Tag: Ewan McGregor

BLOG: The Darjeeling Limited

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Fri-yay!

I am currently hungover AF, which is a shame because I had big plans for today. In addition to the two interviews and dozens of rejections, I had three follow-ups that I definitely planned to follow up on today. Naturally, I self-sabotaged by getting way too drunk while I was at home alone.

Welcome to my life. And here I wonder why no one will ever love me, haha. Hey Betsey, here’s a brilliant idea: why don’t you stop looking at men and look at yourself for a change? Learn to love you and the mess that you are instead of waiting for some hot beefcake to rescue you from your bullshit.

Wow, brilliant, so many lessons learned today. I feel so enlightened now!

Yes, yes, yes, learn to love yourself, blah blah blah, become a strong, empowered woman, and all that jazz!

That being said, I would still very much like to end my days by falling into the arms of a hot, sexy beefcake (preferably with an even sexier accent) who just rescued me from a cockroach. That’s the real dream right there.

Listen, Ewan McGregor divorced his wife, married a woman 20 years younger, got her a job playing a Twi’lek in a Star War. It could still happen for me. I could be Wife #3, you know what I’m saying? There’s still time for me to see what’s really underneath the kilt, ya know what I’m saying?

Lol

Hahaha

Yeah I’m definitely still “off my tits” as they say in… Ireland? Scotland? England? Wales? The UK? I don’t even know anymore. They’re all so different. Is this a colonizer phrase? Who even knows anymore?

Breaking News from the Thai-US Embassy: Your passport will be revoked if you’re not making your child support payments on time.

I love this for all Thai women everywhere. Now let’s do the Philippeans! Stop letting these gross Passport Bros get away with shit! If I’m not allowed to go back to Thailand because I pissed off the local branch of the Irish Mafia, then they definitely shouldn’t be allowed back.

I’m totally kidding, of course. I’m not banned from Thailand. They’re would never ban me. All I do there is spend ridiculous amounts of money, and I don’t even talk to Bar Girls! I just blow it all on staying in a ridiculously overpriced loft with a bad pool just so I can be 5ft from the bar I’m obsessed with and all of the beautiful, wonderful, amazing people who frequent it. Love that for me!

Anyway, so that’s why I had to come back to Hong Kong. Now I blow all my money on a tiny little shoebox apartment where I somehow magically lose things like hair clips and my phone, which makes absolutely no sense. It must be the faeries. When in doubt, always blame the faeries, or the “little people,” as we say in South Dakota. Well, I don’t know if that’s what “they” say, but it’s definitely what Mad Dog used to say!

So yeah, I was definitely supposed to do real, actual, productive things today. Not sure that’s going to happen, which is unfortunate because I have things I really need to get done.

Instead I am sitting here at my favourite brunch place, right on the patio, in the heat, away from the air on like a crazy person, sweating it all out as I watch the world pass me by. I love it.

So many hot beefcakes walking by on their way to and from the gym on their lunch break. I love it. Obsessed with the beefcakes. Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight! Won’t somebody take the shadows away!

Everyone here thinks I’m so crazy for sitting in the heat instead of the aircon. Like, I get it, the weather is insane, but I really need to sweat it out. I keep telling them I used to live in a very, very, very cold place and now all I want to do is be out in the sun and sweat all my shitty feelings out. They don’t understand me. It is what it is.

Here is my real question: how do I get paid to sit in a restaurant and just watch people on the street? This is the only job I know how to do. Everything else is just, like, so stressful, you guys.

I literally do not know how people exist in the full-time corporate job world. They are all so fucking weird. They have no personal lives, no hobbies, no personalities, nothing. They just work, work, work, and then maybe go to the gym, and then they wonder why they’re all so unhappy, and then they make the rest of us feel bad about not being obsessed with work like that are.

Like, listen, I get it. I hate my family too. Honestly, the majority of them are terrible, narcissistic people who treat other people like shit and literally cannot handle being talked to in the same way. All I’ve ever wanted to do is get the fuck away from them. But I don’t throw myself into a job just to escape from that. That’s how you end up dying in a pile of your own shit, just like my dad. It is what it is.

I still remember the last thing my dad said to me before we all went to bed and I found him almost dead the next day. His last words to me were: “Can you pick me up a chocolate mocha frappachino?”

