I reckon at least some of my loyal readers are wondering how my “date” went yesterday. Here’s the lowdown:

“April” was scheduled to arrive at 3:00. Shortly before the appointed hour, she messaged me to say she’d be late. I asked how late, and she eventually responded she’d arrive at 4:00. Okay, well, my balls were in the crockpot, so that was no big deal. I turned off the gas but left the bread in the oven. Did the same on the stovetop with the corn. The brussel sprouts were in the microwave to melt some cheese on top, and I left them there. The meal was salvageable, at least.

Except when April arrived, she wasn’t hungry, saying she ate with her kids before leaving home. Okay, that’s on me because I hadn’t told her I was cooking. Instead, we had a beer and sat on the patio, enjoying the view until the sinking sun got in our eyes and chased us back inside. While sitting at the kitchen table, I asked April the purpose of her visit. To her credit, she was honest in her response: money.

She wasn’t quite that blunt, instead phrasing it as her bar not allowing barfines, so she thought I might like a “happy ending” in exchange for some cash. I wasn’t really surprised that that was her intent, although I will admit to some level of disappointment. The whole meal thing had been my way of maintaining the illusion of a date, just in case that was her intention. So, she got what she came for, and perhaps I got lucky in the sense that I didn’t get strung along and played for a fool again. Plus, I managed to pace myself and avoid the dreaded breathing attack. That’s a whole other kind of happy ending.

April messaged me today, saying she wants to see me again when I have free time. Hmm, maybe I should turn that around on her and say I’d be happy to see her when her time is free. Who knows what will happen next? Anyway, one day at a time.

After sending April on her way with money in her pocket, I salvaged the remains of the meal and carried some of the leftovers with me to Hideaway. I also ordered the girls a Hawaiian pizza from Shamboli’s and brought along a batch of brownies. I must say, my balls were quite popular with the girls.

After Hideaway, I visited Mugshots again. I really do enjoy the ambiance and comfort of this bar. They were playing some country tunes last night, my waitress was rubbing my back, and I was at peace with the world. Does that mean I surrendered? I don’t know. Why fight it? I’m just going to go with the flow and see where it takes me.

Come Christmas; it will be taking me here:

Nothing special about my regular Solitary Sunday Stroll. I modified my usual route some and did the photo every 1.6K (one mile) thing.

I was finally able to get my Relive app to sync with my Map My Walk app on the new phone, so have at it if you are so inclined:

And now it is another beautiful morning here on Hash Monday.

It’s a Leech My Nuggets trail, and that means long and hard. There may be a shortcut in my future. We’ll see.

For I shall always let thee do,
   In generous love, just what I please.
Peace comes, and discord flies away,
   Love’s bright day follows hatred’s night;
For I am ready to admit
   That you are wrong and I am right.

Maybe that’s why I’m single…

I’ve had a flurry of people contacting me through Facebook Messenger that I’ve never met before. It’s not all that unusual, I suppose, Christmas season seems to enhance all those desperate circumstances faced by the less fortunate. I’ve gotten better at limiting my responses to people I at least know something about, but sometimes I take a misstep. Like yesterday morning.

It started with a message from “Beth” asking if we could get together. I didn’t recall ever meeting her, but there was something familiar about her profile picture. I went and scrolled through her Facebook page, and then her last name rang a bell. I asked if she was the daughter of Wanda (a Hash acquaintance). She responded that she was. Okay, this just got weird. How old are you? (That’s a very important question if you want to stay out of jail). She told me she was twenty-two. That at least matched the birthdate she had on FB. I could see she had two young kids from the FB pics, so the odds were good that she was at least eighteen. Why do you want to meet? I don’t have money for milk or diapers. Figures.

I told Beth I was getting ready to go for a hike, and she asked if she could wait for me at my house. Alright, she did seem legitimately desperate. What about your mother? Beth says they haven’t talked for a long time. Hmm. I don’t know what got into me, but I decided to throw caution to the wind and let her come over. I figured I could always hike after, whatever after turned out to be. And exercise can take many forms, right?

