Thursday night with the girl of my dreams

Of course I picked the café with the downed wifi. It’s my negative state of mind, I tell you. Trying to roll with the punches—I shall not be deterred. Focus on this instead of that. My coffee was a little off, a little less delicious than normal. So was the muffin. They didn’t heat it up enough. Everything can be wrong if you look things in the wrong light, which I have the tendency to do. I need a new looking glass.

I also need a new motorbike. I’ve been saying that for a while. I love my bike, but it’s time to start seeing other people. I want to part on good terms, before I start to feel stuck and blame it all on her. Lately, she had been driving poorly. There was a loose wire somewhere and the electric was hit and miss. Also turns out she had some water in her carburetor. Poor thing.

My mechanic attended to her yesterday. Cleaned the carburetor and gave her a new battery. She’s running better, but there is still something amiss. That clicking sound is driving me crazy. I also just pulled into a pharmacy, pulled out the key and the engine was still running. Hmmm. put the key back in, turn on, turn off, wait and finally she shut off. Came back out, put the key in and the right signal light was on. Tilted the bike to the right and it turned off. Tilted left and it went back on. Sigh.

I figure when I get a “real” bike, I’ll appreciate it that much more. It’s like having a normal weekend after having a 1-day weekend the week before. It’s still not enough, but you appreciate that extra day sooooooo much more. I figure having a bike with fewer faults will be like a dream compared to one that always seems to have an issue—even if she has taken me reliably from point A to point B for nearly a year. You need a cold shower every now and again to really savor the hot ones. You need to experience some low points to revel in the high ones.

……………………

And here I am, nearly a month later, trying to pick up where I left off. Back at the same café—across the park from my street—eating yet another coffee and muffin. This time there were no complaints. Only maybe that there weren’t enough of either. But sufficiently filling they were. The only complaint I have is that I’m not getting to the café early enough. I prefer morning sessions, say 10am, not 1 in the afternoon. I took a wrong turn last night. That’s my excuse.

I was going to call it a night at 2am, relatively early for a Thursday (my Friday) considering I had just finished work at midnight. Still winding down I was, but I considered saving the fun for the next evening. I was a little indecisive and took a detour past a bar, which I have become well acquainted, to see if “she” was there. Surprised to find it open and her still working, I sat down for a pint of some pretty appalling local lager. She seemed remotely happy to see me, which reignited the flame that I thought might have been extinguished.

We chatted and I jokingly (but seriously) asked her to come back to my place. As you do. She had actually brought it up first a few months ago, but with the added disclaimer—no boom boom. I hesitated and when I came to my senses hours later she reneged on her offer. You snooze, you lose. This wasn’t a paying situation. This was more of a persistence pays off type situation. And well, maybe she was trying to figure me out. See where I live, see if I’m a “good guy”—see if I’m capable of supporting her and her family. I’m not capable in case you wondering. I don’t make promises and I don’t tell lies, but I do legitimately like this girl. Have for a while.

I sat there in disbelief after she nonchalantly replied “Ok.” She’s having some fun, I thought. This girl has never been so “easy.” I waited for the chuckle, but it never came. I wanted her to be comfortable so I threw in the same disclaimer she had months before. No boom boom, I whispered. I couldn’t believe my own ears. But really, I was ok with that since just being with her was enough. Sort of. I wanted to inhale the lingering perfume and the scent of whatever shampoo residue was in her hair. She finished at 3am. I could wait.

I (mistakenly) ordered another draft beer just to pass the time. 3am arrived and she had disappeared. I half expected not to see her again. This wouldn’t have been the first time my hopes were dashed, but she did come back. Yay! She had been brushing her teeth or something. I paid my bill and wandered outside wondering how we were going to do this. She motioned for me to go. Go where? I drove down the street and parked halfway down, out of sight for the most part. I rested my head on the handlebars and looked up occasionally to make sure she wasn’t sneaking by.

Eventually she came back on her motorbike, hair blowing in the breeze. All slow motion like the movies. She had slipped into something more comfortable. Damn, I was hoping she was going to do that at my place. She was ready to rock n’ roll. We drove silently in the direction of my house, with her occasionally taking the lead. What are you doing, ya fucking idiot…you have no idea where I live. She seemed a bit cocky behind the wheel.

I made sure to zoom ahead and motion prior to making turns so I didn’t lose her. That would have been a waste of two draft beers and a couple hours of sleep. The horror! We got to my house, parked the bikes, locked the gate and climbed the stairs. Finally, a girl who didn’t complain about climbing three flights of stairs. Not that any girl has ever done that. She came in and immediately started eyeballing the furniture. You live here? Alone? How much you pay? Too much. As I’ve had to say to myself silently before, shut the fuck up.

Poking around some more, you have air conditioning? Not seeing it at first, she was momentarily dismayed until she saw it hiding up in the corner. She motioned with her lips to turn it on, which translated to crank that shit on high. Fuck, it’s not even hot, but whatever you say. I was whipped. She looked around even more. No tv? Fuck. I showed her where it was hiding —behind the clothes drying rack and under the yoga mat. I haven’t turned it on in months and I really hoped not to see it flicker into action tonight.

Turns out it was just a question. It was time for bed. She was already in her pajamas—the same clothes she was wearing— and motioned toward the bed. Sleep. I took a final piss and came to join her. It was like an elementary school sleepover. We held hands and I got high for a minute. I inhaled the toxins in her hair and I snuck a kiss. She didn’t like that. Sleep! Alright, alright, but that’s no fun. I tried, but I’m no good at sleep. Especially not when there’s an attractive lady next to me.

