Sleepwalking with Ghost Babies

The title of this post says it all if you don't want to read ahead...expect lots of misspellings and other errors as I'm still awake after 4 days in Bangkok.

I haven't slept more than 5 hours total in 4 days. When that usually happens, I sleepwalk and sleep eat. I often times do random things like fill my prescription bottles with BBQ sauce or write cryptic messages to myself in cake frosting on the walls with my fingers. Last night in Bangkok was my girls first time witnessing one of these events. It doesn't help matters that she is extremely afraid of ghosts and demonic possession...or understand somnambulism either.
We are in her new apartment in Suttisan, Bangkok. It's a new building, with 24 hour security, WiFi, cable, the works. I sprung for it to act as a speedball to the living in a refugee camp existence she had been suffering through lately in Sisaket, due to the recent border flare up with Cambodia.
I'm feeling like I'm part of some Navy sleep deprivation experiment, or a character in a Nightmare On Elmstreet flick. Only instead of stapling my eyelids to my forehead, and chugging redbull to stay awake, I'm popping bennadryl by the handful to knock me out. Nothing seems to work.
My girl, by contrast, sleeps 12 hours a day, and I am left awake all night to my own devices. Plotting and scheming the things I could be doing out on the town, other than listening to her breathe.
The Meds kick in and I'm finally out. Next thing I know, I hear my girl crying and screaming my name. I wake up, and I am standing in front of her TV, eating a 2 pound bag of M&M's. Half of them make it into my mouth, the other half fall around me on the floor. I also have taken her lipstick and written messages to myself on her mirror. No, not REDRUM...but in the same genre. It was the words MUSGO CARGEY.
Later I determined I was trying to convey that I was going out and taking her card key to the apartment.
Upon hearing her yelling my name, and waking up, I saw my girl with that 'what the fuck are you doing?' look on her face.

"I'm sorry baby, did I scare you?"
"why you eat my M and M?
"I must have been sleep walking. I do that sometimes. Sorry"

I flop back on the bed and try to sleep. She's awake now though.
"Why you write in my mirro? Oi! You break my lipstick. Why you do that? Oi! Now M and M on the floor. Going to have many ant come now."

I'm fading out again..."sorry honey. It's just something I do when I don't sleep for a long time.
"Maybe it why you so fat. You eat even when you sleep..."

Her voice sounds underwater. Like one of the teachers from Charlie Brown.

I'm out.

I'm dreaming about her beating my leg with a kids toy truck and yelling at me. I wake up and find she's beating my leg with a kids toy truck and yelling at me.

"Bpai! Bpai!" or Go! Go!
I shake off the cobwebs that have my brain swimming in a bennadryl marsh.
"You want me to leave? I'll buy you some more M and M's tomorrow."
"No. I'll tell Phi Dek to go away from you. I think Phi Dek inside you and he want to eat candy so he make you walk when you sleeping so he can taste candy more."

oh yeah, that thing.

Backtrack....hitting mental rewind.

Night before. I wanna go shopping and drink and see some Kitsche. Why not the shithole known as Patpong? I make my girl go, mainly because Im an asshole.
I'm sober as a judge. No way I'm getting into trouble this time out.

Patpong is even more decayed and cheesy than last time I was here. It's an overpriced tourist night market, surrounded by those ping pong ball shows you've probably heard off. Not exotic, not even erotic. Just a pathetic wasteland of cheap consumer goods of both pleather and flesh.

We end up at a stall looking for trinkets and other shit I've promised to buy for people.
I see a rather hideous bar girl who is buying kids toys.
"look at that honey, that woman is selling herself to buy toys for her kid. That's fucked up man."
"No, she not do. I see many times at market."
"Then who's she buying them for?"
"Many lady buy toy for Phi Dek. She ask Phi Dek to bring her customer. If he bring her customer, she have to buy toy for Phi Dek or he very angry."

I already know what a Phi Dek is from past experience in this field with my girl. It's the ghost of a child...usually killed by his or her mother. Sometimes they are stabbed or drowned, or simply die during childbirth.

"Are you sure that's why she's buying them?"

A brief exchange of words in Issan and my girl confirms what she told me.
"Yes, lady say she pray to Phi Dek for customer and she get customer, so now she buy toy for he."
"You have to pray to them?"
"Yes, some people have many many Phi to help them. Not just lady at bar. Many Thai people believe Phi Dek can help. Have temple in Bangkok, I take you tomorrow."
"it's a haunted temple? Fucking cool. Let's do that. I'm gonna check the Internet for haunted places in Bangkok, and we'll do a tour ok?"
"What haunded mean?"
"it's haun-ted, not ded"
My girl and I begin our impromptu English class amidst the stalls in Patpong...
"Hon-ded."
"No, haun-TED"
"Yes, Hon-ded"
"Not Ded. It's Ted. Haun-Ted.
"Ded."
"No. Ted. TED...'T-Ed."
"T--T--T" she repeats "haun-Ted."
"Very good honey, I'm getting you hooked on phonics next."
"Arai Na?"...basically, huh?
"Nevermind. Haunted is a house where ghost live."
"No, I not want to go. I scared. Why you want to go?"
"I don't know. It's cool. Maybe i'll write a book about all this shit we do together. Ghosts are always good stories."
"I not want to go."
"I can give your more money if I sell a book."
"OK, we go tomorrow."

Fast forward to me getting hit in the leg with kids toy as a form of exorcism.

"I'm not possessed by a kids ghost baby, chill out."

I spend the next 20 minutes explaining the science of sleepwalking in a mixture of English, Thai, and Issan. My girl nods her head slowly as if she understands. The nod also says "What the Fuck am I doing with this guy."

After finally assuring her I'm not possessed, she comes to bed.

