Wednesday afternoon. Finally left the house to get some errands done. Stopped by my favourite little American dive bar on the way back to see if anyone interesting is here.

There is no one here. Instead the song playing on the radio was called “Don’t Pull Out.” It felt like a weird little in-joke from the universe. Hilarious, truly. So glad we immediately followed it up with Mario’s classic “Let Me Love You.”

Hilarious, indeed.

Well, Mad Dog has probably won the bet from the other day, as he always does. Really, Andrew should know better than to take bets against him, but he never learns. IDK. I’m intentionally not thinking about it on purpose. I think I sent him that message so that I could kill the feelings in myself. It doesn’t really matter what he does. I mean, he hasn’t even blocked me on Instagram yet and it’s been three days. What is that? Why hasn’t he blocked me? I specifically asked him to block me! It’s like he didn’t even read the novel I sent him asking him to block me so I can’t write him another one. Whatever, who cares? I can’t do the blocking because then I will just unblock and creep the next time I get wasted and sad.

All of this is dumb. Almost as dumb as whatever the fuck Frank Ocean is trying to do with this Hotel California sample. This song is awful, wow. Way to butcher a classic, Frank. I haven’t listened to Frank Ocean before, so this is a new experience for me. I’m sure he’s very good otherwise, but, again, whatever he’s trying to do by singing these dumb lyrics about marriage over Hotel California is not working. It’s just not working, especially in a bar. When I hear Hotel California in a bar while I’m consuming alcohol, I need to get realllllllll deep in my feels, not be annoyed because the lyrics are wrong. What is this shit? Ugh.

I guess I could go talk to this lonely old white man sitting in the corner over here without a PYTG (Pretty Young Thai Girl) keeping him company. I bet he’s got a story if he’s nursing a beer alone in Bangkok while staring out the window listlessly. I’m sure he’ll make his way over here if he feels the need to unload his life story on a young woman so he himself can feel young again, or whatever.

I guess I could always hop the metro downtown and check out whatever event I put in my calendar from that other American-owned place I went to last week. I just feel like the situation there might be weird considering the bartender was American, so I ended up talking to him for way too long. Of course, it took him until my third drink to mention he had a Thai girlfriend (because of course he does). Then she came in with her friends and they all started staring me down while I was talking, so then I just wanted to leave and never come back because I didn’t want them to think I was interested in him.

I honestly don’t know why she would even feel threatened by a white girl in the first place. Like, honey, no. These men don’t come all the way to Thailand because they want to fuck white American women. They want to fuck Thai women and other women from SEA and maybe even some of the “ladyboys” too. I am not your competition. Like, at all.

Why don’t any of these women seem to understand what a “Passport Bro” is and why they have such terrible reputations in the West? Too dickmatized by that white male colonizer energy, I guess. Personally, it’s not for me, so I don’t get it.

Too much trouble. More trouble than it’s worth. Not into it.

I don’t care for the social scene here. So many Passport Bros. It’s literally just all Passport Bros and their girlfriends of varying Asian ethnicity. Which is fine, really. It’s just like… I don’t fit into this dynamic and there’s no one else here I’m really vibing with, so…

Also, you can’t just go to a bar in Bangkok. Most of them have sex workers sitting at the bar who flirt with men all night so the bar can sell more drinks. You can’t just walk in anywhere and get a drink, especially as a woman. That’s why I’ve chosen this location very strategically.

There are many things I like about Bangkok, but I just can’t imagine myself living here long-term. Who would I even talk to? How would I make friends? Nothing about this place really feels like it’s “for me,” so it’s rapidly loosing its charm.

Man, I just love the visual of this old white guy staring out the window while drinking his beer and listening to Taylor Swift alone. His expression really glassed over when Love Story started playing on the radio. He must be missing someone back home, lol.

I love watching random people and making up stories about them. Literally my favourite activity ever. It’s even better when they catch me staring and decide to dump their life story directly into my lap like they meant to serve it on a silver platter but it’s such a mess they spilled it all over me instead. I will eat that shit up any day, any time.

I’m just sitting here watching the street like… wow… so many raided up beefcakes wandering the streets of Bangkok. Yep, that’s right, please tell me more about how physically superior men are to women. That’s why you need to stab yourselves with needles and eat raw liver to get that look, right? Jeez, no wonder these guys are all so pissed off all the time. They’re on a steady diet of steroids and raw meat and misogynistic podcasts. That’s not healthy. No wonder they can’t get laid. They destroyed their dicks with steroids! Lol!

Well, the last white guy standing just left. I’m the only person in this bar right now. Hilarious. It’s okay. I’ll just do what I always do, which is pretend Andrew and Mad Dog are here, lol. I used to pretend Andrew was the bartender, but he’s been getting mad about that lately. He says he doesn’t want to be the bartender anymore. Awww, it’s okay, Andrew. *pulls up stool* You can sit next to me and be my Muse instead. <3 I’ll even sing you the Ho’oponopono Song. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you.”

Yeah, don’t you just love that? All this writing, all these characters, all these stories, and the two characters that survive the cosmic wreck that is BetseyHorton.com are Mad Dog and Andrew. I can just hear the screaming and ranting and complaining and raging from everyone in the audience now. Ugh, thank GOD I finally got away from that stupid little town and I can finally write in peace. I got sick of people harassing me all the time because they can’t take accountability for their own fucked up behavior. So crazy. Good riddance to that dumb 1880 Town trash. Fuck you, but not the horse you rode in on, because horses are cool AF.

Anyway, I’m very comfortable and happy with myself right now. Mostly because there’s no one here to scream at me, harass me, insult me, or troll me. I’m just here existing in peace, as myself, without anyone complaining about it. So that’s very nice. I do appreciate the fact that I can have a moment of peace with myself here in Bangkok.

I like myself. I’m pretty cool. A little dumb and not always the best at making choices, but still pretty cool. At least I can like me and be friends with myself. That’s a vast improvement over wanting to throw myself off the top of a building because everyone around me is always screaming at me and telling me I’m the worst. There is no one here who can make me feel like I want to die right now. What a beautiful, amazing moment to live in.

And the moment is gone. Another Passport Bro and his Asian companion just came in. No more peace for me. Back to people watching. Let’s see what unfolds with this dynamic…

Meh. They’re boring. I’m going to doomscrolling Reddit till I finish this drink and then go home. I’m so bored. I can’t believe I came to the other side of the planet thinking I was going to have a job and a social life and excitement just to end up alone at a bar writing about Andrew and Mad Dog again. Oh well. C’est la vie.

I’m okay with it. It’s time for everyone else to be okay with it too.

The End.