I’m giving myself a break from the game of paying for bargirl company. Turns out I’m not that good a player, and I start taking the whole fantasy a little too seriously. The recent incident with Agnes was a wake-up call. She was merely playing the game to her advantage, and I took the bait. So, I’ll just concede defeat and move on. For a while, anyway.

To the extent there’s a void to be filled, I’ll explore new venues where I’m not well-known to the girls and drink alone. That’s not to say I’ll never go back to my old haunts, but I’ll be upfront about the days of plying my favorites with lady drinks being over. Okay, I’m making an exception regarding Joy at Hideaway. That’s always been a different kind of relationship, and I’ve come to enjoy the bi-weekly feeding sessions. Why should I deny myself that pleasure?

I also think that perhaps I’ll take up darts again. It’s a safe and comfortable way to pass the time and will keep me entertained without a young Filipina by my side. I will need to practice and get my game back before I play in a competitive tournament. I think Johansson’s might be the place to go–nice boards, no bargirls, and rarely crowded. Stay tuned.

So, about last night. I decided to walk to the far side of town and have some dinner at John’s place. I went up to the third-floor bar and took a seat with a view.

I enjoyed a couple of beers with my meal, too. So, where to go next? I considered Mugshots but walked on by. I’m taking a break from IDM for now. Started to go to Cheap Charlies and changed my mind; not ready for those gals again either. I prefer an outdoor bar, and BarCelona was just about my last option, so that’s where I wound up.

I’ve never seen it so dead before. Usually, there are people playing pool, at least, but not last night. No one at the bar inside either. One guy seated at an outside table surrounded by bargirls–heh, me in a previous life! I sat alone at a table by the railing.

Even with only the big spender around, I had to get up to find someone to bring me another beer. It seems the service in BarCelona is always slow to non-existent. Too bad, really, because it is a very nice venue otherwise.

And then another customer arrived, and it turned out to be someone I’m acquainted with from the days I used to hang out at Snackbar, Marvin. Fascinating guy who regaled me with stories about his exploits as both a businessman and a treasure hunter in the Philippines. Yes, people are still looking for Yamashita’s gold, and Marvin’s a mining engineer by trade. Anyway, it was a much more satisfying conversation than I’ve ever had with a bargirl.

When it was time to go, I headed to Queen Victoria to use the last of my 500 peso voucher coupon. They also weren’t busy, but the bargirls there pretty much ignored me as well. TinTin did say hello but didn’t attempt to entice me to buy her a lady drink. Well, that’s okay. It gave me time to think about my new plan for a solitary bar life.

We’ll see how long I can go drinking alone.

Tuesday is normally my “lazy” day, but I experienced a lot of ups and downs yesterday.

Started out with my third trip to immigration for my ACR (Alien Certificate of Registration) card. It took them a while fingering through stacks of cards, but at last, they found mine. One less thing to worry about as I begin planning my required departure, probably in November.

The next stop was the Royal supermarket on my weekly grocery run. The store frequently has certain items with markdown/sale pricing. For example, yesterday, they had Marie Callender frozen pot pies for 30% off. That brought the price down to $3.60 (yes, they use dollar amounts for imported goods), and I decided to buy one for old times’ sake. I’m not sure why but for some reason, I made a mental note to watch the cashier scan my pie to make sure I was getting the discount. My intuition proved correct because it rang up at the full price. I pointed out that the pie was on sale, and the cashier called the floor supervisor over. The supervisor sent the bagger to verify the price, and I engaged in some frustrated banter about scamming customers with fake discounts. Yeah, I went there, although I did remain calm and spoke in a normal voice. When the bagger came back with the correct price, the supervisor started to manually ring up the purchase, but I stopped her and said, “I don’t want it now.” It was the least I could do. In the future, I will keep all “sale” items together in my cart and watch the prices on the register to make sure I’m really getting the discount. And yes, I know I was only being ripped off for $1.50, but it is the principle of the matter.

