Technically I’m not traveling at the moment, so here I find myself having a lack of ideas for posts. This has caused me to rack my brain for prior stories that I’ve never told.
One of them that stood out was the time I was stalked in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Why haven’t I told you about it? I don’t know. Don’t be so nosey! Maybe I buried the story deep down because I didn’t want to remember it…
I was feeling a bit lonely in Asia, although surrounded by new people, friends and acquaintances, I wasn’t really connecting with anyone. So, as per usual. After touring around all day I hit up the bar with some of my hommies.
I had numerous $1 tequila shots (given to me by an Asian man wearing a sombrero and poncho, who I insisted on speaking to in Spanglish). He couldn’t walk by without me (I’m sure in an annoyingly drunk voice) asking for a round of shots. In fact, half way through the night he ran out of tequila. You’re welcome, Mr.Poncho-Man.
You getting the picture? I was pretty toasty 😉
After I played ‘wing man’ and hooked my buddies up with a group of girls, I wandered to find some new friends to talk to. Then I met this gorgeous, big man (I mean MAN) from Nigeria. I’ve never made out with a guy from Nigeria before, I thought to myself as we chatted all night on the bar balcony.
Soooooooo I let him walk me back to my hostel and kissed him good night. It was mediocre to be honest.
I would estimate that I got home at 4am that night, maybe later. The next day I was in a sleep coma when I heard a knock at my door. In the state I was in, the building would have had to be on fire to get me out of bed (and that’s no guarantee).
The knocking continued. And continued some more. Then it stopped.
But no, not so fast, Hogga. The knocking resumed (maybe they needed a break because of their sore hand from all that knocking).
The knocking continued for at least 10-15 minutes (fer serious friends, I am NOT over exaggerating).
At this point I didn’t care who was on the other side of that door. I did NOT like them anymore. Whoever it was. If it was my grandma I would disown her, if it was my sweet sweet love, Damien from The Vampire Diaries. I wouldn’t jump his bones, I would politely tell him to suck one.
I finally jumped out of bed and swung the door open.
It was my Nigerian lover. “Oh you’re finally up,” he says.
As my eye twitched and my fist curled as I told him, not so politely to leave, as I wanted to sleep and don’t enjoy being woken up.
My anger did not phase him at all, he just kept on talking and when I tried to close the door on him, he actually put his hand in the way. The hostel staff heard the commotion and came to my rescue, asking him to leave.
I tried to go back to bed, but couldn’t. So as soon as I was showered and packed up, I changed hostels.
I was over the annoying morning, ate some gross food, drank some water and hung out with my BFF (my computer). While sitting in the common area, overlooking the water and blogging (most likely facebooking) I felt a hand on my shoulder.*chills*
He had found me. He was persistent, but I made it quite clear I did not want to see him, EVER. And after 15 minutes of telling him how much I wanted him to leave, he finally listened.
The next day I left for Siem Reap and after being there for one day… I got an email.
How are you? Would you like to do something today?
I miss you”
AHHHH!!! Stupid stupid stupid! Did I drunkenly give him my email address?
I had to get harsh in my replies and he still didn’t seem to understand. This did NOT stop him, he would just keep emailing me a few times a day (with no response from me) as if nothing happened.
After responding once more that I did not want to talk to him, nor keep in contact, I think he finally got the point (or it might have been that I marked his email address as spam, hehe).
Just remember friends, be careful who you kiss abroad! And here are some amusing stalker images for you.