My dear, lovely, completely insane friend Veruca is visiting me, and it is pretty great. We've been doing lots of things that I would never do by myself, like eating gouda and drinking cheap chardonnay at the little wine-and-cheese shop near the hostel, and also some things I do all the time but which are more fun with a partner, like eating street fruit by the moat and throwing the peels at the cranky pigeons.
We celebrated Christmas Eve at a nice restaurant by the river, where we gorged ourselves on fried seaweed and cheese and ice cream. Then we searched out the least sketchy bar around and played pool, terribly, while old hairy nasty Western men canoodled with young Thai girls all around us. (I did say "least sketchy.") Strange visitors kept wandering up to the bar: hordes of creepy men, of course, but also marching bands playing off-key interpretations of Joy to the World, and once an elephant. Because, you know, it's Christmas, which in this Buddhist country apparently translates to "oh, what the hell."
This morning Veruca gave me a bunch of bootleg DVDs and we watched Korean soap operas in our pajamas, and now we're going to eat waffles and get our nails did and call our mommies and probably end up in another bar surrounded by dolled-up ladies in skin-tight sequined mini-dresses. Christmas!
Veruca has brought the joy of the season into my heart, and I am never going to let her leave. Perhaps I'll keep her under a cup in the bathroom.
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