Sunday?

I think?

The days are different here. Hong Kong hours are like… normal hours here, plus London Time, plus New York City time, plus Chicago time, plus San Francisco time. It’s like every day here is really the equivalent of a day and a half.

I was feeling this but I did not really recognize it for what it was until New Year’s Eve. Okay, we celebrated, I went to sleep, I woke up and everyone in the US is just celebrating now, in the middle of the afternoon the next day.

I noticed my sleep schedule had shifted to accommodate the time difference. I am used to waking up at sunrise, doing yoga, getting a coffee, and keeping my whole strict writing routine. I was not feeling very good about myself for staying up all night, sleeping all morning, and then waking up around noon. Now I see what is actually happening here.

It’s a good thing I am adjusting well, because the nightlife here is so real. After I went to the Irish Pub, I came back and got off at Central. It’s not the closest stop to my apartment, but I always get on and off there so I can get my steps in. Plus I love to wander around Central and see what’s happening.

I got a little lost last night and accidentally wandered into a neighborhood known as “LKF.” I heard it was Lit AF, but I had never been there before. Well, I think I wandered down there once during the day, but everything was closed so the vibe was super weird.

Nighttime, however? Wow! It is POPPIN’! So many bars, clubs, and late-night restaurants. People were out in the streets, drinking, talking, dancing, having a great time. It was like New Orleans, especially because you can just drink alcohol openly on the street here. I made a note to myself to come back and people-watch later.

I saw a great singer-piananist duo busking on the street. They were beautiful! The singer’s voice just stopped me dead in my tracks. I stayed for a couple songs, tossed them a HKD$50 (~USD$6.50) and carried on my way.

By the end of my walk, my once-cozy sweater had become a prison. I was sweating like crazy. Dressing for the weather here is harder than in SD. At least there, you already know to wear 7 layers, plus your fur-lined boots and buffalo-skin robe. Here it’s like… yes, it’s a bit chilly out tonight, much more so than usual, so you need a sweater and a scarf and fleece-lined leggings underneath, but you’re going to be walking uphill both ways and standing on the MTR where it’s crowded, so eventually you will get hot and start sweating until you’re practically drenched.

Shoutout to the chick I saw on the metro who was straight-up dressed like a Dragon Pokémon. Fuzzy onesie with fins down the back and a tail dragging behind, elaborate silver wig with a homemade headpiece, just standing there chillin’, not giving a single fuck.

I love that about Hong Kong. The outfits people wear are just crazy to me. There’s the business casual look, then there’s the comfy-cozy look, then there are the people who just walk around dressed like cats and Pokémon as their “every day look.” Like, the cat thing is so real. People just wear cat-ear headbands and tails with a whole fuzzy outfit and no one gives a fuck. Not a single fuck! I always used to get made fun of in school for doing that. Turns out, I was just ahead of my time.

Eventually I found my way back home and decided to hit up my fav neighborhood LGBTQIA+ club. I could say “gay club” but that just doesn’t feel inclusive enough these days. I’d rather spell out the whole alphabet soup specifically to raise awareness.

I went there for the third time and they definitely remembered me. The bartender was like, “I see you in here all the time.” I was like, “Yeah I feel very safe here.” They smiled at me and I smiled back and I felt happy and safe again. I went out on the floor and danced a bit, then somehow ended up chatting with an Indian-Irish couple.

They met in the US and considered themselves “American,” as do I. The Irish one was from Northern Ireland. He strongly encouraged me to visit Ireland, but he said he would not go back there himself for various reasons. After watching that documentary about modern-day Belfast, I completely understand why.

At first, I was a little annoyed to be conversing with anyone at all, since I don’t go there to “work.” Work for me is interviewing people and collecting crazy stories. I just go there to dance. However, I was apparently not as off-duty as I would have liked to be, so I ended up talking to quite a few people and collecting many stories.

Anyway, I was chatting with them for quite some time. Like, until “bar close.” That was when they invited me upstairs to the “after party,” which is apparently invite-only. I had so many people ask me how I managed to get invited up there. Honestly, I have no idea. I just am who I am, I guess?

Anyway, I met a guy who works for CNN and told him I’m looking for a job as a journalist. He was the first South African I’ve met here who wasn’t a fucking dickhead. He clocked me right away. I hope we can stay in touch because he was super chill.

I totally forgot about CNN, to be honest. The whole “Fake News” propaganda has totally destroyed the domestic branch, but apparently it still has a significant stronghold internationally. That’s… good news, actually. I didn’t even think of that!

I had to laugh because the running joke everyone was making was, “Oh you’re from Washington, D.C.? You must be a spy!”

I was like, first of all, a real spy would never say they are from D.C. They would be like, “I’m just a small town girl from South Dakota out in the big, bad world for the very first time. I don’t know anything about anything, tee hee! Does anyone know where I can get a Bud Light with tomato juice and olives?”

It’s not like James Bond where he’s going around telling everyone his full name and making his presence known to every person he meets. The older I get, the more I’m like, bro, what are you doing? Stop telling everyone who you are! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. These fuckin’ Brits, right? Ugh!

Second, why the fuck does everyone I meet abroad think I am a spy? I’m not a spy! I mean, I could be, maybe. I have the skillset required for the job. But really, I’d rather just be a journalist, and it turns out those skillsets significantly overlap. I could also be a diplomat, because somehow I keep getting roped into these crazy situations where I have to sort out crazy situations between two aggressive parties. But honestly? I’m so tired of having to answer for the actions of the fucking Dump Truck. Ugh! OVER IT!

Nobody likes him over here. Nobody except the crazy white South Africans I met at the start of my journey, who I ditched very shortly after. Ugh! I am grateful to escape the MAGA cult, but I can’t tell anyone I’m American without having to answer ALL the questions.T

he main one being: “How the fuck did this asshole get elected?” Well, his supporters are basically a full-on cult and he’s a criminal who straight-up stole the election with the help of Elon Musk. You really think he won fair and square? NO! Of course not! He’s a literal fucking criminal! He breaks the law! That’s what he does! I know it, you know it, everybody knows it! Why are we all sitting around treating this like it’s some dumb reality TV show? This man should be in jail! Jail! JAIL! Straight to jail!!!!

I also hear a lot of complaints about the tariffs. The tariffs are screwing everybody over, especially the F&B industry. Good luck finding American beer! The closest you’ll get is Budweiser. Heavy only, of course. They don’t even have Bud Light! Fair, honestly. It’s mostly just water anyway.

California wine? Yeah, between the wildfires and the tariffs, that whole industry has been totally decimated.

Real Kentucky bourbon? Forgeddaboutit! The only “bourbon” I can find is a leftover bottle of Jim Beam someone fished out of the last box in their basement. We ALL know that’s bottom shelf basic shit at its worst!

It’s absurd.

Anyway, I’ve had enough of writing today. I got it all out of my system for today. Time to go shower all the sweat from last night off me so I can go meet my friend to pick up Five Guys. The burger joint, I mean. Gotta give the 703 some love! Haha, it is truly hilarious to see to me how much it’s grown. I still remember going to the original one on Route 7 in that grungy little strip mall with no parking whatsoever. Wild. Is this a psy-op? Maybe!

JK, we all know McDonald’s is the original psy-op. Still a fan of the Cajun McCrispy with Pineapple on top anyway. That shit slaps!

Okay, okay, I’m off now for real.

This has been Betsey Horton, reporting to you live from Hong Kong.

Just kidding, of course. We all know my real name. It’s Bond… James Bond.

Hahahahaha!