Tag: India

BLOG: One Week’s Worth of Posts

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Wednesday. Here I am, at the Secret Society. I can’t stay away in spite of all evidence that I should. It is what it is. You know me.

I finally got a new pair of glasses, so I can finally stare at a screen for pro-longed periods of time again without hurting my eyes. It’s been, like, what? A whole week since I’ve written anything? No wonder I’m starting to lose my shit.

Now… where did I leave off?

Ah yes, I was right here, at the Secret Society. I had just been forced to put away my iPad because of an oncoming shark attack. Luckily, none of the sharks are here right now. It’s too early for them, I think. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish this post and make it out of here before they show up and start swarming me again. I assume they’re all down at The Wolf right now, which is everywhere I don’t want to be.

Okay, let’s go by the day… starting right where we left off…

THURSDAY

So I rolled up here and nothing interesting happened for awhile. All those old bankers were up here celebrating a birthday. I chose not to get involved. Not trying to get friendly with a bunch of old married men, as previously stated. Especially this crowd. I ignored them, they ignored me, everything was grand.

Then my Irish friend (he needs a name that isn’t Seamus lol) from Dublin showed up. You know, the married one who confessed his “love” for me, yet refuses to divorce his wife even though it’s clearly not working out between them. Yeah, that guy. Winner winner chicken dinner.

So we started chatting, but he was annoying me, as per usual. Luckily, right at that moment, that crazy old British Banker who roped me in here the first time around showed up to interrupt the conversation. He walked past us to go to the bathroom and gave me a sideways glance. I turned to my Irish friend and said, “Watch this.”

The British Banker (also needs a name) came back and immediately walked up to greet me. I asked him how his plot to overthrow the British Monarchy and install Trump as King is going.

“Now’s your chance,” I said. “The monarchy is old, weak, and unpopular. The Prime Minister is a cat. Brexit has ruined everything. It’s all very Shakespearean. I think you’re really set up for success here if you give it the good ol’ college try.”

The Irish guy snickered to himself as he watched this exchange. Meanwhile, the British Banker gave me a defeated look and sighed deeply.

“Oh no, no no,” he said. “Trump is an idiot. I simply can’t stand him anymore. He’s a clown running a big tent circus show.”

Oh, really? You don’t say. I’m amazed you finally figured it out. It’s like… Wow, that only took, what, like, four months? Hmm. Wonder what changed. Aside from… well… everything…

Anyway, so happy to report the plot to install Trump as King of the Commonwealth is no more. I guess they’ll be passing it on down to Wills & Kate after all. As they say, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.

“Say,” he asked. “How old are you anyway?”

“I’m 37, turning 38 this year. I’m getting close to cougar status. You better watch out or I’ll sneak up on ya!”

“You can’t sneak up on me.”

My Irish friend and I gave each other a sideways glance and I started laughing again.

“Oh, I think I already did.”

Needless to say, he found this very amusing and decided we are friends now. Sure we are. Why not? Everyone knows my favourite people to make friends with in this world are rich old white men. And here I don’t even get anything out of it except a bunch of random, ridiculous stories. Love that for me.

As this conversation came to a close, so did the bar. I packed up my things and headed on down the hill. I stopped by the Cantina on the way down, where one of my friends was working. We will call her Kitty (she chose this name herself). I stopped in for a drink while they were closing down the bar. That was when the ghost showed up.

As it turns out, my much beloved Cantina is haunted AF, which explains the slightly-off vibes there. The ghost was very much present on this evening, as evidenced by the flickering lights, weird vibes, and ever-present creepy feeling of being watched by a nonhuman entity. Kitty was terrified, so I walked her home since we lived in the same direction.

So ends Thursday.

—

FRIDAY

Friday was busy for me. I went to a shop nearby to pick up a pair of new glasses since I lost my other pair. Got an eye exam, which I haven’t had done in literally 20 years because the American healthcare system is wildly overpriced hot garbage.

Turns out I needed a prescription after all. Picked out a lovely set of frames, added in the blue light protection, and paid about $125 USD for the entire package. Mindfuck. In the US, the frames alone would cost $300-$500. Such a fucking rip-off.

After that, I decided to go visit the witches under the bridge in Causeway Bay for some good old-fashioned villain hitting. It’s a ritual where you write down someone’s name and put a curse on them. For me, I wrote down the name of someone who I felt put a curse on me roughly ten years ago. I didn’t want to curse him. I just wanted to cut the cord between us once and for all.

I won’t say who it was. I will just say it was someone from Verm who has caused me a lot of pain and anguish over the course of a decade. Personally, I feel like it’s very obvious. If it’s not… you clearly haven’t been keeping up. I think we all know who the main character in Bloody Mary’s was, and it’s definitely not me.

Anyway, I just wanted my energetic field to be free of his essence once and for all.

Prior to going to the bridge, I performed a protection ritual on myself. I meditated, set my intention carefully, and dressed in all white. I don’t mess with black magic/bad medicine/bad juju/whatever you want to call it. I fully believe putting a curse on someone will come back at you ten fold. That’s why I was careful to set my intention to cleanse myself, not to curse someone else.

I walked around the coven and looked for the perfect witch to cast the spell. For this, I decided to go with my gut. I think I chose right because the results were apparent right away. I left feeling lighter, happier, freer. It was the best $50 HKD I’ve ever spent.

I returned home to find my neighbor acting weird, as per usual. No idea what’s up with him, honestly. I keep trying to dig and he won’t tell me shit. You know these English guys. They’ve always got something hidden in their attics.

I straight up said to him, “Okay, if you refuse to tell me, my mind will fill in the blank for you. I will just assume you have a haunted portrait or a mentally ill ex-wife locked up in an attic somewhere.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Mmm, yeah… that’s what I thought, Mr. Rochester. It is what it is. I’m done digging. I’ll let that one come to me. I’m over this whole “In the Mood for Love” dynamic. I don’t need this shit. I can go out any night of the week and take my pick from the crowd. Fuck that.

