Nov 14, 7:41 PM
Wang Nam Khieo, Thailand
As the title would suggest the past two weeks have been painful for me. Physically. I spent one week in Singburi, Thailand participating in a Muay Thai boxing class and this week doing a cycling tour and trekking through Wang Nam Khieo, Thailand. For those of you who are unaware what Muay Thai is, it's one of the most popular fighting styles in Southeast Asia. Also known as the "art of eight limbs" because you use both your elbows and knees in addition to hands and feet. Let me run you through the past fourteen painful days of my life.
Last week was my Muy Thai class. You have to take into consideration a few things. One being that I hadn't been keeping up with my fitness since I left the states about 2 and 1/2 months ago. I haven't been eating clean, I haven't been doing cardio, lifting, anything really. You also need to consider that my history of fighting lessons is minimal to none. Sure I did some Tae Kwon Do when I was younger like every other 13 year old ever, but that doesn't really count for much. I'v'e also never been in a fight, well kinda, but lets go with no. So needless to say this week was going to be a wake up call, and I knew that. I would be waking up at 5 AM to make my way over to the gym, warm up for an hour with running and jump rope, and then train for an hour. Then head back to my accommodation and rinse and repeat at 4 PM in the afternoon. All together it was three to four hours of training a day. My body was not happy with me.
By the second day I was already struggling. By the end of the week I was in even worse condition, my ankle was swollen from kicking so much, my whole body was sore, my shins were broken and bruised, and it was a painful chore to even walk. But in all honesty I loved it. It was a different pace then other things I've done like the gym, or biking, sports, cross fit, anything really. It kept me very engaged the whole time. The family that was teaching me consisted of a father and two sons. This family made me look like the fat kid in P.E. class on the day when everyone had to run the mile. The sons were in amazing shape. I wouldn't be surprised if they were handed a pair of gloves and thrown in the ring soon after coming out of the womb. The father, who must have been at least 50+ years old never did get tired, and was the one letting me take breaks during training. And although I was battered and broken by the end of the week it was an amazing experience.
Week two was a cycling tour through a part of Thailand called Wang Nam Khieo. At least 35km a day through the countryside. I have a new found hate for hills. This part of Thailand, with gorgeous rolling hills and countless farms and resorts sprinkled across the landscape. We made our way through vineyards, flower gardens, national parks and even a mushroom farm. They had everything mushroom you could imagine. Mushroom jerky, mushroom fries, mushroom bread, mushroom lotion, mushroom balms, and even mushroom wine. At the end of day three we drove to the top of a national park. It was about a 20 minute ride to the top with a fairly steep incline. The view at the top was tremendous and when we were done I asked if I could take my bike down this beast of a hill. My guide gave me a resounding "Yes" and that's all the motivation I needed and I fired up the GoPro and was on my way down this beast of a hill. I'll be honest, before I even committed to going down this hill I had already accepted the fact that I was probably going to crash. The bike I was using was technically a mountain bike but it wasn't a great piece of human ingenuity by any means. In addition I consider myself a fairly advanced rider but I'm no Dave Mira. I gunned it down this hill as fast as I could without flat out smashing my face into the ground and made it a good 9 minutes until it happened. As I came around a sharp corner I hit the breaks too hard, my back tire slid out and down I went, using my knees and elbow to soften my graceful demise into the dirt, sand and stone. Standing there, bloodied and bruised I waited for my ride. The look on my guides face when she came down in the truck was quite enjoyable when she saw the blood streaming down my legs from the crash. Off to the clinic we went to patch up my poor and bloodied knees. A successful yet painful day of riding.
Later that week instead of cycling through the countryside as per the norm we had scheduled a trek. For those of you who don't travel much, treks are just trips in which you trudge through the jungle and enjoy nature and shit. Real good stuff from what I hear, even if your not one of those tree hugger types. So I was looking forward to it, but I was in for a surprise. The list of things that made this trip go south quick is fairly extensive. So let me elucidate for you. First things first our guide. Holy shit our guide.