I tossed and turned and tossed some more. I got up to use the toilet. That second beer! I tried to sleep again to no avail. I could only see her lying there like sleeping beauty while the bags grew bigger under my eyes. I could only focus on the air conditioner making funny noises. I usually wore earplugs. I also usually slept with my head between both pillows. Tonight I didn’t have that luxury. Dammit, this pillow is too big! It’s too cold! The mattress is too slanted!

It was getting late, maybe six or seven. I had to pee again. I was started to get angry. Not at her, but at my inability to fall asleep. My fault for inviting a pretty girl to have a “sleepover.” Who does that? I took my earplugs, my pillow and a spare comforter into the living room. And I set up on the floor. Put the couch pillows on the floor and closed off the space with my laundry rack so I wouldn’t feel “naked” lying there exposed in the middle of the floor. I checked Facebook and did the online crossword before hiding my laptop in the kitchen cupboard. I contemplated jerking off into the kitchen sink, but thought that was little dirty and then tried to sleep, alone, again.

She woke me up at 11. She kind of scoffed at me as I lifted my head, drool stuck to my cheek. What? There was still some misplaced residual anger. Go away, I thought. That’s precisely what she was doing. She rattled off some Khmer, which I was not in the mood for. She asked, I think, if there was a lock on the gate downstairs. Huh? She said it again even faster, as if I might get it this time. I don’t know, I mumbled. She put on her dirty fuzzyheaded slippers and shuffled out the door. Better than heels I thought. At least she doesn’t look like a prostitute.

I laid my head down again, with relief, and then quickly thought I ought to accompany her downstairs. I wiped off the drool, slipped on some shorts, a baseball cap and my flip flops to catch her with just enough time to open the gate and say goodbye before she skedaddled on out of there. I barely had enough energy to mumble bye. I wearily walked back past my landlord and his family having breakfast—ok, lunch—who undoubtedly thought a transaction had just taken place. I don’t give a fuck anymore. 

Went back to sleep for a minute—barely able to contemplate what had transpired over the past eight hours even though I had been awake for most of it. I rubbed some collagen into the bags under my eyes, tweezered out the gray hours and put on my Sunday best—a pair of shorts and a t-shirt—on a Friday to take it all in. There wasn’t much to analyze. I went home with ‘the girl of my dreams’ but failed to fall asleep to have more of them. A memorable experience for all the wrong reasons. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemies.

The evolution of a shitty mustache

Every once in a while, I get this foolish notion that I should grow a mustache. I should not. It's not about trying to look better because let's face it, not many people look better with a mustache. It's more about being tired of looking at the same face day after day after day. Need a soul patch to spruce things up a bit. Or sideburns or a beard or a mustache. Problem is I can't grow sideburns or a beard. So there aren't many options aside from getting a tattoo on my face, lip augmentation, a nose or eyebrow piercing or dying my hair. Honestly, I prefer less permanent alternatives.

I grew my first 'stache late last year at 36 years of age. Not long after my brother had participated in a monthlong grow-your-stache-for-charity. It wasn't Movember. I said hey, I want to try that! I had never tried before because I was fairly certain it would look like someone's genitals on my face. Let's face it, nobody wants that. Well, I suppose people do, but not when you're out in public. Anyway, I was in a place where it didn't hurt to try and so I grew it. It looked pretty awful at first, was hard to even notice and caused significant personal anguish. I tried my best to thrust that aside. Eventually the hairs grew longer and it filled in the gaps. It was almost passable.

The early days were laughable.

Oops, missed a spot.

If only...

Eventually I tired of seeing it in the mirror every day and I grew overly self-conscious of my 'stache. It pervaded my thoughts. Should I shave it? Should I trim it? Should I let it hang over my lip? Give it one more day. The next day I'd stare at it some more pondering its fate. It had been about 50 days. It was itchy and it was drawing the wrong kind of attention. I had to be careful talking and joking with kids.. Look at that guy with the mustache talking to children! Definitely didn't need any accusations. In the end, the over-analysis drove me crazy and I shaved it off in a fit of rage. I felt bald for a minute, but refreshed. The skin above my lip looked like it had missed being kissed by the sun.

I actually like these shots, but to be fair, I didn't really look like a porn star..

Freshly shaven. Renewed, but it felt like I had lost a limb.

Some time went by—perhaps a month—and I thought maybe I'd grow the 'stache again. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just bored. It didn't last as long the second go round, but I went through the same emotions as before. Probably would have been better off shaving my head, but the 'stache experiment was both a test of my patience and to see how self-conscious I really was. Turns out I'm not very patient and I'm quite self-conscious. But I already knew that.

Fast forward another few months and there I was trying it again, trying to be alternative or something. I don't think I made it a month. I just started getting angry and eventually threw in the towel. You need reassurance when growing a 'stache and it isn't every day when people are dropping compliments about a mustache. I was complimentary to other mustachioed gentlemen, but that's only because I became more aware of a quality mustache just by trying to grow my own. I realized what it took. Strength. Courage. Patience. Determination. I know I wasn't blessed in the facial hair department, but that has its perks for the most part. I go through far fewer razor blades and my morning routine is more simplified.

I was facial hair free, the way I should be, for the greater part of six months when all of a sudden the urge to grow a 'stache arose again. It was almost that time again when my brother would again be growing his 'stache for charity. I thought I'd get a head start. I started by just not shaving and proceeded for a couple weeks with what would have been deemed as a shitty goatee. When my chin started bearing resemblance to a scrotum I decided to shave leaving just the 'stache and soul patch. The sole patch was a crutch that allowed me to keep going for a few more weeks. Then I shaved it and rocked only a shitty 'stache, which I regularly trimmed to get the whiskers more or less the same length.

