Did you see or touch any monkeys?
This is what David Letterman's assistant, Stephanie Birkett, used to have to ask the Survivor castoffs every week when they appeared on Dave's show.
I, Erin, am not a Survivor castoff. Nay, I am far too much of a wuss to ever outplay, outwit or outlast. However, I have seen and touched a monkey. One thing you quickly learn while living in Indonesia is that you NEVER know what can happen from one day to the next. (And I don't mean what bad things can happen-despite what the media tries to make most Americans believe.) Yesterday I met a monkey. He was a very nice monkey, living in a big cage in the yard of a friend of the people with whom we share a car. The Drew family attended a potluck dinner while Travis and Katie and I traipsed about nearby Pondok Indah, one of our favorite malls-more on this adventure later.
We went back to pick the Drews up later and while we were waiting to load them into the car, I got out to pet the friendly golden retriever that belonged to the pot-luck-hosting family. The dog was very sweet, and while I was scratching him behind the ears, I noticed a smallish monkey watching me from a nearby cage. Allyssa, the 10-year-old Drew daughter, told me the monkey was also friendly.
"He likes girl people," were her exact words.
I approached the monkey and tentatively held out one hand. Immediately he reached out and grabbed my hand with both of his hands and one of his feet. That's all he did, really, just grabbed and kind of looked at me, but it was the first encounter of this kind that I've ever experienced. So, Mr. Letterman, I have seen and touched a monkey. Not spiritual or life-changing, but monkeys count for something.
I had another first earlier in the evening. Pondok Indah Mall is in a rather fancy area of Jakarta, and so in addition to the requisite Starbucks and Outback Steakhouse (and even a really crappy Sizzler...who knew they still existed?!) there are also stores like Versace and Mont Blanc. Because we're white foreigners, it's automatically assumed that we can afford Versace suits and Mont Blanc pens. This is kind of fun, actually. Travis and I have gotten REALLY good at not looking shocked and/or wetting ourselves when salesmen and women quote astronomical prices. It's a fun game.
Anyway, last night we strolled into Versace, where Travis tried on a lovely gray wool suit. I refrained from making "off the rack" comments. Not sure I can pull off that level of snootiness yet. :) I was eyeing a gorgeous pair of black stiletto heels while Travis was in the dressing room. A salesgirl glided up to me (it's how they move in swanky boutiques, it really is) and the following scene ensued:
SALESGIRL: (in flawless English) These are 60 percent off today, ma'am.
(She looks briefly at my feet.)
ME: Ah, I see.
SALESGIRL: We have only one size left, I'm afraid.
(She looks at my feet again.)
ME: Ah. Which size, please?
(The salesgirl looks at my feet once again and looks at me, a pleasant and hopeful smile on her face.)
SALESGIRL: Nine?
ME: That's my size! I'm a nine! May I try them on please?
OK, well the shoes were still $170 after the 60 percent discount, plus with four-inch heels they put me at a mere six feet, two inches, so I said I'd "have to consider it", but it wasn't until about 20 minutes later when we were wandering another area of the mall when it hit me. That woman totally played my feet.
She sized me up and guessed my shoe size perfectly, playing to my natural girly desire for outrageously expensive and impractical shoes by tempting me with the "very last pair" that was "very on sale." Ooh...that wicked woman. Here are other reasons why I know she was just doing a dang fine job and feeding me a bunch of crap: shoe sizes aren't American here. They're UK or Australian. So I wear a 43 or something like that. Salespeople NEVER say American shoe sizes, and it's actually rare a shoe salesperson approaches me. They usually just snicker at my big white girl feet. So this lady was GOOD. It's a good thing I didn't have a random $170 sitting in my wallet. I'd now probably be the sheepish yet proud owner of a pair of Versace stiletto slingbacks with disastrously pointy toes. Very practical for a seventh grade English teacher. Hey, Travis thought they were hot!
So that was my weekend. Today I just relaxed around the house and watched my cat act like a spaz. Maybe not as exciting as Versace and monkeys, but nice nonetheless.