This guy was a moron. He looked like a moron, acted like a moron, sounded like a moron (even though I don't speak Thai), and if I had gotten close enough to him (which I fucking didn't) probably smelled like a moron. The man was probably in his mid to late 30's. He had brown, beaten and weathered skin, obviously from the village life he'd been enjoying for the past thirty whatever years since he crawled out of his undoubtedly just as ugly mother's womb. Please, if you can imagine, for one moment, the skin of one of those old Scottsdale grandmothers with way to much money who have spent more time in a tanning bed since the early 1930's than a normal person spends in a normal bed their whole lives, to the point where there skin is so dark and wrinkled it looks like a Mexican's ball sack... Okay, did you imagine that pretty little picture in your head? Well great, now stretch that ball sack across a 5 foot 6' Thai man's frame, put the brain of a mentally disabled 12 year old in his head and that was my guide for my lovely day trekking through the not so wonderful jungle of Wang Nam Khieo, Thailand. If I haven't't given you a good enough physical description well lets just name the guy Mowgli (Pronounced Mow-glee just in case you had a horrible childhood and never saw the movie and don't know how to speak) for all respective purposes. You know, Mowgli? Mowgli the man cub from the Disney movie The Jungle Book. The one who makes friends with Baloo the bear and gallivants around the jungle avoiding Shere Khan the big bad tiger. He looks, to put it simply, like a monkey boy. Similar to if Mowgli's aspiring acting career took a dive and he fell into a deep depression filled with alcoholism and extreme drug abuse. That is a pretty spot on description.
Mowgli from the Jungle Book.
Now with Mowgli being our tour guide and all you would think he would have some semblance of the word "hospitality" or "guide" or some general regard for the well being of those he was dragging through this forest. But you would be wrong. Dead wrong. Because if I didn't know better I would say that Mowgli forgot we were there half the time. There were a few times where he would walk so far ahead of the group that I couldn't see him anymore, and I would just be hoping that I was going in the right direction. Then out of nowhere he would pop up, smile his stupid little smile, and keep on keeping on, without a worry in the world. This guy wouldn't know hospitality if it walked right up to him, greeted him with a warm "Hello sir, how may I assist you today?" upgraded him to the Presidential Suite at the MGM Grand in Vegas, handed him a beer in one hand, a pack of condoms in the other with a hooker wrapped around his waist and sent him on his merry way. A total dipshit. I think Mowgli would have actually have preferred it if we got lost in this mad house of a jungle. Then he could just run off and do whatever the fuck he pleased, whatever that may be, whether it consisted of eating bugs, or swinging from vine to vine or smashing little rocks with bigger rocks to make more little rocks or whatever. Who cares.
Now regardless of the misfortunes of our guide today I still had hopes that this trek could be cool and enjoyable. And even if it wasn't that great, it was only 3 hours right? Or at least what that is what they had told me. The first few hours were fine. My knees were bandaged up from the previous days biking antics but they quickly were torn away by the constant tearing and scraping of the leaves, grass, vines, and every other plant that somehow managed only to hit my newly acquired gashes, leaving them bloody and open for the whole jungle world to do with what they pleased. After awhile I just ignored the pain and just kept on trying to enjoy what little I could of this jungle. But it was hard, I was hot, sweaty, bloody and being lead by someone with probably less of an IQ than my dog. Three hours passed finally and we came upon a river that we were to cross before we arrived at the waterfall, our destination. This supposed waterfall was the reason we trudged through mud, dirt, and spider webs, and razor grass, jungle vines and all such things a normal person would rather avoid. Like I said, in order to get to the waterfall we had to cross this river. So naturally you would assume there would be some safe way to get across this river that our oh so valiant guide had previously fashioned. But no, that would be asking far too much apparently. I see him pull up his pants up to past his knees and waltz right in. Now this river wasn't the Mississippi but if you had lost your footing and slipped into the river there was no way Mowgli or anyone else was going to save you as you helplessly floated away to your unfortunate and wet demise. Again, Mowgli's regard for our safety as his trusted followers was about as apparent as his knowledge of Quantum Physics, which I can only assume was less than none. But alas we made it across unscathed albeit fairly soaked. After we crossed the river and walked downstream a bit we arrived at "the waterfall". If you want to call it that. If I wasn't so exhausted and hungry at this point I would have voiced my displeasure at putting so much effort into trekking towards and looking at such an mediocre and unsatisfying thing as this. If you can imagine a bunch of big black rocks with water pouring over them in every which direction you pretty much have imagined what I was looking at. Now I wasn't expecting Niagara Fucking Falls but seriously? This had to be some sick joke someone was playing on me, getting back at me for some stupid drunken and rude thing I had done long ago and long forgotten about.
