Tag: Mark Antony

BLOG: RIP My Hot Beef Stew

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Sunday.

I am functioning with exactly one brain cell today, so bear with me as we try to get through this post.

Okay. Um. Right. What are words? We don’t know.

This is why I don’t drink Guinness. I drank exactly one glass of it last night and now I don’t remember who I am. Jaysus. I’m sure that all of the other drinks I had before and after have nothing to do with this at all.

I went out with my friend last night for the Six Nations Ireland-Scotland game. We decided to go to a different bar than last week. The bar we went to last week was all business people who like rugby. The bar we went to last night was full of lads who actually play a game close to rugby, more commonly known as Gaelic Football. If you don’t know what that is, rest assured that neither do I. It’s an Irish thing. I’ve never even seen this shit before in my entire life. I didn’t even know it existed until about a month ago. Believe me when I say…

So many GAA lads. The bar was full of GAA lads.

Oh my god.

Oh my god!

So there I was, enjoying the scenery, and then I saw a very familiar face. A little too familiar.

This guy looked like a miniature version of the Hot Beef Stew. He was much smaller in stature, but still pretty beefy, and his hair was not as curly. I could not stop staring at him in spite of my best efforts. There was just something so familiar about him. Not just the fact that he reminded me of the Hot Beef Stew. Something else. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

It wasn’t until after I drank the pint of Guinness that a horrifying realization came over me: this guy looks almost exactly like my cousin on my dad’s side. You know, my Irish side…

Then I sat there in horror for about five minutes like, “Did I hook up with a guy who looks like my cousin?!”

A little voice (no doubt belonging to that goddamn Loch Ness Monster) popped into my head and said, “Ayyyy, lassie, yer a real Guinness Mistress now!”

What in the fuck?!

Worst St. Patrick’s Day gift ever!

No more Guinness for me. It is a mysterious drink with magical powers I don’t understand. That happens once, it doesn’t happen again.

And that’s the story of how my obsession with my Hot Beef Stew died on the floor right in front of me at the Six Nations tournament. He drowned in a vat of Guinness on St. Patrick’s Day, surrounded by all the lads from the GAA. He would have wanted it this way, I know it.

The End.

Somehow I can’t escape the feeling that this is somehow the most Irish thing ever. It is a small island, after all…

Meanwhile, my friend who I was with was laughing so hard, she was crying. She was like, “You are so fucking FUNNY! You should do stand-up comedy!”

“That’s actually my secret dream. I want to be a stand-up comedian and create my own Netflix show. I know that sounds crazy, but…”

My friend looked at me like I had three heads.

“That’s not crazy at all! You could do it! That’s how a lot of people start out. They do stand-up comedy, then become writers, and then eventually they get their own show. You could do it! I would watch it!”

“Really?”

“Of course!”

She then gave me the name of a place here in HK that has an open mic night for stand-up comedy. I think I might actually go and try it out. I just have to write a script first…

After the game, we went over to a gay club around the corner. They were having a drag show. The show was… messy. She tried to do some weird stage game and it just didn’t land. I got up on stage because she asked for volunteers and played along anyway, just for fun. I realized in that moment how much I love to be on stage in front of an audience. I felt so happy in that moment.

When I got down and went back to my friend, she said, “You could have put on a way better show than that.”

I agree. I’ve been to many drag shows in my life. That was by far the weakest performance I’ve ever seen. She had everything going for her, but the routine just didn’t land. Better luck next time!

We danced for a bit, met a bunch of new people, and then went our separate ways. I had to walk home through LKF, which is a huge party spot in Hong Kong. I stopped at a random 7-11 to get a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of water. I sat down on the curb outside to smoke and was immediately swarmed by 20-something athletes from a variety of sports, all of whom wanted to bang me.

Choices: I have them!

Whoever said women expire at age 30 is clearly delusional and deranged, lol. I feel more like a bottle of expensive, fine wine. I just get better with age!

That reminds me: I watched Louis Theroux’s Inside the Manosphere documentary the other day. I haven’t laughed that hard in a loooooong time. These guys are so fucking sad and pathetic. I haven’t seen that much loser energy concentrated in one place since the last time I was in Bangkok.

Rumor has it that Andrew Tate is in Hong Kong right now. I cannot believe immigration let him in. Unbelievable. The CCP must be keeping tabs on him, just waiting for him to fuck up so they can detain him forever. That’s the only rational explanation I have. I literally cannot even.

Well, that’s about all I’ve got to say today, other than I have the most hilarious Instagram post planned for St. Patrick’s Day. True comedy at its finest right there. Let’s just say… there is going to be a mushroom cloud over Bangkok when all the lads from the American Bar see it. Uncle Jason is going to have a full-on nuclear meltdown. It’s going to be HILARIOUS!!!!

LOL!

I am such a little troll. I can’t help myself. I love watching people’s faces melt off! I just can’t resist messing with them the way they messed with me. It’s the only way to get any respect around here.

Have a fantastic day!

BLOG: Freshen Me Up

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Friday.

Currently feeling oddly refreshed after yesterday’s hike up the Peak. Must have been the combination of intense exercise, writing a story, and eating the cheeseburger. Also, I didn’t drink any alcohol yesterday, so that probably helped a lot.

I didn’t sleep as well as I was hoping to, but I also didn’t have another nightmare. Unfortunately, the British Guy (who you may remember from many moons ago as the total fucking jerk the Hot Beef Stew/Mr. Antony rescued me from) was very much a presence. Still gross, as per usual.

Regardless, I woke up feeling like a brand new version of me. Strong, confident, ready to get up off my ass and work. More importantly, motivated to clean up my apartment.

The baristas said I was glowing this morning when I came in. Hmm. Interesting. Okay, so I admit that maybe I needed him more than I thought. Whatever. It’s fine.

Now he can take comfort in knowing he’ll forever be immortalized on the page as both the man who rescued me from that stupid bloody English wanker AND as the man who motivated me to walk up a big hill. Most Irish thing ever. I’m sure he would just thrilled, hahaha. And probably somewhat relieved.

I have to laugh because the combination of the stories about Hermes and Antony really make Uncle Jason look totally paranoid and unhinged IRL. Sorry, what was it you were so upset about me writing again? The world will never know!

Sooo… Antony… you’re pretty grand at this whole “life coach” thing. You’re hired! Same time next week? You know I prefer to schedule our appointments in advance! LMFAO!

Gotta love being Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire!

I realize that I’m pumping this shit out at a rate that most people can’t keep up with in the modern era. Attention spans are pretty low these days thanks to TikTok slop. Still, I keep at it in the hopes I can get something out of it someday.

It’s amusing for me these days to see depictions of writers in media who write one short story, agonize over it for years, and refuse to show anyone out of fear. No wonder people keep policing me for dumping everything I write onto my blog. I just grind this shit out. Normal people can’t keep up with my neurodivergent superhuman strength.

I can sit down and write a post in less than an hour, churn it out, and be done. Definitely going for quantity over quality at the moment, but that’s only because I had the worst writer’s block during the pandemic and after my dad died. I didn’t write anything for like 5 years. Now I’ve gotta make up for lost time by meeting as many ridiculous people as possible, having as many experiences as I can, and writing it all down.

I am in such a weird position in life right now. I know this is who I am and what I want to do for the rest of my life. However, I also know the financial question is real, and that I have a hard time working with/for other people because I tend to be targeted and bullied for my neurodivergence. It takes a significant toll on my mental health. So I just need to figure out how to be a writer and support myself.

Men will say, “Just get married!” And in the next breath attack me for being “too old and too bitchy and too feminist” or whatever. This is why I say… A Man is Not a Plan! But also, it would be very helpful to me financially if I could find a patron of some sort, but only to pay my rent and feed me. That’s really all I need in life.

Oh, and the occasional shopping trip every once in awhile, which for me tends to look like digging through secondhand bins for unique pieces, not racking up $50k at the nearest designer store. I think those big designers are so overrated these days, especially after living in Hong Kong. Most people are carrying Super Clones or wearing fakes. You can only tell the difference if you’re snobby and look too close. It’s just some dumb status thing, which is really just a way of trying to elevate oneself above everyone else. I’m not about that life.

At the end of the day, it’s like… who cares? I would be perfectly happy with a Birkin Super Clone straight from the Chinese factory line. I’m not gonna play their “Spend more money so we can put you on the 10-year waitlist for a bag, only to offer you one in a color you don’t want and kick you off the list if you don’t take it” game.

That is the dumbest fucking shit I’ve ever heard in my life. Sure, I could do that, or I could just save time and money by digging through secondhand shops until I find one on my own. Who really gives a fuck? It’s just a bag. You’re supposed to use it to carry all your shit around every day, not put it in a glass case to display in your closet like a rare artifact in a museum. What is that?

All of that being said, I do kinda wish I could do the Guinness Mistress thing. It’s a job, with perks, like a seaside cottage in Ireland! No, seriously, it’s a good arrangement. I get a place to live rent-free where I can write and only have to deal with a man part-time. Don’t have to have kids, don’t have to play house, don’t have to take on any responsibilities. Maybe I just get a little dog and a cat. Dream life right there!

Haha, I’m just kidding. We all know I’ve had “relationships” with married men before. They were not fun. They did not feel good. It’s not fun to play second fiddle to someone else. Also, neither of them was giving me anything back for my trouble. They weren’t paying my rent or taking care of me in any real, meaningful way. They weren’t supporting my writing career. They were just using me and I let them take, take, take because I have ZERO boundaries and no idea how to actually conduct myself in a healthy relationship.

I guess my experience with my various gentlemen callers in Bangkok was supposed to teach me that. It was definitely supposed to teach me some kind of lesson. Anyway, we’ll just call that era of my life “my slutty phase” and be done with it. Time to find someone who is serious and proper and will treat me with the kindness and respect I deserve.

Lol, it’s a nice fantasy. We all know what men are like in reality. Most of them are just… straight-up energy vampires. All they do is drain the life out of me. That’s why I started taking their essence for myself and using it to inspire my stories and characters. They have no qualms about taking from me, so I just take from them right back. Gotta get something out of this, after all!

This is also the reason why I hate it when men give me the “Caveman Speech” about how men are natural providers and women need to stay at home in the cave. I say, “Okay, so pay my tab. If you’re such a natural provider, then fucking Provide!” They always, ALWAYS have a meltdown over “gold diggers” or try to flip the script by saying, “Well you’re such a feminist, so pay for yourself!”

Okay, you can’t have it both ways. Either you go out there and bring me home a fucking mammoth, or you shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear it anymore.

That’s why I don’t care about all these dumb men in Bangkok who bitch about my writing. Every single one of them would use me for sex and discard me the next day if they had the chance. Now they get to experience being used and discarded for creative purposes instead. Amazing how I don’t feel sorry for any of them! Next time don’t be doing so much of your thinking with your dick!

Anyway, I need to go now. I have an apartment to clean and errands to run. Let’s see how much I actually get done…

SCRIPT: Betsey vs Antony

Posted on Posted in ScriptsTagged , , , , Leave a comment

EXT: Old Peak Road – A steep trail surrounded by greenery overlooking Hong Kong. A petite American woman dressed in a purple two-piece yoga set and carrying a backpack with a blue and orange yoga mat sticking out sits down in an empty pavilion beside the trail. She is visibly struggling to breathe. She takes a long sip from her water bottle. She is BETSEY.

BETSEY: This was a terrible idea. What the hell was I thinking? That’s the last time I take advice from a fictional character.

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: Are you out of breath already, Ms. Yoga Teacher?

BETSEY jumps out of her seat, as she is very easily startled. She looks up and sees a very handsome beefcake with dark curly hair standing in front of her. He is ANTONY. She does not look happy to see him at all.

BETSEY: Jesus Christ! Don’t scare me like that!

ANTONY: [scoffs] A little out-of-shape there, honey?

BETSEY: I regret making you a character already. You’re gonna have me up at dawn running laps around the field every day, aren’t you?

ANTONY: You need it.

BETSEY: What I need is to get laid. You know what’s better than some dumb hike up this stupid hill? A weekend sex marathon.

ANTONY: You really think you can handle that with the shape you’re in?

BETSEY: Ha! Can you?

ANTONY: You would be surprised.

BETSEY: I would be very surprised given your performance last time.

ANTONY: [shrugs] I was drunk pissed. You don’t know me when I’m sober. I would rock your world.

BETSEY: That’s what they all say. They always disappoint in the end.

ANTONY: That’s not what I read on your little blog. Seems like you had a grand time with your Latin-American guys.

BETSEY: Yeah, well, I got lucky there. Why do you even think I was haunting that stupid bar in the first place? I got lucky! Literally, the first night I ever went in there, I got laid. I went in for a grilled cheese sandwich and left with a man! A very hot man, by the way. And then I kept getting lucky… until I met you. Then all my luck ran out. Now it’s nothing but cranky old men. You know, I didn’t get laid once on my last trip to Bangkok, and it’s all your fault!

ANTONY: You’re funny.

BETSEY: This is all your fault. You should have just fucked me and forgot, but no. You wanted to fucking snuggle instead. Who the fuck do you think you are? Asking me about my deepest, darkest secrets while you’re naked in my bed, all while your wife you completely neglected to tell me existed is waiting at home. That wasn’t a casual fuck! That was intimacy! We had intimacy! Now I can’t stop thinking about you! It’s not fair!

ANTONY: You’re right. I’m sorry.

BETSEY: Ugh, men and their stupid egos. You just had to prove you were better than that stupid English guy. Now look at this mess. This is a mess!

ANTONY: You’re the one who lit the candle on your altar. This is your doing. You used magic to entrap me.

BETSEY: I did not! At least… that wasn’t my intention. Anyway, based on my experience with Andrew, things like this tend to be a two-way street. I did not make this character on my own. You gave your energy to it. I know you did.