I feel her get up a few minutes later. I open one eye and see she is hiding all the kitchen knives. Assured I can no longer harm her if I sleepwalk again, she lays down.
I can feel her watching me while I pretend to sleep. I reach out to hug her but feel something sharp and metal.

Hey, Whatever makes her sleep at night.

The Sixth Floor

Now that my girlfriends apartment is free from ghosts (see previous entry "Voodoo Dollhouse"), we settle in for a night's sleep.  The air conditioner is humming, and the toilet is belching every time a neighbor flushes theirs. This building is a monastery for the study of the arcane.  It's inhabitants move along like apparitions in the hallways and elevators, not speaking to each other.  This is a lower class workers hovel.  The only place my girl could afford when I met her.

As my girl and I lay together in bed she makes a face as though she hears something foreboding.


"Never open door past ten o' cok" My girl says. Her face is full of fear.  "I hear lady come home in next apartment.  She always fighting with husband.  He get mao mak (very drunk) and he hit her every night."
"He hits her?"
"Yes,  Nothing can do.  Just don't open door past ten o' cok"

We are watching a Thai variety show.  Say what you want about lazy American's glued to the television.  TV watching in Thailand is a national sport.  My girl's apartment is a fairly shitty one room affair.  She cooks on a hot plate on the floor and has a small fridge.  Cockroaches pop up now and then, but I have lived in worse places in the States when I was younger.  The walls are paper thin and we can hear her neighbor crying.  Sure enough, the hits and epithets start flying within the hour.

"Hia! (cunt)"  The man yells.  His voice is hoarse, and he coughs deeply between bouts of psychosis.

"We have to do something.  Call the police."  I tell my girl.

I know this is disturbing to my girl, but I think she is afraid to get involved with the violence next door.  She is under 100 pounds and can't defend herself.  Up until now, she has been alone through these episodes.  The yelling, and slaps, and ensuing crying gets louder.  I try several times to go out into the hall to knock on the neighbors door, and straighten out the asshole who is beating his wife but my girl holds me back.  Part of me is thinking of hitting the guy myself, but then the other part, the one that says "Don't get involved." is starting to win.

"Let me just look into the hallway."  I tell my girl

I look at her face.  She is genuinely afraid.  It's a bullshit, no win situation for both of us, but I can't sleep,  knowing that some asshole is kicking the shit out of his wife in the next room. 

I open the door and look down the hall.  Almost every door is open, and all of the neighbors are doing the same thing I am.  Just peeking out of their doorway and listening to the violent lullaby.  I make eye contact with another male neighbor, who's wife is also holding him back from acting in some heroic way.  We nod to each other and then shake our heads every time the man yells out Hia! in Thai.  My girl is holding my wrist like an anchor, to prevent me getting involved, but I shake her loose and step out into the hall.  Like a meek herd of buffalo who slowly gain courage to chase off the lions eating their young, some of the men in the building, even ones from upstairs and down, are coming to the wife beating party.  The faces say it all.  What to do?  My girl tells me that she thinks the wife beater is a policeman, so calling the police to help will be of no avail.  I tell her to call them anyway, thinking that this piece of shit next door would be an embarrassment to the Thai police if he actually kills her.

In my own country this would be solved quickly, but I am a farang, in Thailand, and they play by different rules here.  I knock on the neighbors door anyway.

The crying stops, and the room is silent.  The herd of buffalo in the hallway waits for several minutes and no further sounds come from the room.  It's as if your neighbor had his TV on too loud and you knocked on the wall, and he just took it as a sign to keep the volume down, and did so accordingly.

I hesitate to knock again.  If he is a cop, then I don't want a gun to my face when he opens the door.  We wait some more and there is nothing happening inside the room.  I look at the rest of the neighbors who have gathered and we all go back to our apartments.

Back in our room we begin watching TV again.  Now the wall to our room is getting knocked by the tell tale signs of a beds head board and the creaking of its springs.  Maybe the beating was just his form of foreplay prior to spousal rape...I don't know.  A few minutes later, the ghetto fights and orgasms die down, and the night envelopes us in it's peace.

My girl turns to me in bed and looks me in the eyes.

"You never do the same to me?"  She asks.
"What?  Hit you?  Never.  Why would I ever hit you?"
"I don't know.  Just asking.  My boyfriend before hit me sometime."  She says to me so nonchalantly, as though it was an expected part of the relationship.
"I promise i will never be like that guy next door. OK?"
"OK.  Thank you honey."  She says.  She kisses me goodnight and puts and arm over my chest.  Soon after, she is sound asleep. 

Nice dating a girl with such low standards....

I stare at the ceiling, and watch the lizards run across the walls.  The TV show has turned into a Thai soap opera, in which, during the opening credits, there is a montage of women crying, and getting slapped by their men.  The age old question of Anti-mimesis crosses my mind.  Now this room has lost it's comfort for me.  It no longer feels like a home.  I can now understand why my girl wanted the ghost doctor to come and cast away it's bad vibes.  I see this room as something sinister now, and decide to relocate to a new place for the both of us.  Maybe something with a few less roaches, a place where you don't have to cook on the floor, and a place where ghosts aren't born by the actions of madmen in the next room over.

At 3am, I am awakened by the sound of someone messing with our door.  I try to wake up my girl but as I know from previous experience, once she is asleep, it is next to impossible to wake her up.  I grab one of her large butcher knives and wait by the door.  The door knob is turning slowly back and forth.
"Arai Na?"  I say loudly.  It means what? In Thai, but with the right intonation it sounds more like "What the fuck do you want?".  The door knob stops turning, and after a log pause,  I hear footsteps slowly dragging down the hall.  Then it is quiet.