The "goatee" stage.

Yes, my shirt says "Babes." Probably didn't see that cause you were admiring the 'stache.

It was good timing with the 'stache. I had recently started feeling asexual and now with the 'stache I didn't seem to mind even less attention. I still found some women attractive, but without the corresponding arousal. It was like I was hibernating. I'd shrug my shoulders and think something wasn't right, but surprisingly it was nice to go out and essentially have zero interest sexually in anyone. I figured there was just a kink in the hose. That one day, after an abundance of oatmeal, an enormous shit would release the pressure on that particular pipe allowing the testosterone to flow freely again. Actually, it wasn't that. I just grew tired with women, particularly here, and everything being about money. Major turn off. Made me sad and I just wanted to disengage.

Meanwhile, the 'stache was starting to look better, but only on webcam.

Back to the story at hand. I went out and took the 'stache with me. Everywhere I went. The ladies were not particularly enthralled with it. The girl of my dreams pointed at it, made a face and said clean! You can wait, I said. I started feeling older with the 'stache and my confidence was waning. I only really liked how it looked on my grainy webcam with a hat pulled down low. Then it looked like I was just having fun. Like I wasn't taking myself too seriously. But as I do, I started getting way too self-conscious. Again. A girl gives her friend a funny look and I know immediately they're definitely talking about me. A guy at the gym looks at me and snickers. It's definitely the fucking 'stache.

Started blaming everything on the hairy upper lip.

Only liked it with a hat and this expression, which could not be held extended periods.

Meanwhile, my brother, who had started his 'stache-for-charity, was already sporting a superior 'stache despite me having a one month advantage. My ego found this slightly depressing. But as he later said, you got the hair on your head, I got the hair everywhere else. Lucky me! Or something to that effect. I was going to try and get through the end of November or Movember as it has been called for 10 years according to the official website. Wow. 10 years? Who knew? Apparently "Mo Bros" (those taking part in Movember) start the month clean-shaven. Having just read that, I don't feel bad about shaving prematurely. I would have been cheating! Big sigh of relief there.

My brother's mustache for charity. At least it looked like he had fun doing it!

Anyway, the 'stache is gone and I don't regret it for a minute. I've always been one to simplify my life. The less things you have, including facial hair, the easier it is to manage. Unless of course you take away the roof over my head, my motorbike and my wallet, which would obviously be cause for struggle. I'll leave you with one final pic—the straw that broke the camel's back. Wasn't quite the look I was going for and it was enough of a catalyst for me to bust out the razor a month early and end this charade. The other catalyst was, well, I'm not feeling asexual anymore. The kink in the hose seems to be gone. You don't play the game with a mustache unless you are Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck—and neither of them am I.

Mustache be gone!

Corruption in the kingdom

I reached into my pocket and it wasn't there. Fuck. That little piece of paper I needed to reclaim my motorbike. That along with 1500 riel ($0.37) and I'd be on my merry way. Why did I put the fucking thing in my left pocket? I never did that. I usually stuffed it into my left rear pocket, my wallet or into a shirt pocket. It wasn't there. I checked all my pockets, twice, three times—just in case that thin piece of paper had already morphed itself into pocket lint. Nope. I hadn't even reached in that pocket, I couldn't figure out how it had gone missing.

It was 3:30am and I was tired. The fucker told me I could take my bike if I paid him five dollars. So much for parking security. Find or steal someone's keys, bribe the parking attendant and off you go. Come on, man. I'd seen my friend pay three dollars just the night before so I knew it was negotiable. And besides, surely that little fucker over there, that scrawny prepubescent piece of shit, surely he recognizes me and my bike. I rumble in here a few times a week. My bike sounds vaguely like a sick lawnmower. Easy to identify. I said, That guy knows me, come on. He came over and said I dunno, I dunno. Oh, you little prick.

I mouthed a fuck you here and a fuck you there, here a fuck, there a fuck, everywhere a fuck fuck. You have to be careful with that word in this country. You might end up with a knife in your back. But in that very moment, I just didn't give a fuck. Obviously. I asked how I could get my motorbike back and he said to come back tomorrow with my passport and my motorbike identification card. Are you serious? Fine. I grabbed my helmet and walked away angrily—vowing never to park my bike there again while looking back and waving my arms around like a madman.

Retrospectively, I know they were just doing their job, but in the moment I find it hard to control my rage. Fight or flight kicked in. I contemplated sticking the key into the ignition and trying to blast through them, but I didn't want to accidentally run someone over or have a mob following me because they thought I was on a stolen bike. I feel like it would have worked, but since the consequences could have been deadly and I would have likely seen those dudes again, I decided to just rant & rave and "lose face" instead. At least that way I could air my frustrations without dying in the process.

I walked down 172 to Norodom ignoring all the motodop and tuk tuk drivers who were hoping for one more fare that evening. Fuck all of you, too, I thought, bringing back to mind an altercation I had a couple months ago when a tuk tuk driver took a swing at me and tried to kickbox me while I backed away blocking and dodging and only responding with verbal jabs since we had been quickly surrounded by locals and I knew this could easily escalate to ten against one. This was not the way I wanted to go out despite the urge to land one square on his nose. Nobody wins in a fight, I could hear my Dad saying over and over in my head. Do it, don't do it, do it, don't do it. Fuck it.

