Yesterday’s Hash trail was surprisingly short, around 4K. A little shorter for me because I didn’t start at the VFW but met the Hashers as they passed through Alta Vista. The route we took featured one moderate hill climb. No hill is easy for me these days, and I was huffing and puffing all the way up. But it wasn’t that long or that steep, and I made it to the top alive. The On-Home venue was at a private “farm” just past the end of Rizal Extension. We’d hike through there regularly a couple of years back, but it’s been fenced off and posted “No Trespassing” for quite a while now. It was nicer than I expected, kicking back and enjoying the peaceful setting. However, I didn’t stay to participate in the Hash Circle, opting to head down the mountain while there was daylight, and I was relatively sober. Many of my fellow Hashers joined me for after-Hash refreshments at It Doesn’t Matter. I had considered skipping this week’s adventure, but I’m glad I joined the hike.
Now, for a stroll down memory lane:
It’s election season, so forgive my injection of politics:
Today’s YouTube video has a vlogger talking about the practicalities of the rainy season in the Philippines. I’m enjoying it compared to the heat so far.
And let’s see if I can tickle your funny bone today:
That’s all she, I mean, he wrote. But I shall return tomorrow.
It looks like Leaking Willy is huffing his way up, too…
I think that’s the first time I’ve seen the name “Leaking Willy” on your blog. Is he a new… member? Oh—I see from searching your blog that he’s been mentioned quite a few times before. Sorry for the senility.
Does Leaking Willy know Dripping Pussy?
And sorry to hear about continued difficulties with hills. Can anything be done?
Enjoy the rain. Monsoon season for us generally starts in July and ends sometime in August. I’m looking forward to late September, but we’ve got to get through the hottest part of summer first, and it’s only June.
It’s good to see you taking it easy, John. I woke up this morning feeling not too shitty. Must have something to do with the 3 pints of vodka/mouthwash mixers before bed. Didn’t actually black out, for once, as I distinctly remember feeling proud of myself for consciously climbing into bed before midnight. Head is full of fog. I’m not drunk, but I’m not hungover. I put the coffee on and momentarily ponder whether I’m going to drink beer this morning or just go directly to the vodka.
I decide on both and forsake the coffee for a shot of vodka chased by a beer. Already my spirits are lifted, and I’m keen to repeat my actions but drinking so quickly and so early on an empty stomach is a one-way ticket to Pancreatitis Town in my experience. I quickly make myself a tuna salad for lunch. As I turn on the kitchen faucet, to rinse the same knife I’ve been using for a month, this swarm of fruit flies just erupts from the kitchen sink. I forgot I took out the trash yesterday; I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve done so since the ex returned, and the bag was heaving with all kinds of goodness like rotting chicken and vegetable matter. The fruit flies nesting in there must have set up shop in the kitchen sink, where the dishes have been piled high for a good few weeks now.
It isn’t long before I realize I need to stock up on my dwindling booze supplies. I’m even close to being out of mouthwash. I decide the best course of action is to bus it to Wal-Mart. The memory of the drug-addled corpse in the library bathroom is still too fresh in my mind, and I simply am not in the mood for any awkward post-death talk with my new acquaintance in life-saving, Luna.
The bus to the Wal-Mart goes without incident, and I even manage to surreptitiously pocket a few bottles of extract while I’m there. The aisle was surprisingly empty, but I suppose most people don’t want to bake in summer and would prefer being as far away from possible from someone who smells like yesterday’s vomit and cat piss.
There’s a guy on the first bus home I immediately notice because he’s wearing an admittedly cool Liefeld-style Magneto baseball cap. I puzzle for a moment as to why Magneto’s portrait is surrounded by throbbing black dongs when I realize they’re silhouettes of the opening of Magneto’s helmet. I mean they still look like cock and balls, so maybe it was just a questionable design choice? Magneto Man seems to be vibing like he’s listening to R & B or something; he’s making these gestures with his hands like he’s in a slow-mo rap video or something, bending his neck to one side and swishing over, before going the other way. I notice he’s not wearing any headphones. I can’t hear any music playing out loud so it must be all in his head. I pay him no more mind and stare out of the window as the bus gets on its way.
