My life quest of filling in the hours, however comfortably and well, continues apace. Yesterday that meant a group hike that didn’t go as planned and later on finding myself in the Hot Zone between purgatory and hell.

We took a Jeepney out to the Waltermart in Subic town with a particular trail in mind. But we realized we had chosen the wrong hill to ascend once the climbing commenced. Too stubborn to retreat, we continued upward. The going got tough, but we chose to tough it out. And at last, we found ourselves at the top, with nowhere to turn except around. The damn thatch grass was over our heads high, and while we were sure a trail down existed somewhere, damned if we could find it. Pushing through that grass can also be treachours, as I nearly discovered when I stepped into a deep hidden hole. It was over knee high, and if I had fallen, it could easily have snapped my leg bone in half. I got lucky this time, but it was a good reminder of why I don’t make this kind of hike alone.

We admitted defeat and retreated back down most of the way we had come up, although we did take an alternative route at the halfway point, which was a bit easier and provided some variety.

Having survived our excursion in the hills of Subic, it was time to prepare for my next adventure–the SOB dance competition being held this week at Hot Zone. Doors opened at 5:00, the contest started at 6:00 and went until 8:00. This venue is relatively small, and I wanted to get there early so I’d have a seat. I left the house at 4:00 and hung out at Cheap Charlies, where I could keep an eye on things across the street.

I apologize in advance for the poor quality of the following photos. Still too far from a poorly lighted stage and still haven’t mastered using my phone camera in settings like this.

Practice, practice, practice, I suppose. I’ll try again next week.

When the competition was over (The Green Room took first place this week), I went to Wet Spot for the Aftermath event. Basically, I enjoyed beer at happy hour prices and took part in an SOB participant raffle. Was seated next to the Barretto legend Dave Fisher and had a nice chat. Too bad I was too far gone to remember most of it this morning. Stayed out until 10:00 p.m., if you can believe it.

Later this afternoon, I’ll be joining in a VFW-sponsored “rucksack” hike to support the veteran community. Also will be attending a birthday party for Jerlyn, one of my favorite Alley Cat gals.

It looks like I’ll have something to post about tomorrow!

UPDATE: I found a few photos from the SOB that are much better than mine:

Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you—just nothing significant or out of the ordinary to report. I guess I’ve been blessed not to be cursed to live in interesting times. At least I’ve got some photos of my daily blessings to share with you all.

You can Relive the hike here if you are so inclined.

An after-hike nap and shower, then a visit from Joy. She gave me a satisfying massage; and then I treated her to an early dinner at Sit-n-Bull.

After our meal, we parted company. I headed up the highway to It Doesn’t Matter. On the way, I ran into my old friend, Wendy.

Ran into my new buddy Chris at IDM, and we shared some nice chat and beers while we waited for the weekly charity raffle drawing to commence.

After the raffle wound up, I decided to check on my friend Bhel at the Outback bar.

While I was enjoying my beer and the music, my phone rang. That almost never happens. It was my friend from the Kamto restobar telling me that the other Johns were there and asking where I was. Also, they wanted me to be their DJ. Well, it is good to be wanted, and Kamto was right next door, so I headed over. Good times fueled by copious amounts of beer drinking were the order of the evening. One of the other John’s goal was to keep me up best my usual 9 p.m. bedtime. He succeeded, but not by much. Made it to bed by 10.

Obviously, I haven’t begun my beer hiatus yet, but I’m thinking about it. Need to do some more calculations yet.

And that’s how my day went. I’ve had worse.

Another hot hike with the Wednesday Walkers yesterday. We kept it flat, doing 9K on the back streets Matain, Calapacuan, and San Isidro. A lot of photos to share later in this post. One event from the trek stands out for me though–walking down the road and passing a Filipino pedestrian and hearing him mock my fat beer belly. Yeah, I’ve got a mirror, and I’ve had Filipinas that I know mention my increasing girth, but this is the first time some random stranger felt compelled to take note of my protruding gut. I guess I’ll take that as a call to action.

