Tag: American Bar

BLOG: War on TV

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Monday. Sitting at my fav coffee shop in HK. Normally I stop by in the morning for a Go-cup, a cigarette, and some high-quality people-watching. Today I decided to stay and write, if only because it’s finally warm enough to sit outside again.

I spent the weekend in bed watching war happen live on TV. I am solidly Team No One for this round. I will say as someone who has visited Qatar, the UAE, and Bahrain that it is very upsetting to me to see these countries get sucked into the bs. They are not without their problems, of course, but generally they are quite peaceful nations and incredibly hospitable to travelers.

I enjoyed my time in each nation, especially Qatar. I loved the UAE, but there’s just something about Qatar that I loved more. I loved the shine and sparkle of Dubai, but I could really feel the old world charm of Doha. Also, as we all know, I am obsessed with Al Jazeera English and dream of someday working for them.

I was only in Bahrain for a brief layover, but I will never, ever forget it. It was during the Hajj when all of the pilgrims were on their way to Mecca. Everyone on my plane from Mumbai was going to Mecca. I got to meet and talk to people who were taking their journey for the first time. I even got to walk with the pilgrims through the airport. I sat with them in the terminal as we waited for the plane. I am not Muslim. I will never be Muslim. But I am a deeply spiritual person, and as a deeply spiritual person, it was an honor to walk that path with them. I don’t know how to explain it. It was just… a vibe. A very strong, powerful, peaceful vibe.

I am disappointed but not surprised. I had a feeling something was coming. My first night back in Bangkok, these two strangers came into the American Bar. They were well-dressed and seemingly well-mannered until they took a rather demanding tone with the bartender that reminded me of my entitled, overly demanding Indian ex-boyfriend. I wondered if they were Indian. They did not look Indian, but they did look like something else that was familiar to me. So familiar. Why do their faces look so familiar?

They were not speaking English to each other. The language sounded so familiar but I couldn’t place it. It’s not Hindi, it’s not Arabic, it’s not Urdu… Is it… ? It’s not… oh my god… it is… they’re speaking Farsi (Persian). High Persian. Oh my god. That’s what it is. That’s why it’s so familiar. They are Persian.

How do I know that?

I haven’t heard Farsi in a long, long, long time, but somehow I still remember it like it was yesterday…

I was shocked by how fast my brain unlocked the language. I didn’t even know I had it in me. I mean, I did, but it was so, so, so long ago. You see, my first boyfriend was Persian. He was always speaking Farsi on the phone. There was a time when I tried to learn it for him, but it was a pointless venture because he turned out to be a lying, cheating, rapey, gross, disgusting piece of shit with serious sex addiction problems. Just gross. I locked him away for so long. I buried him.

So imagine my surprise when I was sitting at the American Bar in Bangkok two decades later and my brain suddenly lit up like the sky on the 4th of July. I started processing what I was hearing. I was catching bits and pieces. Not too much. I remember hearing the word for war multiple times. I remember being extremely unsettled by their tone. Fearful, even. I felt afraid and I didn’t know why. It’s like I couldn’t translate it directly to English in my head, but somehow I understood exactly what was being said.

I also remember the moment they caught me with my ear to their table. One of them approached the bartender and asked who I was. To my absolute shock, she sold me down the river right in front of me. She pointed right at me and said, “That’s Betsey. She’s American. She’s a writer.”

The Persian guy just stared at me with this creepy little smile curling up on his face. I didn’t like it. Something inside of me immediately told me to get up and leave. I waited until they went into the back to play pool, paid my tab, and left.

The next morning, I walked outside and saw them sitting by the pool outside of my apartment. The one who asked about me watched me as I walked by. I held my head up high and ignored him as I walked past. He said something to me as I walked by. It sounded like, “What? No love for me?”

I shook my head and kept walking. I thought to myself, “I don’t date Persian men anymore. I had a bad experience.”

A little voice in my head said, “Why? What happened?”

As I exited the garden, I caught myself saying aloud in response, “I SAID I had a bad experience.” I said it like Mos Def in The Italian Job. Then I made the mistake of looking back and saw him staring at me with that same weird smile as I walked away. It was a very uncomfortable experience. I don’t know why. There was just something so weirdly off about them.

I did not see them again after that day. Not at my apartment, or at the bar. It was such a strange, unnerving experience.

That was the day I decided to take down all of the photos of the bar and the people in it. I realized they were right. I had so many paranoid thoughts running through my mind.

What if they are traffickers? What if they are gangsters? What if they are military? What if they’re Intelligence? What if they’re looking for Hermès and saw those pictures from my birthday? What if they think I know something I don’t? What if they take me? What if they kill me? What if they hold me hostage in exchange for ransom? Who is going to pay for that?

What if? What if? What if?

What if they’re just two spoiled rich boys on vacation in Thailand and they’re leaving for Pattaya tomorrow anyway?

I dismissed all of these thoughts as rational paranoia and simply deleted everything on my profile so no one in the future could trace any of back to this bar. For the first time, I finally understood what Old Man Smiley was trying to say. I finally understood how dangerous what I was doing really was. It wasn’t the Irish Mafia I was afraid of. It was something else. The idea of my freedom that I had fought so long and hard for suddenly being taken from me by men who saw me as nothing more than an object meant to be used and thrown away.

