Day 17 / January 10, 2011

Today was my last acupuncture treatment and it occurred this morning at 9:00 am. I told the doctor that I couldn’t tell if the treatments were doing anything positive at all. She understood, and said that my nerves could be to far damage to respond to acupuncture.  Today was her last shot for credibility and Dr. Rungrat knew that. She got aggressive with the needles and really went after it. I almost jumped out of my skin when the first penetration punctured my buttocks. The following six needles didn’t get any less painful and she turned up the volume on the electric current. A monk offering last rites would not have been surprising to see pop up at my bedside. As usual the first fifteen minutes were agony. I’m in pain lying on my side and I can’t adjust my body to see if another position would be any better. The two nurses standing next to me stopped giggling. Thirty minutes later I scraped myself off the table, my eyeballs felt swollen and boiled and my hip and lower back did not want to budge. Dr. Rungrat suggested I rest today, no Pilates. If I think these treatments are helping me, I should come back tomorrow and schedule appointments for Wednesday, Friday and Monday. If not, she was sorry, and said she did everything she could, I might need an operation after all. There was only one word that ran through my brain, Yuck.

            The Power House Gym was on the way out of town so I stopped by and cancelled my Pilates appointment. Then I kept heading northwest out of town. It was an overcast day with scattered intermittent showers. I thought it would be a good day to find the Pong Deud Hot Springs and soak my body, relax, and reflect on my physical condition. According to the map the hot springs was about ninety kilometers outside of Chiang Mai with a couple of lakes, the town of Mae Malai, and the Mae Ta Man elephant ranch spaced nicely as distractions along on the way.

Meanwhile, my social life may be perking up. I secretly knew a shinny blue set of wheels and the Beach Boys signing away in my imagination would do the trick. A women named YO contacted me via the DateinAsia dating site. I mention only her because out of the dozen daily emails I get she was the only one that I considered meeting. Mostly, I’m bombarded by a tsunami of Pilipino women that jam the airways selecting me as the warm soul they will extract from loneliness if I would release them from the bonds off poverty. The Beach Boy’s gave way to Bobby -- It ain’t me babe, it ain’t me you’re looking for.

            YO seemed like a nice safe distraction. YO is a thirty-two year old graduate student form the University of Chiang Mai with a Masters degree in Agriculture. There was not one sexy thing about her photograph. She was more of the brainy nerdy type, with a figure like the Liberty bell. She had broad shoulders a narrow waist and big hips, like so many northern Thai women, the product of a thousand years of genes working in the rice fields. But something sounded interesting about her and attracted me. Emily Deatherage would be especially proud. After my last breakup with Lydia, her advice was I should date fat women. This is as close as you’re going to get Emily. Besides, this could be a chance of a lifetime, I couldn’t imagine going another day without an in depth discussion of, The art and science of seed perching in Chiang Mai County beginning in the early 1900’s.           

In addition to YO, I had a very nice mature women offer to take me to dinner this Friday. I’d tell you her name but I don’t know it. She works across the street from the hotel in a small shop with a sign that reads, Thai Message School. It’s also where I drop off my laundry and got a haircut last week. My future date is a bit of a clown with fine bronze skin, and the physical presence of a seasoned athlete. I noticed her finely shaped buttocks on more than one occasion. She started a teasing game when she saw me getting on my Honda for the first time and offered to change her business to a driving school, because I needed one. Since I arrived at Chiang Mai she has stood me up on two message appointments and lost my laundry once. I must have really left an impression. Last night she apologized profusely in front of another employee about forgetting my message again. I gave her a hard time, and hit her with the ultimate, below the female belt, blow. I suggested that maybe she was getting old and losing her mind. She immediately offered another girl, a better masseuse, she admitted, if I would wait ten minutes. No way, I responded – just find my Fruit of the Looms and I’ll be on my way. This was all communicated with smiles, broken English and laughter.

            It must have been the sarcastic remarks that won her heart, because she said she was leaving for Bangkok to visit her daughter until Friday but wanted to make it up to me. How about a home cooked dinner next Friday? I reluctantly confirmed, indicating one condition --- I only like Thai food – what were you planning to make?

* * *

As long as there are mountains and jungles there is hope, I thought to myself as my little Honda headed northwest through the drizzling rain. The drive out of town was on a congested divided highway, two lanes in each direction with a side shoulder for bicycles and motorbikes. The exhaust fumes were deadly and my eyes began inching, my throat stung with a poisonous venom. My left turn onto route 1095 at Mai Malai was the reprieve I was looking for – it turned into a narrow paved road with a high center crown and no striping. There wasn’t any traffic to speak of and the narrow asphalt road twisted into the heart of the jungle like the ferns and vines at the base of the adjacent trees. Everything here seemed to grow and flourish easily with nothing being cut or grazed. The high chirping squawks of the birds sang in a broken harmony of freedom. Water was abundant in streams and gullies. This is exactly what I was looking for -- scooting to a place I’ve never been with all my possessions on my back and feeling free. My gloomy mood lifted and I no longer gave my back problems a second thought. I felt a lightness of spirit, I felt stronger – and once again like Slaughter House 5, I regressed back in time to my youth. When I was younger I’d be doing this on my bike with fifty pounds of panniers and a map thirty days old stained from beer and coffee. But alas, this Honda isn’t bad.

            I broke for lunch at a small nameless restaurant on the side of the road. I’m amazed at the quality of the food and the inexpensive prices. I had my standard fare of wide noodles, associated vegetables, pork, curry and soybean, along with an orange soda that I seem to gravitate too in third world countries, for a total price of 50 baht.

            I never made it to the hot springs; I kept getting distracted at little footpaths that popped out of the jungle wall. I would stop and follow for one hundred meters or so into the jungle and find a spot to sit and think. Just for the adventure of it. It reminded me of a place and a time so long ago – when I would walk along a footpath so narrow your elbows would brush against the ferns and old boughs, where mankind had yet to exist. Within fifteen minutes the sun came out with a powerful blaze – brighter than anything I ever remembered and with it came a profound reassuring lift of my spirit.

Day 16 / January 9, 2001

I wasn’t sure I was making the right choice when I crossed the street and rented a new Honda Elite motor scooter. Then something magical happened. The moment I straddled the seat and began to drive off, an old Beach Boy classic from the distant past started echoing in my brain. First gear -- its alright, second gear – lean right, third gear -- hang on tight … faster …

            I suppose it’s true, I have no idea how old I am. My mind flashes back and forth in time like Kurt Vonnagut’s, Slaughterhouse Five. Two hours ago I was feeling nineteen, riding a motor scooter complete with a magical Beach Boy’s soundtrack and now I’m sixty-two plugging away at my Apple keyboard trying to put the experience in context. Back to the narrative – I had to find a bookstore to buy a map so I’d have some idea of where I’d be scooting too. I remembered walking passed a small used bookstore called Gecko Books on Wednesday, it was somewhere in the inner city. Why not try and find it, I thought? What a perfectly dumb way to learn how to ride a scooter, head right for the worse traffic in the heart of the city, mix with the locals, smile at the pretty girls on motorbikes waiting for the light to change at intersections, try not to make an utter fool of yourself, and as Nike says, just do it.

            I finally figured out this town and learned the local traffic regulations at the same time. Drive on the wrong side of the street. A double yellow line indicates the best places to make U-turns. Traffic Lights exist to slow down other people, and the flashing red lights at busy corners – I have no idea what they’re for because everyone seems to ignore them.

            The inner city is surrounded by a moat or cannel as the locals call it. It’s in the shape of a square and has a one-way street that runs along each side. Hundreds of years ago the moat was dug directly in front of a high brick wall used to defend the city from attacking mongrels. The only remains of the wall are located at the four corners. The moat remains intact without the alligators or what ever else they had swimming in it at the time. A dozen or so stone gates with arches bisect the moat and connect the inner city to the outside world. How do I know this? I rode around it five times trying to figure out how to escape before I realized I was going in square circles.

