Thai One On

I'm Baaa-aaack!

2007-11-03T13:27:00.001-07:00

I think I'm going to re-launch Planet Thai One On, even though no one I know reads it (or maybe BECAUSE no one reads it). I need an outlet.

If anyone doesn't already know. . .

2006-11-09T14:05:00.000-08:00

All my self-absorbed and random musings have been transferred to StyleFix.net. Because there they pay me.

Present Company Excepted, Of Course

2006-07-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

Over the last few weeks I've been doing a lot of work for my step-dad at his law office. General office stuff like typing and filing and printing out raffle tickets for the almighty annual charity Golf Tournament, which is vitally important to his law practice but not important enough to merit real raffle tickets.

The filing mostly involves taking the 4 and 5 lb stacks of loose paper that decorate his office and assembling some orderly, legal-looking files out of them. This seems mainly to consist of putting millions of printed-out emails into chronological order, double-hole punching them, and using these deadly praying-mantis-like prongs to attach them to one side of a file folder.

This process - finding dates, putting them in chronological order, and putting them in the appropriate files - has allowed me to watch cases evolve and devolve, as it were. I put them in order from the end to the beginning, then flip them over and file them from the beginning to the end. I can see all the back-and-forth and the arguing and the stupid pointless discussion that happens before concluding a case. And, more than any single other thing, this process has reminded me of something I've always believed.

People are stupid.

2006-07-12T10:12:00.000-07:00

I just deleted a post from a few days ago because it was wildly misinterpreted by. . .well, by everyone.

So let me state, for the record, I WAS NOT TALKING ABOUT MY PARENTS. My parents are great. They are very, very supportive of my goals, even to the extent of contributing a whole lotta money to them.

And that will be the last post I write about myself. This blog is henceforth. . .different. I haven't decided what direction I'm going with it, exactly, but I hope everyone will remain patient while I do.

Thanks!

An Inconveniently AWESOME MOVIE!!

2006-07-11T11:44:00.000-07:00

Go see "An Inconvenient Truth."

NOW, bitches!!

Seriously. It's worth it. You might have fleeting flashbacks of being in a giant science lecture with a drony, vaguely southern, half-assed-joke-cracking professor when all you really want to do is go home and lie with your head near a toilet like normal people, but they'll pass. And you'll be a better person and a more inspired person for it.

Come Visit, Fuckers

2006-07-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

I miss my Australian manfriends, I really do. Oh, the British ones too. I think y'all need to plan another US trip. . .Vegas repeat, anyone?

"No, no no no way Jose!"

2006-07-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

I need to apologize in advance for the loopiness that will probably ensue on this post. I'm tired and it's the 4th of July, and we all know what that means for the world's beer supply. So, deal.

I made the loooooong trek up to SF this weekend for to see my one true love. . .er, my old old (in friend-hood, not years) friend Sa-RAH. (I have no idea where the Christmas carol reference came from. See above.) I wish it had been under happier circumstances, which I won't get in to, but because she is supercool and has known me for way, WAY too long, it was fun anyway. We saw Nacho Libre, which was HUH-larious(Encarnacioo-O-ON!), and sang some karaoke, which, even though we forgot (or, maybe, never knew) the words to "Freedom" by George Michael, was excellent. We'd had enough to drink previous to the singing that all our mistakes and bad dancing were hilarious, rather than embarrassing. In fact, we got so in to it that the owner of the karaoke establishment sent over some shots. Alarmingly, I have no recollection of what kind of shot it was. We also went to this punky sort of place called the Hemlock, which I was kind of underwhelmed by, unfortunately. I have trouble with gothy pierced over-buckled boot people, I think because I've met so many stupid posers in my day.

Anyhoo, Sarah and her friend Sara are most likely going to be my roomies this coming year. (Yeah, I know. Going to have a problem with the Sarah/Sara thing. I feel a vodka-fueled nickname brainstorming session coming on.) That's exciting because I love the first one, don't really know but totally like the second one, and really, really need cool roomies for financial reasons.

So, even though I have insufferably negative parents (sorry, guys, but it's true. Why is it "realistic" is always BAD with you guys?), I'm feeling optimistic. Real life, it might actually be beginning for me. Wouldn't THAT be exciting.

How About "Lolo's Blog of Fabulousness?"

2006-06-26T09:54:00.000-07:00

I am suffering from an existential crisis right now.

Actually, I'm not sure if it's existential (or if I even spelled that right), because I've never been totally clear on what "existential" means, despite having taken a philosophy class called "The Existentialists" in college. Wait, no, that was "The Empiricists." Or maybe "The Experimentalists"?

Anyway, I'm in crisis. My crisis is this; my life is so not-fun right now, even I am bored reading about it. This blog is starting to seem like an exercise in self-absorption, and not even an interesting one.

So I'm looking for a new direction. Maybe I'll keep my fashion claws sharp and change this blog from "Thai one on" (see as how I'm not in Thailand anymore, Toto) to "I hate what you're wearing." Or. . .what?

So I'm looking for suggestions. Both serious and funny.

I GOT IN!!

2006-06-23T19:41:00.000-07:00

Lolo's going to the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising!! Yay for me!!

Because inside I'm 12 going on 8. . .

2006-06-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

Yo Mama's So Ugly...

- Yo Mama's so ugly, when she joined an ugly contest, they said "Sorry, no professionals"
- Yo Mama's so ugly, just after she was born, her mother said, "What a treasure!" and her father said, "Yeah! Let's go bury it!"
- Yo Mama's so ugly, they push her face into dough to make gorilla cookies.
- Yo Mama's so ugly, when she was born, the doctor slapped the wrong end.
- Yo Mama's so ugly, they didn't make a costume for her when she tried out for Star Wars.
- Yo Mama's so ugly, when she walks down the street in September, people say, "Damn! Is it Halloween already?"
- Yo Mama's so ugly, her mom had to feed her with a sling shot.
- Yo Mama's so ugly, she had to trick-or-treat over the phone.
- Yo mama's so ugly, she's like Taco Bell. When people see her, they run for the border.
- Yo mama's so ugly, it looks like her neck threw up.
- Yo mama's so ugly, rice crispies won't even talk to her.
- Yo mama's so ugly, she scares people even with the lights out.
- Yo mama's so ugly, they pay her to put her clothes on in strip joints.
- Yo mama's so ugly, when your dad wants to have sex in the car, he tells her to get out.
- Yo mama's so ugly, that your father takes her to work with him so that he doesn't have to kiss her goodbye.
- Yo mama's so ugly, I took her to the zoo, guy at the door said "Thanks for bringing her back."

Maybe I Just Like to Say "Butt"

2006-06-20T16:39:00.000-07:00

A woman called today with the best last name EVER. Seriously. I've never heard such a cool name.

Her last name was Hurlbutt.

Say it to yourself, and see if you don't smile. Hurlbutt. Hurl, butt. Butt hurl. Hurlbutt.

I really wish my last name was Hurlbutt. Because even though my kids would be teased and people would snicker behind my back, I would laugh out loud every time I said my own name, and how many people can say that?

Lizzie Borden Took an Axe, Gave Her Father 40 Whacks. . .

2006-06-15T08:54:00.000-07:00

We have a 5th dog, suddenly. It's my late grandmother's dog, a tan miniature Chihuahua named Lizzie (which, yes, I think is an awful name, but at least it isn't Lulu or Sassy, both alternatives suggested in all earnestness by my sister), but she's been living with my aunt in Chico until last weekend. My aunt's a little. . .eccentric (Welcome to Understatementville, Population:Me), so my step-dad brought Lizzie to stay with us for a bit. She allegedly cost $500 and weighs all of 5 lbs, which means she cost approximately $100 bucks a lb, or $6.25 an ounce. That's practically as much as crack cocaine. And she doesn't give you nearly the same effect when you sniff her.

But she's really, really cute. She can really run, her little legs a blur beneath her, but she looks so awkward with her butt up and her elbows flying (knees? I don't know, the little points at the back of her legs). She looks like she's about to run smack into a building. And her bark is more like a quack, but she nearly shakes herself off her (tiny) feet with the effort of barking at all the big bad noises.

I am in danger of developing a serious crush here.

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you just have to talk to one through a nifty headset

2006-06-09T10:46:00.000-07:00

Since Wednesday I've been filling in for my step-dad's receptionist, who was kind enough to go on vacation just when I most needed money. Jack runs a non-profit legal office for low-income senior citizens, which should tell you a bit about why I felt the need to educate poverty-stricken children in Thailand.

It's not bad work, actually. Most callers just want someone to listen to them and make sympathetic noises, which, I've discovered, I'm exceptionally good at. I haven't yet reached Jack's level of proficiency, which allows him to wander the office, make copies, write letters, juggle cans of Pepsi, and debug computers while listening and making sympathetic noises, but I'm working on it. All in good time, my child.

There are some challenges (read: wack-jobs) though. Like the British guy who began to yell at the top of his (non-senior-sounding) lungs when I told him the next available appointment was July 5th and insisted I accomodate him because he almost married a member of the royal family, was in the Guiness Book of World Records TWICE for the most blood donated, and could quote Shakespeare. (That "first kill all the lawyers" line was totally out of context, I might add.) Or the guy who wants to sue his neighbor for accusing him of being a child molester and he refused to die with people thinking such horrible things about him, but in the meantime, I sound like I'm so young and have such a pretty voice. Nuttier'n a fruitcake, Jack says. (I assume fruitcakes have a lot of nuts here. I really wouldn't know, but they must, or else why would everyone use them as an example of nuttiness?) They also like to talk about their laparoscomies and oxygen tanks and the time they had surgery on their kidneys.

In other news. . .wait, there is no other news. I forgot, I'm the world's most boring human because I need to save every penny if I'm going to move out of my parents' basement before someone kills someone else with a hatchet.

He's Gotta Wear Shades

2006-06-06T17:19:00.000-07:00

On Friday, two pretty cool things happened.

One, I turned 23. Please, don't all start cheering at once. I'm not particularly interested in being 23. 22 was fine. 21 was even better. I could have stayed 21 for a long, long time. 23 is that depressing age where you're still too young to have accomplished anything really interesting but old enough that you COULD have accomplished something really interesting, if you were anything special.

Two, my brother Sam graduated from high school, which, though graduations are usually pretty dull, I found much more exciting than my birthday. Sam has such a bright future- he's spending a month in Europe this summer, before beginning at Juilliard in the fall. (Did I spell that right? I'm never sure.) I think I might be more excited than he is - because he doesn't even REALIZE how much EFFING FUN and how many EFFING COOL EXPERIENCES he's going to have. I can't wait, for him. And for myself, because now I have someone to send to Canal St. for quality fake designer handbags. Sa-weet.

X-Men:The Next-to-Last Stand

2006-05-27T19:10:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I took my two younger brothers, a friend of theirs, and Berny, our exchange student from Chile, to see X-Men 3:The Last Stand. (Huh, I'm strangely unembarassed to admit that.)

How was the movie? It was what I like to call SICK. What does "sick" mean? Sick is the Golden Gate Bridge picked up and moved for one's personal convenience. Sick is Hugh Jackman and his moussed hair poured into black leather. Sick is electrocuting someone until their (seriously unflattering) lip ring sizzles. I highly recommend it, and not just for people who could really use some superpowers right about now.

Oh, and you MUST stay until the VERY end, past the credits. It takes forever, but I promise you won't be sorry. They set us up for a fourth one like they're Steve Nash, setting up. . .well, shit, I've exhausted my basketball knowledge with that one. So you're just going to have to trust me on this one.

I did notice something totally weird, though. You know how, at the very end of movie credits, they have the "thank you" section? And they're always thanking, like, the City of Vancouver or something? Well, at the end of X-Men 3 they thanked Kiehl's (Since 1851). Kiehl's makes my hair stuff and, while it's very good hair stuff, in fact their Creme with Silk Groom is the only thing that keeps me from walking around doing a constant Whoopi Goldberg impression, I cannot for the life of me imagine how Kiehl's (Since 1851) contributed to the making of X-Men 3:The Last Stand.

Wait, I take that back. I can totally imagine situations involving Hugh Jackman, Hugh Jackman's hair, me, and some Kiehl's Creme with Silk Groom. Situations that contribute to HIS last stand, if you know what I mean (and I think you do).

Arrrggghhh. . . .ya free Saturday night?

2006-05-26T10:27:00.000-07:00

So my mom has instituted a new ban on swearing. (Yes I am a nearly-23-year-old and I'm living with my mom. Get over it. I have. Kind of.)

Actually, it's not really a ban, it's more like a tendency to squawk "Laura!" in shocked tones whenever a curse word escapes my lips. I think it's sort of funny, given that everyone in this household is 18 or nearly so, but it's probably a good thing. I cuss a lot, and it's not very attractive, and who knows when I'll find myself hosting a Saturday-morning children's show or in a job interview for the Christian Science Monitor or having tea with the Queen of England, or some similar situation in which swearing like a pirate would be inappropriate. (I really like pirates though. I won't let my mom get in the way of that, I promise.)

So, in an effort to get it all out of my system;
@$#&?*&;*&^%#%#@@:!@#$@!%$$@@#$">!@#$@! %$$@@#$:?* *&>amp;$#@!@@$">?*<*&$#@!@@#$#@ !$#@%}\&*&%$!#@$%%!

In other news, my birthday is in exactly a week. I expect outpourings of presents, preferably in monetary and/or pink convertible Beetle form, because I'm just turning 23 and no one in my family gives a rat's ass (not that I blame them, it's understandably difficult to get excited when an unemployed wannabe writer living in her parents' garage turns a boring age).

(I don't particularly give a rat's ass myself, but that doesn't mean I don't want lots of presents.)

(Wait, is "ass" a swear word? No one gives a HOOT, is what I meant to say.)

AI: Absence (of) Intelligence

2006-05-24T19:33:00.000-07:00

I have nothing of interest to talk about today. . .I'm mainly trying to distract myself from the AOL Welcome page because it is trying to tell me who has won American Idol. I don't want to hear who has won American Idol from the stupid AOL Welcome page, I want to spend two precious hours of my life on the couch while a scarily tan pixie-sprite tries to drag a 5-second announcement out into an actual career. You know, like normal people.

Famous Instructor Dings Mercedes? Fat Insecure Danish Male?

2006-05-23T11:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took the bus and the train and my feet up to the city - that would be San Francisco, for those of you not from the area and therefore not familiar with our weird tendency to refer to SF as if were were farmers from a small conservative town in Iowa seeing off the prettiest girl in town, heading to the big city on a midnight train to be a star instead of marrying the sweet but unexciting farmer's son she'd dated since 7th grade, off to learn life's lessons the hard way, and, while she's at it, wear a lot of ripped tights and make friends with the hard-edged Latina city girls.