This she says as the bartender she made out with last week stands directly in front of her. Haha.

This leads me into Friday Night, aka Girls Night Out. It was my friend’s birthday. I haven’t given her a fake name yet even though she’s the first friend I made when I came back to HK. I haven’t been doing well with this. Let’s call her… Anastasia! Haha, inside joke. She also chose this name for herself.

I met up with Anastasia at a random spot along the escalator. One of her regulars was there so he bought us some dranks. We hung out with him for awhile, then walked down to the Cantina to pick up Kitty. She didn’t want to close alone because of the ghost, so we sat and waited for her while she finished up.

As we were waiting, the bartender I made out with last week appeared. They both knew him already because they’re all Filipina/o. My friends immediately picked up on the weird vibe and looked at me like, “What was that?”

I made the mistake of telling them what happened. Y’all, they were SCANDALIZED! They wouldn’t stop giving me shit about it for the rest of the night. They started calling him “The Pirate” because I told them to stop screaming his real name so loud half of Central can hear. Like, girl, do you know who I am? No real names, please! So now the joke is just “Oooooooh Pirate!!!!” Like, yeah, he really do be out here looking like a pirate though. It is what it is.

After that, we went down to the Nepalese shisha bar for a drink and a smoke. We were there until about 3am. Kitty took off home, while Anastasia and I went to a late-night Indian restaurant I had no idea existed. It was amazing. Loved it.

Finally got home some time around 4am. My neighbor, whose name is now Mr. Rochester until he makes a decent argument in favour of something better, was definitely awake when I came home. I know because I heard him get up and go out onto the rooftop. He does this pretty regularly.

Unfortunately for him, I was in a different dimension thanks to the combination of the witch’s spell, the dranks, the shisha, the Indian food, and the two hits of a vape pen I took from some random finance bro at the bar. There would be no weird rooftop meeting on this night.

—

OMG, this is getting to be such a chore. Now you know why I have to write every single day. Trying to go a week at a time is just too much for me. No wonder I’ve been feeling so crazy.

Definitely had to take a break from writing for a minute. Also, the usual Krewe of Sharks showed up and wanted to talk to me. My not-so-secret identity has officially been revealed. I’ll get to that later…

Anyway, continuing on…

—

SATURDAY

Saturday morning I woke up as if it was any other ordinary day and checked my IG. The first person on my “People You May Know” was one of the mean girls from the yoga shala in India. Apparently she made herself a professional yoga teacher account and decided to use it to creep on me.

I clicked on it and discovered she is now marketing herself as a “trauma-informed yoga teacher.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Bitch, PLEASE! Get the fuck OUT! You are not a fucking “trauma-informed yoga teacher.” You’re a mean girl with an Instagram account. Shut the fuck UP!

“BREAKING NEWS: The worst person you met at your YTTC is now a trauma-informed yoga teacher!”

LOL! LMFAO!

That’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve ever seen. Wow. Just… wow. Daily Inspiration for you: you really CAN be anything you want to be. All you need is an Instagram account and some basic-ass marketing skills.

God, that totally made my day. That’s fucking hilarious. I literally cannot even. I mean… good luck with that, girl. I mean that sincerely. Personally, I would never take your class after the shitty fucking way you treated me while I was ACTUALLY trying to sort out my trauma. Yikes!

Fucking delusional.

Anyway…

So that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Pure delusion right there. Truly fascinating from a psychological perspective. Like… really? I can’t.

Okay, moving on.

I got up and dressed and walked over to SYP to meet up with an old friend I met in Paris back in 2011. We met at one of Jim Haynes’ dinner parties. He’s this famous American who used to throw weekly dinner parties for strangers in Paris. It’s a whole thing. You can go look him up.

We met up for coffee and lunch and caught up on the last 15 years. He’s writing a book. He asked me a lot of questions about my writing. He also wanted to know why I never moved to Paris. I explained my crazy family situation to him. He said, “Yeah, you know, that never quite sat right with me. I remember when I met you that you had a very specific plan for your life. Then I kept checking in on you and you were still out in South Dakota. I just kept asking myself… what happened?”

Well, now you know! And now I live in Hong Kong instead, so it all worked out in the end!

So that was fun. We went our separate ways again. I returned home to prepare for the oncoming typhoon. Stocked up on snacks and drinks. Made sure the windows were sealed shut. Snuggled up in bed to watch TV all night. Fun times.

—

SUNDAY

This whole day was occupied by the typhoon. I couldn’t go anywhere, nor did I want to. Sorry but I’m not brave enough to go out wandering around in extreme weather just for the sake of the gram. It is what it is.

—

MONDAY

The most exciting part of this day is when I discovered an American grocery store in my neighborhood that sells Costco-sizes of American products. I got a giant bottle of Frank’s Red Hot Buffalo Sauce and a giant container of Creole seasoning. Yasssss. So happy! It’s the little things in life, truly.

—

TUESDAY

I did nothing.

—

WEDNESDAY

Finally, something interesting happened! I went up to the Secret Society, as previously mentioned. There was no one there when I first arrived, which gave me enough time to write out the events of my life up to Saturday. That’s when the sharks showed up.

I was busy typing away when I heard someone announce in a loud British accent, “There she is! She’s writing! She’s writing!” It was the Banker dude. OMG, he really needs a name. Now they all need names, because they found me out!

So when I’ve been up there, I’ve been going by the name Liz. I just didn’t want to be known, I didn’t want to be found, and I definitely did not want any of them to find out I’ve been watching them this entire time.

Unfortunately, they caught onto me. How? Well, I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that it’s because I’m a young woman in a room full of old men, sitting at a keyboard clacking away. In my mind, I think I’m invisible. In their minds… not so much!

