Wednesday. Getting ready to move to Indonesia. How fun is that to say?

Yesterday I got all the boring admin stuff out of the way. Booked my flight, applied for my visa, contacted the yoga school, and watched a documentary on the Dutch colonial history of Indonesia. Wow, what a mess.

I applied for the 60-day tourism visa so I can do my yoga school and have time to explore. I could have gotten the 30-day and extended but I just went for the 60-day just in case. One of the better pieces of advice I’ve seen in the digital nomad forums is to max out your visas wherever possible instead of constantly moving around without a plan.

Today I am dealing with more boring stuff. Laundry and packing and all of that. Slowly checking off all the things on my to do list, one day at a time.

Definitely feeling ready to move on. I need a vibe shift. A vibe shift that can only be achieved by doing yoga in the middle of the rainforest. I checked this place out on Google maps and it’s definitely not in the touristy area of Bali. It’s all Rainforest for miles and miles. This is a life dream.

I guess this trip has officially turned into My Bucket List Trip. Work in Hong Kong? Check. Ride a tuk tuk through Bangkok? Check. Shag a British guy? Check! yoga retreat in Bali? Check!

What else can we accomplish while we are here?

Still in a very good mood, as you can tell. I should write him a little note. “To my Shenzhen Guy — You can escape with me to Hong Kong whenever you want.”

😁😁😁😁😁

This was actually a very informative conversation for me as far as pillow talk goes. Here’s the problem: all the money is in China, but it sucks to live there. The popular choice for many is to live in Shenzhen and escape to Hong Kong on the weekends. This is what he did for quite awhile until coming to Thailand. It’s always good to converse with people who have real lived experience in the world, unlike myself, who mostly remains naive to the harsh realities of the world. Life under the CCP is one of them.

Oh Hong Kong, I just can’t quit you. I can’t get those HKD’s off my mind. Plus the public transportation system really was top notch. I especially appreciate it after living in a world with no sidewalks that was built on top of a canal.

I will figure it out after my YTTC. The school year is different over here so the job listings are starting to get better. There was basically nothing in July. Now the new postings are popping up by the day. Same with the yoga job board I follow. The season will start soon so the listings will pick up again.

I’m trying to be positive after falling flat on my face. I still have so many regrets about Hong Kong. Not about that company. What a shitshow. I just feel like… it’s a challenge that I failed to meet and now I want to go back and meet it head-on now that I’m actually prepared for it.

I don’t know. I just need some kind of career win. I need to get a job and keep it for one whole year and then I will feel good about myself again. I don’t care what it is. I just want to make that my main goal for now. Manifest the job. Keep the job. Work towards different and better opportunities in the future.

This is my “Rebuild Betsey’s Self-Esteem Project.” I came all across the world just to get dumped in Dubai by my Indian boyfriend, quit my terrible job in Hong Kong, and find myself totally adrift in Thailand. Let’s recover this by going to a yoga retreat in Bali and banging a bunch of random hot guys I meet at the expat bar.

Sounds about right, yeah.

I definitely felt like the Brit was a little too judgy about that, to be honest. His “body count” was literally four times what mine was, yet he was judging me for randomly bringing him home from a bar after talking to him for like, what, an hour? That’s not even fair. How can these men have these weird double standards? Like, “Yeah, sure, I’ll shag ya, but I’m gonna judge you for doing it.” What is that?

Whatever. I don’t care what he thinks. I’ll probably never see him again. It is what it is! And what it is is Ye Olde Madonna-Whore Complex hard at work inside that British brain of his. Sluts like me aren’t fit to run the family estate, you know what I’m saying? We’ve all seen Bridgerton. My reputation is officially in tatters. I am off the marriage market for good. It is what it is.

Bah, we still had a good time anyway. Technically speaking, I’m still having fun right now. I could make these jokes all day long. I’m more than happy to have a little colonizer in me. I feel like I’m standing on a mountain top holding a flag, claiming this whole landmass for god and country and queen. This is the inspiration I was looking for all along.

Veni, Vidi, Vici!

I did have one major complaint about him, which is that he turned our pillow talk to politics. Specifically Trump. Talk about a boner killer. Ugh! First this man destroys my country, now he’s destroying my bedroom. I can’t even.

Somehow, I managed to channel all of my rage into making the beast with two backs, but in that moment, all I really wanted to do was smack him across the face and tell him to shut the fuck up. I feel like you need to have a conversation and ask for consent prior to taking this sort of action, so I did not do that, but I definitely wanted to be like, “Stop killing the mood. I am horny AF. I really, really, really need this after literal years of celibacy punctuated by the occasional disappointment. The last thing I want to hear about right now as a horny American woman trying to get laid is Donald fucking Trump. So. Just. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”

Oh, I hate him. Now more than ever. He just sews chaos everywhere. Even in my bedroom. Ugh. Hate it! Men, don’t talk about this crap in bed. It will make women want to choke you out, and not in a hot, sexy way. Okay? Yeah. I’m not a violent person by nature, so personally, I’m not into this. I’d rather not be bringing elements of Muay Thai into the bedroom, but that’s just me. Leave that shit in the gym where it belongs.

Alright, well, anyway, all of that aside, I hear Bali is full of hot Aussie surfer bros, so, let’s see if we can bag ourselves one of them. What else is there? Of course, I already knocked French off my list a LONG time ago (oviously during my study abroad in university). He was half French, half Lebanese, if I do recall correctly. It was somewhere in the Middle East. Best of both worlds right there. You get the dips AND the cheese. No pork, all wine. A little slice of baguette on the side. You know what I’m saying? Yeahhh. 😉 😉 😉

Let’s just slut it up. Be the Passport Bro I’ve always wanted to be. As the great poet Ludacris once said,

I bang cock in Bangkok,

Can’t stop, I turn and hit the same spot, think not

I’m the Thrilla in Manila, schlong in Hong Kong

Pimp ‘em like Bishop, Magic, Don Juan

Hahahahaha! I love it.

So on that note, time to go be celibate for yet another month at the yoga shala. Why? What is the point? Save up all that energy for the next sexy surf bro that comes my way? Better not forget to check for crabs before we roll around on that stretch of beach. You never know what’s hiding in the sand, lololololol.

I have exactly zero fucks left to give in this life. I think I’m funny. I think I could turn this into stand-up and parlay that into a Netflix special. I study people who do that shit all the time. It can be done. It will be done. Let’s just make my life absurd enough to turn into a TV show. Why not?

I’d watch it. And I would laugh. That’s what counts. If I believe my delusion long enough, eventually it will manifest. Maybe? Or maybe I’m just crazy. Who knows?

Ugh, time to go back to the regular world and do all my boring chores and errands now. Lame. Lame AF. Take me back to the Hotel California. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave…