Koh Chang

My last week in Thailand, Ollie and I took a trip to Koh Chang, a greatest island in the vicinity of Bangkok. We both forgot cameras, and passports, and fire ant protection. We pretty much didn't bring anything with us. So, in lieu of photographs, I drew these pictures on my plane ride back to Omaha.

We went to a waterfall. And a pretty blue and yellow butterfly kept fluttering and landing on my blue and yellow shirt. She thought I was a fellow flyer! We swam. Well, Ollie swam. I more floated and lingered. Then we got rained on. Then we got massages.

Our last night in town was sheesha-connect-four-beer-and-good-company night.

The moon came out only one night of our three nights on Koh Chang. So we looked at it. And a dog accompanied us all evening, chasing sand crabs and never catching a single one as far as I could tell.

We stayed in this little bamboo bungalow on the beach. It was perfect except for the fire ants that partook in my own consumption our last night on the island. I still have a scar from one of those buggers. Like my own little tattoo from a perfect holiday.

Talkin bout Thailand

Yeah, I know, I complained until the cows came home about living in Bangkok. So I'm sure you aren't expecting me to talk about all the things I miss and everything I've learned there.

Well, here I go, defying all your expectations!

I learned to fall in love as frequently and as recklessly as possible. If not with people then with food or sunsets or moonlight on the ocean or moments or dance parties or music.

I learned that if I am good enough at my job, get my work done and show up reasonably close to 9 a.m., then I am allowed to be as eccentric, quirky and different as I want. They can't say shit.

I learned that motorcycle taxis are the greatest way to travel. I also learned to always check and see if there is a bottle next to them while they wait for passengers.

I learned that staying up until sunrise is underrated.

I learned that no plans are the best plans. I took the overnight bus and then the overnight ferry to an island I wasn't crazy about. So I stayed for a few days and then took a 19-hour bus up North. Why book ahead or look ahead? It'll just ruin the surprise!

I learned to allow myself to be sad sometimes, although I'm still working on it. I allowed myself to be lonely. But I need to learn how to be sad and lonely without becoming so sad and lonely that I can't get out of bed. That's how I drive up electricity costs. Thankfully, there wasn't much to be sad about so this was a blue moon affair.

I learned I love ladyboys.

I also learned to give people the benefit of the doubt, otherwise I'd be miserable. But on the other hand, I tried not to let people take advantage, even if it means I had to walk home.

I learned all work meetings should be done over beers.

Lastly, I learned that every week at work was my last week at work. Ollie said that, and Saadia and I have been living by it ever since. If every week is my last week, then office politics don't matter, personalities and egos don't matter and I don't have to sweat the small stuff.

So yes, fine, I learned a lot. I'll miss street food, motorcycle taxis, massages, weekend island holidays, lat night Leos, BTSs, Blues Bar, Mali, Ollie, Saadia, Ben and Zhava.

But Omaha is still the best city on the planet.

Love you, Ollie!

I'm sitting in the Tokyo airport, halfway between my life in bangkok and my life back home. And it only seems fitting in this time to give the biggest thank you to the person who has meant the most to me over the past year and a half of my life. So here it is, a love letter, or rather, a letter full of love for someone who means more to me than I thought possible.

Ollie,

I'm not saying goodbye in this. Goodbye is for quitters. You and I aren't saying goodbye because sometime soon I'm going to find you at the baggage claim at some airport and give you a huge hug hello. More beers will be had between us. More existential all-night debates. More tuk tuks. More street food.

So instead of a goodbye, this is a thank you.

The past year and a half of this blog is filled with the great times we had together. And the spaces in between these blog posts are more great times that (probably for legal reasons) I didn't write about.

My time in Thailand would have been nothing without you. You are my best friend, the person I rant to at work, the person I rant to after work, over beers, about work; the person who I always want to see when I'm hung over or sick with dengue or depressed; the person who I want to party with and make jokes to that would make my mother blush. 

When I first met you at the airport and the few days after, I thought you were so fun and so smart and your accent just knocked me out! I can't believe all this time later that you think of me as such a good friend. I am blessed to know you and thrilled that you and I have done all of the damage we have. We survived Sonkran. We evaded sharks on Kho Phayam. We shared motorcycle taxis and saunas and hot springs, beers and breakfasts and sheeshas. 

And even if your memory doesn't work so well, just know that I remember it all. And you always have my blog to remind you!

You and me are still going to be you and me when I go. Ollie and Molly is just too catchy to be wasted. So wherever you are, I'll rob an old lady to afford a plane ticket. I'll wake you up waaaay too early in the morning when I don't remember the time difference between the two of us and I want to demand a Skype beer with you. I'll send you inappropriate ecards to your work account. Rest assured you're not done with me.

So it's all love. I never would have guessed that when I felt cheated out of going to Africa and being sent to Thailand (where the hell is Thailand?) that I would be the lucky one. If for nothing else over this past year and a half, I got to know you. And there is nothing more I could hope for out of a new experience.

We'll talk soon. Thanks for everything. Thanks for being you.