I turned right at Norodom and walked to 256 where I turned left, past the military police who have been sitting at practically every street corner day in and day out for the last two months since the disputed national election. I made a right on 19 and another left on 264 and finally arrived at my front gate. Home at last. When I woke up this morning I noticed my helmet on my couch. Shit. I momentarily forgot that I was without my motorbike. I put the essentials together—my passport and motorbike identification card—and proceeded to walk back to Golden Sorya Mall, where my bike was parked.

Yes, it would have been easier to pay one dollar and hop on the back of a moto, but I waved the guy off who was yelling from a distance as I exited the front gate. I didn't want to end up spending more money than it would have otherwise cost me to bribe the guy last night. I'd already lost my face and considerable time. I'm fucking walking, I told myself. I retraced my steps from the previous evening and turned left onto 172 nearing my destination. It smelled like the entire neighborhood—bellies full of durian and barbecued pork—had just defecated on the corner. The stench of dereliction was in the air and I held my breath as I stepped through it.

I got to the the parking area and anticipated having flat tires or siphoned gas. I then proceed to tell the fat fucker my story. I took out my passport and identification card and showed him my bike. Ok, can I go now? I could see this wasn't going to be as easy as I thought. You motherfuckers. He said they'd keep my passport and ID and to come back to pick up my bike tomorrow. Tomorrow? You dirty lying swine. Nobody keeps my passport. I'll photocopy this shit and you can do what you need to do, but you will not hold onto my passport. Meanwhile, I contemplate hopping onto my motorbike and running over these people again.

The little commotion in the parking area has now attracted more attention and a few other conniving sons of bitches come into the fray. I flag down this aging hooker who should have hung up her heels years ago. I seem to run into her everywhere. She does her best to translate, but it seems the only bullshit option is to give them my passport. No way. No fucking way. Just give them your passport, man, she says. I refuse to give my passport to these motherfuckers. I make sure to enunciate every last profanity. I don't know these dudes and definitely don't trust them. I spit on the ground for emphasis and realize I am literally foaming at the mouth.

A policeman drives by and I foolishly think he might be of some benefit. Police! Police! They laugh knowing all too well this fat fucker isn't going to help. There was definitely the Khmer equivalent of a donut shop in near vicinity. He at least stops so I have the chance to tell him what's going on. Give them your passport, fill out the paperwork, blah blah blah. Fucking rules. I'm pissed off because these people, in my mind, are being unreasonable. They told me to bring my passport and ID and I did. Now they're telling me to wait another day. I come to the conclusion it is best to avoid playing by the rules whenever possible in this country. If there is an opportunity to bribe it is probably best to bite your tongue and take it.

Eventually, I realize this is going nowhere. They bring out a chain to lock up my bike. I assume by now they can see my intentions. I want to punch all of these fuckers in their fat faces. There are at least five of them now. Even the old lady deserved some knuckles in her wrinkly jaw. And the hooker too, she wasn't helping me. I didn't like any of them. They're all out to get me These people! I am brought back to those times in Vietnam when I got incredibly frustrated with the locals. An exchange that went wrong because of some cultural misunderstanding. It was all their fault! That was usually when I realized I needed a vacation.

I tell the hooker I don't give a shit anymore. I'll just come back tonight when different staff are on duty, pay them the bribe and get my motorbike then. What I should have done the previous evening. Fuck these people. She proceeds to start telling them what I'm going to do. No, no, no, no! Shut up. Don't tell them. Apparently she said just enough. She proceeds to tell me I can pay them five dollars and take my motorbike now. Why didn't you just say so?! I guess they thought it'd be better for them to get the money instead of those poor bastards working the night shift. All of that nonsense, all of that riling up for nothing.

Holding my breath, I handed over the money. While waiting for my change I jabbered away how these guys were dicks and motioned like I was secretly stuffing money into my pocket. Made me feel good even though I was losing more face. You thieving bastards. It's so hard to just let things go. Let it go. I got onto my motorbike—finally—and refrained from revving the engine and speeding off into the sunset. I pulled out slowly avoiding all eye contact and refused to say thanks—for nothing—and drove off to the coffee shop where I am now so I could make everything right with a hot cup of joe and some baked deliciousness. I do feel better now.

A new job, apricot scones and used t-shirts

I haven't posted in a while. There wasn't a whole lot to say. I felt like I'd written more than enough about the coffee I was drinking or the ladyboys down at the beer garden. I desperately needed some new material as my routine was getting old. The embers of this blog were on the verge of extinguishing themselves, but all of a sudden a gust of wind picked up and sparked a flame. There's too much in my head at the moment to not set some of it free. Throw it into the wind whether it's interesting or not.

First news to report, I am working again! I just wrapped up my first full week and I have one more week in a two-week trial. After that, I'm on a three-month trial and then if we both like each other we'll officially be in a relationship. It's essentially a Monday-Friday 8-5 desk job only it's Sunday-Thursday and 2-midnight, which is preferable since I hate working mornings. I can both go out and sleep in every day if I so please.  I won't give any details other than to say I'm sitting at a desk staring at a computer in a pretty relaxed work environment surrounded by pretty cool people. It's nice to be learning something new although my hemorrhoid isn't particularly happy.

Enough about that. It's my Saturday and I'm still lounging around the house at nearly 5pm. I did go out and got jacked up on coffee and relished in the delight of consuming a moist pumpkin muffin. Highly recommended. It's overcast now and nearly time to go for a run. It'll be the first time in nearly a week I've been able to get out and jog around the park and along the riverside. Running around the park past men shuttlecocking, women fast-walking, military police lounging, ducking under trees, across the street into the next park, past the Royal Palace and onto the riverside past women aerobicizing, teenagers footballing, babies waddling, hookers eyeballing and street kids sniffing glue. Strangely, I'm excited about that.

