Escape From Reality

I stand here, staring out the frost-covered window, a warm cup of coffee in my hands. I’m thinking back, to a time filled with beautiful, sexy, fun women. Thailand. Oh, the memories. Sweet young ladies, making me believe that I was their everything, even though we had met just hours before in one of hundreds of beer bars, in that wonderfully sleazy town of Pattaya. I still recall this one cute…

“Why do you stand there looking out the window every morning, while I have to get breakfast ready, get the kids up, dress and feed them? I swear, sometimes I don’t know why I married you.”

Ahhh – back to my shitty reality. My reality? A nagging, fat, boring wife, 2 kids (who I can’t really say anything bad about), a cookie cutter house in the ‘burbs, and a boring job which I hate. Why did I get married? Everyone had said how nice it was – having a wife and kids. I guess I was getting to that point in my life where I figured if I didn’t do it then, I never would. Or if I put it off too long, I’d be one of those 50 year old dads. So, I “fell” in love with a typical Midwestern woman – blond hair, blue eyes, average dumpy body, boring personality, disliked sports but enjoyed scrapbooking. Scrapbooking? That’s not a hobby! Had the usual bullshit wedding – how I hate weddings! Always did, my own more than all the others combined. Why the hell are we inviting people I don’t even know? I had never met half of these fools and here they are, toasting my marriage and acting like the drunken idiots they’ve become.

Strangers. You know, when you travel alone, you really do meet a lot of people. Just sitting in the bars I met men from Ireland, Scotland, England, Germany (though they generally couldn’t speak much English), Australians, and yes, good ol’ Americans. Including more than a few who had been in ‘Nam and R&R’d in Bangkok. Now they come back every year. Is it to remember or is it to be with these beautiful women? The stories they would tell. Glad I was too young. But then I reaped the benefits of their hard work of making Pattaya the REAL Sin City. Vegas….please. Not too many guys are going to pay hundreds of dollars for an hour of “fun”. Every guy will pay $50 for “Long Time” – overnight. What was my record in one night?

I hear screaming – the kids are fighting over the bathroom again. It happens every damn morning. Figure out a system, would ya? I look down at my coffee – half gone and getting cool. The kids aren’t so bad – but typical. Abby – Jesus Christ, is every female child named Abby? And it’s such a boring name. How did I let her choose that name? Oh, that’s right, it wasn’t my choice. Like a lot of things. And Colby – isn’t that a cheese? Colby – again, not my decision. Why not name him Swiss or Cheddar? We should have named them with some cool names – I always liked the names Heather, or Jessica. Dylan or Sam.

Names – funny how the Thai women all have short little nicknames – Noi, Lek, all stood for something – like small, happy, whatever. Their real names were a nightmare to pronounce – long complicated things. Just the opposite of the women who were short and not too complicated at all, once you learned to understand them. They wanted my money, or the money of any white guy. In return, they treated you like a king, a damn king I tell you. I don’t think I ever smiled as much as when I was on my vacations in Thailand. How could you not smile? It was wonderful. Of course, Thailand is known as LOS – Land of Smiles. I wonder whose smiles they were speaking of – the Thais, who were always smiling, even when they messed up, or were they speaking of the male tourists, who were smiling because they were going to get laid, just got laid, or were getting laid?

“MOM – Abby won’t let me in the bathroom!” I take another sip of coffee. What? Nothing left? Shit. I should have bought a bigger cup. This one always gets empty way too quickly. Now I’ll have to walk all the way to the kitchen to get a refill. And of course to get bitched at for one thing or another. I should just put the coffee maker in here – just drink it straight from the pot. I wonder if she’d let me…who am I kidding? She already bitches because I stand here and drink ONE cup of coffee…