Worthless "Waterfall"
After a surprisingly not so horrible lunch and faking my interest in this excruciatingly uninteresting pile of wet rocks we started to make our journey back. At this point about 5 hours had passed and I was dreading the journey back. At some point the 3 hour trek that I was promised had turned into what was now turning out to be an 8 hour trek. Now I'm not sure if it was a miss-communication of language, or someone had mixed up a 3 and an 8 somewhere (they do look similar I guess?) or if it was just the total incompetency of Mowgli, or a horrible mix of the three. But whatever it was it was apparent that this journey was not 3 hours and that it never, in fact, was supposed to be three hours. I angrily accepted this fact as I bore through the forest only finding comfort in the fact that this journey was finally closer to its end than it was to its beginning.
As we made our way back two things became apparent to me about Mowgli. One being that throughout our little trek he had constantly been filling up his water bottle with river water. Now in Thailand your not even supposed to drink tap water let alone stagnant creek water that probably has diseases the human race hasn't even discovered yet in it. The phrase "It must be something in the water" came to mind and it suddenly became clear to me that this deranged fool had probably been affected from drinking dirty creek water his whole life and that contributed significantly to his stupidity. Or maybe I'm wrong and he was just born dumb. That's probably it. Whatever the case may be the second thing I realized was that Mowgli had a machete. Now I'm no expert but I can guess that a jungle guide uses his machinate to cut through brush that has grown over or vines and plants that have fallen over into the pathway, in which case you cut through them so you and your group can proceed. Pretty basic stuff. But as Mowgli stomped through the forest instead of cutting the debris and vines out of our way he found it a much better use of his time to pick up random tree branches and fashion himself various walking sticks with his machete. He would then use these walking sticks for a short period of time before tossing them off into the wilderness and start laughing hysterically. I'm not sure if it was at this point or before that I realized he was probably not just retarded, but mad, like the crazy or slightly insane kind of mad. Which lead me to another thought. Here we were out in the middle of nowhere in the jungle with a half brain dead, crazy local Thai man brandishing a machete. For all we knew he could be leading us into a total death trap in which he kills us, cooks us, and eats us out in the middle of nowhere and no one would ever know except his village people, who were probably in on the deal as long as they got some human flesh out of it. Fuck! We were dead for sure. Or maybe I was just being paranoid and my mind was wandering to try and keep myself preoccupied and not thinking about how miserable I was. At this point I didn't even bother with scraping off bugs or brushing away the spider webs I had walked through. It was pointless. Mosquitoes were gnawing at my bloodied knees but at this point I could care less. I was too focused on the light at the end of the tunnel.
Finally after what seemed like ages the staff member that was with me, Tuk was her name, piped up to announce that we had only about 10 minutes to the edge of the jungle. Back to civilization at last! It was like sweet music to my ears. It was like Pamela Anderson in her prime before she had been deflowered and filled with putridness and STD's, whispering sweet nothings into my brain on an abandoned island somewhere of the coast of Indonesia with nothing but the warm sun on my face, a cold margarita in my hand and my new found love Ms. Anderson to keep me company. Yeah.. that's pretty much what it sounded like. Freedom. Finally we broke through the dense jungle and I saw the light of day. I was filled with new life and within the next 30 minutes I was back in the truck on my way back to my wonderful hillside resort with my WiFi, hot running water, normal human food, filtered water and bed.
Now I could be all morbid and say there was nothing to gain from my 8 hour trek through the deep bowels of the Thai forest. But that would be selfish and negative of me. True it is that if someone had informed me previous to going on this trek that in fact I would be spending 8 hours (not three) in the hot and humid jungle, that I would rip open my freshly acquired wounds only to be feasted on by half the mosquitoes in Thailand, that I would be lead and guided by Forrest Gump's long lost retarded Thai step brother, and that we were going to go look at a glorified river, I most likely wouldn't have gone. But that would be putting a negative spin on things. And I like to think of myself as a positive person. Shit, I mean I have "Don't worry be happy" tattooed above my Johnson so how negative can I really be. So here goes. If I hadn't endured these 8 hours of pain there is absolutely NO way I would be able to bring you such an enthralling account of my horrible experience. And as my reader you can both live vicariously through me and enjoy my displeasure and discomfort while you sit on the other side of your screen enjoying your overpriced Starbucks coffee while your wrapped up in your Snuggie. The other positive thing about my experience was... well..? I suppose lunch wasn't that bad.
So as you can see, a painful but not uneventful two weeks for me. That is all for now. Good day and goodbye!
