Tag: The Russian

BLOG: All Over The Place

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Here we are. Monday, again.

Still nothing to show for my efforts but some blog posts. I like to think it’s okay because I’m getting funnier, in spite of my occasional brush with darkness out here in SEA.

I applied for another crop of jobs last week. Nothing. It’s all the same recycled job postings that were there in January. So I am basically applying to be rejected by the same companies all over again. Fun.

I wish I knew how to do what I do all day and make money from it. All of my problems would be solved. No more pretending I like people. No more “networking.” No more masking. No more exhaustion that actively prevents me from writing and creating art. Just this, all day every day, for the rest of my life. I would be fine with that.

I thought about throwing in a random application for a Masters program at HKU. They would need to pay for literally everything though because I have no money for anything. Not school fees, not an apartment, nothing. I’m in the same position no matter where I move my piece on the board. Sucks.

I was feeling more motivated about it on Saturday morning. Now I don’t feel any motivation to do anything at all. I thought my depression would go away if I moved to the opposite side of the world, but it hasn’t gone anywhere. Some days I just get so lonely and overwhelmed here. I feel so lost. I don’t know who I am or what I want. I am just at the whim on the universe. I am not taking an active role in my own life at all. Honestly, I don’t think I even know how.

In the meantime, I am trying to make peace with things as they are. As I said the other day, I finally made peace with Bloody Mary’s. As we always knew, I was right and all of them were wrong. South Dakota people just enjoy being cruel for the sake of being cruel. They see someone out there doing something different and their first instinct is to burn the witch at the stake. That has literally nothing to do with me or my book. That state is just all bad vibes, all the time. It’s not about me.

I got rid of Andrew months ago, so that’s not an issue anymore. I’ve replaced him with true stories of ridiculous dates I’ve been out on with real men. Made peace with the deaths of Mad Dog, my dad, my aunt, my uncle, and my grandmother.

One thing I cannot make peace with is my living family. There is no peace to be made. It’s a source of constant struggle for me. I want to make peace with it, but I really struggle to accept how fucked up the situation is. It doesn’t help that my mom, grandmother, sisters and aunts basically stonewall me whenever I try to communicate. They really think they can just pretend nothing bad ever happened. They literally refuse to take any kind of accountability for anything. It is IMPOSSIBLE to communicate ANYTHING to them, at all. They will always DARVO me.

They still act like me moving abroad is the gravest crime ever to be committed on earth, which again, makes absolutely zero sense because my aunt literally lived here in Hong Kong for a year. You would think she would be happy for me or asking for pictures or checking in. But she doesn’t. It’s just… radio fucking silence from all of them. It’s so weird.

I swear it feels like leaving a cult, but I don’t know what cult it is or understand how it operates. I can only say that my cousins on my mom’s side are all also in the same situation where their parents are extremely controlling and keep them contained close to home in spite of the fact that they are all fully-grown adults. It’s weird. That whole family is weird. It’s only now that I am on the other side of the world, watching other people post pictures of their families visiting them, that I realize… that shit ain’t right.

I never speak to my dad’s side anymore. After he died, my aunt went full mask off and basically said, “You’re not my family anymore. I don’t want to spend time around you or invite you to things. I don’t want to deal with you at all.” Okay, crazy. I’m sure my Irish grandmother would love to see you treating your own blood relatives like that. I bet she’s really proud.

So yeah, I am definitely having a lot of trouble moving past the family stuff. As I’ve mentioned previously, I am the Family Scapegoat, which means everyone treats me like a punching bag they can take out all their negative emotions on. This is why nobody is happy for me and why they refuse to acknowledge my writing career. They don’t want me to succeed. They want me to fail so they can continue beating up on me. I refuse to accept that kind of treatment anymore, so they are vilifying me for walking away from it and setting up boundaries. It’s all very textbook for people with undiagnosed personality disorders.

I think it’s really hard knowing that they feel this way and act this way. I think I did something really brave by accepting a job on the other side of the world, getting on a plane to come here, and then sticking it out for the rest of the year when the job didn’t work out. I think it’s amazing that I’ve visited 12 countries, studied yoga in India and Bali, and lived in Bangkok and Hong Kong. I never, ever thought in a million years my life would look like this. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And my family, the people who are supposed to be supportive and provide unconditional love, all hate me for it.

Why?

I have so much weighing on my mind right now. My date with the Russian was merely a distraction from all of this. Men are always just a distraction from all of this. They come and they go and, if we are lucky, they provide some entertainment along the way. That’s all we can hope for in this life. There’s no point in expecting anything more from any of them. Just get the story and leave. Don’t get attached. Don’t get hung up. Just take the story and leave.

I know I have this fantasy that if I go to Ireland to research my family history that I will find a new family that loves me and accepts me for who I am. I think this is very unrealistic. I should not go because I expect to find something or receive something in return. I should go because I want to spend my days unraveling old scrolls in the library just for the sake of learning and education. I’m setting myself up to fail by going there “for the people.” I should go for me, to find me, to learn to love me and understand who I am outside of my overly-controlling family.

Anyway, it’s not a good time right now. In addition to the housing crisis, now there is a fuel crisis affecting the entire country. All weekend my feed was dominated by footage of the protests across Ireland. I just felt like… maybe it’s not my time yet. Maybe I have more to learn out here in SEA before I go there.

I don’t know. I am so lost right now. I can’t pick a road to travel down. Some days I just want to go back to India to study more yoga. Some days I want to hop a flight to Vietnam or Cambodia. Some days I want to go to Ireland. Some days I want to dump off all my stuff at my brother’s apartment and just take a backpack all around Africa. Some days I just want to get married and have a nice apartment/condo/house/whatever to decorate. Some days I want to go to graduate school. I really am, as my AI-generated google search results say, “All Over The Place.”

Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel today: All Over the Place.

BLOG: What’s With All the Leather, Bro?

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Sunday.

Sitting at a random cafe in my neighborhood waiting on a Bloody Mary. I don’t even want to talk about how much I drank yesterday. I just couldn’t stand to think about anything anymore. I didn’t go out anywhere. I just stayed at home and drank alone, which is sad. Then I went out on my rooftop and danced for awhile because that’s what I do.

I woke up today and all of my problems were still there. I just felt worse about all of them. I decided to take back control of my life. So I did the only thing I could think of in my power to do: I went online and I hunted down The Russian.

At first, I could not find any record of him anywhere, which was strange and concerning. Then I switched my VPN to the city he lives in. Voilà! There he was in his leather jacket, sitting astride a motorcycle. Yeah, I might have a type…

I got his Facebook, his Instagram, his LinkedIn, and the official website for his business he owns. Oh, I got it ALL, fam. Then I went on a deep dive into Creepsville.

Good news: There was no wife to be found anywhere, which is great news for me. So maybe he actually was being honest with me about that. It appears that he was being honest about everything else he told me, which is also good. However, we all know how men are. Just because he was honest about his work life doesn’t mean he was being honest about his love life.

What else did I find? Oh nothing terribly interesting, really. Just a couple of pre-pandemic posts subletting his old apartment. The apartment was… well… it definitely looked like it belonged to someone who spends his entire life at the office and/or traveling. What even was that furniture selection, bro? Did that ugly brown leather couch come with the apartment or did you pick it out yourself? Jesus, no wonder this guy is so obsessed with the idea of “having a woman to make a home.” He has absolutely no idea how to decorate!

