I got the death cold here in Saigon. Sniffles, body sores, whole shebang. After two days of laying in bed and being pretty upset I couldn’t go job hunting, our friend Nguyet (this girl ends up in a lot of our stories, she never ceases to amaze me) who’s English can be hard to understand at times, tells me “(something, something), sick, (something something), back, oil, (something something), it’ll make you better”. Cool right? Nguyet is totally going to come upstairs and give me a sweet ass massage? WRONG. Check out her Vietnamese “cure” for a bad cold. It involves some weird Tiger Balm smelling oil, and a key gouging out the top layers of skin on my back.

FYI, its the day after this lovely incident and I’m still sick as all hell, but hey, the red gashes on my back have turned into more of a lovely shade of a light magenta after 24 hours. It was totally and utterly, not worth the pain. Although I can now say I royally got my ass kicked by a Vietnamese chick that probably weighs 80lbs.

Oh, and I also have good news, but you’re going to have to wait for that one. I like to add some suspense to the equation. Duh, duh, duh.