            Overnight I’ve been transformed from the accidental tourist to a world traveler. Paul Theroux once said, “A tourist knows where they’re going; a traveler only knows where they’ve been”. Deep in thought and lost in mind I find the road I’m looking for and begin my climb upward -- toward the lingering clouds hovering at the top like a wet blanket ready to destroy this beautiful day. I scoot pass the University of Chiang Mai, the hospital and the city zoo. Engraving them to memory for the university and the zoo might make for an interesting side trip. The road narrows and traffic dissolves to only a few Sorng-taa-ou’s that appear to be transporting monks to the Wat Lok Molee at the top of the mountain. This is a famous tourist attraction because it is one of the very few forest wats that exist. The Wat Lok Molee is an old temple dating back to the 1300’s. The sixth Lanna King of the Mengrai Dynasty invited a group of ten monks from Burma to practice and teach Buddhism in his kingdom. He built this wat for them. I wish I had friends like that.

About four kilometers later I take a side road on impulse after noticing a sign that reads Mon Thaa Than Falls. This entire climb reminds me of Flagstaff Mountain as I pass mountain bikers in colorful riding apparel. The temperature drops considerably and I realize I should have brought along some warmer clothes. On the dirt road in front of me the early morning haze begins to lift like translucent skeletons returning to their graves -- I continue to climb.

It didn’t take long, about five seconds after mounting this scooter that I realized I should have done this a week ago. I feel alive, living in the moment; this is no hallucination, my body and mind are finally in harmony. This is no different than riding a bicycle except I don’t have to pedal.

            I’m gathering my thoughts and writing this post in my bathing suit while enjoying my poolside curry. My adventure is over for the day. I stopped on the way back and paid a second visit to the rental shop, negotiating a weekly rate of 150 baht a day. I plan to keep the scooter until I leave on the twentieth. Serendipity, how I love a word that dances, I knew there was a reason I brought my cycling helmet, sunglasses and riding gloves on this trip.

Over the next week my boundaries will expand to the neighboring countryside and beyond. The elephant is not only loose but also running amok with a frivolous determination of a giggling teenager on the last day of school. Now, where did I put Anna’s telephone number?   

Day 15 / January 7, 2011

Type 3 – Instant Love, The Girlfriend Experience, or 01 800 BABE

Continued from Day 13 / January 6, 2011

Anywhere in the modern world the yellow pages are filled with escort services offering any sexual fantasy you can think of – and many more neither you or I had any idea existed. There is probably nowhere that has a more available selection of professional working girls than Las Vegas. Just walk down the aisles of table games and slot machines at Bellagio or Wynn on an early Saturday morning around 2:00 am. See for yourself, it’s downtown Babylon on steroids.   

Prostitution in the Far East is much different. Much of this has to do with the fact that it is not illegal – that is not to say it is legal, but exists somewhere in the cosmic gray realm between the two. It also exists in a primarily Buddhist country, Buddhists for the most part are non-judgmental, so there is no degrading of status or negative Karma attached to either the prostitute or the client. An important factor to consider is the deeply inbreeded sense of loyalty that oriental women seem to acquire at birth. I’m not saying they are necessarily loyal to their mate or to any man in general, but they are loyal to the oral business agreement. An arrangement confirmed between two consenting adults is like a contract in blood. Saving face is the most important social custom in the Far East, and breaking a business deal for any reason will cause one to lose face.

I was lucky enough to experience a very positive relationship with a Chinese whore while on R & R from Vietnam in 1967. Maybe it is from this experience that I have a level of respect and a different view of the workingwoman in this hemisphere. They are not crack addicts or outcasts of society but intelligent, beautiful, bi-lingual, young enterprising women of refined taste. That was my memory from days of old, and enticed me with enough stimuli to become a willing voyeur and amateur travel writer ready to explore the violet shades of pulsating neon one last time.

