Boring, Self Indulgant Ramblings That Only a Sister Could Love

Alright, so here's the deal.
I don't have the time or energy to rehash my journal entries into something internet appropriate, or even into anything that would be remotely interesting to anyone else. But, fuck it. This is primarily for my sister anyway, and Em understands that my journals are closer to scattered field notes than cohesive, eloquent memoires.
You've been forewarned.

January 21, 2009
SFO Airport
10:40 pm, PST

It's an hour before boarding time and I've discovered an oasis, that, having now found, can't imagine how I ever survived air travel without. Two words: Airport. Bar. Even though I had to pay a staggering $8 to get a glass of Jameson...now I have a glass of Jameson, the joy and warmth of which far overshadows any of the pain and humiliation of the financial butt-raping I have just endured. Ah, yes. No matter how many locks I put on my luggage, no matter how well I secure my pockets, an alcoholic is always an easy, eager and willing mark if the bait is their favorite poison. At least you can drink away your shame.
...But enough about booze.

I let my tired eyes fight against their heavy lids and space out onto the rain-slicked tarmac and wonder why I couldn't sleep last night. Anticipation and anxiety of the impending trip should be the obvious culprits, though if I was being honest, I'd have to admit that neither of those jittery travel pests have come out to play yet. Even the boy that was passed out next to me can't be blamed. (Note: Entry edited for content). Of course I'm going to miss him- hell, looking out on my plane and realizing he had successfully identified it from the terminal walkway and I hadn't believed him, it's already hitting me already how much it's going to suck not being able to talk or message him whenever I want. Who knows, our banter might fall out of practice. As he's pointed out though, (as have the more favorable voices in my head), we've been friends for 10 years now. I don't think much is going to change in 2 months...or however long I'm staying.

So if it's not my heartstrings being plucked, or my nerves being shredded, why the restless night? Who knows, maybe it's merely my body's preemptive defense against the jet lag waiting for me on the other side of the Pacific. Or maybe I'm just failing to acknowledge some nagging question I've banished to the back of my mind...

Whatever the case, as I stare down at my behemoth craft and think of the long flight that lies ahead of me, I hope I'm tired enough to simply curl up and sleep through most of the 15 hour flight to Taipei. I pour the last swig of whisky down the hatch, gather my stuff from the now deserted restaurant table, and make my way to my gate.

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NOTE: There's another entry in between these two that is filled with all the oh so important first impressions of Cambodia. Its got all the good exotic details you probably want to hear about, but, it's long, I'm tired, and it's going to have to wait. Deal with it.

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January 23, 2009
Khmer Restaurant
11:40 am, Cambodian Time

Alright, I have no idea what prompted me to take out my book and write, but whatever it was, it's far inferior to the Chinese soap opera that's playing on the screen in the back of this restaurant. Let's see if I can do this justice:
A disheveled, obviously strung out chick clad in cream colored silk pajamas is heavily shackled, sitting on the edge of her bed, muttering to herself and rocking back and forth with a white dove clutched on her lap. Now this could be dismissed as a bad acid trip, but then we meet the other players. Another chick, concerned, comes up and sits next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and most likely reassuring her that she'll come down in a couple hours. Slowly, the quiet soothing words reach the bound one as she slows her muttering and faces her friend. She seems to understand and cracks a small smile. Then she bites her. Straight for the jugular. Oops, okay, maybe she doesn't completely understand. The broad who got mauled is now reeling back in shock and pain, which is to be expected. That's only lasting a second though and now she looks more pissed. Also to be expected. Okay, now she's smiling. Alright...I don't know if that's an appropriate response. Now she's completely switched gears into sinister psychopath mode. Eyebrows pulled together, wide toothy grin, still bleeding but apparently unperturbed, she starts speaking in dark tones that can only accompany a "I'm going to kill your puppy and force you to eat him" type of speech. It cuts away to some sing-a-long love story segment in a field, (oh yes), and then returns to the chewed-on chick swinging the girl's precious dove upside down just out of the other girl's frantic reach. The evil chick laughs, and the screen fades to black.
Wow. And that's just the basic cable programming. NOW do people understand why I love this part of the world? It's not just entertaining either, but chalk full of important life lessons. Okay boys and girls, what have we learned today? That's right: stay away from Chinese acid.