Otherwise it was mostly just posts of him wearing leather jackets and standing next to motorcycles in various exotic locations around the world. I was relieved to discover that I probably would have swiped right for him on Tinder had we met that way. Like, okay, yeah, the math is mathing here.

I was also somewhat amused to see the leather is a running theme for him. That seems… very on-brand somehow. I’m not kidding. The entire reason he was obsessed with the bar at the Mandarin Oriental was because of the red leather couches. It’s definitely A Thing. He’s got a Leather Thing. I feel like that means something but I’m too naive to understand exactly what.

In addition to the ugly brown leather couch (which I have a feeling he will soon be replacing with a red one) in his apartment, he also had a clothing rack that was just all leather jackets in various colors. Black, brown, tan, blue, he’s got ‘em all! I was left to wonder… does he have the pants to match?

Not sure. I can only say for certain that he has two looks: business and leather. So now we all know what kind of person we are dealing with over here. I was wondering what it was about him that drew me in. Yeah, I think we all know what dynamic is at play here.

It’s so amazing what you can learn about people from what they post on the internet, lol. I zoomed all the way in on all of those pics. I looked at every tiny little detail of that apartment. You can tell a lot about a person by the items they own, and believe me when I say I judged him by every single one. Right down to his choice of espresso machine.

Yes, I know, I admit it. I am a shameless, SHAMELESS creeper. I don’t care. Somehow finding all of this information about this man who rocked my world and then promptly ghosted me right after made me feel powerful. Like I was somehow back in control of the situation. I can’t explain that. I just know it felt good in the moment to sit there and mock his furniture selection from afar.

Once I had satisfied my curiosity, I went on about my day. This is where things took a turn for the hilarious. I was unpacking my laundry I picked up from the shop yesterday and pulled out my darks. This bag contained all the items that were in my overnight bag that I took on the date. I was sorting through them when, very suddenly, there they were: a pair of men’s underwear. A pair of men’s underwear neatly pressed and folded up right between my kimono and nightgown.

I don’t want to jump to conclusions here, but…

Let’s think logically first: it could be that this is just some random man’s underwear that got mixed in with mine accidentally at the laundry. That is the most rational explanation. Horrifying, but rational.

Or it could be that this is a pair of his underwear that got mixed in with my stuff when I was packing up to leave. I’m not gonna lie to you: the vibe this pair of underwear was giving was 100% him. The only way they could give more of his vibe is if they were made of leather. I’m pretty sure I actually remember him taking off this specific pair of underwear. So now I have a souvenir, I guess? Something I can always remember him by?

It’s kind of horrifying to think I accidentally walked off with some random man’s dirty underwear in my bag and unknowingly carried it around Hong Kong Island for an hour afterward. That’s crazy, and also kind of gross. Also kind of hilarious. Like… okay. There’s definitely going to be a process of Acceptance that needs to happen here.

Like what do I even do with some random man’s underwear? Frame them and mount them on the wall like they’re a big game hunting trophy? Oh god, we truly have jumped the shark now with this whole dating thing, haven’t we? I have no choice but to get married now. I’ve taken this as far as it can go. It’s reached its natural conclusion.

So that’s how my day is going today. I am left thinking to myself, “It’s too bad I won’t see him again. I think we are both looking for the same thing.”

Well, apparently not if he stuffed his dirty underwear in my bag, got on a plane back to Switzerland, and then ghosted me, never to be seen or heard from ever again. Is this some kind of weird Scorpio love test? God even knows. Wait, do you think he thinks I stole them and that’s why he ghosted me? Oh god. No. Why? That idea is even worse! What kind of person intentionally steals some random man’s dirty underwear?

And this is how I invented my new catchphrase: “You can’t ghost me; I have your underwear!”

Hahahahaha! I really didn’t think I could top the Hot Beef Stew and his little collection of action shots from his sport of choice, but here we are. We have topped them all. And all it took was one misplaced pair of underwear.

Anyway, I’m going to eat something now. Not that I have much of an appetite after writing this post. It’s been a long day so far, and to think it’s only 1:15pm.

Love that for me.

BLOG: To Market, To Market

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Saturday. At the coffee shop.

The last few days haven’t been great, to be honest. I was feeling pretty low after what happened in the Mid-Levels earlier this week. Who wouldn’t be, right?

You get on a plane, you fly to the other side of the world expecting to live your dream life, and then it all keeps going hilariously wrong instead. Good thing I’m a writer, or I would be crying to my family and begging them to let me come home. I’m not about that life. I will survive.

Instead I made a decision to be pro-active and not cave into the inevitable bed rot. I spent the whole of yesterday deep cleaning my apartment. Just dropped off another load of laundry at the Chinese Laundry Service on the corner so everything will be clean. Made some spicy noodles, drank some tea, ate some snacks. Slept in my freshly-laundered sheets and blankets. Definitely feeling somewhat better about life today.

I know it’s okay because the song on the delivery’s guy street speaker is Linger by the Cranberries. LOL. It’s… a long story, LOL. This is actually a South Dakota moment, not an Irish moment. It’s a “I’m finally at peace with my book about Bloody Mary’s Bar” moment. We have waited many years for this. Let’s soak it up while it lasts.

Anyway, back to the present. We don’t live that sad little small town life anymore. We live the Big SEA life, which is much more exciting. I get to do things like go to yoga school in Bali and spend the night in Thai airport jail and go on dates to the Mandarin Oriental with crazy hot Russian guys and receive late invitations to the fabulous Emerald Ball in Bangkok.

As for the Bloody Mary’s Krewe? Well, I guess they’ll always have the oh-so-fond memory of Mad Dog and I smoking pot on the back patio while Sam the bar owner yells at us over whatever he’s in a bad mood about that day.

Hahahaha!

Okay, but for real, back to the present.

What is my plan for the day? Well, it’s market day, which means grocery shopping! Yay!

Get this: So I kept seeing memes about Hong Kong neighborhoods, and apparently my neighborhood is the Frenchiest neighborhood in HK. I did not know this. I kinda knew because I hear people on the street speaking French just as much as I hear English and Cantonese. I’ve seen some French spots around. I just didn’t realize my neighborhood was “The Spot” until last night when I typed in the word “French” into Google maps and my neighborhood lit up like the Fourth of July.

I discovered a new imported goods shop that deals exclusively in French products, including cheese, deli meats, and bakery items. Ummm, yes please!

Screw the bougie grocery store in the Mid-Levels! On top of everything else ridiculous that happened to me there, they also had the nerve to sell me not one, but two packages of moldy, rotten cheese, both of which were extremely overpriced. We are officially done with them forever. That is definitely a sign from the universe saying, “Stay away from the place! It’s no good for you!”

So today I’m going to check out the French shop instead. I’m very excited about it. In addition to fancy ramen noodles, I survive almost exclusively off of “snack trays” that usually incorporate a variety of fruit, cheese, nuts, and crackers. I checked out the prices online and the deals on some of my preferred items are much better than at the other Western grocery stores. I’ve tried three of them now and they are okay, just overpriced. I still prefer to buy some things at the Chinese shops, like fresh fruit,large packages of water, and household goods. But there are certain things that only the Western grocery stores have (such as the deli and bakery sections), and the quality is vastly different.

Otherwise, I have decided to make peace with the rats who have recently moved into the rooftop garden. They came with the change of the season. They did not used to be there. Now every night I go up there for a cigarette and I see them lurkin’ in the shadows, watching my every move, creeping around so they can grab some rice out of the communal food bowl the building owners leave out every day for the birds.