I’m not sure what measures I will undertake to reduce my measurements. I’m actually only gaining weight around the middle. Yes, they call it a “beer belly” for a reason. One part of my planning is to go thirty days with zero Zeros and see what happens. Well, I’ll probably have to do a cheat day on Monday since the Hash doesn’t offer other alcohol options. And don’t worry about bargirls potentially starving without my largesse–I’m not giving up drinking, only beer. A mix of gin and soda water is almost carb-free. I’m already pretty much maxed out on walking, so I’ll need to add in some exercise routines that address stomach flat. Anyway, it’s a plan in progress; I’ll let you know when I’m ready to implement it; it won’t be long, and my pride is at stake.

My after-hike activities included dinner at John’s place (the pulled pork sandwich). I also got a big order of Korean-style chicken wings for takeout so I could feed the hungry crew at Hideaway bar. Today is Joy’s day off, and she is coming by for a visit this afternoon.

Next up was Cheap Charlies, and it was a pleasant surprise to see one of my old favorites had returned to work after a lengthy 2+ year absence. Of course, she is probably just pretending to like me too, but she does a better job of it than my previous “friends” were willing to do. I also got a perverse pleasure from spending big on several lady drinks while they sat around without customers. Yeah, I can be a dick like that.

There was even more excitement than usual at Cheap Charlies as a huge thunderstorm rolled through. Lots of cloud-to-ground lightning bolts, explosive thunder, and sheets of pouring rain. It was quite the show. It also kept me trapped in the bar longer than I anticipated—nothing to do but drink and make the best of it. I had planned on a visit to Outback, but once the rain let up, I called it a night and caught a trike back home.

Here’s how my Lucky boy chills:

Let’s take a walk, shall we?

Nothing lasts forever, but I’ll make the best of it while I still can.

Well, I guess technically, “I” didn’t buy the house. Foreigners aren’t allowed to own land here. What I did was “loan” the money to the person who bought it. Her sob story was that by owning her own place, she could provide shelter for her and her daughter and not have to worry about monthly rent. And lest you think that I violated Rule #1 (don’t be a sucker), the amount she wanted for the “purchase” was “only” 6000 pesos ($120.). Also, I know this woman from the Hash, and I have zero interest in her physically or emotionally. This truly was an act of pure generosity with nothing in it for me other than the satisfaction of making a difference in someone’s life who is less fortunate than me. Do I think the money will ever be repaid? Of course not. Do I think she actually bought a titled piece of property, including a shack, for P6000? I doubt that is possible. What I think is more likely is that she paid what we used to call “key money” in Korea. There is a Tagalog word for it that I can’t remember at the moment. Basically, you give a lump sum to the landlord upfront in lieu of rent and then live there free for the term of the lease. When you move out, the initial down payment is refunded to you. Anyway, I’d spend that amount on lady drinks over the course of a week. If the money helps someone live rent-free it seems like a good investment.

My Tuesday festivities included a visit to the Snackbar, where I met up with my friend Erik. Earlier this week, one of the well-known expats here got run over on the National Highway. He’s been in a coma for two days, and one of the guys who donated blood (B+ is hard to find here) gave us an update on the victim’s circumstances. They finally did the surgery to remove a portion of his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain from internal bleeding. The fact that it took two days and bringing a surgeon up from Manila is concerning. Whether he wakes up again and the extent of any damage to his cognitive abilities if he does remains to be seen.

Get well soon, Mike. Your wife and child need you.

After a couple of brews at Snackbar, Erik and I hoofed it over McCoy’s on Baloy Beach.

I really do enjoy the visual ambiance, which is why I make the journey out here once a week or so.

Well, McCoy’s caters to the Filipino crowd, and Filipinos seem to love singing loudly. It’s really not my place to complain; I’ve got lots of other options. Still managed to sit through the noise through four beers before catching a trike back to Barretto.

Next stop was Kamto, my friend’s place. It wasn’t long after we arrived that a party-like atmosphere developed. I handled the DJ duties, and everyone seemed pleased with my selections. Beers were drunk (and so were we), food was ate, and we all had a good ol’ time.

I made it home safe and sound, went to bed, and woke up alone. Where are you hiding, my love?