Today is now Monday. Two days have slipped by and I hardly noticed. It is day two of a planned three-day protest by the CNRP, the opposition party that lost July's disputed election. Reminiscent of how Al Gore "lost" the election way back in 2000, but with perhaps even more voting irregularities. We'll probably never know the extent of it. I was thinking of checking the progress of the demonstration, but opted instead for a coffee and an apricot scone at Java Cafe across the park from my house. A wise choice. I can go get caught up in traffic later if the idea sounds appealing. Considering I spent 45 minutes yesterday detouring around roadblocks covered in razor wire when I was only five minutes from my house, I'll probably pass. I got enough vitamin D to last a few days.

I started studying French a couple weeks ago. I don't know why, perhaps for lack of anything else to do. I noticed a lot of expats are French or speak French so I decided to try to finish at least level 1 on Rosetta Stone. At least be able to count to ten and understand how to pronounce it when I read it. I'd prefer to continue my Vietnamese or Indonesian studies, but both were unable for "free" download. And to my dismay they haven't started offering Khmer. So, it'll be French for now until I tire of trying to speak like an asshole and then I may try Mandarin or Japanese or German. Yeah, yeah, I'll probably never open the application again.

I also started collecting t-shirts. It didn't reach collection status until recently when I realized it was getting out of hand. But how can you resist when you see a cool t-shirt for only 50 cents? I can't. If I change my mind I can use it as a dust rag, a floor mat or give it to my neighbor. When I moved to Phnom Penh from Siem Reap six months ago I only had a dozen shirts. The secondhand clothes market in Siem Reap was fairly limited. Phnom Penh, on the other hand, has numerous locations for acquiring secondhand shirts sporting designs you can be fairly certain nobody else is going to be wearing. I think they import by the kilo from their northern Asian neighbors including China, Japan, Korea and Taiwan.

First, I went to Central Market, which has a secondhand clothing area and the few vendors that sold t-shirts offered them for around $2.50, which was reasonable, but on par or slightly more expensive than thrift shops back home. They recently got a little greedy and started asking $3. Outrageous. The BKK Market was more off the beaten track and was almost all secondhand clothing. A great find, but only a couple t-shirt vendors. Here, they were only a dollar. Any of the numerous tailors onsite could alter them to fit in mere minutes. That would cost another 50 cents. A month ago, I found a new spot. A street near the riverside where multiple vendors offer secondhand wares. Only 50 cents, the true price of secondhand t-shirts! I find it pretty exciting and can't stop shopping. I have about 60 shirts now.

A couple assholes in business attire just walked in. Might be nice guys, but I can't help but judge people. Nice tie, guy. Besides, I didn't like the way he looked at me. Don't be jealous I'm wearing a comfy pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I'm just agitated. Not sleeping well. Never sleeping well. I also don't like what they've done to this cafe. They changed from perhaps the coziest environment to what looks like dining room furniture. Like I should be sipping tea at high noon. Fuck that. I just realized there are twelve men in this room. That's part of the problem. Way too much testosterone. Not a single woman working here - I can't handle this vibe.

I just extended my visa for another six months. Never know when this marriage will end. I do enjoy living in Phnom Penh, but the honeymoon has certainly come and gone. I no longer feel like spontaneously pumping my fists as I run around the park. I love my food choices, I like my apartment, it feels like I could be living anywhere sometimes. In Vietnam, I always felt like I was living in Vietnam. There was no escaping it. That's why I came to Cambodia so many times on holiday. To get away. Vietnam certainly has its appeal, but so does this place. The country not the cafe.

I know I was more or less recently on a twenty-month holiday, but after a week and a half of work I sort of feel trapped again. It is so hard to commit to anything! You mean I have to work six months before I can take two weeks off? I have to work a year before I'm considered for a raise? Don't get me wrong, it's great to be doing something and learning something new, but it's hard to lose some of your freedom. Time ticks down quickly before I have to be back at work straining my eyes under the fluorescents shooing away mosquitoes. I have a sudden yearning to be back in Nepal trekking the Annapurna Circuit or driving a Royal Enfield through the mountain passes to Ladakh in northwestern India.

It'll happen. It's just a matter of when. That or I'll impregnate some bargirl and live happily ever after. There are no other options. I'll support her and our crack baby until the instinct to flee is too overwhelming. No, I swear I'll treat her right. I'll buy her as many 50 cent t-shirts as her heart desires. I'll buy her dollar bubble teas and download all the movies she wants to see. I'll even let her have the good pillow. Of course, I'll go buy a better one. I'll get her enrolled in English classes and spy through the small window in the door to make sure her foreign teacher isn't trying to play peek-a-boob. You can never trust an English teacher.

Well, it's the middle of September already. We've got a month and a half to Movember, but I've decided to get a head start. I need it. I've only got a week and half's worth of goatee and it's still pretty awkward looking, but I'll try to grin and bear it. I don't want to look like a pedophile too soon otherwise I'd shave the chin. I'll wait until the mustache looks a bit more "manly" before I do that. Last week, a girl at the bar pointed at my face and said "clean!" Three more months, I said. She "voiced" her displeasure with a disapproving facial gesture. I know, I know, I thought. Oh well, there are too many options here anyway. Might as well make things slightly more challenging.

Top 10 most annoying facebook habits

I find facebook most useful these days for a quick glimpse into someone's life and to have all my news sources in one place. I can quickly scan my news feed for a posting from a friend or some page I have liked and get briefed on something that interests me without having to hunt it down on my own. There is a mountain of shit on facebook as well, but fortunately we can hide people from our news feed and quickly scroll through the nonsense that other people post. However, we all know that one man's trash is another man's treasure so I accept it and don't let it get to me, on a good day.