At first, I was freaked out. It’s not that I am afraid of rats, it’s just that I’ve never forgotten about the time they wiped out 2/3rds of Europe’s population with the Black Plague. I also haven’t forgotten my encounters with the GIANT rats of New Orleans (locally known as “Quarter Cats” because they are so well-fed), nor my encounters with the New York City rats, who are aggressive enough to run straight at you in an effort to try to scare you enough to drop your pizza on the ground. Luckily, Hong Kong rats are neither scarily large, nor scarily aggressive. It seems like they prefer to sneak around unnoticed and hide in plain sight.

Last night I was out there smoking and I caught one of the rats watching me from the safety of one of the plants. It was actually kind of cute. I realized it was more afraid of me than I am of it, and we should be okay as long as we keep a safe distance of six feet of space from each other at all times.

As I made peace with the rooftop rats, I stood up to go back inside. I could smell a very familiar scent coming from the entry way, signaling to me that my cute neighbor was there. So I knew he was there, and I expected to see him standing there, and he still scared the shit out of me anyway! I swear to you, he did it on purpose!

It used to be that he and I would startle each other by accident, but now I think he is doing it intentionally for a laugh. I mean… it was kind of funny. I literally knew he was there and he still got me! Like, bro, why didn’t you just come out into the garden and say hello like you usually do?

I realized then… I gotta watch out more for this guy than I do for the rats. He’s the one that’s gonna get me when I least expect it. Not that I would really mind if he randomly backed me into the elevator and started making out with me… he is a sexy beefcake, after all! And he’s got the sexy British-Hong Konger accent.

Last night he was making fun of the way I say “laundry.” Prior to this jump scare incident, I ran into him in the hallway and told him I was on my way to pick up my laundry. He laughed as he walked away and kept repeating “LAN-dree, LAN-dree” with like some weird Southern drawl on the end of it. Like maybe he was trying to do a Texas accent or something. He just thought it was the funniest thing how I said “laundry.”

I don’t get it, but okay. And then we get the jump-scare a couple hours later. Okay, okay, let’s just makeout on the rooftop already and get it out of your system. Then you can pull a Russian guy and just go back to your real life while pretending literally none of it ever happened.

He also came out of a different apartment than the one I’ve seen him coming out of before. Did he switch apartments? Is that why I keep seeing that random Chinese girl walk into the one that I thought was his? Does this Airbnb host just play musical chairs with their studios and keep moving us around at their convenience? What is happening over here?

Anyway, I was annoyed with him because I actually wanted to ask him a legitimate question and I forgot. I want to ask him what he knows about The Wolf and The Sketchy Place. Surely he has some information I need. I will make sure I remember to ask next time he jumps out of the stairwell and scares the crap out of me.

Well, that’s about all I have to say for now. Off to the market. Have a good day!

BLOG: Chinese Laundry Day

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Friday?!

I am losing days left and right over here. What is even happening to me right now? I think it’s called “getting older.”

Yesterday I was not feeling well at all. I couldn’t even watch TV. I mostly slept all day long. I’ve been sleeping a lot more since I came to Asia. I was feeling guilty about it at first, but then I learned that my parasympathetic nervous system is in recovery after a long period of difficulty. I let it go. Sometimes I just need the extra sleep.

I resolved to make up for it today by getting all of my chores done. I started by taking out the trash and dropping off all of my towels and bedding at the Chinese laundry around the corner.

I am quite friendly with my laundry lady now. It’s kind of strange to me how freaked out I was about the idea of someone else doing my laundry. It used to be a very specific self-care ritual for me. Now I just send it off with a smile, knowing I can trust my stuff with this lady.

Now it’s just dishes and wiping down countertops and sweeping the floor and squeegee’ing out the bathroom. Gotta drop off more laundry tomorrow. Boring, boring, boring. How very tradwife of me, lol.

JK, of course. We all know I’m not the type who is going to be making homemade jams and jellies from scratch. I will only get married if household staff is part of the deal. I’ve seen things in Hong Kong I can’t unsee. The only way I’m marrying a man is if he comes with a multi-million dollar property and a housekeeper.

Put that shit in your pre-nup: I’m not doing any cleaning whatsoever.

Some cooking is okay. Pet care is definitely okay. You might just catch me out here wildin’, doing my own laundry on the housekeeper’s day off. Let her go play cards with her friends. I’ll make myself a giant salad and watch KUWTK all day.

Standards and expectations from men are very high these days. We can’t just settle for a 2.5 star rated date with some rando we met at the bar. We need to start taking the marriage market seriously. We need to be making Bridgerton levels of deals over here. Forget love; this is business!

What? Don’t look at me like that. These guys are out here saying shit like, “I believe women belong in the home.” Okay, well, I love staying at home and writing all day. Show me the home! I want a very nice home that I can decorate and renovate and occupy at all times. I definitely belong at home.

Soooo… Where is it? Where is my house?

Yeah, exactly, that’s what I thought. All words, no action, as per usual.

As I’ve said before, all of this “Big Strong Alpha Male” talk is just talk. It’s their usual male bullshit. Men are just full of it all the time. They can’t be trusted. They just say things and hurt people and use women and they don’t care about how it affects anyone else. So, whatever. I have simply chosen to rise to the occasion and just get up in their faces and be aggressive about it.

It is what it is.

The baristas just informed me that the crazy Aussie guy is back. They told him not to come back here again. They’ve told him this several times now. They told me is quite well-known to be a trouble -maker in Wan Chai. Yikes. We all know what that means!

So now I am on the lookout for him. I hope he doesn’t come back.

All the more motivation to finish up my chores. I need to go to the market as well. I’m out of bottled water. JFC, the amount of money I have spent on bottled water since I got to Asia is absurd. It’s a straight-up scam. I don’t understand why we can’t just have clean water?

I hate the Hong Kong water. It’s so harsh. I am not kidding when I say my skin is so messed up from the water here. I used to love taking long, hot showers and now it’s like torture for me. I have the worst eczema. I had to change from my beloved Bath & Body Works products to specialty local brands of soap and lotion. This lotion I am using is straight-up made for medical purposes.

This is why I’m mad about not being able to use the bathtub at the Mandarin Oriental. The hotel literally gives you a variety of special products to use in the bathtub that help ease skin irritation issues. Literally, the first thing I did when I got up to his room was look at the bath and go over all of the products that came with the bath. And then I don’t even get to use them?! Are you kidding me?! What is that?!

2.5 star review. I should just knock it down to 2. I feel like that .5 is being generous. That whole date really was a massive waste of my time. I feel like he just used me as a free sex worker and then just threw me away. That’s so not cool, bro. Like, what a waste of fucking time. Never again.

I think it annoys me extra because it is someone’s actual job to entertain him in this manner, yet he felt entitled to just take it from a random person for free. Not cool. And then he says I can’t write about him? Like, bro, that is my ACTUAL job. You don’t get to take that away from me. That’s literally the one thing I actually get out of this. You can choose which parts you want me to leave out, but you don’t get to opt out altogether. If you didn’t want to get involved, you shouldn’t have approached me at the bar and interrupted me while I was writing. That’s on you.

Yeah, I’m definitely over the whole one night stand thing. It was fun while it lasted, but I’m on a time crunch here. I gotta start taking this seriously. This is the last season of The Island of Lost Guys. It’s cancelled. No more.

