Another day in my life that started with a walk and ended with a drunken stagger.

The walk was all flat, but I was breathing hard for the last couple of kilometers. I hope my lungs won’t take my breath away.

Feeding time at Hideaway rolled around, and I headed out to take care of business. Last night the girls enjoyed pizza (Hawaiian, of course), pork liempo, and a roasted chicken. I baked a dozen apple cinnamon muffins for dessert.

When it was time to move on from Hideaway, I hoofed it down the highway to Alaska Club for my nightcap.

Made it home alone and safe. And now, I’m ready to face the challenges of a brand new day.

Mary is coming over after school. I’m preparing some pork chops in a cream of mushroom soup sauce in the crockpot. After the meal, I’ll take her to the floating bar for a couple of drinks before she goes back home to Kalaklan.

If I were the asshole Nerissa seems to think I am, I’d bring Mary with me to Cheap Charlies. Hmm, maybe next time.

I hear some people
been talkin' me down,
Bring up my name,
pass it 'round.
They don't mention
happy times
They do their thing,
I'll do mine.

Ooh baby,
that's hard to change
I can't tell them
how to feel.
Some get stoned,
some get strange,
But sooner or later
it all gets real.

Walk on

…is that the question?

Commenter Brian shared these thoughts on a recent post:

Random thoughts that somewhat tie in to her giving you the cold shoulder. I may have said this previously in response to an earlier post of yours, but there definitely is a double standard with the number of girls a guy is with vs. the number of guys a girl is with and thoughts thereof.

Although you probably don’t see yourself this way, I bet that most of the girls you come in contact with in your little burg see you as a player. One girl one night, a different one the next week, etc. As you mentioned, in a small town, everyone knows your business. With that type of reputation, most/all ladies will hesitate to get to know you on anything other than a superficial level

My initial reaction was that visiting different bars and buying your favorite girls a lady drink, then leaving alone, doesn’t really qualify as being a player. I think that paying for company or sex is kind of the opposite of being a player. I see a player as someone who strings more than one woman along emotionally, making promises he doesn’t mean to keep and ultimately breaking hearts. Of course, women can be players, too, and I’d wager there are more female players in this town than there are men making a game of romance.

On the other hand, how you are perceived often overrides whatever the truth might be. That seems to be Brian’s primary point: if the women in my town see me as a player, whether I am or not, they will treat me as someone who can’t be trusted with their heart. That seems to indeed be the case with Nerissa.

I went to see Nerissa in Cheap Charlies last night and wasn’t sure what to expect, seeing as how she had unfriended and blocked me on Facebook without a word. She didn’t decline when I invited her to join me for a drink, so that was a start. However, she ordered a double lady drink, something she hadn’t tried before. Given the circumstances, I didn’t object. I also told the other girls milling about that I wanted one on one time with Nerissa. And then I asked her why she had blocked me.

“Because I saw you at BarCelona with another girl,” she responded. That’s what I expected the issue was, but it still didn’t make much sense to me. I’ve had one date with Nerissa: nothing physical, no promises, no commitments. I pointed out that she hadn’t responded when I had asked her when her next day off would be, intending to take her out for dinner. Nerissa said she hadn’t answered because she didn’t know when she’d be off yet. Fine, why didn’t you say that? I told her that her non-responsiveness led me to believe she wasn’t interested in dating me. Nerissa asked me why I hadn’t told her I was seeing someone else, and I truthfully responded that I didn’t feel that I had a relationship with her or any obligation to do so. I told her that if I were trying to hide that I was meeting someone, I wouldn’t have chosen to sit on the rooftop at BarCelona in full view of everyone sitting in Cheap Charlies. I asked her why she hadn’t raised her concerns with me directly instead of just blocking me without explanation. She acted like it was no big deal to be blocked and explained that she didn’t want to see posts of me with another girl.

And that’s pretty much where we left it. I had three drinks; she had two (doubles). I paid my tab and left. I guess my feeling is I’m glad I found out how she is sooner rather than later. If she got that jealous before we were even in a relationship, I can only imagine the nightmare she would likely be as a jealous girlfriend. And perhaps she feels the same–happy to learn I’m such a “player” early on. And so it goes.

After my departure, I headed up the highway to John’s place for some grub.

I also ordered some Korean-style chicken wings to surprise the Hideaway girls.

I only had one drink at Hideaway, knowing I’d be back today for the regular Wednesday feeding. I finished my evening at The Green Room with two more drinks, then caught a trike back home.

More and more, I’m thinking I’m better off going through life alone. Who needs all the drama?

I continue to fill my time in the usual ways, walking and drinking being the bookends, with blogging and napping occupying the space in between. I used to feel like I was wasting what was left of my life by not engaging in more meaningful activities during my retirement years, but lately, I’ve come to accept that I’m in my comfort zone, and if this is all there is, then that will be enough. That’s not to say I’m not receptive to any opportunities to change my life that may come along, but in the meantime, I won’t lament the things I don’t have. I’ve actually come to appreciate the value of my solitary life, boring though it may be. There are worse things than being alone, and I’m not convinced that the relationship I’ve craved in my imagination is worth the drama that seems inherent when you open your heart to another.

That’s my initial thinking, anyway. As Joni Mitchell sang all those years ago, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone…” We’ll see if any of the women currently vying for my attention are able to change my mind.

When it was time for my evening entertainment, I took a walk out to Baloy Beach.

In its previous iteration, the food delivered on board the floating bar came from Treasure Island. This year, the menu was from Lagoon. It’s okay, but not one of my favorites. So, instead of eating on the floater, I went to Treasure Island when I disembarked.

After my meal, I walked back to the highway and stopped at Snackbar for my nightcap. Haven’t been there in a while; there is too much drama with some of the staff. Last night was fine, though. Even Lydell, the gal I dated a couple of times, was sweet to me. She surprised me by playing “Cotton Eye Joe” and inviting me to do some country swing dancing with her. It was actually quite fun, and she earned herself a couple of lady drinks.

And then, it was time to go home, so I grabbed a trike. Made me a smoothie and then hit the sack. Fitbit says I was asleep at 8:30. That’s the way this old man rolls these days.

Yesterday the Wednesday Walkers, all three of us, took a 9K stroll around the Naugsol valley. My lungs are still acting up, so my compadres accommodated me with a mostly flat trail. It was a beautiful day yesterday, and I think we all enjoyed it. I took a shitload of pictures, and here they are:

My evening hours were filled with the feeding at Hideaway (chicken and pork) and some time at Whiskey Girl on the way home.

Joshua wound up having to go to the Cebu consulate to get his visa processed. Apparently, the Korean embassy in Manila is currently backlogged, and he would have had to wait two more weeks. He rented a scooter in Cebu, has been exploring the island, and appears to be enjoying himself.

Rumor has it the floating bar on Baloy has now opened, and I’m going to venture out that way this afternoon to find out for myself. See you here tomorrow.

That’s what I do. Especially when the Hare is Vienna Sausage, the trail is 9K, and it is raining. Now, I understand there was a shorter version of the trail, but since the Hare couldn’t be bothered to come to the starting point to give guidance and answer questions, I wasn’t sure. And, to be frank, I don’t trust this Hare with my personal safety.