And so they finally unmasked my not-so-secret identity as Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire. I think they were all slightly disappointed to discover that I’m a writer, not a spy. I know. I’m disappointed too. It is what it is.

Naturally, they wanted to know more about my writing. At first I was nervous, but then I remembered that I was standing in a room full of highly educated people who live and work in Hong Kong making a fuckton of money. This is not some shitty dive bar in South Dakota full of aggressively illiterate MAGAts, nor is it an expat bar in Bangkok where shady people go to hide from their extensive rap sheets back in the West. It’s a different audience, for sure.

There is a reason why I joined this club, and this is exactly why.

I told them about Bloody Mary’s Bar, which they were highly amused by. I’m not even kidding right now, you guys. These gossipy old queens ATE THAT SHIT UP AND LEFT NO CRUMBS! Caught their interest right away, as I knew it eventually would if I sat on it long enough. Looks like that curse worked, MWA HAHAHAHA!

Then I explained what happened in Bangkok and about how mad everyone at the American Bar was that I wrote about them. The HK-era were like, “Well, of course they were mad. Thailand is where shady people go to hide.” TRUTH!

So then they wanted to know what I’d been writing about them. I said, “Oh, not much. I came here to hide, not to write.” Lies! I did not tell them the story about how I met all of them at The Wolf, nor about their friend and his little stunt in the bathroom. I mean, they were all there for that, but I doubt they remember. I remember, though. That’s not a story I’m likely to forget any time soon.

I was really scared they were going to be mad and throw me out. Instead, they laughed. They thought it was funny! They were like, “Oh, I want to read that. I want to see what fake names you come up with everyone on the Island and try to guess who they are. Haha, that’s so funny. You’re just like Lady Whistledown!”

So now my nickname is Lady Whistledown, which is hilarious, actually. Like, yep, that’s me. I am the modern day American equivalent of Lady Whistledown, and proud of it.

All of them encouraged me to finish the book I’ve been writing about my first year living abroad. I’ve never seen so many people cheering me on. It was wild! They are here for it!

My Banker friend was especially impressed with my discipline as far as writing every day goes. Like, “Oh, you’re for real, aren’t you?”

Yes, yes I am. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it!

And now they know the name Betsey Horton!

I still asked them to call me Liz, though. I just… really, really prefer to separate my writing identity from my every day identity. It’s a whole thing.

After bar close, I wandered on down the hill back home. Along the way, I ran into my Auntie, who I swear to god is secretly a gangster of some sort. We hung out for awhile at the corner bar across from the 7/11 on Peel Street.

That was when Mr. Pirate came along. I brought him back home with me to my rooftop, forgetting about the weirdness with Mr. Rochester. Mistake! Pretty sure Mr. Rochester came out onto the rooftop and saw us out there, because Mr. Pirate kept turning around and looking behind him and asking me if there was someone else there. I was like, “Oh, yeah, that guy. Just ignore him.”

Unfortunately, neither of us could ignore the invisible presence of the third party, so I had to send him on his way home. IDK. Maybe it’s all in my head. Or maybe… it’s not… because Mr. Pirate noticed it too and wouldn’t stop asking me about it. So… I guess I can’t be hosting any more guests at home now. Especially since the first insult Mr. Rochester lobbed at me during our first argument was, “All you do is get drunk and make out with random guys in elevators!”

Yeahhh…. Guess he’s decided to stake his claim to that specific elevator, lol. I mean, I get it. The thought of seeing him with another girl makes me weirdly jealous. I don’t know why. I don’t even like him that much. It’s probably because we are sharing a wall and he’s always around lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump out and scare me. He’s just this ever-present force in my life now that I can’t escape from. I would be so mad. I would be like, “Hey, that’s MY neighbor! Back off bitch!”

It is what it is.

Now I’m here at Ye Olde Irish Pub, the last place where I can hide. Yep, I’m a known quantity in the universe now. That means I gotta come all the way over to Kowloon to hide. And even then… they know me here too! Everyone knows me wherever I go! I’m special! I can’t escape from my fate! It has found me… again.

Alas.

Alright, I’m off to finish my Guinness (LOL) and then head on back over across the bay before the weather gets worse. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.

Have a lovely day!

BLOG: Is This A Wong Kar-Wai Movie?

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Thursday.

Back at the Secret Society, to the surprise of literally no one. I can’t help myself. Hellooooo! Who do you think I am?

Same old, same old. All the old men are here. I’ve decided to take the route of politely nodding hello to them and then otherwise ignoring them completely. Not trying to get friendly with a bunch of old married men!

Gee, I wonder why!

I was definitely here the other night as well. Got wayyyyy too friendly with the Filipino bartender, went to a second location with him, and inevitably made out with him.

I know, but like… What do you want from me? He’s my age, he’s hot, he’s covered in tattoos! It is what it is, okay?!

Luckily for me, he is not here tonight. Unfortunately, all the old men are. They’re celebrating someone’s millionth birthday. I’m pretending I don’t notice what’s going on. I just don’t care.

I actually came up here specifically to see the bartender, but he is not here. I cannot remember his name for the life of me. I don’t even know if I put it in my phone.

I just checked and I definitely did not put him in my phone. I guess the feeling is pretty mutual on that one. Thank god for that. I was genuinely worried. Alright, well, glad that’s all sorted out.

Meanwhile, I watched In The Mood For Love today, aka a Hong Kong Cinema Classic. Yes, I have seen it before, but that was a long time ago, before I lived in a tiny shoebox right door to a hot beefcake who I am definitely very attracted to, probably because he either yells at me or ignores me. Hello Daddy Issues! It is what it is.

Today when I watched it, there were no English subtitles. Welcome to my everyday life! Now you know why I stay in my comfy expat bubble, which isn’t actually terrible because here “expat” means “everyone from all over the world, not just specifically white people.”