So, I gave Beth directions to my place and waited for her arrival by trike. Naturally, she got lost in the subdivision, despite the ease of getting here (basically three right turns). I walked out to find her and saw her walking on the wrong part of my street (she had turned left instead of right), and OMG, she didn’t look anything like the photos I had seen. She was as fat as an American woman. I brought her to the house, and she sat on the couch and was unwilling or unable to engage in any kind of conversation. Well, she did manage to ask me for my WiFi password. I gave it to her, and then she buried her nose in her phone as if I weren’t even there. That’s okay; one look at her and all my evil thoughts had quickly run far away.

I’ve often said there are worse things than being alone, and Beth was a good example of that. I gave her 1000 pesos and transportation money and told her to leave. She seemed surprised. Well, she got what she needed for milk and diapers, and there was nothing I needed from her. I guess that makes it a win-win.

Later in the day, I made a date with a girl from another bar I met. I’m not completely sure of her intentions, but I think this is just a legitimate getting to know each other better outside of work encounter. I do plan to ask her to eat my balls, though.

She’s due to arrive this afternoon at 3:00 p.m. I’ll be prepared for whatever she has in mind, but I hope she is interested in more than just the bulge in my pants (my wallet).

I started my Saturday evening beer drinking at Cheap Charlies. Then when it was time to eat, I went to John’s place.

John’s recliner was empty, and I asked the waitress regarding his whereabouts. She said he was playing pool at Alaska Club. That’s a good sign. Later on, I saw him walking on the highway with his wife. So, he’s up and around. Today he posted this on Facebook:

I am considering of restart of pizza. We used to make it before, but I didn’t like my own pizza too much.

First reason was flour. All I could’ve gotton locally was heavey all- purpose flour, which didnt have the right texture of pizza dough.

2nd reason was because I was moving right across Shambolis.

But Shambolis is moving away and I also found importer in Manila who imports real Italian, non GMO, 00 pizza flour. I had them send it via Victory Liner. Among all flour they carry, we had them ship the best one, CAPUTO brand, appx 4 times more expensive than flour I can get locally, but I am sure it will suit my taste. I intend to use pure Italian tomato & Flour only.

So I will do some practice and start making pizza again. This time, we’ll be different. We’ll start poolish. For toppings, we are thinking of Birria, Kung Pao pizza which will be new invetion and Hawaiian with home made smoked ham, bacon and cheese pizza.

While I was at John’s, Joy messaged me and said none of the girls had gotten a lady drink all day long at Hideaway. That’s pretty sad for a Saturday night. Plus, the girls all rely on those drink commissions to make ends meet. Being the foolish generous man that I am, I paid a surprise visit to the bar and rang the bell (that gives each girl working a drink). Hey, it’s a small thing and still makes a difference.

When I was finished at Hideaway, I made a surprise return visit to Mugshots and once again enjoyed spending some time with Mae. Not the cutest girl in town by a longshot, but she’s fun to be around. Looking forward to getting to know her better.

I made Sloppy Joe’s my stop for the night, thinking I’d enjoy a cold beer with a highway view. Alas, a drunk Filipino on the street came up to the bar and started being loud and obnoxious. I did my best to ignore him, but my patience was really being tested. Thankfully, one of the waitresses called a manager (the guy appeared to be twice the size of the drunk), and the situation was quickly de-escalated. Drunk as he was, he could see the outcome was not going to be in his favor.

Facebook memories continue to show me pics of myself from those long ago days gone by.

And finally, let me share those photos of the winners from Friday’s SOB:

Here’s a video of the Whiskey Girl team in action:

The Wednesday Walkers group yesterday consisted of one other participant and me. So, I took her for a 6K street walk and fed her some lunch when we finished.

