123Stodg

A common frustration among Western men who’ve dated, lived with, or married Western women is the decline in sexual activity over time. The phrase “I’m not in the mood” (a more polite version of “I’ve got a headache”) comes up more and more as the relationship ages. It could also become a source of anger and frustration, leaving a guy feeling unappreciated, unwanted, and, of course, sexually unsatisfied. But what about in Asia? Many foreign men who date or marry Thai women—and other Southeast Asian women—may not feel this is nearly as much of an issue. In fact, a lot of Western men might be drawn to relationships in Asia precisely because they feel they don’t have to deal with this problem. So, is there something about Thai or Asian culture that fosters a different attitude toward sex in long-term relationships? Cultural differences could also play a role. In parts of Asia some women may feel a stronger sense of duty to their partners, including sexually. Sex might not be viewed solely as an act of passion but also as an essential part of maintaining harmony in the relationship and keeping a man’s interest. Additionally, there may be less open discussion about personal feelings, fatigue, or disinterest, meaning “not in the mood” simply isn’t expressed as often. On top of that, Asian women might believe that denying their partner sex risks him seeking a replacement elsewhere. But is it fair to assume Asian women are naturally more accommodating? Or is it more a case of the honeymoon phase lasting longer because these relationships often come with an added layer of cultural newness that keeps the spark alive for longer? This isn’t to say Asian women are perfect or that every relationship in Thailand is free of sexual tension or disagreements. However, many foreign men in Asia may have fewer struggles with rejection or disinterest compared to their previous experiences in the West. So, is “not in the mood” truly less common in Asia or not?

In Pattaya I've noticed a particular type of woman that I've seen regularly. These are not one that are out working at night, but they look to have been part of the nightlife scene before. You know the type, they often have lots of tattoos, speak good English, but it's broken English and it's obvious they learned it through their work, and they carry themselves with a kind of sassy confidence that can come across as pretentious smugness. They might no longer be working directly in the bars, but they stay part of that Pattaya scene, hanging out in expat spots, some running small businesses, or even just lounging around in the same areas that they once worked. The question is why do so many of these women remain in Pattaya even after they’ve left working in the bar scene? I wonder if they simply wouldn’t be accepted if they went back to their home villages. Many of them come from conservative rural farming areas where being a former bar girl, let alone one covered in tattoos, piercings, and fluent in street-smart English, might lead to social rejection. Back home, they could struggle to reintegrate into a society that looks down on their past choices and their current persona. Another reason might be that Pattaya offers them a sense of freedom and belonging that they can’t find elsewhere. Pattaya has its own sort of non-Thai culture: it’s a melting pot of expats, tourists, and Thais who are used to the unconventional party scene. There, they can embrace who they’ve become without judgment, and their bold personalities might even thrive in that kind of environment where there is a constant influx of foreigners looking for excitement. Maybe they're even addicted to the perceived thrill of the place. Of course, there’s also the practical aspect. Many former bar girls have built their lives around Pattaya. They’ve made connections with expats and tourists over the years, some of whom support them financially or have helped them to start a small local business. The city is also full of opportunities for unusual side hustles, things like helping foreigners with basic services, running massage shops, starting some small food business, or operating a market stall. Leaving Pattaya might even mean giving up the only stability they’ve carved out in a place where they actually know the ropes. It is also possible that some truly enjoy the freer lifestyle I guess. For some, it might not be about necessity, but actually preference. So I wonder if ex-bar girls stay in Pattaya mainly because they have no choice or because they feel they've found a place where they can truly be themselves?