So, I knew the plot, but I could not remember exactly what was said throughout the film. Therefore I was focused exclusively on the visuals and the vibes. It was a nice experience, actually. It forced me to put down the iPad and actually pay attention to every little detail in the frame. Just for a brief moment, I remembered how I fell in love with movies in the first place…

Then there was the question of vibes. Oh, the VIBES! I felt ALL the vibes. I was like… yeahhhh… this is how I feel about my hot neighbor right now. Problematic AF, as I’m 90% he is not feeling the same way about me. Either way, he’s an actor, I’m a writer, he’s right next door, and this fantasy is going to be projected onto him whether he likes it or not. It is what it is!

I did have a bit of a laugh though. He was hating on me for not having enough “Authentic Hong Kong Experiences.”

Meanwhile, I’m over here watching this movie like… “Wtf are you talking about, bro? I am having the MOST authentic HK experience right now. What do you even think living next door to someone like you is like for me, especially in this impossibly tiny, cramped space?! You do realize you’re a hot, sexy beefcake AND an actor AND British, right? Like, that’s basically a Triple Threat to me. It’s like the universe served me up my dream man then pulled an MC Hammer on me. Like, ‘U can’t touch this!’ RIDICULOUS!”

Yeah, it was depressing. In the end, I thought to myself, “Hmm… maybe I should go to Cambodia, or not, mostly because the vibe there right now is kinda scary. Soooo maybe back to India for my 300hr YTT course. I’ll whisper your name into a giant temple and then bury it with mud and grass. How romantic!”

And then I’ll just move onto the next hot, sexy beefcake because that’s just how it is these days…

Not that I necessarily want that. I just feel like he’s been pretty upfront about the fact that he finds me REALLY fucking weird and annoying. As I recall, he specifically said, “You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

He told me who he is, and I believe him. I learned this about men the hard way. Therefore, it is what it is.

That being said… he hasn’t asked me about his mail ONE TIME since using it as an excuse to unblock and re-follow me on Instagram. Just saying!

I did check for it though, because I’m me. Alas!

Anyway… what else did I do this week? Tried to start out the week productive, failed, then decided to re-watch Reservation Dogs to motivate me. I’ve rewatched it like 5 times now, but this time was different. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m a year removed from living in SD so it’s not as present in my every day life anymore. It felt like the very strong dose of medicine I needed this week.

If you haven’t seen this show, it’s focused on a group of teens living on the Rez in Oklahoma. It’s one of my favourite TV shows of ALL TIME. It’s fucking beautiful. The main theme of the show is dealing with Grief in various forms. Obviously it hits much different after losing so many family members to death in the last 5 years. I really, really, really needed to watch it way more than I thought. It was so healing. I felt so much better after my re-watch.

Inspired by my rewatch, I decided to go out this morning to meditation with a spirit plate, play the Lakota Ceremonial Songs Playlist, and ruminate on the Sun Dance. I pictured the Tree of Life and relived the memories of the ceremony.

Sure enough, one of my spirit guides appeared at the table. I’m pretty sure I know who she is now. I think she’s the Native woman from Shinnecock Nation my Great-Great-HoweverManyGreats Uncle married. He was a minister who worked with the Montaukett and Shinnecock during a smallpox epidemic that wiped most of them out.

I can prove this by the way. There is a significant record of this. This is not just some random shit I made up. I always felt some kind of connection there, but I didn’t know what it was. She led me to it eventually, but it took me awhile to figure out she was actually related to me and not a random spirit who decided to hitchhike when I was driving down Highway 18 through Pine Ridge and Rosebud.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure it was her because at the end, she said, “Thank you for acknowledging me. You’re the only person in our family who does. The rest of them are out there still pretending to be white. They’re the real Pretendians.”

That made me laugh, tbh.

Anyway, yeah, I don’t feel the need to justify this experience to anyone anymore because I know it’s real. I’m just more comfortable expressing it now that I don’t live in a small town full of crazy people who were determined to burn me alive at the stake every opportunity they got.

I asked her for some practical life advice and she told me to go to the eye doctor. Typical spirit shit, lol. She said, “Bad eyesight runs in your family. You lost your glasses two weeks ago and haven’t replaced them yet. You need to take better care of yourself in that way.”

So I booked an appointment for tomorrow. It’s a different system here. I looked around for the place with the most fashionable frames in HK and made an appointment with the optometrist tomorrow. I admit I’m relieved. Typing this right now without my glasses is actually pure torture right now. Can’t do it anymore. I’m shelling out the money for a prescription this time. That shit is real AF.

I asked her about other things too. Mostly about how to figure out my next step. It’s not like she can “tell me what to do” but she can give me general advice on the best direction to take.

It’s… complicated right now. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know!!!! I mean, I KNOW. I made a new vision board. I just… I don’t know. I feel so stuck.

It is what it is.

That being said, I love Hong Kong. I literally never want to leave this Island. However, I recognize that I am not in the healthiest place right now because of my grief and trauma, and I need to address that before I try to climb the career ladder again. Why not go to the Himalayas and do yoga while I figure it out?

I just have to be more serious this time. Goa was tough because it the first time. Bali felt more like a vacation from reality than anything else. Rishikesh, however… that is The Yoga Capital of the World. It’s very serious. Like… Fuck around and find out!

I need that. I need to be in a place where I can’t sneak out at night in search of alcohol to numb the pain of feeling my feelings. That being said… hook me up with dat Himalayan Kush, fam!

How do they say it in Reservation Dogs, “Weed is the Creator’s medicine, alcohol is the Devil’s work.”

Truth!

—-

Update from later:

Walked into some old man’s bday party. Definitely decided not to get myself involved. After all, I have nothing to say to a group of old married men.

Sat at the bar and minded my own business. Chatted with the bartender for awhile. Luckily, the one I kissed before wasn’t there. thank god. The story she told me was depressing. She was talking about how she has to grocery shop for 6 people in HK without a car. The entire time she was talking, I could not get the picture of my mom loading piles of groceries into the back of the minivan. I used to hate on it a lot, but now I truly appreciate the luxury the American people actually have.

