Is this reality?

I can’t believe it myself but I’m actually going to write about girls and women for a bit. I can’t think of a good reason as to why but I’m going to anyway. Anyway, every day—and I literally mean every day—I swear I see the hottest, prettiest, sexiest or however you want to describe it girl I’ve ever seen. Today it happened in the office. The day before it happened—not just once but twice for fuck’s sake—in a hospital of all places. I’m always baffled and left thinking, “Is this really real?” I often wonder if I’m real.

This isn’t the kind of predicament most people would be upset about but for me, it’s just a case of how much can you handle. Honestly though, you can’t help but be a bit greedy and I can see why people are. Well, I did before but I guess I never thought it would be a problem for me. For better or worse, things have changed. As if my life weren’t already overloaded and overflowing with excess, it most definitely is now.

It sounds ridiculous but I was thinking to myself earlier, “The girl you’re with could give a corpse a hard-on. The last three could as well. Why do you even care about these random people? How can they possibly tempt you?” but that’s exactly what happens. It’s crazy, unexplainable and completely over-the-top, but it’s real. Is this reality? I’m afraid that it is folks.

Are the women here perfect? Of course they aren’t but none are anywhere. There are things to deal with such as culture, independence, religion, family, friends, ways of thinking and the like but on the whole it’s more than achievable. When you add in the layer of fabulous women to wonderful food and drink, generally friendly people, affordable and dare I say a cheap cost of living, restrained chaos, permissible lawlessness, danger at every corner and twelve hours of more or less comfortable weather, you’ve got a winner. With my snappy First Media Internet making it plausible to watch cheesy KISS, Manowar and other castoffs on YouTube daily, I’ve got it made as a layabout. Give me more!!!

Strange Days

Only I would have the bad luck to stop smoking and make a pledge to have one more night of monstrous alcohol consumption before taking a day of rest and then getting back to the gym and the life of health I led before only to be hit with a an illness—or more appropriately illnesses—that absolutely levelled me. I always knew clubs were a bad idea. Really though, I just never knew how bad they were.

I reluctantly went out Saturday night after I had apparently promised to do so. The only problem with the place, Colours, is that it’s outlandishly overpriced, full of smoke (bad for the newly smoke-free), rife with working girls and cocky fools that really have nothing to be cocky about. That said, the house band can fucking play and not only that, those boys are metalheads at the core. Before I lost all awareness of my surroundings they ripped out ‘Ace of Spades’ so there you go.

The last vivid memories I have are of the bartender pouring Finlandia down my throat from above, me instructing my goddess’ friend to get her home safely, fumbling about outside for a minute, paying the parking attendant some stupid amount of money just because and then falling into bed. The rest has been erased if it were ever even recorded in my vodka-drenched brain.

What is vivid though is how I felt when I awoke Sunday morning. I was sure it was just a bad hangover so I did what anyone does and guzzled some water, took a whiz and went back to sleep. When I felt worse the second time up, then the third and then the fourth, I knew something was up. When I never even made it outside of the house on Sunday, that should have been the sign but you know how guys are: we just aren’t all that intelligent at times.

I shovelled down some food, pounded the fluids along with some meds and just went back to sleep. Hell, I even pounded out a day at work Monday like this! Granted, I wasn’t all there and was absolutely freezing—another hint since I’m in the fucking tropics—but I made it till the end. I slammed down an unearthly amount of food, guzzled some water and retired again for the night. Tuesday wasn’t much better so with a little pushing, I finally decided to go to the hospital. It all gets interesting from there.

First, I went by myself and did everything by myself. Not that it’s all that difficult but when you’re in another country, have to use another language and aren’t really sure if what you’re getting is up to par and what not, it’s a bit daunting. I more or less just put my trust in the system and let the cards fall. I didn’t expect much except an exam, maybe a blood screen, a trip to the pharmacist and then back home to sleep again. When I got nailed with “you need to stay overnight” it didn’t really register so I had the doctor go back over the results again just to make sure what I was reading and hearing was correct. In a jiffy, I was getting prepped. It all happened that fast.

Now, I was fine up to this point with just letting things be but then it was the typical garbage of “I’m not a health professional at all but you’ve most likely got Dengue fever because you’re foreign, it’s happened before and you’re symptoms resemble it” and I just wanted to blow my lid. They didn’t test me for Dengue, never mentioned Dengue so where was this shit coming from right? I just wanted to say, “I brought myself here, checked myself in, did the consultation, all the talking, went to the lab, read it, checked it and had it read again. What part did you think I missed?” but I just kept my mouth shut as to just get things moving.

Now, I’ll say this much, if you’re ever in Surabaya, Indonesia and need medical attention, I can’t say enough about Siloam Hospital. The staff, nurses, doctors, food and really just all of it has been great. For the record, I’m writing this while I’m still here. Anyway, aside from the Prince of Snores and Mr. Hacks-up-phlegm-a lot, it’s been relatively great in my own weird way. Only I could find something appealing and interesting about being in the hospital, possibly dying and making jokes out of the whole thing. Fucked up eh?

