Thailand. Sun. Sand.
Beaches. Cheap drinks. Yes, these are
just many of the things that come to mind (at least the non-perverse mind) when
you think of this fine Southeast Asian nation.
Since our hotel was just around the corner from one these beaches the
people speak of, Colleen and I decided to start the day off with a nice suntan
and some solid sand lounging cause we heard that is what people do on
vacation. Unfortunately we are not
normal people. In theory it was a nice
relaxing idea, but within half an hour, we were both bored and Colleen started
harassing me to go back to the hotel.
Shortly thereafter we ended up at a beachside bar imbibing in some
lunchtime wobbly pops. For Colleen this
was enough of a beach excursion, while I decided to try and tough it out back
on the beach with my e-reader and a copy of "Argo". This didn't last long before the Heaven's
started pissing on me and I was thus forced to admit I was not cut out for the
beach towel lifestyle.
Later in the day, Colleen managed to convince me that we had
to go for a couples massage (I know what you are thinking guys, and yes I am so
owned). With the memory of my recently
painful Thai massage still fresh in my mind from a few days ago, I opted this
time to try out every porn star's favorite massage, the full body oil
massage. Unlike the outdoor massage bazaar
where I received my last massage, this one was indoors and climate controlled. One thing I did not count on was that I
probably should have worn boxers as I was just wearing my bathing suit with
nothing underneath. Before we began, the
dominatrix masseuse kept insisting that I take off my shorts (she was
assuming I wore underwear like a normal person in public) and I kept trying to
explain to her that I didn't need her or her coworkers seeing my Don Johnson. Eventually through sign
language and some "Hooked On Phonics" I was able to communicate the
fact that I would be electing to get a rub down in my trunks. I must say I rather enjoyed the oil massage and
I was starting to turn the corner on this sub culture of massages.
With our freshly rubbed down and lubed up bodies, Colleen
and I decided to make the rounds of what we called the "street bars"
that evening. The basic premise of the
street bars (no idea what they call them) is that they are little booths set up
in random spots along the streets that sell cocktails for approximately $2
Canadian. We would drink at one booth
and then move on to another. These are a
great way to get your drink on for cheap, and also forced us out of our hotel
room and interact with other human
beings. After tiring of the
I'm-not-sure-if-it's-legal street liquor, we attempted to check out a few of
the local bars in the Lamai Beach area.
It didn't long for us to conclude that they were mostly all girly bars
full of old white men and young Thai women girls that I'm sure were all
looking to find true soul mates.
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| Double fisting. Like a boss. |
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| Colleen sourcing out some street hooch. |
Since Colleen doesn't share my love for Asian women and is
against inviting strangers back to the hotel, we decided that our safer bet to
end off the night would be a double whammy of McDonald's and Subway followed by
one last call at our local street booze peddler. Good night!
~Brentski~
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| Streets of Lamai. |
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| Girly bars = pure class. |
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