Wednesday. Noon. Just made it to the coffee stand. My morning was… weird. As is par for the course with Thailand, things only got weirder when I left my house.

So yesterday I had a little conversation where I received some news I did not particularly care for. As per usual, it came in the form of a screenshot. I received both this screenshot and my paperwork for my visa extension at the same time. Let’s just say the screenshot made me look at my paperwork and go, “Mehhhhhhh I’m suddenly not so sure about this. Maybe I should go somewhere else for a bit instead.”

I lay down to meditate for a bit and what to do. I saw an image of a beach and thought, “Yes, that’s it, I’ll go to the beach. Break up this ridiculous routine and try something completely new.”

I decided on a location and started doing my research. By 9:30am, a decision had officially been made. I did another round of yoga, meditated again, and took a little nap.

Then I walked over here and sat down with my Hong Kong Housekeeper. She said, “The school down the street is hiring. You should apply there. Then you can stay here.”

Yes, I can stay here, in my neighborhood I’ve grown very fond of, and go to my neighborhood coffee stand whose growth I support, and chill with my Thai aunties who spend their mornings setting me straight when it comes to all these ridiculous Western men running around out there breaking hearts and taking names.

Or I can go to a new country where I will be completely alone and start over fresh and take a break from writing stories about men and bars and get back in touch with yoga and start taking myself seriously like the professional I am.

I do take myself seriously. It’s just that no one else takes me seriously. It’s fine. It’s par for the course. Look at Kamala Harris and Hillary Clinton. Hell, look at any successful, powerful woman. No one takes them seriously, until they do. It’s just part of being a woman in this world. We all go through it.

Here’s a bit of Thai Auntie wisdom: trying to date in Thailand sucks. The best you can hope for is that the ugly old potato you wake up with in the morning will help you pay for the upkeep on your water buffalo farm.

Tru dat, fam. Tru dat.

I could post the screenshot, or I could just quote it to you. It goes:

Person 1: That Betsy* bitch is a security risk to everyone at [the American Bar]. You’re lucky you left when you did.

Person 2: What did Betsey* do now?

Person 1: Too chatty. Too writerly. No doubt will blog or write the worst things about whoever at the bar in the worst light. I don’t trust her to just drink and not be a cunt about it.

Naturally, I could already guess who it was. The time stamps on the message merely confirmed my suspicions. People cannot hide their vibes. I’ve been picking up on some seriously icky vibes since the whole incident with my Midnight Potato Prince (lmfao).

Listen, all this means is that I was correct in my assumption that some of these guys have some pretty serious stuff to hide. That’s fine with me. I’m not interested in exposing their crypto scam schemes or preference for ladyboys or how many bar fights they get into per week or whatever else it may be.

Furthermore, I hardly think that giggling over a bowl of Irish beef stew while writing a poem about some random guy I will literally never see again is a “security threat” to anyone, but whatever. If by “security threat,” you mean his wife is going to find out about it, change the locks, and throw all his shit off the balcony onto the front lawn before setting it on fire, sure, I guess that’s always a possibility, but that’s something a married man really should have considered before stepping out on his wife. That’s not on me. I did not corner him and seduce him in the dark, cloudy smoke of a back room. He approached me when he was leaving, he paid my tab, he told me to wait outside, and then he came around the corner to meet me. Those were choices he made. And then he made more choices after that, none of which had anything to do with me.

Did I make choices? Yeah, but my choices were made under the assumption that he was single. He was not wearing a ring. I was clearly doing what I was doing because I wanted a rebound from the British Guy, who has been documented in very heavy detail as being a total asshole.

Clearly we were both really drunk and it was nothing and that’s fine. Haven’t you ever heard the legend of the Great Irish Hero who rescued a damsel in distress from some stupid English wanker? Exactly! You just need to understand that the compensation I take for my wasted time comes in the form of creative inspiration, not cold hard cash.

Once again, this is a classic case of men blaming women for their own inability to take responsibility for their questionable behavior. Task tsk.

Still, I hear you. I see you. I understand your concerns. I can speak your language. So I just want you to know that… yes, my silence can be bought. I will accept cash not to write about whatever secrets you may have, and I will also accept an additional amount of cash to promise not to sell your secrets to anyone else. I’m a reasonable person. We can make a deal.

Shoutout to my new messenger friend. Perhaps I’ll change your name to Hermès since you’re so good at your job. I’ll even pronounce it the French way: Errrrr-MehZZZZZZ. Let’s get you a pair of winged sandals, fam. Live your best life!

At the end of the day, men are entertaining AF. They truly are a gift and a treasure. It’s an honor just to be nominated to stand outside the building. I love to be taken seriously enough by literally anyone to be considered a “security threat.” Next thing you know, the crown prince of some GCC state will personally be signing my death warrant because I saw him out drinking a whiskey and reported it on BetseyHorton.com.

Great. That’s just great.

Love this for me.

So anyway, thinking it’s beach time, y/y? Take a break, relax, process whatever the fuck this experience has been, and then get back into serious mode again.

Actually, I don’t know if I can ever be serious again after living in Thailand. I’m really learning a valuable lesson in how to not give a fuck. It’s awesome. I aspire to give less of a fuck every single day.

Now we can go to the beach and run around in the sand and not give a fuck in an entirely different language. How about that?

How about that.

Off now. I have a scheduled video call with my brother. Have a nice day!