Usually, I try not to hide anyone just in case I miss the post of the year and also so I don't feel like a total dick, but occasionally someone is clogging the drain and needs to be purged. For whatever reason, only some people seem to appear in my news feed, which limits my daily exposure to the amount of feces that is on fecesbook. I'm sure I could change my settings, but I won't. I don't need to see every post from every friend anyway.

Before I get off track, here is a quick list of the top 10 annoying habits of people using Facebook, listed in no particular order because I don't want to think about it that much. The fact that I'm writing about it and finding pictures on Google images to accompany each annoying habit is time consuming enough. Ideally, I would use screen shots as personal examples for this list, but I'm not that on the ball and I don't really want to offend anyone. Ok, here we go!

1. Posting a daily selfie

First of all, I hate the word selfie, but I don't want to sound outdated using the terribly long drawn out self-portrait. What is it with these people who need to post a picture of themselves every single day? Did you change overnight? Oh, I see, different shirt, different angle, different room. Maybe some more or less facial hair, a new hairdo, a new zit, a grin or a frown. And of course, you gotta show the iPhone. Look at me! C'mon people, one of these per week, max. I'd rather see what you are eating for lunch.

2. Liking your own post

This goes not only for liking your own status, but for liking your own photo, video, comment, et al. I can accept the occasional like for a very witty status update or for an amazing photo you happened to capture, but some people who are so enamored with what they post it's just plain ridiculous. And liking your comments? That's beyond absurdity. And liking every comment someone makes on your status? That's just plain stupid. It's like you're thanking them purely for acknowledging your existence.

3. Taking pictures of your money

This one seems pretty obvious. It's like posting pictures of shit you don't have or people you'll never be. Lamborghinis, the next generation iPhone, America's next top model. You're a materialistic dick. It's one thing to post a picture of a currency you've never seen before while you are traveling in that country because it's interesting. But posting pictures of stacks of cash or bars of gold that's in your safe, under your floorboards or hidden in your mattress is just sick. I'll still be friends with you, but only so I can figure out two things a) where you hide that money and b) your address.

4. Constantly sending game requests

Game requests. Really? I think sending out a game request to all of my friends is a good idea. C'mon, use your noggin. You are just not thinking. I do my best to ignore these notifications and hide the app or block the individual, but really I can't help but envision this sad sack of shit playing Mafia Wars or Farmville or whatever the fuck it's called. Pathetic.

5. Not having any of your own pictures

Want to remain anonymous? Fine, I get it, but why are you my friend? So you can lurk in the shadows and spy on everyone else, but not allow anyone the same privilege? That's plain weird. Maybe you have the standard silhouette or perhaps you use your favorite cartoon character or some generic scene stolen from your Windows wallpaper folder. This is even more annoying when the person is also employing the use of annoying habit #6. Who the fuck is this person!? This is solid grounds for an unfriending.

6. Using a username that is NOT your name

This is not so bothersome if the individual is using an easily identifiable profile picture. I think facebook has cracked down on people opting for ridiculously sounding names, which is nice. But over here in Asia, people somehow still seem to get away with it. Just use your real name! A clever pseudonym works if it's actually clever, but that's usually not the case. This is particularly annoying when the person has a silly name with an unidentifiable profile picture. "Manya Troublesome likes your photo." Ok, who the fuck is that? And out of curiosity you click on her profile picture - or is it a he? -  and scroll through of all them only to realize you still don't know. 

7. Posting an irrelevant or longwinded comment

You know these people. You post a status and they come on there with something completely out of the blue, totally unrelated to the original post. Dude, send a private message! No need to ruin someone's thread just to say what's up. The same goes for those individuals who post longwinded comments never fully getting to the point or diverging from the original topic. You respond in kind and they immediately fire back showing their expertise on the matter. Eventually you just shut up because it's the only way they will.

8. Duckface

If only all duckface pictures were as cute as this. Unfortunately, they are not. I don't think I am being ridiculous in stating that they are offensive and possibly even induce vomiting. Perhaps even contribute to making this world an even angrier place. It's one thing if you know how hideous you look and you're doing it for a laugh. But to do it thinking it's hip and that you actually look good, well, you're in for a surprise. That being said, you might get away with it just for being hot, but hotness is subjective and it's just not worth damaging your reputation.

9. Posting your amateur "modeling" pics

I don't really know anyone in the West who does this. Perhaps because I don't have any teenage friends. Anyway, this seems to be the trend in Asia, particularly amongst the younger ladies in Vietnam. Everyone wants to be a model. Everyone often thinks they can be a model too. Having a friend with a camera and access to a studio warrants a photography session and subsequently uploading those pictures for the general public to see and ideally, like. To flatter yourself. I find these pictures to be laughable more often than not. It's akin to that guy on facebook who only uploads shirtless pics.

10. Tagging people in a picture to generate likes

Everyone has gotten a notification that they've been tagged in a picture and clicked on it only to find a picture of a "friend" who is trying to look cool and clearly fishing for likes. Fishing for likes should be illegal. If it's not a picture of a person then it's a picture from someone's holiday or a handbag, a dress or a pair of shoes. Glad you have converted your facebook page into a business. It's not a big deal to hide your post from my timeline, but if you are a repeat offender, you will be notified. Please, only tag me if it's me or if it's something I absolutely must know about. Gee, thanks.

