Thoughts Are Physical and My Pants Are Too Tight

They say you don't know what you got till it's gone, but I'm not sure that is always the case.

I've always know California is a great place from which to come. I've been confident that my best friend is one of the greatest people to ever walk the planet. And I was certain, with every ounce of my being that my father was as special as he was loved. Sure, I may have questioned some of his decision making skills, as we all do with those we love - but my confidence in him as a dad and as a person never wavered and I felt blessed each and every time I was able to make him chuckle on the other end of the phone.

I think it is when we lose those things; the things we cherished when we had them, that it hurts the most.

It was with this heavy heart and swirling mind that I began my first day alone in Thailand. When the distraction of a travel companion is taken out of the equation that you only have your thoughts, memories, and feelings to keep you company it can be dangerous. Being terribly charming and endlessly amusing this is usually not a problem for me, but this particular morning was rough.

With sugar as the only substance upon which I rely in times of trouble, or in times of waking hours, I selected for the healthier option to clear my mind and went for another morning run to Santichaiprakarn Park, my new favorite not only for its proximity to my pad but for the tai chi and Zumba participants doing their best to mimic actual physical activity when really they are just shaking their groove thing to Rhianna on their headphones in sweatpants.

Relinquishing any fantasy that I will remain clean for more than 5 minutes at a time, tops, whilst in Thailand I postponed the shower and set up shop in the outdoor lobby of my hostel to get some tech time and catch up on emails, work, and personal business. Also, to make a couple calls home and hear some familiar voices.

After a shower and a switch from a double in room B 32 to a single in room B 31 for a reasonable 330 baht a night I felt that familiar pang - of hunger.

Though Chomp had not proven itself useful in terms of a yoga destination the previous day I decided to head to the Brit run establishment for their famous burgers. A massively huge chicken sandwich was evidence that it was Western run and the spotty WiFi proved it was still in the third world. The lack of modern distraction allowed me to sink into the book I recently purchased at The Strand for this adventure. 'Hector and the Search for Happiness' seemed appropriate and had colorful cover art so I was sold.

An hour or two of Hector's trials, tribulations and triumphs throughout the world searching for what makes people across the globe happy was not terribly enlightening, but it was sweet, and entertaining and that was enough for today.

With some time before I had to set out to visit Laura in Sayala I luxuriated in the form of a midday nap. Not a terribly exciting day, but sometimes the simple things are the sweetest.

Thinking I'd give myself some time to let higher education rub off on me at Mahidol University, the name of which had been emailed to me phonetically, before Laura got out of class, I hailed a cab, negotiated a price and was soon on my way. My driver absolutely did not speak English so when he turned down some unsavory alleyways outside of town literally swerving to avoid sleeping or dead vagrants mid- road I was a bit suspicious. Turned out he had better things to do and just wanted to swap out and have his son drive me the rest of the way.

After some help from the international student center staff I located Population and Social Research building and began to wait, observing the throngs of uniformed students on bikes traversing the campus thinking - I am pretty sure I wore pajamas to class, i.e. I'm so very American.

Laura soon emerged from class with her fellow graduate students emitting curiosity and cultural intelligence from their pores.

I had been informed there was a local yoga class for 10 baht. Turns out local was on campus where a staff member hosted weekly classes in a back room that was part storage, part studio. The next two hours involved a lot of sweat, a lot of stretching, and a lot of touching tiny strange Asian women.

The first hour was essentially Bikram, followed by couples yoga where I got to link sweaty body parts with a woman 1/3 my size, and all in the name of wellness.

Excited to show me her new home, Laura took me to the outdoor strip of market that faces the university and behind which her apartment is tucked.

We feasted on noodles and coconut ice cream and caught up. Tears and laughter were shared in equal parts and I was glad to be in the presence of my friend who I had not seen in so long.

A couple of hours were spent in the cozy student apartment that she shares with her incredibly kind and generous boyfriend trying to figure out the rest of my trip and where, along the road, she would meet up with me. After endless circles I had to call it a day and felt calm when crossing Rama Vill Bridge knowing I was close to my home for the evening.

Waking in a heat induced stupor I saw messages from a fellow traveler on my phone inviting me along to a ping pong show shortly after I had fallen asleep and I was devastated. How will I ever truly understand the female reproductive system if I do not see small plastics balls shoot out of them on command? I am at a loss.

