Bad City for Quality Girl: Is It Worth It?

I love Kyiv.

The question I keep asking myself is this: do I have the blinders on?

Am I blinded by this one great and beautiful girl I’m dating? Am I blinded by the fact that there seems to be a mini army of Victoria’s Secret models parading on the street in front of my apartment?

The first week I was here, I was almost ready to leave. The Easter holiday meant that everybody migrated away for the week. It was dead. The streets were devoid of both beautiful girls and cars.

It would have been an easy choice then.

But now, not so much.


Human nature always dictates that we want what we cannot have. Sucks, but it is what it is. And so of course, part of me is itching to return to Poland. Poland, the land of relatively loose girls who speak great English and love brown(ish) men like myself.

Versus Ukraine.photographer_uploaded_1_84_0_1421430582_2014

The land where people do not want to speak English to me at all. The land where I can’t read any food labels, or street signs. And where the girls are five times harder to fuck…but also seem to be of superior stock.

I mean, I seriously want to know what they put in the water here that breeds such beauty. Or perhaps it’s because they actually don’t drink the water at all. Perhaps they’re on to something.


I’m sitting in a little cafe and writing this. It’s quaint, in the back alley of a cool little neighborhood. It’s pouring outside, and I got drenched on my way over. My allergies are currently hell because it seems everything is blooming. Yesterday I had my third consecutive burger order get fucked up (what is it with these damn people and insisting on putting a gallon of mayo on everything?).

And yet…


Because for whatever reason, Kyiv is this city that you can have such a love/hate relationship with. Kind of like New York City is for me at times.

For example, in New York:

I love that there is always something to do, every night of the week.

I hate that there is always something to do, every night of the week – because it means you get worn down and spend a lot of money.

I love that there is a good food joint on every street and every corner.

I hate that there is as good food joint on every street and corner – because it means I never will cook (especially since it’s practically cheaper to eat out).

I love that there are so many people.

I hate that there are so many people – because…well, yeah.

I love that it’s so diverse.

I hate that it’s so diverse.

Switching gears back to Kyiv:

I love that there is such a chaotic mess at all times in the street.

I hate that there is such a chaotic mess at all times in the street – because I never know if I’m going to end up under a G-class.

I love that nobody speaks English.

I hate that nobody speaks English – because I can’t even get a damn burger without mayo.

I love that, in the city center, you can walk underground everywhere.

I hate that, in the city center, you can walk underground everywhere, because I can’t read the damn street signs and I get lost.

I love that it’s so cheap to eat out – I can go to the small cafeteria and have a chicken breast, ground beef, and potatoes for $2.

I hate that it’s so cheap to eat out – because I never cook.

I love that they’re slightly racist against brown skinned people – it means they won’t ever get invaded by refugees.

I hate that they’re slightly racist against brown skinned people – it makes my life generally more difficult.


Okay, enough’s enough of that.

The point of this is: making decisions like this is tough. My girl here is of top shelf quality in both the looks and personality department, and I hate to say it – but I have no doubt if I lost her, there would be another high quality girl to replace her, just around the corner (albeit with three dates). It just seems like it’s the thing here.


California exports avocados.

Ukraine exports beautiful and feminine women.

It’s too bad Americans can’t trade some avocados for some women.

Contrast that to Poland, where they’re certainly good-looking and good natured – but let’s be honest. They’re slutty. The evidence doesn’t lie.

Which leads me to this: I’ve had my share of slutty one night stands, flings, and more. I’ve lived a pretty full life for someone my age. The thrill of new conquests still gives me pleasure, but it also comes at a cost: less energy to pour into the business, more late nights, and therefore mornings, and the high fades after a day or so.

Am I just old and boring?

Apparently some fellow bloggers have a pool going on how long it is until I get married. They suspect it’ll be within five years. I don’t know what to think of that.

Am I shifting to valuing quality over quantity?

And if so: what about the quality of LIFE in Poland, where it’s far easier to communicate, it’s far more modern, and I just fit in better.

Is that quality of life worth the cost of a quality girl(s)?

Many men before me have tried to solve this problem, and it seems many of them are still seeking the answer. I don’t know if I will ever find the answer to this.

And maybe I don’t want to.

All I know is, I’m enjoying trying.

The Harem Handbook is just a few days away, and people are continuing to rave about it.


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