Fuck this Khmer Rouge Hotel Room

My attempt to get the fuck out of Bangkok didn't go so well. My little good luck Thai angelhomo could only get me so far. I realized I needed singles for Cambodia. I think some people in Cambodia can't even break a single. "Too mosh! Too mosh!" All I had was twenties and fifties and I remember Jake Riddleton saying I would definitely need small change in Cambodia. So I went to a bank and asked them for singles. "Yes, hi. Umm...Can you break a twenty? Umm...Singles? Small ones? Small small? Ones? Hello?" This did not go well. She offered me many small Thai Baht bills. I wanted to yell NO! US Dollars. You know US. America? Where people try? Where people greet each other with smiles and a friendly "Hi, how may I assist you"?! Where there is a modicum of understanding that if you work hard you will be rewarded and by golly I think that just might be true! No singles? Okay. Thank you.

So I'm now in Phnom Penh. I wanted to be in Siem Reap with all those hot backpackers I invented, getting mistaken by the townspeople for Angelina Jolie. Angerira Jorie! Angerira! (Do they know to ask for autographs?...wait...do the Cambodian people even know who Angelina Jolie is??? I'm guessing subscription to US Weekly is not high on their Christmas lists. For shame...wait...do the Cambodian people even have Christmas lists?? Christ. There is too. much. difference! To take in right now anyway.) So I wanted to be in Siem Reap, enwrapped in my pink scarf, rolling joints with the mighty-thighed of Europe, laughing about how ugly they think the Thai women are and graciously accepting complements on my long, graceful limbs, but the whole singles debacle made me rethink this whole border-crossing adventure. It's a challenge even for the veteran world traveler and I'm just a pill-popping Chicago yuppie who thinks that US Weekly and Carmel Macchiatos and palm pilots should be air-dropped to the children of the third world. MAKE A TO DO LIST. REVIEW YOUR GOALS. IF YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN ACHIEVE. DON'T SIT AROUND WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO NEED A TUK TUK. CREATE A NICHE MARKET. THINK LIKE YOUR CUSOMER!! IF YOU WANT TO SELL ME MEATS ON A STICK YOU COOK ON THE STREET THAT SMELLS LIKE PUSSY HONE YOUR CONCEPT. MAYBE MAKE IT LIKE A COOKING SHOW. STAND. OUT. Asia needs a swift kick in the ass if they expect to make it in the 21st Century. I'm seeing a lot of waiting around and I haven't seen a single power tie the whole time I've been here. Nobody seems to be in a rush to get anywhere and let me tell you, there's a price to pay for that. It's like Kanye West says. Difficult takes a day. Impossible takes a week. Aim High. Fuckin' A...ANYWAY I decided that maybe racing to do this make it across the border before it closes thing might not be such a great idea. Apparently, Poipet is still a really dangerous border town and if you stay there as a naive, single American female who always has bad things happen to her, bad things will happen to you. So I get off the sexy Skyway system that was actually easy to understand, except that all the stops were like "Sissawithasunahunafanny Way" or "Thilla Met Lok Avenue" instead of "Grand & Milwaukee" or "Wilson." But that's okay. Asia will come around and understand that their words can't be so long if they expect to make it in this modern world...ANYWAYS I then hail a cab, if we can call these things that, they certainly aren't Caprice Classics...and throw all three of my bags in the back seat and tell the dude to take me to the airport. We had a nice little discussion.

"What your age?"
"28. Although on Friday I turn 29. It's my birthday...What is your age?"
"Thailand."

Well, sure. That went well enough. It was human contact. It was a dialogue. Information was exchanged. Probably not. At any rate, he got me to the airport. Which got me on a plane. Which got me to Cambodia. Which got me to a sex casino.

The folks at Jerome's sex casino hotel just put me in the creepiest room. There was the usual language confusion when I came up to the front desk. "Hi, yes, I am here for Jerome Byron (This is not my friend's real name. I am going to use fake names that sound like soap opera names unless the person actually wants to be mentioned in my blog. Like Tracy Tedesco. Or Jeremy Wells. But like Sike Ridenstein? Fake name.)

"Ehhh....Jerooohhhh....wha??"

"Yeah, uh. Jerome Byron. Jerome Byron. He runs the casino here."

"Ehh....Mr. Jerome?"

"YES. Mr. Jerome. That's the one. Mr. Jerome. Is he here?"

"Ehhhh....waahhh momannnnhhh."

He came back and said that Mr. Jerome was out for the night but would I like to go on the house account? Sure. Whatever. That sounds really suspect to me and I don't know what this HOUSE ACCOUNT is about but it sounds like maybe I don't have to pay for a hotel room that I shouldn't have to pay for because I came HERE to rescue Jerome's ass. It also sounds like maybe I am now a prostitute. Mr. Jerome's house account. Jesus Christ. At least now we're getting closer to this Jackie O trip I'm talkin' about. The guy gives my room key to the doorman (!) who takes my bags and walks me through many creepy hallways to my creepy room. You don't get this kind of service at the Sheraton, I will tell you that. He shows me how to operate the console by my bed. (see creepy picture of creepy Khmer Rouge console) These Asians are really big into their control centers. This room is real 1970s and broken in but basically clean. 25 USD a night I think the guy mentioned at the front desk. ("But Mr. Jerome's house account right? Mr. Jerome's house account.") But folks, there are some stains you can't wash away. Like murdering 2 million of your own people in the 1970s. I want the fuck out of this room. I want to be in Chicago. Or have one of my Chicago boys with me right now. Why didn't I just sponsor one funny male companion. It would have just been $1000. He could pay me back. I could have charged it to my credit card. Anything but be inside a room alone where UNDOUBTEDLY party talks went down. I can feel it. Look at that console. Look at it good. It has a story to tell. And I don't want to hear it. I need to get the fuck out of this room. Fucking Khmer Rouge. Why didn't they just take everything from the 1970s and put it in a pile and burn it?! That's what I did when Blake broke up with me. I just had to take everything that reminded me of that phase and destroy it. Move. Forward.

I need to leave this hotel room. But outside my door it's even worse. What am I gonna do? Go for a walk? In CAMBODIA??