For two days, I’ve sat in my studio, watching this war unfold live on TV. I finally turned off the news and watched Whiskey Tango Foxtrot instead. I thought about my desire to become a journalist again. I don’t even know how to go about approaching that career in this day and age. I just know that I want it now more than ever. More than anything.

The world feels like such a strange place today. Everything here looks normal on the surface, but there is a strange tension underneath. It’s like they’re all thinking to each other, “Is Taiwan next?”

I think what I detect more is an underlying feeling of resentment and anger. Like, “We are just normal people trying to live our daily lives and these assholes are disrupting it so they can have a glorified dick-measuring contest at everyone else’s expense.”

Perhaps that is just how I feel, and I am projecting it into everyone else who walks by. It’s hard to say. I can only say I feel something strange in the air. Something that wasn’t there before. I don’t know what it is. I just don’t know.

Off now. I have some things to do that don’t include watching war on TV, but we all know I’m going to go home and watch war on TV. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s just something I’ve always done. Since 9/11. I’ve been watching war on TV since I was 13. I don’t know why I do it.

I just don’t know.

BLOG: Irish F.I.R.E. Horse

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Sunday. Getting closer and closer to our much dreaded check-out date. Back into the real world we go, with nothing but a delusion to carry us through.

I don’t have to go back to HK, but I really do. It’s an achievement thing. I want to prove to myself I can do it. I can survive. I can answer the challenge. I can level up. I came all this way to live and work in Hong Kong. I will never forgive myself if I throw it all away before my visa expires.

Yeah, it’s hard. Some days… it’s really, really hard. But the promise of money and fabulous real estate is there and that’s a pretty big priority for me at this point in my life. A Man is Not a Plan. By extension… Thailand is Not a Plan. You know what is a plan? Aspiring to be the kind of person who flies directly to Shanghai to purchase a Hermes Birkin Super Clone straight off the factory line.

Go on and get your bag, gurl. That’s all there really is in this life.

So no, I am not exactly excited to return to HK, but again… this is the deal that I made. This is what I signed up for. There is no other way to move but forward. All I can do is chase the image of that bag way off in the distance like it’s a carrot on a stick. Somehow, it will manifest.

As I said… somewhat delusional, but it’s okay. We’re here for this Emily in Paris-esque journey here in SEA today.

Meanwhile, I really want to re-do my entire website. I’m just so over all of it right now. People keep sticking their phones in my face with my website plastered all over it and I’m so sick of the way it looks. It’s been the same for ten years! I need a change! I have more to offer the world than this same pile of stale garbage. I need a makeover, stat.

Someday this will all make a very fun Netflix show. I would watch that. Have you guys watched Expats with Nicole Kidman? It’s set in Hong Kong. It’s… awful. So depressing. I was tempted to watch it again, but I just can’t. The only way to describe it is gloomy AF.

I did watch Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong on YouTube again. It’s an indie romcom about two expats who meet in HK and spend the whole night getting lost and walking around. It’s more fun to watch now that I actually know where they are. It’s fun to look at the background and say, “I live in that neighborhood!” And “Oh yeah, I know that place, lol. I know where they are.” It inspired me again. It also reminded me what I fell in love with about the city, which I needed since I’ve been having a tough time.

Plus, there is the draw of the Chinese New Year Party at the racetrack. Let’s start the Year of the Fire Horse by drinking at the horse races. Fun fun!

I also have to find a new spot to watch the rest of the Six Nations Rugby tournament. Here is the thing: there is exactly one Irish Pub in Hong Kong, which I visit frequently. Unfortunately, it is on the Kowloon side. I personally do not like to go to the Kowloon side late at night, and the games are not on until 10pm & 12am. So I need to walk around my neighborhood and find a spot that is not so crowded. This will be… a challenge… because I live close to one of the hottest nightlife spots in town.

We’ll just see what happens. Maybe we’ll meet a fit finance bro with a cute accent and a ripped bod who lives in a luxury apartment up on the Peak. Or maybe… not.

Anyway, speaking of rugby, I did go out to the American Bar last night for the Six Nations. Watching Team Ireland kick England’s ass while sitting in a room with that crowd was certainly an experience I will not soon forget.

Even Princess Kate was sitting there like, “Damn, these Irish lads are on fire!” Yeah, they heard I was showing up tonight and decided to put on a real show. What can I say? There are perks to being a long lost Irish Faerie Princess who has recently decided to reclaim her identity. Perks like watching Team Ireland dominate the Six Nations are rugby. Hashtag: Winning!

Relax, it’s a joke. I’m not actually that level of narcissist. It’s just fun for me to write this shit to make me feel better about my sad little life. You know, my sad little life where I’m struggling to survive in Hong Kong because I decided life wasn’t hard enough as it was. I don’t feel sorry for me. This is exactly what I wanted. It’s always rough in the beginning. I just have to keep the faith that everything will work out and things will gradually fall into place.

Off now. Need to go call my brother back in the States. He’s literally the only person in my family that I still talk to. Hashtag: Black Sheep Status. Gotta love it! This is how I’m able to live abroad and continually fail without being phased or crying about wanting to go back home. There is no home to go back to. There is only a hardwood floor to sleep on…

BLOG: Hail Zulu!

