I am the Jane Goodall of young, immature Cambodian men. I've been at the same guesthouse for four days and I've finally been accepted by the pack of my foreign peers. Last night, the twenty-something manager of the guesthouse, Wab (pronounced "Vob"", which I have been mistakenly anglosizing into "Bob"), invited me over to the large bamboo hut where he and about a dozen of his friends sat in a circle drinking cheap beer.

Instantly, they tried to find common ground. A Chinese guy named "Chuck" (again, this has to be me butchering some fine Chinese name) began comparing me to wrestler "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. He made dramatic arm movements, waving his hands, pointing to my shaven head and then he wrapped his body around the hammock behind him as if he had just been thrown against the ring's ropes. Everybody thought he was hilarious.

Wab warned everyone to be quiet and encouraged me to "drink more to be happy". I advised him not to egg on a loud and obnoxious American if he really wanted everyone to calm down. He said, "They all need to chill (I had taught him this essential West Coast vocab word earlier in the day); you be loud and happy."

Soon an elderly Cambodian matriarch walked over to our meeting area. Wab calmly stepped down from the raised hut and began speaking with her in a polite diplomatic tone. He finished speaking with the woman and returned to his seat and refilled his mug with beer. He lifted his glass high into the middle of the circle and all his friends joined in with cheers. I followed their lead with my can of beer making "chink, chink" noises every time my aluminum can collided with their glasses. If the matriarch had told Wab to settle things down, he surely wasn't intending to do that.

The chatter grew louder and louder. Wab turned to me and said, "They want me to arm wrestle you." Dear Lord, I'm back in high school.

I said okay and we went to a dining room table in the adjacent restaurant. Everyone followed excitedly.

Wab's arms are twice the size of mine. I tried to swing his arm with all the strength I had, but I couldn't budge him. After a few seconds more of struggle, he swung my wrist down to the table without breaking a sweat.

This scene repeated three more times until I publicly declared him stronger than I (yes, Wab, you are the alpha male). Wab then told me to use both of my arms. This time I defeated him, four times in a row. He looked shocked and saddened. He told me nobody else could even beat even using two arms.

Did I just earn a spot as number two in the pack? A couple of other Cambodian men wanted a piece of me now -- they wanted my prized number two championship belt.

I beat them one after another. There was no contest. Compared to my gigantic pythons, their arms were like over-cooked rice noodles.

After everyone was sore and shaking their arms, they returned to the hut. I excused myself and stated I had some kind of date back in town, which was a lie. They all gave me a wide smile and waved goodbye. As I was leaving, Wab made a half-hearted promise to teach me how to play snooker in the next few days.