I can always find someone
To say they sympathize
If I wear my heart out on my sleeve
But I don't want some pretty face
To tell me pretty lies
All I want is someone to believe

I guess it is still technically Father’s Day back in the USA, so I’ll post a memory of my dad in his honor:

Facebook took me to task this morning for speaking honestly. Well, posting something truthful that they didn’t like. Here it is for your reading pleasure:

An opinion piece from a vaccinated Australian writer:

“If Covid were a battlefield, it would still be warm with the bodies of the unvaccinated. Thankfully the mandates are letting up, and both sides of the war stumble back to the new normal. The unvaccinated are the heroes of the last two years as they allowed us all to have a control group in the great experiment and highlight the shortcoming of the Covid vaccines. The unvaccinated carry many battle scars and injuries as they are the people we tried to break mentally, yet no one wants to talk about what we did to them and what they forced “The Science “to unveil. We knew that the waning immunity of the fully vaccinated had the same risk profile as others within society as the minority of the unvaccinated, yet we marked them for special persecution. You see, we said they had not “done the right thing for the greater good” by handing their bodies and medical autonomy over to the State. Many of the so-called health experts and political leaders in Australia admitted the goal was to make life almost unlivable for the unvaccinated, which was multiplied many times by the collective mob, with the fight taken into workplaces, friendships, and family gatherings.

Today the hard truth is none of it was justified as we took a quick slide from righteousness to absolute cruelty. We might lay the blame on our leaders and health experts for the push, but each individual within society must be held accountable for stepping into the well-laid-out trap. We did this despite knowing full well that principled opposition is priceless when it comes to what goes inside our bodies, and we let ourselves be tricked into believing that going into another ineffective lockdown would be the fault of the unvaccinated and not the fault of the toxic policy of ineffective vaccines. We took pleasure in scapegoating the unvaccinated because after months of engineered lockdowns by political leaders blinded by power, having someone to blame and to burn at the stake felt good. We believed we had logic, love, and truth on our side, so it was easy to wish death upon the unvaccinated. Those of us who ridiculed and mocked the non-compliant did it because we were embarrassed by their courage and principles and didn’t think the unvaccinated would make it through unbroken, and we turned the holdouts into punching bags. Lambie, Carr, Chant, Andrews, McGowan, Gunner, and the other cast of hundreds in prominent roles need to be held to account for vilifying the unvaccinated in public and fueling angry social media mobs. The mobs, the mask Nazis, and the vaccine disciples have been embarrassed by “betting against” the unvaccinated because mandates only had the power we gave them. It was not compliance that ended domination by Big Pharma Companies, Bill Gates and his many organizations, and the World Economic Forum… It was THANKS to the people we tried to embarrass, ridicule, mock and tear down. We should all try and find some inner gratitude for the unvaccinated as we took the bait by hating them because their perseverance and courage bought us the time to see we were wrong. So if mandates ever return for Covid or any other disease or virus, hopefully, more of us will be awake and see the rising authoritarianism that has no concern for our well-being and is more about power and control. The War on the Unvaccinated was lost, and we should all be very thankful for that.”

This is the first time FB actually blocked something I posted entirely (I have had fact check/context blocks added before, but they really didn’t want anyone to see this post. I wonder why? I got this message within one minute of posting:

No one else can see your post. We encourage free expression but don’t allow false information about COVID-19 that could lead to physical harm. If your content goes against Community Standards again, your account may be restricted or disabled.

Well, fuck you, Facebook. The plebes are waking up and hopefully won’t be fooled again.

Back here in the real world, the gals at Hideaway Bar seemed to enjoy the meal I provided:

The owner sent me over a free beer, and Joy surprised me with a Father’s Day gift:

After Hideaway, I headed back to my side of town. Once again, I had to pee by the time I got to Cheap Charlies, so I went up and took a leak, then I ordered a beer. I ignored my old regular girls just like they had ignored me but turned my attention to the cutie next to me named Anna. She was aloof but honest about it. None of that suck-up pretending to care routine in the hopes of getting a lady drink. I bought her one anyway, as much to rub it in on my former bar mates as anything.