And then we found him half-dead in bed the next morning and then he was in a coma for two weeks and I had to be the one who called in the medicine man to read him his last rights because my stupid, evil mother was too drunk to literally do anything except be mean to me, and then I had to watch him die in the hospital bed right in front of me.

And then literally everyone in that stupid fucking shithole town was a giant fucking asshole about it, because that’s who they are and that’s what they do. Thanks again for ruining my life, Dad! So grateful for everything??????

Lol, yeah, whatever, at least I get to live in Asia now. Just like I always dreamed. Literally. My life only got better because my dad died. How fucking fucked up and shitty is that? It is what it is.

And this is why I have no idea how to have fun.

This is why men are a problem. They think it’s MY job to provide “fun” for them and then they get mad when they have to do actual emotional labor in the middle of the fucking blackout they put me in by plying me with booze nonstop.

So fucking stupid. Clean up your own mess, bro. I can’t do that for you. I will never do that for you. I am not your fucking mommy, okay? I’m not picking up your dirty underwear off the floor or doing your laundry or cleaning your house or cooking you food. Your job is to stand there looking sexy while fanning me with a giant palm leaf, then carry me away on my solid gold throne. Okay? Okay.

This is why I’m not married. My spirit did not reincarnate multiple times just to serve some stupid fucking man who won’t even wash his own dirty asshole. Fuck you and your fucking patriarchy. I am the motherfucking Queen!

“You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. But you will respect me. Why? Because I’m a Boss!” -Kelis

SO I had some things to do today. Instead I’m sitting here on the patio writing crazy, unhinged things and having notions. This is exactly why my Irish ancestors got on that fucking boat and came to America. Their dream was for the 7th generation ahead of them to sit on a patio and write and make art and look fabulous while doing fucking NOTHING! No work down by the docks or in the factories or on the farm. No having 18 children, half of which died somewhere along the way. No nothing. I don’t have to do shit now, just like my ancestors dreamed. Yet somehow, I still feel so unfulfilled…

I have definitely sat in the heat for too long. It’s starting to make me sick. I need to go inside and sit by the aircon.

Okay, okay, okay, done done done.

Now inside. The sound of the construction on the Temple is very loud. I like this spot because it’s close to the historic Man Mo Temple. Man Mo is the god of “literature.” I always stop at the gates on my way home to say a prayer. I love the “Under Construction” vibe right now. It makes me feel better about myself. Like, yes, we have stood the test of time and survived, for better or for worse. That being said, sometimes we need to take some time to fix ourselves up for the sake of future preservation. It is what it is. I love it. I’m so here for it.

I should get a job as a bar cat. Like the meme. I don’t work. I don’t care. I just sit in the wrong spot and somehow run the entire place. Like Andrew did at Bloody Mary’s. Is my dream to actually be Andrew? Is that why I was so obsessed with him for like, what, ten years? Who even knows anymore!

That’s the second time this week I’ve thought about Andrew. I haven’t thought about Andrew in a long time. I mean, how could I? Between the Hot Beef Stew and The Russian, my heart, mind, and va-jay-jay has been extremely occupied. There’s very little space for a fictional character these days. I just meet so many attractive men. Sometimes I still look at Andrew’s old pictures and think to myself, “Wow, I really thought this guy was hot.” Goes to show how slim the pickins really are out there on the lone prairie. His catchphrase should be, “Yikes on Bikes!”

I will always remember this chapter as that time I was so desperate to get railed by a hot sexy beefcake that I wrote two whole books about the bartender I thought was really hot from far away, but only in a dark room.

Just kidding. I just thought of him now sitting in the doorway with his mountain man beard, looking mean and old and cranky AF, wearing some ancient fucking t-shirt from some concert he went to in the 90’s, taking off his baseball cap and wiping his forehead in exhaustion, as if he had actually done something productive today. Like maybe he mowed the lawn without the t-shirt and hat on, and then walk down to fetch the mail while I was riding by on my white horse, and that’s why he’s tired, or something? IDK!

Sorry, wow, wait, did it just get hotter in here? Because I’m literally sitting under the aircon right now and I just started sweating again.

I mean… he might not be the Pabst Blue Ribbon winner of the Magic Mike Live contest, but something about that really did it for me. I mean, you don’t see me sitting here writing two novels about The Russian. It is what it is.