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Trash Wednesday. The party is over. Another year has come and gone. I could not have guessed this time last year that I would be spending Mardi Gras sitting at a farang dive bar in Bangkok, but here we are.

It was not so bad. I started with a grilled cheese and then drank very, very slowly. For awhile I got stuck talking to this weird American guy. Another crazy Californian. They truly are next level. He was starting to annoy me when my friend The Moose texted me and invited me to come to another pub. I was going to get up and leave when he and his other friend came in. I know the other friend but I don’t have a name for him. I was at his house with some friends a few weeks ago.

So they came in and rescued me from the crazy Californian guy, who continued hovering around and inserting himself into our conversation at random times. I, myself, was still trying to pretend that I’m not still secretly stewing over my Stew.

Had a couple of rounds of drinks, then the two of them exited. A different American friend from New York approached me. He asked me what happened on Saturday night with Uncle Jason. I said I had no memory of that. I was really drunk and watching rugby. He said “words were exchanged.” I was like, “Were those words, ‘fuck off, I’m watching rugby?’” Lol.

Shortly thereafter, Uncle Jason appeared, once again looking at me in bewilderment. I love knowing how much this guy hates me and trolling him this way. It’s hilarious to me. Sometimes when people mess with you, you just gotta mess with people right back.

Finally, Old Man Smiley appeared and took me aside. He said, “Betsey, listen to me. I’ve been trying to tell you in my own way. I’ve lived here a long time. There are people here who are very dangerous. You don’t want to be messing with them. Do you understand me?”

Yes, I finally understand you. I did not understand you before. Now I understand you. I understand exactly what you are getting at now. I’m learning the rules now. I didn’t know them before.

I went home after that. Found a New Orleans-style restaurant and ordered a spread. It was actually pretty good. The Jambalaya is more like a Thai fried rice style but the flavoring is on-point. Creole spice game strong. These people know NOLA.

Later, as I stood by the window overlooking the city, eating my rice with chop sticks, I wondered about my life again. I have no idea what I’m doing. Dead-end job. Dead-end career. Dead-end city. Dead-end book. Dead-end relationship. Dead-end everything.

What am I doing with my life?

I have no idea!!!

BLOG: Red Envelope Special

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Tuesday. Lunar New Year. Mardi Gras! Happy holidays!

I am wearing a special outfit I got from India today. It is red and white gold. Very beautiful. Perfect for the New Year.

I did not think the coffee shop would be open today, but it is. I admit I was actually on my way to the American Bar for some good old fashioned Bangkok degenerate daydrinking, but I decided to stop here for my daily iced mocha and write first. We must catch up on yesterday’s events before we go out and collect more stories.

Yesterday was… interesting. I decided to go to the pot shop and day drink, which was a mistake because my friend called me around 7pm and asked me to meet him at the American Bar. I know better than to mix daytime and nighttime drinking in Thailand, but I ignored my better instincts and did it anyway. It ended with me getting sick and running home and forgetting to pay my tab, which is why I was on my way to said bar to fix the situation.

Anyway, before all of that happened, I went to meet my friend, who is Irish. I have mentioned him on here before. I call him The Moose because he is obsessed with his Canadian Girl who left him long ago. He always likes to talk about how much land he has back home in Ireland. I learned recently that this means he is flirting with me. This is how Irish men flirt, apparently. They constantly talk about how much land they have.

He is also friends with the Hot Beef Stew. I tried to ignore this fact so I could be at peace and just let the whole situation go, but he brought it up! I had to sit there and sip my drink to hide my excitement when he mentioned his name.

The Moose said, “Well, you know we were here a couple weeks back. He was asking on about you.”

Really? He was asking on about me? I must sit perfectly still and pretend I have not secretly been dying to hear this exact sentence for the last three months. Keep it together, Betsey. Just play it cool.

“Yeah, he wanted to know what kind of person I thought you were. I said I thought you were really cool. You’re just the kind of person people have to get to know first.”

“Oh, thank you. I thought you were going to say that I was crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, you’re just Irish. Very Irish. You don’t even know how Irish you are. I feel sorry for you because you don’t know anything about it at all. You don’t know your own people. You’ve never been to your homeland. You don’t know who you are at all. That’s very sad to me.”

“Right, yeah, I know all that, but what did he say about me?”

“He agreed with me.”

“Yes, well, he would, wouldn’t he? He got to know me quite well that evening. Got to hear the whole story and see the whole spectrum of emotion that comes with it. And then some. Ha ha.”

“We didn’t like what you were saying about us Irish guys though.”

“Oh, don’t be too upset about that. It’s not just Irish guys. Trust me. I’ve dated men from all over the world and all of them are the same. I think it’s just a problem with men in general.”

“I believe you.”

“Anyway, I’m not dating right now. I am looking for purpose, meaning, and fulfillment outside of a relationship. I am focusing on myself instead.”

And not-so-secretly obsessing over your friend, of course. Obviously.

“Are you going to go back to Hong Kong?”

“Well, I have to because I put my luggage into storage there, but I don’t think I will stay. It’s a money issue. I have no job or income or apartment. I have no purpose there. I have no purpose anywhere. I think I will just go bum around the beach for a month and then go take another Yoga Teacher Training course in India.”

“That makes sense. You hated Hong Kong. You wrote to me every day.”