I have never seen the man or woman next door to this day.  I try to picture their faces, if they have faces at all.  For now, they too, are simply ghosts in my memory,

My girls words repeat over again in my head..."Never open door past ten o' cok...never open door past ten o' cok..."

Hell has no bottom

The old lady with no teeth smiles at me, and waves for me to come closer.  I am only a short distance away but I can smell her already.  Her odor  is a melange of moth balls, fish sauce, and urine.  I imagine that she doesn't keep her private area very clean while living on the streets of Bangkok, and probably pees herself either deliberately because she is insane, or maybe she just has a urinary tract infection.  For some odd reason, I try to picture her naked (as I do with most women I first meet), then I shudder with the mental image I conjure up.  She is asking me for money.  My girlfriend tells me to ignore her, as we make our way into Hua lamphong temple to make offerings to the Buddha.

The Temple is simply beautiful.  Actually, it is not simple at all.  If anything it is grandiose, and massive.  As we pass the urine lady, we enter the ground level chamber where I am apparently supposed to burn incense, ring bells, and then give money (200 Baht).  I don't exactly know what I am, or my girlfriend is praying for, but I play along because this seems to make her happy.

Then we do something else that is for the poor people who don't have money for a proper burial (500 Baht) buying them boxes for their ashes or something like that. Then we go outside and my girl asks me if I want to pray for my family.  Sure, why not?  She hands me 5 pieces of paper and tells me to write the names of my loved ones on each one.  I do, and then I am instructed to place them on some sort of tile that is used to make a roof for a miniature temple (100 baht).
- You want to have lucky day everyday?  My girl asks me.
-Yeah, I guess so.
- Ok you see those jars?  There is one for each day of the week.  You have to count out baht for each day and put in jar.

I don't fucking remember the order but it was like 15 Baht for Monday, 17 Baht for Tuesday, 22 Baht for Wednesday, etc.  I takes at least ten minutes to count out the single Baht coins and put them in the jars.  You have to put them in one at a time.  I'm wondering if it was this fucking expensive to be a Buddhist back when Buddha was alive.

Then it's time to take gold leaf and stick them on the various Buddha statues (maybe 300 Baht).

I ask my girl why we are putting gold leaf on the Buddha statues but I didn't give any money to the piss-soaked homeless lady outside.  She tells me the temples are what makes Thailand so beautiful.  You have to honor the Buddha first, then think of others, and then yourself.

Ahh...I see.

We spend 2 hours at the temple.  I don't feel any more enlightened or at peace.  I am simply 1,000 Baht poorer.  My girl is in a state of religious ecstasy though.  Hey, If she's happy, then I'm happy.  I have read much of the Buddhist literature out there and I dig it's take on simplicity, and the middle path.  I follow Buddhist philosophy, but  I am not religious by any means, and my moral compass is often times broken.  I am ethical however, and something is just not sitting with me right about any of this.  It reminds me too much of the Catholic bullshit I grew up with.  Beautiful churches that require endless amounts of cash.  I have deep admiration for the artistic value of these temples, and just consider my donation today as part of it's upkeep.

As we leave the temple we pass the homeless lady again.  My girl tells me to give her 10 Baht.  I open my wallet and pull out a thousand Baht note.

-What are you doing?  My girl asks.
-Giving the lady some money.
-No honey!  You give too much.  Only give her ten Baht.
-Why?  I just gave over a thousand so I could ring some bells and put gold on a statue.
-Yes, but she here every day.  She going to get big money from everybody. 

As I go to hand the money to the homeless lady, my girl dives in front of me like a Secret Service agent protecting the president.  You can almost here the Noooooooooo!!!!!

It's too late.  The feeble old woman's hands come to life and she snatches the note from my hand with ninja like reflexes.  She briefly touches me during our exchange, leaving an oily residue on my fingers.

Whatever radar the homless beggars have built into them sounds off, and soon we are surrounded.  I look at the many faces around me.  Some look like disheveled drunks, others are missing limbs, one guy in particular seems to be missing most of his nose.  They all meekly put out their hands to me -- Mr. Moneybags.

I point them towards the urine lady I just gave the thousand baht to. 
-Ter mii nyun. (she has the money) I tell the horde.

The homeless horde looks at urine lady, urine lady looks at me, and then I look at my girlfriend.

-How do you say share the money in Thai?  I ask her

My girl spits out a machine gun riff in the Isaan dialect that I can't understand.

-Ok, I tell them.  Now we go.

The horde approaches the urine lady.  The whole street is watching her karma unfold.  Will the beggar share her windfall with the others?  Her face says it all.  Simply -- what the fuck?  The horde and urine lady stare at the bill in her hand like a group of cave men scratching their heads about what to do.

We leave this great karmic question unanswered, and start walking towards the train station.  My girl won't talk to me.  She is quiet when she is angry.  I open my wallet, take out all of my money and hand it to her.

-From now on, you're the boss.  I tell her.

My girl looks at the wad of cash, and puts it into her purse.  She smiles her little devil smile, and finally holds my hand.

-I love you.  She tells me.

Interesting what money can buy these days....

Amor Fati

Waiting for my luggage at Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok.  The man next to me is an unusual sight in these parts.  He is pure East LA Cholo; decked out in Dickies shorts, wife beater, knee-high white socks, and a Dodgers hat.  As I scan him, he gives me the "What's up homie?" nod.

-Long fuckn flight huh? The Vato asks.
-Yeah man.  Really fuckn long.
-You from LA?
-Yeah, Redondo Beach. 
-Cool man.
-How bout you?  I ask him.
-You know Monterey Park?
-Yeah man.  Been out there before.
-No.  For Reals?
-Yeah, dated a Mexican girl out there before.
-Cool
-First time in Bangkok?  I ask him.
-Nah man, this is my fourth trip this year.
-No shit?
-How bout you?  He asks.
-My third trip.  I got a lady out here.
-Don't we all, huh?  I fuckn hate American women.  He says
-I feel you man.  (I'm trying my best to channel my best Homie/Vato lingo, but I come across whiter than ever.  He is somewhat trying to channel West Side white boy.  We meet in the middle somewhere.)