A lengthy breakfast at a local 'French' cafe and some stressful dealings with back in the states and I was a mess.

Not only had chosen to wear one of the shelf bras I had purchased at MBK, leaving my naturally large breasts with tiny tit torpedoes, ready to take an eye out, pointing off the ends making me look like some sort of Doris Day reject, but I also didn't know what to do next. Both literally and figuratively.

I, like many people, often react emotionally and have been trying my very best to limit that behavior so I did my best impersonation of a sane person, not stressed to the point of Alopecia, and packed up my bags, checked them at the front desk and caught the 53 bus to Hualumphong train station where I used my deductive skills and blind faith in the exchange with a woman who my money in exchange for a train and bus ticket, a 15 hour journey, down south to Krabi. Krabi, where rain was expected and bugs would absolutely eat me alive, but where I was hoping to find peace, in mind and soul and if my cellulite turned a shade or two darker Id be ok with that too.

Back on the 53 wood-floored bus and I am listening to the Dixie Chicks while crawling down the streets of Bangkok. It may not seem congruent with my personality, as well as the environment and it may not be cool or hip or timely, but who the hell cares. Their lyrics are beautiful and Natalie Maine's voice conveys the beautiful pain housed in my heart - and isn't that the point of great art?

The public bus offers you a unique tour of the city,  The bumper to bumper traffic by the flower market was a highlight, and as I pass Chinatown I realize there is so much this particular city has to offer that I will never I uncover.

Usually one to respect cultural traditions after two attempts to make it only the Grand Palace and two rejections, the most recent of which was literally 'lady, you are wrong,' I have thrown in the towel on that majestic center of beauty and Buddhism.

I mean come on, I'm covered head to toe in sweltering heat yet I have to have the exact attire you deem fit at this particular destination? No wonder the homeless hippie chic/lesbian aunt ensembles is so popular amongst the 'travelers' here, because otherwise you will directly and aggressively be told that you are wrong.

If I have to dress like a middle-aged art teacher to join your illustrious club, I don't want to be a member anyway! I happen to think it would be against God's plan to hide this bodacious booty, clearly the staff at the RP disagree.

In my indignation I decided to walk home and quickly realized a) I knew my way and b) that my suspicions were correct and the cab Sharlene and I took the other day took us on an awfully circuitous route to get back. Ah, the perils of wing white.

I passed a couple of places filled with westerners and, when a delightfully green establishment just next door was filled with locals I wondered why on earth they wouldn't give it a go.

So I did.

The menu had one dish on it that, to the best of my understanding offered a selection of pork products all in on bowl. Usually not one to dig on swine, while in Rome...

The broth was full of onion and the meat palatable. Just like in my sex life, if something feels suspicious in my mouth I just try to ignore it and swallow (sorry, Mom). For a fraction of the cost of all meals previous I was satisfied and only mildly disgusted by the man making slurpy food sex noises.

A little window shopping and a stop at the photo shop where a cheerful older man took my picture for a potential Burma Visa and directed me as to attire, amount of teeth displayed and posture very specifically. I figured I should cover my bases while possible.

So I am packed. Packed and ready to head to the next city, as I have spent more than enough time in and around this one.

Hopefully there will be fun. Hopefully there will be sun. Hopefully there will be Wifi.

Till then...

Let's Go To The Mall and The Power Of Super Pussy

Bangkok is a city under construction.

Everywhere you turn lady construction worked covered from head to toe in calico burqa uniforms sweat under the south Asian sun clearly spending tax payer money, or maybe just the King's to make Bangkok look like every other commercial center on the planet, with big benign shapeless buildings, paved sidewalks and plenty of 7/11s in order to make sure the aesthetic of the people will soon match that of the ever increasing American landscape.

With globalization in mind, after making a few early morning Skype calls home Sharlene requested that on her last day we visit none other than - the mall.

Travelers and locals alike speak with great affection for the 8-story mammoth known as MBK and featuring 2 movie theatres, a floor of food courts and kiosk upon kiosk where you can haggle over a knock off Louis Vuitton till your heart's content. Not my ideal destination, but an experience nonetheless and something Sharlene seemed interested in.

After an hour or so of perusing she left with a handful of silver bracelets for her girls back home and I had a small blue bag containing two bras that I had yet to sweat stain into oblivion giving both me and my coconuts a new lease on life - or at least a less fragrant one.