“I didn’t hate it, I was just very lonely there. I wrote to a lot of people every day. I keep regular correspondence with quite a few of my friends. It’s not limited just to you. Don’t feel like you’re special in any way.”

“I don’t. We all know how much you like your conquests.”

“I don’t go out conquesting anymore. Your friend took all the fun out of it for me.”

Because he lied about being married, then shamed me for acting like a ‘slut,’ as if I was the one who was doing something wrong by being there.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

The conversation turned away from this subject and returned to all things Irish. The Hot Beef Stew did not come up again, even though I had a million questions and was dying to ask them all. I told myself I would not feed my own obsessive compulsion and refrained from saying anything at all. I just let my friend talk about his huge tracts of land back in Ireland and speculate how many millions they might be worth. Meanwhile, I stared off into space at the wall behind him, continuing to stew over the Stew.

At some point he had to leave. That was when I started feeling really sick and had to run home. Now I have to go in today and make sure my tab is paid. Hate it when that happens.

Still have no idea what I am doing with my life beyond that. It’s okay! I’ll figure it out! Somehow?

The only thing I’ve figured out is that I want a grilled cheese sandwich. Good thing I have to go pay my tab…

That is all for today. We shall see what else develops as the week continues on…

BLOG: Be My Valentine

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Sunday. Yesterday is over, thank god. We have a new set of challenges to deal with today. It’s the same set of challenges as it was before. It’s just that I’m actually dealing with them today instead of pushing them off.

I regret going downtown last night. After I left the pub, everything just got crazy. It was so crazy, I had to wait for three different trains to come before I could board one. The upside is that I caught a pretty cool show while I was waiting. Gotta love a good dragon dance.

Finally got back to my neighborhood, where I immediately went down to the American Bar for free drinks and the Six Nations Rugby Tournament. Ireland won, of course. It was all very grand.

The next game after was England – Scotland. This game began with an opening ceremony featuring Princess Anne walking down the team line and greeting each player one by one. She had a little quip for all of them. It was actually quite fun to watch these guys get flustered by her. She’s the first Royal I’ve seen in awhile who I was like, “She’s so relatable.” Imagine having Prince Andrew as a brother, though. Ewww. He’s so gross!

That’s enough talk about the Royals for now. My family didn’t get on a boat and sail to America so that I would have to care what the British Royal Family does. Somehow it keeps getting pushed in my face anyway. Alas.

Last night at the bar was… well… I don’t really know, to be honest with you. It was my night off. I was like, “I am here to watch hot men run around in shorts and get shitfaced. Leave me alone. I’ve had a difficult life, emotionally speaking.” So that’s what I did.

Have I figured out how rugby works as a Sport yet? Ummm… sort of. It’s like… you get the lads all together and there’s too much energy, right? So you give them a ball and send them outside to play in the backyard. They throw the ball around, maybe kick it a bit, run in circles, dive straight into the mud, and just kinda figure it out as they go along the way.

Something like that.

Yeah, Betsey, sure. Something like that.

By the end of Round 1, I was ready to put together a slideshow of the game’s Top 10 Best Grass Stains. Let’s get some more close-ups on the butts in the shorts. This is all I care about right now.

Yes, these guys do look pretty grand, but let’s be real about the downside of dating beefcakes: they tend to be pretty fucking dumb. Not exactly the award-winning national merit scholar types. I guess I’m okay with that because I have enough intelligence to do the thinking for both of us. He can just stand there next to me and look good.

Can’t wait to be featured on my very own season of WAGS. We’ll call it WAGS at SEA. It’s just me surrounded by a bunch of different Asian women with white Western boyfriends all yelling at each other in different languages. Meanwhile, I’m just sitting in the corner sipping my drink, watching with wide eyes as they flip over the table and pull each other’s weaves out.

Yeah, I would watch this.

Well, that was my Valentine’s Day. So fun, right? Agreed. It was fun. Rugby is a great sport. It’s even better if you eat chocolate and drink alcohol while watching it. I will never be sad or lonely ever again as long as this sport exists.

And she lived happily ever after.

The End.

BLOG: And We Will Go Stag Hunting No More

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Saturday evening.

Here I am at one of the Irish pubs in Bangkok. I won’t tell you the name, but I will tell you that it rhymes with Potato Olés, lol. I was told this is the best one. I was definitely lied to. It’s not that exciting. It’s mostly the weekend afternoon post-golf crowd. Snooze fest!

Still, I have a feeling something weird is going to happen today, so I will just sit here and wait for whatever it is. Based on the kind of things I’ve seen in Bangkok so far, I can’t even imagine.

Big Trouble in Little Bangkok, as they say…

I’m sure that sitting here on my iPad writing will not help my situation. I do not plan to stay for very long. I think I would rather stick with what is close and familiar, even if it does not like me in return.

I hope I do not see anyone I know. Based on the type of people I know, that would not be a good thing. Welcome to Bangkok, I guess. That’s just how it is here. The whole place is just full of degenerate lads. Luckily for me, I don’t recognize any of them from my so-called Krewe of degenerate lads.

That doesn’t mean no one recognizes me. Like “hey, isn’t that that writer my friend talks about?”

I will say the atmosphere in here is way different. I think I might be the youngest person here aside from actual children. So fun. No attractive men at all. Of course.