In Thailand, I never drank coffee. There was no coffee maker in my room, so I’d have to go downstairs to the “coffee shop” or to a coffee house. Plus, did I really need coffee to wake up in the morning, when I could just as easily receive a good-morning blowjob from my little Thai lady? I was drinking beer from the time I left my room until I went to bed that night. No time or room for coffee. And the funny thing is, I didn’t even miss drinking it. Why have a hot drink when it’s 95 degrees and 80 percent humidity? That doesn’t make sense. I tried it once – it just made me sweat more…

SLAMMING door. I’m looking out over the frozen miserable tundra that I call home. Why the hell did anyone start living here? They must have come in the summer, when it was actually bearable, and then gotten trapped by a sudden snowstorm. Why else would anyone stay here? It snowed last night – the drive to work is going to suck more than usual. I have to share the road with a bunch of stupid morons who act like they’ve never seen snow before, even though they’ve lived here their whole boring lives. Learn to drive, you stupid f*@*! idiots. God – it happens every year – deal with it already! Oh, and the talk about the weather – Jesus, the weather is simply not that intriguing.

In LOS, no one talked about the weather. What would you say? “Gee, sure is hot today. Sorta like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Wonder if it’s gonna rain?” No – no reason to talk about it. It’s always hot, always humid, always the chance of a drenching shower. But it was ok – it was a warm rain. But heavy – boy, you’d be soaked to the bone in about a minute. But it did wash away the crud from the street. Of course, it seemed to flood the streets every time too. The Thais weren’t too keen on improving things. But they didn’t have to shovel 6 inches of snow every week…

“You’re going to have to shovel before you go to work.” Knew that was coming. Take another sip. Arrggg! I forgot, no more coffee. I glance over at the clock. I’m going to have to get ready pretty soon. I hate that damn clock – HATE IT! I wish I could throw it out the frosted window. Then I’d follow it. Anything to get away from my self-made prison. I wonder if I’d die if I jumped out the window. No – it’s not far enough. Even if I landed on my head, I’d probably only end up in a coma. I glance at the clock again…

In my hotel, I never looked at the clock. Actually, my room didn’t have one. Even if it did, what would I care? I had nowhere to be. The day started when I walked out of my room and ended when I shut my eyes. Clocks – why? Time doesn’t matter when you’re on vacation. I always shook my head in amazement when guys would look at their watch in the bar. Usually they were waiting for their Thai “girlfriend” to show up. The girls were never on time. Come to think of it, maybe Thailand didn’t have clocks. As a British fellow said to me once “You’re not half an hour late, you’re a few beers late.” When my Thai lady friend came walking in with that beautiful smile, boy, who cared what time it was…

“Did you hear me?”

What? What the did she just tell me…I’m sure it was “important”. “Yeah, I heard you.” I look into my cup – nope, no coffee. Like I just expected it to reappear in my cup. Maybe if I willed it…still no.

“And Abby has that choir practice at 7 o’clock at the church, so be home on time”. What – another choir practice for the church? I hate church – well, not so much church, but I’m sure not religious. Maybe I should become Buddhist. They seem very happy. And I’m sorry, but this kid couldn’t carry a tune if you stuffed it into her backpack.

Wow, these Thai girls could sing! They always sang along to these sappy Thai songs. But it was beautiful. And they were always smiling and looking into my eyes as they sang to me. How could I not smile back? I had no idea what the song was about, but they always told me after it was finished. Usually about lost love. I’m sure those beauties have had that happen more than a few times. That’s why I’m always honest and up-front – I tell them I am only there for fun, not marriage. “I don’t ever want to married” I tell them…

“Are you going to survive not watching hockey tonight? There’s more to life than sports.”

Yes there is – just not here. That was going to be a fun game to watch too. I’ll be sitting in some damn cavernous church listening to 20 kids singing out of tune, their doting parents smiling at ‘em, talking amongst themselves about how much their little ones have improved. ACK! Good Lord, that makes me ill. I’m missing hockey because of this?