Many things have changed over the years and remember that Chiang Mai was never the sexual recreation center that existed in Hong Kong or Bangkok. Today, the red light district is isolated to a few squatty bars along Th Ratwithi that maintain purple twinkling lights and bar girls. The bar girls are way past the girl age, and they wear nametags with snappy abbreviations like Tip, Happy, Lov, VO, and Wanna. They work for the bar and though they will chat up a storm with anyone willing to buy them a drink they won’t leave the bar. At least I didn’t think so. I was so turned off by this plastic post Vietnam 1960’s atmosphere that I didn’t last but ten minutes. A Tuk-Tuk driver brought me to the last remaining waterhole still standing in Chiang Mai that offered, live in the flesh prostitutes. Rumor has it will be torn down soon; the current name is the Spotlight Bar. Women here can be purchased for company or sex or about anything else you can imagine for 1,500 baht. That buys a long time, somewhere between four and eight hours. If they are working, the Spotlight seconds, as a go-go bar and a bar fine must be paid of 600 baht. Once again, either I have changed or Thailand has, because if the girls standing outside were any example of what could be found inside, there was no need to do anything but drive by. This icon from the past should go the route of the bulldozer and the sooner the better. It will no doubt be replaced with a Starbucks or the latest trendy little Hawaiian-style hamburger joint smartly decorated with pretty waitresses all wearing short vinyl mini-skirts.

Ali says the difference between here and the states is that the bar girls or pros have learned that the white male does not want sex at all – what they really seek is love. So for the right price, bargaining is considered an art form in Thailand, any one of these ladies will offer eight loving hours of the girlfriend experience that includes everything from falling in love on the one night stand to a convincing break-up because you said something wrong the next day. Something you had no idea you ever said or suggested. Fear not young traveler-- she may have a sister near by and your luck could take a turn for the better – on another night.

Day 14 [continued] / January 6, 2011 / Smiling Wary, Acupuncture, & Moxibustion

Thais have a particular difficultly in pronouncing L’s and R’s together. My name at the clinic has become smiling Wary. Doctor Rungrat has given this new nickname to me, for I am the man that hides his pain and smiles to everyone. I smile because I am truly happy. The sun shines endlessly, the people laugh in abundance and everything about Chiang Mai is healthy. Unlike Costa Rica where eco-travel is marketed to entice American tourists, in Thailand the food is organic and prepared with love, [the topic of food will be saved for an individual blog in the near future], and the protection of the environment comes as natural as removing one’s shoes before entering a house. It is second nature to the inhabitants and any discussion concerning it would simply be redundant. People who smile and laugh will never wage war – they simply have no time for it. It is those that take themselves too seriously that we must be watchful; a civilization that is serious believes the world revolves around their ideology.

            I lay on my side in pain with needles, wires, and current running through my body and eventually drift off to a light sleep. I awake to something new the smell of my burning flesh? There is no pain just this unusual odor, one that I have never experienced before. It’s an herb of some sort, not unpleasant, but not inviting either. I later find out that my treatment today includes moxibustion.¹

                  The clinic is slow today and Dr. Rungrat takes extra time with me. I explain that after the second treatment yesterday I felt better, but only for a short time. It was like an excellent massage, you feel good for a couple of hours and then the sore muscles knot back into the same cramping tightness they were in before the message. In my case the acupuncture relieved thirty percent of the pain but within a couple of hours I was in worse pain that before the treatment began. She explained that this was not atypical. In many cases patients will feel worse directly after a treatment with no relief at all.

            She continued with an explanation of how acupuncture works. It is a long term healing process. The nerve is damaged and thereby sending miss signals to the muscles causing cramps, and notes of pain to the brain. The nerves are pathways not unlike a vein or artery and portions of these pathways have collapsed or deteriorated causing the signals to become distorted. The needles and electric simulation will bring additional oxygen to the nerves and the tissue around the nerves so they may heal. In western medicine doctors believe that once a nerve is destroyed it will never repair itself, eastern medicine begs to differ.

At the moment I can’t tell if my sciatica is killing me because of a pinched or damaged nerve or because of the needles that were just removed. In spite of it all, I’ll write away, poolside, eating lunch and tell myself, I’ll be here for another two weeks my mind is as open as the blackland prairies of central Texas. Why not, I say to myself, enjoy the home made wide egg noodles stir fried with carrots, Chinese spinach, mushrooms, chicken and curry. Drink the natural fruit shakes and keep smiling -- Wary.