I intended to follow the trail as far as it made sense to do so, then find my own way from there. I was surprised that NONE of the usual “sane” group of Hashers were there at the start. Since I’m slow and stop to take photos, I was soon bringing up the rear. Well, there was one other guy behind me. I intended to keep within shouting distance of the group in front of me, but that proved impossible because the guy behind me kept asking me to wait for him. Alright, I wasn’t going to leave him alone out there; I hate that when it happens to me. Once we came down from the first hill climb, I decided to make a flat walk back to the On-Home at Blue Butterfly.

Once we hit the valley, the Hare’s trail went right, and I turned left. The slowpoke came with me.

I didn’t socialize with the Hashers much after the Hash, either. I got some takeout grub from Sit-n-Bull and was home by 7:30. Just one of those nights, I guess.

Tonight I’m meeting Mary and hoping for the best. I’ll let y’all know how it goes tomorrow.

You can go your own way
Go your own way
You can call it another lonely day
You can go your own way
Go your own way

It really wasn’t much of a fight because I don’t give a shit about Valentine’s Day. I actually got an invite from Joy to take her out for VD, and I declined. I do think I’ve gotten so accustomed to solitary life that I prefer it to the whole “dinner for two” routine. This is not to say I spent the day alone, far from it. Here’s how things went down.

As I mentioned yesterday, my mountain friend/masseuse came to the house to give me my monthly rubdown. Just before the massage reached its climax, I had a breathing attack. I reached for the inhaler I keep on the nightstand, but it didn’t seem to help much. So, I stumbled into the living room to fire up my nebulizer. I felt like I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, but fortunately, after the first couple of puffs, I could breathe again—scary shit.

Annabelle, one of our female Hashers, asked me to come by Alley Cats yesterday to help her celebrate her 40th birthday. It’s been quite some time since my last visit there, so I figured, why not? Plus, one of my old favorites, Jerlyn, has returned to work after spending several months in the province. As is my custom, I baked up a batch of brownies for the birthday girl. When I arrived, Annabelle wasn’t there, and I was told she was visiting family in Bataan. Hmm, must have been a breakdown in communication somewhere. Oh, well. I gave the brownies to Jeryln as a welcome-back gift and enjoyed catching up with her some. Nancy joined us and told me I was missed in the bar and said, “we love you, John.” That was sweet and made me feel so good I bought another round of drinks.

I had the last of my pasalubong to give to my favorites at Alaska Club, including the carton of fresh strawberries Karen had requested, but the bar doesn’t open until six. So, I headed up the highway to Cheap Charlies to kill some time. I did bring along some chocolate candy (Kit Kat minis) and cookies for the girls there. Narissa gave me a smile and a friendly greeting, but she was busy with another customer. My regulars soon surrounded me, and we let the good times roll in the form of lady drinks and gin sodas.

I was looking forward to bringing my gifts to my Alaska friends, so off I went. Alas, when I arrived, my regular waitress informed me that both Karen and Virginia were not working. That was more than a little disappointing. I asked the waitress to store Karen’s strawberries in the fridge and left a Baguio magnet for Virginia. I gave the dancers some chocolates, paid my tab, and left.

Now what?

I decided to drop in at Wet Spot to finish my Valentine’s night. I bought my waitress a drink to start things off. Lyn, the young new dancer, was on stage when I arrived, and when her set was over, she joined me at my table. I handed out my last bags of candy and cookies, and then we all settled back to enjoy our drinks. Lyn snuggled up against me, and it felt so nice that I acted on impulse:

“Do you want to come home with me and snuggle like this all night?” She responded, “yes, but no boom-boom” (sex). I asked her how much, and she answered four thousand pesos. I agreed to her terms, and the deal was done.

I had not done a barfine for a couple of years, but it just felt like there was something special about Lyn. It’s probably because she’s new to the business. Back in my tourist days when I barfined regularly, I found that girls who had less than six months’ experience were more to my liking than the jaded long-term pros. Now, 4000P is way too much for a night with no boom-boom, but I didn’t care. Snuggling and cuddling can be just as satisfying, at least for me. And just in case you don’t know how this whole concept works, a barfine is, in reality, an early work release (EWR). The girl pays the bar a fine of 1000 pesos to leave work early; anything else is between her and the customer. I think most guys negotiate down to 3000 or less, but as I said, I didn’t care. I was just looking for some companionship.

And Lyn delivered. Well, she didn’t like the smoothie I made her when we got to my place, but once we hit the sack, I got what I wanted. Yeah, I’m a man, and I was half-drunk (or more), so I engaged in some petting which she tolerated, but when I started to go too far, she reiterated, “no boom-boom,” and of course, I respected her wishes in accordance with our prior arrangement. But while we slept, she held me close during the night, and it felt wonderful. Once, she rolled over and held my hand as she was sleeping. It was sweet. As is my habit, I woke up early and left the room to scour the internet. A bit later, she joined me and sat on my lap, then kissed me on the lips. Then she got up, washed the dishes, and went back to bed. A few minutes later, I joined her there, but my efforts at seduction were ignored.

Anyway, I didn’t have love or sex for Valentine’s, but I had someone at my side doing the kinds of things I’ve missed. Yeah, I got what I paid for, but if Lyn were feigning her affectionate ways, she qualifies for an Oscar. I’m not foolish enough to think this translates to any genuine feelings she may have for me; indeed, as I walked her out of the neighborhood this morning to catch a trike, I got a distinct impression that she was now off-duty and didn’t have to pretend to like me any longer. That’s just the way it works around here, and you are a fool if you believe otherwise.

I heard this song on my playlist as I hiked later this morning and smiled as I thought it could be sung by almost any bargirl in town:

That's what you get for lovin' me
That's what you get for lovin' me
Everything you had is gone, as you can see
That's what you get for lovin' me.

I ain't the kind to hang around
With any new love that I've found
Movin' is my stock in trade
I'm movin on
I won't think of you when I'm gone.

So don't you shed a tear for me
I ain't the love you thought I'd be
I've got a hundred more like you
so don't be blue
I'll have a thousand 'fore I'm through.

Now there you go you're crying again
Now there you go you're crying again
But then someday when your poor heart
is on the mend
I just might pass this way again

That's what you get for lovin' me
That's what you get for lovin' me
Everything you had is gone, as you can see
That's what you get for lovin' me.

I’ll be traveling to Angeles City in the wee hours of the morning to pick up my nephew Joshua, who will be arriving at Clark airport at 0230. The purpose of the visit is to secure a work visa in Korea (he plans to teach English like his brother Justin), which apparently must be applied for at a Korean embassy. Anyway, he’ll be here for a week or two and is looking forward to seeing some of the Philippines during his visit. We’ll see what I can arrange, but I will definitely introduce him to the nightlife here in Barretto. Unfortunately, my current living quarters doesn’t have a guest room. I have rectified that by securing lodging for Josh at the Johansson’s Lodge–a small fan room (no air con) for only 500 pesos a night. One of my buds has already accused me of being a cruel uncle for making such Spartan arrangements, but Josh says it sounds perfect. Besides, the lobby area is open 24 hours and he can hang out there if he gets claustrophobic. Anyway, having another McCrarey in town ought to spice up the daily drivel I post here some. Justin will be joining us later in the visit.

