Patong?

Pa-where-the-fuck-am-I-and-where-is fucking-Joey is more like it.


But lets start at the beginning, shall we? No. Let's start right goddamn here, because here is NOT on the side of a road surrounded by ladyboys (finally), here is NOT a tuk-tuk ride where I am taller than the tuk-tuk, and here is definitely NOT the loneliness of my AC oasis of a room in Phuket City.


Here is my new friend Joey's abode, and although I had my first real misadventure (Blog: validated) getting here, I am happy happy happy.


Okay for the first time too drunk too finish. Joey got me home safely, minus all the Ladyboys he exposed me to. Menace to society. Obv.


JOEY SERXNER, PUBLIC ENEMY #1.

catch y'all on the flipside

A Few Words On Phuket Upon Arrival

Humid. Lush. Beautiful.

Mission: Bangkok

Mission: Accomplished.

I've arrived in Bang-to-the-kok safely! It's 2:18 AM local time, and, after 30 hours of travel, my Brokedown Palace/Locked Up Abroad-esque fears were calmed as my (obviously) drug and WMD-free bags passed through customs seamlessly. The nice gentleman who checked my passport even took my picture from his seat at his desk! He must think I am some sort of Western movie star!

...along with every other person in line ahead of me [insert sound of deflating ego here].

Oh well. Movie star or not, everyone I've encountered between the airport and the airport hotel (distance: one minute) has been very nice, and speak excellent broken English, which I appreciate more than words can describe. No, actually, words can describe: I appreciate the nice, broken-English speaking people like I appreciate eating copious amounts of green tea ice cream while squeezing my kitty while petting my (or any) fluffy dog while watching this, simultaneously:

Which, if you know me, means I appreciate them A LOT.

So thank you, Bangkok, for greeting me with bright lights, flattering customs agents, and lovely people.

That's all for now folks, see you in Phuket!

A Haiku In Honor of the Tokyo Narita Airport

thank you, great tokyo

for the speaking of english

to me on your signs

Chicago O'Hare: A magical land of moving rainbow walkways and Kathy Lee Gifford

Yes, you heard right, sports fans: Kathy Lee Gifford. You probably don't remember her, and honestly, neither did I, until she joined the rather un-motley mix of business men, more business men, and me, in the international lounge in United's international terminal at O'Hare. I noticed the men's heads turning before I noticed this creature burst into the room, the woman who I now remember (after a little help from Google) used to sit in the chair next to Regis before she was booted and replaced by America's beloved Kelly.

So in walks this Z-list, ginger, semi-attractive, middle-aged former morning talk show co-host. Big deal. I turn my eyes back to my laptop and allow my thoughts to return t0 what I wanted to share with y'all during my first hours of my journey, and my last on American soil for a while. Maybe the NEAR DEATH (slightly bumpy) landing that I am so proud of myself for staying relatively calm during? Eh. The wimpy plane issue is a little played out, and this is only Blog #2. How about the lovely moving walkway that whisked me from Terminal C to Terminal B upon my arrival in the Windy City? It's psychedelic lights relaxed me while hidden speakers gently sang me a little ditty that can only be described as Japanese Hello Kitty Muzak, but this is something I feel that only my lovely boyfriend would enjoy reading about, and this blog is for everyone (all three of you!).

So Back to the lounge. I'm sitting here, eating my bagel, which is, naturally, smeared with an unusually large portion of cream cheese (I prefer about a 1:1 ratio of bread to cheese), when I strike gold:

Kathy Lee Gifford has re-emerged, and 'someone' has changed the lounge television channel from CNN to some morning talk show, of which she is apparently now a host.

Disclaimer: I. Shit. You. Not.

I, along with the other shocked lounge dwellers, could obviously not help but notice, as she began to loudly recount the taping of the show earlier this morning (are morning shows not live??), and then began bitching about her guest: Chelsea Handler.

Okay, now here is the thing. I'm not going to claim to be the Number One Handler fan in the world, but I will not deny that while channel surfing over the past couple years she has made me laugh out loud on more than one occasion. I mean, come on, she unashamedly calls her little person sidekick, Chewy, a "nugget", and he unashamedly takes it. I like her.

So anyway, back to Gifford. Now she's eating an apple and eyeing my cream cheese slathered bagel with something mixed with rage and jealousy.

Sorry, Gifford, you may have some gig on a morning show and a hell of a lot more dough than I do, but money can't buy you a 23-year-old metabolism. Suck it.

And then, she was gone.

But she's still blaring at me from the TV (none of us left in the lounge have made the move to change the channel), now rambling like a drone about discount cruises. I'm finishing this post, finishing my bagel, and escaping back to The Real World: Non-Lounge Chicago O'Hare Airport.

Catch y'all on the flipside,

Karissa

Fly-Aholics Anonymous

Travel Blog Rule #1: You should be traveling to post to a travel blog.

Well, shit... there goes Number One, right out the window and into my cigarette butt-laden front yard (not mine, Mom, I swear...). This is excellent! I'm going to be a GREAT travel blogger! Because I am definitely not in a state of travel right now. Sitting on my bed in the state of having a minor breakdown because of traveling? Yes. But I'm not on the road - er, in the sky - quite yet. Here's the deal: I am embarking on a 5 week English teaching adventure in Thailand tonight, which leads me to the explanation of the aforementioned minor breakdown (at least, I am telling myself it is minor). Some of you, due to my borderline-obsession and passion for travel of all kinds, may be unaware of this (rather embarrassing) fact:

I, Karissa Hochberg, am a fly-aholic.

(Hi, Karissa)

That's right. BUT WAIT -- let me explain the term 'fly-aholic' to you, because upon first seeing it one might be led into thinking, Oh, that's great! She loves to fly! She's addicted to flying!

No.

With a capital NO.

Addicted to travel? Absolutely. Addicted to being 30,000 feet in the air on a trans-Pacific flight that could send me, at any moment, crashing to my fiery and/or watery death? Hell no. Snakes, bugs, rabid polar bears? A-okay. I just really suck at flying, and every second I'm onboard the Doom Pod, I'm praying to Whomever that the pilot fucking doesn't.

So that's my dysfunction. And I guess, for those of you who want to get technical with the language of it, (you know who you are, ahem, starts with "D" and rhymes with 'rad') I'm really an "Aviophobe". I suffer from aviophobia, and it only recently developed in the last two or three years, completely out of the blue. But "fly-aholic" makes me sound like WAY less of a wuss, so I'm sticking to it.

Alright, all this talk of flying is taking the breakdown from minor to medium status, so I'm going to sign off for now... Expect a much sunnier (literally) post in the next couple days, when I reach Phuket, which I have heard through the blogosphere grapevine is the land of Seaweed-flavored Pringles, some of the world's most beautiful beaches, and Ladyboys... more on that, I'm sure, later.

Peace, love, and positive vibrations, my friends :)

Karissa