The following elevator conversation occurred an hour ago between me and two of the older ladies that work at my office:
OLD LADY 1: Saw you boogalooing up a storm on the dance floor with that pretty girl. Who was she?
ME (“Boogaloo?”): Oh yes, that was my sister.
OLD LADY 1: But you were doing some dirty dancing there…
ME (“Dirty dancing?”): Close physical contact is encouraged in my family.
OLD LADY 2: He’s joking. She’s really not his sister.
ME (“I’m going to hell.”): I was absolutely kidding about that.
OLD LADY 1: Well your sister is very pretty.
Sorry about not replying to entry comments recently. I’ve been quite occupied with work and jetlag. It’s culminated in a few of those moments where you wake up in a dark room and not know where the hell you are. I finally got the work done yesterday, but my jetlag may be prolonged a bit by this weekend’s trip to Vegas.
Speaking of Vegas, here’s my Patpong story…
When I think about it, it was the girls’ fault that we ended up going there. We were all having dinner and discussing what to do afterward. We’d done the clubbing thing the previous night at La Luna and wanted to try something different. Something uniquely Thai.
I suggested heading over to Lumphini and checking out Muay Thai kickboxing matches. But the girls crinkled their noises. Thought it was too violent. So I threw Patpong out there, expecting them to pooh-pooh that as well. But surprisingly they were all up for it.
Patpong, if you don’t know, is a five-block area of Bangkok that’s notorious for its hookers and sex shows. And by sex shows, I mean vagina circuses. And by vagina circuses, I don’t mean vagina trapezes or lion-taming vaginas. I’m talking about vaginas that shoot darts, smoke cigarettes, open bottles, and any other activity that never crossed God’s mind when he said, “Let there be pussy.”
I definitely planned on seeing a show with the guys, simply because it’s one of those things on your life’s “to see” list along with the Great Wall of China and the Pyramids. But I didn’t expect the girls to so eagerly volunteer to come along. As it turned out, they’d seen a live show back in the States called “Puppetry of the Penis” where people pay good money to see men do horrific contortion acts with their frank and beans. Apparently for them, it was jolly good fun; therefore logic dictated that the vagina circus would be a knee-slapping delightful time since it also involved genitalia engaged in unnatural tasks.
Man this entry’s getting long and I've got a plane to catch. I’ll tell you the rest when I get back from Vegas.