i just want to conquer people and their souls

When I say Mekong, you say "quagmire". Mekong! Yes kids, I finally made it happen. I, Veronica Montebellucci managed to travel to my spiritual home, a place of rash decisions and destruction: the Mighty Mekong! * This is how I left it... For those new to my weblog, I spent this summer on a "working holiday" (as my mother so hopefully put it) in Thailand, but along the way went rogue many a time. One such instance was when my wife (as the youth of today call their close female friends) and I decided, on the spur of the moment, to go to Laos. We both thought that it would be fun to go rogue in the roguiest place of all. And so, after packing up our bindles and taking our dust baths we left the delights of Northern Siam, including our elephant friends: and my jeans (prompting me to finally figure out the title of my future autobiography: I Left My Jeans in Chiang Mai - The Veronica Montebellucci Story. Don't judge, everyone should decide on one. Manimal...

Q: What has two legs, a rat's tail and a shopping bag full of Chang stubbies? A: The man of my dreams! Just kidding, folks. Unfortunately some other lucky lady scooped him up. But, this perfectly describes the summer clientele of my next Travel Tips locale: Patong Beach, Thailand. This golden dream is located on the island of Phuket, a veritable beacon to the world's classiest folks. Patong has none of that Euro-trash you find stinking up the Italian and French Rivieras with their luxury yachts and designer fashions. No, no! Patong shuns these folks and bids them adieu with one dismissive wave of its acrylic-nailed paw.  No spray tan, no cornrows - no entry, my friend. Based on the promise of such high standards, my wife and I donned our best counterfeit Heineken tank tops and waded in to the fray. Would we be accepted? Would our sunglasses burns be large, and ghastly pale, enough? Could we drink an entire bucket of Thai moonshine and earn our keep amongst the th...

My wife has shouted me out on her fabulous blog which has the bonus of being both blessedly gunt and ranga-free, and much better written. For those of you who live in a cabin in the woods, one's "wife" or "wifey" is, in the parlance of today's youth, simply one's close female friend. Clearly, I have a husband (the venerable Manimal ) for home. Anyhoo, my wife makes life bearable for me on the regular, and for that I salute her. In her own post , my wife likened our relationship to that of Mickey Dolenz and Mike Nesmith of The Monkees fame. I could get on board with this, if my mother had not harbored a wicked Davy Jones crush which effectively rendered me unable to look at them without an involuntary shudder. I, being far more predictable and low-brow, (wow, that's probably the first time The Monkeys have been considered high-brow) will offer my own virtual sketch of our bond. This picture represents us quite well. Always getting up to misc...