Tuesday.

Lunchtime at the Irish Pub. I started with a Bloody Mary to nurse me back to life after spending the last four days locked up in my tiny studio apartment watching the news. Why do I do this to myself? No idea. I think I must be some sort of masochist.

I woke up this morning and made the decision to leave my apartment for the entire day. I am not watching the news. Instead, I am watching rugby. I’m not sure who is playing because the team jerseys are all covered in ads for all the sponsors, which I personally think is weird and confusing. It’s like every match is Emirates Airways vs Gallagher Insurance but one side is calling themselves the Zebras and the other side is calling themselves the Brumbies, which is apparently a type of an Australian horse. A wild, unbroken horse than runs free round the Outback, apparently…

Okkkurrrr

And everyone says Americans are the capitalists…

It looks like they might be on an island somewhere. Maybe Fiji? Is that the name of the location or the name of the sponsor? Literally cannot tell.

Wherever they are, it’s muddy AF. All of these guys are just covered in it. As Paris Hilton would say, “That’s Hot!” Perfect distraction from everything else in the world.

My Instagram algorithm started feeding me footage of rugby players working out during practice and warming up before the games. Woah. Just… wowza. I’m just like… look at all of these beautiful men humping the grass like they’re trying to get it pregnant. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Spreading his seed.” I literally can’t even. Like they could just show me 90 minutes of only the pre-game workout sessions and I’d be fine with it.

All of the bartenders here agree with me. They are all women and they also love rugby. None of us have any idea what is actually happening in this game, of course. We’re just here for the hot beefcakes in tight shorts!

As I keep saying… in Bangkok I learned to be careful about who I mix my energy with. Well… mixing my energy with the Hot Beef Stew definitely did something very intense to me that didn’t happen with any of the others. We didn’t even fuck! We did other things, of course… with pleasant results. How do they say it in Bridgerton? Uhhh… I reached my pinnacle? And now that really intense Irish energy of his is trapped inside of me and the only way to soothe it is to watch hot beefcakes in tight shorts humping the grass. It is what it is.

Yeah, I really need to rope me one of these athletic types. I just fantasize about laying down on top of one of these guys while they do push-ups and I pretend to be bored and yawn because I know they can bench press the weight of two of me.

Anyway…

Prior to this, I took a little walk around Central in the rain. Walked into a random shop and bought a cheap skirt on sale because I was only wearing leggings and felt weird about it. I just put the skirt on over them. Now I look like I’m wearing a whole outfit. Super cute! I actually did feel a little better after that.

Now I am here at the Irish Pub. For whatever reason, they are not showing the Ireland game this weekend for the Six Nations. Why? I have no idea. Now I am scrambling to find a place to watch. I have three other possible locations I can check. One of them skews towards a younger crowd, one of them skews towards the older crowd, and one I’ve already been to that is mixed. I heard the one that attracts the older crowd is full of weirdos, which honestly makes me more curious about it. After what I witnessed in Bangkok, I can’t even imagine how a HongKonger defines an “old weirdo.” Now I need to know, lol.

The bartender here was happy to see me again. She said, “Welcome back! We haven’t seen you in awhile! Where have you been?” I told her I went to Thailand for a month. Now I’m back in action. She said, “We missed you. We like your jokes about the rugby.”

What can I say? I’m an aspiring comedian. Maybe. Or maybe my sense of humor is just a coping mechanism I use to tolerate the total and complete ridiculousness that is my life.

It reminded me that I need to go check in with my two other regular spots this week. I told one of them I was going to Bangkok for a week, and the other one I didn’t tell them I was leaving at all. So now I have to go check in so they know I didn’t just bail. I know the other place is probably wondering WTF happened to me because I know the entire staff there. I don’t like to ghost people like that when I’m traveling. If anything, it’s my way of checking in to let people know I’m still alive.

Otherwise, I’ve been feeling a little down since I came back. I know it’s mostly the weather. It’s cloudy and rainy. I don’t mind so much because I think Hong Kong is beautiful in the rain. It’s like how people say they like Paris better in the rain. There’s something about the rain that makes Hong Kong seem more romantic and less… busy, lol.

—-

Sooooo…. the Publisher just called. He was toasted, of course. He’s always toasted. We have not spoken in a few months. I get mad at him because he says he loves me (only when he is wasted, of course), but I know deep down he just wants what he can’t have. He doesn’t really love me. If he really loved me, he would pay all of my bills for the rest of my life.

I told him about my recent adventures. He said I sound healthy and happy. I’m sure I do. He said, “It’s amazing to see how much better you’re doing now that you’re gone. You’re so much happier. Even when things get tough, you take it in stride. You’re not angry or sad like you used to be.”

Truth.

Literally all it took for me was not having to live in SD. Wow, who knew?

He said “There’s magic in your voice right now.” It’s not me, bro. It’s the fairies.

We were on the phone for an hour. When I finally hung up, the bartender was like, “Who was that? You were on the phone for an hour.” I said that we have a complicated relationship and explained.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He was shitfaced as per usual. It literally doesn’t matter. We’ll see how much he remembers of the conversation in the morning.

I am bored with writing now. Back to rugby…