After I got back from my Royal adventure, I headed over to Dr. Jo’s office. The appointment was for my friend Bhel’s daughter and a follow-up visit for her son (blood work). I had volunteered to pay the doctor’s fees for Bhel. I arrived a little early, so I treated myself to lunch downstairs at Angel’s Bakery.

Bhel arrived with her kids right on time, so I joined them upstairs. Dr. Jo invited me to sit in on the consultation, but I demurred, saying I was only there to pay the bill. I’m not sure what medical issues her 13-year-old daughter might be dealing with, but I do know that’s none of my business, and prefer giving the family their privacy. Dr. Jo’s husband joined me in the waiting area, and we had a nice chat. They are in the process of moving into a rental property in Alta Vista. I told him about my potential forthcoming move, and we somehow got on the subject of the UK healthcare system (he’s not impressed). I asked if he’d ever seen House, MD, and he said he had not. That surprised me, but he said medical dramas have so many inaccuracies that he’s grown weary of watching them. When the session with Dr. Jo was complete, Bhel came out with a prescription. I asked Dr. Jo how much the bill was; she said, “no charge.” I persisted, and she insisted there was nothing owed. I’m sure she was just being generous; I always paid a fee for my consultations. She’s a good woman and a good doctor with a good heart. Thanks for that! I gave Bhel 2000 pesos to fill her prescriptions, then headed back home.

My part-time helper who lives downstairs gave birth to a daughter this week. My helper’s name is Geraldine, she goes by Inday, and her Hash moniker is Cum In My Basement. It wasn’t me, but somebody obviously did. Actually, her live-in boyfriend has assumed his fatherly responsibilities.

My mountain mama friend messaged me with a plea to let her perform massage services. She was especially desperate this week because her daughter has a birthday coming. Well, I’m here to help, and it turned out to be one of the best massages ever.

Just before I headed out for the evening, I heard from Cathy, the adopted mother of the boy I sponsor at school in Bohol. She advised that Eithan had been promoted from a Cub Scout to a Boy Scout, and so he needed a new uniform. Sure, why not? I wired her the money she required to make the purchase.

So, with my good deeds completed for the day, I headed out to support the local bars and the girls who work in them. I started at It Doesn’t Matter and sat with my regular there, Agnes. I started feeling hungry, so I ordered a chicken burger, and Agnes went with chicken fingers. They do a good job for a bar kitchen.

I tend to like to move around some, so after the meal, I paid up and headed out. I hadn’t been to Blue Butterfly in quite a while, so I hoofed it on over there to see how my friend Tee was doing. I prefer the outside area, and as I entered, I received a warm greeting from the gals sitting around waiting for customers. One of them told me she’d go fetch Tee, so I sat down at my favorite table, expecting Tee to bring my beer. Instead, I was served by another gal who knew me, but I didn’t recall her at all. She mentioned that we had met at the old T-Rose bar, but it still didn’t ring a bell. When I confessed that I didn’t even know her name, she seemed genuinely disappointed. “I’m Jo; you really don’t remember?” Sorry. About this time, Tee came out and stood beside the table (there were only two chairs). I chatted up Tee, asked when she’d be returning to the Hash, and the usual how you been talk. Jo didn’t take the hint to leave, so I figured I’d be entertaining two gals (not that unusual). Then Tee just walked away without a word. Saw her briefly chat with the girls on the other side of the patio, then she went back inside the bar. WTF was that all about? I was down to my last swig of beer and had intended to have a second and order two lady drinks for the girls. Instead, I just paid my tab, tipped Jo, and left. I don’t have any reason to return to Blue Butterfly now.