And then we just pissed it away….

—-

Update from later later:

Will tell this part of the story later. To be continued…

BLOG: I Am Not Invisible

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Monday.

I am not in my regular writing routine so I’m just sitting here right now like… where was I?

Ok. I had just finished watching The Season and speculating whether or not my Neighbor would have played the role he auditioned for in a significantly less sleazy manner.

Right.

So what do you think the next choice I made was?

That’s right. I decided to go up to the Secret Society and collect material for my own version of “The Season,” fancy yacht parties not included. Welcome to the Mid-Levels Madness. Here we go.

So, first thing is first. That place is so fucking WEIRD. I cannot describe the vibe up there. I’ve been in there multiple times now as a member, I’ve given it an open mind, and yeah, like… it’s definitely giving “Secret Society” vibes.

The first problem I noticed was that all the regulars clocked me RIGHT AWAY, but no one actually said hello. They all just gathered in the corner and started talking amongst each other. There is nothing unusual about this specific group behavior, but it was definitely giving weird vibes.

I briefly wondered if the married Irishman I just rejected last week was all up in there talking shit. Maybe! Who knows! Not sure why I’m the problem for saying I prefer to have a real relationship with a single man instead of falling for some married guy’s imaginary made up fairytale fantasy… AGAIN. No thanks, bro! That ship has sailed! But sure, do whatever you have to do to ruin my life so you can avoid accountability. I’ve seen it all before.

I decided to ignore it. Maybe they are not talking about me at all.

Eventually, this random lady I had never met before came over and started chatting me up. She was cool enough. I just felt really awkward because she made a comment about my appearance and I had to say, “I’m 37.”

I know that I look young, but rest assured, I’m not some random 23-year-old sugar baby looking for her next daddy. Pretty sick of the whole “predatory older men using me for the own agenda” thing, honestly.

So the whole conversation was awkward, but I managed to hold my own, as per usual. Living in South Dakota may have fucked up my entire life, but I grew up in the DC area to a father who was a very well-known prominent lawyer. I can hold my own in these rooms whether I want to, or not.

So the conversation was happening, and I just kept trying to steer it towards the fact that I am in the market for a job that is not F&B or teaching. I don’t know how well that went, but I made an effort.

Then shit got really weird. All of a sudden, this one old British finance bro turned around and gave me a huge hug out of nowhere. Everyone in the room just stopped and stared at me while I put on a fake smile and tried to pretend I wasn’t insanely uncomfortable in that moment.

“Oh, you know him?” The lady asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not well,” I said. “I’ve only met him here a few times. He’s the one who invited me to join.”

Another raised eyebrow. Yes, lady, I know. I’ve seen him out here creeping on young ladies too. I’m not an idiot. I know what’s going on. I ALSO don’t feel comfortable with him randomly putting his arms around me and showing me off to the whole crowd like a prized racing horse who just won him a trophy at Sha Tin.

So icky! Gross! It was just gross.

Somehow, it got worse. Right at that moment, out of absolutely fucking nowhere, the Finance Bro who invited me to snort coke off a dirty bathroom toilet seat and then proceeded to grope me in front of everyone appeared. And not only did he appear, but he, too, embraced me in front of everyone and made me do that obnoxious “kiss on both cheeks” greeting that, honestly, I totally get is cultural, but also… no.

Literally as he was kissing my cheeks, all I could think about was how close his face had probably been to a dirty bar toilet only moments before. Even as I write this… the expression on my face is like… ew… no… disgust… no.

I truly felt so violated in that moment. Once again, he just could not resist putting his grimy paws all over me and grabbing me in places I did not give him express, specific consent to grab.

Then came the most horrifying part: the fact that I CONTINUED TO PRETEND SMILING AND ACTING LIKE NONE OF THIS FUCKING BOTHERED ME EVEN THOUGH ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS RUN HOME AND SHOWER.

It was terrible. Honestly, so terrible. It really put me off going back up there again. Before, I was like, “Well… you know… it might just be me. Maybe I got too drunk, maybe I misunderstood, maybe there’s more to this place than I think, after all… it IS important to be in these types of rooms… you know, for the connections! Networking! This is just how it is. It’s the same in DC, in SD, in NYC, in HK, everywhere. You have to know which rooms are going to help you get where you need to go. This room could help me get where I need to go.”

But then… No. Girl, no! WTF?! Just… no!

For one brief shining moment, I really sat there and asked myself, “What am I doing right now? Why am I coming into this place where I have repeatedly been made to feel unsafe, just to listen to terrible old rich people spew terrible pro-colonialist Old Empire propaganda? All this, just for a blog post 10 whole people might read? Why? To what end? To get a job working for people like this? Why? So I can go back to the comfort of my suburban upbringing and never have to worry about money ever again? Is it really worth it?”

I don’t think it is…

Even now, just recounting this… the look on my face, the feelings I am feeling, everything, all of it. It’s like watching my whole life flash before my eyes.

Just… why?

I don’t know. I think South Dakota ruined me, tbh. All living there taught me how to do was compromise my boundaries and beliefs so I could feel extremely uncomfortable hanging out in rooms full of shitty fucking assholes, political opinions and socioeconomic status irrelevant.

Like… I don’t even know how to find a person I actually like. I have no idea how to have fun. I just think… “This is just how life is, Betsey. You just have to go out there and be around terrible people you don’t like all the time, and that’s just the way it is. You’re the problem for not liking it, Betsey. You need to learn how to turn off all of your feelings and opinions and just watch it all unfold in front of you live in real time. Then you go home and write about it later. That’s what being a writer is. That’s what it means.”

But like… is it?

Should I not be using this life to do something that makes me happy?

Of course!

But like… how do I do that when I legitimately do not know what makes me happy?