Love,
Molly

A love letter to a man way older and way unavailable

A few months back I decided to write letters to the people who have been inspirations on my life so far. You know, the ones who are still alive. One of those letters was to Maurice Sendak, who died this week. It saddens me that I never got to meet the man who made me so excited about words and creativity and storytelling. So, without ever getting to meet him, here is one last letter to an artist who means so much to me.

Maurice,

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for what you have given me and so many others through your art. I can't read "Where the Wild Things Are" without wanting to immediately sharpen my colored pencils and unclog my glitter glue pens and get to work.

Your sense of humor in writing and in real life is such an inspiration to me. I saw this quote from you online just recently about what Max from Where the Wild Things Are is doing as an adult, “Well, he’s in therapy forever. He has to wear a straitjacket when he’s with his therapist.” You are so perfect and honest and so witty at the same time.

But that's not my favorite line of yours. You always said, "I refuse to lie to children." You were part of the great crop of imagineers that treated children like they knew what was going on. You and Jim Henson and Frank Oz and so many others. On a recent episode of This American Life, Ira Glass read aloud from a children's book from the 1970's titled "Nobody's Family is Ever Going to Change." Why can no one write books like that for children anymore? And what are we going to do now that you've gone?

The last thing I want to thank you for saying is this, “I’m totally crazy, I know that. I don’t say that to be a smartass, but I know that that’s the very essence of what makes my work good. And I know my work is good. Not everybody likes it, that’s fine. I don’t do it for everybody. Or anybody. I do it because I can’t not do it.”

I love you, Maurice, for saying that. A friend told me awhile back that R. Crumb drew most of his comics for the sole benefit of his sister. And while most of what I draw is also for my sister's benefit, the real reason is I do these things because I can't not so them. I can't draw or photograph. I can't make music or write as well as I'd like. But I do it - make comics and drawings, write this blog - because I can't not do it. I can tell people what they truly mean to me much easier through a mix or a drawing, even if it's just 12 tracks of Salt n' Peppa or I drew something on the back of a Dunken Donuts bag.

So, thanks for the quote Maurice. You make me feel normal. Or at least, you make it normal not to be normal. And everyone else can go to hell.

Well, I'm off to glitter some McDonald's french fries containers, or maybe whiskey label. Not sure, but I'll keep you informed. Rest assured, it will wind up on this blog and I hope you see it. But I don't care if you like it or not. I'll keep doing it anyway, because I have to.

All the love in the world from your wild thing,

Molly

Dating particularities

The other night my friend Saadia (see post below) were talking about dating... I think. The conversation is a bit hazy. I remember her saying something about how she could never date someone who wasn't really really into literature or something to that effect.

I went back to my room and I think began writing a blog post, or at least what was to become a blog post had I not fallen asleep. I am thinking this was meant to be a list of things I could never see as attractive in another person.

So I woke up the next morning, turned on the computer and opened text edit to start some work. And a text edit window opened, blank except for one single line.

"I could never date someone who listens to James Taylor."

Ha! What else would you need for a solid list of dating requirements? The rest kind of fall into line after that. I f someone is an actual, true blue fan of JT, then you probably can deduce that they are boring, shallow and lost in the way wrong decade.

I believe, and I think the great Christopher Hitchens would agree, sometimes a bit of the drink helps one see much more clearly.

Today was a robot day

Frequent readers of this blog will know, some days I just need to draw a robot to make everything feel better. I am lucky in my life to have friends that sometimes just need a robot drawn for them to make them feel better. So it's a pretty good situation I find myself in.

This one is kind of cheating. It's the robot from one episode of the Twilight Zone. But he is offering Saadia hot chocolate, so he's not all bad.

birthdays and water fights

Soooo… that happened.

As you're probably aware, last week was my birthday. The big 2-4. Pizza was had. Dancing was done.

But that's not what we're here to talk about. I'm here to talk to you about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Just kidding.

I'm here to talk to you about Sonkran. The biggest party I've ever seen. And I've seen some parties. New Years Eve in New Orleans. Halloween in Austin, Texas. Obama's Inauguration. But nothing holds a candle - or a water pistol - to Sonkran.

Sonkran is the water festival to celebrate the Thai New Year. What was once a family celebration where young people washed their elders' hands in scented water has become an all out water war.

Saadia, Ollie and I spent four days locked and loaded with water guns running through a city where the better part of the 13 million-strong population are throwing buckets of ice water and flour on anyone walking by.

Obviously, if you're not in a dry taxi or inside, you're not safe. You'd be stupid to travel by motorcycle or on foot through this war zone. So, brilliantly, we took a tuk tuk, one of those motorcycle carts that leaves you vulnerable to the elements. And explaining the things we saw from this tuk tuk here won't do it justice. But just imagine thousands of soaking wet people crammed into a few streets in central Bangkok with fire engines blasting water hoses into the crowd. Imagine that plus crazy sound systems and you're getting the right idea.

Armed with a water gun in one hand, a beer in the other, clad in our best swimming outfits, we hit the streets ready for war. And we survived… barely. We survived Silom. We survived Khao San -twice. We survived RCA. I lost my shoes and Ollie lost his water gun, but we all made it home in more or less one piece.

So, team, the war is now over and I feel the need to say as commander of this unit (yeah, I just decided that), MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. And also, I'm never drinking again...

(Thanks, Zhava for taking all the pictures!)