I know I love him because I have lived my whole life being screamed at and called crazy, and he’s the only person who ever did that in a way that actually turned me on. I was so into it. I was like, “Please, yell at me more. I don’t know why I like this but I do.”

I don’t like it coming from anyone else, but when you do it, it’s like… somehow the hottest thing ever? No one knows.

Awww, my Andrew. I loved my Andrew. I really did. At least, I thought I did. Let’s be real here. I have never been in an actual, meaningful long-term relationship. I just stare at hot guys from far away and fantasize about what it would be like to have them fan me with a giant palm leaf. I don’t know jack shit about love.

But if you asked me if I’ve ever been in love with anyone… I would tell you it was Andrew, every single time. I loved him. I really did. I don’t know what real love is… but… whatever I felt was pretty close to that. I hope he’s happy now, wherever he is. Maybe Seattle? Who even knows these days? I don’t know. I don’t look for him or check in on him or ask about him. I don’t have to. He just visits me in my dreams…

*sigh*

Anyways, yes, what the fuck was I talking about again? My dad dying? The fact that I moved to the other side of the planet just to be this fucked up all the time? Maybe something about paying child support so your passport doesn’t get revoked? Who even knows anymore!

I really need to eat something. All I had for a dinner was a plastic cup full of olives and feta cheese to go with the two bottles of wine I drank after eating nothing all day.

I think sometimes I act this way because I just want to die and I lack the courage to just jump off the rooftop when the void calls to me. So I just kill myself slowly with alcohol and cigarettes and men instead. It is what it is.

Anyway, I can’t kill myself. I’ve already tried multiple times. It never works. Someone up there wants me to live, to survive, to give something back to this world. I don’t understand. If I’m still alive after all of this, I must have some kind of purpose. I just don’t know what that purpose is. I just know when I look at worksheets about teaching grammar to children, I feel absolutely nothing at all. It means nothing to me. I’m just here for the job, the visa, the paycheck. I can’t make a difference in this world. I’m just a woman, standing here in front of a white board, asking for a steady paycheck without the cost of being bullied at work.

It is what it is.

I really need to eat something. I haven’t eaten anything substantial in like… at least two days. At least.

It is what is.

I like that scene in the Darjeeling Limited at the end when they all leave their baggage behind and board the train, waving it all goodbye. That’s the vibe right now. I just want to leave my impossibly heavy suitcases behind and hop that train to the next shitty little village in India, and do yoga with a giant snake, and just have fun and live life and have a good time.

I wish I was fun. I just want to have fun. Someone, please, teach me how to have fun. I just want to have some fun!

Okay, I’m done now. I really do need to eat something or I will actually pass out in this “brunch concept” of a restaurant right now.

The End!

BLOG: So Hollywood

Posted on Posted in BlogTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

Wednesday evening.

At the Cantina. I came here to distract myself from stewing over the Russian. This proved to be a good idea. For one, it’s very busy. Two, the owner is here. He greeted me by asking how my book is going. He, like every man I know, asked if he has a part in it. I told him his restaurant has a part in it. He suggested I throw my book release party here, then told me to go get to work.

So here I am.

Definitely trying not to stew over The Russian right now. How many times can we beat this dead horse, seriously? This is a very Russian thing to do, maybe? How many times did they have to kill Rasputin before he actually died? It’s exactly like that.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” he said.

Don’t worry, sweetheart. This isn’t love. This is just some sick, twisted obsession I’ve developed in the vacuum of your absence. It’s definitely not “love.” It’s a psychological condition I have.

You see, oxytocin is basically like heroin to me. I don’t get it very often, so when I do, it’s like getting super duper high, and then when the guy inevitably disappears, it’s like coming down really hard and crashing and then going into withdrawal.

Think of the scene in Trainspotting when Ewan McGregor locks himself in a room with a couple of buckets, a TV, and some canned goods. That’s basically what I’m doing right now by writing about you.

Who knows how long it could take to get this out of my system? I heard those fancy Russian designer drugs are pretty intense. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. Some other guy will come along soon enough and then I’ll switch my focus to him. And so on and so forth, forever and ever. As one of my expat friends in Bangkok said, “They come, they go, you cum, they go.”

