Monday evening.

Resting after yesterday’s epic All-You-Can-Eat, All-You-Can-Drink Contest. My friend ate the most chicken wings, while I held my drink like a boss. It was fun!

I do so love living here in Hong Kong.

I feel safe. I feel calm.

I think this is probably the safest I’ve felt since I left the U.S., psychologically speaking, of course. Turns out that is way more important than I actually thought it was. My concept of the hierarchy of needs is totally fucked.

I had fun in Bangkok but I definitely didn’t feel “safe” there. Too many farangs gone wild, if you take my meaning. Sure, I had a bit of fun, but after the incident with Mr. Hot Beef Stew, it got pretty dicey.

It’s much better here. I pretty much only hang out with other women and gay men. I have one straight male friend, but it’s platonic and professional. Otherwise, I don’t deal with men at all. It’s quite refreshing, actually. I would really rather not after that unfortunate incident in Bangkok with the Hot Beef Stew.

I shall hate him forever.

I should just go out with someone else, but I already tried that with the Swiss Guy. He really didn’t do it for me. Too neutral, too agreeable. Boring.

Ugh, I just tried to go on Tinder and it was soooo depressing. Meeting people IRL works better for me.

Anyway, I can’t focus on this garbage right now. I need to choose a new apartment, find a new job, and work on my book. Lots of things to distract me from the memory of that ridiculous night.

I try to come up with rational reasons why I am still fixating on it. Obviously he was very secretive and acted really weird, which is intriguing. Then there’s the whole Irish thing, which I mainly deal with by channeling it into academic research, which is fine. I mean, yeah, he was hot, but also a liar and a jerk. So, in the end, he really doesn’t have any redeeming qualities and he’s not exactly a particularly fascinating person.

I think in the end, I would feel better if I could just rat him out to his partner for being a dirty whore and messing with random, unsuspecting women at the bar.

Alas.

This is the real reason why they will not tell me who he is. They don’t want me to rat him out. This is what is annoying to me. I always rat them out, somehow, some way. I always get them in the end.

This one I cannot get. That is what bothers me. That is why it haunts me.

Also the weird moment of intimacy thing. That is also a problem for me. And the whole clearing my mind of both Andrew and the British Guy, but only so it could fixate on him instead? What is that?

Anyway, none of it really matters now. I will do what I always do, which is write about it until it’s out of my system for good. I’m sure he will get his karma in the end.

Or not.

Anyway, I am trying to meditate it away, for now. I need to find a new place to live. I definitely need to upgrade if I’m paying this much in rent. I should have in-unit laundry at the very least…

I’m tired of moving. I just want a stable situation. I need to get it figured out…