I have nothing further to report regarding my status in Lydell’s life. I don’t have a clue what is going on. I guess that says more than enough about where we are. Or are not.

I had a 15% discount coupon for Sit-n-Bull, so decided to splurge for last night’s feeding at Hideaway. A big lasagna dinner for Joy, chicken wings, chicken fingers, and lumpia for the girls, and a box of Choco Pies for dessert. Everything got eaten, so I guess they must have liked the meal.

When I’d had my fill of beers at Hideaway, I went out in search of a place to enjoy a nightcap. It occurred to me it had been a while since my last visit to Alaska Club, so I made that my destination.

Several months ago, I had met an interesting dancer there named Marissa. And then she disappeared. She was back last night and remembered me more than I did her. It was nice to get reacquainted. Marissa told me she had been back in her hometown (Bacolod City, Visayas) building a house. I asked if she had a foreigner sponsor, and she said no, she was using the money she had saved while working at Alaska. That’s why she’s back now, to earn more to finish the house and open a business. Pretty impressive. She also found my jokes hilarious, which either means I’m funny as hell or that she is very good at her job.

Oh, and I saw John Kim (the foodie guy) at Alaska playing in the pool tournament. He looked a lot better, and the fact that he was out of his recliner and moving around is a positive development.

On the subject of illness, I came across this article talking about COPD and mental health issues: Not being isolated helps people with COPD maintain good mental health. Speaking from personal experience, I was crazy long before I was diagnosed, so I’m not seeing the connection. But that said, I do get out and about and have some social connections (as reported in today’s post, for example). True, they are shallow and meaningless, but maybe so am I. Still, I crave a relationship like I had with Jee Yeun–someone to share my life with and take care of me. Of course, we saw how that turned out. Well, that breakup led me here, for better or worse. If the COPD doesn’t kill me, something else will. The challenge is holding out as long as possible. I’d like to experience 80 before I die. It’s good to have goals!

Tuesday proved to be somewhat of a pain in the ass. And I’m not just talking about being sore from Monday’s Hash crash. Living without a smartphone is dumb, so I endeavored to get mine fixed. The first shop didn’t have the needed parts in stock but promised to have them by the afternoon. Tried a couple of other places with the same result, except they’d need three or more days to get the parts. So, I sent my helper back to the first place in Olongapo, and they, too, suddenly needed three days to get what my phone needed to live again. Plus, they wanted payment in advance. My helper walked away from that deal but left her phone number. Somehow I don’t think they’ll be calling.

Choosing not to live the solitary life of the phoneless, I purchased a new Samsung A23, a step or two down from my previous model, an A53. My plan is that when my old phone is repaired and good as new again, I’ll relegate my new phone to backup duty should I ever again find myself in this situation.

Things haven’t been easy as I’ve gone through the replacement process. When I last upgraded to the A53, I was able to transfer all the data and apps from the old phone to the new one. That wasn’t an option this time, so I’ve been adding the apps I need one at a time. My real problem is that I don’t remember the security info like passwords, which has been a hassle resetting to new ones. I’m not a genius when it comes to technology anyway, but damn, the app would send a code I need to my phone or email, and when I went to retrieve it, I couldn’t get back to where I had been to enter the code. I had much more success working this from home with the laptop and phone in tandem.

Oh, well. I didn’t break any bones, which would have been much more painful than trying to restore data on a phone. I’m going to just count my blessings and be happy that this is the worst thing to happen to me recently. I’m a lucky man!

I took my first photos with the new phone from my vantage point at Cheap Charlies.

Then I got hungry, so I crossed the highway for a bite to eat at Sit-n-Bull.

After my meal, I headed over to Whiskey Girl to expend some SOB coupons. I had a “buy a lady’s drink, get two customer drinks,” and waitress Jen was so kind as to join me at my table to share the bounty. She’s definitely a snuggle bunny, and that was what my achy body needed. I was so comfortable I wound up buying two lady drinks.