I had an "informational interview" at FIDM, pronounced Fidum by those in the know (which now includes me). That stands for the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, if you are among the 90% of people reading this who know nothing, and care even less, about the fashion industry. I could be really excited about it - they have a great 15-month postgraduate program, a great reputation, a great career center, great connections, a great campus, and a great history of placing graduates at great places. The only problem is the same thing that's ALWAYS a problem for me: they also charge a great price. And I mean "great" as in "huge, enormous, stupendously large, elephantine," not "great" as in "good."

So I'm trying to be practical and not get too excited about it, even though it seems like it could be perfect for me. (I totally resisted the urge to say it could be "great" for me, aren't you proud?) But it was a good interview and this school is one of the best fashion schools in the country, so I'd be lying if I said the little seeds of hope and ambition and excitement haven't already been sown. (I ALSO just resisted the urge to make a lame sown/sewn fashion-type joke there. I think that shows great maturity.)

So, everybody cross your fingers that my parents/fairy godmother/the California State Lotto/some bank will come through and enable me to pay for it. (Also, buy me a present because my burfday is in 11 days! Yay!)

SHOCKED and SADDENED

2006-05-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

In a measure of how far I have sunk, I am going to write a post about "The O.C."

WTF?? Is Marissa dead? Does Mischa Barton think she's too good for THE BEST SHOW EVER? This is a sad, sad day, people. Besides, I heard it was some non-important character like Johnny that died. Fox says the show is coming back next season. . .but without Marissa? I, for one, cannot see how that will work or be at all watchable. (Do you like this morally indignant and passionately unselfconscious thing I'm doing?)

I invite speculation, because in absence of boyfriend, job, or recognizable social life, this seems really vitally important.

"The Weed-Whacker" Brings Back Particularly Vivid Memories

2006-05-17T11:23:00.000-07:00

It is now a requirement of viewing this blog that you watch the video below. Several times would be preferable. And if you don't laugh hysterically and also recognize yourself every Saturday night, then I'm not sure I want to be your friend any longer.

Happy Muvver's Day!

2006-05-14T13:22:00.000-07:00

Hope everyone gave their mommy a hug or at least a phone call today! Just think of all the wonderful things your mommy has done for you, starting with giving you life by pushing a bowling ball through a. . .well, a place that is much, much smaller than a bowling ball.

Now, back to me.

So it turns out that lying on a beach drinking beer and vodka and whiskey and eating bacon baguette sandwiches can cause one to gain rather a large amount of weight. Who knew? Therefore, I'm embarking on a frighteningly strict diet, starting yesterday, wherein I attempt to morph myself in to a rabbit. No, something skinnier, but with a similar diet. A ferret? I actually have no idea what ferrets eat.

Anyway. I've decided the best way to keep myself motivated is to talk about it ad nauseaum. That way people will ask me how it's going and give me pointedly disapproving looks if they catch me snarfing a heaping bowl of fettucine Alfredo. Which is annoying and unpleasant. . .but so is an ass the size of the Indian sub-continent.

So, feel free, if we see each other about town, to smack the hand holding the garlic cheese bread.

Tabasco Sweet Tabasco

2006-05-12T10:10:00.000-07:00

Several times in the last few days I've thought I might discontinue this exercise in self-absorption. Seems pointless, now that instead of Thai sunsets and Cambodian temples, all I see is my parents' garage and occasionally the Nob Hill in Watsonville.

My sister encouraged me to keep on keeping on, if only to keep my already meager writing skills from getting rusty. "Just find funny and interesting things in everyday life" she said encouragingly. Which would be encouraging, if there were funny and/or interesting things happening in my everyday life.

But yesterday, something funny happened. One of those random Twilight-Zone moments that make you go, "Is this really happening, or is it all that peyote I've been smoking?" Like when you wake up after a one-night stand with Colin Farrell and he starts crying and says he loves you. . .what, that's never happened to you?

So my mom and I decided to go out to dinner, to this funky-dee-funk place in Watsonville called Mariscos. Or Los Mariscos, something like that. Basically, one of those ghetto Mexican places with 7 different kinds of hot sauce and red-checkered tablecloths. The place was small and semi-crowded, but we didn't take a good look around until we'd been seated. . .and realized we were, by a generous margin, the whitest people at any of the 8 tables. Also, the only women. Also, the only ones above 5'4". It was like the Annual Convention of Oaxacan Midget Cowboys in there. People were looking at us like you might look at a pair of Martians coming in all slimy and sitting down and ordering chips and salsa. A pair of tall, white, female Martians.

Wait, it gets better. Halfway through dinner (garlic sauteed in shrimp), four short brown cowboys appeared from nowhere (literally. I was watching the door and they didn't come in from outside, I'd have noticed.). Four short brown cowboys with large brown instruments- and I'm not talking about guitars. I'm talking about a stand-up bass bigger than the man trying to play it, and a whole set of drums, and. . .other overly-loud musical instruments of assorted types. And they gathered around a booth and started playing exuberant Mexican music. Loudly. And exuberantly. And everyone started clapping and, get this, SINGING ALONG.

Like this loud exuberant impenetrable live Mexican-Watsonvillian foursome in Mariscos was their FAVORITE BAND EVER.

And it made me so, so, so very glad to be home. Because where else would you find a live mariachi band playing their Greatest Hits in a mediocre 8-table funky Mexican restaurant? I'll tell you where. . .only in Watsonville.

THIS. . . .

2006-05-08T14:35:00.000-07:00

THIS is a woman in pain. Also, a nursing bra. But mostly, in SERIOUS EXISTENTIAL ANGUISH.

They SAID You Can Never Go Home Again. . . .I Wish

2006-05-07T21:11:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: it's a wondiferous thing my parentals did, loaning me enough money to get home. And accepting me in to their home (for the 3rd time since I "moved out") (well, accepting me in to garage. Close enough.). And feeding me and all that. I appreciate it, I REALLY do, and I know they didn't have to.

But this whole living-at-home-again thing? IS REALLY NOT WORKING FOR ME.

It's crowded here (my brother Bo returned from Chile 3 days before I did. Before I returned from Australia, I mean, not Chile. I've never been to Chile.). I'm sleeping in the garage, which would be fine except there are also small animals sleeping in the garage, because all the bedrooms are full of people, either large messy teenage boys or neat but teenage girls or parental units.

Plus Bo and I have gotten used to more independence and, though motherly and well-intentioned, our mother's insistence on stuff like doing chores and not swearing is difficult to deal with. Not like, say, cancer is difficult to deal with, of course, but you know what I mean.

So, if anyone out there wants to give me a job, preferably one that doesn't involve manual labor, selling clothes to rich housewives, or creepy old bosses and pays all out of proportion with the actual work involved, that would just great.

Short but Sweet(er)

2006-05-02T17:04:00.000-07:00

I've deleted my last post because it made my mom mad. That's all I'm going to say about that.

So, coming home on Thursday. Taking it in turns to be really, really excited (Sid!, Bo and Alex, Julia, Kelly, Emilie, parmesan Goldfish, Paradise Beach Grill, my entire wardrobe, Safeway brand pretzels) and really, really bummed out (um, Australia. What else do I have to say?). I still don't know what I'm going to do with my life, I don't really have a bedroom at my parent's house, and I'm broke as a joke (except there's nothing funny about it - broke as an inappropriately racist joke, or something).

But I'm not going to let myself get depressed about it. I'm sure everything will turn out for the best.

DOOOOOOM!

2006-04-30T23:05:00.000-07:00

A tragedy of epic proportions has occurred. (Did I spell that right? I swear my brain is atrophying.) My visa application - my application to stay here in Melbourne as a gainfully employed and non-homeless person - has been turned down. Refused. REJECTED. Because, technically, I guess I'm meant to apply for it before I actually arrive in Australia. And also because they hate Americans, and don't have any guarantees for Americans like they do for Canadians, Britishers, and others from peaceful, non-domineering countries.

Which means I can't legally work here. And while many, many people don't let that stand in their way, I am the daughter of lawyers and I just am not comfortable messing with the Australian Immigration Department. Or whatever it's called in this mean, MEAN country.

However, I can't afford to fly home right now. I could fly home if I had a job, but if I had a job I wouldn't need to fly home. I think I've read a book about this before. . . .

Damn That California State Lotto!

2006-04-26T19:19:00.000-07:00

Things are moving in the direction they oughta. . .that is, I have been offered a job and a room in a house and therefore will probably not have to fly home with the proverbial tail between my proverbial legs. Which is good.

The job is at a before- and after-school care place run by the best friend of a good friend I made while traveling. It's not full time, so I'll have to supplement with a retail job or something, probably. Not my idea of fun, but until those lottery payments come through, I have to eat.

Actually, looking at my current beer belly status, I could probably go awhile without eating.

I'm excited about this room. Good price, and un-effing-beatable location. Blocks from the pier and esplanade, blocks from one of the major shopping streets, and there's a tram that goes right past the door. And the roomies seem like they are all that roomies should be; smiley, tidy, social but not pushy.

So, feeling optimistic, excited, hopeful even.

That's The Way!

2006-04-25T18:29:00.000-07:00

Well, Kelly has left (booooo), but thanks to my loverly Mummy, it looks like I'll be able to stick around Melbourne for a bit longer (yay!). I am just not yet ready to go back to the old U S of A, although I have flashes of homesickness powerful enough to make me look up airfare online. Kind of like hot flashes.

But, besides Sid and my favorite foods and my sister and my mummy and my jacky and my own bed and my old friends, California holds very little of interest for me right now. I would just have to get a job and a place to live, same as here, but, as my mom quite astutely pointed out, I'd have to do it all with her breathing down my neck and haranguing (yeah, I said HARANGUING) me about the future. Here I only have to balance those things with not having a car and, oh yeah, more or less constant drunkeness. (My name is Otto and I like to get blato!) (That's just for you, Kel, whenever you get home.)

Plus it's fun being the token American, even if my friends like to call Americans "Seppos," short for "septic tanks" because according to them, Americans talk a lot of shit. Which I won't deny- I do talk a lot of shit, but I can back it up. Like all the shit I talk about being able to DRINK ALL OF AUSTRALIA UNDER THE TABLE. The Aussie boys disagree violently, but I notice they declined my invitation to go shot-for-shot against me.

So I've changed my location from "Rayong, Thailand" (which hasn't been true for nearly 2 months anyway) to "Melbourne, Australia." And changed my occupation from "English Teacher" to "Karaoke Singer." Which, yes, I SHAMELESSLY stole from my bro's MySpace page. See this? This is me, TOTALLY WITHOUT SHAME. And singing "I've got friends in low places."

BIG NEWS MOTHERFUCKERS!!

2006-04-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the swearing, but really it's necessary. You'll understand in time, my child.

Emilie, my long-suffering European traveling companion, my blushing blonde non-jewelry-wearing, cowboy-boot-sporting, El Toro Bravo-loving, Coor'sJager friend, the organized leg of the Tripod who needs to get her own bed and has only lost a game of Mushroom of Death ONCE, and that was in Amsterdam under extenuating circumstances, IS GETTING EFFING MARRIED!!!

Married, people. Married, as in wedding, rings, cake, booze, crazy uncles doing the electric slide, bridesmaids dresses. Married, as in together forever, as in forsaking all others, as in children and joint checking accounts and a sensible car.

And she deserves happiness more than anyone in the world, and I'm so, so happy for her. And for him, because he's getting a peach of a girl.

Congratulations, you two. You deserve each other, and I mean that as a compliment.

Penguin Suits

2006-04-20T19:49:00.000-07:00

Let's see here. . . .still in Australia, still enjoying the H-O-double-T hotties, still drinking everyone except Kelly under the table, still thinking about plunking my world-traveling arse down for a little while. Plus I'm going to Phillip Island to see real life wild penguins today.

Yeah, life is good.

Hottie McAussiesons

2006-04-17T18:19:00.000-07:00

Landed in Australia, two days ago now, with a vicious cold thanks to the arctic air conditioning on the plane. But the pure unadulterated joy I feel at correctly spelled menus, food that doesn't require a fire extinguisher, paved streets, and the presence of Mountain Dew would cancel out any illness save maybe bubonic plague. But throw in some macaroni and cheese and I could take the Black Death any day.

We were going to go skydiving today (my second time, Kelly's first), but those pussies claim it's too windy. So we're thinking we might get tattoos instead. You get the nerve up to jump out of an airplane, that's not something you waste. JUST KIDDING MOM!

Kind of.

Despite the fact that I can barely swallow and can't hear myself or anyone else (which makes singing along to the radio even MORE fun), I'm enjoying myself immensely. There are a nearly obscene amount of hot boys here, lots of western food, it isn't 100 degrees, and my bestest buddy is here with me. So far, Australia is agreeing with me.

You'll Be The First To Know

2006-04-14T01:26:00.000-07:00

Made it safely out of Cambodia via The World's Bumpiest Road. I caught, like, three feet of air on that one. (And if you got that movie quote, I love you and you love me and let's all kill Bar-arrrr-ney.) Angkor Wat was enormous and amazing and I'm not even going to attempt to describe it right now. It wouldn't work, I know my own limits. Actually that's a blatant lie, I have no limits, I am SUPERGIRL, but even Supergirl cannot describe something when there are just NO WORDS.

I am now on Koh Pha Ngan, which isn't pronounced Faahh Unnggan like it looks, but more like Pawn-yawn. Last night was the world-famous Full Moon Party (my second), and since it coincided with Songkran, the Buddhist New Year, it was epic. Epic on an epic scale. Epic in a Gone With The Wind, Troy, Titanic, AND Lawrence of Arabia kind of way. Songkran is traditionally celebrated with an enormous nationwide water fight, and when potentially lethal amounts of alcohol are served, the results can get. . .well, really, really wet. Went to bed at approximately 6 am this morning, so even though it is now 3:31, it feels like the crack of dawn. However, I am a good and semi-responsible friend, so I've let my Kelstar sleep in while I sweat in the lobby, attempting to figure out how we are going to get back to Bangkok by tomorrow evening, considering everything takes a minimum of 14 hours in Thailand, even popping down the the shop for an US Weekly and a gallon of milk. It's stressful, but I know it will work out because it always does in the end, and also because it would take a far larger army than Thailand employs to keep me from flying to Australia tomorrow.

Kelly and I have been discussing at great length what we want to do when we get back to the States (which for her is Definitely April 26th and for me is Who The Hell Knows, But Possibly April 26th), and with our lives in general. This discussion has been aided with a lot of beer, but as of yet we haven't reached any specific conclusions. I'll keep you updated. For now we are very, very excited to go to Australia and see a new country and, mostly, see lots and lots of Aussie Hottie McHottersons. Hottie McAussiesons. My favorite kind.