Anna and I did have a nice chat, though, as she slowly sipped her drink. I asked her if she had a boyfriend, and she told me, “no, and I don’t want one.” Hmm. Why not? “My priority is being with my kids; I don’t have time for a boyfriend.” “Not even a rich one like me?” I joked. She just laughed. I asked her age (24) and the age of her kids (8 and 7). “So, you were only 16 when your first child was born?” Yes, she responded, we didn’t have a TV. What else was there to do? I got a laugh out of that, but it also had a ring of truth. I’ve noticed that the poorest of the poor seem to have the most kids. You gotta fill those hours somehow, I reckon. Anyway, I enjoyed our chat and appreciated her blunt honesty. She’s my new favorite at Cheap Charlies!

I had one more stop left in me, so I headed over to Alaska Club. Marissa, the dancer I met Friday, wasn’t working, but my crush Karen was.

It had been in my mind that I was going to have to choose who I flirt with on future visits to Alaska. Marissa has given signs that she’d be up for a rendezvous, while Karen is much more reserved. It seemed like an excellent opportunity to clear things up some, and the belly full of beer gave me the confidence to ask if Karen had any interest in getting to know me better. Bless her heart; she was honest in her response. “No, I don’t.” Hey, the truth can hurt sometimes, but I much prefer it to all the pretend bullshit in this town. Thanks for that, Karen!

After the dog walk, I took myself on down to Baloy Beach for a morning stroll.

Some sad news, fellow Hasher Cabbage Patch has left us for the big On-On in the sky.

I came across this article loaded with photos from the cruising scene in Southern Cal in the summer of ’72. Brought back a lot of memories (we had a similar cult down in Orange County). Of course, I was comparatively poor, so none of those fancy muscle cars you’ll see at the link in my group. In fact, we did our cruisin’ in my pal Steve’s ’56 Pontiac. Good times.

Honestly, that’s all I’ve got for now. It’s Hash Monday, so you know what to expect tomorrow!

Honesty is such a lonely word
Everyone is so untrue
Honesty is hardly ever heard
And mostly what I need from you

Not much to report from here, but I’ll report it anyway. Started out at IDM and ran into Chris and his gal there. Chris is relatively new in town, but we seem to have formed a fast friendship. He laughs at most of my jokes; that’s all it takes for me! Retired Air Force and has lots of interesting stories to tell about his travels, including the Philippines back in the glory days of the 1980s. Snuggled up with my new favorite bargirl Agnes, downed several cold San MIg Zeros, and I was a happy camper. Well, as happy as I get anyway.

Supper time rolled around, and I was ready for some grub. The food at IDM is fine, but I was ready for a change of scenery. Thought about Mango’s, but on the way, I decided I was in the mood for some fish and chips. The best in town was just a bit further down the road. I ordered up a beer and bought my bartender friend a lady drink. Told her I wanted the medium-size order of fish and chips and told her she could order something if she was hungry. She said she would have a sandwich.

When the food arrived, I was gobsmacked. The waitress placed a foot-long sub sandwich in front of me. I told the bartender I didn’t order this; I asked for fish and chips. She had a blank look on her face and said, “sorry.” Okay, I just couldn’t grasp how you can mess up such a simple order, and I don’t know how you can confuse “sub sandwich” and “fish and chips.” She couldn’t explain it; she just kept saying “sorry.” Okay, I was really hungry and disappointed, so I decided to pay my tab and leave. And then she did that, not finishing her lady drink, walking away, and ignoring me routine. I was more upset with that behavior than I was about the food order fuck up. I paid up and told her I didn’t appreciate the way I was treated, then left in a foul mood.

My friend did message me later and expressed remorse for her behavior. I accepted her apology and won’t bear a grudge. I think she is going through some difficult times and might be a bit distracted in her thinking. No hard feelings towards her now.

A bit further up the road, I was passing Kamto and saw my friend Erik sitting outside. I waved and intended to keep on walking, but then I saw owner Paula beckoning me to join them. How could I refuse? I ordered up a beer to quench my thirst and a chicken burger to satiate my hunger. A couple more folks arrived, and the party was on. I was tasked with DJ duty, and my fellow guests seemed to appreciate the classic rock selections from the 80s. I stayed out past my bedtime (almost 10!), so I must have been having a drunken good time. Actually, Paula sent a video of me dancing and playing an “air guitar” along with the music. Still crazy after all these years!