There are some things that make me happy. Sitting in a little street-side cafe on a rainy day, writing the afternoon away. Eating a plate of delicious food with the appropriate wine to pair. Snuggling up in bed and watching TV (mostly with my cat, who is sadly no longer with us). Learning new things. Reading. Drawing, painting, coloring. The feeling of hunting through a discount sale or secondhand shop in search for the perfect dress to wear out to dinner by myself just so I can feel beautiful for a night,

None of these things make money or involve a career. The career question is so hard right now. I literally do not know how to not be completely miserable at a job. I’ve mostly had TERRIBLE work experiences because the SD culture is so fucking hostile towards outsiders of all kinds. I can’t remember the last time I had a job I liked. I really thought teaching would be the change I needed, but it’s not.

My dream job is to not have to work in a place where I have to put on a big fake smile and pretend I’m a Disney character every day. I can’t do it. I can’t keep it together. I do not have that ability. I cannot hide my emotional state at all, ever. It is what it is.

I don’t know what’s right for me. Again, we just know it’s not teaching children or yoga, and it’s definitely not serving other people. But those are the only jobs I’ve ever had… and I don’t have the experience on my resume necessary to just switch without going back to school or finding someone to speak for me as a reference.

I just feel so stuck right now. My mind just goes back to the same place it always does: Fight, Flight, Fawn, or Freeze. Right now all I seem to do in HK is fawn or freeze. Now I’m a place where I either have to fight to stay or take flight. If I take flight, it’s very clear that I only have a certain amount of time/money before I end up back in the US, homeless, without meaning, purpose, or direction, and back in my abusive family home. If I stay here, there’s only a certain amount of time/money before my luck runs out and I end up in the same place.

But what if I flee to a yoga shala in India and hide out in the Himalayas until I go cray-cray a la Black Narcissus and jump off a cliff?

Why does that ending seem so inevitable all the time? Ugh. I fully blame my dad for saying dumb shit to me my whole life like, “You could be just like [insert name of writer who killed themselves here].”

Like, yeah, that shit is so real. I don’t even have kids or a husband or a house in the burbs, but I 100% get why Sylvia Plath stuck her head in an oven. You don’t need to encourage more of that energy to grow within me just to prove to your narcissistic ego that yes, you did, in fact, spawn a “misunderstood genius” who may not be accepted in this life, but maybe famous in the next.

Terrible parenting, tbh. 0/10, would not choose to be born to either of these nutjobs ever again.

Who am I? What am I doing with my life? I don’t know anything anymore.

All I know if that today is the perfect day to judge people based on their “umbrella walks,” so that’s what I’m going to do.

The End!

BLOG: Wild Wednesday

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Thursday night.

At the pizza place. Not eating pizza for once.

I am actually on my way to a stand-up comedy open mic that this random Irish guy invited me to last night. I don’t know if I will actually get up there and do a set. I just feel like I should go and do a vibe check. I did prepare some material just in case I do get brave. We’ll see what happens.

Otherwise, last night was ridiculous, as per usual. Yesterday in general was pretty bad for me. My friend and I made plans to go to the beach, but she cancelled, which was really disappointing to me. I didn’t want to go alone, so I stayed home and watched The Darjeeling Limited again and cried about my Dead Daddy Issues. What a great way to spend a holiday! LOL!

I thought maybe it was better to sit with the grief for once instead of trying to drown it out with substances. Painful but necessary.

After a very long nap, I woke up and decided to go out instead of staying home and feeling sorry for myself. I went up to the Secret Society, which was DEAD AF! It was awesome. I was sitting there writing, keeping to myself, enjoying the fact that the playlist on deck was literally all of my mix CDs from when I was a teenager, and that’s when it happened.

Some random older man came in, looked right at me, sat down next to me, and immediately started talking to me. Ugh. First he tried to guess where I’m from. He guessed every country except the US before finally deciding I was Polish. He said he couldn’t figure me out because I wear Pumas and heavy winged eyeliner like they do in the Middle East? Whatever. Finally, I revealed I was American. Then he tried to guess what part of the US I’m from. Then he tried to guess my age. I just sat there messing with him for awhile. It was funny!

He told me he’s from Denmark. Some kind of shipping magnate or something. He didn’t say exactly what he does. I don’t really care anyway. We chatted for awhile about Brazil, which was a pleasant surprise. Then he asked me to come home with him to his gigantic two-story apartment up in the Mid-Levels. He was like, “I promise we’ll just hang out in the kitchen and drink wine.”

Obviously, I said no. As soon as I said no, he was like, “You’re so angry! Why are you angry?” IDK because I was just crying over my dead dad all day and now some creepy old man is trying to lure me back to his apartment so he can Weinstein me? Gee, I wonder!

He followed me on Instagram and the first thing I saw on his page were pictures of his wife and children. Like… really confused about your plan right now, bro. Do you keep your family on the first floor and you mistresses on the first floor? What is happening here?

It gets worse. He wanted my WhatsApp number and when I looked at his picture, he was using a picture of himself from when he was 22! This man is in his 50’s! He has white hair and a giant beer belly! That is literally catfishing! I just can’t with these men and their delusions. How do you even take yourself seriously right now?

Insanity.

Finally, he left, so I went back down the escalator to the Cantina to visit my friend as she closed down the bar. After a brief chat, I set off to walk home. This is when the night finally got interesting.

As I was walking home, I passed the corner bar on Peel Street and saw my favourite “Auntie” standing out front. Everyone knows this lady. I don’t know exactly what she “does.” I always see her working in different places along the escalator. After last night, I’m officially convinced she is some kind of local Gangster Boss who keeps the neighborhood bar scene in line. I love it. Low-key obsessed. Legendary.

I chatted with her for a bit. She got me a beer and went off to do her business, whatever that may be. Right at that moment, a very tall, sexy Aussie beefcake walked across the street, looked at me, looked at her, and immediately came inside to say hello to her and introduce himself to me.