Me Love You Short Time

2006-04-11T09:57:00.000-07:00

I don't have a lot of time to type this, but I would just like to let everyone know (Mom, Jack, Dad, Julia, not Kelly because she's now here with me, WOO-HOO), that I am safe, happy, healthy, and IN CAMBODIA. Seat-of-the-pants kind of thing that meant a lot of hassle and bribing people to let us over the border, but totally worth it because today we saw Angkor Wat and really, I'd bribe just about anyone to see that, including and not limited to the Pope, the Dalai Lama, Steven Spielberg, and that fat guy from Seinfeld. Worth every sweaty, currency-confused, damn-this-suitcase-is-heavy moment.

Proudly Taking Laziness To A Whole New Level

2006-04-01T21:31:00.000-08:00

I haven't actually managed to leave Koh Chang yet. . .although I've tried several times to go to Cambodia, an excess of sun and snorkeling and, oh yeah, al-kee-hawl, has managed to tie me to this beach as effectively as actual ropes. Unbreakable nylon polymer ropes. Of drunkeness.

I feel badly about this- I mean, what kind of a person passes up a chance to see the most beautiful and famous temple compound in the world in favor of drinking vodka out of a beach bucket and spending entire afternoons discussing if it's possible to be one's own grandfather?

I'll tell you, actually- MY KIND OF PERSON.

Because I am having so bloody much fun and meeting so many cool amigos that I just could not force myself to leave. Angkor Wat is like, really old, and therefore will most likely be there for a bit longer. So don't judge me. Because even if I'm uncultured and lazy and whatnot, I am having more fun than you!

(And oh yeah, there's a bartender/divemaster here who is the hottest guy I have ever actually met in person. In fact, hotter than many guys I have never met but only ogled on movie screens. And he speaks 4 languages. How am I supposed to turn my back on THAT??)

Imagine Me Saying This In A Creepy, Taunting Sing-Song Way, Okay?

2006-03-23T23:58:00.000-08:00

I've got a secret, and I'm not gonna tell you, even if you bribe me. . . .

Nyah nyah, nyah, nyah!!

This Is The Inappropriate Part Coming Out

2006-03-19T13:16:00.000-08:00

This morning as I was dismantling my mosquito net (bright pink, veerrryy stylish), something brilliantly green and large caught my eye. It was a praying mantis, one of the scariest and largest bugs I've ever seen. Verdantly green, and long-limbed, and I could just see him leaping up and stabbing me through the eyeballs with his forearms like in Starship Troopers.

But as I was yelping and hopping around in panic, trying to figure out how I could get that mutant out of my room without touching it or indeed going within three feet of it, the weirdest thought popped in to my head;

That praying mantis looked exactly like Paris Hilton.

It's a Rough Life I Have

2006-03-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

I have decided. . .and this decision took a good four hours because for the last week the only decision I've had to make is to roll over now, or give my back another half hour in the sun. . .that my next stop shall be Cambodia. I am going to Angkor Wat, which is the coolest thing ever. I just like to say that. . ."I am going to Angkor Wat." I, as in ME, going to CAMBODIA. Okay, last time. . .I am going to Angkor Wat! And then maybe Lao, after that. I'm also quite fond of saying that, "I'm going to Lao." Very lalala, I do this every week.

I'm giving myself another five days or a week here on Koh Chang, because I'm lazy like that and I want Kelly to be PHYSICALLY ILL with jealousy when she sees my tan, then cross the border which is conveniently located an hour or so away. Siam Reap, where the temples are located, is fairly far north but I'm told it's not difficult to get there. Lots of folks around here have traveled in Cambodia and say it's safe(ish) and cheap and that even if it weren't, Angkor Wat would be worth it. So I am monumentally bloody excited about this.

Unfortunately my camera has been acting up again- durn thing gets flung across a sand-filled room once and it quits working- so I'll have to get a little disposable or something to document it. So no online photos. Sad times.

But, you know, I spent this afternoon in a hammock reading Bridget Jones' Diary and drinking pineapple shakes, and occasionally paddling around in the ocean on a blue star-spangled floatie raft and so even though I will always find something to complain about (there's sand in my bed, my camera's broke, my shoulders are sunburned- just to pluck some out of the air) overall I just have to say. . . .LIFE IS GOOD. :-)

I Think There's Some Blood In My Alcohol System

2006-03-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

I think this might be the longest I've gone without a post before in my entire life. I apologize to my adoring fans, i.e. my parents, but I've just been too, too busy lying on the beach with a beer in one hand and a trashy novel in the other.

I'm currently on Koh Chang and loving life. I get up around 10:30 every day, then swim in the just-the-right-mix-of-warm-yet-still-refreshing ocean, then lay on the beach and offer myself up to the god of skin cancer. In the evenings I have some Thai barbeque and chill on the beach with my assorted new friends.

Okay, Mom and Jack and Dad and all other people in either parental positions or under the age of 17, you might want to stop reading now. NOT KIDDING, JUST STOP. STOP NOW. I KNOW YOU'RE STILL READING!! NOTHING TO SEE HERE PEOPLE!!

That's the best time- the evenings. There are wee little tables out on the sand itself, and the bartenders all do this absolutely insane fire-juggling act that, even without the influence of four or seven beers, would be totally awesome. They also serve a sociable but toxic concoction called the "Samsong bucket" consisting of Samsong brand whiskey, coke, red bull, and lime, served in a smallish beach bucket such as I used to make sand castles with. It's sweet and yummy and goes quickly and is much, much more potent than it tastes, as I discovered on Tuesday night when I thought I was fine until I found I couldn't walk. And then, well I'm not sure what happened then except for the next day, nearly everyone at the hostel asked me how I was doing. So I can safely assume it had been a rough night, even though I swear I only had like one bucket. I mean, they need to put a warning label on these things.

Then again, maybe serving whiskey in a bucket IS the warning label.

It's a nice international group of peeps I've collected. Last night around the Samsong bucket there were two Dutch(ers?), two Britishers, two Swedes, a Thai person, and myself. Forget love, man, I speak the international language of drunk.

I shall be here, loving the complete lack of responsibility, for god knows how long. Next place I have to be in Bangkok on April 6th to meet my best good friend Kelly (WOO-HOO!!!) So it's entirely possible I will not stir my beer-bloated, suntanned carcass off this beach until then.

Smog-tinted Glasses, Maybe

2006-03-04T21:44:00.000-08:00

I'm bizouncing on Monday, to start my much-needed and hotly anticipated vacation, and I've started getting all nostalgic already. It's not like I'm leaving Thailand- I'll be here for at least another 6 weeks. But I am leaving Rayong and I don't foresee a return anytime. . .well, ever. And because I am completely and totally a girl about these things, everywhere I've gone the last few days suddenly has a lovely memory attached to it. Which is weird, because although this town has been welcoming and fascinating, lovely and Rayong don't usually find themselves in the same sentence, unless said sentence also contains the phrase "is the opposite of."

This is primarily an industrial town, which means it isn't the cleanest or the richest, and anything that might deserve the title of pretty is located farther away than I usually feel like going. But walking down Radbumrung tonight, it was all transformed by the knowledge that I wouldn't see it again. The barbeque restaurant where you can grill your own seafood at your table. . . .the funky little clothing shop called Angel X-Corner where everything is 19 sizes too small for me, but really cute. . . .the motorbike taxi stand where grown men of dubious hygeine smoke weed all day and greet me with unrestrained delight. . . .even the guy who sells deep-fried insects from a pushcart kind of touched my heart today. I've eaten at every restaurant on this stretch of road, and from every food stall (except the deep-fried insect one, natch). I've pet every stray dog and carried on an elaborate hand-signal conversation with nearly every vendor. I've walked the quarter-mile to "Dragon Net" a hundred times. And, after Monday, I probably won't see this stretch of road ever again. For the rest of my life. Until the end of time.

That's a weird thought.

(Quick aside; the usual caretaker of "Dragon Net" is a chubby guy about my age who looks vaguely Chinese, as opposed to Thai, and I think that must be why I always think of him as "the Asian guy." It's ridiculous, everyone I know is Asian, including all the other employees at Dragon Net, but I can't shake it. He's "the Asian guy" to me, and he always will be.)

So, farewell Rayong. You're like that dorky study partner I had when I took Statistics in college- not the best looking, and you should really investigate the miracle of soap, but you've taught me a hell of a lot.

I'm Quite Familiar With This Phenomenon

2006-03-01T04:21:00.000-08:00

Of course, now that I've gotten all triumphant and excited and up in your grill about going on vacation, time has begun cccrrrrrrraaaaawwwwwlllliinnnnnggggggg. Kind of like when you are forced to have a conversation with someone who doesn't speak very much English, so they have to ask you how to say the things they want to say to you, and after you spend 13 minutes explaining to them how to say something, they say it right back to you like they just thought of it, and time just seems to GO. SO. SLOWLY.

Aaaaallllmost There!!

2006-02-26T03:40:00.000-08:00

So close to vacay I can hear the ocean and smell the beer. . . .of course that might be because there are lizards croaking in my room and I spilled a beer all over the rug on Friday. But I prefer to imagine I'm already on Koh Chang, gamely working my way toward skin AND liver cancer. Aaaahhhh.

Lemme Tell Ya, The Lizards Have Some Choice Words About Thai Names

2006-02-24T00:46:00.000-08:00

The term is wrapping up, which means that I have locked myself in my room to fill out evaluations. I thought they were joking when they said I had to test and grade every student. Because, I mean, I have nearly 600 students. Surely they didn't mean every student. That would be insane.

But. . . they did. And they are. I have a deformed and slightly moldy claw attached to the end of my arm to prove it. The spiderwebs in my hair are another clue. The spiders themselves tell me I'm nearly finished, which is what comes of locking yourself in your room for three days.

However, there is a light at the end of this tunnel of insanity, and that light is called Koh Chang. That's where I'm going the nanosecond the term ends. Actually I might go a few nanoseconds before the term ends. Just to get a head start, you know. And I do solemnly swear I will not stir from that beach except to get another very large beer for. . . .well, maybe forever. If that's what it takes to make the insects stop yelling at me.

Unfortunately I Can't Give You a Temperature, Because They Do It Centigrade or Celsius or Whatver the "C" Stands For

2006-02-17T22:00:00.000-08:00

It rained yesterday for only the second time since I've been in Rayong (that would almost 4 months). And it rained like it meant it, complete with thunder and angry-looking clouds and really oddly loud frog-croaking. I went running out this morning, expecting it to be all clean and freshly-washed smelling, like it is at home. You know, puddles and wet grass and clean clear air, the best part of a rainstorm if you ask me. And you have asked me, just by being on this website.

But, alas and alack, I think the rain merely re-activated all the pollution and dog poop lying around, and today is painfully hot and even stinkier than normal. Walking the 1/4 of a mile to this internet place caused me to sweat so heavily some actually dripped off my nose. That is so gross. That is gross on a level I haven't encountered in years, since I was young and my dad used to come home from his marathon training runs or whatever it was he ran seventy-eleven miles for, and he'd chase me and my sister around the house pretending to be the "Sweat Monster," and we'd squeal and run because kids love that sort of thing, but actually it was really totally gross how sweaty he was. That is how sweaty I was just from walking a quarter of a mile today.

That is TOO BLOODY HOT.

KELLY

2006-02-17T21:59:00.000-08:00

Yes, I do exist, which you'd know if you checked your damn MySpace messages. I sent you an email but it came back to me address not found, so go on to MySpace and CHECK YER DAMN MESSAGES!

Nasty Big Toes, With Corns and Shit

2006-02-12T20:19:00.000-08:00

Oh, I think I forgot to mention that I posted some new photos. Students, etc. Nothing life-altering, but if you've got nothing better to do, worth a cursory look. More coming next week of Phuket, etc, but not very many because my camera sucks big toes.

Poo-kett

2006-02-12T19:38:00.000-08:00

I don't have time for a long post here. . .wait that's a lie. I have plenty of time but I'm paying for this internet access, and I'm a cheap little bitch. Upshot is, short post.

But I absolutely couldn't resist the urge to tell you that, in case you weren't aware, I'M IN PHUKET AND YOU'RE NOT.

Having a fantabulous wondiferous time, and wondering if someone wants to die and leave me a couple million dollars so I can do this full time? Because this is so preferable to working in Rayong they're going to need a crowbar and a Civil War-era cannon to get me on the plane back to Bangkok.

I Mean, Talk About An Anger Management Problem

2006-02-08T08:25:00.000-08:00

One side effect of having three English tv channels is that I am quite depressingly well-informed. So I think if I had a real blog- by which I mean one that was read by people other than my mother and best friend- I think it would feature sarcastic commentary on important world events.

Like this one;

By Colin Nickerson, Globe Staff February 3, 2006
BERLIN -- An extraordinary row over newspaper cartoons depicting the Prophet Mohammed intensified yesterday, with street demonstrations from North Africa to Pakistan to Indonesia, threats of violence against Europeans in the Middle East, and diplomatic protests by Muslim nations.

This whole flap just bugs the heck outta me. Firstly, they're cartoons. I mean, come on. They're meant to be funny. If you don't think they're funny , don't laugh. There are lots of cartoons I think aren't funny. I don't get the big deal over Peanuts, although the animated version is kind of cute, and that one with the Republican penguin is just baffling. So I skip those during my morning perusal of The Bangkok Post (in favor of "Annie's Post" advice column, natch.) People are allowed to draw stupid things, and I'm allowed to not read them.

Alright, it's very very offensive. I'm not religious so I can't identify there, but I imagine you feel something along the lines of what I would feel if there were extremely misogynistic cartoons. Not happy, right? Offended, disappointed, concerned. . . am I getting warmer?

Yeah, well I am really offended when you BURN DOWN AN EMBASSY. Sheesh.

Not To Get All Earnest On You. . . .

2006-02-07T16:27:00.000-08:00

I know I complain a lot on here. I know it is less than riveting to read about my weight gain and sweatiness, but shit. A girl's gotta vent!

It's my bloggy and I'll bitch if I want to.

But today I read a bunch of old posts (because lunch was this cold-fish-with-spicy-french-fries concoction that I Was. Not. Eating.), and realized I haven't told you something very, very, mucho importante. Also vital, central, and of top priority. And adorable.

I have a fan club. Several, actually. There's one in every class, and I have 17 different classes covering 6 different grades. And they think I am the bee's knees. The cat's pajamas. The greatest thing since sliced bread. In other words, I am THE SHIT.

Which we all knew, natch. But it's always nice to have it confirmed by an outside source.

Prathoms 2 and 3 are my favorite. The girls imitate everything I do, from constantly tucking a loose piece of hair behind one ear to carrying around a water bottle. They all want to get three piercings in one ear and one in the other. Last week I stretched to get something and a few girls caught sight of my pink dangly skull-and-crossbones navel ring, and the place went wild. (I have worried I'll be a bad influence on them- you know, navel ring, mascara overuse, stuff like that- but if it motivates them to learn, I don't care. Hell, I'll pierce their little navels myself if it will help them retain some English.) The boys beg for hugs and kisses, want to hold my hand when we go to lunch, and are so eager to get the right answers it's almost embarrassing.