When forming romantic relationships in Thailand, you could consider the option to choose from either cisgender or transgender women. But which makes a better partner? This isn’t about “which is better” in a general sense, or a question of homosexuality, but more a question of suitability for a meaningful, long-term relationship. It’s well known that many Thai cisgender women looking for foreign husbands come from troubled family backgrounds. Often a background of broken homes, financial struggles, abuse, and limited education can lead to immaturity or a lack of emotional stability needed for a serious relationship with a foreigner. Does this mean that transgender women could be a better option? There’s an argument that transgender women, particularly in Thailand, could demonstrate greater resilience and determination in life. Many have faced adversity, from societal stigmas to familial rejection, and have had to find their own way in life. This could perhaps result in them being more mature, independent, and possibly even better educated than some of their cisgender counterparts. Would this then make them more understanding, empathetic, and/or suitable as a partner? In terms of what makes for a fulfilling partner, there are also other factors to consider. Some foreign men may feel that transgender women can be more emotionally supportive and attentive in relationships, perhaps due to their own life experiences. Some transgender women might approach relationships with a more unique sense of generosity, care, and loyalty from having worked to overcome societal barriers in their own lives. This all may make them more appreciative of a supportive partner and more dedicated to creating a harmonious relationship. Cisgender women, though, may be more traditional in their attitude towards relationships, which could appeal more to men who prefer conventional gender roles and want to avoid any stigmas. Cisgender women would also place more emphasis on creating a family, which would be more fulfilling for men who seek raising children. However, for some men, this traditional Thai mindset also usually comes with expectations of financial support and encompasses a lack of emotional depth. Sexual fulfillment is another aspect where perspectives could vary. Some men find transgender women more open-minded when exploring intimacy, while others feel cisgender women offer a more natural heterosexual dynamic. Ultimately, it will come down to personal preferences and expectations in this area. Another factor to consider is family dynamics. Cisgender Thai women are often under pressure to support their families financially, which can complicate relationships with foreign male partners. Transgender women may involve less of this expectation, depending upon individual family circumstances, but their familial relationships could also be strained, adding an alternative layer of added complexity. What do you think? Could transgender women be more mature, generous, and emotionally supportive in a relationship, or is the background of an individual always more important than their gender identity? Is either group more suitable as a partner, or is it impossible to generalize? Also, would choosing a transgender woman as a partner only possibly be suitable for a man who is seemingly bisexual?

I don’t know about you lot, but since Covid ended, I’ve noticed a massive shift in the type of crowd now haunting Sukhumvit’s nightlife. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that without a few key groups propping it up, the whole scene might collapse faster than a plastic patio chair under a heavy bloke. When I first landed here decades ago, Sukhumvit was the go-to spot for Western expats and tourists: Aussies, Yanks, Brits, Germans, and the odd Scandinavian sweating their way through the heat. They were the backbone of the nightlife, packing out Soi 4 and Soi 11 like clockwork. It was a good giggle. These days? I’d estimate they’re barely 20% of the crowd. The other 80%? A melting pot of Indians, Arabs, Chinese, Koreans, and Japanese punters. And here’s the kicker: Indians alone probably make up two-thirds of the crowd on certain sois. Walk down Nana or Soi 11 now, and it’s a completely different vibe. What started as a playground tailored for Western tastes has shifted into something distinctly Asian-centric. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just fascinating to watch how the balance of power (and wallets) has changed. Are we watching Sukhumvit morph into something new and sustainable, or is it just clinging to whichever crowd happens to have the deepest pockets right now? Throw in the explosion of weed shops over the last few years, and it’s like stepping into a completely different universe. So what happens if even one of these major financial pillars, say the Indians or Arabs, stops showing up? Does the whole thing come crashing down? Let’s be real: Sukhumvit’s nightlife already feels like it’s teetering on a fragile dynamic. With sky-high prices and waning appeal for many of the old crowd, it just doesn’t have the same draw anymore. Sure, the bars, clubs, and streets still buzz, but would it all go belly-up if those propping it up decided to take their wallets elsewhere? What’s your take? Have you noticed the shift? And where do you think the nightlife would end up if some of these groups suddenly disappeared?

