Cranial Vomit

Oooo found another lost blog post from Bali!

The rest of them can be found here.

Scanning this post quickly, it’s obvious that I haven’t proofed it or even finished it off - given this happened over a year ago, I’m not even gonna bother trying to finish it off but given I put at least 10 mins of effort into it, I might as well post it.

Anyways, onto the post……..

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mmyarrgh the pain!

I think I may have pulled a muscle last night during my midnight drunken stumble through the dark and deserted alleyways of kuta.

When in Bali, I walk.

A lot.

Although taxis are a bargain, walking seems the way to go - never seem to do enough of it at home, so i might as well to 15 times as much overseas. After 1 night, my battle wounds are beginning to show. A bung left foot, 2 nasty blisters (who knew $35 thongs could do so much damage) and a mean bruise on my hip. Not so sure about the bruise - I don’t get them easily.

Was I in a fight? Was I at a rodeo?

Did I decide juggling bricks would be a good idea?

dunno.

Last night was the first night in a while that I attempted sleep with no sleeping tablets. Bad idea.

Havin’ a belly full of whiskey, combined with half a day of trekking through the urban jungle - I assumed I’d be knocked out cold. Round about 4AM though I had another sleepwalking episode. I stumbled round the room wondering where I was and tried to leave. I couldn’t find the key (which was in the door), so I gave up then went back to bed. No damage done, but worrying nonetheless. I don’t particularly want to be wandering the hotel gardens naked. Might find myself being kidnapped by that 60 year old bloke who keeps looking at me funny from the porch of his villa. If he is thinking about brutally ass raping me, it wuold be nice if he smiled when I walk past - or at least buy me a few drinks. Common courtesy is expected from everyone in bali. Even potential creepy old sodomising rapists.

I’m having lunch now - first proper meal in 24 hours. Decided to skip the complimentary brekkie at the hotel. No guests seemed to be eating there so chances are I’d be consuming reheated fried noodles or one of the staff’s packed lunches. The Bali Aussie restaurant seemed to be the only place with people in it within limping distance. The more people in a restaurant, the better odds of getting fresh food and lowering the chance of getting a nasty case of the shits.

Thats what the tourist books say anyway.

If those books told me that jamming a chopstick up my left nostril was a sure fire way to getting clean ice in my coke, I’d do it.

Oh Lonely Planet, you learned book you.

Food here at this place is rather spicy but I’ve been craving carbs all morning. My head is a little fuzzy but not in the usual post-bourbon way, but more like a flu kind of way. Chances are I’ve probably got that avian disease or a bad case of girl cooties. Haven’t had an injection for that since grade two.. mental note : must touch the invisibility tree before going to the beach again.

With all this pent-up anxiety in me waiting to be released, I figure its time to go and get felt up for cash by some woman I haven’t met before.

That is, get a massage.

With no phone in my room, it’ll be annoying to get coin and use a public phone. I could use the front desk’s phone, but its within ear-shot of the tour desk and ill probably get pounced upon by that grazy Rendo guy who keeps wanting to take me on a private tour of his “very very special volcano”.

Whatever that means.

I slip on my most touristy shirt I could find and step out of the hotel grounds. 30 seconds later, I turn back clutching a handful of brochures which seemed to appear from nowhere. God these guys are good. With my newly aquired pamphlet in hand, I sip on a jacks whilst browsing the services on offer. hmm, a full body massage sounds nice, plus I might even get a manicure too. There were plenty of massages on offer, ranging from a peppermint scrub and rub - i dont particularly want to walk out smelling like a freddo frog.. to a rose oil deep body treatment. The descripton seemed promising - ‘an erotic massage, promising relaxation and a feeling of well-being’. mmmm, erotic eh? I read on: ‘you will leave feeling like a new woman, confident and sexy’.

Yes, I’ve always fantasised about being a woman, but I don’t think I could handle the bikini waxing, make-up and continual oogling by men.

I get that enough already.

Nope, just a traditional massage will do, with no bells, whistles or dig dong removals.

I mosey down to the place. It seems quite classy for the price. I introduce myself to the well spoken receptionist and arranged to get the works done. She invites me to sit next to a giant marble man holding a spear whist they degrease and disinfect the room. As I sat there sipping on my complimentary jasmine green tea, I thumbed through the guest comment book. Nothing but high praise from all.

One comment written by Maureen from Doubleview Western Australia reads: ”best massage I’ve had in years. I came 3 times”.

huh?

perhaps i should change my request…

After a short wait, I’m invited to one of the private rooms. It was a great massage, completely professional and even lasted longer than the hour I paid for. Much better than my usual - she was quick, firm and if she worked on my hamstring muscles any longer, I would have done the same as Maureen from Doubleview.

During the manicure she spoke to her co-worker sitting next to her who was doing a petticure on a very rude japanese lady in her mid 30s. She commented to her friend on how i had really nice hands. I seem to get that comment a lot. really, to me theyre awkward, skinny and my fingers are too long. but i guess i dont know a good hand when i see one. evidentally its my best feature. perhaps tonight i should use them in my next pick-up attempt.

”hey ladies, check THESE out. theyre GORGEOUS! Next to creating adam and eve, hey are the best job that god has ever done. Thats right…. I am the perfect hand job”.

Smooth.

No, stupid.

really stupid.

Well, lunch is over now and I’m getting tired blah blah blahdslfkjdslk