I swear to you, Mr. Hot Beef Stew has completely taken all of the fun out of trophy hunting for me. What a bummer. It’s like I look around and hear him saying, “How would you like to take home another random stranger who turns out to be married?!” No thank you! Fun ruined. He’s a fun-ruiner. Sigh.

I am very much not relaxed right now, even though I am completely surrounded by middle-aged people. I guess now I’m starting to get to the age where I will be middle-aged people.

There is no one questionable in the area that I’ve seen. I guess I just have to sit here and wait for something interesting to happen…

I don’t usually venture out this far from home alone. I have been to this neighborhood before, but I was with other people. It’s sad how little I actually explore outside of my bubble. In truth, I spend most of my time here sleeping and doing yoga. Then apparently go out and get into trouble just by sitting down at a bar full of questionable men.

Yes, it’s good to get out of the bubble, even if I am alone on Valentine’s Day. I don’t really care about that. I’m always alone. It’s just another day. Besides, I’m in Thailand, and there’s rugby on TV, so… I’m doing just grand!

I really want some French fries. Give me the potatoes!

Hmm… I feel I will be writing a story about Hermes soon. He is a very strong character. He comes through loud and clear. I think he might be my favourite character from SEA so far. I enjoy unraveling the complexity going on over there.

Naturally, my fascination with him is not of the romantic kind. It’s more like studying an individual human mind. The only fascination I have with anyone of the romantic kind is the Hot Beef Stew, which I know I must let go of, but which a chemical compound known as oxytocin still binds me to. We will simply have to wait until it all burns off. There’s nothing else to be done. I should be doing more hot yoga to help the process along, I know.

Anyway, the situation at the American Bar is quite funny now. They are all afraid of me. None of them dare utter a word when I come around, lest I record it via written word and immediately post it on the internet for 12 whole people to see! Oh no! Watch out! She might put you on her highlight reel for the year! Heaven forbid this woman make an actual friend!

Funny. Also never going to happen.

Happy Valentine’s Day to me! All I need is a spa, a drink, some rugby on TV, and French fries and I am good to go!

I do have to say this is the worst table set-up I’ve encountered so far here in SEA. Like, period. Is this booth made for a giant? Why is the table so small and why is it so far away from the booth seat? Why is there a whole foot of space between my chest and the table and an additional foot of space between my back and the booth? Not a fan!

Also the service is questionable, at best.

I do wish I was sitting outside on the patio, but it’s too damn hot. Hong Kong is cold. Not as cold as South Dakota, but still cold. Here it is very, very hot. I do prefer the hot, sunny weather overall, but still.

You know what’s hot? These rugby players on TV. Yes and yes. BTW, do you guys know what Gaelic Football is? Neither do I. However, I have recently learned that A, it exists and B, that hot men in tight shorts play it! Amazing! Will settle for a Gaelic Footballer if a rugby player is not available! I am extremely open-minded! Athletes in general are HOT!

I learned about it because I am learning to be Irish, so obviously the Gaelic Sports had to pop up at some point. I’m not that big on sports in general, but again, I’m open-minded. Athletes are hot!

…

I know, I really need something to do with my infinite amount of free time. That’s why I keep getting into trouble instead of doing something worthwhile.

I finally had to pull the table closer to me. I am a very tiny person. I cannot take the large distance anymore!

What am I doing with my life? What am I doing with my life? I don’t know. I have no idea. I think I should just go to Ireland and get a Masters Degree and find me an Irish hottie with a body while I’m at it. Forget the Hot Beef Stew! Yes, he is hot and sexy and very, very fit, but he is also married. Therefore, he can and will be replaced by someone who is not married!

I hate him for lying to me about that. So unfair! So deceitful! Especially because I was already upset about the stupid British Guy!

Nothing I have to say is important or relevant to anything or anyone in the modern-day world. I am just sitting here recording what I go through on a daily basis just for the sake of documenting my experience as a human being on this earth.

Okay, the results are officially in. How did their Irish Stew compare to the others I’ve had out here in SEA?

Meh!

It was very bland, actually. Definitely… Unfulfilled. Like it could be so much more but it’s just a massive disappointment instead. Welcome to the perfect metaphor for life at SEA.

I’m not convinced that was worth coming all the way up here for. Oh well. That’s just my luck, I guess. That’s what happens when I listen to voices in my head say, “Go to this one! I have a gut feeling something interesting is going to happen here!”

And then nothing happened, and the stew was unfulfilled, and it was all a perfect metaphor for my general experience of living in SEA. And then maybe she lived happy ever after? The end?

Yeah right.

Okay, time to ditch this banana stand and go back to my neighborhood. Should be a bit more lively over there. It usually is! Let’s just drink until I forget that I have any feelings whatsoever, lol.

Have a nice day!

BLOG: I Don’t Know Why You’re Mad

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Saturday. Here I am again at my beloved coffee stand. At least the aunties here like me, if no one else does.

The smog is bad today. The heavy exhaust fumes are making my eyes water. I knew it would be bad, but wow. Yeah. It’s much worse than I thought.

Today I am feeling more lost than ever. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I have no direction or focus at all. It’s very frustrating.

The only thing I can think of to do is yoga. And to go get my nails done, which I really need to do today. Non-negotiable.