ANTONY: Calm down. Don’t waste your energy like this. You’re not even halfway done with the hike. You’re not even at the Visitor Center. You still have to get there, walk all the way around, and then walk up the top.

BETSEY: This is so fucked up. Why am I even talking to you right now?

ANTONY: Because you need someone to give you a good kick in the arse.

BETSEY: And you’ve taken it upon yourself to be the kicker?

ANTONY: That’s what I do.

BETSEY: Ugh. I didn’t even know that sport existed until about a month ago.

ANTONY: That’s because you don’t know yourself. You don’t know your family or your history or your culture.

BETSEY: You’re one to talk! You’re not even full Irish.

ANTONY: Neither are you.

BETSEY: What are you, anyway? Are you Lebanese?

ANTONY: That’s a very specific guess. Why would you guess that?

BETSEY: My dad, who is dead, by the way, spent a year in Lebanon as an exchange student. I feel like this is the kind of shit he would pull from beyond the grave. Send me some half-Irish, half-Lebanese athlete who is going to make me run laps around the field.

ANTONY: There it is.

BETSEY: What?

ANTONY: How do you Americans call it? Your… Daddy Issues?

BETSEY: I don’t have Daddy Issues!

ANTONY: You’re a beautiful young woman who spends most of your free time hanging around old men in pubs. You definitely have Daddy Issues.

BETSEY: Go away. You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met, and believe me when I say I’ve met a lot of very annoying people in my life. I knew from the first moment I saw you that you were going to give me a massive headache, and I was write. It’s been nothing but a headache since that night!

ANTONY: I’ll go away once you finish your hike.

BETSEY: I don’t want to finish the hike. I want to go back to my apartment and take a nap.

ANTONY: You’re not really going to give up that easily, are you? Why did you even come to Hong Kong if not to climb all the way to the top?

BETSEY: I just wanted to escape South Dakota. I took the first offer I got. It just so happened to be Hong Kong. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything has been a complete disaster since my layover in Dubai.

ANTONY: If you give up now, it will all have been for nothing.

BETSEY: Seriously, you are literally the most annoying person I’ve ever met.

ANTONY: Come on. Get up. If you make it to the top, I’ll buy you a double cheeseburger.

BETSEY: You can’t buy me a cheeseburger. You’re a fictional character. I’ll buy myself the goddamn cheeseburger.

ANTONY: That’s the spirit!

BETSEY: [stands up and puts her backpack on] This is so fucked up.

ANTONY: [runs ahead] Hurry up, slow poke! We gotta get there by sunset.

BETSEY starts walking up the hill again, motivated only by the thought of this ridiculous man dangling a Five Guys bag in her face. It takes some time, but eventually she makes her way to the top of the Peak.

When she finally makes it to the top, she gives ANTONY a death glare as he takes a stretch and looks out over the bay.

ANTONY: How ya feelin’ over there?

BETSEY: Like you are evil and sadistic and just straight-up wrong. That’s the thing about Irish people. You seem so nice and friendly on the surface, but you can get really scary, really fast.

ANTONY laughs in spite of himself.

ANTONY: Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.

BETSEY: I just want you to know that I don’t like you and we are not friends.

ANTONY: Oh, yeah, you just want to fuck me, right?

BETSEY: It’s a very complicated emotion, okay?

ANTONY: Doesn’t sound very complicated to me.

BETSEY: Just give me the goddamn cheeseburger already.

ANTONY: You have to walk all the way back down that hill first.

BETSEY: I swear to god, I will find 10,000 ways for you to suffer on this page. I can make it happen. I’ve done it before.

ANTONY: Grand. At least you’ll get some sleep tonight.

BETSEY: Ah, yes, I’m looking forward to having another nightmare already. Thank you so much for your service.

ANTONY walks back over to her and gives a her a playful tap on the rear.

ANTONY: Get down that hill or no cheeseburger for you.

BETSEY: You’re the worst character I’ve ever created.

ANTONY: Thank you. Now get down that hill!

BETSEY gives him another loathing glare as she puts on her sweatshirt and turns back around. When she gets back to the Visitor Center, she stops to take another break.

BETSEY: [whining] I’m tired and hungry and cold. And it’s dark! Can’t I just take the Tram back down?

ANTONY: What’s your step count?

BETSEY: 19,603.

ANTONY: [scoffs] Jaysus, that’s pathetic. You should be doing 20k a day minimum.

BETSEY: Oh, fuck you.

BETSEY takes out her cigarettes. Before she can take one out, ANTONY smacks it out of her hands.

ANTONY: No smoking!

BETSEY: Who the fuck do you think you are?!

ANTONY laughs at her with a mocking tone.

BETSEY: If you were real, I would slap you across the face for getting fresh with me. Give me my cigarettes!

ANTONY: No.

BETSEY: I really, really, really do not like you right now.

ANTONY: I’ve heard worse.

BETSEY: God damn you. I just wanted to get laid.

ANTONY: It could still happen.

BETSEY: Oh, right, because you’re gonna get on a plane to Hong Kong just to spend the entire weekend fucking my brains out.

ANTONY: [smirks] I’m thinking about it.

BETSEY: You’re a monster. I’ve created a monster. You’re worse than My Andrew!

ANTONY: We’ll see about that.

BETSEY: Fuck you and your fucking step count. I’m taking the Tram. I want my double cheeseburger with Cajun fries. I’m done letting you dictate my day!

ANTONY: Grand. I’m done listening to you whine and moan and complain.

BETSEY: Grand! Then get the fuck out of my head!

BETSEY takes out her Octopus card and heads straight for the Tram, only to discover it’s closed for the day.

ANTONY: Looks like you’ll be walking after all.

BETSEY: [whining] But it’s still 40 minutes away!

ANTONY: Best get a move on then.

BETSEY: You really are a sadist, aren’t you?

ANTONY: Wow, they really weren’t joking when they told me you’re a spoiled little Princess. No wonder you’re unemployable.

BETSEY: Oh, just fuck off.

ANTONY laughs again as BETSEY storms away angrily and heads back down the hill. Forty minutes later, she arrives at Five Guys, where she is forced to wait even longer for her meal. ANTONY goes up to the counter to pick up the bag and brings it back over the table. BETSEY reaches out for it desperately, but instead he dangles it over her head.

ANTONY: You gotta jump for it.

BETSEY: GIVE ME MY FUCKING CHEESEBURGER OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL MURDER YOU WITH THIS PEN RIGHT NOW!

Everyone in the restaurant stops and stares at them. ANTONY looks around sheepishly and sets the bag on the table.

ANTONY: Alright, alright, calm down. Take your bag. You’ve earned it.

BETSEY: You’re mean. I don’t like you.

ANTONY: That’s too bad. I think I might like you.

BETSEY: Well, unfortunately for you, I am currently in a relationship with this double cheeseburger, so you’ll have to find someone else to mess with tonight. Maybe your wife, perhaps?

ANTONY: I think I’d rather mess with you for now. You’re fun. You want to have some fun?