It’s funny – the Thais LOVE soccer. And not their own. British soccer. Or futball, as they call it. They know nothing of hockey, basketball, American football. As more than one fellow said, soccer is the international sport, with real world champions. How can we call the winners of the Super Bowl, World Series, Stanley Cup world champions. They are the champs of America, but certainly not the world. True. I’d learned to enjoy watching the soccer matches as my Thai lady would chat it up with her friends, her hand resting lightly on my leg, letting me know she was still mine. It must be a tough job sometimes, going with men you didn’t like, but had to pretend to…

“Are you going to work today or not? You’re going to be late again.”

Work. Stupid, miserable work. How I dreaded work. My eyeballs drying out from looking at the computer screen, yapping on the phone to some idiot customer, and all in these damn cubicles. I hate cubicles. I hate em because I can hear my co-workers. My co-workers aren’t bad people. Just boring drones. I overhear the same conversation everyday from the guy to my right. Young guy, into sports, and just started a family. But BORING. Dude, if you only knew. Everyday, the SAME damn conversation. “Hi Honey. How are you” (oh, we’re good) ”What did you guys do this morning” (We had breakfast, watched Barney and then I put Abby down for a nap, and now we are having lunch) “What are you having for lunch” (Soup and a sandwich) “What kind of soup” (Chicken noodle.) “Oh, that sounds good. What are you doing this afternoon” (We’ll go down to the park and meet the other moms and Abby can play with her little friends.) “That sounds fun. Well, I’ll see you after work. Love you.” (Love you too.) “Bye.” (Bye.). God – could you be any more lame? Dude, it’s the same conversation every day – I can repeat the entire thing to you! I don’t care if your life is boring, but don’t bring me down with you.

I was never bored in Bangkok. Even if I decided not to sit at the bar for the afternoon, there was always something to do. I could go shopping at the malls with one of the ladies I had met the night before, go on a river tour, visit a temple or two, you name it. And the girls loved to play games – especially connect four. They are pretty clever and usually beat most guys, but I had learned the ropes and ended up winning most of the time. Of course, I’d pay em 10 baht when I lost, which they enjoyed. I also played more pool on my 2 week visits than the rest of the year here. I still sucked at that. The ladies routinely beat me at pool. Of course, I may have been distracted when they bent over to take a shot…

“You need to take a shower now or you’ll be late. You’ll have to shovel after work”. More commands.

“Fine.” Sigh. I shuffle to the bathroom in my pajamas, robe and slippers. Pajamas, robe and slippers. Why the hell am I wearing pajamas? I hate pajamas. I remember the good ol’ days when I could meander around the house naked – ahh, the freedom! But then she said that was gross. Gross? Hey lady, I’m in good shape – I still have the remains of a six pack and I actually work out and take care of myself. If she wants to wander around covered head to toe, that’s her business. I haven’t seen her naked in years. Come to think of it, that’s fine by me. She used to be 5’5” and 130 pounds. Not great, but average. Now – same height, 175 pounds. Ick. Stay covered.

It’s funny – the Thai “working” girls (I use that word lightly) were shy until they hit the sack. They would always shower before getting intimate and more than a few wouldn’t allow me to shower with them. And they would come out of the shower covered in a towel – not because it was cold, but because they were a little conservative. Still beautiful though. But then they would get into bed and all bets were off! And they were small – 90 to 110 pounds. The taller, better built women might reach 120. Tiny. Spinners, as my fun friends called them. And yes, you could spin them, but you had to be careful not to hurt your other head.

KNOCK KNOCK! “What are you doing in there? The kids have to brush their teeth – hurry up and shower!”

