After the incident at the Chinese restaurant, I headed for the car and whipped out my cell phone. As sweat trickled from my brow, my fingers pressed the buttons with such feverish fluidity that I felt as if I was possessed by Nike himself. There was only one person I needed to talk to: Connie. She alone had the answers I sought in regards to the mysteries of my tattoo. She alone could help me.
The line rang and rang, but there was no answer from the other end. She was not available to take my call at the moment. Bollocks. I resolved to send her an IM as soon as I got to work on Monday and inform her of my dilemma.
Later that night, as I was sitting on the couch and feeling sorry for myself, there was a knock at the door. I got up to answer it, and before I had the chance the door swung open. Jen stood there, holding a box of Kung Pao chicken and wearing a huge smile. I started to thank her for the dinner, but then I noticed there was somebody with her. It was a cute Chinese girl, but it wasn’t Connie…it was somebody else. Apparently, Jen had gone to another Chinese restaurant to pick up dinner, and had run into this girl (Yen) who worked at the counter. They had started talking, and Jen told her the story about my tattoo…I guess Yen found this story to be interesting enough to follow Jen over to our place so she could personally examine the tattoo and inform me of its meaning.
So while I enjoyed my chicken, Yen took my arm and looked at my ink. She informed me that the symbols on my arm did in fact mean “honor”, and that I had nothing to worry about. Most likely, the old people at the restaurant were just being polite and nosey. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked Yen and went back to my meal.
After dinner, the three of us sat there chatting about tattoos, China, and the theory of reverse propulsion dynamics. Ok, ok…we talked about the philosophy of the Matrix. But the other one sounded much cooler, didn’t it? Anyway, while we chatted and hung out, Jen decided to make the night more interesting by making some drinks. Sadly, that night was not a good night to experiment with the Gatorade Rum theory, so we stuck with the basic rum and coke.
We had some drinks, and told some secrets. I might have even told a few lies, I’m not completely sure. Things began to get fuzzy around the time Yen decided to prove to us she had a dragon tattoo on her ass by stripping down to her underwear and doing a spontaneous fashion show twirl right there in the living room. I like dragons…they’re sexy.
Jen decided to encourage the situation by throwing dollar bills at Yen while she proceeded to dance white trash stripper style on the kitchen counter. I sat back and watched the scene with some trepidation, because the Kung Pao had upset my stomach a bit and it was a school night, after all.
Soon, things progressed as they should when given the proper formula of alcohol, sexy tattoos, and body shots. I won’t bore you with details, because I know that none of this interests anybody…so I’ll just sum up as best as I can, without getting too graphic or intense. Any and all of the following words and phrases can be used to describe the remainder of the evening:
Kiss, rub, lick, stroke, kung pao, dollar bills, dancing, hair, balcony, smoking, shots, coke, rum, Gatorade, bandages, inhaler, bed, pillow, thong, tattoos, spanking the dragon, oral bunny, screaming, pounding, sticky, phone, the number 3, biting, hide and go seek, toes, slurping, milk, ears, and shower.
The next day at work, while I attempted to gather up the courage and willpower to perform my corporate duties with flair and intelligence, I was able to get a hold of Connie. She informed me that my tattoo was correct, that the people at the restaurant were just being nosey and that I had nothing to fear. I thanked her and went about my daily routine of spreadsheets, databases, and emails while thinking about kung pao chicken and Chinese dragon tattoos.