Election day thoughts and other random rambles

Sunday 12:00 noon in the nation's capital on election day in Cambodia. I'm enjoying the dregs of my americano and a pumpkin muffin at Brown cafe, whose motto should be our muffins are moist! The streets are much quieter than normal today and so is this cafe, which is usually teeming with people. I'm glad neither the streets nor this cafe are bustling. I like chill. I suppose the results will be known later this evening and it's doubtful the streets will be empty at that time. The CPP, the current ruling party, is expected to win, but the CNRP, the main opposition party, is expected to put up higher numbers than normal and perhaps force the CPP to adjust their policies. We shall see!

This is only the fifth national election since 1993 and the same guy has been in power since then. That seems unreal. Free and fair elections? If the CPP wins, it sounds like the CNRP will protest because of various methods of voter fraud. One CNRP member said "There are many irregularities. Opposition supporters have been deleted from the voters list, while at least a million names have been added. Extra ballots have been printed, vote buying is widespread, and people are facing intimidation and violence."

Another guy, an independent political analyst says that "If the CPP wins with a majority...there will be violence and there will be bloodshed." 

On the other hand, if the CNRP pulls off a miraculous upset the same political analyst says that would be the "worse thing that could happen." Why?

"The CPP" he said, "would try to cling to power by using police and military" who are both loyal to the CPP and "there will be chaos, the government will hold on to their power and Cambodia will be in the same situation as Burma in 1990 when the [National League for Democracy] won and the military party arrested almost all politicians."

Gee, sounds like either way, Cambodia is screwed. That is, if you listen to these guys. Unless of course, the middle scenario is achieved, which is the CPP winning the election, losing some seats, but maintaining a majority to form a government. In other words, if the CNRP has a reasonable showing, but does not win. That's how I understand it. Even the prime minister, Hun Sen, leader of the CPP, has said that if his party loses it would provoke a civil war and a war with Vietnam. Talk about trying to strike fear into the hearts of the people. Nobody here wants another war. I'm sure a lot of people would like a new prime minister, but at what cost?

Anyway, nothing to do now, but wait and see. I may hit the grocery store after the coffee shop just in case I have to bunker down for a few days.

In other news, I just watched a video of a small lake at the North Pole. We're fucked! I bet Santa is pissed. Not drunk, well maybe, but angry.

And on the same note, climate change, I was reading about Kiribati, a country in the middle of the Pacific that is supposed to be the first country lost due to rising sea levels. Crazy to think this will likely become a reality in our lifetime. I once read a book called The Sex Lives of Cannibals that was written about the author's trip to this place. Further reading on this nation's eventual fate can be found here.

And then there is a lot of news about this guy Weiner who's involved in some sex scandal. Who cares! It's only newsworthy cause the guy has this unfortunate name. There is so much other crap in the news that is best ignored. I find the headlines catchy and the articles are usually quite disappointing. I don't know why I click on the Huffington Post sometimes. It's only a couple times a week anyway.

What's more interesting to me is the story of Detroit. Not that I've read about it, but I understand there has been an economic collapse and they are bankrupt. A city in ruins. Seems wild to think about. Much like the country above that will one day be under water. One haunting quote I read said "If you want to see the future of America just look at Detroit." If anything, you'd think people would be interested to see this city in despair. I've never been there and I'm intrigued. I'd go on a double decker bus tour. Then there's that guy who has an idea to create a Zombie theme park. 

Ok, that's enough global news. It's almost time to do the online crossword. It's easier online because you can cheat. Doesn't make me feel like a winner, but there's something rewarding about it all the same. I know I'm wasting those fifteen minutes, but I have more than that to kill every day.

In other, more personal news, I had some moles removed this week. I found a new clinic that removed them by CO2 laser for about $5.75 per mole. In case you're wondering, that is really cheap. The doctor went quite deep and the pain was reduced by using a numbing cream, but it was definitely not eliminated. So now I have to try and keep them dry to make sure they heal quickly. In Cambodia, good luck with that! They are like my babies. I rub them with iodine and dab on some antibacterial cream once or twice a day. It looks like I've been afflicted by some kind of flesh eating bacteria. Below is a pic of a mole, I think it's the same one, at day 1 and day 5. Yum!

And finally, this week I learned that I should exercise with shoes on. A blood blister isn't the end of the world, but it is slightly uncomfortable. Anyway, if you ever find an exercise routine calling for mountain climbers, it is best to wear a pair of comfy shoes. You can thank me later. That's all I got for today. If you look closely at the picture, you can see a caterpillar crawling on my toe.

Vietnam. What is the hidden charm?

The tourism slogan of Vietnam, at least when I was there, was Vietnam, The Hidden Charm. It seemed accurate because the place is charming, but it's hard to pinpoint exactly what or where the charm is. We used to make fun of the slogan saying something to the effect of yeah, but nobody knows what it is!

Apparently the slogan has changed. Who knew? Now it is Vietnam, Timeless Charm. They seemed to have made the switch in early 2012. It's a bit vague to me and looks even more dated than its predecessor. There was even another slogan in the mix further adding to the confusion. That was Vietnam, A Different Orient, which was the winning entry in a nationwide contest, but was rejected by the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism. You can read about that debacle here. If I was the winning designer, I'd be annoyed to say the least. Hopefully they got to keep the cash, if there was any.

I like the star, which kind of reminds me of a starfish, but I don't know why they chose so many colors. And the word orient, I didn't know anyone used that word anymore. I like the choice in font for A Different Orient, but again, this logo seems dated. 

My opinion does not matter. I'm just stating it anyway. Truth be told, I like The Hidden Charm better than the more recent variations. The original logo was nothing special, but the slogan made sense. I'm no designer, but I think my design, a fifteen minute Photoshop special and therefore a little rough around the edges, looks better than the original, but then again, I am just a little biased.