Having taken a free government bus, but 15 to e exact to the mall we adeptly caught the 47 over to the Grand Palace however, despite the look and feel of this bus being identical to the last, this one required a fair.

At first I thought it was just another case of white people discrimination but when elderly Asian people boarded and were required to do the same I chalked it up to simply not understanding the system.

Once we arrived at the Grand Palace we were immediately surrounded by a swarm of tourists shifting from one direction to the other in large colorful groups like schools of fish searching for chum.

First thing is first, and food needed to be ingested at the earliest possible moment, so we located a little restaurant amongst the shops on the water that offered mediocre fair and an adorable 2-year old running around barefoot for entertainment.

Feeling sufficiently filled with brown, fried food we made our way to the impressive entrance only to be met with dirty looks and aggressive yelling via bullhorn from a guard insinuating in no uncertain terms that my skirt and tank top made me come across as an Amish street walker and that I would not be allowed entrance in such garish attire. With Sharlene feeling ambivalent about witnessing another dozen temples and me having more time to do as I please we opted to bounce and after some serious haggling with a cab driver who clearly thought I was an idiot - or just a Westerner - we took a 40 baht ride back to Pen Park Place.

After more and more fruitless online searching for nearby yoga studios I succumb to the front desk's recommendation for classes taught above a local cafe and Sharlene and I changed and headed over to inquire. They said class would begin in a few hours and with time to kill we went to get an authentic Thai massage just across Sam Sen Soi.

200 Baht (about 6 American dollars) for an hour foot, neck and shoulder massage seemed reasonable and we quickly changed into patterned hammer pants provided by the parlor and reclined in pleather seats, each with a tiny Asian woman at our feet. Not being terribly familiar with massage, as I have only had 1 in my life, I didn't know what to expect and didn't know how much I could actually allow myself to enjoy it.

So far so good, my feet were cleaned and I was trying to find a zen place. Rubbing my feet was nice and I could almost handle the reflexology pain of sticking a blunt object into various parts of my foot for no foreseeable reason but once my lubbed up toes began to be toe fucked with some long, phallic stick I began to question this age old practice.

Moving up the calves was a nice change of pace but when the woman assigned to me had to use the loo the boss bitch came over and somehow courteously pointed out just how much in need of a shave I was. I know Asian women don't tend to be hairy like the Irish-Italian stallion breed from which I come, but pointing it out seems a bit superfluous. The ladies gathered round to witness my 8 0'clock shadow before interest waned and it was back to pushing, pulling and rubbing my lower extremities.

All seemed fine and dandy once again until some sort of hip reflexor move was made and the tiny doll hands made of soft leather that had been rubbing me for over 30 minutes were dangerously close to my lady regions. It was the gentle grazing of fingers over this most private of areas that made me realize just how long ago they had been grazed as well, adding sadness to my already confusing mix of emotion and discomfort.

Needless to say, when it was all over, she had given it to me rough - and I had liked it.

With yoga still an hour or so off we decided to stroll and I decided to test my navigation skills, aimlessly wandering the streets in a direction that more or less felt like a circle. Sharlene was able to get herself a beautiful pair of silver and turquoise earrings and I was able to stroke my already healthy travel ego with a safe and relatively succinct return to our intended destination.

So - turns out yoga was a bust. Despite the fact that we had confirmed with a Thai woman possessing a very suspect accent earlier the instructor seemed to have left town and now my yoga pants were only functioning as a beautiful, shiny display case for my booty and not for their intended use. The Thai gods do not seem to want to get me in downward dog - and I am a little offended.

With the Pat Pong market opening after dark, and being on Shar's Bangkok Bucket List I got in some much needed WiFi time at the hostel and we decided to fore go showering or changing, having given up on not being sweaty, shiny and frizzy at all possible moments.

A cab driver with 9 fingers and a joke we wouldn't get understand brought us during rush hour to Pat Pong market, located not far from MBK.

We entered the frenetic market and immediately were met with sensory overload. Bootleg Beats by Dre to the left, open air strip joints with lady boys languidly lounging in the foyer to the right. Flashing lights, club music, the smells of grilling meat and rotting fish filling my nostrils yet not deterring my appetite - this is, more or less, what I expected Bangkok to be. Sex tourism at it's best.

Or worst.

