Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I also found this Nancy Pelosi meme:
Speaking of feeding, we did our annual charity outreach event yesterday in the village of Mampueng, Barangay Old Cabalan, out in the wilds of Olongapo. Two hundred hungry families were provided with a bag of rice and other staples, as well as a meal of spaghetti and chicken. This is the third year I’ve helped sponsor this event, and it always feels good to spread some joy to those in need.
With the handouts taken care of, it was time for a hike. We hired a couple of locals as tour guides and headed out. None of us were feeling up to a 2-hour hike to the Mampueng Falls (one of the guides looked at me and said, “he’s too old”), but we still enjoyed a nice 3K walkabout.
Most of the group opted to stay at the river and set up camp; the remaining four of us marched on.
Made it back to our campsite, where the gals had grilled some sausages and other items were ready for lunchtime dining.
Back home, safe and sound, where I napped and blogged, then prepared myself for a Saturday evening in Barretto. Annex Bar to kick things off, then some dinner at Sit-n-Bull, and a nightcap at Gold Bar brought the day to an end. It was a good one.
In the April 2016 LTG archives is this post where I weigh in on my religious beliefs. I had stirred up some controversy at work when I wrote on the blog about Mohammad being a pedophile. What else do you call someone who marries a nine-year-old? It occurred to me that getting attacked for my opinion was tantamount to criticizing my religion. The same alleged offense for which I was being harassed. This post was intended to forthrightly declare that my religion requires me to be critical of other religions. I’m glad I didn’t have to sue anyone for religious discrimination.
For today’s YouTube video, let’s check in with a vlogger who thought buying into a beach bar would be a good idea. After losing 3.6 million pesos ($60,000), he realized it wasn’t a smart plan after all. I watched this because I’ve fantasized about opening a nice beach bar here in Barretto, but I know the dream would likely turn into a nightmare. Who needs the headache?
I don’t know, maybe someone will find these humorous:
Okay, time to get on with my Sunday routines.
The route we took to get there was sixteen kilometers long.
Walking or driving? I assume driving if you were carrying food. But a 16K walk with a large backpack on your back would’ve been an adventure.
Anyway, it looks to have been a good event.
I don’t know how I managed to publish anonymously, but that previous “walking or driving” comment was me.
Good on ya for helping out those less fortunate than us.
That Taco Bell looks like a good trip down memory lane, John. I had a memory of my own today, my first booze withdrawals (I am sure you can relate): It was late 2014 and, after I woke up one morning and went into the kitchen for some water, I decided to have a little soup that I’d left on the stovetop the night before. Tin of oxtail with some frozen mixed veg thrown in. One of my favorite comfort meals back in the day.
I put a spoon in the pot, one of those ladle-like Asian soup spoons, and as I lifted it out my hand was shaking to such an extent I involuntarily emptied the spoon back into the pot before it even cleared the rim. Huh, that’s weird. I tried again and made it a little further, spilling soup over the stovetop this time. Weird, must be a pinched nerve or I slept on my arm badly or something.
Did some arm circles and stretches thinking that would clear things up, and went for the soup again. This time I noticed my hand shaking as the spoon went into the pot. Once more I shook the soup out of the spoon and back into the pot and over the stovetop.
One last time, after a nervous chuckle (what the hell is going on?) I decided to two-hand the spoon. Got a little more clearance that time…and ended up spilling the soup all over the kitchen floor.
I ditched the spoon, figuring the ‘problem’ would clear up on its own over the course of the day. Ended up shakily tipping some of the soup out into a small bowl.
I tried to sup from the bowl using both hands, while still stood in the kitchen, but found I couldn’t fully extend my arms up, or had full range of motion, to bring the bowl up to my lips. It’s like when you have a weightlifting sesh that might be too much for you and in the acute post-workout period you find your arms simply will not extend fully. You’re looking at them, you’re willing them lift higher, but they simply will not move. I had to sit down, brace my elbows on my knees, and lean in to sup from the bowl.
I was shaking so badly at that point that when I put my lips to the edge of the bowl the porcelain was clattering against my teeth. Trying to will my hands and arms to stabilize made the shaking worse, and I was either twitching away from the bowl or jerkily spilling soup on to the carpet in front of my couch.
I gave up and set the bowl aside, to try again later or something.
Got up to get dressed and head to the shop for some sauce, praying I had enough money for some vodka. My shaking hadn’t improved and I could feel my whole body trembling then. What if it gets worse? I opened the front door and almost walked into my ex-girlfriend, who had her arm out, just about to knock on the door.
Although we’d split up months before, it wasn’t (entirely) acrimonious; just the usual sad story of a normie partner who eventually reached their breaking point with an alcoholic lover and couldn’t take any more. But we’d been in contact virtually every day since she moved back in with her parents, and she’d frequently expressed concern with my drinking and my deteriorating mental stability.