A few stops later I see Magneto Man get up with a couple of other passengers. He’s maybe a meter away from the bus doors before he casually removes one strap of his mask and screams, to no one in particular, “Yo, it’s just TOO FUCKING EASY! Play some more of that evil music! Play an evil song!” He gets up in the face of this just-beyond-middle-aged rando standing by the bus doors and does that obnoxious ghetto head-shake thing, “PLAY ANOTHER EVIL SONG!” he screams “Y’ALL GOT EVIL SOULS! ALL Y’ALL!” Some of the other passengers are heckling him, chuckling, murmuring. Just get off already, man, you’s crazy, just shut up, man. Magneto Man gets off as the people who were waiting at the stop move past him, uncaring of the scene he’s making. “TOO. FUCKING. EASY! PLAY SOME MORE OF THAT EVIL MUSIC! MAN FUCK THE CHURCH, FUCK THE JESUITS, FUCK THE MORMONS!” He moves like he’s going to get back on the bus but the doors abruptly close in his face. Some people laugh. As we drive off he’s still at the stop and starts screaming to himself. I hear this black kid behind me, with a comb in his hair, quietly say “man, must be on something, or just fuckin’ stupid”. I can’t help but laugh without looking at the kid and I hear him laugh too “Right!?”
I’m just about home when I almost collide with next door neighbor, Matt. When the ex and I first moved here he was really friendly with us. If she and I were having beers and cigarettes on the porch and he happened to be out, he would always stop by the entrance to our porch and say hi, chit-chatting mundane things with the ex while I sneaked some of her drink down my gullet. All that abruptly changed, of course, when the police went to his door, asking about us; when he must have heard the screaming fights between her and I, or her on the porch talking to whoever on speaker phone about her alcoholism, PTSD, and how much she hates this relationship. He stopped talking to us after that, wouldn’t even look at or acknowledge either of us until he couldn’t avoid it, like now. “Hey, what’s up?” he says with flat effect, I notice not even making eye contact as he moves to his vehicle. “Hey”, I can only say. I don’t hold it against him. He’s just a young guy, with a young kid. Probably thinks we’re on meth or something. I mean, even I think the ex is on meth, so Matt is probably not that far off the mark there.
Of course as soon as I enter my abode I get the regular “Who were you talking to? Was it agents?” BS I’ve come to expect from the ex during one of her paranoid states, a state that quickly changes to sheer greed and desire as soon as she sees I have booze in my bags. She doesn’t even offer to help carry them to the kitchen area; instead reaching in and grabbing the first bottle she can find and haphazardly casting the cap aside and taking a massive gulp. I really should have picked up a bottle of bleach as well.
And now it is time to drink more than she does so I get my money’s worth (even though I took money out of her purse for the purchase). Let’s get this boat rocking! Cheers!
Another day, another adventure. At least no one died this time! It’s good to get out of the house and go somewhere besides the Chevron. Wal-Mart must seem like heaven comparatively. And it is always fun to interact with crazy strangers on the bus. I hope the rest of the drinking day went well for you and the girlfriend. Cheers!
“There’s a lot of things wrong with this country, but one of the few things still right with it is that a man can steer clear of the organized bullshit if he really wants to. It’s a goddamned luxury, and if I were you, I’d take advantage of it while you can.”
Hunter S. Thompson
Does Leaking Willy know Dripping Pussy?
As a matter of fact, Dripping Pussy is the ex-girlfriend of Leaking Willy. I saw a photo on Facebook of them together yesterday, so maybe a reconciliation will take place. It’s been a couple of years.
I’m more and more convinced that my hill struggles are related to my old age and COPD-diminished lung capacity. I’m going to keep pushing on as long as I can, though.
Sometimes I miss those four distinct seasons you “enjoy” in Korea. Our four are dry, wet, hot, not-as-hot.
Unfortunately for us, the two best seasons, spring and fall, are also the two shortest seasons (2 months each). The price you pay for living here.