Picking up where I left off in yesterday’s post, the pot roast came out tender and tasty.

Joy had messaged me saying she was craving a banana-walnut muffin. I just responded, “sorry.” Actually, there were two left, my helpers having helped themselves to the other eight. Again, fine with me–out of sight, out of mind. I decided to surprise Joy with a special muffin delivery to Hideaway.

Joy was indeed surprised to see me and especially delighted to see the baggie with muffins in my shirt pocket. She devoured them both before I remembered to get the Joy with her mouth full shot. Sorry to disappoint; I won’t make that mistake again during tonight’s feeding.

I stayed at Hideaway for two or three drinks, which was long enough for me to get bit by the “buy all the girls a drink” bug. Oh well, how do you put a price tag on those smiles?

I had another mission to accomplish last night–what happened at the SOB that I don’t remember? When I got to Wet Spot, I sat down next to the manager, Bret, and asked if I had done anything stupid during my attendance at Friday’s contest. He assured me my behavior was fine, and it appeared I was having a good time with the gal I was sharing drinks with. That was a relief. Then my waitress came over, and I told her I didn’t remember paying my tab last night. She said I had asked to pay early before the contest winners had been announced. Did I give you and the girl I was with a tip? Yes. What’s her name, anyway? Mevelyn. Damn, I’ll never remember that. Anyway, she said she was really surprised when I left; she thought I was just going to the CR. Yeah, it is weird. I’ve never not stayed for the contest results before. And then Mevelyn walked by, and I called her over and bought them both a drink. Mevelyn said I had behaved, and the only touching I did was gently rubbing her leg.

Okay, I still don’t remember anything, but I’m glad I wasn’t a drunken asshole. I really don’t like them and never want to be one.

Here’s the winning performance by the Wet Spot dancers. It feels like I just watched it for the first time. Scary.

Anal Receptive and I marked the Hash trail this morning, all 8K of it. Took us over four hours to complete the mission. It kicked my ass, but we got it done. I’ll post some pictures from the trail tomorrow.

And here are there results from this week’s weigh-in: 218.6 pounds, down 1.1 from last week and 6.7 since January 1. Little by little, I’m getting there.

My “let’s go, Brandon” moments are increasing with a distressing regularity (like using road for rode), but I’m not sure I can blame my forgetfulness last night on dementia. Well, let me rephrase that: I can’t remember what happened last night. To be more precise, I can remember up to a certain point, then it goes blank. I can only speculate on why that may be, but I’m pretty sure gin played a role. Here’s what I do remember:

So, it was SOB night at Wet Spot. There was a large group of Vietnam-era Navy veterans in town, and they were going to attend the event. Wet Spot is a large bar, but I knew I’d have to arrive early to secure a good seat. I went to The Green Room next door a little after 4:00 to wait for the 5 p.m. opening of Wet Spot. I ordered a gin and soda to help pass the time. Then the waitress from Sit-n-Bull came by with a menu, so I figured having some food in my belly as a cushion for the alcohol would be a good idea. Meatloaf was one of the daily specials, and it had been quite some time since I’d partaken of that particular delicacy. I enjoyed another gin and soda with my meal. Around 4:45, I peeked (shit, I wrote peaked at first) inside Wet Spot and saw there was a slew of seats reserved for the Vets, and a couple of SOB attendees were already seated. I got another gin and soda to go (Green Room and Wet Spot have the same owner and an inside passageway so customers can move between the bars at their leisure. I just wasn’t sure the bar would be serving before opening time, so I brought a drink with me).

So, I settled into my preferred seat at the VIP table and waited for the show to begin at 6:00 p.m. My favorite waitress didn’t let my drink run dry during the wait. It was wise that I arrived early because it wasn’t long before the bar was packed like I’d never seen before. The Wet Spot dancers provided some entertainment on stage for the crowd to enjoy. That’s when I spotted a young lovely (I believe she is nineteen) that I had noticed several weeks ago on her first night at work. That night she looked distressed and so painfully shy that I thought she would cry. I guess she is adapting to her new job responsibilities because I did not see any similar symptoms as I watched her on stage. I like to have a companion when I watch the SOB, so I brought her down from the stage and bought her a drink.

So, at 6 o’clock, the bell was rung, and all customer drinks were “free” until 8 p.m. (the entrance fee is 700 pesos). I kept paying for my company’s drinks. I was once again tasked with being a judge and dutifully completed the scoresheet, but I don’t recall who I chose as the competition winners. Nor do I know who actually won last night. If I was still present when the winning teams were brought up on stage, I have no recollection of that event. In fact, the last thing I remember was having my name called to collect my raffle coupons. They were in my wallet this morning, so there’s that.

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t remember leaving the bar. I was worried I might not have paid my tab or tipped my company. I saw owner Dave at Sit-n-Bull today after my walk and told him I didn’t remember last night. He just laughed and said I had a good time with the young lady next to me. Hmm. Well, I guess if I hadn’t paid, he would have told me. I might stop back at Wet Spot tonight and see if anyone there can restore my memories.

I do remember the Friday group hike, though. And I’ve got the pictures to prove it! Only four of us were in attendance, and we split up into pairs about halfway into our journey–the healthy guys tackled another climb, and I took my tired lungs for a valley walk.

That’s how my Friday went down. As far as I remember.

Speaking of memories, Facebook shared this photo of a dinner I enjoyed six years ago in Seoul.

That story of Chinese spying has been floating all over the internet. I think maybe it is being blown all out of proportion:

Spent some time in the kitchen this morning.

I’ll be back with another post tomorrow. Unless I forget.

Well, now I’ve gone and done it. Yesterday I purchased a Yamaha motorbike. And then I gave it away.

Jane is my friend who lives on the mountain with her two half-American (Fil-Am) children. The father died a couple of years ago, and the support money he had been sending from the states died with him. I adopted Jane as my primary charity project and provided her an allowance of 2000 pesos per week to feed and clothe her kids. On Tuesday, when she came to pick up the money, she said there was something wrong with the engine of her motorbike. I gave her an extra thousand to get it looked at, but I had my doubts. I know nothing about these small scooters, but hers just looked worn out to me. And sure enough, she messaged me later saying they had torn the engine apart and there was so much wrong it didn’t warrant repair.

Jane was really stressing out, and I can’t say that I blame her. She lives up on the mountain past the end of Rizal Extension, down a dirt road. It’s a long way from anywhere. In fact, I first met Jane when one of the hikers I was with who knew her husband introduced us as we walked by her place. Her biggest concern was not having a way to get her kids to and from school. Getting groceries and other supplies would also be a major pain in the ass. I asked her how much it would cost to replace her scooter, and she estimated it would be 60,000 pesos ($1200.). I was actually surprised because I assumed it would cost a lot more than that. I thought it over, and not seeing any alternatives, I told her to see if she could get a new one, but only if the shop accepted credit cards. My thinking was I could pay down the debt gradually and not bust my budget.

This is a funny country in that credit cards are not accepted in many stores–I only use mine at Royal supermarket each week. The first couple of motorbike shops she checked didn’t accept card payments, but she finally found one that did deep in the heart of Olongapo. I had my driver take Jane and me there yesterday afternoon. The bike she found was 75,000 ($1500.), but it appears to be a quality brand-name scooter. I’d never made a purchase that large on my card before and wasn’t sure it would work, but the transaction went through on the first try—and Jane road rode home on her brand-new motorbike*.

