Inquiries From My Own Life in Thailand

My apologies for not having posted in a while, and it’s not for lack of trying. It’s just that nothing gripped me enough to warrant posting for the sake of posting. When I do post, it’s because something has genuinely gripped me. If you can’t understand that, then I think my membership does. In fact, sometimes my membership probably appreciates the breaks, giving them time to catch up since I’m usually so prolific in pumping stuff out.

The backstory is that I’ve been in somewhat of a dispute with a gal for the last two weeks or so. I wrote posts about it because I’m a fighter, but those have been deleted because the matter has been resolved in the most unbelievable way. Part of the mutuality involves not talking too much about it.

… An old-dude, previous resident of Thailand for over 20 years, Australian, familiar with the situation, reached out to me. I often tell people that, in terms of Western civilization, Americans and Australians get along the best of any two countries. Maybe it’s the common culture of England. Americans seem to get along with Australians better than either get along with Brits. Although, we both get along with Brits just fine. But with Australians, there seems to be this kind of visceral brotherhood. In my experience spanning decades, I can’t recall a single Australian man I’ve ever had any qualms with. Quite the opposite. We almost immediately see eye to eye on things.

Anyway, I’m digressing. This man reached out to me and, in a matter of hours, solved the whole thing on both my behalf and hers. It’s done. Over. I deleted those old posts. I’m not going to speculate on what the future holds, but for now, it’s finished. Done and finished. We have re-established cordiality.

… Here’s the thing: even before this incident, weeks prior, I neglected to go to the barber for my standard cropped buzz cut that I maintain here in Thailand. This stems back to my original girlfriend, who was 32 years my junior. She absolutely insisted that I keep my hair closely cropped—that’s what she liked, so I always maintained it without much thought.

Well, having just neglected it, I then got embroiled in a conflict and just let it go. And let it go more. Then I started to notice something… Let me stop here…

You can read all the things you want about anything, but here’s the continual lesson: if you go out and do things yourself, you might get your own data. And your own data is the best data. Let me repeat that: your own data is the best data.

So, what happened in my case?

Well, as always, there are confounders. This woman with whom I was in conflict had come over about six weeks ago. The next day she messaged me and said, “You look better than you did before.” I didn’t probe that to find out what exactly she meant, but later I thought about it.

For one thing, I had started drinking alcohol again after two years. Within days of drinking, my face filled in a little bit. I could notice it in the mirror. It looked less gaunt. I had also neglected supplementing with creatine for a long time, but I had started that again. Creatine is highly associated with water retention within your muscle fibers, so it tends to fill everything out, including your face.

So, I’ve got longer hair and a more filled-out face, including muscle and just water retention.

To the right is a couple of months back in peak muscular form and a fresh buzz. To the left is this minute as I write. I always had “chipmunk cheeks” as I grew up (from my mom). Turns out it’s a liability if you lose a lot of bodyfat.

(By the way, the crooked nose was acquired at 10-years-old as I was riding a bike, no hands, my foot slipped off the pedal, hit the front wheel, and I face-planted on the pavement. Two weeks later, I started the 6th grade at Verdi Elementary School near Reno, NV, and got to begin that school year as “scab face.” Children are so loving and empathetic…)

Then the other shoe drops. As I started thinking about this, I just go out and about, and it was very weird. All of a sudden, I’m getting glances, engagement, and outright advances from young Thai women. Smiles that say, “You’re welcome to go to level number two.” And as I let my hair grow wild, it just keeps getting better and better.

Just yesterday, I went and got a foot massage. That’s a story itself. I’m not a big massage guy at all. Years ago, I had lumbar surgery, and it left the toes on my left foot with a slight numbness. That has progressed, and I found recently, within the last couple of weeks, that foot massages—think of a foot massage, one hour, 30 minutes per foot for 5 bucks—seem to enhance circulation or whatever it does. It’s magic. My feet came out of there feeling a million. I’m down for two sessions per week.

… Anyway, I’m in there yesterday, and even though there are other people in the shop—gals—and you know, I’m not stupid. I’ve lived here for five years, so there’s something more than just “you farang with money.” It was more engagement from the gals. I have to chalk it up to the longer hair, looking much different than with my buzz cut.

I’ve always dismissed guys who obsess over their hair when they start going bald. Seriously, there’s been all this hair replacement stuff going on for decades, and I’ve never given it much thought because I haven’t had the problem myself. Even my father, at 86 years old, has a full head of hair. My mother’s father also had a full head of hair until he died in his 80s from leukemia. He lost his hair when they gave him chemotherapy, but when they gave up on that, his hair largely grew back before he died.

So, given my own personal data, I guess I’m all set to keep my hair. Not that I’m saying I should grow it long again. I don’t think old dudes with really long hair is a particularly good look. Actually, some non-white folks like American Indians and some Asian males can pull off that long hair look pretty well. But for white Western males, especially when it’s scraggly, it looks terrible. Trying to cover up for balding by just letting the remaining hair grow long is pathetic. It’s like faking it. It’s a bad look.

… You know what nature’s greatest irony is in this context? I’ll tell you. It’s the young man who, in his 20s or 30s, starts going bald. But nature’s consolation is that he has an unusually big cock.

I was going to expand by telling you exactly why size does and does not matter. Like many things, it depends, and there’s context and nuance.

From hundreds of intimate and personal conversations while naked with women after…

I’ll save it for later. But here’s a hint: it makes the difference between whether they love and save, or are disgusted, by your texted dick pic.

… You might want to snag a membership if you think I’m not like your average bear.