Damn, lady, leave me alone. I haven’t had sex in 6 years. Not that I’m complaining. She hasn’t been attractive since Colby popped out 6 years ago. Plus she’s fat, so her skin is cold and clammy. And when I did try to cuddle, she’d complain she was too hot. And she’d be sweaty. Ick again. I feel like sometimes I should be pouring water over her and dragging her to the tub to keep her skin wet. Ok, that’s a little mean. Actually, no it’s not. Thank God for internet porn…

Oh, the porn I did in Thailand…Amazing. I could get anything I wanted. Anal? – just ask around and sooner rather than later you’d find a girl who would oblige. And they all gave blowjobs, some better than others. And they were cuddly – very cuddly. Which was great – perfect height and size. The massage parlors – wow. Two hours for $40 – a washing, a blowjob, a body rubbing massage, an actual massage and then another blowjob followed by sex. Amazing. And every guy’s dream – the three way – please, if you can’t get that you aren’t trying. And a four way – not any more difficult, except getting past the security. For some reason, they don’t mind 2 girls, but not 3. Unless you slipped ‘em 100 baht. Then they would overlook the extra girl. Some may ask, what are you going to do with three women? If you have to ask, I’m not going to tell, because you just won’t get it.

“Hey, shower or get out.”

I frown at the door, shake my head, then turn on the shower. If she knew what I did on my trips to Thailand, she never would have married me. Why didn’t I tell her – damn it! I turn on the shower, waiting for it to heat up. I take off my robe – why do I wear a robe? Robes are for women and old men. I’m 45 and I’m wearing a robe. A Christmas present from her, so I suppose I have to wear it. And again, what’s with the pajamas – why not just a T-shirt and shorts? Oh, the pajamas were a present too. And slippers – presents. I hate presents. They aren’t fun anymore, they’re just practical. The water is finally warm and I step in. I wonder if it would be possible to drown myself in the shower. I open my mouth and the water flows in – but I don’t swallow, just spit it back out. I realize I’d probably just cough it up anyways.

Showering and bathing with cute young women – is there anything better? The ones that did let me shower with them were wonderful. We’d wash each other all over – slow, gentle. But the baths were the best. I’m generally not a bath guy – don’t see the point of laying in dirty water – the dirt just gets back on you. But laying there with a young little Thai woman leaning against me, holding her tight. They always wanted to hold me, so we would trade off. I just didn’t want to smush them. But I didn’t smush them – they were pretty resilient little things. And their skin was so soft, smooth, hairless, dark, perfect. I would run my hands over their bodies, closing my eyes and just feeling their skin. Wonderful skin…

ARRGGGGHHHH – hot water! HOT! Damn fools, flushing the toilet while I’m showering. Owww! Oh, here comes the cold water. I quickly wash myself, shave and get out before I get scalded again. I dry off and grab my robe…hmmm, maybe I should just walk out naked…no, I don’t feel like being chastised right now. I sigh, put it on, slip my feet into my practical slippers and walk out. The two kids push past me and again fight for bathroom privileges. I could yell at them, but I frankly don’t give a shit. I hear their mother yelling at them – she’s good at that. I shuffle into the bedroom.

“You can’t go to happy hour tomorrow, we have to go shopping for…”

I stop listening. I haven’t had an hour of happiness since…

It’s great – as soon as your beer is almost finished, this sweet little Thai lady will come over and politely ask if you want another. Yes, please. And many times this little sweetheart would sit next to you. And I always bought them a drink, and sometimes their friends too. And it’s cheap. Super cheap. During happy hour at some of the beer bars, one can get a bottle of Heineken for the equivalent of $2. Two dollars! Night time would see the prices go to $3 – still cheap. The gogo bars were more expensive – girls and drinks both. And to be honest, I like the beer bars better – you could actually hang out with the girls and get to know them a little, see if you liked their personality or not.

“Remember to shovel when you get home or Mr. Anderson will get pissed off again”.