I finished my evening at Snackbar, and the company was good there too.

Despite the temptations, I made it home by bedtime. Alone again, naturally.

Via Facebook comes the reminder that I wasn’t living such a solitary life six years ago.

Speaking of my working life, I received an email from an 8th Army colonel asking for a reference on a candidate who’s applied for my once again vacant Director, HRM position. His candidate is a good one, and I highly recommend her for the job.

My job now is to keep you, my readers, entertained. Even if it is in an “I’m glad I’m not him” kind of way.

And speaking of adding value, I actually read something today that was thought-provoking, even in my weary and worn-out brain. It’s entitled: Are you the same person you used to be? The article’s basic premise is that people tend to divide themselves into two categories: continuers or dividers. Or, more precisely, seeing your life as having been lived on a continuum from childhood to the present. Alternatively, dividers see their lives as chapters in an ongoing story, with many changes taking place over time.

Thinking of my life, I’m definitely in the dividers category. I’m not who I was as a child, young adult, or middle-aged man. And this being elderly thing is a whole other world. I actually did a series of posts here called “One lifetime, many lives.” I’ve still got a couple of chapters left to write.

Anyway, that’s how I see it. I also see it’s time for me to get ready for my Wednesday feeding at Hideaway Bar. Thanks for stopping by!

There are certainly pluses to small-town living. There is a comfort level with being part of a community, being recognized and welcomed by name when you are out and about. The downside that goes with that familiarity is that everyone knows your business, or at least they think they do. And then there are the rotten few who spread lies and rumors intended to disparage you and undermine the perception of your character. That impact is exacerbated in a place where talk is cheap, and people tend to believe whatever they hear. Or so it would appear.

I’m far from a saint, but I’m not ashamed of who I am and what I do. I don’t like to talk or appear to be bragging about some of my charity projects, but I’m proud to be making at least some difference in the lives I’m able to touch. But for whatever reason, doing good deeds doesn’t seem to be of interest to the folks who engage in malicious gossip. Go figure.

I guess what generated this rant was learning that these unfounded stories have had negative impacts on how I’m perceived and the way I’m treated by some people. I chatted with Lydell on Messenger for the first time in several days this morning. She told me she had given me the cold shoulder because someone had told her I had a girlfriend. I told her that someone had lied to her. The fact that she chose to believe that lie rather than ask me about it is probably a clear indication that our “relationship” was doomed to failure before it ever really began.

My friend “Judy” treated me to lunch yesterday. It was her way of saying thanks upon receiving her first payday from a job she got because I purchased the required laptop for her. Over the course of our conversation, the topic of Lydell came up (she wanted to know what happened), and then Judy told me that when we first met, she had been warned that I had “girlfriends” in every bar in town. She admitted that put her off the idea of dating me.

I guess truth and innocence don’t come into play when it ruins a good story. It seems shameful that people accept the lies without even making a cursory attempt to ascertain the truth. Again, I don’t claim to be an angel, but I don’t cheat, and I don’t lie. I hang out in bars, and I buy some lady drinks. Maybe I engage in some “flirty” chitchat, but I’m not grabbing ass or paying to fuck a bargirl. Back when I last had a girlfriend, I ended my “friends with benefits” project and didn’t even accept massages from the mountain friend I support. It just sucks to have potential relationships destroyed based on lies and rumors, but that’s the way things seem to go in my little town.

In other news, I got fired from Xoom, a money transfer service I regularly use. It started when a $500. transfer intended to fund a charity project for a native Aeta village in Olongapo was rejected. The rejection notice asked me to provide additional information regarding the recipient and the purpose of the transaction. I provided the requested information, assuming the problem would be resolved. Okay, I get it. Maintaining security and avoiding fraudulent transfers is a legitimate concern. I was astounded when I received this email:

Based on a thorough review of your transactions and/or your recipient’s transactions, we have decided to close your Xoom account.