Last night was strange. “Old Man Smiley” is still mad at me. Why, I do not understand. I thought we had resolved things, but apparently he has chosen to be undiplomatic in his dealings. I don’t really understand, but whatever.

At the end of the day, these people chose to talk to me. I told them upfront I was a writer. They all said, “Go ahead and write about me! I don’t care!” And then I did, and what do you know? Looks like they do care after all.

Anyway I’ve barely featured him at all since I came back because of his request. I don’t know what he’s mad about. I really don’t. You guys can all sit there and call me a whore, a slut, a bitch, a cunt, whatever you want, and I’m just supposed to laugh it off. But if I write down a funny conversation or exchange I had, suddenly it’s a problem.

Whatever.

Men are fragile creatures. What did you really expect? They’re always complaining about something. Three months ago, they were mad at me because I was “acting like a slut” and now they are mad at me because I keep an online diary. Whatever.

I mean, it could be worse. I could actually be writing about what these guys are doing in Pattaya, but I’m not. Instead I’m focused on me and whatever chaos is happening around me in this exact moment.

It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s just a mean old drunk. A Barfly. His opinion doesn’t really count.

He said, “I can’t believe they let you back into the country.”

Like, why? I didn’t actually do anything wrong last time. I just didn’t book a return flight, which was dumb. I had a whole situation to sort out with Hong Kong immigration anyway. Otherwise, I have not insulted the Kingdom or the Royal Family, I do not interfere with Thai politics in any way, I don’t do anything illegal, I didn’t overstay my visa, I’m not working or getting paid, and I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money supporting Thai-owned businesses here.

I’m sorry you’re mad that I posted a selfie of us smiling together and a video of me dancing. That doesn’t mean I actually did anything wrong. I am who I am. I’ve made it very clear that I write what I write because I think it’s interesting to watch, not because I have an agenda to write bad things about people. If you don’t like the image of yourself that you see reflected here, that is your problem, not mine.

So, just fuck off with this bullshit already. Going around badmouthing me behind my back to anyone who will listen is not an acceptable way to handle the problem.

I’m just a woman on a journey trying to find myself. It’s not that big of a deal.

Anyway, I don’t have a problem with them. They have a problem with me. I am not involved with whatever this is. If anyone needs me, I’ll just sitting over here in the corner watching rugby alone while eating my Hot Beef Stew. Who needs one man for Valentine’s Day when you can have the whole Irish rugby team? Slainte, fam! Slainte!

Okay, off to make my daily contribution to the sick water buffalo farm known as Bangkok. Manicure, pedicure, looking fresh, feeling fly! Happy Valentine’s Day to me, from me, love you, gurl!

BLOG: The Taser Guy

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Thursday here in Bangkok. I never could have imagined my life would someday look like this.

Last night was really quite something. I decided to wander on down to the American Bar, where a new adventure undoubtedly awaited. I was correct, as per usual.

I wasn’t sitting in there very long before an “Old Pattaya Boy” (as they say here) came into the bar waving around a taser. He was pointing it at the ceiling and zapping it on and off. Everyone laughed as if this was completely normal behavior. One person even said, “The Legend has returned!”

Ohhhh Bangkok…

Sometime later, I was left alone in the bar with only company of this man. As soon as the others were out the door, he fixated on me and said, “They told me not to talk to you. What did you do to piss them off? Why are they all so afraid of you?”

I caved into the inevitable conversation, hoping this man would not taze me into oblivion. His eyes were red and wild, his hair was unwashed and strung out, and he looked like he could possibly fall over at any moment. Naturally, he was from Belfast, and was feeling much better since he stopped doing cocaine.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “They are mad at me because I have been writing stories about this bar.”

“This bar?” He repeated. “You’re writing about this bar? What are you writing about this bar?”

“Just my observations about the people I meet and some of the weirder things that happen to me. Like tonight.”

“You’re telling me you’re going to go home after this and write a story about some crazy old guy from Belfast coming into the bar with a taser?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Are you going to use my real name?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that then?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. There must be some reason they are still mad at me.”

“You must have written about someone they know.”

“I’ve written about a lot of people they know.”

“Like who?”

“Do you know [name redacted]?”

At this, his eyes widened.

“Yes, I’ve known him for over a decade now. How do you know [name redacted]?”

“I met him here. He walked right up to me and started telling me his life story.”

“Ah, so you know who he is back home. He’s a wanted man. He lives here in exile. He can never go back to Northern Ireland. I just wonder to myself… why was it that he was never arrested? Do you know?”

“I imagine he worked out some kind of deal with the right person. Maybe traded information in exchange for protection. I can’t say for certain because I don’t know. That’s just my theory given what I know about him.”

“So you’ve been writing about him?”

“Yes. Of course. He told me I could write about him as long as I don’t use his real name. He is very braggadocious, as you know. He’ll tell anyone off the street his life story.”

“Well, you know not everything he says is true. Some of his stories are complete lies and fabrications. He’s full of shit.”

“Yes, I recently learned that lesson the hard way.”

“Oh, he was just trying to fuck you, wasn’t he? You’re definitely his type. He likes brunettes. So did you fuck him?”

“He’s not my type. He’s too pretty. He can’t handle the smack down.”

“Too pretty? I’ve seen him get punched in the face. Multiple times.”