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Wang Nam Khieo, Thailand
As the title would suggest the past two weeks have been painful for me. Physically. I spent one week in Singburi, Thailand participating in a Muay Thai boxing class and this week doing a cycling tour and trekking through Wang Nam Khieo, Thailand. For those of you who are unaware what Muay Thai is, it's one of the most popular fighting styles in Southeast Asia. Also known as the "art of eight limbs" because you use both your elbows and knees in addition to hands and feet. Let me run you through the past fourteen painful days of my life.
Last week was my Muy Thai class. You have to take into consideration a few things. One being that I hadn't been keeping up with my fitness since I left the states about 2 and 1/2 months ago. I haven't been eating clean, I haven't been doing cardio, lifting, anything really. You also need to consider that my history of fighting lessons is minimal to none. Sure I did some Tae Kwon Do when I was younger like every other 13 year old ever, but that doesn't really count for much. I'v'e also never been in a fight, well kinda, but lets go with no. So needless to say this week was going to be a wake up call, and I knew that. I would be waking up at 5 AM to make my way over to the gym, warm up for an hour with running and jump rope, and then train for an hour. Then head back to my accommodation and rinse and repeat at 4 PM in the afternoon. All together it was three to four hours of training a day. My body was not happy with me.
By the second day I was already struggling. By the end of the week I was in even worse condition, my ankle was swollen from kicking so much, my whole body was sore, my shins were broken and bruised, and it was a painful chore to even walk. But in all honesty I loved it. It was a different pace then other things I've done like the gym, or biking, sports, cross fit, anything really. It kept me very engaged the whole time. The family that was teaching me consisted of a father and two sons. This family made me look like the fat kid in P.E. class on the day when everyone had to run the mile. The sons were in amazing shape. I wouldn't be surprised if they were handed a pair of gloves and thrown in the ring soon after coming out of the womb. The father, who must have been at least 50+ years old never did get tired, and was the one letting me take breaks during training. And although I was battered and broken by the end of the week it was an amazing experience.
Week two was a cycling tour through a part of Thailand called Wang Nam Khieo. At least 35km a day through the countryside. I have a new found hate for hills. This part of Thailand, with gorgeous rolling hills and countless farms and resorts sprinkled across the landscape. We made our way through vineyards, flower gardens, national parks and even a mushroom farm. They had everything mushroom you could imagine. Mushroom jerky, mushroom fries, mushroom bread, mushroom lotion, mushroom balms, and even mushroom wine. At the end of day three we drove to the top of a national park. It was about a 20 minute ride to the top with a fairly steep incline. The view at the top was tremendous and when we were done I asked if I could take my bike down this beast of a hill. My guide gave me a resounding "Yes" and that's all the motivation I needed and I fired up the GoPro and was on my way down this beast of a hill. I'll be honest, before I even committed to going down this hill I had already accepted the fact that I was probably going to crash. The bike I was using was technically a mountain bike but it wasn't a great piece of human ingenuity by any means. In addition I consider myself a fairly advanced rider but I'm no Dave Mira. I gunned it down this hill as fast as I could without flat out smashing my face into the ground and made it a good 9 minutes until it happened. As I came around a sharp corner I hit the breaks too hard, my back tire slid out and down I went, using my knees and elbow to soften my graceful demise into the dirt, sand and stone. Standing there, bloodied and bruised I waited for my ride. The look on my guides face when she came down in the truck was quite enjoyable when she saw the blood streaming down my legs from the crash. Off to the clinic we went to patch up my poor and bloodied knees. A successful yet painful day of riding.
Later that week instead of cycling through the countryside as per the norm we had scheduled a trek. For those of you who don't travel much, treks are just trips in which you trudge through the jungle and enjoy nature and shit. Real good stuff from what I hear, even if your not one of those tree hugger types. So I was looking forward to it, but I was in for a surprise. The list of things that made this trip go south quick is fairly extensive. So let me elucidate for you. First things first our guide. Holy shit our guide.