BETSEY: No. I want my cheeseburger. Now shut up and leave me alone!

ANTONY: Okay, okay, I’ll let you have your cheeseburger.

BETSEY glares at him and eats her cheeseburger without another word.

The End

BLOG: Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

What day is it today?

Thursday. It’s Thursday. This is why I always start my posts with the day of the week. Sometimes I legitimately have to check what day it is, especially in Hong Kong. Hong Kong days are so long. We work in three shifts: HK hours, London hours, and New York hours. California can wait.

I had another very vivid nightmare last night. I don’t even want to talk about it. It was so bad, I literally woke up shaking. All I could feel was The Rage seeping out of me. I immediately got out of bed and went up to the rooftop to have a cigarette. In that moment, I wished more than anything it was cannabis. I just wanted to calm down.

I tried to breathe my way through it, but I couldn’t. I just wanted to wipe it from my brain immediately. I thought to myself, “This is exactly why I don’t keep alcohol in my house.” Then I remembered I had exactly one last beer in the fridge.

I succumbed to my worst instincts in that sad, desperate moment. I grabbed it out of the fridge in spite of the fact that it was about 10:00 in the morning, cracked it open, and started drinking. The only thing that prevented me from going full Shotgun was the fact that it was cold. Also, I’m not a fucking frat boy. I’m a lady. I prefer to remain somewhat civilized and drink it out of a go-cup.

I was determined not to let this nightmare destroy my day, so I decided to put on my “Self-Esteem Booster Playlist” on Spotify instead. This epic playlist features classics such as “Area Codes” by Ludacris, “Pimp Juice” by Nelly, and “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone. I just added “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” By Rod Stewart yesterday, so I started with that one in honor of my Hot Beef Stew. I immediately felt better once I heard it. This is his official theme song now.

So there I was, dancing away my anger and pain in the confines of my tiny little shoebox of an apartment, all to this absolutely ridiculous song. I turned around and saw him sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me dance with the same look in his eyes as he had that night in my apartment. He just shook his head at me and laughed.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why do they all hate me so much?”

“They’re jealous,” he replied. “You don’t even know what you look like right now, do you?”

“Like a crazy person who self-medicates with booze because they can’t handle the weight of the trauma they’re carrying?”

He shook his head again.

“You’re a cock in a hen house,” he said.

“What?”

“I mean, you’re a hen in the rooster house.”

“Roosters don’t live in a house. They wander about the yard and wake everyone up with their obnoxious caw. Always disturbing the peace, those roosters.”

He looked visibly frustrated in that moment, as if he was trying to express something to me in a language I could not understand.

“The hens and the cocks. They keep them separated. Do you understand? You’re like a hen who wandered into the rooster house. You’re not supposed to be in there. That’s why you’ve got their feathers all in a ruffle. Do you understand?”

“Are you speaking Irish or Arabic to me right now? Because I only understand one of these languages, and it’s not Irish. Do you understand?”

He looked at me with frustration again.

“Can you please speak English instead?” I asked. “I’m sorry. I’m American. I’m not used to all your flowery metaphors. We are very direct with each other over there.”

“I thought you said you were a farm girl.”

“I said I lived in South Dakota. I grew up outside of Washington, DC. Just because I lived out in the country once doesn’t mean I’m a farm girl. Do you even know how much work that shit is? I could never live on a farm. I am a stone-cold city girl at heart.”

He looked at the ground, searching for the words again.

“They hate you because they want to fuck you and they can’t. That’s why they all come to Thailand. They can’t get women like you back home, so they flock to a place where it’s easy for them. You remind them of the fact that they are losers back home. Nothing more than common riff-raff down by the docks. Do you understand me now?”

I looked him up and down as the realization finally dawned on me.

“I see what you’re saying, but I’ve always been that way. Always. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the only woman in a room full of men. That’s just how I am.”

“Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?”

I looked him up and down again.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure I’m not. Bisexual, yes, definitely. But a full-on lesbian? No way. That would be like going vegetarian for me. Sure, I like a good side salad every now and again, but I’m not going to give up cheeseburgers just to graze the grass for the rest of my life. Do you understand?”

He started laughing in spite of himself as he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

“You should go hike up The Peak today,” he said. “It will be good for you. Remind you why you came to Hong Kong in the first place.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

I finished my beer as I watched him disappear again. Then I changed into my yoga clothes, put on my walking shoes, and made my way to the cafe downstairs. I sat down at the table, opened up my laptop, and I wrote our story.

So now I’ve done it. I wrote my story for the day. Now I’m on my way to hike up The Peak and remind myself that I came here to climb the ladder to the top, not to spend my days crying in bed over dumb shit that doesn’t matter.

The End.

BLOG: Cuppa Tea?

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Wednesday. It’s 1:30pm and I’m still in bed recovering from the epic emotional meltdown I had yesterday.

This whole Bangkok situation is just… too much for me. I am so tired of misogynistic men and the women who enable them messing with my head. Some days I wish I could just be normal instead of always stepping into massive piles of shit.

Well, good news, fam. You’ve done it. You’ve finally chased me away. I won’t come back there anymore. I can’t take the level of crazy. I thought I could, but I definitely can’t. I’ve officially hit my limit.

You win.

I really struggled to fall asleep last night. I went into a full spiral and just could not calm myself down. Some days are good for me, but overall I feel like this entire year has just been a giant disaster. I really thought my life was going to change for the better when I moved abroad. I would just have a job and work and save money and go on trips. Instead it’s just been one disaster after another. It doesn’t feel very good for my self-esteem. I feel more useless and without any real, significant purpose than ever.

I finally got to sleep at dawn. I had a nightmare I was back in South Dakota with my mother and little sister. It was very unpleasant. I really miss my nightly dose of cannabis before bed. It stops the nightmares from coming.

I woke up early and couldn’t will myself to get out of bed for several hours. I finally managed to get up long enough to have a cigarette. Take a shower, brush my teeth, put on a face mask, and make myself a cup of tea. Pretty impressive for someone who is clearly in the middle of a mental health crisis. You can tell I’ve been practicing this for years.

I do not usually drink tea early in the day. I always have coffee. Tea is for when I’m stressed out or sleep-deprived or sick. It’s more of a medicinal thing for me. I decided to make one because the character of Mr. Antony/the Hot Beef Stew has been floating around all morning. He said it would make me feel better. He was right.

I used to freak out whenever I “made” a new character because I didn’t understand the process. Then I went to all those writing workshops during the pandemic and finally understood after listening to other writers talk about their experiences. It’s actually a good thing if the character you made is randomly talking to you, especially if the character is suggesting you make yourself a cup of tea to calm your nerves.

He’s trying to figure out what it means for him to be the “Muse.” He keeps asking me questions about it. I just took the line from House of Guinness and said. “It’s a job, with perks, like a seaside cottage in Ireland.”

He said, “You don’t need a Muse. You need a life coach, a manager, and a maid.” Lol! That is sooooo true.