She messaged me later, sending photos, including the one above. One of her pics was from a church where she had stopped to thank the Lord for my generosity. Well, I guess I can take “credit” this time. *ahem* That was a record-breaking charity expenditure for me, but it was also one that will make a huge difference in someone’s life. I don’t know what Jane would have done up there without transportation. I feel blessed that I had the means to assist her, even though I had to charge the gift. Good luck and ride safely, Jane!

In other news, I also performed my feeding project at Hideaway. Spending 1500 on food (pizza, chicken, liempo, and rice) seemed like a pittance after buying a motorbike.

Joy asked if I wanted to play pool, and I didn’t, but I said you play your pal Jen, and I’ll give the winner a hundred pesos. And the game was on.

And in the end, it was Joy who prevailed. I paid off both players, then paid my bar tab and said goodnight. I wasn’t done yet, of course. Next stop, Cheap Charlies!

I bought drinks for two of my regulars and ignored the one who didn’t remember my name. I guess she got the hint because she got up and walked away. Now I actually feel a little bad about my behavior, but one girl on each side of me is plenty. After a couple of more drinks, I crossed the highway and finished my night at Wet Spot.

What else? Well, it’s my little brother’s birthday:

I did the Wednesday Walkers hike, well, as much as I could manage. The old lungs have been acting up–a lot of coughing and shortness of breath. And then we did a steep-ass climb early on, and I was wiped out for the rest of the walk.

Shortly afterward, I said my goodbyes to the group and took my sorry ass home. Of course, there was a trip to the motorbike store in my immediate future, but I’ve already told that story.

And that’s how my Wednesday went down. Hope to see you all here tomorrow.

*Fixed the errors. Thanks, Kevin!

…and so is January. I’ve got big plans for February.

A quiet day of shopping and replenishing the cash supply, and then it was time to take myself out on a date. Table for one, please.

Placed my order for dinner, then strolled out onto the beach for a closer look.

And then, dinner is served.

After my meal, I was thinking I’d visit Whiskey Girl. It’s nearby and doesn’t require making a highway crossing. Alas, it wasn’t open yet. So, I did risk life and limb and dashed across the highway to Queen Victoria. Another gin and soda and a brief chat with one of my Alta Vista neighbors and his wife. They left, and my glass was empty, but none of the staff seemed to notice or care, so I paid my tab and left.

I wasn’t sure where my next stop would be, but my feet were taking me in the direction of Alaska Club. Sloppy Joe’s is next door, and I knew several of the people sitting at the outside tables, so I joined them. Around the time I finished my first drink, most of the group got up and left to play a pool league match. I ordered another and chatted with an old female friend I hadn’t seen for a while. She’s living with her new boyfriend now, and I was regaled with stories that reminded me of the drama that seems to be part and parcel of most relationships. She’s a good woman, and I hope they have a happy life together.

Time for that Alaska visit. Virginia and I made eye contact the minute I walked through the door. Naturally, I invited her to join me as soon as I was seated.

And we weren’t alone for long. Our waitress and the best dancer on the Alaska SOB squad, Karen, was being so sweet that I wanted to treat her to a lady drink. And another gal I’ve known since I moved here was hovering about in anticipation of participating in the bounty of a free-spending customer. Hey, the more, the merrier!

When I’d had my fill of fun at Alaska, I crossed the highway again to finish my night out at Whiskey Girl.

My favorite waitress, Jen, served me as soon as I was seated at a front-row table. Of course, Jen joined me to enjoy my company her lady drink commission. The dancers were actually putting on the moves enough that I noticed them.

All good times must come to an end, and my time had arrived. I said goodnight to the girls and gave manager Mark a hearty “fuck off, ya cunt!” as I departed. Being a Brit, I am sure he had a witty comeback, but I don’t recall what it was now.

In the non-drinking portion of my day, I spent some quality time with my boys.

During my internet cruising, Facebook memories reminded me of just how much things have changed since this post from five years ago:

An old friend of mine back in Korea sent me a message with a link to something called Sweatcoin. Apparently, you can earn bitcoin-like currency simply by walking, earning one coin for every 1000 steps you take. You can use these coins to purchase items on their website or donate your earnings to charities supported by the website. I’m not sure what the angle is because I don’t see any potential for profit (I didn’t sign up for the premium plan, so maybe that’s it), but I’ve decided to take the risk and give it a try (the risk is giving them access to things like your email and phone number). We’ll see what happens, but I’m going to walk regardless, so if I can “earn” something by doing so, why not?

I guess I must have been bored, but I decided to mess around with ChatGPT some more. One of the questions I asked was: Why do so many foreign men move to the Philippines?

There are several reasons why many foreign men move to the Philippines:

1. Cost of Living: The cost of living in the Philippines is lower compared to many Western countries, making it an attractive destination for retirees and budget-conscious individuals.
2. Friendly people: The Philippines is known for its friendly and hospitable people, which makes it a welcoming place for foreigners.
3. Beautiful scenery: The country is famous for its stunning beaches, lush jungles, and scenic landscapes, which can be a major draw for people looking to enjoy a tropical lifestyle.
4. Language: English is widely spoken in the Philippines, which makes it easier for English-speaking foreigners to communicate and integrate into the local community.
5. Dating and Marriage: The Philippines is also a popular destination for foreign men seeking to date or marry Filipina women, who are known for their beauty, kindness, and traditional values.

These are some of the reasons why many foreign men choose to move to the Philippines. Of course, individual experiences and motivations will vary.

Those are all legit, and I guess you could call what goes on in the bars “dating,” although that’s a stretch. Maybe I’ll go back and explore the prostitution angle more in-depth with my new friend.

And that’s it for now. Got a feeding at Hideaway to prepare for. Back tomorrow, provided I’m still allowed to post.

I have a confession to make: I did not write this. In the comments to an earlier post, Dan said that since my Facebook friends liked the A.I. from ChatGPT post better than mine, I should consider having ChatGPT write my blog too. Well, at first, I thought no way something with intelligence, artificial or otherwise, would lower itself to my standards. Then I figured, why not give it a try and see what happens? And that’s just what I did. Here’s how it went down:

I started with the basic question: Can you help me write a post for my blog at www.mccrarey.com about my night in the bars?

Sure, I’d be happy to help you write a post for your blog about your night in the bars. Can you provide me with some more details about the experience you want to share, such as what bars you visited, what you enjoyed about the experience, and any tips or recommendations you have for others looking to have a similar experience?

So, I gave the A.I. this to work with: I started out at IDM bar, where I ran into my pals Dave and Chris. We had a nice chat about the latest victims of the scamdemic–those dying from the after-effects of worthless vaccines. Sexy waitress Juliet was our server. Then I went to BarCelona, one of the nicer bars ambiance-wise in town. It’s on the third-floor rooftop and affords great views of our town Barrio Barretto. Speaking of great views, a cute little waitress named Jade was my server. I bought her a lady drink, and we sat together, chatting for a while. My last stop was Wet Spot, where I had a “buy one, get one” discount coupon. Owner Dave came in and bought me a drink. It was nice hanging out and getting the latest news and views. I had enough to drink, so went home early and enjoyed pecan pie with vanilla ice cream on top. I guess I was drunker than I thought because I woke up late in the night on the couch.

