When all else fails...
...resort to the embarrassing/perverse/comical moments of vacationing.
So, this is the point in the trip, just hours before arriving in Bangkok, confronted with a layover in Taipei, when I start to get that 'holy fuck, what am I doing' feeling. And this sign, hanging right over my head for a grand total of three hours, certainly qualmed my fears. Not only was the ROC watching me in a very Big Brother manner, but they were conspiring to hide kilos of cocaine and drug paraphernalia in the folds of my neatly rolled, and sufficiently-bordering-overly, stuffed backpack, in order to cuff me and line me up for the firing squad.
When all of your photos start to look the same, and you crave some originality, you begin to look around for creative alternatives to Dre posed as Buddha in every other shot. You begin to think, 'wouldn't it be interesting to see a human head, especially that of itty bitty Andrea, on top of a decapitated Buddha statue, like some cardboard circus cutout.' And then you realize, you're clearly not the first, and it's obviously not going to bode well for the authorities, who have clearly posted this sign in opposition to your ingenuity and aren't afraid to use their whistle, as they've already yelled at you twice. In truth, I had to try very hard this trip to not get arrested/impaled/solicited for sex.
I ask you, when the only person you know in a country is asleep, what else can you do but take surreptitious shots of yourself, bored outta your skull, doing the lame, overplayed, motto-for-the-trip-Japanese Chizu face?
The peace de resistance. Some le sketch Russian on our flight decided to make lude comments, in regards to Dre and I, before passing notes a la middle school, via means of an airline barf bag. But oh wait, it's a baby, my bad! This guy was a creep and a half, but the best part...he sent his note on the back of a receipt, giving all the digits of his MasterCard. We could have entirely too much fun with this. He also sent his private email address, which, when recovered from mounds of luggage, will be posted, so that all can enjoy in the aftermath of one man's stupidity.
Trip Counter:
*Buddhas: about four million
*Wats: four million and 1
*women who kissed Lauren, though Lauren was too drunk to remember: thankfully, just 1...I think
*modes of transportation used: taxi, tuk tuk, minivan, rickshaw, train, airplane, ferry, longtail boat, sawng-ta, some random man's mother's car who claimed he was a taxi driver-though who clearly had no visibly displayed license, bus, techno bus, so that's what...like 52
*times confused for a prostitute: just 1
*attacks by rabid dogs: 1 while scaling the fence of a Buddhist temple, several while on the beach
*deflowering of monks: 1
*gags reflexes sent whirling into action in the face of street vendors: 9,633,201 I don't eat fried rat.
*hangovers: too many to count on just my hands...I thinkI'm still hungover, can it be perpetual?
*times offended by Andy: they don't make numbers that high. I don't care what he says, you can't be drunk enough to confuse my chest with your own beer bottle
*hours spent laughing about chicken sex, 'where you go? bom boom, ping pong show', Lindsay falling through our porch, fisherman pants three hundred sizes too large, Ian's classy stories of puberty videos, and scary men on planes soliciting you for a sexploit to Australia: well, let's see. 24 hours in a day, averaging four for sleep, at two weeks and 3 days, that'd be somewhere in the market of 340
Just for Dre: But I don't wanna go to the airport.
So, this is the point in the trip, just hours before arriving in Bangkok, confronted with a layover in Taipei, when I start to get that 'holy fuck, what am I doing' feeling. And this sign, hanging right over my head for a grand total of three hours, certainly qualmed my fears. Not only was the ROC watching me in a very Big Brother manner, but they were conspiring to hide kilos of cocaine and drug paraphernalia in the folds of my neatly rolled, and sufficiently-bordering-overly, stuffed backpack, in order to cuff me and line me up for the firing squad.
When all of your photos start to look the same, and you crave some originality, you begin to look around for creative alternatives to Dre posed as Buddha in every other shot. You begin to think, 'wouldn't it be interesting to see a human head, especially that of itty bitty Andrea, on top of a decapitated Buddha statue, like some cardboard circus cutout.' And then you realize, you're clearly not the first, and it's obviously not going to bode well for the authorities, who have clearly posted this sign in opposition to your ingenuity and aren't afraid to use their whistle, as they've already yelled at you twice. In truth, I had to try very hard this trip to not get arrested/impaled/solicited for sex.
I ask you, when the only person you know in a country is asleep, what else can you do but take surreptitious shots of yourself, bored outta your skull, doing the lame, overplayed, motto-for-the-trip-Japanese Chizu face?
The peace de resistance. Some le sketch Russian on our flight decided to make lude comments, in regards to Dre and I, before passing notes a la middle school, via means of an airline barf bag. But oh wait, it's a baby, my bad! This guy was a creep and a half, but the best part...he sent his note on the back of a receipt, giving all the digits of his MasterCard. We could have entirely too much fun with this. He also sent his private email address, which, when recovered from mounds of luggage, will be posted, so that all can enjoy in the aftermath of one man's stupidity.
Trip Counter:
*Buddhas: about four million
*Wats: four million and 1
*women who kissed Lauren, though Lauren was too drunk to remember: thankfully, just 1...I think
*modes of transportation used: taxi, tuk tuk, minivan, rickshaw, train, airplane, ferry, longtail boat, sawng-ta, some random man's mother's car who claimed he was a taxi driver-though who clearly had no visibly displayed license, bus, techno bus, so that's what...like 52
*times confused for a prostitute: just 1
*attacks by rabid dogs: 1 while scaling the fence of a Buddhist temple, several while on the beach
*deflowering of monks: 1
*gags reflexes sent whirling into action in the face of street vendors: 9,633,201 I don't eat fried rat.
*hangovers: too many to count on just my hands...I thinkI'm still hungover, can it be perpetual?
*times offended by Andy: they don't make numbers that high. I don't care what he says, you can't be drunk enough to confuse my chest with your own beer bottle
*hours spent laughing about chicken sex, 'where you go? bom boom, ping pong show', Lindsay falling through our porch, fisherman pants three hundred sizes too large, Ian's classy stories of puberty videos, and scary men on planes soliciting you for a sexploit to Australia: well, let's see. 24 hours in a day, averaging four for sleep, at two weeks and 3 days, that'd be somewhere in the market of 340
Just for Dre: But I don't wanna go to the airport.
posted by Chishiki Lauren at 1:09 AM
4 Comments:
That has to be one of your best self-portraits ...
Riiiiiiiiiight.
Ok, so I don`t need to be anonymous, this is Andrea, aka Dre, but the sign-in stuff was in Japanese and after only 5 months here, I can`t figure out where my name is supposed to go. I just wanted you to know that the guy`s (le sketch Russian) e-mail address/Mastercard number has been unearthed and can be passed on shortly...much to my amusement.
If you post his MC number, be sure to include the 4 digit security number. I would never use it, but I would love to send him an email :)
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