Screw Mr. Anderson, the prick next door neighbor. He has the guts to tell me to water the lawn during the summer because it’s turning a little brown. Who gives a crap? It’s f grass. It’ll come back when it rains. If it doesn’t, then it didn’t’ deserve to be on my property. This fool waters his grass every day – moving the sprinkler every half hour. Sorry dude – I have much better things to do with my life than worry about the grass. He’s worried his property value will decrease because my grass is a little brown during the summer. Get a life, you loser. He’s bitched before because I didn’t shovel soon enough after the last snow. Maybe he should have his two fat sons get their fat asses over and shovel it for me. It would be the first time they got any exercise in their lives. I know what I want to do with the shovel – slam it over his bald head. Then he’ll have more to worry about than green grass and property values.

There’s very little violence in Thailand. Sure, the occasional jackass tourist will get drunk and do something stupid, in which case he’ll end up in the hospital. I think martial arts training is mandatory in Thailand. But generally, they simply do not argue or act aggressive (except the tuk-tuk drivers and the kids selling glasses, watches, flowers – but they aren’t aggressive, just persistent). Again, it’s the Buddhist religion. Thailand is actually a pretty safe country, except for the occasional male sex-tourist being drugged and dying by accident. But I felt safer there at midnight than here during the day.

“You’re not listening, are you?”

Huh? What? What did she say? “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I turn to look at her and she’s brushing her hair. The same boring short mom-haircut that belongs to every woman with kids. The short bob-cut. It’s not attractive, certainly not sexy. Blonde. Plain. Boring. Like her personality. Grow your hair – I’ve told you before I like long hair – grow it out. Who do I think I’m talking to – like she cares about whether I like her hair long or short.

The Thai ladies all had long, gorgeous, straight, shiny, black hair. Beautiful hair. It smelled so good. It hung down to the middle of their backs. They always wore a shower cap when they showered – and they were still cute. Ahhh – they smelled so good when they got out of the shower. Clean. They smelled clean, with the slightest hint of something else – something good. I could just lay there and smell them for hours – I didn’t of course, as my hormones acted up immediately…

“It’s 10 below out and minus 30 wind chill, so start the van.”

Wow that’s cold. I should have had the automatic starter installed. Maybe rigged it to a bomb. And that horrible minivan. I hate that piece of junk. God, what an awful reminder of my pathetic, boring, practical life. It just screams “MY LIFE SUCKS”. But it’s practical, that’s what all my friends and co-workers tell me. Screw practical. I don’t want practical. I want sexy and fun. Thank God she drives it – the typical grocery getting, soccer mom, kid carrying van. With TVs, no less. TVs! When I was a kid, we entertained ourselves. God, I hate minivans. Hate them. With every fiber of my being. I refuse to drive it. I know if I did, I would steer it toward the nearest light pole, doing 100 miles per hour. And let me tell you, it wouldn’t be to destroy that detested hunk of metal…

It seems like every car in Bangkok is a taxi or tuk-tuk. Cabs are cheap – I can’t even describe how cheap. Gas must be cheap there. I could take a 30 minute cab ride from the airport to my hotel for $7. Seven bucks – imagine that would get me around the block in the US. There were a lot motorcycles – man, tons and tons of em. Lots of people died from motorcycle accidents in Thailand. It may be that they are really shitty drivers, cutting in and out of lanes, running lights. I wouldn’t drive a motorcycle there – certain injury, if not death.

I remember riding my Harley here in the US – ahhh – the freedom! What a great feeling, hitting the freeway, or a nice 2 lane county highway, or a beautiful trip through a windy country road – waving at other Harley riders, being out with the sun, wind blowing through my ears – being ALIVE! Of course, there were those guys driving the minivans, with their fat boring wives sitting next to them and ugly boring kids watching TV in the back seat – looking at me in jealousy – probably thinking to themselves “What have I done? I’ve created a safe, stale life for myself. Wish I was on that bike.” OH NO – that’s exactly what I’ve become! But of course, not by my choice – once I got married, out went the bike. It wasn’t sudden, just a slow, imperceptible death – first, I got bitched at if I rode it on the weekend, when we had household crap to do. Why couldn’t we paint during the week? Is the yard and garden going to perish if I take care of it on Wednesday instead of Sunday? How clean does this house really need to be – does it get cleaner on the weekends as opposed to during the week? Then she complained because I never rode it (No kidding lady – cuz all you do is complain when I do!), so it was taking up room. Never did she ask to go with – it was much more enjoyable for her to be crabby about it than actually have some fun for once. And then came the kids – now for sure I could never ride it. Ohhh how I envy the men who ride…