Just Say No, Betsey. Boundaries. Men are like drugs. They’re fun in the moment, but the comedown is terrible and the withdrawal is even worse. Just Say No. Just Say No!

Speaking of Just Say No, my bartender friends want to fix me up with a guy tonight. I am so not into it. I don’t want to go. I want to stay home in my clean studio and watch Netflix and snuggle up in my freshly-laundered bedding without any men there to bother me.

Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. No men, no regrets.

And she lived happily ever after.

The End.

BLOG: The 2.5 Star Review

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Earlier today, I said I had nothing else to say about my date with The Russian. As my day unfolded, however, I realized that, yes, actually, I did have something else to say.

That something is that I have thought it over and decided I am giving this date a 2.5 star review. This is on a scale of 5, of course. I reasoned to myself, “He is never going to read this, but if he does, I should put it in clear-cut, direct terms he understands.”

If I was rating his dating technique the same way I would rate his business, I would give it a solid 2.5/5 stars. Reasons why:

  1. He rushed me into things too fast. He overwhelmed me with his charisma and refused to give me the time and space I needed to properly consider his offer. He also wasted valuable time arguing with me about topics we will never agree on. I am who I am, bro. You are not going to change me.
  2. He overpromised. The offer that HE put on the table was “Pretty Woman Fantasy.” It included dinner, drinks, a trip to the crazy hilarious bar, a soak in the giant tub, room service, a trip to the spa, and a shopping spree at the mall.
  3. He underdelivered significantly. None of these things manifested, at all. We just got drunk and fucked with a fancy background. That’s bullshit. I realize this is supposed to be a one-time exchange, but I don’t feel like I personally got very much out of this deal. My time is valuable. I am an investment. If you insist on making this a transactional exchange, you should hold up your end of the transaction. He did not uphold his end of the transaction.

In addition, I knocked off an extra half star because of the weird lecture he gave me at the end about my fertility. It’s literally none of your business, dude. Maybe I’ll start thinking about it once one of you ridiculous men actually sticks around for longer than a day and a half. Until then, I’m not concerned about it at all.

Overall, it was very disappointing. I don’t think I would work with this individual again. He would basically have to change his entire approach to this whole dating business, which I strongly feel he is unlikely to do.

I’m just looking for something more extraordinary than that. So yeah, this has been great food for thought, but… upon reflection, it just didn’t really do it for me.

Off now. Hope you enjoyed double posts today!

BLOG: I Think We Lost The Plot

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Thursday. Where did the week go? Oh yes, I know. I spent all day yesterday sucked into Netflix while actively avoiding reality. Nothing like a good true crime docu trio to wake you up to all of the different ways life could go wrong.

I’m not really partial to the murders myself. I like the documentaries about cults and cult psychology. I have watched ALL of the cult documentaries. Unemployment Level 100. I am also fascinated by cult psychology because, as an American, I recognize that my country has been taken over by a very dangerous cult.

This particular documentary was about the FLDS in Utah. It is absolutely terrifying to watch as a woman. I have nothing but respect for Dr. Christine Marie. She is definitely one of my new role models. That documentary was harrowing.

Then I watched the one about the pro cyclist who was murdered by the jealous girlfriend of some loser guy. The girlfriend took off to Costa Rica, where she was hiding out at various yoga retreats. That one definitely made me think a lot. I just looked back at some of the people I met in India and Bali and was like, “WTF were they running from?”

Some of them were really strange and off. As I’ve said before, I’m not sure I would go back to Bali again after what I experienced there. Bangkok, yes. Bali, no.

I found people in Bangkok were generally more open about the fact that they are running away from something. Maybe they won’t tell you what it is, but it’s kinda just the general vibe of the expat community in Thailand. It’s like walking into the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars. You know everyone in there has come from somewhere else to do some kind of shady business. It’s just better not to ask too many questions about it.

In Bali, people are presenting themselves to be something they are not, and what that something is generally involves grifting off of people struggling with mental health, grief, spiritual questions, and a lack of meaning/purpose. I definitely saw some cult-adjacent shit while I was there. I also met people who were just… way, way, way off. Like “maybe they should be in the Hotel California and not running a yoga studio in Bali” kinds of off. Ya know what I’m saying?

It did feel validating in that way. I think sometimes I can be sensitive and take other people’s weird behavior super personally when in reality it has nothing to do with me at all. Like, maybe that lady wasn’t mean to me because I’m a bad person who deserves it. Maybe she killed her husband’s affair partner and went on the run and now she’s hiding out in Bali and she’s worried some writer is going to go snooping around and find out the truth.

Maybe.

Or maybe she was just having a bad day. Either way, this isn’t about me. Don’t take it personally. I’m perfectly grand just the way I am.

Right now I am sitting outside the coffee shop, watching people on the street. I just love Hong Kong. I really do. Every day I wake up and think, “Wow, I can’t believe I get to live here. This is the most incredible opportunity of my entire life. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for it every single day.”

I was meditating last night before bed and the spirit of my Irish grandmother showed up to talk to me. She said, “Do you know what the Irish Dream is? Not the American Dream. The Irish Dream. The Irish Dream is for our children to be free to become writers, poets, artists, musicians, filmmakers. It’s to give them the gift of free time so they can create. You don’t have to slave away at the docks or in the factories or give up your education to take care of a dozen children. We did all of this so you can sit outside on the rooftop and write your book and enjoy life in Hong Kong. Stop feeling guilty about it. Enjoy it. We did it all for you.”

Okay, okay, okay. I get it. My sole purpose on this earth is to Create. I must honor my ancestors by finding a way to become a serious, professional writer. Well, we all know the first two steps: money and a room of one’s own. I have that right now, yes, but how to maintain it over time is a problem.

I don’t know. Somehow I keep making it work. Failing upward, as they say. Perhaps a reminder to focus on manifesting simple things like a fabulous apartment that someone else is paying for so I can just sit there and write all day. Hahaha.

I’m not joking. That’s a real thing. It’s called “patronage.” It’s where rich people give you money and a room of your own so you can create art all day. I’ve actually had several patrons in my life, including my father, my uncle, my aunt, and The Publisher. It really is the best way to go. At least, for now.

That’s what I have to manifest: a patron! Ah, yes, so simple. Why did I not think of it before? Patron, patron, patron.

Brilliant.

Haha, aww, the song “I’ll Be Missing You” just came on the street stereo the delivery guy always plays around this time of day. Definitely a message from my ancestors. My dad always does that. Communicate through music, I mean. Sometimes I’ll just be sitting somewhere random and a playlist comes on that only he would make and I just know he’s there.

Oh yeah, they’re definitely there right now. It just switched to “Empire State of Mind.” Big New York City energy coming in right now. It’s a whole thing.

Now I am sitting here thinking about my book/Netflix show, lol. I’ve been going through my manuscript I made in January and I just hate it. The first half is such a slog. I just want to delete it all, speed up the timeline, and just have the first 10 pages/minutes be a montage of my dad’s funeral, getting fired from Starbucks, car breaking down, losing the house, getting a giant check in the mail, and buying a one-way ticket to India. That’s it. Fuck South Dakota. This is the terrible Prequel series no one asked for. Everything since India is like… my actual real life as I have always wanted to live it finally began. That’s the real story here!

I think we’ve kind of lost the plot a little bit here. Yes, I have meaning. I have purpose. I am a writer. It’s my dream to become a professional writer. That is why I am here. I got on that plane to have a crazy adventure and write it all down. Take whatever comes at me along the way. I did that. I’ve done it. I am actively doing it, even when it comes at a cost, like my little adventure up to the Mid-Levels.

So now we have to figure out how to steer the career into professional mode. I have no idea how to do that. I have no talent for business whatsoever. I need an agent/editor type to guide me in the right direction. Someone who has that eye for business in the way that I don’t and all of the connections I need but don’t have. Again, a patron type.

Okay, I feel like I’m back to normal now after my date with the Russian. Wow, what was that? Hmm. Wild. I don’t actually have anything else I want to say about him here. I just wanted him to know… I could have easily ripped you apart, but I didn’t. But I could. So just… know that.

Honestly, couldn’t even tell ya what he does for a living. You could be water boarding me old school Soviet style and I’d be like, “I swear to you, I don’t know! It sounded so boring. I checked out halfway through his explanation and started examining the crystal chandelier and hanging gardens at the Four Seasons. I can list off every plant and flower in the terrarium. Couldn’t tell ya what he does for work. Something with Finance, maybe? I thought he said he owned his own business. I honestly have no idea.”

The world will never know. Furthermore, the world does not care. The world cares about the part where two Scorpios went on a date to a bar that looks like an old-timey opium den/brothel and it was the most on-brand thing ever for both of them. Show us those terrible red leather couches from the 80’s! That’s what the world really wants to see!

Netflix execs will be like, “How is this even relevant to the plot?”

It’s not, it’s just an excuse to film at the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong. Since when do we need a plot for sex? Spoiler alert: there is no plot. This is just a random, gratuitous sex scene with no purpose or relevance whatsoever. Since when do you have a problem including that in your shows?!

They’ll be like, “You’re right. Let’s make sure we get a top-notch intimacy coordinator on board with this production.”

IDK, I think that might be too “woke” for the Russian. I can just imagine the look of outrage on his face right now…

Ha ha ha!

I think I’m hilarious.

Off now. To do what, we don’t know. We know we’re not going back to the Mid-Levels anytime soon!

The battle of Hong Kong Island neighborhoods continues. So far I’ve eliminated Causeway Bay (too busy), Wan Chai (too wild), Central (too expensive), Happy Valley (too far), and the Mid-Levels (too bougie). I’m actually quite happy in Sheung Wan. It’s very… French. Close to everything, but easy to escape from the chaos of the city with a quick trip up to my rooftop.

I think I’ll go do that right now, actually. Then I have to clean my apartment because it’s a mess. All of my clothes are piled onto “the chair” instead of hanging in my closet, where they should be. Alas, I am not fancy enough to have a “helper” or live in an upscale “serviced apartment.” I am confined to my tiny little coffin box with the rats and the cockroaches, living off snacks and instant noodles from 7-11.

It is what it is.

BLOG: This Is Not Normal

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Wednesday in Hong Kong. Looks like it might rain soon. Luckily I managed to rescue my umbrella from the bar now known as “The Sketchy Place.”

This story is not-so-fun. Get ready. It might be triggering if you’ve ever been drugged at a bar before.

A few weeks back, I mentioned a story where I was walking home from the fancy grocery store up in the Mid-Levels and was roped into this random bar by the MAusGA. As you may recall, I blacked out there and can’t remember how I got home. I really thought it was just me not handling my wine, but the other night brought this theory into question.

Here’s the timeline:

  1. Met the MAusGa’s at The Sketchy Place, which is allegedly a small neighborhood bar frequented by the wealthy business class of the Mid-Levels.
  2. Finance Bro I met that night invited me for Happy Hour at a different bar, which I will call “The Wolf” after The Wolf of Wall Street. As you may recall, this “date” ended with him offering me a line of coke off of a dirty bar toilet and groping me behind the bar in front of the entire staff.
  3. Made a new friend that night, who is Irish and here on a long-stay work exchange with his company in Dublin. I met up with him a second time at The Sketchy Place. Nothing shady or questionable occurred.
  4. Fast-forward to Monday night, when I was back up in the Mid-Levels at this same bougie grocery store that I’m starting to suspect might actually suck.
  5. I walked down the same route, and one of the MAusGA’s from the first night was sitting outside The Sketchy Place. Pretty sure it was the same guy who roped me in the first time. It was definitely the same guy who I mentioned I saw mean-mugging me from a distance when I walked by The Wolf. He invited me in, but I only agreed because I saw my Irish friend there. I invited my other friend to meet me there as well. You know, for “networking,” as they say.
  6. Everything was normal until my other friend arrived. This is when I blacked out, again. I literally have no memory of anything that transpired after this. No memory. I don’t remember leaving, I don’t remember walking home, nothing. I definitely don’t remember how I fucked up my knees and elbows, or why my shoulder is suddenly in so much pain.
  7. I woke up the next day to messages from both of my friends in a panic. They told me I disappeared and neither of them could find me. Then my lady friend told me the same MAusGA guy was creeping on her hardcore and trying to get her to go home with him. She couldn’t find me, so she left and got home safe. Both of my friends were seriously, legitimately concerned for my safety.
  8. Are the alarm bells going off in your head yet?

Right. Yeah. If they’re not, they should be.

I told my bartender friend about this incident last night and she also freaked out. She was like, “Wait a minute. That’s not right. I’ve seen you drunk before. You’ve never blacked out here, have you?”

“No, just at the Sketchy Place.”

“And it happened to you twice in the span of a couple of weeks?”

“Right.”

“And you’ve already said that you’ve had problematic interactions involving drugs with the regulars there before?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, yeah, don’t go there again. I know that place you’re talking about. The vibe is very off there. I don’t like the bartenders. They seem sketchy. Just don’t go back there.”

I sat and thought about it for a moment before I remembered the day I was up on the rooftop and watched an obvious dealer lurk around outside. He was shaking hands with a lot of business types on their way home from work, if you know what I’m saying.

So yeah, not really too far out of the ordinary to think there might be something shady going on up there. So much for “networking” and “rubbing shoulders with the elite.”

As I’ve stated before, if this is the kind of crap people are doing to get ahead and stay ahead in that world, I want absolutely no part of it whatsoever.

What am I going to do about what I’ve seen and now suspect I know? Oh, well, you know, after repeatedly reporting incidents like this while living in South Dakota and being treated like literal human garbage as a result, my plan is simply to write about it.

Obviously, this is the shittiest solution ever. But, really, what can I do? There are CCTV cameras everywhere. If the Chinese know this stuff is going on and turn a blind eye to it, what hope do I have?

Still, if it’s happening to me, it must be happening to other people as well. There’s never just one of us. Predators usually have an established pattern. I must be someone’s type, or whatever they think their type is: young, vulnerable, alone in the big city for the first time, lonely, isolated from family, few friends, no job, no safety net, no purpose or direction.

Ahhh, but what you don’t know about me is that I wield the most powerful weapon of all: the pen.

Anyway, yeah, so needless to say that between this incident and The Russian, I have decided to slow down on the so-called “networking.” It’s not working for me. I have made some actual friends, which is good! However, all of this is just too much for me. This “corporate finance tech bro culture” is so toxic and sickening. It’s just not… the vibe for me. Like at all.

Meanwhile, we never heard anything from The Russian ever again. He has officially disappeared off the face of Planet Earth. Grand! This means I can now write whatever the fuck I want to write and I don’t have to worry about him checking up on me or getting in my business or trying to derail the one thing that keeps me sane in this world. He’s gone full ghost mode and he still has more class than the jerks from Bloody Mary’s Bar back in South Dakota. Love that for him!

My friend told me last night that I shouldn’t have texted him the paragraphs. I disagree. The paragraphs were not about my feelings. The paragraphs were summarizing what I’ve already said here and other jokes I planned to make. I sent that to cover my own ass and show that I did inform him. Just in case of any legal entanglements that may potentially arise…

My friend specifically said, “Don’t message him anymore. You’re giving away all your power. He has all the power now.”

I mean… does he really, though? He’s the punchline of my latest joke. Whatever power he thinks he has over me is purely in his mind. Frankly, if all he wants is power, then he can be all alone with his power. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take my jokes about scorpion mating rituals and bad James Bond films and continue living my life the way I please.

I don’t think he ever really had the power. I just kinda let him pretend he did because it was fun. Deep down I think we all know I analyzed this situation with a clear, sober mind and thought, “Fuck yeah I want to stay in the Mandarin Oriental for a night on someone else’s dime. Show me the bathtub!”

This is why I say… next time, I’m using the bathtub. I don’t give a fuck what he says. I’m doing it anyway. Just like I’m doing with my writing right now. What is he going to do? Cancel me? Ha!

So… what’s on the menu for today? Oh nothing, just going through all of my finances and crying because I can’t make Ireland work right now. I can’t make anything work right now. But hey, at least I have some great stories to tell from my time in SEA! That’s all that really matters, right? Right!

Off now!

And always remember: safety first!

That means…

If I don’t update this blog or my social media for 48 hours straight, call in Liam Neeson.

I am literally not even joking right now.

BLOG: I’m Cracking the Egg Joke

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Tuesday, again.

How did I lose an entire week of time? Aside from the fact that it was raining blood and frogs. I feel like the time passes so fast here. It used to pass much slower in Bangkok.

Speaking of Bangkok, I checked my web host mail and found my invitation to the Emerald Ball in Bangkok. It was sent on February 3rd. So I had already been back for like, a week and a half at that point. Interesting. Someone is clearly stalking me! I think we all know who it is, lol.

*side-eyes Hermes*

I was sad at first, but it came at the perfect time because it cheered me up right away when I saw it. Just the fact that I got one is special to me.

Also, I was stewing over that Russian character, wondering why he has not texted me since he left. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I finally cracked and sent the paragraphs.

God dammit.

It was just a summary of what I wrote about him after the date. I’m sure he really loved the joke about him showing up in a furry hat saying, “I take bride tonight” before attempting to carry me off into the night.

“Sir, this is a restaurant.”

Hahaha.

I didn’t tell him about the part where I was looking around the room in bewilderment like, “Who, me? Why on earth would you choose me?”

“You look like you fight back. I like women who fight back.”

Hahahaha.

I did ask him if I could use something weirdly specific he said to me for the “comedy material.” I felt the need to ask since it bordered on breaking the “contract” to write about it. I also said that if he didn’t complain, I would take it as permission to write about it. Then I said that I hoped he blocked me so he didn’t get any of the paragraphs I sent to him. Then I wouldn’t feel bad anymore and I could just write whatever I want to write about him.

In my mind, I sort of figured he blocked me as soon as he got off the plane and just went back to his real life. I’m sure the combination of jet lag, copious amounts of alcohol, and spicy scorpion sex made his trip feel more like a weird, opium-induced fever dream than anything else. He’s probably sitting in his office right now looking at my paragraphs thinking, “Wow, what was that?”

I don’t have an answer to that question either. I’m just here to make jokes about it because that’s all I am left with after our crazy one-night stand.

It really is too bad, because I think he would be fun to keep around. But just for the sex, because obviously it would never work out between us. I’m too woke for him.

He wouldn’t be able to handle the sight of me doing yoga to reggae music in front of a rainbow tapestry depicting a Hindu elephant god while reciting a Lakota prayer. I’m pretty sure his face would just melt off right then and there.

I also think my regular rotation of rap, hip hop, and jazz would wear him down over time. My playlist is too black for him. God help him when I play the Bad Bunny.

God even knows what he listens to. He’s probably one of those people who says things like, “Nobody appreciates Mozart anymore. That’s *real* music.”

Of course it is, but I usually only listen to classical music when I’m studying. I can’t listen to it all the time. I need more variety than that!

Anyway, he still hasn’t said anything as of yet. Maybe he never will. Maybe he blocked me and asked one of his Russian hacker friends to knock my website offline so no one sees what I wrote about him. Who knows?

Okay, you know what? Screw him. I’m making the egg joke. I don’t care if it’s borderline. I am not actually beholden to the agreement we made, especially if he goes full ghost mode.

Here it goes:

At the end of our encounter, he turned to me and started asking a lot of very personal, very invasive questions about my eggs. I’m not making this up right now. This is 100% real.

Not only was he concerned about the condition of my eggs; he also had a lot of opinions about what I should be doing with said eggs. Frankly, I thought he had too many opinions about my eggs for a man in general, let alone a total stranger who I had just met the night before. Who is this random man I picked up at the bar and why does he care so much about MY eggs?

He strongly suggested that I freeze my eggs as soon as possible.

“Why?” I asked. “Are you thinking about coming back to fertilize them later?”

He didn’t answer the question. He just continued on with his random little lecture about why I should freeze my eggs right now as soon as I leave this room. It was actually really weird, until I remembered he is a Scorpio and this is just his natural way. I also remembered in that moment that it was my natural way to tear him apart and eat him at the end.

Now this same man that was once so concerned about the state of my eggs has vanished into thin air. God even knows where he is or what he’s doing right now. I imagine that whatever it is is probably pretty boring. Why else would he need to distract himself by concern trolling me over my fertility?

Let’s be real right now: he’s probably already off fertilizing someone else’s eggs. It is what it is. Therefore, I don’t actually have to care about upholding the deal we made. I should be able to speak freely about all aspects of my date with him if I want to.

I just feel like the way my last two encounters ended was bizarre on both accounts. First the Irishman lectures me about how I “shouldn’t act like such a slut” while putting his shorts back on to go home to the wife he didn’t tell me had. Now the Russian is giving me unsolicited fertility advice before he gets on a plane and disappears from my life forever.

Thank you so much for mansplaining my body to me and trying to dictate the choices I make with it. I will be sure to remember your advice when I literally never see or hear from you ever again!

Men are so ridiculous!

I call this episode, “The Lion, The Witch, and the Audacity of This Bitch.”

The End.

UPDATE: He never answered back, so I went ahead and hit “publish.” Gotta get something out of the male messiness epidemic.

BLOG: What Kind of Freaky Old School Shit Is This?

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Monday, again.

Where did the last week go? I feel like I had a plan and then The Russian just swooped on in out of nowhere and derailed everything. Now I’m sitting here in a haze like… wow, what was that? Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?

I have no answers for these questions.

I am trying to figure out how to go back to school, how to avoid going broke, and how to avoid becoming homeless. Again. Right.

Well, we all know he’s not going to help with anything, so, whatever.

In hindsight, it’s like… “So, wait a minute. I was just having a totally normal day, which I spent with my friend at the world famous Art Basel exhibition. I stopped by my corner bar on the way home. This man just appeared out of nowhere and tried to kidnap me out of said bar and carry me off to his hotel, where he planned to keep me for two days.

I subverted this plan, but went out on a proper date with him in spite of the long list of flaming red flags. We had the craziest chemistry I’ve ever experienced and it was all really intense.

Now he has gotten on a plane, disappeared into the void, and I haven’t heard from him since. Okay.”

Okay.

So that happened. Now he’s gone. It’s whatever. I think sometimes these guys forget that we are human and we have emotions and they just leave us to process whatever the fuck that even was like… okay.

What was I talking about before? Galway, was it? Ireland? My fantasy dream land where everything is magical and I’ll live in a castle and it will all be very grand? Right, yeah, that seems realistic.

I really am in a daze.

Look, I’m sorry, but that was actually crazy. That was some old school 18th century shit. We are not in some tiny little mountain village in Russia. You cannot just waltz in here in your big furry hat and survey the women in the room like, “I take bride tonight.”

Sir, this is a restaurant.

Like, no, you can’t just pick me up and carry me out of this bar like I’m your property. You can’t just take me straight back to your hotel and hold me hostage for two days to keep you entertained!

What is that? That is CRAZY!

I know you said you were traditional, but don’t you think you’re going just a little too far?

What is that quote from Girls Trip? “What kind of freaky old school shit is this?”

Like, just zero comprehension that I am a real person who lives here every day and has very normal things to do like pick up her laundry from the corner shop and go grocery shopping and take out the trash.

I think that was actually crazy. And then after all that, he still doesn’t let me use the gigantic bathtub while he takes a nap? That’s absurd!

This is not normal. Things like this don’t happen to normal people. I look around me every day and all I see are serious, career-driven people who have relatively normal lives. Meanwhile I’m over here making some pathetic attempt to write an article about Art Basel and I get carried off by some crazy Russian instead.

Sigh.

What is that?

All of that and no one reads it anyway. Ugh.

What am I doing with my life?

I have no idea. I’m very lost. But at least I live in Hong Kong. It is pretty awesome here. I do like it a lot. I was checking out graduate programs here, but I’m too late for most of them and it’s expensive AF. Everything is expensive.

Also I still have no recommenders for my applications. I am not a popular person! Therapy and yoga did not help with that! Not blogging didn’t help with that. Going off social media for years didn’t help with that. Nothing helps with that.

So let’s see. We can’t get a job, we can’t find an agent/editor/publisher for my books, we can’t go to school, and we can’t keep a man around long enough for anything more than a few blog posts. My self-esteem is definitely sky-high right now.

Oh, but we can get kidnapped by random Russian guys and then dumped off on the side of the road two days later when they’re finished torturing me. Grand.

Haha.

I’m actually not feeling good right now. I think I’m just going to go home and go back to sleep.

BLOG: The Philosophy of Sex & Love

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Philo of Sex and Love

Sunday morning. Went to the coffee shop to get my coffee to-go so I could come back home to snuggle up in bed and write while watching the rain outside all day. Perfect!

I tried doing this yesterday with insta-coffee packets, but they just don’t do it for me. I always end up falling right back to sleep. The baristas at my coffee shop are all artists and writers and filmmakers and creative types, so they know the exact chemical equation to make a coffee that is going to keep a creative going through the day.

Anyway, how am I doing otherwise? Just grand, actually. I feel pretty good about my date this week. I really feel like I took control of that situation before it took control of me.

I’m not “hung up” on him, but he did leave me with several extremely very philosophical, deeply existential questions to chew over for some time. This is probably the best outcome we could hope for from all of that. How very Russian of him.

I think it’s okay to write about my debates on these questions, but I do have to be careful about what I say about him. He directly told me he doesn’t want me to write about him. I took that to mean, “Don’t use my real name, don’t write about my business, don’t transcribe our conversations, and don’t talk about what we do in the privacy of the bedroom.”

I’m cool with all of that.

Honestly, I could not explain to you what he does for work if I tried. He explained it to me like 7 times and every single time I was like, “You might as well be speaking Ukrainian right now because I don’t understand a goddamn word you’re saying.”

I think Finance might actually be the most boring topic ever as far as I’m concerned. Like, ugh. God knows what any of these people actually do for work. I try to listen when they explain and every time I just zone right out. Can’t do it. It just puts me right to sleep.

All I got from from that conversation was, “I’m the Boss.”

Okay. Grand. That much I understand. You’re the Boss!

Anyway, what was I writing about?

Oh yes, my deep, philosophical questions about love and sex. Haha, good thing I took an actual class in university called “The Philosophy of Sex and Love.” I am ready to debate these topics with myself.

The first thing I decided to do is separate out my “Old Life” from my “New Life.” Everything before I left South Dakota is no longer relevant to this conversation.

As far as I am concerned, my real life started when I went to the Yoga Shala in India in May 2024. That is when I feel I was “reborn” in a spiritual sense.

Everything before that was a different world, a different life, a different persona, a different version of me. Not relevant to this conversation at all.

This means the guys featured on the current season of the Island of Lost Guys are:

1. My Haryanvi ex from India who I was in a long-distance relationship with for a year and planned to marry before we broke up in Dubai at the beginning of this trip.

2. The Mexican-American guy I met in Bangkok the first time I ever went to the American Bar.

3. The British Guy, who I also met at the American Bar in Bangkok. We can all agree he is a stupid bloody wanker.

4. The Man with a Plan from Panama who Fixed my Canal. He was Panamanian-American. I also met him at the American Bar in Bangkok. This joke is funny because he really is an engineer IRL.

5. The Hot Beef Stew from Ireland. Also met him at the American Bar in Bangkok. Now we know why I was so obsessed with this bar! It was like hitting the jackpot! We found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow over there!

6. My new Russian friend from Germany or Switzerland (or wherever it was) who I met in Hong Kong last week. Let’s just go out on a limb here and assume we will never see nor hear from him ever again. I even tried to google him and nothing came up, so I was like, “Yeah, no, let’s just leave that one alone before we really do have to call in Liam Neeson.” I’m not chasing that guy down. Hell nawwww to the naw, naw, naw.

Though I did have brief flirtations with three other men, none of them were interesting or memorable enough to make the final cut for this team. I didn’t sleep with them. I wasn’t interested in them. They didn’t even make it into the final elimination round. They got knocked out of the ring very early on.

Anyway, these Representatives from the Six Nations are the characters we are working with here in this debate. I willingly and consensually slept with these men. I had very different relationships with all of them. The feelings I felt for each of them were different. Now I have had this experience with The Russian, so I can look at each of these and figure out what’s going on here.

So this debate started as a result of a conversation I had with The Russian, which I think is fine to summarize here. If he doesn’t like it, he can complain directly to me. I know he will because he is like that.

As I mentioned, he is a Scorpio male. I am a Scorpio female. Our birthdays are very close together. The energy was matching. If you had been in the room with us, you would have felt the intense chemistry between us. It was very strong.

However, in Chinese astrology, he is a Dog and I am Dragon. Traditionally speaking, that makes us enemies. One could say that is represented by the whole Russian-American thing. It was also clear our values systems do not align, as I am very, very “woke” and he is decidedly not. We definitely had a classic Enemies-to-Lovers dynamic going on there.

So this Scorpion man was explaining to me what he values in a partner. I think we did align on a lot of it, but again, that’s just the inherent Scorpio nature at work. You know, everything about trust and loyalty. Marriage is a business deal. You need someone who is going to be your equal partner who is operating on the same level, even if there are differences between the two.

In this specific pairing, that would be represented by him being more traditionally masculine-coded, while I am more traditionally feminine-coded. But also, not really on my end, because I do behave and speak in ways that are traditionally more masculine-coded and that’s why so many people (especially men) dislike me.

That being said, I don’t want to be a man. I don’t see myself as a man. I’m very happy to be a woman and use my feminine charms to my advantage, especially now that I’m learning how to actually do that in a way that empowers me.

Back to the Scorpion thing. So everything he was saying about this made sense to me. I sat there and thought, “These are all of the reasons I was dating my Indian Guy. He presented himself as a strong alpha Scorpion man who wanted these things.”

In Indian astrology, my ex is a Scorpion. However, in the West, he is not a Scorpio. He is a Pisces. So it was only a matter of time before I stepped into the position of coddling him because he’s actually just an overgrown manbaby who wanted his mommy and expected me to be his mommy. I don’t want to be his mommy. The End.

So then I had my Latin lovers, both of whom were excellent in bed. They were in touch with their emotions, they understood the concept of mutual pleasure, they were open with their sexuality, and they were concerned about making sure I was enjoying myself.

Honestly, I felt things during those nights I’ve never felt in my entire life. I didn’t even know my body could do that! Very pleasant experiences over all. The emphasis here is definitely on the physical experience of Pleasure.

But again, they both got on planes and left. I think the Mexicali is dating some blonde chick now. Good for him. I’m jealous, but happy for him.

Meanwhile, Panamanian guy was too controlling for me. Like he didn’t just have a plan to fix my canal. He had a whole plan to fix my life. He’s a fixer. I don’t want a fixer. I want a partner. It was doomed to fail from the start.

The British Guy was just a wanker. He was awful! Ugh! He was so mean. He treated me like shit. He talked badly about me behind my back and to my face. He was incredibly disrespectful in every single way. I regret allowing him to behave like that towards me.

It’s a good thing my Irish Family showed up and literally physically removed me from him. They were right and I was wrong. They said, “You need to learn how to stand up for yourself. Be kind to yourself. Treat yourself better. You don’t deserve to be abused like that. You are a strong Irish lady. You need to learn that we Irish don’t EVER take shit from the English. Stop taking shit from this colonizer wanker.”

Enter Mr. Hot Beef Stew. Now, the feeling that I experienced when I was with him was very, very, very strong. It was very different than anything I’d experienced before. It felt cozy, safe, comfortable, familiar, protective, warm, loving, kind. Literally like eating a bowl of Irish stew while cuddled up in a warm blanket by the fire on a rainy day.

My theory now after learning more about my Irish heritage is that what this was is actually “Irish Love.” It was special, but not because he and I are a good match or soulmates or whatever. This is just the way of Irish people. The universe brought him into my life to open the door to Ireland, help me find my family, and discover history, culture, and heritage.

Now we circle back to our Russian Scorpion friend. How did I even describe my feelings about this date after explaining all of this? I don’t know. I don’t know what that was. That was like… some bizarre scorpion mating ritual. I don’t know what that was. It wasn’t any of these things I just explained. I can only say it was very intense.

But also… like… what’s the point of feeling any way about it? He got on a plane and left. Now he’s back to living his real life and I’m back to living my real life. That’s it. That’s the end. There is no more to this story and never will be.

My takeaway is that I’ve gotten enough experience that I recognized it for exactly what it was. I managed to take control over the situation before it took control of me. I put up my boundaries. I didn’t get fixated or obsessed or convince myself whatever we were doing was going to end with us falling in love. It was just sex.

I said, “Okay, we’re gonna do this, but we’re gonna do this in a way that I feel comfortable with and consent to. It’s not just about what you want. We all know you only want sex. So I’m gonna have the sex I want in the way I want so that I don’t walk away from this encounter with any regrets.”

In the end, I’m not sure that what I asked him for was really what I wanted, but I’m glad I tried it. Like I said, it felt like an experiment. It was all fully consensual. Like, okay, we did that once and now we know maybe it’s not for me after all.

Now, I’m not fixating on him. I am just philosophizing in a very general way, which is better for me. Clearly, there is some kind of internal growth happening here. That’s good.

Moving forward… what do I want? I guess I still don’t really know. I think the bare minimum for me right now is to find someone that is going to stick around longer than a couple of nights. Hard to find. Probably impossible.

I think it would be a good starting point to stop doing the one night stand thing and find someone who sticks around long enough to develop some level of intimacy. Sex is better with intimacy, or so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t fucking know, lol.

I gotta just find someone who is open to experimentation and willing to communicate directly about it so we can both enjoy ourselves. Then just let whatever happens just happen from there.

I definitely know I don’t want to do the whole marriage/family/house in the suburbs thing. That is not for me.

I also know I don’t want to be with someone who is going to try to control me or fix me. I would like a partner who accepts me as the neurodivergent weirdo I am and doesn’t try to change it or beat it out of me.

He must be also supportive of my writing career and maybe provide gentle guidance in the right direction when I’m stuck or blocked.

I definitely need someone who can provide the stability and structure that I desperately need but am clearly incapable of providing for myself.

Most importantly, they have to be fun. I don’t want someone who is super uptight and serious all the time. I want someone who comes home from work and is like, “Office mode off! Fun mode on!”

I don’t want someone who comes home from work after a bad day and starts screaming at me or using me as a punching bag. That’s how my parents treated me until I was 35. I’m over it!

I don’t care how bad your day was or how many assholes you had to deal with. You better not come home and take it out on me. I’m not taking that shit from a partner. I’ve been through too much therapy for that. I am not your scapegoat. Period.

So now we know… this is what I actually want. I can vocalize this now. That is progress!

Overall, I feel pretty good about my time at SEA so far. It’s not what I expected it to be, but I’ve learned so much about myself and who I am and what I want.

I’m finally starting to find some sense of an identity that isn’t entirely built upon my intense collective of negative, traumatic past experiences.

I’m making my own choices, even if they aren’t always great ones. I’m learning from my mistakes. I’m in control of my destiny. No one is there calling the shots or telling me what I can/should do. I’m learning how to be free and independent and exist on my own.

This is it. I’m free. I’m on my own for the first time in my adult life. It’s hard, but I’d rather have it this way than be trapped in my parents’ house back in SD cleaning up everyone else’s messes while being screamed at and sabotaged and actively denied the ability to leave on every occasion possible.

I just never want to be trapped in a situation like that ever again. If that means avoiding the “traditional marriage and family” plan, then so be it. I really don’t want that. I already did it and I hated it. I don’t want to stay at home with a child all day and make snacks and do crafts and watch cartoons and Disney movies and read the same books over and over again.

I don’t want to be trapped in a big old haunted house with no option to leave just so someone can come home at rail on me every single night because they refuse to get the therapy they desperately need. I will not go through that again. I will not!

I want to be an adult out in the adult world doing adult things. I want the perks of a relationship. I want fun trips and nice gifts and good sex and emotional intimacy and direct communication and to be in an equal partnership where both of us are healthy and happy and feel heard and seen and understood.

So, none of these previously mentioned men are going to do that for me. However, I am happy that I met all of them and grateful to them for teaching me this lesson in their own ways.

Well, now all of that is settled. We got the Love & Sex question sorted out. What are we going to do about this whole Money & Career question? It’s fucked. Shit is fucked. The world is fucked.

I think… I really just want to go back to school now. Anyone got an extra $20-$50k USD laying around to help me out? Ha ha ha. Just kidding, of course.

Or am I?