Saturday morning. Here we are at the coffee shop.

I missed yesterday, which makes two days this week. The ladies have noticed. I could tell they saw me walking down the promenade with one of my many gentleman callers yesterday. They’re all like, “This girl has so many boyfriendssss, kaaaaa…” as they smile at me like they all know something I don’t.

Funny.

Yesterday I was with the Sardinian Guy. He was showing me some pics of him and the Hot Chef at their rooftop pool just casually messing around and they looked like models. It’s ridiculous. They’re beautiful, just beautiful. And they are just so full of light and love for life. It really makes you wonder, Isn’t there more to life than being really, really ridiculously good looking?

I ran into him at the Pot Shop yesterday. We decided to go to the pool and eat pizza and drink beer. It was quite nice. Italians are great. When you’re with them, you’re family. And this family eats a lot of delicious food, which is also really great.

We ordered real Italian pizza from a real Italian place. He explained that he could tell it was real by the way they cook the crust. It was like a whole deep dive into Italian pizza-making culture in a casual conversation. Amazing.

Look at me, I’m doing The Eat-Pray-Love, but better.

Unfortunately, I fell into a deep food coma and had to retire to bed early. Probably for the best. I should stop fucking random men I just met an hour, or a day, or a week ago, or whatever. Slow it down a little, maybe. Give the International House of Pussy a rest, lol.

Sometimes I feel weird talking about men like they are nothing but hunting trophies to mount on the wall, but it is what it is. This is how they talk about women, so I will speak the same way about men. Why is it any different?

Sardinian Guy, who I should really be calling the Rasta Guy because of his dreads, wants to hang out again today. I am too tired. I just want to be alone and do some yoga. Being around men is kind of exhausting. It takes a lot of energy out of me. I can really only handle them in small doses.

Also, it’s true what they say about Italian men. They can be somewhat… smothering. You kiss them once and suddenly they want to take you to the family Vinyard and introduce you to their mother, who will dictate everything you do for the rest of your life. Mussolini ain’t got nothing on the Classic Italian Mother-in-Law. It’s like, thanks for the never-ending breadsticks, but I really can’t stay forever. Gratzi and Ciao!

I m so tired today. I just want to lie by the pool and relax. Alone. Without any men there to bother me. It’s fun but they are annoying sometimes. I just want some time for me.

Off now. I am ready to do absolutely nothing on this beautiful, sunny day in Bangkok.