“Maybe he can handle a physical beating, but he can’t handle a verbal one. I gave him one and he just crumpled. He can’t take it. I need a man who is not afraid of me.”

“What happened?”

“We had a disagreement. He gave me false information about somebody. He pissed me off, so I called him a child soldier and a little messenger boy. Now when I write about him, I use the name Hermes.”

The man from Belfast stared straight at me with no reaction whatsoever. He did not laugh. He did not smile. He simply nodded his head at me.

“That’s exactly what he is,” he stated plainly. “Hermes. The little messenger boy. That’s who he is. Spot on. You are right. You are correct.”

He continued staring down at me without breaking eye contact. I could see him doing the math in his head.

“I can’t imagine he was very happy when you said that to him.”

“No, he wasn’t, but he was messing with me and I didn’t like it. So I got right up in his face and messed with him back.”

“Good for you,” he said. “That’s the only way to get any respect around here. I’m starting to see why they are afraid of you.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“There’s more?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there is more. Why don’t you tell me why Jason over there is so mad at you? He would not tell me what happened.”

“Oh, you mean Uncle Jason. Yes, he came in here one night with his very handsome Irish friend and the two of us ran off together into the night. Turns out his friend is married. Oops!”

“I see. So he is mad because you fucked his friend?”

“In so many words, yes. It would seem that way.”

“Interesting.”

“You know, I am part Irish. I don’t know anything about being Irish though. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been around any Irish people. So, yeah, I would say things have gotten a little bit wild in here. It is what it is. I don’t know why Uncle Jason is still so hung up about it though.”

“I’ll have a nice little chat with Jason tomorrow and see what that’s all about. So nice to meet you, Betsey Horton.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

“You know,” he said. “It’s very impressive that you’ve gotten this much attention in such a short period of time. I’ve known these guys twenty years and I’ve never seen them hate anyone as much as they hate you. I have not met anyone like you here before. You are a rare bird.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you making any money off of this? Because you should be making money off of this. You are someone. Just think of how much money we could make if we could get the whole world to hate you!”

“We?”

He suddenly looked up at me with dollar signs sparkling in his eyes. I’ve never seen a lightbulb light up above someone’s head so fast.

“Yes, yes, I will speak with them about you tomorrow. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Betsey Horton.”

Obviously, there was much more to this conversation, but all of the remaining details identify this person very specifically, so I have chosen to exclude them in order to protect his identity.

So that was a fun night. Gotta love dem Old Pattaya Boys. This guy was so funny. He kept saying, “I’ve been doing much better since I stopped doing cocaine” over and over, lololol! Luckily, he did not break out the taser again. I guess I entertained him enough not to be thrown to the rancor pit, lol. Such is the way of Jabba’s Palace.

Maybe he will read this. Or maybe not! He did admit to me that he is basically illiterate, so it’s unlikely he’ll stick around. I’m sure Uncle Jason will be more than happy to give him the Spark Notes version. Or perhaps we can get Hermes to do it, lol.

BLOG: Duplicitous

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Tuesday. The day after the crazy drinking marathon known as the Super Bowl. What a day it was…

After the event ended, I was left alone with my Old Irish Uncle, who insisted upon imparting more of his ancient wisdom upon me. This is how I learned that Hermès has been untrustworthy all along.

I was recounting the night the two of them got together and blew up my date with the British Guy, followed up immediately by the story about the Hot Beef Stew. He made a face at me.

“What a duplicitous bastard,” my Uncle said, in direct reference to the Hot Beef Stew. “He’s a liar on many levels. Not good for you.”

“Duplicitous,” I repeated. “That’s a good word for him.”

I turned my attention back to Hermès.

“Uncle,” I said. “Do you know that Hermès has been following me around?”

My Uncle made the same face at me again.

“What do you mean by that?”

“He was liking all my social media posts, he was sharing my blog around, he was all up in my business, and he fed me a fake story about the identity of the Hot Beef Stew.”

My Uncle shook his head in disappointment.

“I told Hermès to stay away from you. You know, the only reason he intervened is because he wanted you for himself. I told him no. Absolutely not. You’re a real Lady and you’re too good for him. There’s nothing he can offer you that’s in your best interest. He only cares about himself.”

I took out my phone and showed him our lengthy correspondence on Instagram. He shook his head again.

“I don’t want you corresponding with him anymore. He’s no good for you. He’s no good at all.”

“I am not corresponding with him at present. He blocked me because I called him a child soldier.”

At this, my Uncle’s eyes lit up. He roared with laughter.

“Toy Soldier, did you say? You called him a Toy Soldier? Hahahahaha! Oh boy, I bet he didn’t like that at all.”

“He did not. I also called him a little messenger boy.”

My Uncle’s eyes sparkled at me.

“That’s exactly what he is.”

“Right. So we don’t talk anymore.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Betsey, you don’t understand. He is full of shit. He would fuck you and throw you away and then go back to his girlfriend. That’s what he does to women. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times. He doesn’t care about you.”

“That’s why I kept him at arm’s length. I was more curious about his background story than anything else.”

“Oh yes, that, well… let me tell you something right now: he is no freedom fighter. He is not in the IRA. He is Irish Mafia. He’s a gangster. He is up to no good. I want you to stay away from him. You don’t know who these people are. You could end up dead. So, no. Stay away from him. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too bad he’s one of the only Irish people you’ve met. We need to get you out more. There’s better people out there than that riff-raff.”