Anyway, here I am, at a random place in Hong Kong, surrounded by people socializing and talking to each other as I sit on my iPad alone in the corner typing away as if no one else is here. Wonderful. Sometimes I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing here. I love it, but I feel like I’m not doing anything. I guess I’m writing a book. A book about traveling across the world to start over and finding yourself instead. Something like that, something like that. I think.

I’m not actually writing anything important right now. I’m just typing intensely to make myself look busy and important in order to disguise the fact that I am depressed and alone. Classic. At least I’m pulling it off. Everyone in here is definitely not paying attention to me, but if they were, they would definitely think I’m busy with something. Grand.

I do wish I had not met him here. Now this place is ruined for me, which is unfair because it’s my favourite place. Now I look over and I just see him there in his ridiculous blue leather jacket. So annoying! Men are the worst, truly. Why did you have to ruin my fav neighborhood bar for me?

Oh, I guess we have a Hollywood type sitting over in the corner here. He’s talking about some show he made and name-dropped HBO. Everyone he’s with is surrounding him in a circle and hanging off every word. Very Hollywood.

As someone who aspires to be a Hollywood type, I am treating him like he doesn’t exist and he’s not the most important person in the world. Someone has to do the grunt work of writing the script while the fans are fawning over Mr. Rockstar over there. This attitude is essential in this industry. You can’t get starstruck. You have to treat these people like they’re your equals or they’ll steamroll right over you. Ask me how I know!

Oh, I guess this is the big media gathering here tonight. Apparently there is an American who works for CNN standing behind me right now. Fun! I would introduce myself, but I have no idea what to say.

“Hi, I’m an American writer living in HK with a legal residency permit and no employment. May I trouble you for a job?”

I don’t think so.

I’ll settle for eavesdropping for now. And, of course, typing away on my keyboard in a room full of media execs, looking very busy and important, ignoring them all as if they are not here in my bar when I am trying to stew over meaningless, irrelevant bullshit.

Networking success, obviously.

This CNN guy isn’t very observant. Otherwise he would notice me eavesdropping. I could very easily transcribe his conversation right now without him noticing. Hilarious, truly. Definitely living my best spy life over here right now. 😉

I forgot for a moment that I hold the ultimate card in this world when it comes to magically becoming invisible on demand: I am a single, childfree woman over the age of 35. I might as well be wearing an invisibility cloak right now.

Mwa hahahaha!

This is such a weird power move for me. I know exactly what I’m doing by intentionally choosing to eavesdrop on this group of media professionals instead of directly introducing myself.

These are very interesting conversations to overhear. I can’t believe I didn’t tune in sooner. Damn this Russian! Look at him, distracting me from things that are actually important and relevant to my career. The worst.

Just kidding. It’s not interesting at all. They’re just talking about the World Cup. Snooze. Who even uses the word “soccer” on this side of the world?

And to think, I was going to stay at home alone and throw myself a pity party. Now I get to overhear a Hollywood conversation. Lucky me. When in doubt, wear the lucky red scarf. Works every time.

There you have it: it’s my sign from the Universe. Keep working hard and someday your dream will come true, even if the odds seem stacked against you.

Okay, I’m over this now. I’m going to eat some food and watch people for awhile. But I’m not going to act like I’m watching people. I’ve learned the hard way I have to be careful of sitting in observation of people in public like this in Hong Kong. It is what it is.

Have a good night!

UPDATE: At the end of the night, the room cleared out and I was left alone with Mr. Hollywood, Mr. CNN, and what remained of their company. Mr. Hollywood approached me and asked me what I was reading on my iPad. He was very nosy about it because I was on Reddit and shut off my screen before he could see what I was looking at. He asked me why I wouldn’t just admit to being on Reddit when asked.

I said, “It’s because I’m not really on Reddit. I’ve actually been eavesdropping on your conversation the entire night. I’m a writer and an American. We all have a lot in common.”

He smiled at me and told me they’re all journalists. He invited me to join them at the next bar. I said okay, then turned to pay my tab. When I walked outside to meet them, they were all gone. I wasn’t sure where they went because I’d never been to that place before, so I decided to just let it go for now.

If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.

Besides, I am not in the mood tonight. For now, I just want to sit on this bench under this tree and be alone.

Before I left, I asked my bartender friend if she knew him. She said, “Well, he’s just spent $8000 HKD in here, so he must be the Big Boss.”

Called it!