Sunday afternoon. Currently sitting alone at the American Bar having a Bloody Mary and grilled cheese to recover from yesterday.

How did it go with the ex-military contractor guys? Oh, about how you’d expect. Something like napalm…

Our Bachelor of the Day is a loud, obnoxious American with a family origin story in Panama. Big beefcake. Huge. He invited me to hang out by the pool at their condo. I went. We were all hanging out and then the two of us went upstairs to get more drinks. There, he switched into what can only be described as “Brazilian mode.” I was like, “Are you actually seducing me in Brazilian Portuguese right now?”

And then… Bam! Pow! Napalm. That explosion went OFF. It all happened so fast. There was no warning or preparation. It was like one minute everything was normal, I was making a drink, and then the next thing I knew, there we were, making out on the kitchen table.

These things happen.

It was all so very sudden. I was completely taken off-guard. Meanwhile, this man came to the table with a plan man to build a canal. They said he couldn’t do it, but he did it. He went right in there and built that canal. He got down in the depths of the jungle and successfully navigated those treacherous waterways and built that big, beautiful canal. And look at it now. It’s one of the hottest topics in current events today. What else is there to say?

Needless to say, I’m very tired and overwhelmed. It’s like when you’ve been hungry for so long that you binge on a huge platter of food and you’re too full for more but they keep refilling your plate anyway. Now they’re trying to serve you the next course and you can’t possibly eat anymore and it’s just like… ughhhhh.

Of course he wants to hang out again today before he gets on a plane and leaves tomorrow. At first I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but by the end of our night together, I was about ready to pay him 10k baht to leave.

Now I finally understand the British Guy’s perspective. You’re not paying for sex, you’re paying them to leave after the meaningless sex is over and you just want to be alone with all your thoughts about the Roman Empire. I can understand this after having my fill of Mr. Studhorse over here.

Was he good in bed? Yes. Did he have the personality to match? No. No he did not. He was a mansplainer. He mansplained everything. He even mansplained how the shower head works to me during the shower sex portion of the montage. And I get it, he’s an engineer, it’s his job to explain things, but oh my god, please just shut the fuck up and get out.

Here’s 10k baht, courtesy of the British Guy. He says “Thank you for getting her to stop writing me ten thousand messages per day.”

Hail, Caesar!

Well, now the problem is that he wants to hang out again today and I do not want to hang out. I can’t possibly have any more sex. We did the whole montage! What more is there left to say that hasn’t already been said?

Obviously, he had plenty of ideas. I, however, am not interested in exploring those options with a stranger who is getting on a plane tomorrow, so I will have to politely decline said invitation.

Shoutout to the American Bar for sponsoring the International All-You-Can-Eat Banquet of Love here in Bangkok, Thailand. I have now pulled three different guys out of this bar. I went from a DC 5 to a South Dakota 0 to a Bangkok 10. Go me. Living my best life!

This is not the best Bloody Mary I’ve ever had, but it will suffice, for now. Also, the service during the daytime here is terrible. The night crew is where it’s at.

Hmm… I still prefer the Rare Pokemon. If you lined up all three of my Bangkok boyfriends together and asked me which one I would bang again, it would be the Rare Pokemon. He is the official winner of the Betsey Horton Love Island Special. Congratulations! Here’s a ticket for a free cruise.

Why? Because he had the best combo of personality and bedroom skills. British Guy was okay in bed, but definitely needed a bit of coaching to finally get there. Personality wise… well… not great, but his knowledge of the Classics is his main saving grace. And then, of course, there’s the accent, which somehow makes me forget about the dark secrets locked up in his attic. Mr. Studhorse has all the bedroom skills and none of the personality.

Team Mexico ftw. I am forever a loyal devotee to their cause. Hashtag Make America Mexico Again!

Ugh, he’s texting me again. Mr. Studhorse, that is. Wait a minute, is that mean? I don’t even know. Anyway, he’s texting me and I’m trying to figure out a way to explain to him very politely that I had a great time but he’s too much for me and I don’t want to see him again.

There is some drama happening here right now with some farang and the bartender. Not really sure what’s going on, but it’s making the service really shitty. Like, bro, leave her alone. She’s at work. She’s trying to make an honest living in scumbag central over here. Literally not ever Thai girl is a prostitute. Just stop. Pick your sloppy self up right now and walk your bitchass straight out this bar.

He’s gone now, thank god.

I told Mr. Studhorse I needed to nap after our fling and now he’s mansplaining the concept of rest to me.

I can’t, you guys. I just fucking can’t. Thank you for teaching me this very valuable life lesson. I am here to learn.

See? People keep saying I’m in the wrong place to find sex, but I’m doing pretty well, actually. Don’t get mad, get even. Learn from the Thai women. Offer something different. As we learned yesterday in Panama, if you build a canal, they will come.

I am so tired right now. So tired. The most hilarious part of this exchange was the fact that their condo had two bedrooms, one with a big bed and one with a twin bed. The friend would not give us the big bed, so we had to sleep in the twin bed.

I thought I could do it, but I woke up at exactly 2am and thought to myself, “This is ridiculous. This man is 45. I am a 36-year-old woman with back problems. We are not fucking sharing a dorm bed.”

So I made him get up and walk 10 minutes back to my loft so we could both comfortably sleep in my gigantic king bed. And he did it! It felt like taking a dog out for a walk on a leash. I don’t know how else to describe it to you.

Just had to get up and come to the back patio because there are two old white Baby Boomer men ranting about how the U.K. and U.S. have been destroyed by immigration. I can’t listen to it anymore. I didn’t leave the U.S. to listen to more of this bullshit. Ugh.

I didn’t say anything to them. I just politely excused myself to leave. They were like, “Ohhhh, someone’s not happy!”

Like, bro, chill, why are you trying to start beef in this bar right now? Keep your Fox News energy to yourself, please. I’m going to go listen to the radio blasting a steel drum reggae version of P.I.M.P. by 50 Cent. Yassss queen. So my jam.

Here I am in Ye Olde Land of Siam, wearing my rainbow dress, drinking a Bloody Mary, dancing to this chill reggae version of P.I.M.P., living my best life.

I’m about ready to go home. Not trying to hang out with the Baby Boomers when I can just go rest after my weekend escapade in Panama or Brazil or wherever the hell it was that guy came from. I’m tired. Worn out. Ready to go back to bed.

Thanks for helping me get wayyyyy laid, Bangkok. Hahaha.