“So wait, what you’re saying is that he lied to me? He never actually liked my writing?”

My Uncle just shook his head at me.

“That duplicitous bastard!”

Sometime later in the day, the two of us were sitting with an obnoxious American tourist and a random Irishman who had wandered in. The American guy was super off. I don’t know if it was drugs or the effect Thailand has on people in general, but I really didn’t like him. He was super not chill.

Unfortunately, I was stuck with him, as this is around the time my Uncle’s Thai wife, who absolutely hates me, decided to come down to the bar to fish him out. She was not happy that he had stayed there with me all day long talking, for she is a very jealous woman.

“Oh Uncle,” I said to him as joke in front of some of the other regulars who had come in. “Here you are so worried about me getting shot in the head by the IRA when in reality it’s your wife who has been plotting to kill me all along.”

All of the good old boys started laughing together. Even Mr. Antony’s Friend finally cracked a smile. I’m pleased to see I’m finally starting to win him over with my award-winning personality.

His energy was strangely calm when he first saw me. I did not see the signs of anger in him anymore. He gave me a glazed over look, passed me by, and said nothing. I wondered if he’d read my most recent posts about my discovery about the identity of the Hot Beef Stew. Perhaps he has finally accepted the inevitable, which is that I am here to stay. What his motives are, I do not know.

I only know that I have been dubbed “one of the lads” and therefore cleared to hang around in a bar full of men. Well done me, I guess.

At the end of the evening, I decided to go to the pot shop and then head home. It was a full day out that started at 7:30am and ended… I don’t even want to say when.

I agreed to let my new Irish friend give me a ride there on his scooter. We hung out in the hip hop lounge, which is always a vibe, and then he gave me a ride back to my apartment. He was pretty good on the scooter. I wasn’t afraid at all. Usually, I am very much afraid of the bikes and scooters. Must have been the whole Irish thing.

When I woke up this morning, the weight of the conversation about Hermès was weighing on me. I was not happy to receive this news. I already knew all of it, but being told directly to my face of his ill-intentions for me was upsetting. I’m just very tired of duplicitous men in general. I have a lot of bad experiences behind me. The last thing I want is more…

The other issue still weighing on my mind is that of Hong Kong. I love Hong Kong, I really do. It’s such a special place. But I also think I am just happier here in Bangkok. I think the pace and lifestyle suits me more. I guess it’s easier to see that now.

I also think it’s a matter of giving myself permission to explore and figure out what is right for me. Some days I feel like I don’t know who I am or what my purpose is. I’m just adrift at SEA, clinging onto the nearest floating island of plastic, hoping to land safely on shore.

I’m only in my first year here. So many of the people I meet and talk to have lived abroad for a decade, at least. They say I am still so young, so fresh, so green. There is so much to this world I do not yet know or understand. It’s okay to make some mistakes along the way!

And so, here we are at the end of another crazy adventure. Every day is a new story. That’s what I like most about Bangkok: the stories. Hong Kong is so busy and fast-paced. It’s harder to find the stories.

I don’t know what I want or what to do. I guess I should just go meditate on it…

BLOG: At the Party

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Monday morning. Here we are at the early morning Super Bowl breakfast party. It’s not that exciting. Honestly, I dislike American football. I’m only here for the bottomless mimosas.

I wanted to know who would get up at 6am to come to this bar to watch the game. The answer: a bunch of old people. I am definitely the youngest person in here by far, except for maybe the barmaid.

The only people I know are my Old Irish Uncle and his wife, who I’ve learned to avoid after she yelled at me at Hermes’ going away party. Otherwise there is no one of particular interest. I am somewhat grateful for this as it is way too early to deal with anyone or anything interesting.

So now we are just here doing game event coverage. So far, it’s very boring. It’s not exactly rugby, is it? Or anything rugby-adjacent, like a new sport I’ve recently discovered that is now all over my feed thanks to one lengthy creeping session. I’ll be an inadvertent expert by the end of the week.

I’m definitely going to leave after the halftime show. I already woke up at 5am. I’m now putting in the least amount of effort possible to write this so-called “sports report.”

I am disappointed. I really hoped for more interesting people-watching. But, you know, it is Monday morning, so I imagine most normal people are on their way to work right now. They are not total and complete degenerates like I apparently am.

I didn’t think this through. Now I am stuck watching this very boring sport that I actively dislike. Alas.

The commercials this year are definitely giving an, “America, are you okay?” vibe. No, no we are not okay. We are definitely not okay.

The halftime show has everyone in the bar totally captivated. After all, who doesn’t love Latin music? And Latin dance? I know I do! Have you ever seen Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights? Best movie ever, thankunext!

Oh, the dancing is so good. I just love Latin dance. Give me the time and the space and the soundtrack and I will go all out. Love it.

Everyone in here loves the Halftime Show. No one is complaining at all. Well, we are Americans in Thailand. Why would anyone be hating on this performance? They just gave it a standing ovation, as did I.

Honestly I was afraid ICE was going to burst in halfway through and arrest Bad Bunny, or worse. Thankfully that did not happen.

Okay, I am officially bored with this entire event. I just don’t feel like being alone right now and I want something familiar, so… America, fuck yeah.

Off now.