“And Now I Can Cross Off Dance with a Ladyboy and a Prostitute at the Same Time Off My Bucket List”

Bright and early we headed over to the Stray office to book a bus tour through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia.  Sick of organizing shit for myself after 2 months of traveling I figured booking  a “tour” would be a good way to take the weight off my shoulders and meet some new people.  After setting everything up, I parted ways with Mark and Cely because I was too hot to be bothered with putting on pants to see temples and I wanted to wander aimlessly around Bangkok by myself – figuring even if I got lost the worst that could happen is I would get ripped off for a $5 motorcycle ride back to the hostel.  Or I would end up on some side alley and get sold into slavery.  Fortunately the worst thing that happened was that I ended up seeing temples despite trying to avoid them.  I know, my life is rough.

Nobody love The King more than Thailand

Nobody love The King more than Thailand

BKK 061BKK 065

When I got back to the hostel after several hours of walking, I sat down with my much needed bottle of water and ended up making friends with Swedish, Malaysian, English and Swiss guys who were all planning on going out for the night.  Not capable of staying away from alcohol 2 nights in a row, I asked if I could tag along.

Being backpackers (I’m a flashpacker damnit!) the first line of duty was pregaming at the hostel, because $3 for a beer is absolutely obscene.  We grabbed some drinks from one of the fifty 711’s surrounding our hostel and proceeded to imbibe.  Trying to get the most bang for my buck, I picked a random “beer” that was cheaper than all the others and had almost double the alcohol content.  It ended up being Siamsato, a wine-like cocktail that tasted like a worse version of Arbor Mist but got the job done.  Having started off our night cheaply, the group of us plus two Thai girls that worked at the hostel headed over to play some pool.

One of the girls that worked at the hostel was absolutely destroying everyone in pool.  While I was scratching left and right, she was having no problem getting her balls into the holes,and was a master of distracting the guys who were trying desperately not to get beaten by a girl.  At one point as one of the guys was lining up his pole as she straddled the corner of the pool table and started humping it and taunting him.

I’m ladyboy and I still beat you!

I’m sorry, come again?  I looked at the English guy next to me to check if he had heard the same thing I did.  His wide eyed look said it all.

Anecdotal Education Session:  To me as a westerner, the word ladyboy is synonymous with something between cross dresser, tranny and prostitute.  All relatively negative in the western context.  In Thai culture the technical term for such people is “kathoey” which is sometimes recognized as its own gender outside of the realm of male or female.  A gender identity issue or sexual preference, but not a profession.  And generally more accepted in Thai culture than being gay is in American culture.  Thank you google.

So in keeping with the western views, when I hear someone’s a ladyboy I expect them to be an overly made up chick, dude -whatever, in stripper heels and a tight dress with lots of rhinestones and a pushup bra.  Such was not the case.  Well lookey here, I learned something new today.

After a few more games of pool we decided to call it a night and headed back to the hostel – where another crazy Swedish person had set up his laptop and speakers and set out a bottle of whiskey in an attempt to keep the party going.  Attempt successful, bottle of whiskey completed.  Of course, now being drunk, staying in the hostel for the rest of the night since it was only 1am seemed to be a bit unreasonable.  Cue the two Thai “girls” knowing a club we could go to AND being able to get us into cabs for the local rate.

Once we got to the club and entered through the womb like vestibule, the club was packed with quite the diverse group of people.  There were locals, expats, travelers, whites, Asians, blacks, old, young – I kind of feel like Cheech describing the plethora of pussy at the Titty Twister in From Dusk till Dawn.  The Swedish guy who had provided the alcohol almost immediately disappeared so the rest of picked a corner with a table and claimed it for our own.

Already fairly inebriated from the pregame, while some of our group danced in the corner, others found it necessary to steal the limelight and dance on the stage in the center of the club.  Guess what!  It WASN’T me for a change!  The guys (including the ladyboy – if that needs to be clarified separately, I’m honestly not sure) took the stage and started dancing with some of the slutty girls who were dropping low and doing the booty dance.  Indifferently the guys were also grinding a bit with our ladyboy at the same time. And probably some slutty girls they didn’t realize were also ladyboys.  Thailand is fun.

In the mean time I opted for the bar which is obviously where I feel most at home.  As soon as I walked up to order a vodka tonic a white guy approached me and greeted me in tentative English.  Not sure whether he legitimately didn’t speak English or if he just though I was a prostitute I immediately started talking as much as possible to assert that I was American.  Amurrrica!

As it turns out, he didn’t think I was a prostitute – just a random sluttily dressed girl at a club that he could hit on.   On the other hand he was German, and all Germans are sex tourists so … yeah.  Either way I really don’t like dancing with people at clubs regardless of who they are.  It really shouldn’t be called dancing anyway when a guy tries to dance close to a girl.  It should be called let me see how much I can rub my dick on your butt until you get aggravated with me poking you in the back or accidental penetration occurs.

Anywho, I returned to the safety of our corner where I could watch the Man U vs Man City football soccer game that was on all the televisions.  The guys had returned from the stage and I went up to make conversation and ask how the dancing had gone.  To which the response was something to the effect of “Great, until the girls started discussing the rates for us to take them home.”  Tsk tsk boys, you still can’t tell the difference between a slut and a paid professional SMH.

BKK 107

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