Tuesday morning. At the coffee stand.
Chatting with the lady who lived up on the Peak in Hong Kong. Love her comforting housekeeper energy today. It’s like coming home to sit at the kitchen counter with her and she’s listening to me cry about my day while she makes a cup of tea.
She says, “Men are a waste of time. Don’t worry about them. Just live your life and have fun.”
She said she once had an English boyfriend too. She says Englishmen are the worst. They think they are above everyone else. Girl, yasss.
How am I feeling this morning? Uh, well, definitely in a state of What the Fuck levels of shock.
Let’s review the events from last night:
- Went to the bar, where the bartender ratted out the British Guy for being a lying, cheating scumbag who tells everyone he’s moving to an island with his Thai girlfriend, then goes home with an American woman who he basically used as a therapist.
- Got upset about the fact that I already knew this about him, yet I still let him come back to my apartment for some of the most disappointing, lackluster, milquetoast sex of my life. Boundaries, Betsey. You need to learn boundaries. If someone says blatantly racist shit directly to your face, don’t fuck them! It’s literally just that easy!
- Immediately turned my attention on some random guy at the bar who was basically just a bigger, better looking, richer version of the British Guy, but with an Irish accent. He was so hot. He really was. He was such a beefcake and he had dark curly hair and yeah, he was literally just a different version of the same thing. And he was a way better kisser too. His kissing game was quite strong, actually. I asked him if he learned in France and he just laughed at me.
- Brought this guy back to my apartment, where he spent several hours before revealing to me that he had a girlfriend. He waited until after his pants were already on the floor to tell me this, of course. Of course. What better time for the big reveal than the moment right before sex happens? Just go ahead and kill the vibe, bro. It’s fine. Your dick is too small for me anyway.
- The sex did not happen. Instead I had to sit there and listen to this piece of shit lecture me about what a slut I am while he packs up to go home to his girlfriend he conveniently did not mention until right now. Right, because I’m supposed to just sit at home like a nun, pining over the Indian Guy that left me back in Dubai and never date or fuck anyone else ever again. White Western men can come to Thailand and pay as many Thai girls or ladyboys as they want for sex, but if a white Western woman comes here and picks up Western men at a bar, she’s a big ol’ slutty slut and a gigantic whore. Bitch, PLEASE. Do not even try that shit with me! We are in Thailand right now! Grow the fuck up!
- He left via car service because he’s like, rich rich. How I don’t know. He did not tell me anything about himself. All I know about him is his first name, his Chinese zodiac (Rooster), his Weatern zodiac (I think he said Sagittarius, ugh), the fact that he’s Irish, and that he carries around a black card and uses a car service and sits very, very properly with crossed legs and his hands on the knees and a straight back. I also know that his feathers got very ruffled when I talked about my stories about Bloody Mary’s. He was on the Line of Death’s side, which automatically makes him shady and untrustworthy in my eyes. Taking the Line of Death’s side in Bloody Mary’s is always going to be a red flag to me. It screams, “I’m up to some shadyass shit with my money and I don’t want anyone to know!” He also didn’t like me asking questions about the IRA, which is fair, as they are technically a designated terrorist organization I should definitely not be messing with.
- I now have the worst feeling that this man may become a problem for me somewhere down the line, mostly because he was weirdly mysterious in a way that made me ask him, “Is this some kind of James Bond shit?” Because this definitely feels like it might be some James Bond shit.
So much small dick fuckboy energy happening in this city, so little time. I’m so over it. I thought I would like these UK guys, but it turns out I don’t. They are just one massive headache to me. Like, this is why the West is in decline, you guys. I’m so over it!
I’m ready to go back to Latin America and get railed into next Tuesday by these sexy Latin men. Shoutout to Mexico and Panama. Thanks for being significantly better than whatever the fuck this crazy Old World shit even is. See y’all at Taco Tuesday.
Team Americaaaaaa: Fuck Yeah!
White boys: turns out they’re not for me! That’s fine. They can stay here and pay Thai girls to suck their tiny little dicks and I will continue sampling from the international, all-you-can-eat buffet. Okay? Okay!
Everyone wins here.
They ask me why I’m so angry and why I hate men. Watch me document my journey to find love live on my blog and you can tell me at the end what your opinion is on that subject.
So all of that happened. Fun! So fun. What a great story, right? Yeah. I put myself through all this crazy shit just so a dozen people can read these posts. Hilarious.
What am I doing with my life?
I don’t know, but I do know I’m done banging dudes from England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, just that whole island in general. They’re nothing but a headache.
I feel so deceived. All my life I’ve been in love with Ewan McGregor, and then I finally get the chance to bang some guys from the UK and they’re got the smallest dicks and biggest fuckboy energy in the world. So deceived. I have been deceived.
Okay, well, at least we know that now. Who goes out on Mondays? People who need to learn some serious life lessons about men, the universe, and everything. Like me.
I desperately need a Bloody Mary right about now. Oh my god.
As we say in the White Lotus, “Wow, what was that?”