                 

1.            Practitioners use moxa to warm regions and acupuncture points with the intention of stimulating circulation through the points and inducing a smoother flow of blood and qi. Medical historians believe that moxibustion pre-dated acupuncture, and needling came to supplement moxa after the 2nd century BC. Different schools of acupuncture use moxa in varying degrees. For example, a 5-elements acupuncturist will use moxa directly on the skin, whilst a TCM-style practitioner will use rolls of moxa and hold them over the point treated. It can also be burnt atop a fine slice of ginger root to prevent scarring. Practitioners consider moxibustion to be especially effective in the treatment of chronic problems, "deficient conditions" (weakness), and gerontology. Bian Que (fl. circa 500 BC), one of the most famous semi-legendary doctors of Chinese antiquity and the first specialist in moxibustion, discussed the benefits of moxa over acupuncture in his classic work. He asserted that moxa could add new energy to the body and could treat both excess and deficient conditions. On the other hand, he advised against the use of acupuncture in an already deficient (weak) patient, on the grounds that needle manipulation would leak too much energy.

Day 14 / January 6, 2011

Continued from January 5, 2011

Type 2 -- The accelerated method – meeting in cyber-space:

This is nothing new, in the old days this method of introduction would be an arranged marriage or the family paying for the services of a matchmaker. In any case the desired effect is to eliminate the riff raft, the games, and all the people not seeking a serious permanent relationship. Oh -- even typing the word permanent gives me the willies. My mind pictures all those endless attempts of trying to wash off India ink from my hands after a day of drafting. I would then go out with black smudges on my fingertips – no wonder it was only artists that would date me.

This is the preferred method of my shrink and according to him most of the world these days. It removes the -- if factor. You sign up, complete a profile about yourself, and begin the search for the perfect girl. Sounds as easy as making a pot of spaghetti, doesn’t it? It would be except that people lie, specifically women. I’m not saying that men don’t lie, but I don’t lie – so the problem for me using this method is that it only works if both people lie or if neither person lies. I think in was Helena Rubinstein that instigated this faulty flaunting of the opposite sex.  The Helena’s cosmetic commercials were my earliest memory of the before and after looks of the average beauty queen. Birds are born with colorful feathers, usually the males, but no, women have to purchase these neat applied colors that get more appealing as the night wears on to confuse the male species. The what you see isn’t exactly what you get.

I’ve tried cyber mating in Vegas and joined a nationally recognized dating site, not some sleaze site looking to meet porno queens on their day off. Not me, I was hoping to find movie stars and waitresses on their way home. I actually met six different women for coffee before I pulled the plug and decided this wasn’t for me. The definite turning point was the drama queen with anorexia and six scars that ran from the sides of her eyes to her temples displaying the number of face lifts she had over the years. They wore like the rings on a tree that define age. She had four cups of coffee during an interview that lasted fifteen minutes, and couldn’t keep her hands still for a second. It was one of the only times in my life I was embarrassed to be seen in public.

            Ali is quick to say Chiang Mai is not like Las Vegas. If a women states on her profile that she likes art gallery openings and light conversation over coffee she probably means it. They don’t know what they’re supposed to say that’s cool so they tend to say what they mean. My ears perked up a bit, women that tell the truth? Ali continues; that is not to say you’re not going to get a certain number of women that hustle Caucasians for a living. Meaning they’ll approach each encounter with the intentions of a monk then collect boyfriends like precious saving bonds and try to extract interest payments from each one,  long distance. And, of course the few pros that surf the dating sites for extra disposable income.

            It appears both of the English and the Canadian councilors have met their current squeezes via DateinAsia.com, a free and legit dating site for anyone that has serious enough balls to roll the dice. I’m game, after all what do I have to lose as Ali says. Probably more than I want to admit, I think to myself. My problem, as I have discovered, is in my head. I have no idea now old I am. I think any female from thirty-to-eighty is fair game. In case you are wondering, I didn’t hit on the twelve-year old nurse at the acupuncture clinic – and she was seventeen by the way, and her telephone number is . . . I could never last through her giggles, but they were refreshing. I haven’t heard anyone giggle in a long time.