This guy was a moron. He looked like a moron, acted like a moron, sounded like a moron (even though I don't speak Thai), and if I had gotten close enough to him (which I fucking didn't) probably smelled like a moron. The man was probably in his mid to late 30's. He had brown, beaten and weathered skin, obviously from the village life he'd been enjoying for the past thirty whatever years since he crawled out of his undoubtedly just as ugly mother's womb. Please, if you can imagine, for one moment, the skin of one of those old Scottsdale grandmothers with way to much money who have spent more time in a tanning bed since the early 1930's than a normal person spends in a normal bed their whole lives, to the point where there skin is so dark and wrinkled it looks like a Mexican's ball sack... Okay, did you imagine that pretty little picture in your head? Well great, now stretch that ball sack across a 5 foot 6' Thai man's frame, put the brain of a mentally disabled 12 year old in his head and that was my guide for my lovely day trekking through the not so wonderful jungle of Wang Nam Khieo, Thailand. If I haven't't given you a good enough physical description well lets just name the guy Mowgli (Pronounced Mow-glee just in case you had a horrible childhood and never saw the movie and don't know how to speak) for all respective purposes. You know, Mowgli? Mowgli the man cub from the Disney movie The Jungle Book. The one who makes friends with Baloo the bear and gallivants around the jungle avoiding Shere Khan the big bad tiger. He looks, to put it simply, like a monkey boy. Similar to if Mowgli's aspiring acting career took a dive and he fell into a deep depression filled with alcoholism and extreme drug abuse. That is a pretty spot on description.
Mowgli from the Jungle Book.
Now with Mowgli being our tour guide and all you would think he would have some semblance of the word "hospitality" or "guide" or some general regard for the well being of those he was dragging through this forest. But you would be wrong. Dead wrong. Because if I didn't know better I would say that Mowgli forgot we were there half the time. There were a few times where he would walk so far ahead of the group that I couldn't see him anymore, and I would just be hoping that I was going in the right direction. Then out of nowhere he would pop up, smile his stupid little smile, and keep on keeping on, without a worry in the world. This guy wouldn't know hospitality if it walked right up to him, greeted him with a warm "Hello sir, how may I assist you today?" upgraded him to the Presidential Suite at the MGM Grand in Vegas, handed him a beer in one hand, a pack of condoms in the other with a hooker wrapped around his waist and sent him on his merry way. A total dipshit. I think Mowgli would have actually have preferred it if we got lost in this mad house of a jungle. Then he could just run off and do whatever the fuck he pleased, whatever that may be, whether it consisted of eating bugs, or swinging from vine to vine or smashing little rocks with bigger rocks to make more little rocks or whatever. Who cares.
Now regardless of the misfortunes of our guide today I still had hopes that this trek could be cool and enjoyable. And even if it wasn't that great, it was only 3 hours right? Or at least what that is what they had told me. The first few hours were fine. My knees were bandaged up from the previous days biking antics but they quickly were torn away by the constant tearing and scraping of the leaves, grass, vines, and every other plant that somehow managed only to hit my newly acquired gashes, leaving them bloody and open for the whole jungle world to do with what they pleased. After awhile I just ignored the pain and just kept on trying to enjoy what little I could of this jungle. But it was hard, I was hot, sweaty, bloody and being lead by someone with probably less of an IQ than my dog. Three hours passed finally and we came upon a river that we were to cross before we arrived at the waterfall, our destination. This supposed waterfall was the reason we trudged through mud, dirt, and spider webs, and razor grass, jungle vines and all such things a normal person would rather avoid. Like I said, in order to get to the waterfall we had to cross this river. So naturally you would assume there would be some safe way to get across this river that our oh so valiant guide had previously fashioned. But no, that would be asking far too much apparently. I see him pull up his pants up to past his knees and waltz right in. Now this river wasn't the Mississippi but if you had lost your footing and slipped into the river there was no way Mowgli or anyone else was going to save you as you helplessly floated away to your unfortunate and wet demise. Again, Mowgli's regard for our safety as his trusted followers was about as apparent as his knowledge of Quantum Physics, which I can only assume was less than none. But alas we made it across unscathed albeit fairly soaked. After we crossed the river and walked downstream a bit we arrived at "the waterfall". If you want to call it that. If I wasn't so exhausted and hungry at this point I would have voiced my displeasure at putting so much effort into trekking towards and looking at such an mediocre and unsatisfying thing as this. If you can imagine a bunch of big black rocks with water pouring over them in every which direction you pretty much have imagined what I was looking at. Now I wasn't expecting Niagara Fucking Falls but seriously? This had to be some sick joke someone was playing on me, getting back at me for some stupid drunken and rude thing I had done long ago and long forgotten about.