While I can’t say I’m saddened to leave, I can say that it’s going to be weird going back home. Once you’ve spent a couple of nights in a place, you start to adjust to it no matter how shitty it actually is. Not that the place is shitty but honestly, who in their right mind—save for possibly me—actually wants to spend the night in a fucking hospital? I reckon not too many people.

Anyway, I don’t have Dengue fever (thank fuck!) so I don’t have much of a crazy story to tell to be honest. It’s really just been kind of an interesting experience. The camp and absolutely hilarious doctor was a welcome addition to my life for sure. The attendee physician who examined me as thoroughly as any doctor ever has was a shocker as well. Getting fried rice for breakfast absolutely kicked ass. You know, the US could learn a thing or two about food service from the Indonesians that’s for sure. I actually thought that working as a dietician here might be interesting and I never thought I’d say that again!

Leaving and walking across the street for coffee when I wasn’t even supposed to leave only to have the cute nurse call and ask me to please come back was great too. Hell, just having visitors willy-nilly and at all hours has been great as well. Dare I say it but this has kind of been fun!

Anyway, to wrap this horseshit story up, I guess I’m getting out of here tomorrow morning at some point. I’m going to miss my little corner bed but it’s time to get back to normal life I suppose. That and I need some shitty KISS videos and some proper dodgy food to spice up my life a bit. I’ve been deprived of both for far too long while I’ve been in here. Take it sleazy.

Becak Mbak?

Ugh, how many times can you hear that line from the greaseball ‘becak’ drivers before you want to vomit? Sadly, it’s the same old tired line and it seems that no one is really biting. Well, to my surprise—and yes I can still even be surprised here—there are actually some ingenious and, dare I say it, people out there with a sense of humor. Indonesian humor, save for the dirty stuff, never seems to really make me laugh but this nearly put me on the ground—and by ground I really mean the gutter.

So anyway, as I’m crossing the railroad tracks in search of something to eat, a random geezer gives the same old tired line. His younger smoking counterpart, obviously noticing the fact that I’ve heard this shit a million times before and I’m not going to bite, revolutionized my life with a line—actually just one word but the context was already set and clear—of his own: “helikopter?” I was truly at a loss for words. The only thing I could come out with was “rock n’ roll” (unoriginal I know but imagine the state of shock I was in). It truly was a moment that should—but won’t—go down in the annals of history.

For almost a week I just couldn’t get this shit out of my head. The dude was obviously just being stupid but fuck me it was the funniest thing I heard (and I stress ‘heard’ not ‘saw’) from anyone—myself included—the entire trip. Even though it pales in comparison to the monstrous one-word life-changer above, the Germans even proved me wrong this time around as well. Well-noted is their inability to be funny but when a German girl totally takes the piss out of a valley girl twice and she doesn’t get it, that’s fucking funny!

Funny German: “I’m from zee US.”

Stupid American: “Really. You don’t sound American. Which part?”

Funny German: “Canada.”

Stupid American: “I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

I took one of the most amazing, outlandish and entertaining bus rides of my entire life as well. Touristy places are notorious for ripping people off and trust me, Indonesia is no exception, but I severely underpaid for this life-altering ride. Now, it took us nearly an hour to get to Magelang from Jombor terminal but let me tell you, going back was a damn slight quicker.

The horn was modified to about 300 times its normal volume and there were no doors so maximal lack of safety could be achieved. This last feature also enables the resident cowboys to hang out of the door and force people off the road, yell at closer range and use the magic hand trick to cut the traffic queue. In other words this was a magic bus of sorts and by the grace of something or someone I was its passenger.

What must have been at least a 1km-long queue, that driver—with unparalleled grace and precision—sliced and diced his way through it, up to the light and off to the right in no less than ten minutes. Had we waited and actually followed the rules (who does that right?), it would have been at least a half-hour and that’s being conservative. We barrelled along through traffic, absolutely raising hell at breakneck speed and pushing fools off the road left and right—literally! I was in the thralls of ecstasy, laughing, egging the guys on and what not while the rest didn’t look so pleased. I’m sure they were thinking, “We paid for this?” while I was thinking, “I only paid x-amount for this!?”.  I was going to request to be dropped off in front of my room as well as for them to be my personal bus for the remainder of the trip—I would’ve sold myself into prostitution to pay for this privilege—when I was abruptly cut off and told to, “stop being stupid, don’t talk to them any more and get off the bus” which I wisely did.  Sometimes reason even resonates with me.

For something a bit serious, I finally managed to stop smoking. Yeah, I know you’re thinking “well that won’t last long” but it’s been nearly a week with zero cigarettes and I can’t see myself falling back into that foolish habit. Over this three-week holiday, I set three goals for myself and the main one was to stop smoking. I’ve accomplished it and I’m rather happy with myself. I’ve nailed the other two as well so I’m a bit over the moon really.

And with that said I have nothing else to say. I’m going to go listen to Mercyful Fate, sit on my ass and do nothing since it’s 08.15 on Friday morning. Take care…\m/