Long-haul flying: it’s either an exciting part of your trip or a grim exercise in survival. So, what’s your best strategy? Do you pop a pill or three, crack open a bottle, and have a 10-hour solo party in the sky? Or do you white-knuckle your way through it? Maybe you whack in some noise-cancelling headphones and chill with a big bag of pork-skin crisps and a neck pillow shaped like a lopsided donut? I’ve seen it all, though. A guy next to me once downed six vodka miniatures, popped a handful of green olives in his mouth and ate a smashed liverwurst sandwich he “found” in his carry-on, then burped, and passed out mid-sentence. Is that the secret? Or maybe it’s the lady who handed me a vial of CBD oil and said, “Trust me babe, you’ll be weightless before we hit cruising altitude.” Then there was the guy sneaking hits off a nicotine vape in the lavatory and the couple who got a bit too handy under the blanket. To be honest, there’s a million ways to tackle a flight it seems. Maybe you load up on shots of free Jäegermeister and attempt to flirt with the flight attendants, or you’re the type who downs a handful of "gummies" and wakes up drooling in a different time zone? Or perhaps you’re the model flyer: stays fully hydrated, strapped into your compression socks, lumbar support pillow, and then practice in-seat yoga and deep breathing. For me, flying from Bangkok to Europe or the US is always a test of my patience and endurance. I usually prep with snacks I’d never admit to eating on the ground (beef jerky, dried squid, and Doritos) and a playlist of questionable 80s power ballads. Add in a stiff drink before takeoff, and that puts me somewhere between comfortably numb and wondering if the in-flight magazine has ever won a Pulitzer. If it’s an extra-long haul flight, like to LA or New York, I might go for a little something “extra” in the form of a blue pill to knock me out even before the first meal cart rattles by. But hey, that’s just me. How do you fly? Are you a disciplined planner with a Kindle full of Dickens classics, or the kind who takes two Xanax with a double whisky and lets the chips fall where they may? Any hacks for picking the perfect seat, avoiding a stiff neck, or managing those in-flight farts?

And despite the name, French Toast didn't come from the French. It actually dates back to Ancient Rome: The earliest recorded version of French toast comes from the Roman cookbook Apicius (from around the 4th or 5th century AD), where it was described as a dish made by soaking bread in a milk-and-egg mixture and frying it.

For comparison, here are three typical American breakfast versions: one with pancakes, one with waffles, and one with French toast and an omelette. While some American breakfasts do include Canadian bacon, similar to what's shown in the first photo I posted above, hot dogs and baked beans are not typically part of a traditional American breakfast. One aspect I do appreciate about American breakfasts though is the use of hash browns. Delicious. The practice of frying potatoes this way likely comes from German influence, as they have a similar traditional way of preparing potatoes. As for the omelette, it was obviously borrowed from the French. Alas, perhaps the Americans got the idea for breakfast sausage from the UK.

Does the one being offered in the photo for 139 Baht serve as a good and accurate example of a proper English Breakfast, or does the AI's rendition below it hit closer to the mark? All I can say is that any breakfast that starts the day with beans probably gets thing off on the wrong foot, actually on the wrong cheek so to speak.

Scammer posting a phishing link.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially as I edge further into my 50s. We hear plenty about menopause for women, but I’ve started to wonder: Do men get something similar? And if so, what does it even look like? They don’t exactly have a “male menopause” section in health class, but I’ve started noticing some telltale signs that feel suspiciously close. For starters, there’s the energy shift. I’m not talking about feeling “old” exactly, but there’s definitely less spring in the step. Nights out don’t have the same appeal, and when I do stay out late, I pay for it in the morning. Then there’s the classic—less hair on my head, yet somehow more hair making itself known on my back, sprouting out of my ears, and, for some reason, setting up camp in my eyebrows. Honestly, what is nature thinking? And then there’s the mental side of it. I find myself in this strange mix of reflection and caution that wasn’t there before. I used to be a “let’s go!” kind of guy, always on the move, never looking back. Now I’m noticing I pause more, questioning things I used to take for granted, maybe even looking for a quieter life. Friends joke that I’m mellowing, and maybe I am. There’s a pull toward stability, but also a little voice that keeps saying, “Is this really it?” Almost like a midlife crisis but slower, and quieter somehow. The relationship side is different too. Friendships and romantic connections don’t feel the same. I’m less interested in being in the middle of a crowd, less eager to jump into the next social thing. And romance? Let’s just say, things have mellowed there too. Not that I mind a more even pace—life feels more stable than it used to, and in many ways that’s a relief. But there’s no denying that things just don’t work the way they used to, and it brings up its own questions. It’s all well and good to say age is just a number, but tell that to a body that doesn’t always cooperate. It used to feel like my body was just on my side. Now? It’s almost like I have to negotiate with it. Then there’s the hormone question. I’ve read that men’s testosterone levels start to decline after a certain age, not in a dramatic way, but gradually over the years. Could that be what’s behind this shift? Maybe it’s what makes me less quick to anger but also less quick to excitement. A mellowing out that seems more internal than situational. Is it testosterone winding down, or just my perspective changing as I get older? So here’s what I’m left wondering—and maybe some of you are, too: Is there a version of menopause for men, just by another name? Or is this just life’s way of evolving our priorities, shaping what we care about, even what we’re ready to leave behind? For men, there might not be a clear term like “menopause,” but something is undeniably shifting, slow enough to go unnoticed until one day you look back and realize you’re not the same guy you were. If anyone else has noticed the same, let me know. Do you think we have our own kind of “menopause”? Or is this just the next chapter in life’s little shifts, playing tricks on us by reshuffling the pieces one by one?