I like this one way more than Andrew already. Maybe it’s just Andrew wearing a mask and pretending to be someone else again. I don’t think so. I think I finally cut the cord with that one when I was in Bali. I had no choice but to break that connection. It was really hurting me at the end. It was never good or healthy for me. I understand that now. But I could only really understand when I told the Hot Beef Stew about him. I keep going back to that moment and thinking to myself, “Something really changed for me there.”

Unfortunately, I’m not sure I’m loving the circumstances surrounding the creation of this new character. Not sure we really changed much at all. My attitude towards this one is much different, I will say that. I used to say that I “loved” my Andrew. Mr. Antony straight up said to me, “That’s not love.” So I do not think of his character as someone I “love.” It’s just comforting to imagine him in a wool sweater making me a cup of tea and wiping away the tears. I guess that’s all I need right now. I can’t have it in real life, so I had to make up an imaginary friend to do it instead. It is what it is.

He keeps singing “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart. So random! I haven’t heard that song in FOREVER. He says it’s his favourite workout song. Hahaha, what? Shut up! This character is too much fun.

That’s the weird part of making up characters. Sometimes they do things like that. Like say they like a certain song that I don’t listen to. I know this might be hard to believe, but Rod Stewart is not a regular feature on my Spotify playlists, lol. It literally just came up out of nowhere. Random AF.

I actually just looked up the lyrics and was like, “Oh. That’s just a summary of what happened the night we met. Except it was my high-rise apartment. Hahahaha! That’s funny.”

Hahahaha.

Andrew used to do that all the time with music. I had a playlist for him once too.

As I said, it’s a process. I understand the creative process now, but it can still be weird. It’s not like drawing a picture or painting a mural. You’re like… inventing a human being. It’s bizarre. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get over the weirdness.

My neighborhood is much quieter today. No endless jackhammering to run me out. I know I should get up and go somewhere. Get some fresh air. Drop off my laundry. Run my errands. Take a nice, long walk up and down the Mid-Levels. Go to a yoga class. I am trying to force myself, but all I can manage to do is stay in bed wrapped up in my blanket.

At least I have the company of this character to cheer up a bit. I was so upset I missed the film screening last night. I found the series online, but that’s not really the point. The point was to go there and meet people and network. I failed at that. But I also have to be realistic and admit to myself that I was just not in any condition to be socializing yesterday after writing that story. I don’t think people really understand how much writing stuff like that messes with my mind.

Mr. Antony says, “Don’t feel too bad about your story. Everyone has wanted to punch Hermes in the face at one point or another. He’s a little shit like that. I wasn’t very happy to hear about what he did either. What gave him the right to interfere? Why would he tell you a fake story about me to mess with your head? That’s just wrong.”

That’s what I’m saying, bro! Now I understand why you said that bar is full of riff-raff. It really is!

I am trying to imagine the look on Mr. Antony’s face when he heard this story. He was sooooo serious. I feel like he was probably pretty mad when he heard that. I would be. I’d be crazy pissed off, in fact. Like, “Oh, this situation could have gone away completely, but instead this little fucker decided to intercede and blow everything up. They should Extradite him back to Northern Ireland just for that. That was a really fucked up thing to do to mess with a total stranger like that, especially a woman. Straight to jail!”

Well, I guess that will teach me a lesson about writing about my real life on the internet where anyone off the street can read. Ugh. Did I learn my lesson? Well, I’m still doing it, so probably not. I definitely need a different outlet than this.

As an amusing side-note, I did go back and re-read the novella I wrote the first month I was in Bangkok. I wrote it before I ever set foot in that ridiculous bar or met any of these ridiculous people. It’s called “My Emirati Prince.” It was inspired by some random I met in Dubai. It’s… very, very, very spicy, lol. Just pure, unfiltered smut. I forgot how hot it is. I was like, “Jaysus, no wonder I was running around Bangkok like a cat in heat after writing that story. It’s… a lot. And I had not had sex in over a year and a half at that point. Prior to that, I hadn’t had it in like 5 years, and prior to that, it had been like a decade. So… there you have it!”

Well, maybe someday I’ll finally meet a man who isn’t afraid to fuck me every day. Until then… I’m going to make some spicy noodles and get some more rest. At least I’m feeling a little bit better now than I was when I first woke up.

Hmmm… maybe there is something to this whole “cuppa tea” thing after all. Who knew? You know us Americans. We don’t drink tea, we threw that shit in the harbor in protest of tyrannical governments. Well… maybe not so much anymore.

Ugh.

SCRIPT: Liz vs Hermes

Posted on Posted in ScriptsTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

EXT: A Muay Thai Gym somewhere in Bangkok, Thailand. The sign above the door reads “Jace’s Place.” A Grab bike pulls up out front and an Irishman hops off. He adjusts his little messenger bag and smooths his back. He takes a deep breath as he walks through the door. His name is HERMES.

Inside he sees a woman with short, straight bleach blonde hair dressed in a red two-piece yoga set standing in the middle of the ring. She glares at him as she plants her hands on her hips and taps her foot impatiently. She is LIZ.

LIZ: You’re late.

HERMES: I just came from Chiang Mai. I didn’t realize you were waiting here for me, Betsey.

LIZ: Betsey isn’t here today. My name is Liz.

HERMES looks her over and laughs.

HERMES: What, do you have multiple personalities or something?

LIZ: That’s right.

HERMES: Are you the good one or the bad one?

LIZ: I’m the one you don’t want to fuck with.

HERMES laughs at her again.

HERMES: Or what?

LIZ: Or you end up in a story like this. I have a whole collection of them. I write them when I want to take my revenge.

HERMES: And what, exactly, are you taking revenge for today?

LIZ: You. All of you. You dragged me into a mess that I don’t want any part of. You think I am just some stupid, naive little girl, but what you don’t know is that I have a very serious anger problem and I am going to take it out on you today.

HERMES: Why me?

LIZ: Because you have the most punchable face.

HERMES: So what? You think I’m gonna get in that ring and fight you?

LIZ: You have no choice.

HERMES: And what does Uncle Jason think about you using his place for this?

LIZ: He’s indisposed at the moment.

Cut to shot of UNCLE JASON tied up in a broom closet with a sock stuffed into his mouth. The scene quickly cuts back to the ring, where a THAI GIRL brings over a set of boxing gloves and presents them to HERMES.

HERMES: I’m not going to fight you, Betsey. I told you, I don’t hit women.

LIZ: That’s not what I’ve heard. And stop calling me Betsey. MY name is Liz. We are not the same. Now put on the goddamn gloves and get in the goddamn ring.

HERMES: I’m not getting in the fucking ring!

LIZ: GET IN THE FUCKING RING!

HERMES: Or what?

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a much older Irishman with long, wild hair marches in with a taser. He points it right at HERMES. HERMES gasps at the sight of the only person he is legitimately afraid of.

TASEER: Get in the fucking ring, Hermes.

HERMES: What are you doing here?

TASER GUY: [shrugs] Bit of a slow day. Now get in the ring.