There are always other options, and I had another “buy one, take one” coupon for Hot Zone. I was a little surprised when my friend, the door girl, didn’t follow me inside. I soon discovered why–some two-week millionaire had every single girl inside the bar surrounding him at his table. And it wasn’t just lady drinks he was buying–he had a shitload of food delivered from Sit-n-Bull as well. To their credit, a waitress would always come over to serve me when needed. I tried to have a drink sent outside to the door girl (she couldn’t come inside because there was no one available to take her place) and was told that she had one waiting for her from Mr. Rich Guy. Okay, good. Everyone was taken care of, and I could give my wallet a rest.

I chatted with owner Jay for a bit; then he went out to walk his dogs. A bit later, a group of bikers (The Mad Dogs from Angeles) came in. They took up seats around the empty dance stage with “now what?” looks on their faces. You know, I get it. The girls love the big spenders, and I’m sure it is good for the bar’s bottom line. That guy with the deep pockets spent more in the hour I was there than I might do in a month, and I’m on the generous side of the scale. Still, there were eight or nine other customers in a girly bar with no available girls. Not sure what, if anything, you can do about that.

And while all of this drama was going on, I got a message from my helper that the water pump wasn’t working. I messaged my landlord in Singapore, and he responded that he was sending a plumber. Then an hour or so later, I heard back from the helper that the next-door neighbor had inadvertently turned off my water at the meter, thinking it was his. And yes, it was the plumber who discovered this fuck up. I felt bad for having put the landlord through this unnecessary expense and hassle, but honestly, I would have never even thought to check the meter. Oh, well.

I intended Green Room to be my final destination on the night, but it was packed with pool players for league night, and I didn’t see anywhere to sit. I shrugged and moved next door to Wet Spot. Thankfully I didn’t see Marga working, and I think Aine is long gone now, but I sat at the manager’s table and chatted with a couple of folks I know. A bit later, my favorite Green Room waitress appeared and was thirsty for a lady drink. They have an arrangement between the two bars that staff can join customers in either location and still earn commissions on drinks. I actually think that’s a good arrangement for both patrons and employees. Still, it seemed a little strange to be drinking with a Green Room waitress while my Wet Spot waitress looked on. So, I erased that discomfort by buying her a drink too. Then the cute little bartender caught me giving her the eye, so I smiled and sent her a drink as well. Yeah, I might have been a little drunk at this point.

Still, it was only a little after 8:00 p.m. when I caught a trike for home. And then I proceeded to eat almost the whole half gallon of the irresistible Butterfinger ice cream I had purchased that morning. Okay, I guess I was a little drunk.

Hey, but what a day, right? Next up is my Wednesday bargirl feeding at Hideaway and whatever comes after. Join me tomorrow for a full report of the night’s events and also the photo essay from this morning’s hiking adventure in Castillejos.

Joy came over for a visit yesterday afternoon. It was pleasantly fulfilling. Afterward, I took her to Mango’s and treated her to the grilled pork chops. I guess she must have liked them; that’s what she wants for dinner on Sunday.

A commenter asked for the details of the relationship I have with Joy. However it might be characterized, a relationship is probably an overstatement. Joy is in her early twenties and has two young children. That’s pretty much a deal breaker for me. Don’t get me wrong; she is a very sweet and kind young woman, but as a mother, she is not free to provide me with the things I desire in a relationship. For example, I want to cuddle all night and wake up next to the woman I love. But since I’m not going to raise someone else’s kids at this late stage in my life, there is no potential future with Joy.

So, nowadays, I visit Joy at Hideaway on Wednesdays and Sundays and feed her and the girls some dinner. Joy comes to see me at my place once a month or so. I reward her for her TLC, and she goes home happy. It is what it is, nothing more, nothing less. I guess that’s an example of me being a “sweet father.”

Another commenter has noticed the propensity of moles on the faces of many Filipinas. I also observed that phenomenon when I first arrived, but I guess I’ve grown accustomed to it now. Not sure if it is a genetic thing or just that Western women are more inclined to get the moles surgically removed. I suppose they can be a little distracting, but they are not that big a deal to me.

I guess it is good to remember it is not what’s on the face that matters, but what’s in the heart.