In prathom 2 and 3 they're young enough, and close enough to babyhood, to be sweet, trusting, and eager to please. They don't care about their peers much yet. But they're old enough and developed enough that I feel like they might actually be learning something. The littler ones- Prathom 1- are cute as uniformed buttons, but they've never had English before. We're talking the Great Language Barrier Reef here. And once they get to Prathom 4 they're much too cool.

Any teacher knows- and anyone else can imagine- that indescribable heart-busting wonderful feeling that you get when you enter a classroom and the kids cheer. When they're excited to see you, excited for your class, having fun while they learn. It makes all the hours I spend banging my forehead against hard surfaces worth it. And honestly, I've never felt like that before. . . .

2006-02-03T03:35:00.000-08:00

Okay, sorry about the post-less, all-title post there. I typed the title and got so depressed I threw myself off the nearest balcony. But notice this post doesn't have a title, so we can call it even, yes?

So. . . .am enormous cow-type creature. Have gained 376 lbs since October. No, I don't know why. Yes, I drink a lot of Sprite and apple juice instead of water. Yes, I'm a girl who likes her lemon popsicles. No, I don't really "exercise" per se. . .unless you count the frequently harrowing trips to the blackboard. Yes, I ate that pound of sour gummi worms in 2 days, give or take a day. No, I can't give you a number because I don't have a scale.

Okay, don't actually KNOW if I've gained any weight. It's possible I haven't- but it sure as goddamn feels like it! Because everything in Thailand is tiny! I have to wear an XL. Yes, XL. As in, eXtra Large. As in, you-are-the-size-of-a-hippo, you-oinker. As in, yo mama so fat when she sat on a rainbow, out popped a bunch of Skittles.

(Speaking of which, I could really do some Skittle damage right now. . .mmm, taste that rainbow.)

I cannot find clothes here. There are some cute ones. . .but they just refuse to fit me. Pants cry uncle around mid-thigh. Skirts threaten permanent damage to my internal organs. I have particular trouble with button-up tops. Even in extra large they rarely close properly over my- let's see, how best to say this- my lovely lady lumps.

It's quite bad for my self-esteem. For my mental health in general. Makes me sad. . . so please send candy immediately.

I'm Hugely Enormous. Also Fat.

2006-01-31T21:32:00.000-08:00

Overall, I Love Them And Want To Take Them Home With Me. . .But Sometimes. . . .

2006-01-31T11:47:00.000-08:00

Nothing really attracts me about Buddhism except the meditation. Overall it's kind of a cold, detached faith. But they sure know the value of sitting silently and breathing deeply. Like this; hmmmmm. . . .hoooooo. Hmmmm. . . .hoooooo. Hmmmm. . . hooooo.

That's me taking long, slow, calming breaths, in case you were wondering. Because nothing can be quite as enraging as 8-year-olds, as any parent or 3rd-grade teacher knows. One of my Prathom 3 students actually suggested I smack his classmate with a bamboo stick today, that is how out-of-control they can be.

I would never hit a child. I don't think I physically could without making myself sick at my own horrible-ness.

But for the first time ever, today, I knew what it was like to really, really want to.

Please Notice How I Avoid The Profanity. . .

2006-01-29T18:07:00.000-08:00

There comes a time in every expat's life when they must draw the cultural line. Of course, when living in a foreign country, one wants to mesh as well as possible with the culture, the rules, the norms and values of that society. That's part of the reason we move there. Eating the food with a smile on your face despite the slow painful death that is likely to follow, learning as much as you can of the language, no matter how difficult, and trying to observe and follow the unspoken rules of a society can make up the most satisfying part of your stay abroad.

But there is a point in the career of an expat when one must find the limit to what they feel comfortable doing. It varies for everyone, but it always happens. The point at which one must stand up and say, "It is effing bloody hot today, I AM WEARING A TANK TOP AND THAT'S FINAL!"

I Have the Best Fam Damily in the Whole World! Nay, the Universe!

2006-01-27T03:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon, as I trudged past the reception desk on my way to another evening of lesson plans and Sprite followed by a 9 pm bedtime, one of the reception girls called my name.

"Lo-laagghh!"

Since the reception girls seem to resent the existence of. . .well, of people in general, I was a little startled. But I turned around, and, lo and behold (despite the fact that I am not sure what it means to "lo" something), Reception Girl is holding out two packages!

That's right, one TWO packages! On zero ONE day! (Okay, that one didn't work quite as well.) But anyway, there were TWO! Dos! Song! (That's two in Thai, genius.) Just that might have made my day. . .but there's more!

There was stuff IN the packages!! Hooray!! The smaller one was from my poo-poo Mommy, containing a refill of my vitamins- my Thank God Tom Cruise Isn't In Charge Or Else I Would Be Dead Right Now vitamins- and some sour belts from Sweet Factory. I love that poo-poo mommy. She knows not to get those crap generic sour belts from the drugstore. . .she gets the proper Sweet Factory kind. Because she is my POO-POO MOMMY!!

The other package, a delightfully large square box, was from my Daddy-O and related fam, and was, if this is possible, EVEN BETTER. I was tempted not to open it, in order to give myself time to savor the beauty that is a big care package from family. Alright, that was a lie. I wasn't tempted at all to leave that sucker unopened. In fact I nearly slit my own throat in my haste to slash it open. Inside was a pound of sour gummi worms. . .that's right I said ONE POUND. . .and a bag of parmesan goldfish, otherwise known as Pepperidge Farms Must Be Located In The General Vicinity Of Heaven Crackers. And, even BETTER, if you can conceive of such a thing, was a little square box in the corner. . .containing the coolest thing in the Universe if you are far far away from home. . .something I never dared hope for in my wildest dreams, and they get pretty wild when no one speaks your language. . . .

. . .wait for it. . .

A TALKING PICTURE FRAME.

Now I have a picture of my brother Sam and sisters Sophie and Mimi, and when I press a little button on the frame I can hear them say "Hi Laura! This is Sam. . .and this is Sophie. . .and this is Mimi! Happy New Year! We love you!"

Can you IMAGINE anything better?

Maybe It's More Like "Doo De Do Dee". . . .

2006-01-24T12:27:00.000-08:00

You know those twilight-zone moments? When you see something or hear something, and all of sudden the world is weird and you see everything differently? Where "doo doot doo doot doo doot DO" plays in your head for a second, and some kind of trippy truth hits you with a strength it's never hit you with before?

Well, I had one of those this morning. I was sidesaddle on the motorcycle taxi on the way to school, speeding along at a our usual gut-twisting speed (especially considering the shit condition of the roads) when we got stuck behind a slow-moving pickup truck. This truck was going painfully slowling in the left lane (the slow lane), probably because the bed was filled with Buddhist monks in violently yellow-orange robes. The sat on benches on the sides of the bed in sandles and sunglasses, all with shaved heads, chatting casually.

And all of a sudden it hit me. I'm in Thailand.

This is practically a QUANDRY

2006-01-24T10:24:00.000-08:00

This just in!! (from the Totally Unimportant News agency, via the Yeah, But This Is My Blog So Deal With It newspaper.) Of the 5 nominees for Favorite American Blog at the Bloggies, 3 are among my most favoritest blogs, which are linked on the sidebar . . .that would be down and to the right. . .blogs that I just luuuurrrvvv and you should too, if you have any aspirations to impeccable online taste, like moi. Check out Dooce, Go Fug Yourself, and PostSecret for some quality entertainment. And yes, I'm aware that I just outed myself as a nerd on the scale of Urkel or similar, but I don't care. I'm still proud of myself.

Plus now I've flooded the market with my autograph

2006-01-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

I've found that my energy, endurance, and patience expands and contracts to cover only what is absolutely necessary. Meaning that by 3:30 Friday afternoon I could not take one more nanosecond of work. Just one more rapid Thai question when I've told them 8 bajillion times I don't speak Thai, one more totally blank stare (Thai children are masters of the blank stare. It's like an art form here.), one more "Teachuhhh byootyfull" and I will go completely blinking bonkers. Bonkdaddy. Bonk-a-doodle-doo. Bonk-bonk-bonkarooney.

Well, I could always take another "Teachuuh byootyfull." But NO MORE BLANK STARES!

This week "friendship books" have materialized in all my students' backpacks. These are like the autograph books of old, though I'm unclear about why. It isn't the end of the term, and I can think of no other sane reason to force near-strangers to write inane good wishes, along with phone numbers, in overly-illustrated cardboard books. But sanity does not seem to be highly valued here.

Students were nearly frothing at the mouth to get me to sign their friendship books after school today, which was sweet. If it had been Tuesday, or even Wednesday, I would have thought it was adorably idiosyncratic, another charming anecdote to relate with just the right touch of amusement tempered by fondness.

But it wasn't Tuesday. It was Friday afternoon, and I was very very tired, and very very sweaty, and very very much over being surrounded by giggling incomprehensible conversations, being offered really gross candies/flour-covered rat pellets, and pantomiming entire scenes from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I just wanted to go home.

But no, the kids wanted a farang message in their friendship books, and a farang message they would get. I'm not so much of a humbug that I could refuse a cheap pink book covered with teddy bears and sayings like "Friendship is the good of heart love!" and "Don't leave for friends with no love!" (My favorite was clearly written by someone with a large vocabulary but a small dictionary; "Friendship is the sharing of prejudice of the existence!" Classic.)

So I signed a lot of "friendship books." How many? Well, I have 372 students at this school, and my right hand feels like at least 80% of them wanted a farang signature. I wrote some variation of "Keep up the good work!" more times than I would have imagined was possible. And the books just kept coming until I felt the shriek well up in my throat.

"I ain't yer friend, biatches! I'm a goldurned English teacher, in a position of authori-tay here, so SIDDOWN and SHUDDUP!!!"

I'm awfully glad it's the weekend.

And 'nit noy' will only take you so far. . . .

2006-01-17T17:56:00.000-08:00

My Thai speaking ability is not progressing at all as I had planned or imagined. While conveniently still in America, I had imagined that three months in the country would find me able to stumble along in more or less complete sentences, and AT LEAST able to ask the way to the alcohol. Alas, it is not so. And I've figured out why. It is impossible, as a speaker of a language that is, well, not Thai, for me to visualize anything.

What I mean is, you can't even translate Thai into a Latin alphabet because the sounds are as different as me and. . .well, as different as me and someone very sober, sane, and interested in working hard. One just can't put most of the language into letters. So one has to memorize a random sound, and one is not very good at remembering anything that isn't written down. For example, Monday thru Wednesday I teach at a school that is rendered in English as "Pakklong." But it isn't "Pack-long," like it looks. In reality you kind of emphasize the "pack" but it's more like "pach," with a bit of throat-breathing, and you kind of skip the "l" in the "long." It's more of a suggestion of an "l," not really articulated. The "g," too, is a soft g, so it's not really "long," it's more like. . well, I can't really explain. And "Sawatdee kha," which is a polite "hello," isn't really pronounced like it looks. The "t" is sometimes written as a "s," but neither is really correct. You kind of say both, if that makes sense, which I know it doesn't because it didn't to me at first. And you drag the "kha" out a ways, and sort of lilt up at the end (that's if you're a woman. Men say "khap."). The point being, you just can't render most Thai words into a recognizable vocabulary. So you have to either learn the Thai alphabet or memorize these very difficult random noises, and both require the kind of extra brain space that I just don't have.

Or I have but is earmarked for useless celebrity gossip, names for future children, and decorating of future ginormous mansion/penthouse/yacht.

P.S. New photos! I managed to more or less fix my camera using the aforementioned very useful tweezers and a little elbow grease (which I think is a totally disgusting expression, reminding one of eye boogers or similar). I say more or less because sometimes it requires me to take pictures with the camera's battery door open. Not sure why, but who am I to argue with the almighty Kodak LS743?
P.P.S. These pictures are mostly from the Students' Day fair at Wat Khodtimtaram. Basically this fair consists of dressing up in insane colors and playing insane games in the insane heat. Most of the kids pictured are my Prathom 6 students from Wat Khod school, which, despite the name, is not very near Wat Khodtimtaram ("wat" basically means "temple," but most schools are affiliated with, and named after, a temple. So you often have schools called Wat something.)

I Was Thinking Today. . . .

2006-01-14T14:07:00.000-08:00

Tweezers are the perfect tool. One can completely dismantle, clean, and re-mantle one's digital camera with them, and afterwards, do a little clean-up work on one's brows!

Brace yourself, Bridget. . .this is a long 'un

2006-01-12T19:44:00.000-08:00

I've been told I talk too much about boys and food and sleeping and not enough about what I actually, um, do. So here is. . . . A Typical Day In The Life Of A Lazy But Idealistic English Teacher In Thailand.