            I see my shrink again today at 3:30. I’ll ask what he thinks about my age denial or maybe it’s just a loss of memory. I forgot all those birthdays between forty and sixty. If I’m not looking in the mirror – now for example – if I close my eyes and picture my own face I appear to be about fifty. I certainly can’t picture the additional ten pounds I harbor nor the added lines of life that have been appearing in greater numbers, like Chinese fans expanding from each eye reaching for my temples. Try it yourself. Close your eyes and picture how you look, then compare that thought to a recent photograph. See I’m not totally crazy; I’m just as nuts as all my friends.


To be continued . . .

1/6/11 / Larry Rubenstein

January 5, 2011

I felt a hot burning sensation in my right buttocks and electrical shocks pulsating through my anklebones at two second intervals -- exactly. Giggling at me was a young girl in a blue uniform that looked no older than twelve. I thought I was in a dream.

            The only down side to this trip, and it has been ugly, was my back problems. I have been walking more than usual out of necessity. I’ve also kept a daily workout routine of Pilates and cycling in an attempt to keep some excess pounds off as well keeping in shape to a minimal degree. All of which seems to adversely affect my back by inflaming the lumbar 4/5 area. Yesterday afternoon I had my first appointment at the Mungkala Medicine Clinic.

            I scheduled two back-to-back appointments, a consultation at 3:30 and the first acupuncture treatment at 4:00. The clinic itself turned out to be a house in a nice residential setting and only two blocks from my hotel. It could be an easy walk if the treatments worked. Once again, I was greatly impressed by the cleanliness and efficiency of health care in Chiang Mai. The new patient form was one small sheet of paper asking for name, address, telephone number, date of birth and the reason I was there – nothing else. Consultation fee was 200 baht and another 500 baht for the first treatment. A total of $ 25.00, U.S. currency.

            Dr. Rungrat was a knowledgeable Thai physician that had studied medicine extensively in China for over twenty years. She knew exactly what my problem was – lower back and sciatica nerve pain down the leg. This condition appears to be more and more common with every doctor I see. I was assured I would get relief in some form and she suggested four treatments. They were booked in daily succession beginning with today and ending on Monday morning.

            For the first time in my life I was very open-minded with the concept of acupuncture. First of all, I was left with no other alternatives – it’s this or the scalpel. I was escorted to exam room number four; there were eight rooms total. The Doctor showed up within five minutes. I removed my shorts and lied on my side on a hard bed facing white- laced curtains and a lovely view to a garden in the side yard. She inserted seven needles in my body, two at the spine, two in the buttocks, one behind the knee, and two at the ankle. The ankle and buttock needles were right on, I could tell the minute they were inserted. They were in the exact stops the pain originated. There was no discomfort; I could barely fell the needles at all. Then she attached small alligator clips with wires connecting to a machine that looked very similar to a typical EKG heart-monitoring device. A heat lamp was placed within inches of my buttocks.

            Power up. I could feel it now. Electrical current pulsated through every nerve that my pain was felt and the heat lamp intensified to a burning sensation. I remained like this with a young nurse, I swore looked twelve years old, standing by me to insure I didn’t move for twenty minutes. After about ten minutes the needles began to itch and not moving was as difficult as meditation. The young nurse, Anna, would touch my body near where a needle vibrated slightly from my movement and scold me with smiles and giggles. How could anyone possibly feel annoyed in this situation?

            The first treatment ended and I walked back to my hotel, I was slightly better by about 10%. That isn’t much, but if I can improve 10% with each visit that will be a significant reduction in pain from noninvasive care and enough to make this trip really worth while.

            This morning I head to my Pilates class then back again to the clinic in the afternoon with a likely message between. I was going to say I may never come home, but the truth is I might already be home.

January 5, 2011

My shrink says my problem isn’t alcohol, its women. Ali, to be forever branded ‘my shrink’, is also trying to tie together my Vietnam experience, specifically isolating my association with Angel, my use of the name Angel in all current writing, and my current fascination of Asian women in general. It’s then served back to me as a lukewarm bowl of Munedo. He has no idea what to do with me and is grasping for straws. In regard to my Asian fetish of late I told him he should ask my friend Gary for an explanation. He might tell you I’ve just run out of dating every available woman in the U.S. -- it was bound to happen after all these years.