After Joy left, I headed out to Cheap Charlies. I figured I’d have a couple of drinks and then visit Hot Zone when it opened at 6:00 to use my discount coupon. I could keep an eye on things from my vantage point at CC, but for some reason, Hot Zone failed to open at six as scheduled. So, I just said, “fuck it,” and ordered another round for my crew and me.

I hadn’t used up all of my 500 peso voucher at Alaska Club, so I stopped there on my way home. It turned out to be a little expensive. I was the only customer, and my earlier drinks had triggered my generosity mode. I gave each of the six dancers a 50 peso tip expecting nothing in return. But those sweet girls pulled down their tops to show me their tits. Made me feel like a sweet father again.

I, of course, took care of my waitress and my second favorite Joy, with lady drinks. I’ll be seeing Joy #2 tonight at Queen Victoria for the SOB–she’s one of the Alaska dancers.

I started my yesterday with a beach walk on Baloy.

I’m not sure what’s up with my Lucky dog. He’s taken to joining me in bed at night, and I’m okay with that. But he has his own way of doing it.

Fine, be that way.

I’ll leave you with this little gem:

Back tomorrow with a photo report from today’s hike and any worthy news from my SOB adventure.

It has been said that money can’t buy happiness. That may be true, but it does buy things that make me happy. Yesterday’s big purchases were a cart full of groceries and a new desk chair But it is not just material things for my own benefit that give me some feel-good moments. The mountain mama widow I provide grocery money for each week always expresses genuine gratitude, and it feels good to be making a difference in her life in some small way. Yesterday she pleaded for a little extra because her kids all had some fever/congestion thing going on. Of course, I obliged. Her thank you message included this photo:

Speaking of sick children, my friend Bhel is currently in Manila, getting her son’s heart condition reviewed at a couple of the major medical centers there. There are still some more tests to be done, but it appears he may be eligible for a program that will provide the required surgery at a significant discount. Here’s hoping things turn out that way.

I was reminded today of the project I initiated to train the woman I thought would be my caregiver here when I retired. Unbeknownst to me, she had different ideas, and next month will mark the fifth anniversary of the broken heart she gave in return for my generosity. Before I knew what was in store for me, I featured her in a post called “Pay it Forward.” In a weird kind of way, maybe that is what she wound up doing. I have no idea whether she’s still with the Englishman she dumped me for or not, but someone besides me will ultimately benefit from the training I paid for, and I guess that’s a form of charity too.

I came across another post called “Charitably speaking,” where I compare my friend in Cambodia paying to have a house built for his girl’s family and my rejection of beggars trying to nickel and dime me while interrupting me in my important work of beer drinking. Yeah, I can be a dick sometimes, too.

Of course, the lion’s share of my “good deeds” is directed towards the hardworking bargirls I encounter on a regular basis. I’m not talking about the prostitutes here; these are the girls working hard on eight to twelve-hour shifts to pay the rent. I’ve been asking around town, and it seems almost all the bars have a standard salary of 200 pesos per day. That’s the equivalent of four dollars, folks. So those lady drink commissions genuinely are a big deal in giving them the ability to make ends meet. I am sincerely glad that I’m able to help out my handful of regulars.

I had a 500 pesos voucher coupon for Alaska Club, and I put it to use last night. And now I have some more Joy in my life:

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about a name to use in conjunction with my charity projects. What do y’all think of “Sweet Father”? It’s original but has a ring of familiarity, doesn’t it?

It’s feeding night at Hideaway Bar, and I’ll be providing a large Hawaiian pizza for dinner.

And I’m sure I won’t be drinking alone tonight, but it is for a good cause!

As always, thanks for your indulgence. I’ll be back tomorrow with pics from today’s hike and maybe some from whatever tonight brings.