6:45- Alarm goes off. I've cleverly put it across the room so I have to actually get out of bed to turn it off which I do quickly because it is the most annoying noise in the world, even more annoying than that shrieking noise Jim Carrey makes in that one scene in Dumb & Dumber that he calls the most annoying noise in the world. Then I moan and groan and rub my eyeballs and stretch and yawn and do my best to avoid wondering if my stuffed-up nose is bad enough to call in sick. Fail to avoid wondering if my stuffed-up nose is bad enough to call in sick. I ain't gotta lie to kick it, this is the worst part of my day and the only time wherein I seriously consider quitting this shit job and living on my parents' couch.
6:47- Turn on the BBC.
6:50- To the comforting sound of British accents describing car bombings and Kazakhstani elections, I hop in the shower. Actually, I turn on the shower and then wash my face and take my pills and vitamins while the water warms up. 35 years later, as I'm sending my youngest child off to college and cashing in my 401k, the water achieves lukewarm status. I shower to the music of my own shrieks and yelps. Have you ever shaved a goose-bumpy leg? It isn't very pleasant, especially at 7 o'clock in the morning.
7:05- Breakfast while watching BBC. This is usually a croissant from Tesco which isn't warm but is doughy and good. Sometimes some raisins too. Or a yogurt. And apple or grape juice. I've also recently discovered guava juice, which is quite good but takes a little getting used to. I like pineapple juice too. Any juice, come to think of it. Except tomato.
7:15- Clothes, hair and makeup. Much, MUCH faster than it was at home because it's too hot to wear a lot of makeup, I have to wear my hair up, and I hardly have any clothes. Tinted sunscreen, lip gloss, a swipe in the general direction of my lashes with waterproof mascara. Hair in a bun. Conservative button-up blouse or polo, just-below-knee-length skirt. I have become Condoleezza Rice. The BBC continues.
7:45- Down to the lobby for a cup or two of disgusting Nescafe with enough sugar and cream to send an elephant into insulin shock and a glance at The Bangkok Post, the only English-language newspaper around. Rarely anything more than vaguely interesting, but I'm following the unrest and flooding in the south in a half-hearted, look-I-do-TOO-care-about-the-plight-of-others kind of way.
8:00- Down the road to grab a motorbike taxi to school (Monday-Wednesday). Thursday and Friday I teach at a school right across the road, so I manage to walk. The motorbike taxi costs 30 baht, which is about 75 cents. This is approximately the time at which I start to feel less like the Dreaded Droopy Bog Monster and more like something kinda human. I'll admit it, even though you know I hate to prove my mother right about anything, once you get going, early mornings are not THAT bad.
8:30-11:30- Teach, usually two classes of an hour each. Monday is Prathom 1 and 2 (roughly equivalent to grades 1 and 2), Tuesday is Prathom 3, Wednesday is Prathom 4 and 5 (across town at Pakklong School), Thursday and Friday are both Prathom 6 (across the street at Wat Khot). Not a ton of work, but it's tiring. All that standing and yelling and playing and mostly, trying to explain things and searching for synonyms they might have come across in their schizophrenic and unpredictable previous English classes. I've had to overcome my anal urge to find the best, most correct word and started saying anything vaguely related to the word I'm trying to communicate.
11:30- Lunchtime, which I eat in the canteen with the other teachers. Cold rice and a variety of Thai dishes, sometimes delicious, sometimes inedible. It's hit or miss. Much using of hand signals, although I can say "mai pen" which means not very spicy, "nit noy" meaning a little, "mai hiuw" which is not hungry (if the food looks particularly heinous), and "arroy" (with a rolled r) which means delicious, as well as the general words for rice and stuff, and when paired with lots of smiles and nods or inquisitive tilts of the head, that more or less gets me through the meal. (I originally typed "inquisitive head cocks" but that made me giggle at the naughtiness of it all, so I changed it. And they're trusting me with the leaders of the future.)
12:30-3:30- Teach, usually another two classes for a total of four classes a day. Again, not a ton of actual work time, but it's draining. Draining but exhilerating (did I spell that right? I don't think so, but that's one of those words I have never been able to spell and, at 22, will probably never learn.) You know the feeling - you're tired and short-tempered and just want to go home but still full of ideas for the next time, still preoccupied with plans and improvements and problems.
3:30- Catch a songthaew, which is the Thai version of a bus. It's a pickup truck with benches in the back and a canopy over them. Costs 8 baht (otherwise known as an amount of money so small that in the US, I would probably throw it away rather than carry it around), and there are no stops. You just flag one down as it zooms by and bang on the window when you want it to stop. I catch a blue one outside my school, which takes me to the bus station where I grab a purple songthaew to my apartment complex, which is called Wiang Wallee. Love to say that. Weeee-ang Walleeeeeee. Sometimes I go grocery shopping at this time instead of going straight home, but that's boring even to me, so I won't go into it.
4:00- Enter my room, number 428. In quick succession, or sometimes all at the same time, I turn on the AC, take off my clothes, turn on my laptop, and open a bottle of Sprite.
4:04- Put already half-empty Sprite on the nightstand, flop backwards onto bed with a "whew."
4:05- Bitch aloud to self that bed is about as comfortable to flop backwards onto as a sidewalk, NOT that I've ever flopped backwards onto a sidewalk. That would indicate intoxication, wouldn't it, and I have never been intoxicated in my entire pure-as-snow-that-is-driven life.
4:06- Turn on some music and play a couple card games on my computer. Maybe write in my journal-DON'T-call-it-a-diary. Check if there's anything on the 6 English channels I get. There never is. Settle for the BBC because even if it's boring, British accents are scrumptious and do something nice to my insides.
4:40-Berate myself into at least pretending to work. I'll get out anything that needs to be graded + my grade book, or the nifty little lesson plan forms I invented and am inordinately proud of, and half-work, half-watch TV. Or play Solitaire.
6 or 6:30- Dinner time. I recently purchased an electric griddle thingy, which excited me beyond all reason. So sometimes I make noodles or some fish or anything that can be cooked in either a frying pan or a large-ish pot. Lots of soup. Sometimes, more frequently I think, I go to one of two restaurants; the one in the lobby of my building which has a seafood dish thingy that is de-lish, or one a few blocks away that has a vegetable-oyster sauce dish thingy that is also de-lish. I like going downstairs because I usually run into either Kristin or Bill, the other American teachers, and it's such a relief to speak normal English. I also like Sally, the Thai woman who is Queen of the Restaurant, because she teaches me Thai. Of course it all leaks out of my brain within minutes, but it's fun while it lasts. If I have no planning to do or I've finished it, I'll go to one of the street markets within walking distance. The outdoor markets here are amazing. They have everything. I've recently purchased a navel ring in the shape of a skull and crossbones (with pink stone eyes)(which I've wanted for ages), a pair of men's camouflage shorts (sooooo comfortable), and a compilation of Beatles love songs. At the same market.
7- Back home, more work. I let all my anal instincts run amok and usually plan my lesson to the smallest detail, along with possible problems, alternatives/backups, skills used, blah blah overachiever blah blee bloo. There's usually a movie in English on either channel 40 or channel 19 around this time, so I watch and work at the same time. With much shifting and bitching because my bummy bum bum gets numby numb numb. That is how hard my mattress is. I also often take this time to go for a walk, now that it's cool enough. If my walk just happens to take me behind the temple across the street, and if there just happen to be a little colony of homeless puppies there, and I just happen to have some dog food with me. . .well then, I'll feed and play with those freaking adorable little flea-ridden mongrels for an hour or so.
10:30- Time for beddy bed bed. Hopefully I'm done with all planning, worksheet creation, boring work-related matters. Wash face, brush teeth, etc etc. Take 1/2 a sleeping pill to keep me asleep all night. Me and sleep have a very volatile relationship. I need drugs to beat it into submission.
11-Lights out!

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Because whiskey makes me a drama queen and rum just makes me tired. . . .

2006-01-08T18:16:00.000-08:00

Some of you may remember the epic suckiness of my New Year's Eve last year. It sucked on an enormous scale, comparable only to maybe Chernobyl or similar. As Bart Simpson (with some editing) said, "I didn't know it was physically possible, but it both sucked AND blew at the same time." The new girlfriend of a guy I had dated FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES got her panties in a wad over my presence, and I got left in downtown Santa Cruz. Alone. And completely smashed, natch. It was what is commonly known as awful, horrible, depressing, and sad.

AND THIS YEAR TOTALLY MADE UP FOR IT.

I made a last-minute decision to get the hell off the farm, and went down to Ko Samui in the south of Thailand, where my old buddy Graeme, currently nicknamed Ye Olde Graeme because he just turned 34 and I'm sorry, but that's old to me, was on vacay with some Olde English buddies. It was an epic 24-hour journey by bus with fellow American teacher Kristin, nicknamed Belinda because Graeme could never remember her name and now you know I struggle to call her by her real name. Thankfully at our most lost point some college-age kids rescued us. They really did save us, as in I'd probably be in Burma or Malaysia right now if they hadn't taken us under their collective English-speaking wings. In the process they took us to an amazing temple in Nakonsri Thammarat (approximate spelling there), which has a steeple-type thing made of real gold which allegedly does not cast a shadow. I'll believe that when I see it, which I didn't get to, it being cloudy that day. But it was a gorgeous temple, with hundreds of bells attached to the terrace near the steeple that rang constantly- discordant but beautiful.

After arriving on Samui we speed-boated across to Ko Pha Ngan, which is pronounced pon-yawn and, no, I don't know why they spelled it to look like pa-n-gone. But I don't really care because Pha Ngan is the place I want to spend New Year's Eve for the rest of my life, or at least until am completely bedridden by the cirrhosis of the liver that will surely strike me if I spend that much time there. Picture thousands of people, from every country and ethnicity imaginable, dancing, talking, drinking, and shooting off fireworks on a wide, curved, sandy beach. Ringed with bars.

And best yet, those bars all serve JAGER!! I hadn't spotted my drink of choice yet in Thailand, even in massive liquor stores, so I was pretty darn excited when I discovered that, not only did all the bars offer Jager shots, none of my companions had ever drank it so I got to introduce them to the joy that is a Jager shot chased with a light beer.

I got maybe a little too excited about that for my own good.

Found some Aussies, or maybe they were Kiwis, to kiss at midnight. Not alone, Kristin helped. Good times. Then we drank some more, and danced some more, and after that it gets a little hazy. The next thing I clearly remember I was trying to call someone with the crumpled wad of money from my pocket. Unsure who I was calling, where my phone went, or why I thought money might substitute.

Round about 8 am the party pretty much died. . .and by died I mean everyone suddenly dropped in their tracks, having collectively reached the point at which no amount of drugs or alcohol can keep you awake. I caught a ferry back across to Samui and went to sleep. And no, Mother, I did not do any drugs because I don't ingest things unless I know precisely what is in them. You never know when a tomato might sneak up on you.

The rest of the weekend passed exactly how all weekends should pass- broiling like rotisserie chickens by day, drinking in funky beachfront bars by night. Kristin had to teach on Wednesday, so she took a bus back on Monday, which meant, although sad she was leaving, I had a nearly-beach-front bungalow to myself. Good times. Met lots of nice people, although relations with Western menfolk can be strained as nearly all of them have picked up a Thai girlfriend somewhere, and Thai girlfriends are not above making death threats to all Western girls in the general vicinity of their men. Thai women and Western women have an odd relationship, one that is not entirely amicable. A lot of Western women look at Thai women as seductresses, exotic temptresses that seduce all their men away with mysterious and intimidating sexual power. Thai women see in Westerners the women their man will most likely leave them to marry. Obviously, this is a ludicrously broad generalization, but in many instances it's held up.

But I don't really mind because the last thing I want right now is some kind of romantic entanglement. Boys are all well and good, don't get me wrong. You KNOW I love me some man candy. But currently every spare brain cell I have is occupied with the 600-odd students I am trying to keep straight and keep under control and oh, yeah, teach English.

Came home by bus, again, on Wednesday which meant I arrived back in Rayong on Thursday morning. I was surprised by how much I looked forward to getting home, and surprised how Rayong had, in my head at least, become "home."

Back at school today, back to the daily grind. One nice thing about teaching is that no two days are ever, EVER, exactly alike. Or even somewhat alike. It's hard work, but it definitely isn't boring.

P.S. They showed a DVD of "King Kong" on the bus back from Samui. You gotta love a country that shows illegal pirated DVDs of new releases on their overnight buses.

P.P.S. On New Year's Day I refused to get out of bed. As part of his many creative tactics to get me moving, Graeme dumped the contents of my (large) black suede hobo bag onto the floor. Succeeded in getting me out of bed, but unfortunately my newly usable camera was dumped along with everything else, and now refuses to work. It doesn't appear to be cracked so I'm hoping I can figure out what is wrong, but that means no pictures, again, for a little while. Don't blame me, blame the old bald English dude.

Pictures!!

2005-12-28T08:10:00.000-08:00

Pictures are here! Photographs. Photos. Pics. Snapshots. Candids. I say po-tay-toe, you say. . .I dunno, whatever you say. But I have pictures! And there are more on the way! Try to restrain your excitement!

P.S. Big ups to my homie parents in CA for sending me my camera cord. You da bomb.

Laura's Learned-the-Hard-Way Guide to Eating in Thailand

2005-12-25T21:01:00.000-08:00

Trust me on this one, people. If I'd had one of these when I arrived here, I'd have saved many a poor defenseless taste bud.

-When Thai people say "Can you eat Thai food?" or "Do you like Thai food?" what they really mean is "How do you feel about setting fire to your tongue?"

-If a Thai person says something is not spicy at all, that means it's spicier than most American food, but if you've eaten plenty of Mexican, you should be okay. Your tongue will definitely tingle, but not in a bad way.

-"A little spicy" is about the same as Hot salsa at home. Meaning, a jug or two of water and some bread or rice is probably advisable.

-Plain old "spicy" means prepare to have your face slowly melt off.

-"Very spicy" means. . .well, I suppose I don't really need a tongue.

-Yes, those really are cockroaches and grasshoppers deep-fried and served in little paper bags like they're salt-water taffy.

-If it looks like chicken and smells like chicken, DON'T eat it. It's probably an insect or horse or dog or similar not-very-appetizing kind of animal.

-Get used to having your dinner make google-eyes at you, because they don't do fish steak. You get the whole fish or nothing at all.

Although I'm well on my way to being able to yell in Thai, too.

2005-12-25T18:04:00.000-08:00

Happy Boxing Day everybody! I spent this Christmas weekend the way every Christmas should be spent; in bed with too much food and too much tv. I was actually only depressed for about 7.4 minutes on Christmas Eve, and that was because I finished the parmesan goldfish my girl Kelly had sent me (I luuuurrrvvv you Kelly Bo Belly!). It was a pleasant surprise how well I dealt with my first Christmas away from my fam and friends and, most traumatic of all, my Sid. It's amazing what blueberry cheesecake ice cream and reruns of Speed can do for the soul.

Today is the 1st anniversary of the tsunami, and though I'm far away from the areas that were really damaged, many Thai people were affected and almost everyone knows someone who was affected. It's carved into the consciousness of Thais already, I've found, especially those who live in a coastal area and understand how closely coastal Thais are linked to the sea. The loss of fishermen's livelihoods continues to have an enormous impact on many small coastal villages in the south of Thailand. If you'd like to make a donation through the Red Cross to the thousands of people in southern Thailand who are still trying to recover from the devastation, click here. Not to go all mushy on you, but Thailand has welcomed me with open arms. It's only because of the care and generosity of Thai people that I've been able to live here and teach here without going completely insane. (I mean, I'm well on my way, but they've kept me from that final, irrevocable step to true insanity.)

Okay, enough of doing the right thing. Back to what I do best; sarcasm, cynicism, self-deprecation.

I was especially tired this morning. Probably a sugar overdose from my hedonistic weekend. (Oh man, how sad that I describe lying in bed and eating junk food as "hedonistic." I remember a time when a weekend only earned the title of hedonistic if it involved brightly colored drinks, pretending to be Russian in order to use the men's bathroom, falling down stairs or off a table, and screaming fights with strangers. How the mighty have fallen.) So I put an extra spoonful of the powdered Demon shit, i.e. instant Nescafe, in my cup this morning and now my hands are shaking so badly it's kind of freaking me out. I'm energetic though! Which is good, because I have Prathom 1 in a few minutes and those kids are nothing if not energetic. I can hold their attention for about 5.3 seconds and that's only through the sheer novelty of being yelled at in English instead of Thai.

This post just ooozes good holiday cheer, not unlike a freshly ripped-off scab

2005-12-23T23:47:00.000-08:00

It has been brought to my attention that my last post was a little, uh, dark. Morbid, maybe. That wasn't because I was feeling morbid or dark. That's just my special brand of sarcasm, maybe a weensy bit too subtle for you Philistines. (Is that how you spell Philistines?)

I'm actually have a very lovely Christmas season, here where it's SUNNY and LOVELY.