HERMES takes the gloves nervously and climbs up into the ring.

HERMES: How did you even meet this woman?

TASER GUY: At the same place she met all of you. The American Bar.

Cut to shot of the inside of the American Bar, where all the lads are gathered to watch the Greatest Show on Earth. LYDIA, the bartender, cues up the TVs to play the live CCTV feed from the gym. She takes out a giant bowl and starts passing it around the bar.

LYDIA: Gentlemen, place your bets!

OLD MAN SMILEY: I’ve got 50 baht on Hermes! That little cunt doesn’t stand a chance against him.

OKLAHOMA: I don’t know about that one, Smiley. She’s got a lotta rage. I’ll put 100 baht on Betsey.

UNCLE SEAMUS: Ooh, this is a tough one. They’re pretty evenly matched. What does my beautiful wife think about this?

AUNTIE EM: [jumps up and down with a big smile on her face] Betsey! Betsey! Betsey!

UNCLE SEAMUS: Whatever you say, sweetheart. 50 baht for each of us on Betsey, but only because I enjoy watching Hermes get punched in the face. Never gets old!

CHICAGO EAST: I’ll bet 100 baht on Hermes. Betsey is just a spoiled little Princess. He’ll take her out in one punch.

FINN: This is not possible. You always underestimate this woman, Chi. This is your greatest mistake. I’m putting 200 baht on her knocking him out with one punch.

NEW YORK YANKEE: 500 baht and a round of shots on Betsey. She’s no delicate little lady, Chi. I agree with Finn. She’s gonna knock him right the fuck out.

MR. POSH: 500 baht on Betsey. She’s been to my house. She’s ridden on camels. She knows the date of the Norman Invasion. She’s definitely gonna win this round!

THE MOOSE: I will also wager 500 baht on Betsey. She might be a lady, but she’s a real Irish country girl at heart. I fully believe she can hold her own in a fight. What do you think, Antony?

Everyone in the bar turns around and looks at MR. ANTONY (aka the Hot Beef Stew). He sits in silence for a moment as he thinks it over. He then pulls a crisp, clean 1000 baht note out of his wallet and throws it in the bowl.

MR. ANTONY: I choose Betsey. That riff-raff Hermes deserves exactly what’s coming to him. I do not appreciate the way he interfered in our affair. He caused a lot of problems for both of us.

CHICAGO EAST: I can’t believe you’re gonna bet 1000 baht on her after she called you a ‘dirty little slut’ on her blog!

MR. ANTONY: [shrugs with indifference] I deserved it.

THE MOOSE: I thought you didn’t read her blog, Chi.

CHICAGO EAST: I don’t! I mean… sometimes I do… I mean… doesn’t everyone?

MR. ANTONY: That reminds me, has anyone seen Jason today? I feel like he should be here.

The scene cuts back to the broom closet, where UNCLE JASON finally spits the sock out of his mouth.

UNCLE JASON: [screaming] I’m gonna KILL that little cunt! You hear me, Betsey Horton?! I’m gonna fucking kill you!

The door to the broom closet suddenly bursts open. The TASER GUY stands in the doorway, holding his taser menacingly.

TASER GUY: You will do no such thing, Jason. She’s under my protection now. You leave her be or I’ll zap your dumb ass.

UNCLE JASON: Ugh! Fine! Will you at least let me go so I can watch the fight? I’m betting 10,000 baht on Hermes right now.

TASER GUY: You’re making a big mistake, but okay. Ladies!

Two THAI GIRLS come into the broom closet and help UNCLE JASON off the floor. They untie him and escort him to a bench by the ring. The TASER GUY takes a seat next to him.

The camera pans over back to the ring and re-focuses on LIZ and HERMES. Another THAI GIRL climbs into the ring to act as the referee. LIZ takes a step back from the center, puts her hands in prayer, and bows to him in respect. HERMES rolls his eyes and holds up his gloves.

HERMES: I just want to warn you in advance. This is going to be over pretty fast.

LIZ: It sure is.

REFEREE: Round 1! Go!

The bell rings to signal the start of the match. LIZ raises her arms above her head and lifts one leg into Crane Pose. She steps back gracefully into Warrior II and motions with her hand for HERMES to come at her. He steps forward to take a swing right at her face. Much to his surprise, she dodges him fast. He loses his balance and stumbles forward. LIZ promptly knocks him down onto the floor with a roundhouse kick to the face. He lands on his back and stares up at her in awe as she looks down at him with disgust.

HERMES: How did you do that?

LIZ: I’m a fucking yoga teacher, you dumb fuck. That’s how.

LIZ proceeds to beat the ever-living shit out of HERMES, destroying his perfectly punchable face in record time. The crowd at the bar watch in silent awe, their jaws dropping to the floor one by one.

LIZ: DON’T. [punch] YOU. [punch] EVER. [punch] MESS WITH ME AGAIN. [punch] DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!

HERMES goes limp on the floor as she knocks him out with one last punch. The REFEREE pulls LIZ off the poor bastard and holds her arm up in the air.

REFEREE: The winner is Liz!

LIZ rips off her gloves and throws them down on the ground so hard they bounce out of the ring. She lets out a primal scream of pure rage like none of these men have ever heard in their lives. It’s kinda scary, but also kinda hot? She spits on HERMES as she stands over his limp body.

LIZ: Happy St. Patrick’s Day, motherfucker.

LIZ storms out of the ring and disappears somewhere off screen. TASER GUY roars with laughter as he looks over at UNCLE JASON. He is frozen in shock.

TASER GUY: I told you it was a bad bet to make.

UNCLE JASON: But… but… what… I don’t understand how this could have happened. You fixed it, didn’t you?

TASER GUY: I didn’t have to.

UNCLE JASON: Fuck!

Meanwhile, at the bar, everyone is sitting there in stunned silence. The camera takes a moment to focus on each individual expression as it pans across the bar. LYDIA calmly stands over the cash register, counting out the winnings. She puts all of the cash in an envelope and hands it over to MR. ANTONY. As per usual, she is all business.

OLD MAN SMILEY: Wow.

OKLAHOMA: I told you she has a lotta rage.

UNCLE SEAMUS: That’s my niece, everyone! That’s my long-lost Irish niece!

AUNTIE EM: [smiles proudly] My niece! My niece!

UNCLE SEAMUS: That’s right, honey. Family. Not a threat. Family.

AUNTIE EM: [nods] Family.

FINN: I told you not to underestimate her, Chi.

CHICAGO EAST: [stares at the ground with shame]

MR. POSH: That was fun! Let’s face it: That fucker Hermes has had it coming for YEARS! I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sooner or later he was going to mess with the wrong person. I just didn’t think it would be… a girl.

THE MOOSE: [staring up at the TV with stars in his eyes] She’s not a girl. That’s a real woman right there. I think I’m in love with her.

MR. ANTONY: [pats THE MOOSE on the back in solidarity and chuckles] I know I am.

NEW YORK YANKEE: [gets out of his seat and rings the bell loudly] Lydia! A round of shots for the bar, please!