A lot of my friends used to call me “World Traveller”. I did do a lot of traveling – in the US, Europe, Australia, a safari in Africa, Asia, and of course, my yearly trip to LOS. I liked traveling – it was fun to see different cities, experience different cultures, to be out of my comfort zone, to appreciate how other people live, how though we are a bit different we are really the same deep down. The plane flights were a drag – sitting in a seat for 10 hours can’t be fun, no matter what movies are playing. And listening to a baby screaming in my ears (stick a tit or pacifier in that baby’s face, would ya?) kids kicking my seat, while the parents sat there, too afraid to discipline their little angels, fearful that somehow it would destroy the poor spoiled child’s self esteem, confidence, whatever…

“Don’t spend too much at lunch – remember we’re saving up for Disney World next year – I’ll give you $5 for lunch” Two problems here.

First – Disney World. You’ve got to be kidding – why did I agree that was a good vacation? Gee, I’d love to stand in line for 3 sweltering hours, sweating my balls off, so Abby and Colby can go on some stupid lame overpriced ride. Sure – it’s fun for them – but me? How is this fun? It’s not fun, not enjoyable, and certainly not necessary. They’ll get tired, start whining, moaning, bitching, then get sick from the heat, rides, too much sugar. Every damn family in this state has to go to this hell on earth called Disney World. If not there, Mexico. That’s not even a foreign country anymore! Most of the Mexicans are up here – and down there they all speak English. Ohhh – how exciting – NOT. Mexico should be a place where you take your girlfriend / wife (providing she is not or has not become a boring plain whale) and have fun – drink, eat, lay on the beach, go snorkeling. Not sit at some damn “All inclusive Resort” – where everything is right there and you never leave the property. Boy, married folk with kids sure know how to live it up!

Second – it’s my money! I work, not you. I should be able to spend whatever I want on lunch and not live on a damn stipend. If you get a job, then you spend your money how you want. How did I lose control of the financial situation? I never spend any money on myself anymore – not on beer, food, sports. It’s all controlled. You know who doesn’t need lunch – her! Cut 25 pounds and I’m more apt to agree with the whole starving myself for lunch idea.

I look over to my neighbor’s yard and see his shepherd sitting outside. I love dogs but can’t have one. “They’re dirty and they smell” she bellows every time I bring up the issue. But they are truly man’s best friend. They aren’t too demanding, they are loyal and protective.

In Thailand, I fondly remember the soi dogs running loose in the streets. They belonged to no one but belonged to everyone. People fed them scraps and gave them water. In return, the soi dogs guarded the soi. A bunch of mangy mutts to be sure, but true dogs regardless. Give them a little love and they give you protection in return. Nothing is free…

Ahhh – I long for the days of being free, being single, worrying only about myself. Someday, I’ll be free again. Someday I’ll have a dog. Someday I’ll lie on the beach again. Someday I’ll be back on my Hog, riding into the sunset. Someday I’ll return to the Land of Smiles – this time to stay. Someday…

“Sir. Sir!” Mmmm. I open my eyes and blink several times. I look up, into the face of a young, beautiful Thai stewardess. I then recall where I am and what I have done. “Sir, we’ll be landing in Bangkok soon. Please put your seat up” she says with a warm, welcoming, perfect Thai smile.

Stickman's thoughts:

Brilliant, absolutely brilliant! You sound so much like Kevin Spacey in American Beauty!