-Seriously bro.  My girl is so fuckn good to me.  She's hot as fuck, and treats me like a king and shit. She's waitn for me outside.
-Me too.  I tell him

Having established our mutual disdain for American women, we wait in silence for our luggage.  I scan the Vato again, taking in his gang tattoos.  He did time in prison.  I can just tell.  Years of training Muay Thai to both cops and crooks I guess.

His teeth are clenched and he seems nervous as his bags arrive.  He waits for a few minutes, as though he's waiting for me, and then when mine arrive we begin walking together.  Vato seems wound up.  I start to deliberately lag behind and give him a wide berth as we approach the police x-ray machine.  He takes a deep breath and approaches the police.  The cops simply wave him on, and then wave me on too.  Relief seems to pass over him.  I ask the cops where the restroom is, and go to where they point.  Inside, Vato is running cold water over his shaved head.
We resume our talk on our way to the exit.

-Where you stayin?  He asks
-Bang Kapi, then Sisaket.
-Where's that?
-It's out in Butt Fuck Egypt.  I tell him
-Nothn wrong with the BFE man.  My lady's from way the fuck out there too.

The Vato's eyes light up.
-There's my girl.  He points

I look ahead at the faces in the arrival section.  It is a microcosm of Thailand itself:  Ordinary folks, business people, bar girls awaiting their time share boyfriends, and the ubiquitous ladyboy.  One girl looks like she got hit in the face with a shovel and tried to cover the wreckage with blue eye shadow.  She's the one who Vato is elated to see.
Vato gives Shovel Face a big hug.  She tenderly holds his face in her hands and gives him a "hom joop", or sniff kiss.  Vato introduces me to her, and I give her a wai.  It's hard to look at her face, lest a micro-expression of disgust crosses my face and fuck up my greeting.  I can't tell if she is deformed or was in some sort of accident.  Vato is a fairly handsome homie, and the two of them don't seem a likely pair.  Then again, I'm a fat fuck, and I still don't know what my girl sees in me.
The Vato and Shovel Face hold hands and walk with me until I see my lady. 
-There's my chick.  I say proudly, then feel like an asshole for my one-upmanship.

My girl is waiting for me in tight jeans, high heels, and a T-shirt depicting a monkey with his middle finger up.  Classy...
She opens her mouth before I can say anything.

-Oi!  I wait for so long.  You say plane come at ten o' cok.  Now it two o' cok in morning!  Why you make me come early if plane going to be late?
-I'm sorry baby.  I tell her.

She continues her greeting. 
-It very hot.  Now I tired and want to sleep already.  Hurry up.  We go now.  I don't eat dinner because I wait for you.
-I didn't eat dinner either.  I say.
-You fat.  You don't need dinner.
I move towards my girl for a hug, but she wiggles away from me.
-You stink.  She tells me.

I turn towards vato.  He has his arm around the waist of Shovel Face.  Their faces appear to be glowing.
-I'll leave you two alone.  Have a good trip bro.  He says.

We shake hands and then Vato leads Shovel Face out of the airport.
I turn back to my girl.
-Thanks.  I was going to inroduce you to a friend of mine from LA but you just start yelling at me and complaining as soon as I see you.
-That your friend?  My girl asks
-Yeah
-What he name?
-Ummm....his nickname is Vato
-He Mexico?
-Yeah, he Mexico.  I say.
-That he girlfriend?
-Yeah.  She very nice to him.  When she see him, she give him big hug and nice to him.  You just yell at me that you wait so long.

My girl shrugs.
-Ok.  You want to trade girlfriend with he?  Or you want to shut up and maybe I nice to you tomorrow?

I lower my head.  After a 17 hour flight, I know I can't win this.

-I guess I'll shut up and wait for you to be nicer to me tomorrow.  I say.
-OK.  Then let's get taxi and go hotel.  Maybe you lucky, and I don't make you sleep on floor tonight.

With that, we walk out of the airport and into the familiar heat of Thailand.  My girl begins telling a cab driver where to go in the Issan dialect.  I can see her skin has become darker since last time I saw her, from working on the farm.  I catch a glimpse of the flawless brown skin on her belly as her T-shirt with the fuck you monkey on it rises slightly.  I study her cheek bones, and her silky black hair.  The Screamin Jay Hawkins song "I put a spell on you"  pops into my head.

Inside the Taxi, my girl puts her legs across mine and falls asleep.  My sense of self is renewed.  I am a foot stool for all of the beauties that have come and gone in my life.  I think about Vato and shovel face, and the affection they had.  Then I watch my angry angel sleeping soundly.  Knowing full well that I have a good thing even when it's bad.

Death warmed over

The girl with the skeleton body leaned towards me at the bar.  She was well past her sell by date.  Garish makeup, cheap knock-off purse, and a gaudy plastic belt with a giant buckle that seemed to cover most of her torso.  I couldn't identify the smell coming from her.  It was a miasma of smoke, cheap perfume, and the  remnants of her last few customers aftershave.  This bar was the stripper graveyard.  My girlfriend chose it specially for me because I said I wanted to go drink and look at girls, so she chose a bar with the ugliest women possible.
There were few customers in this place.  The ones that were here simply starred into their drinks.  Up on the stage was the line up.  Women who had been in the biz way too long and wore their battle scars on their stomachs in the form of stretch marks.  After one beer I was ready to leave. 
"Where's you're girlfriend?"  The skeleton asks me.
"She went to the rest room."
"She been gone a long time.  Maybe she leave you."