Well, to be fair, the sun was shining until I tried to walk. Then the rain took over. I had to abort my morning hike at 5K and catch a trike home (heh, any excuse will do, right?). Shortly after arriving, it was sunny again. Stayed that way until I headed into town sans umbrella. I didn’t want to spend my evening dripping wet, so I popped into BarCelona, the first open establishment I came to (it was still a few minutes before 4:00) to wait out the storm.

The rain eventually let up, and I continued my crosstown journey to Hideaway bar. I made a stop at Chooks to Go and picked up two roasted chickens.

Joy loved the cornbread muffins the best. She’s usually quite generous with her co-workers, but she kept three of the six muffins I brought for herself.

The chicken and brownies were popular with the other girls too. That’s what it’s all about.

After feeding the crew, I went across the highway to John’s place to feed myself. Sat up in the third-floor bar area.

After my dinner, I popped into Cheap Charlies and enjoyed Roseanne and Alma’s company while imbibing some alcoholic beverages.

Finished my evening out with a beer at Snackbar. One of the waitresses was celebrating her birthday, so she got a drink too. The person I had come to see wasn’t there even though she had invited me. That put me in a foul mood, but lesson learned.

But the sun came out this morning, and I had a pleasant dog walk.

Made myself a burrito for breakfast.

And now, it is time to prepare for another Hash Monday. Leech My Nuggets is the Hare, so I expect a challenging trail. We finish up on Baloy Beach at the Viking Resort. I’ll post the ups and downs and slips and slides tomorrow.

Thanks for stopping by!

The gathering to honor the memory of Don Bullock at IDM yesterday was thought-provoking. Lots of people we both knew were there, so it was good to see some old familiar faces. I offered the usual condolences to his widow and enjoyed seeing his children looking healthy and happy as they might be under the circumstances. It’s cliche to say “life goes on,” I suppose, but for those in attendance, that seemed to be the modus operandi. What else are you going to do? Don ain’t coming back, and we are still here doing what he’d be doing if he was alive. Cheers to a life well lived and to the friends you left behind!

I guess maybe it is my selfish nature to use the occasion of someone’s death to think of my own inevitable passing. Not so much about the when and how; ultimately, it doesn’t matter if I go from COPD, crossing the National highway, or being fucked to death by a sexy Filipina. Obviously, I’m in no hurry to reach that final destination, but the day comes for all of us. I guess what’s been on my mind is the feeling that my death won’t matter because I’m not an important part of anyone’s life. Sure, I have my kids, but I’ve not seen them for three years and rarely even hear from them these days. They are living their lives, and I’m not part of that. That’s fine; after all, this is the life I’ve chosen to spend on the other side of the world. I’m sure the people I know here would be sorry to see me go, but I wouldn’t be leaving any voids to fill either. And that’s okay, too.

I just wonder why that is. If no one is close to me, it must be my fault for not allowing them more than peripheral access to the person that I am. Or maybe they’re not trying hard enough to know me. Or both. It really doesn’t matter. I’ll continue on with my lonely journey, and perhaps one day, I’ll encounter a fellow traveler to join me. If not, then at least no one will have the power to hurt me again.

Enough of this mental masturbation. Life is what it is, we make the best of it until it is gone, and then we no longer have to worry about whether or not we are doing it right.

There are traditions that must be honored, like feeding the hungry. Tonight the Hideaway girls will be enjoying roast chicken from Chooks to Go. I baked up some cornbread muffins to add substance to the meal.

Yeah, I guess the Hideaway girls will miss me if and when I’m gone.

Oh, please help me,
oh, please help me,
I'm livin' by myself.
I need someone to comfort me,
I need someone to tell.

I'm sorry for
the things I've done,
I've shamed myself with lies,
But soon these things
are overcome
And can't be recognized.

I left my love
with ribbons on
And water in her eyes.
I took from her
the love I'd won
And turned it to the sky.

I'm sorry for
the things I've done,
I've shamed myself with lies,
My cruelty has punctured me
And now I'm running dry.