It sounds like you had a great night out at the bars! Here’s a sample post for your blog about your experience:

And then, I posted what the app provided without modification.

“Last night, I had the pleasure of visiting three of my favorite bars in Barrio Barretto. My evening started out at IDM bar, where I ran into my friends Dave and Chris. We chatted over drinks and shared our thoughts on the latest victims of the scamdemic. Our server, the lovely Juliet, made sure we were well taken care of.

Next, I headed to BarCelona, a rooftop bar with a fantastic ambiance. The views of the city from the third floor were breathtaking and the perfect backdrop for my drink. I had the pleasure of chatting with my server, Jade, over a lady drink. It was a nice way to spend some time getting to know her.

My last stop of the night was Wet Spot, where I had a “buy one, get one” discount coupon. I chatted with the owner, Dave, and enjoyed some discounted drinks with the latest news and views. I had enough to drink, so I decided to call it an early night and went home.

I must have been more intoxicated than I realized because I woke up on the couch later that night. But, it was all worth it for the great company, drinks, and views. If you’re ever in Barrio Barretto, be sure to check out these bars for a night you won’t forget.”

And as an added bonus, the A.I. provided this admonishment:

Please keep in mind that it’s not a good idea to encourage drinking and driving, it is not safe and it is illegal in many countries, it’s also not a good idea to encourage excessive drinking.

So, what do you think? To me, it just seems like a clean-up of the basic info I provided. What I did notice is that it changed words I used to something more P.C., like waitress to server. It didn’t like me saying sexy and also didn’t include my mention of vaccines negatively. My Grammarly app also frequently suggests less “offensive” words, but I always ignore its advice. Speaking of Grammarly, the only punctuation error it underlined in the post was removing the comma after “But” in the next to last sentence. It suggested a comma before “and” and a semi-colon before “it’s” in the last sentence of the admonishment. Do you see anything else, Kevin?

Overall, my assessment is that the A.I. just regurgitates the info you provide in a milquetoast fashion so as not to rile the woke mob. I’m sure my shenanigans scared that crowd away from my blog long ago. And not to worry, I won’t be relying on ChatGPT for any help in the future. I felt a little guilty about posting this morning without attribution or warning, so I tagged it with “A.I.” at the bottom of the post. I just wanted to see if anyone would notice any difference from my daily drivel; apparently, no one did.

I didn’t add any pictures to this morning’s post, either. I only have a couple, and here they are now:

My waitress at BarCelona was indeed a hottie. She told me she used to be a dancer at Whiskey Girl but quit because she didn’t like the videos from the SOB being posted on YouTube. So, I was too shy to ask her to let me take her picture.

Anyway, it was a nice night out. And about that waking up on the couch thing, it just doesn’t make any sense. I had gone into the bedroom and taken off my clothes (the evidence was still on the floor this morning), so why would I go back into the dark living room to stumble over to the uncomfortable couch where I never sleep? The more I think about it, the more I don’t think I did–it was probably just a dream. I’ve noticed I’m having some pretty intense REM sleep lately, especially in the early morning hours. Weird, though; it seemed so real.

So, about that diet. I’m obviously not being strict on low carb, but I’m sure I’ve reduced my calorie intake, if for no other reason than eliminating beer intake. I need to be careful about those “cheats” like I did with the pie and ice cream, though.

Today’s weigh-in has me at 219.7, down 1.7 pounds from last week and a loss of 5.6 since January 1. Slow progress, but progress.

Don’t strain your neck like I did to see it upside right:

I guess it really is all a matter of perspective. I will be back with more of my human-made drivel tomorrow.

A busy day yesterday began when I awoke to the discovery that I was without water pressure. That’s a tell-tell sign that the pump in the basement that fills the water tanks and creates the pressure to transport that water through the pipes and into my residence was not functioning. I sent the landlord an email (he lives in Singapore) asking him to dispatch a plumber. I had a scouting expedition with my neighbor and co-Hare Edward to attend, so I headed for the hills.

Ed and I successfully found a trail down to the valley and then looped back to the top and rejoined the “short” version of the Hash trail, adding 2K and another hill climb. We’ll return next weekend and spread some powder and chalk to mark the path for our fellow Hashers. Feels good to have our scouting task successfully completed.

I told Ed about my water pump issues, and he came by the house to take a look. As soon as I turned the pump on, he could tell by the sound that the bearings were shot. Ed offered to drive me to the local hardware store for a new pump. He also tried to get a plumber he knows to come out to install it, but that guy wasn’t available. So, Ed graciously volunteered to do the installation. I emailed my landlord again, telling him I had it covered, and the landlord wrote back, telling me he hadn’t been able to find anyone and to deduct the replacement expense from next month’s rent.

This was the first time I had made a purchase at the giant hardware store called Wilcon Depot (like a Home Depot, only larger). When I handed the clerk at checkout my credit card to pay for the pump, he asked me where it was issued. I’ve never been asked that before ANYWHERE I’ve ever traveled. I told him the USA, and he wanted to see my ID. I handed him my ACR card issued by Philippines immigration, and the clerk told me I needed an ID from the USA. Well, I don’t carry my passport when I visit the hardware store, and my only other American ID is an expired South Carolina driver’s license. The clerk reiterated that I needed an ID from the same country as the credit card. I told him that was ridiculous; I have lived here five years and don’t use American identification. He wouldn’t budge, so I asked him to call a manager.

When the manager arrived, I told her that I live here and, like every expat I know, I maintain my bank accounts in my country of citizenship. She asked to see my ACR card again, which contains my name and picture. Then she asked me for an ID that had my signature (I guess she wanted to compare signatures on the credit card), and I once again said the ACR was the only ID I carry. She finally relented with the admonition that next time bring ID with a signature. Hopefully, there won’t be a next time. And yes, I had enough cash in my pocket to pay for the pump, but I just couldn’t abide the stupidity.

Anyway, we got the pump home, and Ed went to work removing the old pump. We were shocked (thankfully, not literally) when the neighbor’s water pump turned on because the breaker was supposed to have been turned off. I had thrown the switch but on the wrong box, so Ed was working with hot wires. Oops!

So, with my water supply successfully restored, I could take a shower and get on with the rest of my life. And you know what that means–a visit to the Barretto nightlife.

I decided to start my evening at Cheap Charlies, hoping for some more interaction with the new gal, Narissa. Alas, the place was packed, and she was otherwise occupied. I found an open seat, and Alma brought me my first drink of the night.

After a while, the crowd left (turns out they were a group of Aussies celebrating Australia Day. Good to see them out enjoying themselves and celebrating the homeland with a pub crawl.

Nerissa did free up and joined me for a brief conversation before I moved on to my next venue.

I still had money to spend on that 1000 peso voucher from the SOB, and I decided to use some of it at Voodoo.

Nice chat with the owner of Voodoo as well. Then one last stop at Wet Spot, and I was on the way home.