Today is Father’s Day, and I promised Joy I’d pay a visit to Hideaway Bar. I made up a batch of chili, some cornbread muffins, and brownies for dessert to help celebrate with my bar family there. Heh, the staff are all young enough to be my daughters. Er, granddaughters, I reckon.

That’s how we roll here.

A trip, a falls, and an SOB. Not a bad day at all.

The Friday hiking group traveled out to the far side of Olongapo City, then hoofed it up to Martin Falls. And no, Martin didn’t fall this time. It was actually a very nice trail with a gradual ascent through some beautiful scenery. I always appreciate new vistas, and this was probably the nicest waterfall I’ve seen in these parts.

Got home, took a shower and a nap, wrote a crappy post for the blog, then headed out for my big Friday night in town featuring the return of the Sons of Baccus dance competition.

Back in the day, my ex Marissa would always attend the SOB with me. It felt strange sitting there with no company, so I decided to call one of the dancers down to join me.

Karen joined me and Marissa at the conclusion of the event and I bought her a drink. There didn’t seem to be any tension between the two of them. Why would there be? Karen probably felt relieved that she wouldn’t have to deal with my affections. That’s okay, it’s all part of the game. One guy did have the audacity to ask Karen for a barfine (paid take out from the bar for nefarious purposes) and Karen flatly rejected him. Idiot. She’s a f’n cherry girl, she ain’t giving it up for money. I don’t expect she’ll be giving it up for my love either. Oh well. Marissa messaged me this morning to tell me she likes my smile.

And so it goes.

Sorry for the failure to post your daily dose of the inane, lame, and insane here yesterday. Events superseded my best intentions. But I’m back today with twice the goodness you’ve come to expect at LTG. And yes, I know that is a very low bar.

My intended post that never happened was going to be about my first dartless Tuesday since beginning my retirement from the game. I just took those hours I would have wasted playing darts and devoted them to my other nighttime hobby–drinking beers with lovely ladies who enjoy my company as long as they are earning drink commissions. But as it turned out before I could write that post, I got called away to participate in the end-of-season MVP competition, an event I had explicitly declined to join. Well, one of the players from my team injured his arm, and I felt obligated to at least help his doubles partner avoid a forfeit. So, my afternoon plans of blogging and napping were ruined. I played like shit again, and we went 1-2 in match play, failing to make the finals. I hope that constitutes my final kiss goodbye.

The “big” unreported events from my Tuesday include a visit to the immigration office, where I was granted another 60 days of legal living in this promised land. My time is running out, though; I can only stay on a tourist visa for three years, meaning I need to leave by December. The more I learn about the vaxx, the less I want to get jabbed, but I may have no choice if I want to be able to return to the Philippines. Getting out is not a problem now; many countries have put the stupid scamdemic rules away (for now, anyway). My tentative plan is to visit Cambodia for a few days, then reset my three-year clock when I fly back here. Maybe sanity will return here before I leave, but I’m not counting on it. Get the jab or be locked in a hotel room for a week. I’ve got a couple more months to decide, but I’m leaning towards surrendering and getting the shot.

Instead of playing darts, I got a haircut and then treated myself to dinner at Sit-n-Bull.

After dinner, I went next door to The Green Room to see Maria. She said she needed a customer so she could afford medicine for her child, who has the dreaded dengue fever.

It started raining, but I still wasn’t ready to go home yet. I briskly walked up the highway to Alaska Club, dodging as many raindrops as possible. My favorite there, Karen, was waiting to serve me.

The big news in town this week is that the SOB (Sons of Baccus) dance contest is returning Friday night at Alaska after a 2+ year hiatus. I expect I’ll be first in line. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Karen will be one of the performers for Alaska. She’s a waitress normally (by choice), so this is really stepping up. I hope I get picked to be a judge!