Merry Christmas everybody!

My favorite is the one where Santa's really a vampire who sucks the blood from little children, but they kill him by putting stakes in the fireplace

2005-12-20T20:11:00.000-08:00

Christmas is this weekend, in case you didn't know (hey, it's possible), and since this will be the first one I've spent away from my family, never mind in a foreign, non-Christian country, I've been warming up my depression engine all week. I've got the tub of chocolate ice cream ready in the freezer, some escapist DVD's (Brad Pitt in a skirt can make anything better), and a book that I've never read but has a shirtless man on the cover so you know it's going to be good. I doubt I will leave my room all weekend. The fam is sending presents but who knows whenI'll actually get them, considering the mail is brought round by bicycle and the receptionists at my apartment building turn abruptly deaf and dumb in the presence of English. And considering most branches of my family have the procrastination gene in inordinate amounts.

Which, yes, they've passed on to me. SO IT'S NONE OF IT'S MY FAULT, IS IT?

Christmas isn't celebrated here, really, but it's acknowledged in a half-hearted way, mainly at Tesco and the like. (Tesco is the local corporate we-have-everything store. It's like the bastard child of Wal-Mart and Sears. I'm sure they chortle with glee at any excuse to take people's money.) Oh, and the lobby of my apartment building has a fake tree that plays the most horrible electronic rendition of "Jingle Bells" I could imagine in my worst nightmares. I've taken to ordering my coffee in my room so my ears won't explode. (I call it coffee, the menu calls it coffee, but really it's instant Nescafe, a nightmare even without the exploding ears. I need two creams (also instant) and a pound of sugar to make it palatable, which of course causes me to both go in to insulin shock and jitter uncontrollably for the rest of the day.)

Speaking of nightmares, several of the other teachers suggested I show the kids a Christmas-themed movie. I was SO tempted to show "The Nightmare Before Christmas," or one of those horror ones where Santa's evil and hacks everybody up with a candy cane, you have no idea. The image of little children shrieking in fright and having night terrors for the rest of their lives wherein elves in curl-toed shoes strangle them with colorful ribbons was sooooo tempting. But the conscientious side of me (it's small, but it's there) won out and I settled for coloring and carols and cheesy stuff like that. It's odd to teach about Christmas in a Buddhist country, but it seems expected of me. I just avoid Jesus and religious stuff like that, which is easy because I've been avoiding Jesus my entire life.

I also have few taste buds left as they've all been burned off by the forklift-loads of chili they put in, well, everything

2005-12-18T18:17:00.000-08:00

If my two months in Thailand have taught me one thing (and really I think they've taught me more like 18.75 gajillion things), it's that humans, and myself in particular, are infinitely adaptable. When I first arrived in Rayong I gazed with horror upon the everyone-for-themselves-and-helmets-be-damned style of traffic, in particular the motorbike taxi drivers who seem to have an uncanny but not infallible sense of just how wide the space between two speeding semi trucks is. It was quite staggeringly frightening to watch them weave and speed and turn and cavalierly ignore what few traffic laws there are. I took it for granted that I would never entrust my valuable and low-pain-thresholded limbs to that form of transportation, no matter how convenient or prevalent it may be.

Seven weeks later, and I quite frequently and unconcernedly take motorbike taxis, often sitting sidesaddle on the back without holding on, my arms full of groceries and talking on my cell phone as if I've been doing it all my life.

He's got almost as many piercings as I do now, too

2005-12-13T18:22:00.000-08:00

Speaking of fugly, I had a nice long email from my brother Bo this morning. If you've met Bo you know he is about as talkative as a house plant, and half as forthcoming. Getting more than three words out of him requires pliers and a strong stomach. If you want those words to have more than one syllable you might as well bring in the Armed Forces and maybe one of those giant off-shore oil drilling things while you're at it. So it was LOVELY as well as surprising to get a (relatively) verbose communique off Chile boy. He's been having girl problems, which is both surprising and not at all surprising. Not surprising because he's a good-looking boy. He takes after his sister in that regard (you know, tall, blonde, tan, long eyelashes. . .). But surprising because, well, Bo has never put enough words together (in my presence) to ask a girl out, much less say anything that might cause drama.

AnyHOO, things sound active and scandalous in Valdivia, Chile. I'm the TEENIEST bit jealous because my life of late has become about as scandalous as an episode of Golden Girls, and yes I totally just stole that reference to Golden Girls from Go Fug Yourself. I work, I eat, I sleep. I bitch and moan about unpronounceable names and expensive laundry services. I conceive wildly ambitious teaching ideas only to have them shot down by more experienced teachers with a not-so-surreptitious rolling of the eyes and snorting of the nose.

Oops, I'm complaining again. Sorry.

Plus I was in an internet cafe at the time. Man was THAT embarrassing.

2005-12-12T21:33:00.000-08:00

The only website that can make me snort Sprite out my nose, and I mean that as a compliment: Go Fug Yourself

See how much I'm NOT complaining?

2005-12-12T18:43:00.000-08:00

I got to talk to the parental units this weekend and it was GREAT. Not only was it GREAT, it was GRRRRRREAT. Hearing their voices for the first time in almost two months reminded me that there are people in the world who love me and miss me and think that I'm great and all I'm trying to do here is great. (You love me, you really love me!) Better for energy level and general morale than crack cocaine.

Speaking of crack, my sink and shower are backing up and I can't seem to find a Thai translation for "plumber." They need plumbers here, surely? Any assistance would be appreciated.

The past week or so have been a VAST improvement over the first two weeks of school. By about the middle of the second week I was thisclose to chucking in the whole thing and hitchhiking back to California, to fall gratefully into my (soft, oh so soft) own bed and also headfirst into a heaping plate of fettuccine Alfredo. Oh how I miss pasta.

But I stuck it out because Mama said there'd be days like this. That's a song, for those of you who don't like Oldies or don't have compulsive singers in the family. And I'm really glad I did. I'm learning so much and so quickly, it's kind of shocking. It's like your most interesting subject in school. You know how you always had that one class that you actually paid attention to, because you were just fascinated by the stuff? That's what it feels like.

I'm so, so sorry

2005-12-09T04:31:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know, two posts, one day. What a loser, etc etc.

I just wanted to note, since I am too lazy to go back and edit it, that I am ETERNALLY SORRY for my grammar error two posts ago. I said "too" when I should have said "to" and it isn't that anybody has pointed it out or anything, I'm just that kind of nerd and it's embarrassing me so I have to point it out so you ALL know that I'm that kind of nerd.

You know, to atone.

Speaking of which, friend Graeme and I have been playing a game in which we try to think up big and/or difficult words the other might not be able to define, and I WON!!!

Beat his ass. And he's got 11, ALMOST 12, years on me.

Get Thee Behind Me, Karen Ziglar!!!

2005-12-09T04:16:00.000-08:00

Someone is out to get me. Someone is trying to drive me insane (not that I need the help but, you know, literary license). I swear, the entire world is one big conspiracy against me and my sanity and my self-respect and my image of myself. Here I am, in Thailand, trying to be a good teacher and a good person and all of that other stuff your mother and Oprah have always said you should be, and "they're" messing with me!

No, I don't know who "they" are, specifically, but if I HAD to guess I'd say a former cult leader from Aptos High School with bouffant hair and an ill-advised preference for smocks with coordinated scarves, perhaps with her oddly identical daughters, fresh from the tanning booth, heel-stretching behind her.

How? How, you say? Well I'll just tell you. I'm just trying to be a teacher here. Teaching, going to the beach, drinking. It's a quiet life. I'm not bothering anyone. And they're trying to turn me into that person I still have nightmares about. . . .a CHEERLEADING COACH! IN THAILAND!!

Honestly, now, wasn't four obsessive years of my life enough? Now I'm the newly appointed coach of a cheerleading team at Wat Khot school, Rayong, Thailand. I don't know how this happened. I'm just minding my own business at school today, thinking about where I could buy fish-shaped stickers, and the next thing I know. . . .WHAMMO! I can't get out of the cult, even in Thailand. IN THAILAND, FOR HELL'S SAKE! OY!!!!!

I just want to know, seriously now, HOW DID THEY KNOW???

I can't even write. THAILAND. CHEERLEADING. CHEERLEADING. THAILAND.

Happy Birthday, King Thingamijigiewhatsit

2005-12-06T19:39:00.000-08:00

Monday was a big holiday around these here parts. It was King Bhumitolph-or-something-equally-unpronounceable's birthday, so everything was closed, there were fireworks and feasts and general merrymaking, mostly because I DIDN'T HAVE TO WORK!!! Oh, the joy. Happy birthday indeed.

The King is actually a pretty interesting dude. There's a picture of him in every room of every building, he's so adored here. In addition to owning the largest diamond in the world (it's roughly 5 lbs. I tried to find something to compare that too when I realized I have no freaking idea what 5 lbs feels like.), he has been in power for 60 years, since the ripe old age of 19. When his father (also King) died, the country was all asunder and generals in the army were staging various coups and plays for power and all those things stupid men do. If it were women we'd sit down, turn on Oprah, and have a nice chat about who should run the country. Anyway, King Whats-his-face had lived and learned in Switzerland since the ripe old age of 6. At 19 he rushed back to Thailand, barely able to speak Thai because he'd been away so long, and managed to wrestle the government away from said power-hungry generals.

So, celebrating his birthday seems okay to me.

Especially because we took the opportunity to make a day trip to Pattaya. That's this touristy sort of place about an hour and a half away. It really seemed like a place you'd enjoy a little more at night, if you catch my drift and I think you do, but we had a perfectly nice time. We even went to this zoo-ish place and I got my picture taken with an enormous Bengal tiger who growled quite loudly when I touched him. To quote Kathy Griffin, I'm not saying I shit myself, but I only had maybe 5 or 10 seconds to play with.

However, I obviously survived, only to watch the cheesiest crocodile show Steve Irwin could have imagined in his wildest baby-walking dreams. Complete with the Star Wars theme music and red silk ninja headbands. I was totally enthralled.

Back at school today and yesterday, of course. Today in Prathom 5 we played my own personal bastardized version of musical chairs and now several 11-year-olds are missing teeth, eyes, even a limb or two. It was a massacre out there. But you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, right? Nobody said learning English was going to be easy.

P.S.

2005-12-03T02:31:00.000-08:00

And oh yeah, I almost forgot. I WANT MY CAMERA CORD!!

Just be glad I didn't start quoting the actual lyrics

2005-12-03T02:09:00.000-08:00

Oh, we didn't like that last post did we? No, not at all. I thought about going into all the gory details but I really didn't feel like it. And if nothing else, one good thing about living in Thailand is that no one in California can make me do anything I don't feel like doing.

Not actually that big of a deal. Really. It was just that I was in the process of learning, in that painful, slow, head-banging-into-a-brick-wall way that I have that (MAJOR CYNICISM ALERT) you really cannot depend on anyone but yourself. It's a mistake to assume anyone is always there for you. Okay, I lie. I can always depend on my mommy and my sister and my girls, but they aren't here, are they?

No, they most certainly are not.

So I made that mistake, obviously. And it sucked, and it still sucks, but I learned my lesson and MAN do I feel better. It's awful to feel alone, especially when you think you aren't alone, when you think you've got someone totally in your corner, and then it turns out that someone really has lots of baggage, a self-absorption problem, and serious issues with TOTAL STUPIDITY. And if that's a little cryptic I'm sorry, but that's just the way it has to be.

But I'm over it. I've played "I Will Survive," "Stronger," and "Fighter" 1.7 bajillion times each, had several good cries along with at least two episodes of throwing things (at the wall, not a person. I'm not, like, out of control or anything), and I've come out the other side smarter, stronger, etc etc blah blah blu. It sucks, but it's also a great feeling remembering that I can handle all this alone. That I will be fine, no matter what.

Alone, shmalone. I'm so freaking fantastic, who would WANT anyone else?

Boys Ssuuuuuuuuuuuuccckk!!!!!!

2005-12-02T02:50:00.000-08:00

Are you listening, Sony?

2005-11-29T21:12:00.000-08:00

I've had a bit of a cold this week, which is never fun and is particularly not fun when one doesn't have one's mommy there to bring home ice cream and parmesan goldfish and trashy magazines. It's not like getting up at 6:45 is EVER a good thing, but it is not helped by a stopped-up nose and lack of speaking voice. Teaching is also made a good bit more difficult when one lacks speaking ability.

Graeme, my partner in crime hereabouts, thinks I'm just overtired because I've been working twelve-hour days. I think the excess of intoxicating substances this weekend probably didn't help. Either way, my evening class meets for the last time tonight, which means when I finish school at 3:30 I'm really and truly DONE for the day. Which even I can't complain about, although I'm sure I will find a way.

I'm settling into the routine here, which is HARD. A routine of hardness. I'm hoping it gets easier, especially as Graeme is going to move on sometime in the next month or two and I don't know WHAT I'm going to do without someone to listen to me bitch and moan while we watch pirated British comedy and drink too much whiskey and Coke. NOT that I'm advocating piracy. It's BAD. Whiskey and Coke with someone who will listen to you bitch and moan and thinks your dog is adorable, now that is GOOD. Especially if that someone has an adorable northern British accent.

No Wonder I Like It Here So Much

2005-11-29T01:57:00.000-08:00

I always turn on BBC in the morning, not because I'm at all interested in world events (my my, ANOTHER car bomb in Baghdad. How scintillating.) but because who doesn't like a little British accent with their corn flakes? (Okay, okay, warm Sprite and Pringles. Lay off it, I'll get healthy next week.)

This morning, though, the news put me in a really bad mood. It took me nearly until noon to figure out why. Nothing PARTICULARLY bad had happened. Why had the usually interesting and somewhat innocuous morning BBC broadcast left such a bad taste in my mouth?

IT WAS BECAUSE I HAD TO LOOK AT GEORGE W. STUPIDHEAD!! I haven't had so much as a glimpse of that detested man for a month AND THEN THEY SPRUNG HIM ON ME AT 7 AM!!!! That's just cruel and unusual.

But that's what weekends are for!

2005-11-28T13:01:00.000-08:00

We are talking CRAZY CRAZINESS this weekend. PREPARE FOR MUCH ABUSING OF THE CAPS LOCK.

I won't go into the dirty details, not because this a family blog but because my mother AND my father read it. Honestly, IT WAS THAT KIND OF WEEKEND.

Highlights include a 3 am motorcycle ride, several smashed whiskey bottles, an in-depth conversation about illegal acts with a Thai policeman, a drug dealer with a ponytail, lipstick messages on people's cars, and a really bad make-out episode. (I'm sorry, dude, but it is totally relevant to the story. Just be glad I didn't mention your name.)

Oh, AND THE WORST HANGOVER I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED. And I have been to Amsterdam AND Oktoberfest.

Let's just put it this way; I did not behave in a manner befitting a teacher of innocent little children.