My shrink says that my drinking escalates and becomes a serious issue after a relationship break-up. Hello? Isn’t that a bit like saying you’re more likely to bleed after falling and scraping your knee than from walking? How about the notion that I use to drink when I was depressed, which was all the time, and after a relationship breakdown I got even more depressed.

Now that life is rosy, and my prayers have been answered -- I have work for another eighteen months. I can move forward in a more positive direction. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to say Vegas isn’t a healthy place for me to live. In that regard, I’m not very different from Alissa, completing rehab and going back to the same life style that got her there in the first place. I would have bogeyed eons ago if I could sell my house and walk away with enough pocket change to buy a tuna fish sandwich, but that doesn’t appear possible for the time being. The shrink and I do agree on a few things. One, that I should take more trips – get out of Vegas for long weekends. Try not to hang around town when I have no work to do, don’t let boredom sink its fangs into my soul leading me back to the casinos. Problem solved -- I’ll free load on my friends more often than I have in the past. What’s for dinner? The wagon that I’m trying not to fall off of is cranking along the super highway at a nice clip. I find myself standing at home plate protected best I can and waiting for life to throw the next curve ball.  

It was a very interesting therapy session, Ali really thinks I should get out there and bat away one more time in search of that perfect women. Of course, he would never use those words or actually suggest I do anything, only consider doing things. How shrink like. He grabs his big wooden spoon and stirs up the ugly fragments of my past relationships, sends them swirling around in my brain then with a smug smile announces that our therapy hour is over. I did get to hear his unabridged version of Sigmund Freud’s defense mechanism of repression and the notion that sexual desire is the primary motivational energy of human life. I also discovered that my repressed shrink has categorized the three most common methods of cornering a woman in today’s society: The slow, accelerated, and instant techniques of finding romance. Ali uses the word romance very loosely, or as he explained, it is more commonly called the “girlfriend experience” in Thailand.

Type 1 -- The slow or normal method of heterosexual relationships: This can best be described using my first wife as an example, or my second or third wife for that matter. In fact all the female goodies that eclipsed those affairs would fall into this category as well. I had without any preconceived knowledge perfected the scenario the chance encounter to a tee.

I met my first wife, Janis, in a women’s shoe store – I was selling the shoes of course, why else would I be in a women’s shoe store? I was a college student at the time and was lucky to find a job that paid a salary plus commission and fondling girl’s feet at the same time. Not a bad part-time gig. Janis and I were pure chemistry, like nitro glycerin there were no subtleties. I believe if we would have found five square feet of privacy in the stock room at Krump & Tuffly’s we would have been going at it within the first five minutes of meeting each other.

I met Kathleen, my second wife, at the veterinarian’s office. Now that I think of it, this was all your doing Mary. I had just become the proud owner of an eight-week old Akita puppy and I needed to have her checked out and given shots. Kathleen was the receptionist. The rest is history – not too different from World War I.

I met Lydia through my work. We were both married to other people but gravitated toward each other due to the default of our partners. In all three cases the time frame from the initial meeting to actually being serious spanned from a few weeks to years. Everything was left to chance; fate would cast its shadow across the paths we walked. Providence whether directly or indirectly linked to Karma or an utterly apathetic God determined all.

Statistically, if we assume there are five thousand potential partners out there and any one of them would be perfect for us, we would still have a problem. The likelihood of actually meeting any one of them is about the same as getting struck by lightning. If we were to increase those numbers to about one hundred thousand humans of the opposite sex and assume they are attracted to us but not perfect for us then our chances of meeting any one of them increases dramatically. My past associations indicate that the almost right for each other has a descending duration in time as far as relationships go. Like a slow cooked stew, the meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes should savor over time, allowing everyone to adjust. It also allows the games to begin – the chase – the action, romance, and sexual innuendos that our species seems to hold so dear.

It’s the odds that keep throwing me. A thousand years ago there were a few hundred million less people in the world and the life span of a human hovered at forty. A marriage didn’t have to last to long and still be considered perfect. How can a team have a perfect season if they keep on upping the number of games? My shrink is right, the slow or normal method of relationships hasn’t worked for me in the past and time is getting short – it’s best to speed up the action.

To be continued . . .