Thank you to everyone for the replies and reflections. It’s clear my post struck a chord with others who’ve had similar experiences—whether here in Thailand or elsewhere. Just to clarify, this was meant as an introspective look back at my relationships and the patterns that might have run through them. It’s not a story seeking pity or a call for advice. I’m no longer involved in any of these relationships, and I don’t plan to repeat anything like them again. These are simply observations on what I’ve experienced and learned, with the last of these relationships having ended about five years ago. I’m now quite content to stay single for the foreseeable future. I can honestly say I have no regrets. Each relationship brought something meaningful, or they wouldn’t have lasted five years or more. They were experiences I wouldn’t trade, each with its own quirks and complexities. And yes, infidelity was present on my end—and, perhaps, on theirs as well. After all, this is Thailand. But that doesn’t really change the core of it. What set these five relationships apart was that, despite everything, I genuinely cared for these women. My choice to look after them in ways that may have gone beyond the usual boyfriend role came from that place of connection, and the occasional outside flings didn’t change the depth of feeling I shared with each of them. In the end, these reflections are simply that—reminders of a past that’s both familiar and distant now, each memory adding its own thread to the larger tapestry.

After spending decades here in Thailand, I’ve had my share of long-term relationships with Thai women. Some worked in the nightlife scene; others had more conventional jobs. But in all cases, there was never any money involved. None of these relationships were a sex-for-money exchange. They grew from connection, curiosity, and a genuine desire to be with each other. And for a while, it was just that—simple, fun, even a bit idyllic. I moved in with some, stayed separate from others, but each felt like a real partnership. Yet over time, something subtle, almost unspoken, would shift. What began as a classic love story somehow evolved into something… well, different. One day you’re the boyfriend, sharing laughs and the occasional cultural misstep, and the next, you feel like a mix of partner, assistant, and on-call problem-solver—kind of like a boyfriend service. The funny thing was, nothing was ever asked of me directly. It was as if I’d been drafted into a new role without warning, a subtle shift I couldn’t pinpoint until I was already in too deep. In the beginning, I chalked it up to the honeymoon period ending—that natural point where real life seeps in, and the glow of new romance takes on a different light. But it became something I noticed time and time again. It was as if each relationship, regardless of her background, went through the same phases, with the same unspoken expectations rising to the surface. Don’t get me wrong; I never minded helping out—it often gave me satisfaction to help with the day-to-day things that were tough for them. And sure, it’s natural for any relationship to have moments of give-and-take, a balance that ebbs and flows. But somewhere along the line, that balance tipped, and suddenly I found myself playing a role I hadn’t realized I’d signed up for. It went beyond simple favors. It became expected that I’d be the reliable one, the steady fixture for life’s little demands. Over time, I began to feel less like a partner and more like a fixture in the background, always expected to be ready to step in when needed. What was surprising was how natural this shift felt—like it wasn’t questioned on either side. I never saw it as manipulation or something done consciously. Like something you just do for someone else when you care about their well being. It was more as if a script was unfolding that neither of us had written but both knew by heart. And I suppose I went along with it, partly out of affection, partly because it just seemed to happen so quietly. The strange part? It didn’t feel unfair, just… strangely inevitable. I’ve asked myself whether I’m somehow inviting this role, unintentionally giving off the vibe of someone who’s willing to take on those responsibilities. Maybe there’s some truth to that. Maybe, in the early days of dating, I’d unconsciously offer to help out a little more than necessary, thinking I was just being polite, caring and nice and crossing one of those cultural bridges. Or maybe it’s that in Thailand, with its unique balance of independence and family ties, stepping in for each other is just part of the dynamic. What strikes me now, looking back, is how universal this experience became across all the different relationships. All five of the relationships lasted at least five years each. And it didn’t matter if she’d come from a small rural town or had a Bangkok upbringing. It was like, once the honeymoon phase faded and things started becoming more comfortable, I became someone functional above and beyond being the romantic partner. I went from being the spontaneous boyfriend to the one you turn to for life’s little logistical issues, the one who helps smooth over the everyday hiccups. I guess, on some level, I thought this shift would happen in any long-term relationship, regardless of country or culture. But something about it here, in this setting, in Thailand, feels a bit more amplified. Maybe it’s the unspoken expectations or the social dynamics that add weight to the role. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s just one of those cross-cultural quirks—where what one person sees as practical, another sees as a kind of slow encroachment. Or maybe it’s simply part of the way things flow in a relationship where two worlds meet, not always understanding each other but somehow finding a rhythm. Does it perhaps gravitate back towards the concept that men are always supposed to be the providers and protectors in some way? So, I’m left with this strange feeling of being on both sides—grateful to be trusted, but wary of becoming a bit too indispensable. I can’t help but wonder if others have felt this too: the slow shift from lover to something else, not unwanted but undeniably different than just being a boyfriend in the conventional sense. Has anyone else found themselves in this in-between? Not exactly a life assistant, but not quite just a boyfriend either? And does that change the way you see the relationship with a Thai woman, knowing that while you’re still “together,” it’s taken on a flavor that’s, well, part romantic, part everyday care giver?

