I'd Feel Worse About This Entry If Everyone Described Didn't Call Me 'Soy Bean' Instead of Shelby.

[Note: Originally written 9/11/12]

So this weekend, we escaped Pooptown. That's what we have affectionately begun to call our city. It's a beautiful little city, and we are lucky to live there. But it's riiiight on the coast. They tell us often that the beaches and water are pretty polluted and not worth the visit. We haven't personally tested this sentiment, but... The smell that rolls in each morning is a bit like the Great Salt Lake's older, more pungent, post-football-practice, stench of a brother. It comes in the form of a fog, slithering in overnight all around the street signs and in the buildings. It's a lot like the green hand of pestilence on The Ten Commandments. (Crap. Now I wanna watch that.) The only difference is, this hand of pestilence is far less merciful, choosing to kill Pooptown's inhabitants slowly, causing everyone to gradually lose the will to breathe through their nose. I don't mean the name to be derogatory of the value of our city or anything like that. It's just that I am pretty sure what we are smelling is literally poop. We don't exactly understand how sewer systems work here, but what we do understand is that if there is a puddle of water on the street? It's not water. If there is a slew of mud? Ope, you watch yourself. That's not mud. Giddy on up. However, it is a gorgeous, varied city, home to certifiably the most stunning city park in the world. And also, kites! We are the kite capitol of China. And the smell only lasts until about ten every morning. (Optimism. Pass it on.) I truly do love Pooptown. And Pooptown Park, in all its majesty. POOPTOWN ROCKS. Exhibit A:

We had to really push for permission from our school to go to Shanghai for District Conference. Permission from Flat Top to be exact. Flat Top is the officer in charge of our safety. We christened him because he's got a haircut that I'm positive he stole from Will Smith circa 1993. It's excellent. YO HOLMES TO BEL AIR! In further correlation with Will Smith, Flat Top has wicked game with the honeys. I have never seen him interact with a female teacher at the school and not make her giggle/touch her elbow. Elbow touches are his thang.

It wasn't even our district meeting, since we are technically in the Skype branch, but our friend Blythe - who teaches in Shanghai - invited us and offered a free stay at her place as incentive. A chance at human interaction and physically being able to attend a church meeting? Worth it. It was a whole lot of horsing around to get the help to get train tickets, especially since we couldn't say we were meeting for religious purposes. We told them we were meeting with other teachers from our group. Which was technically true. Talking about church with Chinese nationals is just NOT allowed. At all. It's hard. Especially when you get close to people, like our cute liaison June, and all you want to do is share your favorite thing with them. Every part of me wants to be like, This is my ultimate happiness. Take it! But I can't. It puts a pit in my stomach whenever I think about it. Anyway, through a lot of prayer and a semi-miracle, our train was booked and we left Friday afternoon. Cute, protective Pooptown. Leeeet my people GO. (My Moses references are running rampant today.)

Luckily, Boyfriend picked us up to go to the train station. Boyfriend is the headmaster's nephew. He works as a driver for the school. Boyfriend is everything I like in a Chinese man. It just mostly started as a joke between Marissa and I when he first picked us up at the train from Weifang, but now that we have talked about him so much, we sincerely feel all nervous and blushy and excited around him. (Hi. My name's Shelby, and I am quickly regressing to the social skills I wielded in junior high.) Here are the things I like about Boyfriend, in no particular order:

1. His black Nike shirt. He wears it every day but Friday. Unless he just has a lot of pairs of the same shirt. I wouldn't judge. It's a great shirt. And I wear the same outfits 3-4 days in a row here. Plus, I feel it makes him dependable, appearance-wise. Like Spongebob or Arthur. Or Doug. Does anyone out there remember Doug? Or PEPPER-ANN?

2. The way he wears his jeans. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYIN'.

3. The way he drives a car.

4. He's taller than me. This sentence is a bit like announcing, "I've recently begun breathing fire." If you were wondering what kind of shock I was trying to create with that statement.

5. The fact that he brings out the Biebs in me. I somehow, without fail, feel the need to sing my own, altered lyrics to Justin Bieber's hit song, "Boyfriend" in hushed tones whenever he drives us anywhere. 

...Also, the fact that I am terrified each time I sing them, knowing in my heart that one of these days he will spin in his seat and say to me, "I speak perfect English, and you are the creepiest girl alive." (This is the point that I generally hope he would fist pump and shout, "But I still want to learn the lyrics to your song and MAYBE BUY YOU DUMPLINGS LATER!")

Not included in this leg of the story but worth an honorable mention?

Mustachetic - the ninth grader with the most fantastic mexi-stache I have seen in Asia thus far. Also, he possesses the style I hope to someday force on my future husband. He dresses SO well. And he introduced me to these snacks which are exactly like, wait for it... Club crackers with Nutella in the middle. What?! Ohhh, Stachey. I just love him, though.