Friday night.

Here we are at the Secret Society. Sadly, none of my favs are here. More incentive to leave early before I hook up with someone undesirable yet again.

This is the first time I’ve left my house to “socialize” this week. “Socialize” meaning sit at the bar alone eavesdropping on people who have no idea what I’m doing.

Anything to get away from my neighbor, who has been the subject of my fascination this week. I can’t help but wonder if he went down to the bridge in Causeway Bay and put an “Obsession” spell on me. He wished for the writer next door to write a story about him. And oh, did I deliver on that!

I spent all week speculating over what this British man could possibly be hiding in his attic. The answers are quite entertaining! I decided to write them all down and send them to him in story format. I thought he would appreciate it because he’s an actor.

Unfortunately for me, he did not. Things took a turn for the worse with this character later on Friday evening. And by evening, I mean early morning.

You see, I decided to come home at 10pm like a good girl and just put on my sweatpants and eat McDonald’s and go to bed early. Sometime around 5:30am, I awoke with a start. I thought nothing of it. Went out for a smoke, made a cup of tea, played some Mah Jong.

Then sometime around 6:30am, my neighbor finally came home after a full night out of debauchery. First I heard him stumble off the elevator and down the hall. Then he knocked on my door and shouted at me to stop writing about him. Triggering AF.

Then he went into his apartment and sent me a mean message on Instagram stating the same. When I tried to go outside for a smoke to escape him, he threw open his door and stepped out in a very intimidating manner. Then he went up to the rooftop and sat directly in the doorway so I would have no choice but to pass by him if I wanted to go out. He did all of this while wearing his sunglasses, which means exactly what all of us think it means.

I went upstairs to see just how messy he was. The sunglasses and weird little Joker smile on his face said it all. I admit to you that I was pretty pissed. Look at this fucking man out here judging me for how I live my life when he can’t handle a dose of his own medicine served up to him in return. Ridiculous!

This was about the moment I realized that I actually hate him. He’s so mean! He’s mean and judgmental. I finally decided to do a deep dive on him on the internet and figure out who he really is, which is nothing more than a spoiled little rich Island boy.

Like, okay, Mr. International Private School. Go off on how much of a shithole this apartment is just because it’s not in the Mid-Levels and doesn’t include a cleaning service. And you’re out here trying to judge me? I don’t fucking think so. You don’t even have a full degree. You have some bullshit certificate in Sports & Fitness. Is that why you’re so mad at me for writing a story? Because you can’t fucking read it, you stupid fucking meathead?

Asshole!

Meanwhile, all his pictures on social media are like, movie sets, pool parties, boat parties, holiday parties, parties parties parties, a wedding here, a wedding there, university in the UK, stag dos and Muy Thai fights in Thailand, trips to Bali, Vietnam, South Africa, Australia, Spain, even the USA. What the fuck does this outrageously privileged white British man even have to complain about?

Some women might look at this man and think, “Wow, he’s so handsome and mysterious and British. I can fix him!” Meanwhile, I look at him and think, “His body is a 10 but his personality reminds me why my ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War.”

I spent all of Saturday alone in my apartment, stewing in the tension from the exchange. I went out to grab my dinner to go, and when I came back, I saw him coming around the corner as I was walking up the stairs. I backtracked and ran down the stairs and back around the corner in order to avoid being stuck in the cramped space of the stairwell with him.

He did not stay out for long because he was sitting at the top of the stairs again sometime later. I was coming back in from a smoke when I walked around the corner and saw him sitting there. He tried to say hello weakly, but I just glared at him and brushed past him in silence. I have nothing to say to him anymore.

I really don’t appreciate how comfortable he felt coming home early in the morning all fucked up and immediately trying to use me as a punching bag for his obvious issues. At least when I come home fucked up, it’s because I’m dealing with some traumatic situation from the past. It’s not directed AT him. He came home and directed his bullshit AT me. Like, wtf, bro! That’s SO not cool. You said you were “working on it” and “trying to change.” The only person I see changing here is me, and she’s quickly changing into someone who has zero tolerance for men’s bullshit.

He’s very judgmental for an overgrown party boy in his mid-30’s with little significance to his name. I’m not taking his advice anymore. I don’t care how long he’s lived here. Plus, “You gotta cruise the Mom’s Groups on Facebook” is hardly the job hunting advice someone like me is looking for.

Best to just ignore this one from here on out. All he does is stare at his phone all day with his headphones in. He’s clearly checked out from reality at this point in his life. So not into it, bro.

This brings me to today, Sunday, where I was forced to evacuate my apartment after I discovered a cockroach crawling around in bed with me. As if this nightmare of a weekend could not possibly get worse, the cockroach DISAPPEARED between the bed and the wall and is now lurking somewhere in my apartment unknown.

I did the only thing I could do: I noped right the fuck out of there ASAP. Now I am sitting at a restaurant enjoying bottomless mimosas and mac & cheese. And, obviously, writing. I will deal with the cockroach later when I am drunk enough to find the courage to take it on.

We all know my useless-ass neighbor won’t be there to help me this time. He’s too busy playing Jekyll & Hyde in Betsey Horton’s Local Weekend Dinner Theatre Production.

Welcome to the worst apartment in Hong Kong. The rooms are small, the walls are thin (and occasionally melting), there are rats and cockroaches everywhere, and the next-door neighbor is a crazy British man with lots of secrets in his attic and a host of steroid-induced anger issues from drinking too much protein milk.

Love that for me!

Now the question is… should we head up to the Secret Society today? I think… yes. Let’s do it. I’m trying to be a little bit better behaved up there now that I have been “discovered.” That’s why I spent all week locked up in my little shoebox, obsessing over my jerk-off douchebag neighbor, and chipping away at my latest manuscript.

Now I have an answer for them when they say, “How far along is your manuscript? Have you found a publisher yet? I know a friend of a friend that can help you. Keep me updated on your progress and I’ll put you in touch.”

That’s all I care about at the end of the day. Forget this guy and his magical sweatpants, which I’m keeping, btw. He doesn’t get those back. Just saying. Not that I stole them or anything. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. I’m clearly making this part up right now. What? Huh?

Okay, heading out now. Will update with more excitement from life in HK later…