Right, let’s talk about something a bit personal and embarrassing that I never thought would be an issue, especially here in Thailand—public bathroom performance anxiety. With the tropical heat and spicy street food always in full force, staying hydrated is key, which, of course, means more trips to the bathroom. But needing to take a frequent slash isn’t the issue—that can be settled anywhere—it’s the unexpected sit-down part, once the chilis kick in, that can catch you with your pants down, literally. Here’s the problem: more often than not, I find myself frozen on the pot, stuck in a mental game of “let’s just get this over with.” Ironically, this mindset makes getting anything over with impossible when you’ve got your bung hanging over a mystery bowl—and a line of locals waiting outside, all needing to do the same thing, putting your nerves to the ultimate test. Picture this: I’m out at a bustling night market in Bangkok or a packed food court in Chiang Mai. It’s hot, crowded, and by the time I finally reach the restroom, there’s a line and zero privacy. People just a few feet away, noise from all corners—every part of it adds to the mental block. Once the thought’s there, it’s game over. My brain flips a switch, and suddenly it feels like everyone’s silently waiting for me to “perform” on cue. The pressure builds up, and before I know it, I’m walking out as if I didn’t even need to go. I’ve tried all the tricks in the book to stay calm, even taken up a little meditation to try “quieting the mind.” But seriously, when you’re stuck in a sweltering hot stall with a stranger in the next one over, meditation’s the last thing on your mind. Breathing exercises feel a bit ridiculous when you’re just trying not to act conspicuous, and frankly, I’ve had it with the strange looks from the locals who probably think I’m some foreign weirdo having an existential crisis in a public bathroom. Then there’s the food situation. Thai food is incredible, no doubt, but it’s also got a way of hitting back at the least convenient times. It only takes one round of som-tam or some fiery larb during a night out at a food market to find yourself in a bit of a bind. When that heat kicks in, there’s no time to casually scope out a comfortable crapper. It instantly becomes a game of bog roulette, and you just have to hope for the best. And that’s when the adventure really begins. Sometimes it’s just a squat toilet and a bucket, or maybe a Western toilet that’s doubling as a squat toilet—dirty footprints on the seat and all. The whole place is usually soaking wet. Not sure if it’s from the rinsing culture or a “cleanup gone wrong,” but everything from the floor to the seat is also covered in a bit of mystery water with some unknown bits sprinkled in. Meanwhile, you’re trying to find a dry place for your feet, your bag—anything you don’t want picking up a little extra “authenticity”, but it's not happening. Privacy? Forget it. A lot of times, there’s barely much of a secure door. Food courts, small local restaurants, and even some gas stations just have a stall with a flimsy plastic partition and a lock that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Meanwhile, there’s always a line of patient locals outside, and though you can’t see them, you can feel them waiting with that passive aggressive unbothered, “whenever you’re ready” vibe. Nothing says “take your time” like a silent crowd, just waiting. Not to mention, with each second passing, it feels like they’re telepathically sensing every delay, turning it into a kind of performance—and one you feel you’re definitely failing. And then there’s always the guy in the stall next door, farting incessantly while breathing out heavy sighs—which definitely doesn’t add to the relaxation needed to drop a solid anchor. To cope, I’ve thought about planning bathroom stops before even thinking about a food market or a curry-heavy dinner. At this point, I’ve memorized a few of the malls and larger spots close to me that have a decent thunderbox setup, and I may try to start mapping my day around those places. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but if you’ve ever been in a food hall bathroom that’s seen better days, then you know what I mean. So yeah, anyone else dealing with this kind of keister stage fright? Or even better, has anyone cracked the code on handling the “spice meets squat” combo that keeps popping up? Would love some ideas that don’t involve cutting down on spicy Thai food or avoiding the amazing market eats altogether.