I, Erin, am not a Survivor castoff. Nay, I am far too much of a wuss to ever outplay, outwit or outlast. However, I have seen and touched a monkey. One thing you quickly learn while living in Indonesia is that you NEVER know what can happen from one day to the next. (And I don't mean what bad things can happen-despite what the media tries to make most Americans believe.) Yesterday I met a monkey. He was a very nice monkey, living in a big cage in the yard of a friend of the people with whom we share a car. The Drew family attended a potluck dinner while Travis and Katie and I traipsed about nearby Pondok Indah, one of our favorite malls-more on this adventure later.
We went back to pick the Drews up later and while we were waiting to load them into the car, I got out to pet the friendly golden retriever that belonged to the pot-luck-hosting family. The dog was very sweet, and while I was scratching him behind the ears, I noticed a smallish monkey watching me from a nearby cage. Allyssa, the 10-year-old Drew daughter, told me the monkey was also friendly.
"He likes girl people," were her exact words.
I approached the monkey and tentatively held out one hand. Immediately he reached out and grabbed my hand with both of his hands and one of his feet. That's all he did, really, just grabbed and kind of looked at me, but it was the first encounter of this kind that I've ever experienced. So, Mr. Letterman, I have seen and touched a monkey. Not spiritual or life-changing, but monkeys count for something.
I had another first earlier in the evening. Pondok Indah Mall is in a rather fancy area of Jakarta, and so in addition to the requisite Starbucks and Outback Steakhouse (and even a really crappy Sizzler...who knew they still existed?!) there are also stores like Versace and Mont Blanc. Because we're white foreigners, it's automatically assumed that we can afford Versace suits and Mont Blanc pens. This is kind of fun, actually. Travis and I have gotten REALLY good at not looking shocked and/or wetting ourselves when salesmen and women quote astronomical prices. It's a fun game.
Anyway, last night we strolled into Versace, where Travis tried on a lovely gray wool suit. I refrained from making "off the rack" comments. Not sure I can pull off that level of snootiness yet. :) I was eyeing a gorgeous pair of black stiletto heels while Travis was in the dressing room. A salesgirl glided up to me (it's how they move in swanky boutiques, it really is) and the following scene ensued:
SALESGIRL: (in flawless English) These are 60 percent off today, ma'am.
(She looks briefly at my feet.)
ME: Ah, I see.
SALESGIRL: We have only one size left, I'm afraid.
(She looks at my feet again.)
ME: Ah. Which size, please?
(The salesgirl looks at my feet once again and looks at me, a pleasant and hopeful smile on her face.)
SALESGIRL: Nine?
ME: That's my size! I'm a nine! May I try them on please?
OK, well the shoes were still $170 after the 60 percent discount, plus with four-inch heels they put me at a mere six feet, two inches, so I said I'd "have to consider it", but it wasn't until about 20 minutes later when we were wandering another area of the mall when it hit me. That woman totally played my feet.
She sized me up and guessed my shoe size perfectly, playing to my natural girly desire for outrageously expensive and impractical shoes by tempting me with the "very last pair" that was "very on sale." Ooh...that wicked woman. Here are other reasons why I know she was just doing a dang fine job and feeding me a bunch of crap: shoe sizes aren't American here. They're UK or Australian. So I wear a 43 or something like that. Salespeople NEVER say American shoe sizes, and it's actually rare a shoe salesperson approaches me. They usually just snicker at my big white girl feet. So this lady was GOOD. It's a good thing I didn't have a random $170 sitting in my wallet. I'd now probably be the sheepish yet proud owner of a pair of Versace stiletto slingbacks with disastrously pointy toes. Very practical for a seventh grade English teacher. Hey, Travis thought they were hot!
So that was my weekend. Today I just relaxed around the house and watched my cat act like a spaz. Maybe not as exciting as Versace and monkeys, but nice nonetheless.
posted by Erin @ 6:50 AM
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