Wednesday morning.

Chillin’ in my apartment. Going to Macau today. I am very excited because the weather is going to be really nice, unlike last time. Hello adventures! I got an excellent deal on a really fancy hotel with beach access. My only priority for the next few days is to fix the farmer’s tan I acquired from doing yoga on the rooftop in shorts.

I am SO ready to get the fuck away from my ridiculous neighbor, who has mostly vanished and isn’t around anyway. Doesn’t matter. I just need a break from his general energy. Too much, too much.

See, here’s the thing: I know myself very well at this point. Sometimes I get these random fixations with dudes, then I write about them for awhile, then I get over it and move onto the next one. It is what it is. Men have to be useful for something in this world. As far as I can tell, it’s just for me to take their essence and use it for my own creative purposes. What else do they actually provide other than that? Nothing.

I had a weird dream the other night where I wandered into some random bar in HK and I guess it was the one he goes to all the time. Everyone in there was his friend. They said, “He told us about you. He said you’re a stalker.”

Oh, right. Just like he told me he was “poor” and “literally had cancer last year.” Then there was that weird story he told me about how he “saved” a girl from jumping off a rooftop, which sounded weirdly scripted and rehearsed at the time. Now that I know he’s an actor, I realize it probably was. Oh, and then there was the story he told me about getting punched in the face on Lamma Island. He said he deserved it. I believe him.

Yeah, you know what this sounds like to me? Someone who tries to elicit sympathy from people by telling them straight-up lies.

RED FLAG!

There was also some chick in the dream saying she’s his girlfriend. Girl, good luck with that. I mean it. You can have him. I don’t want him. All of my friends and I have already come to the collective agreement that he’s a giant douche.

I just needed to borrow his essence for a bit to inspire me. It is what it is. You’ll understand when you read my new Island of Lost Guys story. Maybe. Or maybe not! Reading is hard, I know. If it’s not a 10 second TikTok video, it literally cannot be comprehended!

Whatever.

Anyway, that part is over now. I have no shortage of gentleman callers in my life. I was just hanging out with one of them on Monday night. He was there for me when I needed someone after spending 48 hours locked in my apartment watching 9/11 documentaries (real ones, not that crazy conspiracy theory shit) like the masochist I am.

Mr. Next Door would never do that. He would just say, “Where’s the plane?! Where’s the fucking plane?!” As someone on Threads said, “It’s like a neurosurgeon looking inside your head and saying, “Where’s the brain?! Where’s the fucking brain?!”

It’s gonna take a lot to convince me that he actually has one, to be honest. It doesn’t really seem like there’s too much going on upstairs with that guy. It is what it is.

I guess my only question is, “Is this chick someone he picked up while ‘cruising the moms groups on Facebook?’”

HAHAHAHAHA

Sorry, I can’t. That had to be the worst piece of job hunting advice I’ve ever heard in my life. What is that? Are you moonlighting as a gigolo for bored, unhappy married women whose husbands are away traveling for work all the time? Because that’s what it sounds like to me.

We are living in two different worlds over here, that’s for sure.

You know I love that shit though. I could make a whole soap opera out of that one sentence alone. Brilliant. Thanks for being the Muse. You’ve truly inspired me today, bro. So grateful. So blessed. Thanks for bringing me back to life after I spent way too much time crying alone on the rooftop over my dead daddy issues.

Anyway…

I really need this mini-break to the beach. I can’t deal with this guy. I need a new Muse. Who among the men out there is brave enough to volunteer as tribute?!

No one?

That’s what I thought. No worries, I’m sure one will pop up in no time. For everyone one man that vanishes into thin air, three more immediately appear in his place. It is what it is. Male attention is the most abundant resource on the planet. It means absolutely nothing to me. It’s just, “Onto the next one, onto the next one, onto the next one.”

In the meantime, the hot beefcake in the building next door has started flirting with me. He likes to sit outside on the wall dividing out rooftops without a shirt on. He’s wayyyyy too young for me. Like 24 or 25, maybe? Too young. I told him as much, which only made him flirt with me more. He says he likes older women. Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’m not interested in being your mommy, bro. But sure, I’ll let you compliment me all you want. I need the self-esteem boost. I do enjoy the attention from men sometimes. I really do. I just… don’t find them to be very useful to me beyond that.

This kid told me I’m scaring off potential guys by saying I don’t want a relationship. Okay, well, in my experience, I scare off more guys by saying I DO want a relationship. Honestly, it doesn’t really take much to scare away a man. I’ve come to enjoy the experience. It’s like a game to me now. I love to strike fear into the hearts of men. It’s funny to me how fast they crumple.

As the world-renowned poet Jay-Z once said, “You know I thug ‘em, fuck ‘em, love ‘em, leave ‘em, cuz I don’t fuckin’ need ‘em.”

What do I want from men? Honestly, I just want to be carried around in a luxury sedan chair by hot sexy beefcakes. That’s about all I can think of at this point.

I guess that explains why I had that dream about Mr. Next Door dressed up as one of the Avengers. I’m assembling a team for a special mission. And that mission is to yeet me straight up to the top of The Peak.

Hahahahaha! I just think I’m sooooooooooo funny, don’t I?! And I am. I really am. 🙂 🙂 🙂

I’m just so tired at this point. I’ve been through so much in my life. Most people have trauma from one thing. I have trauma from about a dozen different things, one of which is being lied to, cheated on, assaulted, and raped. My first two major relationships when I was 16 and 19 were with guys who unapologetically cheated on me and whored themselves around to any woman they could manipulate into taking off their pants. Then I was raped by the person I considered my best friend at the time, and later assaulted by a guy the police report refered to as my “sometimes boyfriend.”

And you wonder why I treat men like they’re part of my own personal harem? Who do you think you taught me to do that? You think I would have learned that behavior on my own? No! Of course not! I just treat men the exact same way they have always treated me; like an object to be used, abused, and tossed away when they become an inconvenience.

I know, it’s a pretty ugly reflection to look at in the mirror. I don’t always feel good about it. After all, I was once brainwashed by the Disney Princess Fairytale too. I truly believed in my heart that I would meet “The One” and we would get married and run off into the sunset and live happily ever after. Now I understand that’s a lie perpetuated by the patriarchy to keep women in chains. So forgive me if I take a page from the movie “Down with Love” and take my men like I take my dessert: à la carte!

Okay, I’ve said all I have to say about this matter, for now. I have to pack for my “mini-break,” as the Brits say. I don’t need a man to take me on a mini-break. I can take myself on my own mini-break, if only so I can have a mini-break from all of them.

See, I say this, but we all know there’s a 99% some random dude is gonna see me chillin’ in my bikini by the hotel pool and invite himself to my private party with absolutely ZERO consideration for the fact that I’m there alone because I literally want to be alone. It is what it is.

Off now. I’ve got laundry to pick-up and drop-off, a suitcase to pack, and a ferry to catch.

Bye, Felicia!