My girl had been gone a long time.  At least 20 minutes.  She has a habit of saying she is going someplace, and then just takes off to buy food from the market.  I am thinking she left me here because she knows there is no way I would go home with one of these girls.

I offer the skeleton 100 Baht to use her cel phone so I can call her.
"OK, and you buy me lady drink."
Deal
I tell the Skeleton the number and she dials the phone.  My girl answers, and instead of handing me the phone, the skeleton begins talking to her.
They are both speaking in the Issan dialect, which I only understand slightly.  I keep waiting for the skeleton to give me the phone but she hangs up.
"What's up?  I wanted to talk to my girl.  What did you say to her?"
The skeleton begins laughing.  "I tell her you my boyfriend now and you not want to see her anymore."
"No, really, what did you say?  Where is she?"
"Yes, really, I say you my boyfriend now.  She say OK you can have all the fun you want and she go back home."
I try not to lose my temper.  Losing it at a bar in Thailand is generally a bad idea.  I'm pretty sure I can take the bouncers in a fight, but I don't want to end up in a Thai prison if the boys in brown come.

I look into the skeletons eyes.  She's definitely on Yaa Baa, the Thai equivalent of Crystal Meth, which would explain her physique.  Either that or AIDS.

"Can you call her back please?  That's not funny.  Mai talok.  You understand?"
The skeleton puts her hand on my leg.  "I want to take you to hotel.  Then I want to kill you in your sleep, and take your money."
Her giggle is that of the possessed, or the insane.  I assume she is trying to disarm me by stating what I am thinking when it is actually the truth.  Similar to joking with  a friend that you are banging his wife, when you really are.

"Look, I have no money to steal.  I'm key nok, (literally bird shit, which is a euphemism for cheapskate) call her back and I'll give you 200 Baht."

The skeleton hits the redial button, and my girl picks up the phone.  The skeleton begins talking to her again.
I try and snatch the phone from her hand but she holds it away from me, and we begin to scuffle.  Now the whole bar is looking at us and the bouncers are heading over.  The skeleton hands me the phone politely and tries to compose herself.  She waves the bouncers away before they get to us.

"Honey, where are you?"
I just hear sniffling on the other end of the line.
"I don't know what that crazy girl said to you but it's not true.  Where are you?"
"I go to buy kanom (snacks), and let you have fun."
"OK, fun's over, come back and get me, I'll wait outside."
more sniffling...
"OK, I come get you soon."

Now I feel like an asshole.

I give the skeleton back her phone, and start to leave.
"You give me 300 Baht, and pay for drink."  She says

Fuck it.  Just pay it and go.  I hand the Skeleton her money, and then notice the scar on her wrist as she reaches for it.  Most likely self-inflicted, but I am way past giving a shit.  She sees me looking at her scar.

"Monk tell me my next life going to be good one, so one time I try to go to next life early."

I don't know if she's aware that in Buddhism, suicide isn't exactly the fast track to a good rebirth.  Then again, after looking at her, anything would be considered a step up.

Outside, it is Friday night on Soi 4.  Alcoholic zombies dragging their girls through piles of garbage and vomit.  The street is littered with the detritus of food stalls.  A cat sits patiently, starring up at lizard on a vendors umbrella. 

The cat waits next to me while I wait for my girl to arrive.  It is the only snapshot I take that evening.  Punters in the bar areas get a little touchy if you take photos of them.

People watching on Soi 4 is some of the best in the world.  If anything, for the sense that at least I'm not THAT guy.  Holy fucking shit.  If you ever need a boost to your self-esteem, go to Soi 4 and look around for an hour or two.

My girl arrives after 20 minutes, carrying several bags of food.  I am expecting her to be mad at me but she is all smiles.
"Honey, you like mango?"
"Yeah, sure.  Why'd you leave me there for so long?  I had to pay that crazy lady 300 Baht to call you?"
"You pay her 300 Baht?  OK, I go get it back for you."
"No, just forget it.  I wanna go."
"It OK, I go get back for you."

My girl hands me the bags of food and enters the bar.  I am expecting a cat fight to erupt, but she emerges from the bar a few minutes later along with the skeleton.

The skeleton puts her hands together and wai's me.  I wai back.

"OK, we go now."  My girl says.

We start walking down Soi 4 towards the sky train.  The cat and lizard are both gone.

"Did you get the money back?"
"Yes I get it.  I hold for you OK?"
"What'd you say to her?"
"Nothing.  Just ask for money back and she give."
"That's it?"
"I also say why you charge my boyfriend 300 Baht for phone call when I already give you 300 Baht to watch him for me?"

Little fucker.

"You paid that girl to talk to me?"
"Yes."

Nothing more needed to be said.  My sneaky little shit girlfriend paid the skeleton to talk to me so the other girls would leave me alone.

"You know, that girl said she wanted to kill me in my sleep."
"Really? Aww...no, she say it wrong.  I tell her to say she going to cut off your banana instead."

We walk to the skytrain and head back to our hotel.  The motion of the train makes my girl fall asleep on my shoulder.  I can see her reflection in the window opposite us.  I am still in love with her.  Just a lot more afraid.

Save the last bullet for yourself

 Another long fucking bus ride.  17 hours from Phnom Pen Cambodia to Bangkok.  I try to find a seat with nobody next to me, but my search is in vain.  This time I am solo.  My lady friend has gone on to visit her family in Laos.  Our man in Cambodia waved goodbye to me, and wished me luck.  Not that it's hard to sit on a bus.  There are no more fears of Khmer Rouge Guerrillas hijacking the bus and cutting off my head, which was a very real possibility 10 years ago.  The only real worry is sitting next to someone who won't shut the fuck up while I am trying to read.
I have never won the lottery.  I have never won anything for that matter.  Cancer?  Yeah, I'd win that.  Drugged and left for dead?  Yep, already happened.  Sit next to a 70 year old Christian missionary on a 17 hour bus ride?  Jackpot!