It was once we were presented with a half dozen fliers to witness the pussy ping pong show that we began to realize why our driver had been laughing hysterically by taking us to Pat Pong, ping pong. It was all becoming clear.

Never before have I wandered down a side street and seen a half dozen beautiful young men laid out, displaying themselves on the porch of the massage parlor like a Calvin Klein ad, only a pair of blue jeans were most certainly not what was available for purchase behind those shuttered doors.

I love this shit. I live for this shit - seeing a part of life or a subculture that I am not a part of and not particularly educated in. Every white man who passed me was now, in my opinion, a sexual deviant and any woman with a bit too much rouge had to have been packing heat. Mix with with drugs, alcohol and late night hours and I can only imagine what takes place on these slick city streets.

Oasis would provide us our last meal and a lady boy and a boy lady would take our drink and food orders respectively, though my attention was on the balding British man at the bar who had on powder foundation and a hard on for the dude dressed like splinter from the ninja turtles next to him. In my mind he was married to a nice portly woman back in the UK with blue eyes and silver hair. They had 2 children, a boy and a girl who maybe knew Dad was a bit soft, but would never suspect that his 'business trips' landed him here. Yes, this is what I do when I am out to dinner.

Stomach full and appetite for all things unsavory satiated and it was time to procure yet another tuk tuk and take our last ride back to the hostel before Sharlene's 3am departure the following morning.

This particular driver, who happened to resemble all 3 of my uncles at once, drove a hard bargain and I could see by the glint in his eye he respected my hustle as much as I did his so, once we agreed upon a price it was quickly through the breezy darkened streets of Bangkok, back to our beds and when I awake tomorrow - I am, once again, all alone.

Thanks for sharing this experience and popping my tuk tuk cherry, Shar.

Selfies Are Like Masturbation, Do It In Private

With my internal clock still ticking to the beat of it's own drummer my eyes opened before the sun rose and I waited out the dark to partake in one of my most favorite travel activities - the morning run.

Deciding to stay on main thoroughfares, I ended up back in the park Sharlene and I had visited the night before, only this time the senior citizen tai chi class was getting underway and I wanted in! Deciding not to disturb the poor old Asian people by throwing a tall white girl in hot pink into the mix I made my way over to the waterfront and proceeded to get ripped, and my ripped I mean some minor calisthenics that resulted in me sweating profusely despite my best efforts to sport wicking materials, therefore making me feel like I was kicking major ass.

Back at the hostel Sharlene and I shared out morning breakfast with smiley faces toasted into the bread and and set out on our self-appointed day trip to Ayutthaya, which we had been told we could reach by train.

I've learned in the last few days that if you ask 5 different Thai people a question you will get 5 different answers, as was the case with this wild goose chase. Despite the fact that we knew better, our first tuk tuk driver of the day insisted we purchase tickets from some tourist center clearly run by his girlfriend's cousin's family who, when we inquired about train tickets, confirmed what we already knew, and what logic would dictate, that one can procure train tickets at - you guessed it - the train station. Our driver was stupid and I wasn't falling for the hustle, leaving him with little option than to feign hunger, going so far as to rubbing his flat belly and claiming he needed to leave us right where he picked us up and go get food. Dubs Tee Eff.

Remaining optimistic we persevered and arrived at Hualumphong station with minutes to spare to catch the 10:30 am train to Ayutthaya - of course 10:30 meant whenever the train chose to roll on in and I had plenty of time not only to consume the better part of the Blueberry Ice Cream Oreos I had purchased for the voyage, but spot a particularly beautiful black man, which in these parts is like spotting the Loch nNess Monster.

Fortuitously enough we ended up seated just across the way from this Canadian dream and his Aussie mate and struck up a conversation with them on the train, creating just enough of a travelers bond to embark upon our tour of this Wat-rific little town splitting a tuk tuk tour and sharing a meal.

Wat Mahathat, Wat Yai Chai Mongkol and Wat Ratchaburana were spectacular, breathtaking, amazing, and structurally similar to that... Of a butt plug. Blasphemous, perhaps- immature, absolutely, but accurate as hell nonetheless.

Interesting fact: the last Wat on our agenda, Wat Chai Wattanram was featured in Mortal Combat the motion picture as confirmed by Sharlene's husband via text.

