When did this get to be my life?

This is the strangest story you will ever hear. It's about all the billions of mistakes I have made. Not in my whole life, mind you. There wouldn't be enough byte space on the planet for that. Just my mistakes from the last couple of years. So, so many. So many, in fact, that I do believe I am qualified to write a self-help book about how to best do everything wrong in your life. And when I say doing things wrong, I mean fecklessly, stupidly, gloriously wrong. Wrong men, wrong places, wrong jobs, wrong "yeses" and "nos," wrong hair, wrong clothes, wrong restaurants, wrong positions in bed, wrong trains and planes and automobiles.
That's really all I know about, so I'll offer it all up to you in this blog.
All of my wrongs, all of my mistakes, have led me to this place -- where I am right now, for better or for worse. And where I am right now is Singapore. Singapore is sort of like my city, Toronto, only with less Chinese people and a slightly less repressive government. I'm in Singapore for a conference -- a meeting of the Mount Kilimanjaro Group (MKG). The MKG is a yearly get together of economists, politicians, academics and journalists, all bound together by their love and admiration for both famed Tanzanian economist, Mbaku Kelly-Nkrume and famed German Kaiser, Wilhem II. Kelly-Nkrume created Tanzania's fabled "privatized sidewalks" (which only lasted a month but which many libertarians still hark back to as the "golden era" of African free markets) and Kaiser Wilhelm is the Teuton who helped start World War I.
I guess the MKG got its name because Kelly-Nkrume was Tanzanian (but from the Zanzibar part, not the Tanganyika part) and Mount Kilimanjaro used to be called Kaiser-Wilhelm-Spitze after Kaiser Wilhelm (who was not from Tanzania at all, but rather Germany. Or Prussia, or something. I think he was also "King of Prussia." But it was Germany by the time his deal was done.)
Anyway, every year the MKG meets in a different city and this year it's Singapore.
And here I find myself, due to all my mistakes, listening to a truly barf-worthy conversation between Polya Bratwurst and Pierre-Marie O'Reilly, two fellow Canadians. Bratwurst is a raging egomaniac who wants to be prime minister of Canada one day, and O'Reilly is a man, even though his name sounds sort of like a girl's. He's also an egomaniac (there's a lot of that in Canada, I guess) who also wants to be prime minister of Canada. Their conversation is pretty putrid. They're basically verbally fellating each other. He just told her she was a "star," after raging about how he "used to be the king," and she just fawned and slobbered that "I owe you so much!"
Oh puke, barf. Why doesn't the MKG provide complimentary barf bags for anyone exposed to ridiculous Canadians? The worst part is, I am trying to carry on a conversation with a normal person, with an apparently normal-sized ego, without throwing up all over him. Because he might not like that. He is Luxemburgian, and cute and earnest and nice but his voice cannot drown out the raging egos three feet away.
It's a torturous evening, and I find myself wondering...when did this get to be my life? When did Polya and Pierre-Marie and Luxemburgian guy and Singapore and Kaiser Wilhelm the Second become my life?
When did all of that happen?