Let's call her Ethel...outdated jeans, flowery shirt, curly hair, and expanding waist line which she cleverly hides by pulling her jeans almost all the way up to her throat.  Subtle, yet ostentatious crucifix hanging around her neck --  that falls between her breasts, which are, as I notice,  smaller than her stomach.  Harsh huh?  Stay with me...

I can feel Ethel is trying to size me up through her peripheral vision.  I know she is dying to talk, so I bury my nose in my book.  I don't need to be Sherlock fucking Holmes to figure out that she is a Missionary.  She has prominently displayed her Bible on her lap, along with several religious pamphlets depicting some sort of rapturous event on the cover.  I am minding my own biz.  Just another dipshit who couldn't afford a plane ticket straight to Bangkok.  I also pull out my Buddhist amulet from underneath my T-shirt and let it hang between my man boobs, which are also smaller than my stomach (you see? Self-effacing humor to balance out my rip on Ethel, so fuck you Ethel).
Her opening line is rather ham-handed...

"Would you like to read a book on forgiveness?"
I pretend not to have heard her.
She taps my arm.
"Excuse me."  She whispers, as if to lessen her intrusion.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I can see you are reading.  Do you like to read?"
"Try to."
"May I ask what you are reading?"
"History."
"Oh really?  History of Cambodia maybe?"
"Nope."
"Oh."

I can be fairly anti-social if I want to.  I roll up my sleeves to show more tattoo.  Like a dumb ass I chose a Japanese motif, replete with pink cherry blossoms, and flowing water patterns.  Rather non-threatening.  Now I am kicking myself for not going with the gangster prison style.

"Oh my, your tattoos are lovely.  Are those Japanese?"
"Yep."
"Did you get those in Japan?"
"Nope."
"Where did you get those?"
"San Diego." Fuck!  I fucked up....
Ethel turns what she can of her large ass in her seat so she is facing me.
"Are you from San Diego?"
"Nope."  I sigh heavily.  The sigh that says please shut the fuck up.
I'm fucked though.  Ethel has wormed her way in.
"Where are you from?"
"Chicago...originally"
"And where are you now?"
"L.A."
"Oh my, Los Angeles is beautiful."
"It's a shithole.  I fucking hate it."
"I'm sorry?"
"LA, it's a fucking shithole.  I wish somebody would bomb it already.  Just blow it the fuck up."

Ethel straightens up her posture and sits facing forward again.  Ahh...Silence.  That should buy me at least a few hours.  Ten minutes later, she turns to me again.

"So what brings you to Cambodia?"
"Drugs and hookers."
Ehtel doesn't miss a beat.  She hastens to give me one of her religious tracts.
"You are exactly the man I want to talk to!"
Mother fucker...
"Did you ever think of the repercussions of your actions here in Cambodia, and of the victimization of the women you exploit?"
"I'm just bullshitting you.  I was here to see Angkor Wat with some friends."
Ethel raises a judgmental eyebrow.  A skill honed from years of being a Christian missionary.
"Really now?  What else were you doing?"
I put my book down, turn to her and give her the evil eye.  It has zero effect.  She is under the holy light of God, and He is her protector and guide.  Every one of her actions has been sanctified from on high.
"You know, to be honest, I don't need to explain myself to you.  So if you wouldn't mind, could we just please end this conversation?  I'm not trying to be rude.  I just really want to finish my book."
Ethel takes a kinder tone.
"I'm sorry, we got off to a bad start.  I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.  You must think I'm some crazy lady."
"Yeah, with like ten cats right?" Ha ha.
"How'd you know?" she laughs, then under her breath she starts praying for me.  Something to the effect of "Heavenly father please guide this lost soul out of the darkness into the light.  Please Lord Jesus save this man from himself."

Shit.  Sounds like my own prayers to myself every night.  Minus the Jesus part.

Ethel begins again..."Well, you are probably wondering about what I'm doing in Cambodia right?"
I shake my head horizontally, apparently not overtly enough.
"I'm here as part of a group that finds alternative jobs for girls who are forced into the sex trade."
Ethel has genuinely piqued my interest.  A topic that enthralls me.
"No kidding?  What sort of alternative jobs do you find for them?"
"Well, when we meet an exploited girl, we teach her how to farm, how to cut hair, do nails, maybe find her a job cleaning a hotel or something."
"Yeah?  How's that working out?"
"Oh, well, you know.  It works with the older gals, but the young ones are harder to get through to."
"You mean the old ladies who nobody wants to sleep with anymore go for it, but the young attractive ones don't?"
"Not quite that simple but basically yes."
"Ah."
"Now, I'm not saying you frequent prostitutes, but if you do, or maybe if you have friends that do, it would be great if you could hand them out my cards."
Ethel hands me her business card.
"Ok, well, I'll keep that in mind."
For some vague reason, I feel it necessary to justify my trip to this parasite.
"I have a girlfriend in Thailand, by the way.  Gonna get married soon."
"Oh, congratulations.  How did you meet her?"
"She worked at a restaurant near the Muay Thai gym I train at."
"Muay thai?  Oh yes.  That fight ing stuff. So violent. Brrr."  She shakes.
Now it's my turn.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask
"Sure. Anything."
"Have you ever done what they call cock math with these girls?"
"What?"
"Cock math.  It's really simple.  You ask a girl why she started working.  She's gonna say the usual thing like support my family or build a home for her parents.  You then ask her how long she's been working, how many days per week, how many customers per day, etcetera.  Then you ask her how much money she has saved.  She will probably look at you with a blank face and then say she hasn't saved anything.  Because bargirls just blow all their money on cel phones, clothes and other bullshit.  So you just add it up for her and do the cock math.  For instance, let's say she worked for two years, five days a week, at two customers per day..that would be..."