Hump THIS

2005-11-23T07:56:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me knows I have a serious aversion to working. 9-to-5 (or in the case of this week and next week, 8-to-8) has never been my style. I don't have that kind of staying power.

So I've decided to invent side-effect-free crack. Admittedly, I'm no chemist and so maybe this is a way off, but I need an injectable, smokeable, or pill-formable substance that is going to give me unlimited amounts of energy, ambition, and drive, without the brain damage, ulcers, liver damage, etc, and I need it NOW.

Getting myself out of bed to go to school this morning, on this, only my THIRD day of working full time, was quite possibly the HARDEST THING I HAVE EVER DONE. I'm only exaggerating a tiny bit when I say it took nearly forty minutes to shame myself out of calling in sick/injured/tired/crazy. Because I'm an Adult, and I have Responsibilities, and I Need To Be Mature, and anyway it was too early in the morning for me to think of a truly plausible excuse.

Of course, it's not just the getting out of bed. If I had to get out of bed at 6:30 am to, say, go to the beach, I'm sure I would moan and groan a bit but I certainly wouldn't seriously consider telling someone I sprained my toe. (Speaking of which, is it possible to sprain your toe? Because if it is, I totally have.) But KIDS? Who don't speak English? Teaching 5th graders who may or may not give a rat's ass about hearing what you have to say, and if they do care it's only because they've never seen a farang woman up close before, IS NOT ANYTHING LIKE GOING TO THE BEACH.

Teachuuuhhh is wary byuteefull

2005-11-22T12:32:00.000-08:00

Welp, I've begun teaching children. Little whippersnappers. No, just kidding, they're cute as hell. It's harder than teaching adults, a lot harder, but in some ways I like it better. They're so easily impressed, and they have enormous amounts of fun just, like, coloring. You can make them laugh hysterically by simply drawing a purple cow, or something. They're also very fond of the phrase "Teacher is very beautiful" which I know is just a sign of limited English but never fails to bring a smile of true pleasure to my face.

Surprisingly (or maybe not), kids are the best at saying my name (although they prefer "Teachuuuhhhh!"). With adults it's hit or miss. They sort of roll the L into an R and swallow the middle part. Imagine someone saying Roarah and gargling at the same time, and you've got my Thai name. It's not as bad as Graeme's though. They've got real trouble with that one. It mostly sounds like someone is shoving a cockroach down their throats.

It's hard work right now, mainly because I've also got an evening class of adults so I'm working from 8 am to 8 pm, but that class will end next week and then it'll get a lot easier. It's tiring and they are quite fond of the sink-or-swim approach. Either that or they get some kind of evil pleasure seeing a look of total panic and confusion cross my face.

It's cooled down quite a bit, as winter sets in. Of course, "winter" only means "just cool enough that you can walk ten feet or so before you start to sweat." I don't know how (or, honestly, if) I will make it through the summer.

P.S. This is my 80th post on this website. That's either an important milestone or a sign that my social life is in grave danger, and has been for awhile.

Team America: Rayong Division

2005-11-20T18:29:00.000-08:00

Yay for America!! I know I wouldn't normally say such a thing, as a good Bush-hating liberal, but right now I'm feeling very pro-America. There's a new kid on the block, another American girl called Kristin, and it's LO-VER-LY. It's great having another female around, and one who understands the way an American mind works, which, I've discovered, is very different from the mind of, say, a Britisher. Although the poor thing is set to start tomorrow and she only just got to Rayong this afternoon. And she'd only been in Bangkok 3 days. She's got to be reeling, and you can just bet your booties I am enjoying the role of wise teacher, educating her in the very foreign ways of Rayong and Thailand in general. I think Graeme isn't at his happiest, feeling a bit neglected, but he can just stuff it. We're attached at the hip normally, it's nice to have someone female to hang out with.

I've decided to give in and get a cell phone here. I really need one, and I'm kicking myself that I didn't bring the one I had. Once I've got it organized, I can send and receive text messages for pretty cheap, and phone calls too. One will just have to get an internatinal calling card and locate the five or so minutes in each day that we'll both be awake, and presto chango! I'll be able to chat on the phone. I'm dyyyyiinnnnnngg to talk to home. Sid especially.

Here's Something That Will Just Blow Your Freaking Mind, Dude!

2005-11-17T17:22:00.000-08:00

Stick this in your lip and chaw on it for awhile-- It is only by pure, dumb, blind and random LUCK that we are healthy, happy, comfortable Americans and not gangly Thais with rotting teeth living in shacks made of corrugated metal in a ditch by the side of the road, subsisting on the few pennies we get by catching fish to be made into ban plo.

LUCK, THAT IS ALL IT IS. PURE STUPID LUCK.

Samet day, different shit

2005-11-15T22:33:00.000-08:00

Hello all, sorry for the long delay. Graeme and Bill and I decided, spur of the moment, to go to Ko Samet for Sunday and Monday. It was HEAVENLY. Mom and Jack, whilst deciding which foreign-based child to visit, take note; white sand beaches, clear water, sun 24-7, cheap fresh delicious seafood AND I spent a grand total of $55. The entire weekend. That includes the ferry, lodging, food, EVERYTHING. There weren't a lot of farangs there, mostly Thais from Bangkok down for the weekend and Japanese on vacation, but still more white faces than I see in a typical week. On Sunday night we found this restaurant. . .I don't know if I can put the wonderfulness into words, but I will try. Picture low wooden tables , with cushions to sit on, on the actual sand. Yards from the water, which is waveless but makes that incomparable ocean noise. The only light is candles and torches, and it's about 80 degrees at 8 pm. For 300 baht (about $6) you get a heaping plate of fresh seafood. Clams, crab, enormous prawns, a tuna steak, squid, mussels, and a uniquely Thai thing like a miniature lobster. HEAPING. Plus all the beer you can drink and soft Thai music. THIS IS WHAT LIFE SHOULD BE, PEOPLE.

Coming in a close second for most excellent moment of the weekend was on Sunday afternoon, when all three of us (yes, even the boys) got pedicures on the beach. Life does not get much better than sitting in a lounge chair on a sunny white-sand beach, drinking a cold beer and getting a pedicure. I can tell there will be many more weekend Ko Samet excursions.

I was a bit under the weather yesterday. Slept through the entire day, which I haven't done in a long time. I think it was just too much sun, too much heat. If I ever get skin cancer (knock on wood), I will be able to trace it to this weekend.

Today is chore day, I've arbitrarily decided. Laundry, cleaning of the room, grocery shopping. Things that I was disappointed to discover have to be done, even in Thailand. I've adjusted really well, I think. I feel almost at home here, so it's somewhat of a shock to realize I've only been in this country for two weeks! Seems much longer.

And my Thai vocabulary is growing every day. I'll leave you with this; sue-ai! (That's my Roman alphabet equivalent of something I can say but not yet spell.)

In other words, you're beautiful!

Exhorbitant? Exorbitent? Exhorbetant?

2005-11-09T03:00:00.000-08:00

Today I had one of those awesome days that starts out like crap. So you're dreading it, going "Great, this is going to be a shitty day because it started out like shit and those sort of days always continue to be shit." And then it turns out to be a great day and it's like a bonus, that it's a great day and that it's a great day that you thought would be shit.

One of the ECC girls, Lek, called me this morning at 9:30 and asked me to fill-in for a private lesson today at 1. I'm embarrassed to admit, but I'm sure you're not surprised to hear, that I was asleep at this particular moment. So I was all foggy and thinking I might still be in the dream I was having about a religion based around unicorns, and couldn't think of an excuse not to. So I said I would. And then I was like, shit. I was going to go on a long walk this morning and clean my bathroom and get some bug spray for the trail of microscopic ants leading from my similarly microscopic balcony to the trash can wherein reside two empy Sprite cans. Now I have to prepare a two-hour long lesson for a Basic-level student, which means she knows about as much English as those ants. And I don't know what the regular teacher has been teaching, so I just have to hope he's been following the book, which he probably hasn't just like I haven't been, because the book is crap.

But then things went uphill. The motorbike taxi dude tried to charge me 40 baht for what is a 30 baht ride AT MOST, and I had the cojones to say "mai, mai" and give him 30. He accepted 30 meekly and drove of, probably thinking "Wow, I sure picked the wrong farang to mess with today!" Either that or "Cheap farang bitch."

And the private lesson wasn't bad because the teacher HAD been following the book, and the girl was smart as a whip, so it was a relative breeze. I came out of that lesson at 3, and Fao told me my regular lesson (which was to have featured 3 new students of unknown abilities tonight, a fact I found out yesterday at 4:30) was canceled. A free evening! No icily air-conditioned, dead silent drive home! No lesson plan to arduously prepare!!

So I did the only thing a California girl could. I went shopping.

Just to Tesco, and I only bought a bath mat, some hangers, an alarm clock and a bit of food, but still. More shopping than I've done in a while. Exciting. And it was (again, relatively) cool this afternoon, threatening rain, so I walked back to my hotel quite comfortably with grandiose plans of redecoration. Some chicken fried rice (delicious, if a little heavy on the onion), and now Graeme and I are at an internet cafe where you get 35 minutes for 10 baht. Ten baht is about a quarter. That's awesome.

Don't know what we're going to do tonight, but I'm in such a sunny mood it doesn't really matter.

Oh, AND I found another English station on my t.v. That makes 5 English channels, which I positively exhorbitant. Is that how you spell it?

2005-11-08T02:31:00.000-08:00

Yuck, feel like crud today. Tired and weak and my hands are doing that overly-caffeinated shakey thing. Of course Bill (a fellow American teaching here, a Seattlite actually) is needling me about it being bird flu, which I know it isn't. But unamused regardless. The last thing I need is to get sick! Today I went to get a physical, required to get my teacher's license and work permit. It was perhaps the most perfunctory examination I've ever encountered. Not that I'm complaining. But it took all of five minutes and involved nothing more complicated than a stethoscope, so I can't help feeling that it would be almost impossible to fail. And I have to admit, there's a lazy little part of my brain that wishes I'd failed. "Maybe I've got a heart murmur!" says my little brain-part when he doctor lingers over checking my heart rate. Because then I could go home where it's easy and cool, without feeling like I'd given up or given in. Because I could never dream of throwing in the towel* at this early stage. I've hardly given in a chance, and I know it'll get easier. But if it wasn't my fault. . . . Not a productive way to think, really. And I like teaching, I really do. I'm just feeling lonely and more than a little overwhelmed, etc.

Great, this blog is supposed to be funny and I've turned it in to slop. Sorry. More funny Thai anecdotes to come.

*I learned the origin of "throw in the towel" today. Apparently, if a trainer or manager felt that a boxer was taking too much of a beating and wanted to withdraw him from the match, the trainer would throw a towel into the ring to alert the referee. Interesting, huh?

No, it's not ping-pong road. . . .

2005-11-07T00:23:00.000-08:00

The only serious problem I've discovered so far is that this place is somewhat boring. Bangkok was awful- sweaty and smelly and crowded and very, very dirty. But at least a lot of people spoke English and there were other farangs around, so you could go out at night or go shopping or sightseeing, etc. Rayong, not so much. There's the beach and there are a few okay bars around- including one that shows English soccer games, specifically ones in which Newcastle United is playing, which is a necessity of life to my British friend Graeme- but they get a bit repetitive if you can't meet anyone new. We're tired of beer and guessing at the menus and listening to Thai bands attempt to cover American classics.

Yesterday Graeme and I went to the beach and enjoyed freak-show status. They're much too shy here to wear regular western-style bathing suits- even the guys often go in the water with shirts and pants on. (Seems pretty funny for a country with a huge sex industry- which, by the way Kelly, is based on Patpong Road in Bangkok, so you were mostly right.) G and I attracted celebrity-style attention- including people asking to take their pictures with us!! The kids especially seem absolutely fascinated by us, asking our names over and over since they know little other English. Graeme conducted a class on the finer points of the Newcastle Untd. defense, in the water, with a bunch of awe-struck little buggers. One of the funnier things I've seen in a while.

I've taken some pictures, but I can't seem to locate my camera cord to load them on to a computer. If I find it or get a new one or whatever, I will let you all know.

I still trip out on the fact that I live in Thailand. I mean, Thailand.

Necessities of life; beer, water, air conditioning

2005-11-04T23:08:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone! Found an internet cafe (somewhat) near my apartment, so I don't have to go all the way to the ECC office for internet. The office is about 10 minutes away by motorcycle taxi, which is the main way of getting around Rayong. Scary, but it gets you where you're going with a minimum of sweat.

Got over my homesickness of the other day with some nice 7% alcohol Thai beer. Feeling much better. Taught my second class last night, which was considerably easier than the first one. I'll just have this one class, which is three very low-level grown men 6-8 every night, until the school year starts which is in ten days or two weeks. Nobody seems very sure, and so I just go with the flow. Then I'll be teaching in a school from 8:30 to 3:30 every weekday, with weekends off. I'm feeling okay about teaching. Nobody seems to have very high expectations, and there are lots of people to ask for help. It's kind of fun, even, to know stuff that other people are so desperate to learn. This area is very, very poor, so I feel like I'm doing some good, as well. Nearly all of the residents of Rayong are Thai- a farang, or foreigner, attracts some attention. It's an industrial and service kind of area, with a lot of residents commuting to Pattaya or Ko Samet or Ban Phe to work in the big resorts with lots of westerners. Opens your eyes.

And it is bloody hot, as my new English friend Graeme would say.

I live in a hotel/apartment complex thing, arranged by ECC. It's basically just a bed and a bathroom with a fridge and a closet and a tiny balcony, but it'll do. It's only 5000 baht a month, which is about $115. And it's clean and centrally located and has air conditioning, so I've got everything I need.

Culture shock seems like an understatement. Thai customs and culture, especially once you get out of Bangkok, are EXTREMELY foreign. They avoid confrontation or disagreement at all costs. I mean, ALL COSTS. An ECC advisor called Tely told me she's heard of people being fired but not being told about it. Nobody wants to cause anyone else to lose face, so they'll go out of their way to agree with you. Sounds nice, but really it can cause problems to have a taxi driver smile and nod when you tell him where you want to go, but not really know how to get there. You get the idea. I've picked up a few words as well, thank you and hello obviously, but also delicious and the name of this yummy spicy soup I had for lunch the other day, etc. Food is a big hurdle because everything is fucking spicy, pardon my bad language but that's really the only word to use. I'm adjusting, though, and that is what's important.

Miss everyone very much, but I'm making friends and it's not so bad.

P.P.S.

2005-10-29T20:09:00.000-07:00

I've already met a cute British guy called Graeme. Super funny, and not bad looking. All around, I think I'll try to talk him in to going to Rayong with me. I could use some cute British guys around. Keep my morale up, you know.

I made it! I think.