No warning. No appeal. Just canceled. It’s a shame, too, because I used Xoom regularly to pay my helper and for sending money to other individuals “experiencing emergencies.” It just seems extreme to eliminate my account in response to my inquiry. Well, I guess they can do what they want, but damn.

It’s Friday, and that means another SOB experience is on tap, this time at Voodoo Lounge.

Max is looking for a niche, or void to be filled, in the Barretto market. There are no discos or dance clubs here presently, so this is a test run to see if he can generate any interest. Discos are not my thing, and as an old fucker, I’m not the target audience anyway. But I’m going to check it out as a show of support. It will be interesting to see if some of the locals want to hang out amongst the foreigners. Good luck to Max! He’s put a lot of hard work into pulling this together, and as he says, it will be, if nothing else, educational.

And that’s the news from here today.

Had a nice threesome yesterday with Scott and Martin. I’m talking about hiking, you pervs! Only three Wednesday Walkers were in attendance, so we rode out to Naugsol in Scott’s car, then hoofed it to Tibag and back. We only make it out this way once or twice a year, and I always enjoy it. There is just something about this area that resonates with me for some reason. Other than it being out in the middle of fucking nowhere with nothing to do, no bars, and no other foreigners, I could almost fantasize about living the life of a Tibagger. But not for long. Pictures from the adventure at the end of this post.

My feeding plans for HIdeaway were stymied when I discovered that the Jewel restaurant is closed on Wednesdays. So, it was chicken, pork, and rice takeout from one of the shops on the highway instead. I baked the brownies, of course.

I finished the night at Queen Victoria again and shared a drink with my Irish friend. And I discovered something interesting about her that I hadn’t noticed when we first met.

Oh, and speaking of women, I forgot to post a picture of the one I met at Royal yesterday.

Welp, we are full on into the holiday season now, and I’ve definitely got the spirit.

Alright, that pretty much covers the alcoholic portion of the day; here’s the walkaholic part:

It was another good day for an old man in paradise.

Tuesdays are pretty much my nothing day, by which I mean to say even more nothing than my other days. Grocery shopping replaces my morning walk, and that’s not a lot to blog about. Well, I did catch the scamming bastards not honoring the posted sale prices once again. These days I keep all the items that are marked down on the shelves in one place in my cart and watch as the cashier scans them. And sure enough, the full price rang up on all of them. It just seems to me this must be intentional. If you can make a big deal out of posting signs on the shelf showing the discount, you can sure as hell update the price in the scanner database. It pisses me off, and I’ve been warning my fellow Royal shoppers.

I came across an article confirming that when I say “y’all,” I speak the King’s English. Just wanted y’all to know that in case you were thinking I was just some cracker spouting redneck talk. Just sayin’ that dawg won’t hunt. Alrighty then, I’m fixin’ to let go of this subject and move on now.

Today’s Facebook memories carried me back to the final year of my working life.

I’m not sure what to make of this:

Saw this flower on today’s hike, and it reminded me of something.

Speaking of hiking, Scott shared a handy color code we can use when deciding on which trail to take.

Alright, this post isn’t totally without substance. I attended a birthday party yesterday at Alley Cats bar for owner Dean. I’m not going to try and sort out the pronouns, she was born a female, so I’ll say she and her. Knowing Dean, she won’t be offended. It’s been months since my last visit to Alley Cats, as I’ve had no reason to go since retiring from playing darts. But Dean messaged me an invite to her party, and I appreciated that. I’d been going to the bar three days a week (at least) for over four years, and she is the first person who even bothered to check in with me. That’s the difference between bar friends and real friends in a nutshell.

I guess I got a little forward and asked the waitress if she would give me some head.

A dart tournament followed the party, but I did not stay for that. Headed up the highway to a relatively new bar called Sloppy Joe’s and had a couple of beers there. I’ll do a Bars of Barretto review tomorrow.