I’ve been reading about this new AI app, ChatGPT, over at Kevin’s blog and other places, and this morning I decided to see what the fuss was all about. The signup process wasn’t too difficult, although I had to provide an email address and my phone number. That always makes me a little uncomfortable, but whatever. So, I decided my first question would be one often discussed here, especially in the comments: Are women working in bars good potential relationship partners? Here’s the response:

It is not appropriate to make generalizations about a group of people based on their occupation. Each person has their own unique qualities and characteristics, and should be judged as an individual, rather than based on their job. Additionally, it is not appropriate to objectify or make assumptions about someone based on their profession or place of work. It is important to treat all people with respect and kindness.

Chat GPT

I shared that response on my Facebook without attribution, and it got triple the likes of my own posts. Most of the comments were in the vein of “well said” and “very true.” My new bargirl friend Narissa commented that I “have a kind heart.”

So, my first impression is that people like ChatGPT more than they like me. Imagine that.

Another SOB Friday is in store for me at Hot Zone. It’s a small venue, so I’ll need to arrive early if I hope to find a decent seat.

One last question for Mr. ChatGPT:

I am sorry, I am unable to find any information about the website you mentioned and the blog “Long Time Gone” as my knowledge cut off date is 2021 and my ability to browse the internet is limited. But in general, blogs are usually created by individuals or groups as a platform to share their thoughts, ideas, experiences, and information on a particular topic or interest. Without more specific information, it is difficult to say what the blog “Long Time Gone” on mccrarey.com is about.

Chatgpt

Not so smart after all, eh? Oh, wait. It’s a blog about nothing, so nobody knows what it is about. Damn.

More nothingness to come tomorrow. See you then!

I’m not exactly sure how yesterday ended, but I woke up this morning in my bed. Wearing my clothes. That’s a first for me. I checked my phone for any photos that might provide some evidence or explanation, but I only took one picture all night:

I remembered doing the feeding at Hideaway. Lasagna, lumpia, and pizza. I also remember buying a drink for all the girls. And getting some free drinks. Then it all gets a little fuzzy. I messaged Joy to see if I had misbehaved, and she just confirmed I was drunk. She also reminded me that I had danced with her (country swing) and made her dizzy. I was the only customer, so at least no one witnessed my tomfoolery. I’m not sure how much my bar tab was last night, but it must have been around 3000 pesos.

Aha! I just checked my wallet and found another piece of evidence.

Anyway, I made it home without apparent incident and will strive to be more restrained in my future imbibing.

The other productive part of my day involved the 7K trek with the Wednesday Walkers. We dual purposed the hike as a scouting expedition for the February 6 Hash that I’ll be a co-Hareing with Ed. Today we went out and finalized the long portion of the trail.

You can Relive it here:

And there you have it, another day in the life posted for my lucky few readers. Thanks for joining me.

I started the day with my Standard Solo Sunday Stroll on the backroads to Calapacuan and back, a journey of a mere 8.5K, but that’s about all I have in me these days. Nothing new to see, so I reverted to the “photo every 1.6K” method and snapped a pic of whatever I saw at that moment. I’ll share those later in this post.

I enjoyed the proper amount of R&R after the hike, then prepared myself for an evening on the town, starting with the feeding of the Hideaway gals. I like the Sunday meal to be more special (they get pizza on Wednesday), so I went a little overboard at Andok’s, a local takeout chain featuring roasted meat, mostly chicken. In addition to the roasted bird, I bought some fried chicken pieces and two orders of pork liempo (grilled pork belly). Oh, and rice, of course. A lot of food for 1500 pesos ($30). I winced a little as I handed over the money, then remembered I’d spent twice that on lady drinks at Snackbar the night before. This was a much better investment.

I figured there might be leftovers, but those platters were empty in no time.

Hideaway was surprisingly busy, although I didn’t know any of my fellow customers. Still had a good time and was once again rewarded with a free drink or two. Of course, it is more blessed to give than receive, so I reciprocated accordingly. I was feeling no pain when it came time to leave, but I had one more stop to make.

I stayed just long enough to buy a couple of rounds of drinks and tip the dancers; then, I headed home. My Fitbit says I was asleep at 8:30, which is early even for me. That’s the problem with my gin regimen; it hits me too hard and too fast.

To the hike photos then:

And no a quick time out for a grammar lesson:

It’s another Hash Monday. Today’s start is about 3K from my house, and I plan to walk there. Leech My Nuggets is the Hare, so I may wind up regretting it, but only one way to find out.

Tune it tomorrow for a full report.

Grocery shopping. Doctor appointment. Bar hopping. That’s how I spent my Tuesday.

Only one incident at checkout this week, and that was on me. I watch the prices being scanned much closer than I used to, and I saw $14.70 pop up on the screen, looked at the cashier, and he had a small bottle of some kind of sauce in his hands. I called out, hold on there, that ain’t right. My helper and the cashier had some Tagalog talk, he punched some numbers into the calculator, and she told me the item was 90 pesos. I told her I had seen $14.70 on the screen, but she said I was wrong. Hmm. As we began the drive home, I scanned the receipt, and sure enough, a $14.70 item was listed. I was livid and yelled for my driver to turn the car around; I wasn’t going to accept being scammed. My driver turned around, and my helper looked at the receipt. “John, the $14.70 was for the new mop we bought. The sauce was the next item, and it rang up right. Oh shit, I fucked up. I was seeing the mop scan price BEFORE the cashier scanned the sauce. Well, in my defense, I do have trust issues with Royal, and I’m also rapidly descending into the Biden-like realm of brain functioning. Damn.

Next on my agenda was a visit to Dr. Jo. I’ve been concerned about my diminished lung capacity, which now requires that I use my nebulizer three or four times a day when I previously used it three or four times a week. I feared my COPD condition was deteriorating, and I wanted some guidance on what, if anything, I could do about that. When I was first diagnosed in March 2017, I was found to be at Stage 2 (moderate) of the four-stage severity scale. Since COPD is a progressive disease, I feared I was moving into more dangerous territory. That determination will require more tests like the CT scans I received at the Army hospital. Dr. Jo is not equipped to do that, but she prescribed some stronger inhalants to use with my nebulizer, another pill to take, and advice to maintain a healthy diet and exercise. Otherwise, I will need to live with the more frequent use of inhaler products and the importance of monitoring my oxygen intake.

I brought along my recently purchased spirometer that measures lung output because I needed guidance on interpreting the numbers it provides. I gave it a blow, and she took a photo of the results. It wasn’t good, only about 50% of normal.

Dr. Jo sent me this as well:

I found these definitions useful as well:

Your FEV1 value is an important part of evaluating chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and monitoring progression of the condition. FEV is short for forced expiratory volume. FEV1 is the amount of air you can force from your lungs in one second.

I guess the good news is my latest blow job (sorry, sometimes I can’t help myself) indicates that my COPD is still in the Stage 2 moderate zone. I know my lung capacity is declining, but I’m still quite far from death’s door. I need to do what I can to slow the COPD devil as much as possible.

As usual, with Dr. Jo and her physician husband, Chris, we spent an hour or more talking about my health issues and other news around town. I thanked them again for the birthday party invite, and Dr. Jo lamented that people were complimenting my brownies, but they were all gone by the time she hit the buffet. I thanked her on behalf of myself and Betty Crocker.

