Shameful Habits of a Bangkok Bachelor

Happy Sunday, intrepid net surfer. You’ve found your way to Bangkok Seven’s weekly column. Today’s offering is a confession of sorts, but it’s also a celebration (confelebration, copyright BKK7). I confess that, as a middle-aged bachelor, I have not adopted the kind of self-care that is usually taught to husbands by their wives. And at the same time, I’m celebrating the fact that I have no ball and chain, and none of the horrific things that come with one. So the upside of being a lone ranger in the wild wild East is the freedom. The downside is, those bad habits I should’ve outgrown in college have stuck with me all these years. These long, unsanitary years. Here’s a short list of them. And while some of it might sound like explanabragging (explaining while bragging, copyright BKK7), I assure you I’m still somewhat embarrassed by such debauchery. Bless me, reader, for I have sinned:

I don’t wash my dishes. Instead, I pile them in the sink and wait for the geckos to pick them clean.

Instead of replacing my old worn-out living room chairs, I waited four years to buy a couch because I kept finding better things to spend the money on, eg. gogo dancers and booze. I don’t regret burning the cash, but I do wish I didn’t have a permanent broken spring indentation in my ass.

Water cooler banter at work goes like this… Random douche 1: “I bowled a terrible game last night.” Me: I taught an 18 year old how to deepthroat last night. Random douche 2: “You in for the big golf weekend with the fellas?” Me: This Saturday I’m having a threesome and after, doing a nude photo shoot of the girls.

My cleaning lady, who comes once every 6 months, also blows me.

If my hair isn’t too messed up when I get up in the morning, I won’t wash it. If it looks OK 5 days in a row, I’ll just wait until the bar girls complain about the smell.

If I’m alone in my apartment, I rarely put clothes on. And I’m usually too lazy to close the curtains.

Since moving into my apartment four years ago, I haven’t once cleaned the windows. I bought window cleaner and paper towels the first week. Both are unopened.

Random douche: “My wife won’t let me go to the gogo bar.” Me: ’Won’t…let…me…’ I don’t understand those words.

My body has grown so accustomed to alcohol that if I go to bed sober I just lay there staring at the ceiling for hours.

In 10 years of living and working in Thailand, I have not bought an ironing board. I just blame my backpack straps for the wrinkled shirt shoulders.

I dropped a full open beer which rolled under my living room cabinet and I never retrieved it. I put a paper towel over the beer that spilled out. The towel and bottle are still there. That was two years ago.

I’ve had the same toothbrush for the last 6 years. It’s not broken, so……

I have a pair of underwear that I brought with me to Thailand from the US—10 years ago. I still wear them sometimes when I’m too lazy to do laundry. There’s a hole big enough for one ball to wriggle free for a lone dangle, which it does from time to time.

There’s a stack of McDonald’s napkins next to the toilet for when I forget to buy TP.

Some mornings I wake up with empty McDonald’s wrappers in my bed.

I sometimes wake up with random women in my bed.

On weekends, I occasionally get up just long enough to walk from my bed to my couch, put on reruns of Rick and Morty and go back to sleep.

I get more use out of my stationary bike by hanging wet laundry on it than I do by riding it.

If I’m not expecting a guest, I won’t sweep, pick up, or wipe down any part of my apartment for days. The only reason to tidy up is if I’m having a girl over, and even then only if it’s a new girl. The ones who’ve been coming for years know to expect a filthy sty upon arrival.

While I always wear clean clothes to work, I might don the same pair of shorts to the gogo several nights in a row. In fact, unless I spill something on them, I won’t bother with a different pair for a week or more.

I don’t clear away spiders or their webs because I rely on them to trap and eat the bugs in my apartment.

Sometimes when I hang laundry to dry, eg socks on my headboard, instead of putting them away later, I just leave them up and pluck them as needed to wear throughout the week.

I sometimes pay my gal pals to clean my place because I’m too lazy to pick up a rag and do it myself.

I haven’t made my bed in over a decade.

I buy groceries for one, two days max, and have pizza delivered twice a week. If I can’t be asked to walk two blocks to the supermarket, I walk the one block to 7-11 and make dinner out of Snickers, cookies, and potato chips.

On weekends I skip breakfast, and my lunch is often just leftover 7-11 cookies.

I own one knife, 2 forks, and 2 spoons. That rounds out my cutlery.

I own a hot plate, a skillet, and a toaster oven. That rounds out my kitchen appliances.

In my fridge is mustard, salsa, 3 different hot sauces, an open can of black olives, some other random condiments, and half a Kamagra packet.

As often as possible, I avoid all situations that demand I be polite, or make smalltalk with strangers or make new friends. I abhor conversation, even with people I like.

I absolutely hate talking to female farang. It’s torture. I wish I could purge them from my life completely.

I’ve had trysts with so many gogo dancers that now there are at least two past or current playmates onstage in every bar I go to.

My most often-used phrases with Thai women: “You’re late, shut up, undress laew laew,” and “pbai laew laew.”

Most often-used phrase with girls in the gogo: “Seven doesn’t care because he has no heart.”

My signature greeting for girls in the gogo is a boob grab.

President Trump got flack for saying “Grab ’em by the pussy,” as if that was somehow something a person shouldn’t be doing. I literally do that every single day of my life.

Every month, I spend my entire paycheck on booze, Cuban cigars, dining out, and gogo dancers. I have no retirement fund, and my plan for when I’m too old to work is to go skydiving and just not pull the cord.

And that seems like the perfect place to end this sad set of pathetic poignancy (pathoignancy for short, copyright BKK7). Occasionally I wonder what my life would be like if I’d settled down, gotten hitched, produced offspring, and taken responsibility for myself. The gist is, both I and my apartment would be cleaner. But is cleanliness worth the trade-off? I know there’s more to it than that, but just based on my list, would that life be better than the one I have now? A dirty, self-serving poon wrangler riding the range like an old cowpoke? I’m reminded of a Cole Porter song…”Oh give me babes, lots of babes, and the red-light all around—don’t fence me in. Let me ride like a wild unrepentant pussy hound—don’t fence me in. I want to be by myself in my unkempt pad, chase after bar girls like an uncouth cad, if I tried monogamy I’d go quite mad….don’t fence me in!” Yep, that sums up my life pretty succinctly.

Be sure to come round again on Friday for the frowback and again next Sunday for the weekly. And between now and then, keep your balls warm, your beer cold, and cheers to another one above ground in the great staycation that is Thailand.