I finished my night at Queen Victoria, where I met an Irish girl.

Bedtime rolled around, so I made my way back home. Alone. As usual. I’m thinking it is time to change my luck. We’ll see how that works out for me.

Time to shower up now and get ready for another night on the town. Those girls at Hideaway Bar aren’t going to feed themselves. That’s because they know I’m coming.

I had some unexpected company for my Sunday stroll. Bhel messaged me asking if she and a friend could join me. Me being me, I asked, “for an orgy?” But no, it was just the walk they were interested in. As it turned out, I may as well have been alone–the girls yakked in Tagalog the whole way, and most of the time, they were slow-poking fifty yards behind me. Not that I cared all that much, I was getting my steps in; that’s what matters.

I did the usual roundabout through the Naugsol valley, over to Govic, through Santa Monica, and back to Barretto–a little over 8K altogether.

I only took one photo during the hike; I’ve done it so many times there is really nothing new to see, but I had a glance into the future from my Govic highway vantage point.

We finished the hike at Sit-n-Bull, where I treated my companions to lunch.

I was in for a bit of a shock when I discovered that Bhel’s friend is a waitress at Sit-n-Bull. She knew me as a customer, but I didn’t recognize her at all. That’s a problem I have with my feeble brain these days–when I see someone outside of their usual context, I usually don’t recognize them. I get greeted by people on the street all the time, and I have no clue how they know me. Ah well, I’ve got the generic nod and “how ya been?” down pat these days.

In the afternoon, I prepared for my feeding day at Hideaway Bar by baking a chocolate cake. On the way there, I ordered a pizza at Shamboli’s and picked up a roast chicken at Chooks to Go.

I had a friendly chat with Gary, one of the Hideaway regulars. It turns out he reads my blog and claims to like it. Well, it is nice to have fans, but it does somewhat deflate the idea that I have some anonymity here. It’s okay; I’ll continue to call them as I see them; no turning back now!

I stopped by IDM and had a couple more beers with Martin and Chris. Yes, I bought Agnes a drink too. While there, I got a message from Lydell asking me where I was. I smilingly responded, “It Doesn’t Matter.” Unfortunately, she was familiar with the name and told me to enjoy myself at IDM. Oh, well.

I decided to surprise Lydell with a visit to Snackbar. Turns out, the surprise was on me. She didn’t seem particularly excited to see me, but when I bought her a drink, she dutifully sat down next to me. And ignored me. Damn, I wish she cared about me as much as she seemed to love her phone. Anyway, I haven’t really said much about our “relationship” here because I don’t really have a clue what she is thinking and feeling. But I took her actions last night to be a clear indication that I am wasting my time. So, I’ll act accordingly and waste my time on someone else.

Oh, as I walked down the highway on my way to Snackbar, I encountered not one but two street-walking prostitutes. That’s something you rarely see in Barretto. They were actually both pretty cute, but I wasn’t tempted. When you bring a freelancing stranger into your home, nothing good comes of it. If I were going to go that route, I’d get a hotel room to take care of business. Much safer, though, to just take a girl out of the bar where there is some accountability for their behavior, not to mention the STD tests they are required to get on a regular basis.

I guess thinking about that Real McCoys television show got me wondering about where I was when I watched it way back then. And in a mind-boggling revelation, I actually remembered my address: 6152 Chickasaw Drive, Westminster, CA 92683. We lived in a subdivision called Indian Village (all the streets were named after Native American tribes). I’d never Googled an address before, but by golly, when I did, I found this:

I decided to look up the first house I purchased as a young father of two back in 1980.

So bizarre that I can’t remember things that matter, but useless info like old addresses is readily accessible. Maybe it’s a vestige of my long-ago life as a letter carrier.

And here I am on the other side of the world.