When it came time to pay the piper, Dr. Jo told me there was no charge for my visit. I was surprised, especially because she had given me an injection up my nose for my chronic congestion (yeah, I’m a mess), but she was insistent. When I got back home, I baked up a batch of brownies for her and Chris and dropped them off at the office on my way to the bars.

I started out at The Green Room with my “buy one, get one” coupon. Those really help because, with my switch to gin and soda, I’m paying double what a beer would cost me (the gin shot is one drink, and the can of soda water is another drink). The Sit-n-Bull waitress came in, so I grabbed a menu and ordered one of the daily specials.

I felt bad eating alone, so I bought a pizza for some of the staff to enjoy.

I was thinking I’d hit Voodoo next, but they weren’t open yet. So, as I walked the highway, I was a little indecisive about where to go. I had just been to Alaska the night before, Sloppy Joe’s was too busy, and Whiskey Girl also wasn’t open (it was only about 5:30). So, I had the bright idea to hoof it out to Baloy and enjoy the ambiance at McCoy’s beach bar. Then I remembered they didn’t have soda water on my last visit, and I don’t want to break my goal of not drinking beer (except at the Hash). Then it occurred to me that I could bring my own soda water, so I hit the 7/11. Alas, they didn’t have soda water in stock either. Admitting defeat, I went next door to Snackbar.

I ended up staying for a couple of hours, mainly drinking with Jen (I missed her birthday party on Saturday) and buying lady drinks for a couple of my other old favorites. I messaged my pal Ron to join me, and he was at the gym but promised to arrive at 7:00. He got there at about 7:30. We had one drink, and he wanted to do a bar crawl. I told him it was too late for me as my bedtime was rapidly approaching. So, we compromised on making Whiskey Girl his first stop and my last. And that’s just what we did.

Overall, not bad for a Tuesday. Now, it is time for me to prepare for the Wednesday feeding at Hideaway. I’ve already baked another batch of brownies, and I’m going to treat the girls to some Korean-style chicken wings from John’s night. Heh, it’s only money, and I can’t take it with me when the lungs go, right?

My big thrill yesterday was visiting a dermatologist in Olongapo.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but the doc said she would burn the wart mole off. (Heh, I thought moles and warts were pretty much the same, but I just checked, and they are not.

I wasn’t sure how the burning process would work, but I pictured a lit cigarette being extinguished on the mole. That’s pretty much the way it happens. The only pain I experienced was from the needle injecting anesthetic. Then the doctor used some tool that applied enough heat to burn that ugly bastard away.

The procedure took just a few minutes, and then it was time to pay the piper. I was expecting the cost to be at least 5000 pesos but was surprised when I was told it was only 1500 ($30).

After the dermatologist, I had my driver take me to the local mall so I could search for some new hiking shoes. Merrells, my preferred brand, were completely out of stock. The other issue that limits my selection is size–apparently, size 11 is rarely in stock. Whether that’s because it’s a popular size or that it is bigger than most Filipinos (my guess) isn’t clear. Anyway, they did have a size 11 walking shoe by a brand called Jump that I’ve never heard of before. Given the fact that I had no other options, I bought a pair. Wore them on today’s hike, and they were comfortable. We’ll see how long they last.

And while I was at the mall, I caught these two women staring at me.

I mentioned the unavailability of onions lately in yesterday’s post and coincidentally came across a link to an article in Time magazine talking about the price of onions in the Philippines–more expensive than meat. Lots of speculation about the reasons why, but it’s a good read if you are interested in that kind of thing.

I started my evening out at It Doesn’t Matter. Scott came by after his appointment with Dr. Jo. He’s still experiencing pain and swelling, but apparently, what he’s been doing at home is consistent with the recommended treatment for a sprain. He’s getting an X-ray today to ensure there isn’t a hairline fracture or ligament damage.

I had a 500 peso voucher for Hot Zone that was due to expire, so I popped in for the three gin and sodas needed to expend those funds. While I was finishing my final drink, I got a message from a friend of Grace (she’s the one who set up the charity project for the Aeta village last month) saying she had a gift from Grace for me. So, I met her outside, and now I’m the owner of these:

I had a “buy one, get one” coupon for Voodoo, so I made that my next stop. I’ll be back there again tonight for the SOB. Then I popped into Wet Spot to say hello to daddy Dave and company. Things were getting a little fuzzy by now, but I somehow wound up at Sloppy Joe’s to finish my night on the town.

So, that’s what my life looks like, for better or worse. Facebook reminded me of what my life looked like on this day twelve years ago:

And here I am, trying to make it the best of all possible worlds.

Cause there's still a lotta drinks that I ain't drunk
Lots of pretty thoughts that I ain't thunk, oh yeah
Lord there's still so many lonely girls in this best of all possible worlds

There was nothing wrong with January 10, 2023, but the first date I experienced with Gen last night was a disaster. Yeah, the red flags had been firmly planted right in front of my eyes, but I proceeded with the scheduled date anyway. I’ve been around the block a few times and had more than my share of dates over the years, so when I call last night the worst date ever, it must have been bad.

I guess it could have been worse, though. We met for dinner a few minutes after the appointed time. Gen had said she was shy and wanted to bring a friend, but she showed up alone. In retrospect, if she had brought a friend, I might have had someone to talk to. So, a lukewarm greeting on the street, then up the stairs to John’s place. The restaurant was empty, so we took a seat in there. The waitress brought menus; I ordered a gin soda and asked Gen what she wanted to drink. No response other than a blank stare. Same thing happened when it came to ordering food. I wound up ordering for her…bulgogi and rice and some Korean chicken wings. I know she could speak because she got up and had a lengthy and animated conversation with the waitresses in Tagalog. I assumed she was inquiring about potential employment. When she returned, I asked if she wanted to go upstairs to eat because John was up there playing in a pool tournament. She just shrugged, so I said, “let’s go.”

Things weren’t any better upstairs; what little she said, most of it I couldn’t understand. Now granted, it was our first meeting in person, but we had chatted (in writing) numerous times, and she was reasonably articulate. So, I’m not sure why speaking to me was proving to be such a problem. It was incredibly frustrating to be subjected to her non-responsiveness and apparent disinterest in me or anything I had to say. And she certainly wasn’t initiating any chatter, at least with me. She talked with the upstairs waitress but didn’t share with me what it was about. She also spent time messaging someone on her phone, which seems extremely rude in the best circumstances.

When the food arrived, Gen ate the rice (of course) and picked at the bulgogi. Trying to discern whether she liked it or not and why was beyond my ability to interact. I got her to try a chicken wing, and she said it was “spicy.” At the end of the meal, about half of everything was left, and I asked if she wanted to bring it home in a take-out box. She just shook her head no. So, I told the waitress to take the leftovers.

Once we were back down on the street, she was asking about getting load for her phone and wanted me to help her find a place. I’d had enough and told her goodnight. She did seem surprised as I walked away. I offered to pay for a trike ride home for her, but she declined.

Later last night Gen messaged me that she had cried all the way home. That I wasn’t the nice guy she thought I was. And now she knows why I’m still single. Maybe she’s right.

I’m not afraid of love. Just like I’m not afraid of poison. I avoid both, because love is poison to me.

