion. Damn. Too bad that, by extension of FAB's Air Travel Theorem, I was forced to part ways with my potential husbands as we boarded the train because we were not in the same train car.