After the Wednesday Walkers hike (more about that later), I attended a Hash meeting at the VFW. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss and vote on what to do about the Hashmobile. It blew a gasket last week, and the repair estimate is between sixty to eighty thousand pesos. We currently have around eighty thousand in the Hash bank account and are lucky to break even at the Hash events each week. So, repairing the truck would essentially bankrupt the Hash. I argued in favor of scrapping it because it’s old, worn out, and a money pit. It’s also uncomfortable and in my opinion unsafe as a means of transport. We can always rent Jeepneys like we did last week when there is a remote start for the Hash trail. Well, the issue turned out to be more controversial than I expected, but the counter-arguments struck me as being based more on sentimentality and tradition than reason and logic.

It was during this truck meeting that I received the urgent message asking me to play darts. So, I hurried home, took a shower, then headed out to Harley’s on Baloy road to join the competition. As previously mentioned, I sucked. We were eliminated before 5:00 (after a 2:00 p.m. start), and I had business to attend to on the other side of town. I made the long walk to Hideaway Bar, stopping briefly at Shamboli’s:

And of course, one of those girls was my favorite, Joy. She was also the business I needed to attend to. I had promised her that I’d pay for some dental work she needed, and her appointment was the following morning. So, I handed over the required 4000 pesos.

Every little bit helps, I suppose. And I went home feeling like I had accomplished my good deed for the day.

So, that leaves the Wednesday Walkers report. Once again, we took a Jeepney ride out to Subic town to explore new paths. I’m sure Lewis and Clark didn’t always reach their intended destination on the first try, and neither did we.

Quite the adventure, no?

Anyway, that’s the latest update to my story. I’m always ready for the next big thing, whether it be when walking or when drinking. If I could go back and tell that guy in the pink shirt above what lay in store for him, I wonder what he would have said. Well, I hope he would have at least quit smoking before doing the damage this version of myself has to deal with. Oh well, I’m still alive, and that’s good enough for me.

The construction behind my house continues apace. The noise is disquieting enough, but as if to add an exclamation point, the workers are blasting music all damn day long. Yesterday one of the songs had a familiar ring–it was the Billy Ray Cyrus classic Achy Breaky Heart. Except that it was in Tagalog. Do these lyrics even translate?

You can tell your ma I moved to Arkansas
You can tell your dog to bite my leg
Or tell your brother Cliff whose fist can tell my lip
He never really liked me anyway
Or tell your Aunt Louise, tell anything you please
Myself already knows I'm not okay
Or you can tell my eyes to watch out for my mind
It might be walking out on me today

I sang a little this morning on the way to the grocery store, and both my driver and my helper recognized the song. I did a Google search, and it turns out this was a worldwide hit, especially in the UK. I always thought of it as a funky country tune that didn’t appeal outside of its intended redneck audience. I was also surprised to see that the song inspired a Filipino movie called The Achy Breaky Hearts.

So, how’s my achy breaky heart doing? I reckon I’m doing alright, but it was a little disconcerting to wake up after my drunken Saturday night and see I had posted this pathetic little gem on Facebook:

All I want and all I need is someone by my side. Where are you hiding, my love?

By the time I saw it, there were already numerous likes and comments, so there was really no point in deleting it. I had no recollection of posting it or what prompted me to do so. I guess I just started feeling sorry for myself again. I am okay now, though, even if my drunken self has not yet totally embraced this solitary life of mine. I took some good-natured ribbing from a former crush when I ran into her the other day, and a commenter accused me of being “too picky.” Yeah, I’ve missed out on some opportunities through my stupidity hard-headedness, but I’ve also likely saved myself from additional pain as well. I’m keeping an open mind, and things can always change in the wink of a young girl’s eye.