Ethel arrives at the number before I do.  So I suck at math.  Big deal.

"One thousand and forty." She says.

"Yeah, that's a lot of cocks.  Tell her that big ass number, and then tell her she slept with over one thousand men and has absolutely nothing to show for it.  Then give her your sales pitch about the hair salon. I'm sure you will catch a few with that approach.  Just try it."

Ethel is uncomfortable with my over emphasis of the word cock. 

"Well, we would have to come up with a better name for it, but I can see how doing the math would help them to understand how they are wasting their lives away.  It breaks my heart."

"Yep.  Gotta do the cock math with em."

Ethel ponders this and I go back to reading my book.

"May I ask what book you are reading?"  She asks.

I turn the book over and show her the cover.

"The Christ Conspiracy." She reads aloud. "Sounds interesting.  Is it about Judas and his betrayal of Jesus."

"Nope.  It's about how Jesus never existed as a historical figure, and his myth was plagiarized from the Egyptian God Horus.  Also how there were sixteen crucified saviors in ancient mythology.  All of them were plagiarizations of one another.  The Romans simply used the Christ myth to unify the then divided empire under Constantine, believing that a monotheistic religion could be used to justify rule under one emperor.  Basically it just says that Christianity is bullshit."

"Oh."

Ethel turns to look out the window.  She begins to pray for me again under her breath, and I assume, doing her own cock math in her head.

Scambodia

Dedicated to Haywire...

A few trips back, my lady friend and I, decided to go visit a pal who was living and working in Cambodia.  The journey was simple enough.  Take a train to the border. cross, and he would meet us there.  At the train station in Bangkok, I was stoked to see a original "Orient Express" train sitting on the tracks.  It's history is legendary.  It was not to be though, and we were directed to one of the non-air conditioned cattle cars that take the Thai country people back to their homeland.
We are to take this train to the border town of Aranpayet, transfer to a Tuk Tuk, and then cross into Poipet, Cambodia.  Easy to remember because Poipet rhymes with toilet.
The train ride itself was third world chic.  Wood bench seating, open windows, food vendors, etc.  Something about the sway of the train, the countryside, clean air, and $1 price for an 8 hour ride made it tolerable.  The strung out looking German couple a few seats up from us had already confirmed what I had suspected.  That a lot of drug tourists, finding Thailand dry in comparison, opt for the lax laws on the Cambodian side of the wire.  Cambodia is, as I would later find out, a non-extradition treaty country with the USA.  Note that in case you are ever on the lam.
My lady friend and I have been platonic buddies for many years.  I keep her around, if anything, for the purpose of showing other women that a girl can tolerate my presence for more than five consecutive minutes.
It is good to catch up with her, as she gabs almost as much as I do, and it makes the 8 hours go by relatively quick.
At the border crossing, it was the usual suspects.  Hippies, backpackers, Euro-trash, and that one stand out guy, who you just know deep inside, is there to be a pervert.  The large posters hanging on the walls don't say "Welcome to Cambodia", instead, they say, in several languages, what amounts to "Please don't fuck our children."  That creepy vibe I already had about Cambodia went up a few notches after seeing the signs.
Crossing from Thailand into Cambodia is similar to crossing from San Diego to Tijuana.  The chaos hits you like a punch in the face.  "Our man in Cambodia" isn't there to meet us yet.  Upon calling him, we find out he is hitching a ride in a truck and will meet us in an hour or so, allowing us some time to decompress and take in the border sights.  Beautiful, fair-skinned girls pull up on moto-taxis by the droves and enter a casino.  Presumably to work as hostesses, judging by their attire.  Hawkers sell the endless buffet of bootleg DVDs, fake purses, and rancid meat on a stick.  I chain smoke the local brand which has a delightful depiction of a cancer-ridden lung on the package.  My friend and I sulk in the mid-day heat, until our contact arrives.

Big bro hugs, and wassup man's? are exchanged, and then our man in Cambodia starts the process of finding us a ride to Siem Reap.  While negotiating the price of a car, a man spots me from a fair distance away, and makes a bee line for me.
"Mister Joel! Welcome back to Cambodia!"  He says, extending his hand for a shake.
My friends look at me, I look at them, then look back at the guy.
"Huh? No, man, this is my first time here."
"No, you are Mister Joel right?"
"Yeah."
"Yes, you come here, Cambodia before, two years ago, I remember, I take you around."

Now, I must say, I have been hit in the head a lot over the years.  I am punch drunk at times, and even suffer from short term memory loss.  I have had black outs, I sleep walk, and have other neurological problems, but is it possible that I was here two years ago, and was so fucked up that I have no recollection of it?

"I think you got the wrong guy man."
He insists, and is even incredulous that I don't remember.
"Mister Joel, yes.  I meet you two years ago.  I remember your tattoo.  I take you around before."
My friends look at me.  I am wondering to myself, shit, was I here two years ago?  He even has me doubting myself.
Our man in Cambodia has haggled a price for a car to Siem Reap.  I wave my pal from two years ago away, assuming that this is some sort of complex scam, and jump into the car with my crew.

"What was that about?"  My lady friend asks.
"I have no fucking idea. That guy insisted I was here two years ago, which is freaking me out because I was in Thailand two years ago, and I did party a lot.  Maybe I got so fucked up I came here and don't remember?  My passport would have a stamp though right?"
This incident has since then dubbed me Mister Joel.

I would later learn (just a few months ago) that it is very simple to cross into Cambodia at many un-official checkpoints without a stamp.  I have since hiked into Cambodia a few times near my girlfriends house with her brother on a never ending quest to buy black market cigarettes.

