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.