Naturally, the first question I asked him was, “So, you are Aussie, huh? Can you wrestle a crocodile?”

He laughed at me and shrugged his shoulders casually. “Actually, I can,” he said.

“Great, then you can definitely handle me!”

He kept laughing at me. He thought I was a riot! We sat for a bit talking and then two Irishmen came into the bar. They knew the Aussie, so we all started talking together. They invited us to go to another bar to watch whatever World Cup game was on TV, so we followed them to the next location. Keep in mind it was like… 1am at this point.

So we get there and everyone is all into their soccer. I don’t personally give a fuck about soccer. I just like the part at the end when they score the winning goal and take their shirts off and run around the field. What can I say? Objectifying beautiful men is its own sport.

I just watched the room instead. There were three die-hard DRC fans wearing jerseys, singing the Congolese National Anthem in French. Lots of people who were there specifically to see England lose and a handful of people who were there to see England win. I guess England won? I don’t really care.

The Aussie guy ordered a beer, didn’t drink any of it, and then just got up and left the table to disappear into the night. Guess he didn’t want to wrestle this crocodile after all.

I started chatting with the Irishmen instead. They told me the place where I traced my Irish ancestry to (County Cavan) is known as the biggest shithole in all of Ireland. I said, “Well, that’s why my family got on a boat and left.” They thought that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

As it turns out, one of them does stand-up comedy. He invited me to a comedy open mic night he is hosting in my neighborhood tonight. My friend was THRILLED! She has been pushing me to do it for MONTHS! I don’t know if I will do it. I’m just going for the vibe check.

I prepared something just in case. It’s my “Six Nations” routine, lol. I don’t think it will fit into 3 minutes though. I don’t even know what I could fit into three minutes. That’s why I’m just going to watch for now. I gotta watch how they do it so I can learn. TV comedy specials are great, but you’re seeing a professional, polished product. You’re not seeing them at amateur hour working the crowd and testing out material. That’s where the real learning happens.

Anyway, I used the incident to tell my neighbor to go fuck himself. Like, see? I do more than just get drunk and make out with random guys in elevators! He’s just jealous that he is not one of the guys in the elevator with me. That’s on him.

I still invited him to the 4th of July party in spite of his weird behavior last Saturday night. He doesn’t know I plan on imitating his British accent all night and calling him a “dirty old bird.” I don’t even know what that means. I just saw it in an old British movie this week and now I’m going to call him that forever. Just a bit o’ cheeky banter. Nothing serious. Just gotta give it back to him.

We’ll see if he doesn’t chicken out on 4th of July. In the meantime, I am off to the comedy club now. Let’s see what happens!

Ugh, I know, my site has been offline for two weeks. I need to get back on there and fix it up. I’m all out of sorts right now. It’s just like… ugh.

Okay, okay, I really have to go now. Will update on how it went tomorrow. Ta ta!

BLOG: Black Narcissus

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Taco Tuesday.

I am not in a good writing habit lately. My routine has been messed up since I got back from Macau. I haven’t been going to the coffee shop at all. Instead I’ve been spending the morning doing yoga and meditating on the rooftop with a side of instant coffee. So not bad, just not writing.

I decided to shut down my Facebook again. Why? Because I hate it. Also, I happen to be in possession of a video taken of myself in Bangkok without my knowledge or consent by some jerk wearing Meta Glasses. We were just at dinner at some random place with another friend, but it doesn’t matter. It’s still creepy, weird, and gross. Also, I know for a fact that guy was out filming other situations that night that he should not have been filming. The people he was filming definitely were not aware of what he was doing at all.

Fuck that gross, creepy shit. I’m just so over it. I’ve never liked Facebook anyway. It’s just causes problems I don’t need in my life anymore. So, we are done now. IG and WhatsApp are much harder to let go of, of course, but neither are Facebook, which is what I really care about.

Otherwise, I had a much better day today than I’ve been having all weekend. I meditated for a really long time this morning and gave my mat a nice scrub down. Then I just sort of sat in my apartment calmly and quietly for awhile.

For some reason I had the random urge to watch an old movie called Black Narcissus. No idea where the fuck this came from. In case you don’t know, it’s a movie about a group of nuns who attempt to set up a convent in the Himalayan Mountains. It was all filmed in Pinewood Studios, which is in England. No one ever set foot in India for this movie. Yet somehow… so beautiful. The cinematography is just stunning!

The movie was pretty entertaining. As someone who has been to India, it was fun to watch them all slowly melt down in real time. Like, girl, been there! LOL!

My favourite was the nun who was so inspired by the views she forgot to plant the vegetable garden and planted a bunch of beautiful flowers instead. I was like, “Welcome to the Yoga Lifestyle.”

My second favourite was the Guru sitting on the mountaintop. Love that for him! What a sage! I would offer him a wreath of flowers, for sure.

Also loved the British dude who went Native and spent the whole movie wandering around in shorts and a scarecrow cap. The funny part was that I saw some random meme on Instagram the other day about advertisements for “Military Shorts.” I was like… wtf? Then I watched this movie and I was like, “Oh.”

Cool story, bro! Can you tell it again? Do you have time?

So I sat on that one for awhile, then decided to see if there was anything on the news besides Dump TV. Much to my surprise, Al Jazeera English was running a special feature on Native Americans going up against ICE in Minnesota.

It was grand until all of sudden we’re back on Pine Ridge, right at Wounded Knee. At least we were in the better part of South Dakota, but still… I was caught off-guard because I was trying to avoid letting my mind wander back there today. And yet… there I was… standing right back at the mass grave, right where I started this journey from.

Trauma-bonded for life.

So right as the shot of Wounded Knee came up, I felt something crawling up my arm. No idea what it was, but it was an insect of some sort and it was in bed with me. Freaked out, of course. Caught it and took it outside. Yelled at it to stay out of my safe space and went back downstairs.