Siem Reap is a lovely city.  It is South East Asia's version of New Orleans French Quarter.  The instability of the Cambodian Riel has led most of the country to function on the US Dollar.  ATM machines spit out dollars.  Restaurants, hotels, and seemingly everything else is priced in US Dollars, with the vendor giving you Riel's back in change. 

My first Cambodian language lesson begins shortly after arriving.  I ask our man in Cambodia "How do you say no in Khmer?
"Ataay."
"How do you say yes?"
"Baat."
I walk down the street with my friends feeling super suave.
"Taxi sir?"
"Ataay."
5 seconds later..."Taxi sir?"
"Ataay."
Another 5 seconds..."Taxi sir?"
"Ataay."

This is driving me fucking nuts.  Our man in Cambodia, however,  is all smiles and relaxed.  Nothing seems to disturb his equilibrium.  His command of the Khmer language usually stops people dead in their tracks when talking with them, and he is able to arrange a Tuk Tuk ride to the temples the next day.

Apparently I snore, really fucking loud, because my lady friend who I am sharing a room with, wakes me up several times to tell me to shut up.   This, among other things, is what has kept us in the platonic phase for so long.  Now, she will just be my travel buddy, and occasional cock-blocker, when I try to bust a move in a bar.

We awaken, and our man in Cambodia is already on the scene with our Tuk Tuk ready.  About 20 minutes later, we arrive at the outskirts of the temples.  The Tuk Tuk driver has been hired for next to nothing for an entire day of driving us around.  At first sight, the road we are on goes straight through the temple complex gate.  The benevolent visage of king Jayavarman looks down from above as we drive through the gate and into another world.  I have waited my whole life to come here.  I love ancient history to the point of it being my second wife.  This is Indiana Jones shit.  Tomb Raider shit.  Johnny fucking Quest,  Apocalypse Now, World of Suzie Wong, and every other thing that has shaped my mindscape since birth.  The vines, monkeys, elephants, women in sarongs, along with the heat, the smells....aww fuck.

We get out of the Tuk Tuk and begin the 6 hour slog through the different sites.  It is almost too much to take in.  I am trying to project myself back in time.  Trying to picture what life was like back when these monuments were built.  The Temples at Angkor are still active Buddhist shrines, and many of the alcoves have Buddhas adorned with fresh flowers and offerings. As I emerge from a tunnel in the complex, I am confronted by a group of children holding trinkets for sale.
"Mister!  You buy! Mister! You buy!"
"Ataay."
they grow louder and follow me. "Mister! You buy!"
I try and wave then away.  They just follow with that awkward little kid trot and keep repeating their mantra.
"Mister! You buy!"

We finally lose the first pack of feral children and move through the temples.  Just when I start to get into that meditative, trying to picture what the fuck life was like back a thousand years ago state of mind, I am snapped out of my trance by another pack of children trying to sell me shit.
"Mister! You buy! Mister!  You buy!"
One kid comes up with a more novel money making strategy.  He says that he can, If I tell him the country I am from, tell me the capital city and population. I tell him I am Hungarian.
"Oh.  You capital city is Budapest. Population--" Whatever the fuck he said. "You give me one dollar!"

I ask our man in Cambodia if this ever ends.  He tells me to take out my cel phone and pretend to talk on it.  Pretty soon, whenever we see a pack of kids, all three of us pull out our cel phones and have fake conversations on them.  This acts like a force field from Star Trek, and for whatever reason, even desperate, aggressive street urchins respect the sanctity of the cel phone call and they stay away.

We walk through the temples for hours on end.  Pretending to call in Napalm strikes on our phones.
"Yeah, bomb the village. Danger close.  I repeat, danger close fire mission."

The kids leave us alone until we stop for a bite to eat.

Our man in Cambodia has a pack of eight or so girls around him.  He is speaking in Khmer to them and they are floored that he can speak it so well.
"What do they want?" I ask him
"They want me to read something in the newspaper to them, to prove I can read Khmer.  I'm not a monkey.  I don't want to perform."
"Just read something and they'll go away."
Our man in Cambodia reads a line from the paper and the pack of girls are in awe.  Next thing I know, Our man in Cambodia's face turns flush.
"They want me to show them my dick."
"What the fuck?"
"One of them just asked if I have a girlfriend and wants to see my dick.  She says she's never seen a Westerners dick before."
Thankfully, this request was made by a girl in the group around 20 years old.  Our man in Cambodia is peeved.  He tells me how he has lived here for so long, taken the time to learn the language, and still gets treated like an outsider. 
"They never would have asked a Cambodian man that.  It bugs me that they seem to think it's OK to ask me because I am white."

We eat, and bomb more villages on our cel phones.  I meander along with my bad hip, begging sunscreen from a passing English couple like it is water in the desert.  I only catch fleeting glimpses of this forgotten world in my minds eye, as I am constantly harassed by the evil urchins proffering their wares.

My lady friend is all teary eyed.  Too many hours of Oprah have made her a sap for this stuff.
"Oh, I just wish I could take them all home.  I feel so bad for these kids.  If I could, I would be like Angelina Jolie, and adopt them all.  Just take all of them home."

My cynical side can't stop and I lay into her.  "So go ahead...take one home.  This is Cambodia.  I'm sure you can grease some wheels and take a orphan child off their hands for the right price.  Then you can take her back to the States, and teach her English.  Sure, she will only be behind in school 5 or 6 years but she'll catch up. You can be a full time mom.  Just like you always wanted."

Her tears suddenly dry up, and I am happy to have spared her her disillusionment. 

We slouch on through the heat, with the urchins hot on our heels.  All the while, calling in

"Danger close fire mission.  I repeat, danger close."