Thanks for the input, everyone. So far, it seems the top suggestions are either to find a ladyboy or get someone to, uh, “probe” my backside with their thumbs. Since I’m solidly heterosexual—and my backside policy is strictly a one-way exit-only portal—I’m not sure how helpful any of those ideas are. But hey, I’ll keep my hopes up that there’s still a good solution out there.

Well, let’s just cut to the chase—getting older isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s the inevitable grey hair, the mysterious aches and pains, and, let’s face it, some truly annoying changes on the “personal health” front. I’m talking about a certain lack of enthusiasm below the belt. Once you hit 50, it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly your body decides it’s gonna make things more difficult in the bedroom. For most of my life, I didn’t give a second thought to, let’s call it, “rising to the occasion.” But now? Let’s just say that even when I’m mentally ready, my body’s got other plans. I’ve tried every “natural” suggestion out there—believe me, I’ve done my research. Eating clean, quitting caffeine, working out regularly. They say “get more sleep,” but try telling that to the never-ending to-do list waiting every morning. I’ve loaded up on leafy greens, upped my water intake, and even swapped out some old habits for new, healthier ones. I’ve even gotten into meditation, trying to manage stress levels. But when it comes down to it, no matter how many vegetables I eat or how many squats I do, the problem persists. And let’s talk about supplements. I’ve probably spent a small fortune on everything from ginseng to maca root, L-arginine to zinc. If it’s sold as a “natural” performance booster, it’s probably sitting somewhere in my drawer right now. But here’s the reality: it’s just not working. I’ve tried powders, pills, smoothies, and shakes—anything that promised even a glimmer of hope. All I got was stack full of bottles and a lingering sense of defeat. Now, being in Thailand, let’s just say there’s no shortage of… commercial options. I’ve tried visiting a few of the top spots and, let’s be real, the experience is enough to leave anyone starry-eyed. Even had a go with a few young, eager hands-on assistants who are pretty dedicated to the “art” of service, and, yes, sometimes with more than one helping at a time. But here’s the thing—even with all that charm, dedication, and sheer effort in the mix, the results haven’t exactly changed much. Sure, it’s enjoyable and exciting, but my body just isn’t playing along the way it used to. If anything, it only adds to the frustration, knowing the mind’s all there, but the engine just won’t fire up like it once did. Of course, there’s always the pharmaceutical route. But the idea of taking potentially risky meds doesn’t sit well with me. We’ve all seen the lists of side effects, and they’re no joke: headaches, dizziness, stomach issues and other health risks in general. Not exactly the kind of excitement I’m looking to add to my day. And, let’s be real—once you start down that path, is there any going back? I don’t want to be dependent on a prescription just to function normally, let alone to feel more confident. So here I am, wondering if there’s some magic solution I haven’t stumbled across yet or if I just have to accept this as part of the new normal. It’s humbling, no doubt. And it’s frustrating beyond belief. But I’m also hoping there’s someone out there with some real advice—because, at this point, I’ll take any tips that don’t involve side effects or miracle powders. Hoping there are other people out there with wisdom who are on the same page.