Back to the slogan, the old slogan. I think basically the charm was all the little things you saw on a daily basis that makes Vietnam what it is. Things that you just don't see elsewhere. All of those little things are charming in and of themselves, but wouldn't be enough on its own to drive tourism. You need all the pieces of the puzzle. Everything working together. So, you throw all the little charming bits together, mix 'em up and you find them incomparably charming. Collectively we'll call them the charm. And since you can never see all these charming moments at the same time, it is thus hidden. That's my theory anyway.

Five skinny guys riding by on a motorbike. Or a family of seven, some standing, some squatting and some seemingly defying gravity. A group of girls strolling to school wearing white silky ao dais. The traffic is chaotic yet controlled. Motorists running red lights. Evading the police. Riding on sidewalks. A feeling that this is a no rules society. A woman on a motorbike with a dog at her feet and a dog on the seat behind. A guy with a boxed refrigerator on the back of his motorbike that doesn't appear to be tied down. A family of five coming going down a one-way street in the wrong direction in the dark with no headlight in the pouring rain. Mind boggling. But charming all the same.

Women wearing pajamas all day long. Men wearing white ankle socks, pointy black dress shoes drinking cà phê sữa đá all day long. Xe ôm drivers napping on their motorbikes. Hearing You so handsome as you walk through the market. Am I? Sitting on tiny cracked plastic stools in the evening, drinking cheap beer and eating delicious food on the sidewalk watching the world go by. Being a part of the insanity. Living in a place that feels like an ant hill that has just been stepped on. The hustle and bustle is occasionally too intense. Feeling totally enlivened one moment and completely exhausted the next. How do people live like this?

I won't get into it all. That's just what immediately comes to mind. There is the magic in the mountains in the north where a number of ethnic minorities live. Sapa! The terraced rice paddies, women with long hair down to their mông, the limestone outcroppings in Halong Bay and in Ninh Bình. The ladies carrying bamboo poles over their shoulders. Verdant green rice paddies, the incredible downpours during the rainy season, people who won't take no for an answer. Shoe shine? No. Shoe shine? No, thanks. Shoe shine? No!

It's even the habits that we loathe. Public nose picking is omnipresent. People getting on an elevator before anyone has gotten off. Line cutting. Cupping your mouth while using a toothpick to avoid offending anyone. Never mind digging for gold without a care in the world. Or talking on your mobile phone so that everyone can hear you. Turning right from where you'd normally turn left. Cutting people off. It's all part of the charm. I'm not sure if I've really convinced myself. It may not seem like it at the time, but as a whole, it's all what sets Vietnam apart. How it differs from our own norms.

In any case, I'm sure there are a number of men who might beg to differ. Myself being one of them. Sure, maybe all of what I've mentioned so far is what makes Vietnam charming not to mention incredibly frustrating at the same time. Well, if that's not it, what else could it be? What is the real charm? I'll tell you. Maybe it's legs. Well, not just any old legs. Sexy, feminine legs. You've got to be kidding me. You heard me. It makes total sense. Covered during the day they are hidden. Nobody wants dark skin so they wear their áo dài, pajamas, tight jeans or stay at home. And then bam! The evening rolls around and they are exposed. The cat's out of the bag. You were just on your way home after work and you saw some legs. Some long legs straddling the back of a motorbike. And then some more. They're everywhere! All of a sudden you find yourself driving to the bar for "just one." Incredibly charming, distracting and enchanting. That's what is, folks. Legs, the hidden charm. It's about time we knew.

Cambodia: the kingdom of "I wonder..."

Cambodia, the Kingdom of Wonder. This has been Cambodia's tourism slogan since 2008. As far as I can tell anyway. I've done enough googling that my head hurts. The inspiration for which was obviously the awe-inspiring, one and only Angkor Wat. It does make you stop and think though. Is that exactly what they were talking about? Wonder as in awe? amazement? wonderful? wow? astonishment? an inspirational moment? You see the temples for the first time, perhaps at sunrise and are instantly struck by their beauty. It certainly is a wonder. Which slowly begins to dissolve as a Disneyland type atmosphere eventually prevails as busload after busload of tourists arrive making this marvel seem slightly less marvelous.

Or does the slogan make you wonder? Do you wonder how the temples were built? Or do you wonder how Cambodia went from those glory days to the present day? I'm not going to get into that. You can read all about Cambodia's history and in particular, the "Dark ages of Cambodia" here. There is plenty to wonder about any place you go, not just Cambodia. I'm no expert, but this is what I wonder.

I wonder if he's just asking for directions.

I wonder if this was the man of her dreams.

 I wonder if he plays with a short or long stick.

I wonder if this "gasoline" will get me home.

I wonder if she has testicles.

[It's not advisable to google "ladyboy" and click on images]

I wonder if those are real.

I wonder what's really in this beer.

I wonder how much he paid for that.

I wonder if she really thinks I'm a handsome man.

I wonder how many more years this guy will run the country.

[since 1979]

I wonder why there are so many nice cars like this...

...while there are so many beggars...

...and homeless children everywhere you look.

I wonder if they paid the licensing fee.

Ok, that's enough wondering for today. Now I just wonder what else to do today. I wonder if someone will steal my laptop when I go to the bathroom. I wonder what I'll eat for lunch. I wonder how much sugar was in my coffee. I wonder if the beans were fairly traded. I wonder wonder who, who wrote the book of love?

Source of all pictures: the Internet

If you are one of the men in the pictures, blame Google. I googled "sexpat" and there you were. 

Stop wondering how I got your picture.