LYDIA already has the plate prepared. She passes out the shots and everyone holds theirs up high. Everyone except CHICAGO EAST, who is still staring at the floor in silence. Just as they are about the take the shot, the door opens and BETSEY walks in. She has long dark, curly hair and is wearing a black maxi dress. Everyone freezes and stares at her in shock.

BETSEY: What are you all staring at?

NEW YORK YANKEE: How did you get here so fast?

BETSEY: What are you talking about? You know I only live one block down the street. I’ve been in my apartment all afternoon. I was taking a nap.

CHICAGO EAST: But… but… but… that was you. It was you up there on the TV. It was you.

BETSEY: Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

OLD MAN SMILEY: Whaddaya talkin’ about? You got multiple personalities or something?

BETSEY smirks at him knowingly and shrugs.

BETSEY: Maybe I do…

The Krewe looks at her with a mix of fear and awe as she walks up to CHICAGO EAST and picks up his shot glass.

BETSEY: I’ll take that. Slainte, fam!

UNCLE SEAMUS: SLAINTE!

Everyone takes the shot. BETSEY walks over to MR. ANTONY. He hands her the envelope of cash.

MR. ANTONY: Your winnings…

BETSEY: Thank you, darling. I’m sorry for all of this.

MR. ANTONY: I’m sorry too. I should have been honest with you.

BETSEY: Thank you. I would have gone with you anyway. I don’t have healthy boundaries around these sorts of things.

MR. ANTONY: Are we okay now?

BETSEY: Yes. I told you. I like you.

MR. ANTONY: Still?

BETSEY: Always. You’re one of my Muses now.

MR. ANTONY: Just like your Andrew.

BETSEY: Yes. Just like My Andrew. Except you are way, way, way hotter than he was! That’s why I call you my Hot Beef Stew.

MR. ANTONY: Grand.

BETSEY: Grand!

They exchange one last look before she turns to the crowd and waves goodbye.

BETSEY: See you later, everyone!

BETSEY walks out of the bar, clicks her heels together three times, and lands back in Hong Kong.

The End.

BLOG: Well Done

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , Leave a comment

Friday night. Sitting at the pot shop. I could go over to the American Bar, but…

I prefer the calm here for now. It’s not busy. Just me and the budtender and some rap music. Good enough for me.

She enjoyed my story about the discovery I made about the Hot Beef Stew. I did too. Ghosting can be scary, but sometimes all you need is to see the same situation from the light of day. Then it’s not so bad anymore.

It’s not so bad!

What have I done with the information I’ve recently acquired? Absolutely fucking nothing. Nothing except listen to Pimp Juice by Nelly 50x in a row. I don’t think you realize how much this discovery has boosted my self-esteem. Like, literally, what else is there to do except shrug my shoulders and smile in gratitude at my good fortune? We earned it, we deserve it. We trained for many years just to reach this moment. And it paid off.

It did. It really did. I was honestly not expecting that, which definitely works in his favor. I’m too shocked to do anything except sit here and say, “Oh, right, yeah, that all makes total sense now in hindsight. Maybe next time, don’t drink so many vodka sodas at the club.”

Right. Got it.

Honestly I really wasn’t expecting for anything to surface at all. So I would say that I am more in a state of shock right now than anything else. Also, I have this other very important issue tugging at the back of my mind, so this is really just a nice bonus.

Yeah, I mean, really my main take away right now is that I feel much better about myself than I did before this experience. Like in my heart, I want to be angry at him. But then I saw those pictures and I was like… I can’t do it anymore. Just give him a 5-star review and thank him for the once-in-a-lifetime personal life coaching experience. I feel stronger, more confident, and ready to use my talents to take the world by storm. Thanks again.

Hahahahaha, everything is going to be okay.

Okay, that’s enough for now. Time to go do something else now. Like maybe try not to think too much more about whatever the fuck that even was…

BLOG: Mystery Re-Solved

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , Leave a comment

Friday. Here we are, at the coffee shop. As per usual. This is literally what I do every day I am here.

Last night there was nothing interesting going on at the American Bar. I said, “I hope something interesting happens tonight.” And it did! So that was pretty exciting. Love it when I get my wish!

The bartender (who will sell out any farang down the river) told me that the Hot Beef Stew does not come to this bar very often, but that he was here last week. Hmm. Interesting.

She also said she still sees the British Guy sometimes. I guess it didn’t work out between him and his island girl. Apparently he comes in to cry to her every once in awhile. Good. I hope he ends up alone because he is a total jerk.

Meanwhile, in real life… what am I doing? I have no idea!

Showing off my intrepid reporting skills by finally unmasking the true identity of this very fit and skilled sporty beefcake? Mystery solved! He was a hot, sexy beefcake all along! Just as I suspected!

These last three months, I’ve been asking myself, “What was I thinking?” Then I saw the pictures of him playing sports and I was like… yeah, I know exactly what I was thinking. It’s not that deep, lol.

What I am not thinking about is reality…

I thought about it for most of the week. My search is still coming up with dead ends. I just want to take a break and get my nails done. Take a nap. Relax a bit now that I’ve solved the world’s greatest mystery. This is bigger than the Loch Ness Monster!

I truly am relieved now that I know who he is. It feels like I don’t have to worry about it anymore now that I know. I didn’t like not knowing. I didn’t think that was fair.

I saw his name. His name helped me a lot. I was like, “Ohhhhh… That explains why he was so fancy.” I knew I recognized his mannerisms from somewhere, but I could not quite place them. I can’t say exactly where for certain, but I can say I am quite familiar with the general regional culture and customs. Once I understood exactly what I was looking at, everything about his behavior made sense.

He was also very judgy about my so-called ‘luxury high-rise loft.’ Like, sorry I don’t have a grand palatial estate with white marble fountains and vast acres of fragrant gardens full of zebras and peacocks to offer you for your oh-so-temporary stay on this beautiful island oasis. Guess you’ll have to use your imagination for that. I’m sure whatever you had in mind was much more luxurious than anything I could ever possibly conceive of.

Well, now we have an explanation for all of it. Everyone knows hot athletic guys are fuckboys. Mystery solved! If I was a man and I had that body, I would definitely remove my shirt as often as possible for as many ladies as possible. Rock. Solid. Well done. Well done, indeed. Thank you for that. You’ve given me hope that my dream of becoming a WAG who does brunches and Pilates is still possible, LOL!

Keep the dream alive, fam.

Something, something, real life… Uhh… right. Let’s focus on that a bit more, shall we? Yes, please. Real life and more real life and then even more real life. Okay. Right. Got it.

Real life.

Focus.

BLOG: We Solved the Mystery!

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

At last, we have done it!

We solved the world’s greatest mystery: the identity of the Hot Beef Stew.

I won’t say how I discovered this, but I found him by accident in a group photo. The account the photo belonged to led to a photo album full of pictures of him playing a sport. I won’t say which sport. I will only say… he looks really great playing the sport. I’m talking action shots. As in… he’s wearing the shorts and the tight shirt. He’s running and jumping and diving right into the mud. He’s sweaty and dirty and wow! He looked SO hot!

