SHIT & PISS
2/9/07 - Vang Vieng, Laos
SHIT
I’m so shitty.
It must have been the street food from "The Alley" as we dubbed it in Luang Prabang. It’s a shame too because I really liked that place. It is along the main drag of town; a narrow alley that stretches about 30 yards with tons of local specialties including, but now limited too, roasted chicken beasts, grilled fishies, and confections made from Laos’s most versatile crop, sticky rice. Alas, it must have been on the last night in LP when I thought, ~better have it now, since I’m going~, and decided on the lukewarm bamboo shoot soup. Since then, I’ve grown an extra penis in my bum and have been glued to the toilet. Just call me the fucking twisted crying game of SE Asia.
Yesterday, after taking a last shot in the toilet, I hobbled to the local Pharmacy to get something to remedy the nastiness that found it’s way into my system. Ofloxacin, 200 mg’s for 5 days. With all the other drugs that I am on (or could be taking in this stoner’s paradise [read: mushroom shakes, "Happy" Pizza's, and "Opium-Opium"]) I’ll probably bleed chemicals before blood. Whatever. Shit happens.
& PISS
So, am I wrong, or is there an official language called "Canadian"
Sample sentences:
"What are you talking abou?" (the classic example)
"Listen guy…" (used when speaking to males and females alike)
"Fir Shir" (OK, I pushing it. I’ve seen enough 80’s movies to know that this was popular amongst youth in America as well. But, mind you, it’s the New mil people. The NEW Mil.
Anyhoo (uh oh - is Canadian contagious?) I use this brief language lesson to segue into a story of a young Canadian chikette named, Sarah S. (I’ll keep her last name confidential b/c I’m about to blow up her spot [what's is Sly Stallone's first name? I seem, to have forgotten...])
I met Sarah S. after crossing the Thai/Laos border at Chiang Kong/Huay Xai. Hopping onto the bandwagon, or motorized longtail boat more like it, I signed up for a 2 day cruise down the Mekong River with Luang Prabang as it’s final destination. Accomodation at the border (for the first night) was included in the overall cost. Unknowingly, however, this free room was for doubles only. As a single traveler, I had to find a roomate to save the extra 2 bux. Since I fall into the "budget" category of travellers (rather "budget" than "dirty hippy" - biggup to the 139 Hater Hater crew), I decided to split a room with Ms. S. (Oh it’s dawned on me - isn’t his first name Sylvester?").
After a pretty manky dinner, me and my new friends set off down the road of this sleepy border town and wound up at a wake. The wake was Fabulous. I know that might sound like a funny thing to say about a ceremony commemorating someone’s recent demise (maybe not), but we’re talking a full Laos band (a family with their instuments going at it), people gambling (I love it), and the most elaborate Sarcophagus with glowing lights, pictures, and food offerings for the deceased. I want to go out like that.. don’t forget the lights!
As with any wake, Alchohol was in the mix. Beer Laos (known simply as "Beer" here) was the alchohol of choice, so I thought. Then I got de-viginized.
Lao Lao is a whisky made from rice - It’s nasty and I wouln’t use it to wash my wounds, but the locals take to it quite nicely. After hanging out for while, our hosts extended their hospitality with the ole Lao Lao. This is where the story gets spicy.
"This can’t be good for my gout" (yes, I am 29 going on 92), I thought as I went along with the group and took shots of my new least faorite alchohol. After a couple of rounds, my new roomate and I said our "Sa-Bai-dii" s and left the left our humble hosts. Having grown a tad more responsible in my late 20’s, I decided to stop off and get some water. Sarah S. waited outside. Within and earshot I heard,
S.S.: "Where you from?" (speaking to some Australian travelers)
Aussie: "Melbourne"
S.S.: "I’m from Melbuun too.."
Aussie: "No you’re not."
S.S.: "No, I’m not… I’m Canadian..HAHAHAHAHAHH!!"
(This dialogue is lacking the comedic effect provided by her drunken speech impediment)
Unlocked the door. Turned on the lights. Asked a question. Got no reponse. S.S. had passed out, sunk in her bed in a drunken stupor. It was cool though. I KNOW I’ve been there.
Brushed my teeth. Put on my pajamas. Crawled into my bed anticipating the river we would float down the next morning. What I didn’t anticipate was the river I would encounter in about before then.
After about an hour of getting into bed, I heard some movement in the bed next to me. Looking up, I saw S.S. stumble out of bed, disorientated, with her eyes barely open. At that moment I wasn’t sure if she had finally decided to take care of her oral hygeine, change into her PJ’s or what. Then it became clear that the effects of the Lao Lao went beyond disavowing your homeland.
First she stuggled with her mini skirt. It was then that I thought ~Oh no~. Next she flicked off her panties (She was pretty adept at that). Squatted, and then the hiss (aside: no offense to my female readers, but having never been in such close proximity to a female while urinating, I found it very curious that in addition to the sound of the liquid hitting the floor, a faint sound of gas being emitted was audible as well…but why would I know, I own a penis, sometimes two).
S.S. then made her way to MY bed where I handed her a towel to toss on her processed Lao Lao that had made its way onto our floor NEAR my bags. Still enchated by the effects of the foreign devil spirit, she took the towel, wiped her legs and let out a very solemn, "Thanks", crawled into bed, and passed out.
After Sarah got pissed and subsequently pissed on the floor in downright bitch style, my bladder felt inspired. I suddenly HAD to go myself. Since I didn’t want to take a leap of fatih and try to jump over her stream, I exited the room to try to find a public urinal. Although after what had just happened, I suppose the distinction of "Public" vs. "Private" had become very gray.
Unlocked the door. Stepped outside. Turned to the left. Turned to the right. No bathroom, BUT the was a mop.
So there I was mopping up the urine of a girl who spoke a language vaguely familiar to English in a room at the entrance way to Laos. Spectacular. Pissy, but brilliant. Ugh.
The next morning S.S. claimed not to know what had happened in the "wee" hours of the morning. Mortified, she couldn’t not believe that she acted like a dog.
"The fucking Lao Lao..", she said.
Indeed, the fucking Lao Lao, I thought. That in a addition to to poor potty training by mountees who subsist off of maple syrup in Oh Canada. Know what I’m talking abou?