I was surprised to hear from Loraine the other night. It’s been almost five years since she fucked me over. We’ve exchanged brief greetings for birthdays and holidays over the years, but no real substantial conversation. Well, texting, I mean. Anyway, things don’t seem to be going as planned with the man she dumped me for, but I take no joy in that, nor do I bear her any ill will. It did get me thinking about what my life here would have been like had she joined me as originally intended. We’ll never know, of course, but I remembered the last time we were physically together (about three weeks prior to her dumping me), we had celebrated her 50th birthday on Boracay. So, she’s going to be 55 soon. Wow. And I caught myself thinking, would I have remained satisfied with such an older woman? I hope so, and honestly, Loraine was plenty sexy and talented in the ways of lovemaking. Yeah, the younger gals may be smoking hot, but many of them aren’t so good in bed. So sayeth the 66-year-old wise man. Loraine ended the chat by saying she might come up for a Hash someday. I gave my standard response that “everyone is welcome.” I don’t expect I’ll be seeing her anytime soon.

My friend Bhel, the bartender at Outback, came out for yesterday’s Hash. It was her second time Hashing, and she said she enjoyed it. I was more than a little surprised when Thalia showed up. She’s the Angeles gal I met on a dating site who spent a weekend with me back in March. That didn’t end well, and it was disconcerting to see her back in town without any advance notice. Seeing her again gave me one of those “what was I thinking?” moments. There is nothing I find attractive about her.

As I feared, Thalia had it in her head that I would spend time with her after the Hash. I disabused her of that idea as gently but firmly as possible. She didn’t want to take no for an answer but eventually gave up and caught a bus back to Angeles. Meanwhile, Bhel assumed I had something going on with Thalia and gave me the cold shoulder all night. Perhaps a missed opportunity for us both. And so it goes.

Walking home after the Hash, I passed by the Carwash/Kamto, and my friend Erik was there, so I popped in. The ex was there too, and we had a friendly chat. I’m still not over her, though, and I found my mind wandering to places it doesn’t need to go. I left before I had anything to regret.

Saw this gal trying to get a picture of me today:

Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart, I just don’t think he’d understand…

The Hash was a little different than normal. The Hare didn’t pre-mark the trail; instead, he took a ten-minute headstart and marked as he went while we all followed in pursuit. That’s actually the traditional Hash method–the hounds chasing the Hare, as it were. The trail was almost entirely pavement, and the two climbs were via stairsteps. Not too hard, which of course, is the way I like it. Here are some photos:

And so it went, and so it goes.

And here’s a little bonus: Remember Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell? Here’s a Filipino version called Kawawang Cowboy. I have no idea if the Tagalog lyrics are the same, but I kinda doubt it.

Sometimes you just gotta let it all go and have some fun. Take last night, for instance.

After dinner and some beers, I headed over to Goldilocks and purchased a large size birthday cake. Yep, I had a party to tend to. Aine, my fav at Wet Spot, was celebrating 40 years of life here on planet Earth. So, I arrived at the bar, cake in hand.

Of course, I told her to order whatever she wanted for her birthday meal.

Naturally, her co-workers shared in the bounty.

Lots of beers for me and lady drinks for Aine and our waitress. It was a good time. I was thinking about how I hadn’t really been fair to Aine. She had clearly been interested in me, but I never took the bait. It’s not her age; I find her very attractive. Her English is good, and we have some witty conversations. I think it is just that after working in the bar scene, as long as she has, you can become jaded. I had also heard second-hand stories from her ex, which gave me cause to be wary and stay away. But maybe I had been too quick to judge. And it is not like gals are knocking down my door and lining up to be my girlfriend. Well, except for the ones I pay. So, I started thinking that maybe I should agree to see her outside of the bar like she had asked me to do several weeks ago.

As I’m entertaining those thoughts, Aine leaned close to me and whispered, “John, there’s something I need to tell you.” Alright, let’s hear it; maybe she’s thinking like me. “I’ve met someone, and he is going to take me out of the bar.” Okay, good for you. Good luck; I hope it works out for you both. No, I didn’t let it kill my buzz, and I wasn’t upset. That’s how it works, and that is what most bar girls dream about.

I partied on until my standard departure time of 8:30 arrived, and then I called it a night. This morning Aine messaged me and thanked me again for the wonderful party. She said she hoped we could still be friends. Of course, I told her.

So, the bar tab for my drinks and the lady drinks came to 3000 pesos. The food was 1800 pesos. The cake was 600 pesos. All in for just a little over a hundred bucks. That’s how you can afford to live large and party hard here.

Bring on the next adventure!