Worthless "Waterfall"
After a surprisingly not so horrible lunch and faking my interest in this excruciatingly uninteresting pile of wet rocks we started to make our journey back. At this point about 5 hours had passed and I was dreading the journey back. At some point the 3 hour trek that I was promised had turned into what was now turning out to be an 8 hour trek. Now I'm not sure if it was a miss-communication of language, or someone had mixed up a 3 and an 8 somewhere (they do look similar I guess?) or if it was just the total incompetency of Mowgli, or a horrible mix of the three. But whatever it was it was apparent that this journey was not 3 hours and that it never, in fact, was supposed to be three hours. I angrily accepted this fact as I bore through the forest only finding comfort in the fact that this journey was finally closer to its end than it was to its beginning.
As we made our way back two things became apparent to me about Mowgli. One being that throughout our little trek he had constantly been filling up his water bottle with river water. Now in Thailand your not even supposed to drink tap water let alone stagnant creek water that probably has diseases the human race hasn't even discovered yet in it. The phrase "It must be something in the water" came to mind and it suddenly became clear to me that this deranged fool had probably been affected from drinking dirty creek water his whole life and that contributed significantly to his stupidity. Or maybe I'm wrong and he was just born dumb. That's probably it. Whatever the case may be the second thing I realized was that Mowgli had a machete. Now I'm no expert but I can guess that a jungle guide uses his machinate to cut through brush that has grown over or vines and plants that have fallen over into the pathway, in which case you cut through them so you and your group can proceed. Pretty basic stuff. But as Mowgli stomped through the forest instead of cutting the debris and vines out of our way he found it a much better use of his time to pick up random tree branches and fashion himself various walking sticks with his machete. He would then use these walking sticks for a short period of time before tossing them off into the wilderness and start laughing hysterically. I'm not sure if it was at this point or before that I realized he was probably not just retarded, but mad, like the crazy or slightly insane kind of mad. Which lead me to another thought. Here we were out in the middle of nowhere in the jungle with a half brain dead, crazy local Thai man brandishing a machete. For all we knew he could be leading us into a total death trap in which he kills us, cooks us, and eats us out in the middle of nowhere and no one would ever know except his village people, who were probably in on the deal as long as they got some human flesh out of it. Fuck! We were dead for sure. Or maybe I was just being paranoid and my mind was wandering to try and keep myself preoccupied and not thinking about how miserable I was. At this point I didn't even bother with scraping off bugs or brushing away the spider webs I had walked through. It was pointless. Mosquitoes were gnawing at my bloodied knees but at this point I could care less. I was too focused on the light at the end of the tunnel.
Finally after what seemed like ages the staff member that was with me, Tuk was her name, piped up to announce that we had only about 10 minutes to the edge of the jungle. Back to civilization at last! It was like sweet music to my ears. It was like Pamela Anderson in her prime before she had been deflowered and filled with putridness and STD's, whispering sweet nothings into my brain on an abandoned island somewhere of the coast of Indonesia with nothing but the warm sun on my face, a cold margarita in my hand and my new found love Ms. Anderson to keep me company. Yeah.. that's pretty much what it sounded like. Freedom. Finally we broke through the dense jungle and I saw the light of day. I was filled with new life and within the next 30 minutes I was back in the truck on my way back to my wonderful hillside resort with my WiFi, hot running water, normal human food, filtered water and bed.
Now I could be all morbid and say there was nothing to gain from my 8 hour trek through the deep bowels of the Thai forest. But that would be selfish and negative of me. True it is that if someone had informed me previous to going on this trek that in fact I would be spending 8 hours (not three) in the hot and humid jungle, that I would rip open my freshly acquired wounds only to be feasted on by half the mosquitoes in Thailand, that I would be lead and guided by Forrest Gump's long lost retarded Thai step brother, and that we were going to go look at a glorified river, I most likely wouldn't have gone. But that would be putting a negative spin on things. And I like to think of myself as a positive person. Shit, I mean I have "Don't worry be happy" tattooed above my Johnson so how negative can I really be. So here goes. If I hadn't endured these 8 hours of pain there is absolutely NO way I would be able to bring you such an enthralling account of my horrible experience. And as my reader you can both live vicariously through me and enjoy my displeasure and discomfort while you sit on the other side of your screen enjoying your overpriced Starbucks coffee while your wrapped up in your Snuggie. The other positive thing about my experience was... well..? I suppose lunch wasn't that bad.
So as you can see, a painful but not uneventful two weeks for me. That is all for now. Good day and goodbye!