After a little souvenir shopping and a ridiculously delicate gift purchased we raced back for the 4:37pm train to Bangkok, leaving at 5:15 or so.

The train was full and we were spent from the day basking on the burner known as Thailand.

Witnessing a fiery sunset from the rattling window of a train is a privilege, and one for which I am thankful. As the clouds came in for what was set to be a torrential rainstorm the sky turned red and it felt like the apocalypse was upon us - and it was beautiful.

Never one for small talk I chatted up said Canadian pal and when he spoke of his mother in past tense I could sense it was recent. When I inquired he remained stoic when mentioning she had passed away in April, but I failed to maintain composure, as I thought of my own loss this summer and how devastatingly awful it has been. I later explained to him that I was not completely crazy, but that his tale had hit a nerve. And a rather fresh one at that. Not a subject I had ever wished to connect on, but evidently one I now can

Back at the train station we parted ways with promises to What's-app, but alas, just like sand through the hour glass, or travelers through the world, our connection was lost. No matter, I still had Sharlene by my side, at least for the next couple of days.

The rain began to lay in in violent sheets of water and obtaining proper transport back to the hostel proved to be more difficult that I was prepared for. We managed to get a 20 baht ride but only if we promised to stop into a tailor first, as they would then pay for the drivers gas, illuminating the greasing of palms and scratching of backs that seemingly run tourism in Thailand.

A quick bite to eat in a German run establishment resulted in full bellies and the desire to head home to bathe, and slumber.

Sharlene took first shower and by the time she was back I was out cold, leading to another mid slumber late night shower to disrupt my sleep pattern and clog my temperamental pores even more.

With a 2 day tour to Kanchanaburi reserved and paid for it was rise and shine to welcome in November. A nutritious breakfast of Japanese Strawberry Kit Kats were had before strapping our bags to our backs and boarding a bus to Kanchanaburi.

There were several stops slated for today - first being a gas station selling shirts with New York emblazoned on the front. As some young phillies giggled at them with heavy indication they were from NYC I could sense something was off. When pushed it turned out the were Long Islanders. One can smell their own kind and smell the posers!

The Floating Market Dumneon Saduak was next, best known for its canals of shops designed to convince tourist they are having an authentic cultural experience all the while persuading them to pay 500% markup for chackis that were made in Taiwan. Not claiming to be above it all, as a woman most certainly old enough to be my grandmother navigated our private canoe around the canals I purchased a doll for my niece far too expensive and far too large and ornate to carry with me for the next month.

Damn shiny things!

After a quick mystery meat lunch served outdoors at a rest stop we made our way to The Tiger Temple, a staple in the Thailand backpackers experience, second only to buying flowy Hammer Pants you will most certainly shove to the back of your closet the second you return home.

The parade of photo opps whilst awkwardly standing next to a chained tiger is an experience in itself and though one must check their ethical standards at the door, I am glad I did it. Also glad that the young man designated as my personal picture taker with my personal camera chose to go buck wild and document several of the large cats' large balls, giving me plenty of selection for next year's Christmas card.

The baby warthogs, red pandas and even the 4 month old tiger cub names Sky may have all taken a back seat, however, to the gaggle of water buffalo being led by a John Wayne ringer in their midday bath/chew fest.

I sort of fell in love.

Back in the bus again to another waterfall and another succession of souvenir shopping left me with a headache and a distinct need to not be in a car any longer.

Luckily dinner on the river was next up and I got to eat while watching the blue sky turn lavender and then cobalt blue before slipping into total darkness. Seated next to two very nice young Austrian men, one of whom should definitely move to Hollywood and act as Neil Patrick Harris' body double, helped the time go by and helped me forget that the other two Austrians on the trip were the epitome of the rude European, far worse than the rude American stereotype floating around, and far less hygienic.

A leisurely boat ride to our accommodation for the evening, in the form of a log cabin floating atop the river was peaceful and made me realize with very beautiful moment comes a pang of pain. Don't get me wrong, Sharlene is fantastic, and easy to travel with, but this trip was supposed to be had with my father, we had plans, and in those moments of serenity and beauty is when that comes to light the most that he is not here with me.

The whole in my heart is not filled by the adventure of a new land.

Quite the opposite, my loss is intensified by the new and exciting experiences in which I am participating and the reminder that I can no longer make a simple phone call and share is a stark reminder of my loss on a minute to minute basis.

