Tuesday morning. At the coffee stand. A bit hungover from last night, which was… oof.

Most of the evening was super chill. The American Bar was pretty dead for a Monday. Only a small handful of regulars were there. Most of us were American, as opposed to other nights when other nationalities dominate the scene. The vibe was very relaxed, very chill, no issues to note.

Met a Finnish-American who told me to never, ever, ever trust a Russian. Also confirmed with Oklahoma Guy that the weird Ukrainian chick who solicited me at the bar last week was indeed soliciting me. I thought her vibe was super weird. There was something about her approach that put me off. Like I just knew… this chick isn’t trying to play pool with me so she can be my friend. She is after something else.

He said she just showed up recently and has been floating around the bar soliciting Westerners. He did not seem surprised that she was soliciting me. He said, “She’s a predator. She’s desperate. I don’t know what her story is or why she’s here, but she is dangerous. She got a dude in here very drunk the other night and tried to take him somewhere. She was trying to physically force him out the door. We wouldn’t let her take him. She hasn’t shown back up here since.”

So that’s kinda scary… sad, but scary.

Interesting conversations aside, time passed slowly without anything very interesting happening at all. Just when the night seemed lost, the IRA guy showed up. One of them, anyway. There’s quite a few of them that hang out in there. This is the young one who dated the Thai Pop Star. I’ve written about him before. He has taken to calling me “Chessie.” I’m not sure where that came from, but we’re just gonna run with it. I’m not very picky about my name here. People call me Betsey, Betty, Bets, Bet (just Bet), Liz, Lizzie, Liza, Elizabeth, Elisa, Eliza, and now Chessie.

He wanted to know how my date with “the Englishman” (British Guy) ended up. I was like, “Uh, well… you guys came in and blew it all up. That’s how our date ended. He was already on the fence when he showed up and you pushed him straight over to the other side. Thanks for that. I had to call in an expert from Panama to fix my canal after you blasted it to shreds.”

His response? “That guy is a fucking wanker anyway. Fuck him! I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. He was disrespecting you, and we don’t tolerate that where I’m from. We’re your Irish family now. We were not going to let him stand there and talk to you that way.”

Hmm… I guess he is right. The British Guy was calling me a whore… like all the time! He even called me that right there in front of all of these IRA guys and all of the Americans at this bar. Like, bro, you are literally paying a Thai girl half your age to suck your dick and you’re calling me the whore? Come on. If I’m a whore, then that makes you an Anglo-Saxon Barbarian. Like, got any plans to sack Rome today, or are you saving your raid for the weekend instead?

Wanker, indeed.

At this point, most of the people who were present the night of that date have agreed that the British Guy is a wanker and none of them liked the way he was talking to me. My Old Irish Uncle, who was also there that night, said the exact same thing to me. He even got up in the British Guy’s face and said, “Don’t you be talking to her like that now, son. She’s a real woman, this one. A real lady. Look at the way she dresses. She always covers her legs. Don’t you be talking to her that way.”

This is how the topic got changed from the English Wanker Guy to my outfits. Apparently they have all talked it over when I’m not there and they all think I dress very conservatively because I’m always covering my legs? Lol! I just wear pants all the time here. Yoga pants, elephant pants, long loose wide-legged pants, joggers, pajama pants, whatever. It’s the most comfortable option here. I’ve bought all of these pants here in SEA.

So according to these Western men, wearing long, loose, comfortable, pajama-style pants every day makes me very uptight and conservative. I don’t know how any of them can think I’m conservative when I’ve been hosting so many gentlemen callers, but whatever. Besides, most Thai people wear loose pants and oversized t-shirts. I’m just copying what I see around me.

I pointed this out to Young IRA Guy, who was like, “Wait, you said you met another guy here?”

I was like, “Yeah, he was an American military contractor from Panama. I called him in to fix my canal.”

“You got a guy from Panama to fix your canal?”

“I sure did.”

I watched his face slowly change as he processed the metaphor I was making and realized what I was actually saying. He then burst into the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard.

“Hahahahaha you got a guy from Panama to fix your canal. That’s great. That’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard.”