2005-10-29T17:35:00.000-07:00

Author's Note: this is pretty much word-for-word the email I just sent out to my parents, etc. I don't have the energy to write a whole new witty recap thing. You'll take your recycled news and YOU'LL LIKE IT. DON'T ARGUE WITH THE SWEATY JET-LAGGED PERSON!!!

Hello everyone! I made it to Bangkok in one piece, though I'm really not sure where I am or what day it is or what the hell is going on. I didn't realize being on an airplane for 22 hours could be so debilitating. Although on the long haul, to Taipei (which turned out to be 13 hours, for everyone who asked), I did get my own row of three seats so I got to lie down and also had 3 pillows and 3 blankets. LIVING LARGE. But now I'm here, in a chi-chi mall near my hotel. I was met at the airport by a very nice man named Tang who is basically leading me around on a leash at this point, I'm so brain-dead. Next we're going to the hotel and I am going to crash I don't care what you say about getting on the right time zone Mom. Sleep is what I need and sleep I will have. It's hot and crowded and I've probably never smelled so bad in my life, except for that one time and Emilie, you know what I mean.

Tomorrow I will "relax," which from the looks of things around here means I'm going to sleep until noon and then do some serious shopping. Julia, you would have had several heart attacks at the various airports. Visions of duty-free Coach and Versace and Mac, etc.

On Monday (in case you're confused, it is currently 5:30 on Saturday evening here) I will go to the ECC head office for my orientation. That seems to be a pretty perfunctory affair. Then I'll go to Rayong. I guess. Very unclear, but Masako, my main contact, is supposed to call me tomorrow night to give me all the details and answer my questions. Unfortunately, I don't think she'll be able to answer my most pressing question, which is WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?

My computer battery plunked out after one too many games of Solitaire on the plane, so who knows when I will get online again. That's what I get for bringing drug-store sleeping pills and not the good stuff.

Miss you guys already but not as much as I miss my bed. And Sid.

P.S. This is going to sound horribly racist, possibly, but it's so Asian here. I mean, it's just like in the movies with the honking and billboards and the food stalls. It's tripping me out, a little bit. But that could also be the spicy soup with meatballs that I had for lunch that was delicious until I bit into one of the meatballs and something crunched. I swear to god, there was this little hard thing in one of the meatballs. After that, not so delicious. But I'm too tired and overwhelmed and shy to be that hungry anyway.

I'm just gonna be honest here

2005-10-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

I AM MOVING TO A FOREIGN COUNTRY, ALONE, TO DO A JOB I'VE NEVER DONE BEFORE. AM I FREAKING CRAZY??!!??

That said, I'm a curious mixture of excitement and pure dread on this, my last morning in Santa Cruz.

I Also Overuse Caps Lock

2005-10-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

He's just begging for a caricature, isn't he? I mean, this picture makes me reeeaaaalllly wish I had cartoon-drawing skills. (To add to my nunchuck skills and computer skills. Gosh!)

Anyhoo, today is Begin Packing Day. Jack bought me this nifty backpack-duffle bag-rolling suitcase combo thingy, to add to my big traveling backpack from last year's Europe trip. I am determined that I will take only what can be fit in these two bags. Which, for a normal person, wouldn't be that much of a challenge, but no one ever accused me of being normal, especially in the clothing, shoe, or toiletry departments.

I've started doubting my English-language skills lately, which is funny because objectively, I think I have excellent language skills. But I keep thinking that maybe I overuse the commas, and will I scar my students' comma-usage forever? Or that the funny way I sometimes say "bathroom" will rub off on them and forever afterward my students will sound like a hick transplanted to Chicago whenever they need to use the toilet. And then, of course, I remind myself that I'm only going to be teaching these kids for nine months and I SHOULD BE SO LUCKY that they would remember a word that comes out of my mouth. The grammar in that last sentence was a little tricky, but you get the idea.

Overall, the anxiety of the last few days has passed, and I'm feeling pretty upbeat again. I know it's ornery of me, but I think all the well-wishing and "it's going to wonderful"-ing of my relatives the last few days made me feel worse. Probably because, as a rule, I don't trust anything a fundamentalist Christian step-grandmother says.

So, in conclusion. . . . . HOLY JESUS I AM GOING TO MISS THIS PUPPY!!!!

With fava beans and a nice Chianti

2005-10-23T20:07:00.000-07:00

I went to Portland this weekend, to visit all the various members of the fam that live there. That includes my maternal grandmother, who turned 90 two weeks ago. She's still really healthy, but being 90, living for another year isn't guaranteed. So I thought at least a lunch would be nice, so I could see her for the last time in a looooong time, maybe forever. She's still a hilarious old lady (the only worthwhile kind). She requested Jack in the Box for lunch and told me, totally deadpan, that the reason her kids (my mom included) turned out so well is that she "beat them every Saturday night." Love that woman.

My sister Sophie, who is 11, is in a stage version of "Night of the Living Dead" that plays at 10:30 pm. Possibly one of the funniest things I have ever seen, and remember, I've been to a Christina Aguilera concert. Zombies in totally over-the-top latex wounds roam the audience, sitting on unsuspecting laps and crawling under the rows and generally drowning out the on-stage actors with screams and laughter. At the end, after the curtain call, all the zombies did the entire "Thriller" dance, and I nearly peed my pants. Luckily, Sophie didn't have to worry about being upstaged, because she got to lay on the stairs the whole time, acting sick, until the very end when she spontaneously eats her father's liver and stabs her mother in the neck with a butcher knife. She also tackles the male hero from behind and gives him a hicky. I think she had the best part in the whole thing. Except she looked just like the freaky little girl from The Ring, with dark hair everywhere and dark circles under her eyes, and that gave me some serious creeps.

Other than that, I didn't do a whole lot. My sisters (yes, there are TWO 11-year-olds) had a slumber party last night that reminded me why I've always said I'm not having children. I'd totally forgotten how all those adorable orphaned Chinese babies grow up into pre-adolescents.

Flew home today, and I'm fighting a totally unpleasant nausea caused by severe anxiety. I'm so nervous, people, you all have no freaking idea. They'll be lucky if I don't get off the plane and faint right there in the Bangkok airport. I'm excited, and interested, and more than a little proud of myself, but mostly I'm SCARED AS ALL HELL.

P.S. I totally forgot to talk about last Thursday night, officially known as Laura's Last Night Getting Drunk In Santa Cruz Probably, And You Better Be Sad Motherfucker. I got drunk. Lost my car keys, a lipgloss, and ALMOST lost my credit card TWICE. Good times. I saw this dude Pete that I dated for like, fifteen minutes, like, a year and a half ago. We didn't part on the greatest terms because even though we were JUST FRIENDS by this point, he got a new little girly who didn't like him having friends who just happened to be girls he'd dated. Anyway, Kelly and I went over to him and tried to be friendly and he was FRIGID. Didn't look at me for even a split second, and answered Kelly's questions in monosyllables (even when I was the one who asked them). This was especially immature of him, because he'd been friends with Kelly even before I dated him, and though she's my best friend, she had nothing to do with the whole no-longer-friends New Year's Eve debacle. (Too long and too stupid of a story to relate here.) But we got over it quickly, with the help of some free tequila shots and some $2 Jager shots. And no, I didn't do ANYTHING BAD, and Emilie, aren't you proud of me?

I wonder what would happen if you really did call whine-one-one

2005-10-19T16:16:00.000-07:00

Things are moving along here. I've got my letter of invitation from the school in Rayong. I'm applying for my visa. I'm going to Portland to say good-bye to the father and the fam up there. I went to my last Neighborhood Night at the Seabright Brewery and got nicely drunk. (But not as drunk as LAST WEEK at Neighborhood Night, thank GOD.) I fended off annoying inquiries regarding a free place to stay to watch some muay thai fighting. (Not you, Craig. You can come stay anytime.)

I have the most comprehensive and anally-retentive packing list known to man. I'm putting Emilie's stickered work-out chart TO SHAME here. There are columns. There are keywords. There are cute little boxes for check-marking. Have you ever tried to MOVE with just a backpack and a small suitcase? More importantly, have you ever been obssessed with clothes and shoes and tried to pack for A YEAR in just a backpack and a small suitcase? Yeah, I didn't think so. Because if so, you would feel my pain. PLUS I have to pack up everything else I own, because my parents want to turn my room into a shrine when I leave. (Why does everyone laugh when I say that?)

Uh-oh, somebody call whine-one-one, Laura needs a waaah-mbulance.

Hot Chicks! Naked Chicks! All topless, all the time!!

2005-10-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

Because I like to keep you on your toes. . . . .

And because I hope those of you with breast implants don't turn out like this. . . . .

And because I have a serious aversion to beef jerky now. . . . .

And mostly, just because I can. . . . .

As demanded, a haiku of love to my big sis

2005-10-17T15:29:00.000-07:00

Big boobs, bambi eyes
Preoccupied with kids' names
Expensive-taste girl

Loves books, manicures
Shops Gucci and Ross
Dirty jokes, nice cars

A contradiction
Good friend even when we fight
My sister, the best

I'm now leaving on the 28th. There, now I don't have to talk about it in the actual post.

2005-10-15T17:58:00.000-07:00

I HAVE NO HAIR!!

Seriously. I'm bald. I got my hair cut on Thursday, and even though it has merely been reduced to "perfectly normal" from "frighteningly long and lifelike" IT FEELS LIKE I HAVE NO HAIR! Seriously, I run my hands through it (a step in the right direction, no?) and it, like, ENDS! I can reach the end of my hair! And it isn't trying to eat my face or latch onto inanimate objects or ANYTHING!

It's freaking me out a little.

And it's so light. It hardly weighs anything, and I didn't notice that my hair weighed a lot before. But it did, because now my head feels all naked and floaty. Quite an odd feeling, but I'm not sad I cut off all that hair. Yeah it was long and people liked it, but it's hair. So unless I contract some odd tropical virus in Thailand, it WILL grow back. Knowing my schizophrenic hair, in four months it will be twice as long and harboring plans of world domination.

My new laptop came today. Vuuurrryy exciting. Of course, I IMMEDIATELY installed Oregon Trail and played a trial game. I think it will serve my needs, although it's a little heavier than I would have expected (or liked). But that's okay. I could use the muscles. And the sound is good. A big plus.

I got an email reminding me that I haven't been posting daily photos like I said I was. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you know you aren't really that interested in pictures of my dogs anyway. I'll post a ton more when I get where I'm going. In the meantime, STOP BOTHERING ME. I've got enough stuff to think about right now.

Like, oh I don't know, the little minor issue that I'M MOVING TO THAILAND.

Nothing minor about THIS panic attack

2005-10-13T16:23:00.000-07:00

Freaking out. Freaking, freaking out. Got an email today from Masako, my i-to-i contact person in Thailand. Goes, "By the way, we need your passport number so the school can send you an invitation letter so you can apply for your O-B visa. It's best if you go to the Thai embassy to do that, however, you can post the application too. Please scan your passport information page and send it to me!"

Uh, what? No one ever discussed applications or Thai embassies or an O-B visa, whatever the hell that is, with me. I'M LEAVING NEXT WEEK, SMART PEOPLE, DO YOU REALLY THINK THERE IS TIME FOR POSTING LETTERS BACK AND FORTH TO THAILAND????

If it gets any longer, I'm going to need a whip and a chair

2005-10-13T09:16:00.000-07:00

I am getting my hair cut today, and I'm having a minor panic attack about it. For anyone who hasn't encountered The Hair That Could Eat You Alive. . .well, let's just say it really could. Eat you alive, I mean. I have a lot of long, thick, crazy hair. My hair has a mind of it's own. Several minds, probably, and they all have multiple personality disorder. It's nearly to my waist and curly and thick and even though I complain endlessly about it, do I really want to chop it all off? Urrgghh, I don't know what to do. I'm specifically worried that if I cut it, it will spring up into an Afro-style bushy thing, which isn't in itself bad but with my chipmunk cheeks and round little face, it might make me look like a pumpkin head. Which isn't a good look.

In which I get so mushy and annoying, I want to throw rotten tomatoes at MYSELF

2005-10-12T20:13:00.000-07:00

Holy Bejesus, I got drunk last night. I'm talking DRUNK. Drunk to the point of long nasty hangover today. Drunk to the point of not consuming anything but three pieces of bread and like, eleventeen glasses of water. That is what happens when you don't go out for a month or so, that long-cultivated tolerance just goes right down the toilet.

So huge, large, ENORMOUS props go out to Elisa, who dragged my slobbering drunk butt into her home and made me all comfy on the couch, complete with thoughtful garbage can for the not-so-off chance I would need to toss my cookies. Thank you girl, you are a good friend. And I kept my promise to not let you hook up with your ex-boyfriend, right? Maybe by overshooting my Jager-shot mark and rendering myself incapable of walking, instead of just being a good friend and talking you out of it, but the end result is what matters here.

I recently bought my friend Kelly, who loves gnomes (to the point of driving around in the middle of the night and "liberating" them from other people's lawns), a shirt that says "To Gnome Is To Love Me." With a picture of a gnome, natch. And this afternoon she got it in the mail and called me and nearly blew my brains out the side of my head with her Escalated Voice Syndrome thank-you. And immediately after, even though I was so hungover I was reduced to watching the True Hollywood Story of Christie Brinkley, I sat up and CRIED. I'm going to miss my friends so much!!! Kelly, you are always yelling in my ear and I can never borrow your clothes because your boobs are so big, but I love you. I love your crazy hair (just like mine!) and how you are incapable of taking a normal photograph. When I get homesick I will think about drinking Coors Light in your car outside the Alpha Psi cocktail, and wearing Elvis sunglasses, and your Napoleon Dynamite obsession, and almost marrying random Australians. And Emilie, even though you don't deign to read this very much (biaatch!), I love you too. I love that you put up with my European whoring and bad sense of direction for two months, and I love that you get so feisty when someone bugs you, and I love that we can't give you vodka because you'll probably punch someone out. I love how you love kids, and don't like makeup or jewelry but will drive 2 1/2 hours to get your hair done, and refuse to wear any shoes but flip-flops or cowboy boots. Don't forget, we are going to Oktoberfest in three years!! But this time, let's try to avoid the enormous ass-bruises. And Sarah, I'm so glad we reconnected lately. You've been my friend for a long, long time. I must have been a self-absorbed little snot in high school, but you stood by me. Hopefully, we'll continue to be good friends and someday you can represent me in my land-use litigation. Or, more likely, in my public-drunkeness trial.

Girls, I love you. Thank you for being my friend, and don't forget me when I'm 10,000 miles away and sweating profusely because the humidity is 1300 percent.

Wherefore art thou, AOL?

2005-10-11T14:57:00.000-07:00

I just had a sickening, sickening realization: I have only ten days left of high-speed broadband internet access. What am I gonna do without endless LimeWire capabilities? How am I going to check Dooce and People.com thirteen times a day?

This is a serious problem, people.