That payoff on this story was so much better than I was expecting! We hit the jackpot over here! Talk about finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! This is what you’ve been keeping a secret from me all this time?!

This is why I got angry with Hermès. He fed me a fake story that had nothing to do with any of this. Why would you do that? What fun is there in messing with me this way? Why not just link me directly to these photographs? You have been keeping this information a secret from me and you have the audacity to get mad me for calling you a child soldier? Get the fuck out! Riff-Raff, indeed!

Meanwhile, at the bar, I just sat there with my iPad, deep in Creepsville, flipping through these photos, laughing so hard I was crying. I was so relieved to see how hot he was in the light of day. I was truly afraid he was going to be a paper-bagger. I was seriously concerned he was going to a total potato in the daylight and I just had my Thailand night vision goggles on.

By the end of it, I just gave myself a pat on the back like, “Good job, Betsey. Great snag. Look at this guy!!!!! He’s so hot! Way to bag the stag! That’s why we call him the Hot Beef Stew! Yeah, that’s soooo my type. Oh, Betsey, just look at this man. He’s so gorgeous. Just think… If this is what you’ve can accomplish while drunk and high and wearing elephant pants, imagine what you can accomplish while actually trying.”

Yeah, so, that was grand. Self-esteem boosted. Thanks for that.

I’m so relieved I finally solved the mystery of his identity. Now I can stop obsessing over him. From here on out, I can just be proud of the total stag I bagged.

Hell yeah!

I feel… relief. Yes, relief. Like I can take a breath of fresh air.

At the beginning I said that he could not get Ireland to win the gold medal on the Island of Lost Guys. I was wrong. He has taken the gold medal today.

Well done, sir. Well done, indeed.

Let’s go Team Ireland!

BLOG: Boardwalk-Park Place

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Wednesday. Sitting at the coffee stand. Watching the world pass me by. Not feeling quite as lost as I used to feel when I was here before in Thailand. Hong Kong has truly been a stabilizing force in my life. I would like more of that energy, please.

I haven’t been going out very much due to lack of energy, but I finally ventured out last night. The American Bar has become much less exciting than it used to be. All of my favourite characters are gone. I have moved on. It just doesn’t quite hold that spark of interest for me that I had prior. I appreciate the fact that it was there for awhile to help me work through my Bloody Mary’s karma. It definitely achieved that particular end goal.

Instead, I was sitting alone with my Chang, stewing over my Hong Kong real estate situation. As you can see, I am clearly in Bangkok because I have a place to reside here that I like and is quite comfortable for me. However, I do not have the same in Hong Kong (yet). I am quite tired of always feeling so unstable. Real estate is rapidly becoming my latest obsession. Forget all of these stupid men! I need a house!

Nothing very interesting took place there last night at all. I thought back to Friday night when I suddenly had to leave. I am sure that someone dropped kratom in my drink. I’m sure of it. It has a very strong, very specific effect on me that alcohol does not have. Mainly the hallucinogenic effects.

I can only assume whoever did it did it because they thought it would be a funny joke. Maybe they were trying to get me to leave on purpose. Maybe they were trying to teach me a lesson. I don’t know what their end goal was, but for me… I just went back to my apartment and hallucinated that I was trapped inside of a giant vat of honey. It wasn’t the worst night I’ve ever had. It definitely could have much worse.

Kratom isn’t really that hard on me, in spite of the fact that it makes me vomit every single time. Otherwise I imagine stupid bloody English wankers as lost Roman soldiers and see the Loch Ness Monster swimming around in my drink. Generally, pretty harmless. Well, not sure the whole escapade with the British Guy was harmless. He was a pretty big jerk.

With the magic mushrooms, I have to set up the room so it’s a safe space, follow the peer-reviewed experiment directions exactly, and make sure I keep the trauma map of my brain handy to safely guide me through the nightmarish process of confronting the dark parts of my past.

Funny to think that is exactly what I was doing a year ago today. Not I am here, in Asia, which is absolutely fucking wild to me. And I’m just casually getting drugged at a bar and laughing about it like it’s funny. Well, it is Thailand, and I have been hanging around several men of questionable character, so yeah, whatever. It is what it is.

I also have to wonder if my spa treatment that day directly contributed to the honeycomb effect. I did a 2-hour treatment including a steam bath, body scrub, aromatherapy massage, hot stone, and intensive head/shoulder/back massage. So I was already in a semi-sedated state. The alcohol, weed, and kratom together just pushed me into a fully melted state.

Now I know how all of these guys get stuck in Thailand for so long. I’ve figured out the secret. They out here trapping scorpions with honey and frying them on a stick. I totally get it now. I see what they did there.

The good news is that our dear friend “Uncle Carl,” as we will call him, aka Mr. Antony’s Friend, has left me alone since that night. Last week when I came back, he was all up in my grill. This week he has significantly backed the hell off, which is great. Like, yeah, I heard your complaint, responded accordingly, then took your little “joke” with my head held up high and didn’t let you intimidate me with your wanksta shit. Bitch, you can’t fuck with me. I’m an American. I have American friends and allies. You don’t get to mess with me anymore.

Yeah, you can tell yer man (as they say in Ireland, apparently) that he can complain directly to my face if he’s really unhappy. We’ll see if his complaint is valid. I don’t think it is. After all, I was 100% honest with him up-front about who and what I am, and he chose to lie directly to my face. Why would I want to do anything nice for him?

So what if he was a good kisser? So what if he probably looks really good in a cozy sweater on a rainy day? So what if he made me feel the same as eating a bowl of hot beef stew?

In hindsight, his personality was not great! He was definitely a jerk to me all night. He was all up in my beeswax, treating me with so much suspicion and asking me endless questions. He didn’t laugh at any of my jokes. He kept scoffing at me and walking away. I had absolutely no inkling that he was just going to come outside and march around the corner and just take me into his arms like… wow.

Anyway, yeah, he’s a jerk. Anyway, we have a whole island full of hot Irish beefcakes to search for someone more worthy of our poetry. Not some low-down, lying, cheating, dirty dog. He’s a lying liar who tells lies and he deserves whatever karma he gets from acting in such a rakish manner. The end.

Glad we put that story to bed. Here I thought the new season of Bridgerton would be more exciting, but honestly the first episode put me to sleep. I need to just book a one-way ticket to Ireland and live my best Hallmark Channel Original Movie life. Lads for days. Grand. Just grand. I’ll be churning out the endless holiday schmaltz for decades.

Okay, I need to stop thinking about all of this and focus on my quest for actual real things… like a career change and a significantly investment in real estate.

Finding love? Impossible. Landing on Boardwalk-Park Place and building glamorous 5-star Art Deco-style hotels on top? Much more realistic. That’s always been my winning strategy at the game of Monopoly we call life. Now, if only I had a little Scottish terrier to accompany me on my journey…

Off we go. Much to do today…