It is pretty funny. And you know what? He really did fix my canal. He fixed it right up. This canal is back up and running after sustaining heavy damage from Hurricane-force winds and years, nay decades, of neglect. Only a real, professional engineer with this man’s credentials could fix this canal. I looked through the whole stack of resumes and realized he was the only qualified candidate for the job. Sure, his personality was not the best, but he got the job done. Shoutout to Panama and Brazil and the Army Corps of Engineers, or whoever it is this guy works for.

Yes, so everyone is now very amused by my jokes about canals and Barbarians. Go me. Somehow I am still reading as uptight and conservative to them, even though I don’t personally identify as conservative in any way, shape, or form. Uptight AF? Definitely. Conservative? No. I’m not conservative, I just haven’t had anyone ask me to take MDMA and dance naked at a Full Moon Party yet. Maybe ask me instead of assuming I would never do something like that because I’m so uptight. Maybe I would be less uptight if I had more exposure to the wilder side of life.

As this conversation was concluding, another American arrived at the bar. I recognized him immediately as one of the people I met when I was hanging out with Rare Pokémon. This guy and the Rare Pokémon did not know each other prior. They have a mutual friend who lives here in Bangkok and all of them were hanging out together. I wanted to ask him about Rare Pokémon, but I knew they had only really met the one time so it was pointless.

Anyway, this guy was having some kind of crazy medical emergency and refusing help. He had some kind of crazy rash actively breaking out on his skin after eating a batch of questionable sushi an hour prior. Literally every single person in the bar looked right at him and said, “Bro, you need to go to the doctor right now.” He just kept refusing. It was pretty concerning, actually. I don’t know how you can look at a rash like that and shrug it off in favor of sitting at a bar arguing with ex-IRA over whether or not Gaddafi was a good person, but that’s just me…

As this episode was taking place, the doors opened and in walked the Italian Stallions. Ugh. Again, the vibe got SUPER WEIRD SO FAST. I seriously don’t know what’s going on with that dynamic, but the vibe is certifiably weird. It was also a problem because I have not messaged the Sardinian back since our date on Friday night. And you know how Italian men are… He thinks that he owns me now because I kissed him in the pool one time. It’s giving 365 Days, and not in a good way, if there even is a good way.

I felt like… okay… this is getting to be too much for me now, I’m getting overwhelmed, time to go home. I looked around and the Italian guys had disappeared. I thought they had gone out back, so I paid my tab and tried to sneak out the front. Wrong. I was wrong.

I came outside and they were sitting at the table outside, smoking cigarettes, waiting for me, looking like two Mafia hitmen in a fucking gangster movie who are there to pick me up for my date down by the river with a cinder block. It literally looked just like that… Like a scene from a gangster movie. And my heart just… dropped. In that moment, all I could think was… oops.

How the fuck am I going to talk my way out of this one?

The Sardinian asked, “Why are you always in there talking to all those men? You told me you weren’t like that.”

“I’m not like that. I’m working.”

“You said you aren’t a bar girl.”

“I’m not a bar girl. I’m a writer. It’s my job to talk to random people and listen to their stories. I did not lie to you. I did not deceive you. I am writing a book. I am collecting stories for my book. All of them are just characters for my book.”

They exchanged a look I did not understand, nodded at each other, and let me go on my way. Still, I am worried now. It was a very chilling encounter. Very concerning. It just felt… off. There is something very off with the two of them.

I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got the Irish mafia backing me, lol. I’ve seen this movie before. I have an idea. How about all of you men all stay down here and call each other Nazis and punch each other in the face, while I go upstairs to the Hong Kong Lounge and sip on my elephant drank while watching from a distance. Okay? Okay.

And here the guy from Oklahoma is saying this bar “used to be wilder about nine months ago.” Umm… I think it’s pretty wild right now, personally. What is even happening in this place right now?

Don’t worry, I can handle it. My Indian ex-boyfriend is BJP and proud. I know how to handle the gangsters, haha. Just call me the CIA: Chessie Intelligence Agency, lol.

Famous last words, right?

Right…