That being said, time marches on and I can only make the best of what I currently have.

What I had in this particular case was an early call time.

When sleeping on a floating 'hotel' you are given the opportunity to wake early and watch the fog lift over the lush green trees and see the sky lighten gradually with nothing but the sound of your breath to keep you company. As other travelers woke, I made my way to the far end of the platform where I could be, think, and leave just a little bit of my father behind, in the river on his journey, posthumously, with me around the world. Like I said, you gotta make the best with what you have.

Once the Austrian woman for whom I now held such contempt I could feel the bile of rage lapping up the back of my throat at the slightest infraction awoke it was time for scrambled eggs and a hike up the hill to our bus for the day and the next chapter in our adventure.

After being fooled by our driver to try a 'sweet treat' off of a nearby tree and instead being met with a bitter tart surprise we loaded into the vehicle and made our way for Erawan National Park that in white trash translates to the Water World of Thailand. This succession of waterfalls is tucked into the trees and provides a series of baths that local families seem to picnic at on a regular basis.

With 7 waterfalls from which to choose Sciatic Sally and I opted only to hike up to the 4th stop which provided some bathing - a very little amount for me as the toe nibbling fish at the water's surface made me scream like a school girl not once, but twice, some sweating and a whole lot of selifie taking - not for us, of course - but for the numerous young women who thought the natural background complimented their unnatural expressions to perfection. Or at least on the 8th attempt they thought so. It was painful to watch - but like all good car wrecks, I couldn't look away.

After our decent we got some chill time perched upon a bamboo platform and devoured some sticky rice and chili powered mango before the rain set in, once again.

I make it a point not to 'plan' these adventures of mine, but maybe I should take a quick gander at weather.com before booking a flight in the future. Maybe.

Loading back into the bus damp and tired was quickly brightened by Shar and I literally being kicked out of the car and dropped off at the Elephant Sanctuary, where we got to ride an elephant led by a young man dressed in a traditional hi jab, of sorts.

We sat in a two-seater but were given the option of straddling this majestic beast and yes, it broke my heart to see the chains and the melancholy in those big brown eyes, but man is it fucking cool to ride an elephant in the Thai countryside. I'm sorry, Dumbo - please forgive me.

Some fried rice was served up at the nearby riverside restaurant and we were shoved back into a bus for the what would soon become an excruciatingly long and uncomfortably long ride home - providing plenty of time to sweat, and plenty of time to think.

There is little worse than having a crush. You're mind is constantly elsewhere, no matter what amazing adventure upon which you are embarking. Trust me, if I could get hold of a Trapper Keeper and multicolored pen my name and his would be scrawled across the front and punctuated with tiny hearts.

I can't help but think he might be the Zack to my Kelly and I fantasize about all of the fun times we could have at The Maxx!

But back to reality, and back to the big bitch in front of me with no regard for anyone other than her bad dye job and shirtless hubby.

You'd think that they would schedule their tours to avoid rush hour, but you'd be wrong. They want you to get the full Thailand experience, replete with rainstorm, bumper to bumper and manual transmission.

For anyone who suffers from motion sickness as I do, they will understand what a nearly never ending ride involving the aforementioned factors and mixed with no AC and a can filled with fragrant Europeans, you feel my pain.

Rolling into Bangkok we were the first to be dropped off and hoping our hostel from a couple of days ago would by chance have a room. Our hope was quickly snuffed out, but we were directed down the street where a guest house by the name of Pen Park Place with less amenities for more money could provide us with keys to room B32 and a WiFi connection that was weak at best.

A couple of showers to wash off the elephant and car and we put on marginally clean clothes to grab dinner in the 'hood.

I made the very bad call of heading to Joy Luck Club despite the fact that it was filled with white people - usually a deterrent for me even when stateside. Opting to branch out and order pumpkin sandwiches and a papaya salad resulted in an unhappy tummy though Sharlene's pad Thai and spring rolls were decidedly NOT good as well. You'd think a restaurant named after an early 90s literary hit that resulted in a movie hiring every working Asian actor on the scene would yield yuminess, but alas, this was not the case.

So here I sit, in a French-inspired cafe getting my daily dose of juice (see: Internet) and catching up on my travel tales. Tomorrow is Sharlene's last day in Thailand and after she flys back to California I have absolutely no agenda.

Only time will tell...