She took a step back, brows raised in surprise, and gasped “oh my God, are you ok?” I was like “yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah. Why? What’s up? Why are you here?” She said she wanted to come check on me, make sure I was ok because I hadn’t responded to her last message in a while. She’d busted me once passed out in the bath and I’d apparently sank down low enough the water level was just under my open, snoring, mouth. After she moved out she repeatedly asked me to shower instead of bathing “in case something happened” and she wouldn’t be there to check on me.
“Why are you shaking?” She asked, a note of concern in her voice. “Shaking? I’m not shaking. I mean my arm’s kinda twitchy because I must have slept on it badly or something…” She breezed past me, taking me by the arm and marching me to the large mirror at the end of the hallway. “Look,” she said. She was right. I was shaking like mad, head going all over the place on my fucking neck like a bobblehead that someone just slapped. I was trembling violently all over.
“I think you need to go to the hospital,” she said. “Nooooo, no, no, no, no. No. I’m fine. It’s just, uh, coffee. I had a lot of coffee this morning and you know too much makes me jittery. Plus, uh, my arm, shaky arm. Pinched nerve. I don’t need to go to the hospital.” Christ, I just wanted to fucking drink. I don’t know how I knew but I knew that, somehow, the shaking would subside once I had a drink or 6.
As happy as I was to see her, I wanted her to be gone then. I wanted to dash out to the local shop, get some booze, come back and get wankered. Crank up the PC speakers to max and warble along to cheese like Hooked On A Feeling, the Piña Colada Song, Kokomo. Gorgonzola like that.
Even though I was sat down and otherwise not doing anything, my heart stated beating faster and heavier, I was dripping with sweat in the cool apartment, and I was breathing in short, rapid, shallow gasps. The ex kept pushing me to let her take me to the hospital, and I kept declining and trying to change the subject. Eventually she got fed up and said if I wasn’t going to let her take me to the ER we should compromise and she’d call an ambulance. They could check me out and if they determined I needed to go then I would go, if not then I wouldn’t and she’d just leave it be. I thought well I’m not dying or anything so this should be an easy one.
Ambulance came out and the ex let the EMT into the apartment. EMT asked me what my symptoms were, when they started, how I was feeling etc. She asked if I’d been drinking that day and I said no which was, technically, the truth. The EMT checked my heart rate, blood pressure, breathing. She shrugged they were a little elevated but nothing especially concerning, and I could go to the hospital with them if I wanted more extensive testing but otherwise I didn’t appear to need hospitalization. I declined, thanked the EMT for coming out, and started thinking of how to get the ex out as well so I could get my day drinking on.
But despite the ‘compromise’ the ex proposed earlier she said she was still concerned and I should have gone to the ER with the ambulance. She wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, I realized, so I agreed to get it over and done with just to get her out of my hair. I know she was acting with good intentions, and she meant well, but I just wanted to be alone and drunk and no longer feeling…whatever this was that was happening to me.
When we got to the hospital the doctor didn’t beat around the bush and went right to asking me about my drinking. I decided to be honest and told her I was on a fifth a day, and a little bit more besides.
Her entire demeanor changed then. She went from polite yet rushed and perfunctory, to dripping with contempt and scorn, telling me what was happening to me was only going to get worse (strangely, she never actually told me I was going through withdrawals) and that if I didn’t stop drinking soon the habit would kill me. She gave me a pill and said it would make me feel a little better. She never said what it was, so I don’t know if it was a benzo or some kind of prescription painkiller, but I was still shaking so badly I couldn’t lift the medicine cup up to my lips and ended up shaking the water around everywhere. I had to get the nurse to put the pill in my mouth and then tip water into my gob from the cup.
Doc left me in a room, unsure of what would happen next, before a nurse came along and discharged me.
Linked up with the ex in the waiting room. “Well? What is it? Did they say what’s wrong?” “They weren’t sure, said it was dehydration, maybe a viral infection. They just gave me some painkillers, said I’m good to go, and should come back if my symptoms get worse.” She drove me home, I thanked her for stopping by, for her concern, and for taking me to the hospital. Then, when I was absolutely certain she was gone, practically sprint-wobbled my way to the local shop for my fix.
It’s crazy, looking back, I had no idea what was happening to me then, and now WDs are such a common thing for me these days that I don’t really sweat it anymore. Just clench the butthole and embrace the suck.
Thompson, the girlfriend you used to write about was a bigger drinker than you are. Did this sober angel come before or after her? Anyway, hang in there. I guess the best way to keep from going into withdrawal is to not stop drinking. But instead of soup, try a sandwich.
Brian, more of my selfish charity, I help others so I can feel good about living large despite being surrounded by poverty.
Kevin, well, on my best day I ain’t got a 16K walk in me. Plus, we had a van full of supplies to distribute.
Hmmm. And now, I see my comment published as “Merlin.” I think you can delete that comment as spam, AI, or both. You don’t want to indiscriminately publish all comments just to push up your comment numbers.
Kevin, yes, I need to do better at policing the comments. Once you pointed out the comment mimicking yours, I deleted it. I love the feedback in the comment sections, but I don’t need the bullshit.