Sometimes life can be a beach. Or at least a beach bar. Several weeks ago, a surge brought on by a tropical storm destroyed one of my Baloy hangouts. It’s been rebuilt now and last night was the grand re-opening. My original plan was just to have a couple of beers, wish them well, and move on. Then my pal Ron showed up, and all bets were off. Plus, McCoy’s doesn’t serve San Miguel Zero, so I was drinking light beers (5% alcohol versus the 3% I’m used to). Let’s just say I got a little more buzzed than usual.

The new McCoy’s is much nicer and built to withstand future storms (the main bar area is elevated about three feet off the ground). It caters to a predominately Filipino crowd (I think Ron and I were the only white folks in attendance last night), and it has a nice laid-back vibe. Except when they play the damn videoke at high volume, which thankfully wasn’t happening last night. It’s the best beach bar in town because it is one of the few that are actually on the beach. I’ll make it a point to visit now and then when I want to chill and watch the sun go down.

After I left McCoy’s, I made a quick stop at Snackbar on my way back home.

I had something sweet waiting for me at home, too.

It was a pretty good day, all and all: new views and a new place to hang out. One more bar to add to the mix, although Baloy is a bit off my beaten path.

Am I the only one old enough to remember watching The Real McCoys on television? It aired from 1957-1963, so I was probably five or six when I first saw it.

The Friday group hike turned out to be more of an adventure than I anticipated. There were only four of us in attendance, so I led the group. My plan was to walk out through the Naugsol valley, then up the hill where the Virgin Mary statue is located, and finish on Rizal Extension. Except not much went according to plan. The valley road was flooded, which is unusual for this time of year. Finding a workaround proved more challenging than anticipated, but we eventually did find the intended path again and began our climb upwards. Except somewhere on the way up, we took a wrong turn. We found ourselves on the wrong side of a fence but eventually managed to make our escape.

Did the long march down Rizal Extension and then stopped in at Pugon Corner for a grilled meat lunch.

I’ll share the hike photos at the end of this post.

Another nice SOB last night. Wet Spot is probably the largest venue, and the place was packed; I didn’t see an empty seat. The people sitting around me were strangers but friendly. Introductions were made, and it turns out that they are all Alta Vista residents. The guy sitting next to me will actually be a next-door neighbor when I make the move to the Blue House in March.

I was lamenting not having a drinking partner for the show last night. Joy from Alaska came in and said hello, but it quickly became apparent that she already had a drink buddy lined up. As I sat there stewing in my loneliness, the Wet Spot dancers (the regular ones, not the competition team) came off the stage. One of them said, “Hello, John,” as she passed by my table. I didn’t recognize her, but damn, it seemed like the bar gods were interceding on my behalf, so I jumped up and went in search of this mystery woman. I was very surprised to see it was Aine, a gal I hadn’t seen in the bar for a couple of months.

I brought her back to my table and plied her with drinks while asking what happened to the man who “rescued” her from the bar earlier this year. Aine said he had taken her to Singapore, and after living there for two months, they returned to Manila. She said she left him because he was “crazy.” I responded in my usual caring fashion, “so are you.” She just laughed. Anyway, it was good to see her again and share an evening together.

I chose not to go to the Aftermath event, and as I made my way up the highway, I encountered Jerry, the owner of Alaska Club. When he asked where I was going, what could I say except, “Alaska, of course.” Word on the street is that he hired several new dancers, so I needed to check out the scenery anyway.

I was the only customer when I arrived, so I got my pick of the litter. I liked the cut of this one’s jib:

Shortly after I arrived, a group of big spenders came in and took the remaining dancers off the stage for drinks. I had good timing for a change. It was past my bedtime, and I was in danger of exceeding my drinking capacity, so I paid my tab, tipped the girls, and caught a trike home. Not a bad Friday night, all in all.

To those hiking photos, then:

It turned out to be quite the adventure, but at least we didn’t get bored.

You can Relive it here if you like that kind of thing:

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.