Ha! When I checked to make sure today’s post title hadn’t been used before, I saw that in October 2018, I had written about The date that will live in infamy, so since I’m using “A date” here, that’s unique enough. I had to laugh when I read that post again because, honestly, I’d forgotten all about Cherry. That date had ended with some passionate lovemaking, so it was much more satisfying than my date with Gen last night. Cherry broke up with ME the next day because she claimed to know I was having a relationship with my domestic helper (not true then or now). Looking back with all the wisdom (heh, yeah, I know) I’ve gained over the years, I’m pretty sure Cherry was a freelancer, and when I didn’t offer payment for her services, she dumped me. She actually did me a favor in doing so, I suppose.

EPILOGUE: I was surprised to get a message from Gen this morning asking about the hike and whether she could still attend. I truthfully told her that everyone was welcome on the hike. And sure enough, she arrived by Jeepney right at 0900. Once we got started, she told me she had never hiked before. Today’s version was relatively easy, with only an hour and a half on the trail. I walked her back down to the highway where she could catch a Jeepney home. She was much more friendly and conversant during the hike and, at one point, even held my arm. Where was that last night when it might have made a difference?

Just a few minutes ago, Gen messaged me to say that she was at John’s place to apply for a job, and she starts training tomorrow. Well, good for her. I hope it works out.

The day started with a challenging but nice 8.5K hike circumnavigating the Naugsol valley. Photos from that adventure are at the end of this post.

I’ve decided to take a break from participating in hiking groups, including the Hash. My plan is to take the rest of the year off and start fresh in 2023. (Sorry, that was pretty lame)

I am frequently reminded that punctuation matters, especially when it comes to the proper use of commas. And this, I think, really illustrates that fact:

So, another Friday, another SOB dance competition. This week’s event was at the Green Room. Most of the dance teams were reduced in size (er, make that number. Some of the girls were large). I expect this is because many of the girls go home to the province for the holidays. Still, most of the teams put on an energetic and entertaining show. Plus, the beer was cold and plentiful—a good combination. Wet Spot took the crown this week, and they earned it with all that ass-shaking.

My friends, Joy from Alaska and Irish from Queen Victoria, spent some of their non-dance time standing at my table (nowhere to sit), and I, of course, rewarded them with a lady drink or two.

I had arrived at Green Room a little after 4:00, and the SOB was over at 8:00. I went next door to Wet Spot and stayed for another hour. Needless to say, I’d consumed more beers than usual. Caught a trike and made it home before I could do anything stupid.

And then I woke up to the last morning of the year.

To the last group hike of the year, then.

I liked this trek because it was a place we rarely visit and my lungs appreciated the fact that there was no significant climbing involved. A good way to finish this year’s hikes.

Speaking of hikes, Pubic Head (Scott) posted a map showing all the Hash trails for 2022.

And now the last night of the year is approaching. Since Hideaway will be closed tomorrow, I’ll feed the girls tonight. Baked them a chocolate cake and I’ll see what’s on the menu at the Jewel restaurant for their supper. After that I’ll just do a bar crawl and end the year on a “high” note.

There are some changes coming in the new year. Yep, I’ve made some resolutions. Tell you about it tomorrow.

Afraid so. I attended the Whiskey Girl event, and it was a good one. The top three finishers were all outstanding, one of the few times I’ve struggled as a judge to choose the winner. Turns out, I chose right. The sponsor hasn’t posted photos yet, so I’ll update this post when he does. But just so you know, it was Whiskey Girl, Voodoo, and Wet Spot.

The place was hoppin’, and my poor waitress could barely get a moment’s rest. I kept plying her with lady drinks to make sure she didn’t get dehydrated.

I filled the hour before the SOB with a roast chicken salad dinner at Mango’s.

After the SOB, I briefly popped into the dance party event my pal Max is hosting. This was their second Friday night, and it appears momentum is building–quite a few more in attendance than in week 1. I’m not into dance clubs, but I stuck around for a couple of beers to show my support. I really hope this takes off and is a success.

And that leaves the Friday hike. Once again, only two of us bothered showing up. This time it was Martin and me. We just did the hills behind Barretto but went up a seldom-used path and wandered around for a 6K jaunt.

A street walk back home, and that was the hike.

Another day in the life is in the books. Well, on the blog, anyway.

I dual-purposed my Sunday solitary stroll yesterday, adding in a detour to the ATM in Subic-town to restock my funds. It’s December, and that brings about a slew of additional expenses. For example, they have a tradition here known as “the 13th month,” in which employees receive a year-end bonus equal to one month’s salary. Being the generous employer that I am, I’m rewarding my full-time and part-time domestic helpers and my driver with the gift of extra pay.

The bank is just a tad further up the road. I took a trike back home. You can see how it looked from above here:

With the walk out of the way and my funds restored, I set about preparing for my evening. I baked up a batch of cupcakes for the Hideaway girls, then headed over to John’s place for some bulgogi and Korean-style chicken wings to feed Joy and the crew.

A quick update on John. He was sleeping in his recliner when I arrived. He was awake when I was leaving and said he had changed doctors and meds and was starting to feel better. It didn’t look like it to me. I asked if he needed anything, and he shrugged it off. I’m trying to respect his privacy, but if he needs funds for dialysis or other treatments, I’d be happy to help organize some donations. I don’t know what else I can do at this point.

After finishing my duties at Hideaway, I decided to drop in at Snackbar. It’s a little over a kilometer between the two bars.

The scary thing is that during that 1K walk, I experienced some breathing difficulties. Not as bad as I used to suffer before I got diagnosed in Korea, but if I had had to walk much further or, god forbid, climb a hill, I’d have been in trouble. I took a couple of squirts from my inhaler, and once I arrived at Snackbar and sat down, I was fine. For what it is worth, I didn’t have any trouble on my 7K morning walk. The only difference being several beers, but I’m not sure why that would affect my lungs. Hopefully just a one-off.

A couple more beers (and lady drinks, of course), and I was ready to hit the road for home.

This morning, Facebook shared the memory of a time when my family was all together.

And then there is this:

I think that is how I see myself in my mind’s eye, which makes it easier to flirt with all the young honeys that surround me. It also explains why I hate mirrors so much!

So, the old Gordon Lightfoot song “For Lovin’ Me” popped up in my Spotify playlist while I was out walking.

That's what you get for lovin' me
That's what you get for lovin' me
Ev'ry thing you had is gone
As you can see
That's what you get for lovin' me

I ain't the kind to hang around
With any new love that I found
'Cause movin' is my stock in trade
I'm movin' on
I won't think of you when I'm gone.

So don't you shed a tear for me
B'cause I ain't the love you thought I'd be
I got a hundred more like you
So don't be blue
I'll have a thousand 'fore I'm through

Now there you go you're cryin' again
Now there you go you're cryin' again
But then someday when your poor heart
Is on the mend
Well I just might pass this way again

That's what you get for lovin' me
That's what you get for lovin' me
Everything you had is gone
As you can see
That's what you get for lovin' me
That's what you get for lovin' me

It occurred to me that the sentiment expressed cuts both ways. By which I mean I could have sung that song to some of the women I’ve known over this lifetime. But an equal number could have sung it to me as well. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And maybe you eventually learn to live the way you want to be seen.

I prefer the Peter, Paul, and Mary version of the song, so here you go: