What the hell is it with my life that I can’t finish a week of posting here? It seems every time I attempt to I get sucked into some bullshit. This time? I am pretty sure I am the patron saint of bargirls.

Why Me

I should be honest and point out I am not as much of a hardass on the girls I like as I am on the ones that randomly hit me up for money. I generally listen to them whine, bitch and moan, pick their dumbasses up when they have emotional breakdowns and basically deal with their shit.

For some reason, they always seem to call me when they go into full meltdown mode. Be it boyfriend problems, work problems, I hate my life problems or whatever. While I have the empathy of a rock I do let them cry all over me and then tell them to harden the fuck up and deal with their shit. Life ain’t a soap opera or what they see on TV. Life isn’t fair and fucking deal with it.

I don’t know if its my brutal honesty or my superhuman ability to absorb bargirl snot into my shirts but I more or less spent 3 days picking two bargirls up off the floor, planting my size 44 foot up their asses and saying get on with it.

They Are Emotionally Fucked

There are basically two types of bargirls. The professionals who are in it for the money, are more or less heartless bitches. I respect them. They are in it for the right reason.

The other other bargirls are those that are emotionally fucked up from being in a bar. These are the ones that think they found true love or at least a way forward to ease their financial burdens. These are the ones I seem to attract.

I completely get it, selling your ass out to what is effectively complete strangers isn’t the most empowering and fulfilling job out there. In fact, it sucks. If you have been doing this as long as I have, living in the shit for over a year you really start to understand why they are so fucked up. Mix in alcohol and possible recreational drug use and you get a clear idea why these girls lose their shit as often as they do.

Only So Much Sympathy

My sympathy for the girls only goes so far with them. I’ll let them cry and get it out of their system. Then I plant my foot up their ass as I indicated. I don’t pull punches, I am brutal and direct and I think for most of them it’s the first time they have ever heard it from someone.

The speech I give is basically you choose to have a kid(s) with a guy that you knew wasn’t likely to hang around. Sure, you thought it was love but how many of your friends have been down this road already and you are shocked when baby daddy pulled a runner?

Do you think I don’t know that working a normal job pays fuckall and doesn’t really offer anything beyond subsistence living? Of course I do. Yet, millions of Thais seem to do it. You are the one that came to work in Pattaya because you got suckered into the bullshit that the money was easy and farangs are just willing to hand it over to you and there is a slim chance you hit the farang lottery and one sponsors you or marries you.

Stop the fucking emotional bullshit, put on your big girl panties and make a choice. Keep selling your ass which I don’t give a fuck about because it is better money or get out and get a real job. Life, as I indicated ain’t fair so you make the best of it and do what you need to fucking do as an adult.

I’m Not A Saint

While I titled this Patron Saint of Bargirls I’m not really one. I do hold the title of Spiritual Warrior through the Universal Life Church but that was a money making scheme 2 decades ago.

I guess what I am is the guy that just sits there, absorbs snot and then gives them the brutal truth. Too many guys want to make them feel better and just tell them what they want to hear. That just means you are going to deal with another meltdown later. It’s better to be honest then sugar coat the truth.

Too many guys want to help the beautiful girl and whispering everything is going to be okay isn’t the answer. I have found the opposite to be true. Tell them the fucking truth. Odds are everything isn’t going to be okay and that is the reality you are going to deal with like it or not.

So no I’m not a saint, I just am the guy that tells them the truth and then turns in my snot laden shirts to the laundry lady for a use at a later day.