I had just started shaking out the sheets when I looked out the window and realized a downpour had just started. Both my (almost) dry yoga mat and sandals were out on the rooftop. I ran upstairs to rescue both, but the damage was done. The mat is now drying on the stairwell banister, but I’m not convinced it will be dry in time for me to do yoga tomorrow.

I’m not sure it matters. As far as I know, I’m supposed to go to a Junk Boat Party for July 1, which is a holiday here. We’ll see if that comes to fruition. I’ve had no luck with the boat party thing yet, mostly because I’m afraid of boats. It is what it is.

A little bit later, I decided to start watching some Spanish documentary about an escort service in Mexico where a bunch of sex workers were murdered. I got about 20 minutes in and it was too triggering for me. I got really upset when I was listening to them describe meeting clients in hotels. I was like, “This is EXACTLY what the Russian needs! He should have arranged this service for himself in advance. That’s what it’s there for. What gives this man the right to wander around Central and choose some random woman to carry out of the bar to service him for free? Furthermore, how dare he say he doesn’t consent to be written about? Like, bro, I didn’t consent to being used as a free escort service. Fuck you. Next time, be more careful about who you choose so you don’t get a starring role in the sequel to Promising Young Woman.”

Raging.

So yeah, I paused the doc, turned off the TV, changed my clothes, and came out alone for Taco Tuesday. Tonight is just for me. No bros of any kind. No Passport Bros, No Finance Bros, No Influencer Bros, No Diginal Nomad Bros, No Boss Bros, No Neighbor Bros, No Sports Bros, No Bros of Any Kind!

No men allowed in this space tonight.

I had a brief moment of clarity in which I realized my body has actually endured a great deal of trauma this year, in addition to the trauma it has already taken. No wonder I feel so terrible all the time. This year has been a lot! But hey, you know what? I did what I came here to do. As the Publisher said, “You didn’t go there for some stupid job. You went there to write a book. And guess what? You did it. No matter what happens now, you did it.”

It’s true. I did it. And that’s why I’m secretly beefing with my neighbor now. I’m about to drink his ass under the table this weekend. He doesn’t even see it coming! He’s British AF. Does he even drink Kentucky Bourbon, bro? I highly doubt it. He ain’t ready for this jelly!

I’m obviously still mad about Saturday night. Like… Take off the metaphorical Muay Thai gloves and fight me like a real man, bro! You can’t just be like, “All you do is drink all day and make out with random men in elevators!” That’s literally not even true! I’ll have you know, I haven’t made out with anyone in an elevator since The Russian. I did make out with anyone Irishman under a tree, but we were both shitfaced and had a conversation about it later, so it basically doesn’t even count.

Also, you are just mad that you are not in that elevator with me. You’re even madder because you’ve seen me go out of my way to avoid getting into that elevator at the same time as you! You know why! Stop lying to yourself! You know what this is really about!

All of my girl friends are like, “What’s wrong with this guy? Why does he care so much?” Literally no idea. It’s a very small space. Those walls are paper thin. It is what it is. And whatever it is will be resolved at the 4th of July Party this weekend. Come what may!

Well, I am off now. I am going to eat a very large burrito bowl and plan my holiday tomorrow. Have a good one!

BLOG: And The Balls Win Again

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Tuesday evening.

Against my better judgment, I decided to brave the rain and venture up to the Mid-Levels for the Quiz Night I was invited to. The person who invited me is not here. So now I am sitting here at the bar all alone, watching everyone else play trivia, just like I did back in SD. Wow, yeah, I know, I really feel like I’ve come so far in life, lol. Ridiculous.

I really thought my life would look different at this point. I guess it’s true what they say. Wherever you go, there you are. And here I am, alone at the bar, as always.

Damn. I’m disappointed. I was totally all about the Secret Society thing. I guess it’s not a secret if I write about it, lol. Oh well!

I’m kidding, by the way. It’s not a secret at all. It’s like when I worked at “Regal’s Club” back in Verm. It’s technically a private club for members only, but anyone can go there. I had to learn the names of all the members and their usual drinks. I completely get the concept. It’s not lost on me. I’m just make a joke about it being a “Secret Society” because I can.

The good news is that there are some very good looking men in here. There are good looking men everywhere in Hong Kong. The whole island is just crawling with them. They don’t always have the best personalities, but it’s fine. They don’t have to have a good personality. They just have to look good without a shirt on.

It is what it is.

My concern now has turned to how I am going to make it home in the pouring rain. Obviously I brought an umbrella. However, it is still a 15-20 minute walk downhill in the pouring rain. I feel stupid for venturing out on this type of night, but oh well.

Hong Kong is so wild to me. I never know what to expect from this place. I love the song that goes, “You’ll find more than you bargained for when you come to Hong Kong!” If there is one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s that this phrase is true.

I just want y’all to know that including the word “Balls” in an all-male trivia team name is, in fact, a global phenomenon. Men are so ridiculous. It is what it is.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to my mini-break to Macao tomorrow. The hotel I booked is really nice. I got it for super cheap since it’s a weekday and I have membership perks. I love the thrill of getting a good deal on something travel related. I won’t be able to use the pool since it will be raining, but I will get to take some good photos from my seaside balcony, take a luxurious bath in the gigantic tub, and get some writing done at the fancyass desk. I am in it to win it, fam.

Fun Fact: luxury hotels are, in fact, my favourite place to write. I don’t know why. The more palatial, the better. They’re just inspiring. Trust me, I’ve stayed in some real shitholes on my travels. I can’t write in a bedbug-ridden motel off the highway that looks like something straight from a horror movie. I need a terry cloth robe and slippers and room service. Why do you think I keep blowing so much money on that stupid hotel in Bangkok? It’s the perfect place to write! Which is why I always do all my writing at the little sidewalk coffee stand next door.

Oh, I miss Bangkok. I’ve been getting signs from the universe about it again. There’s just something about Thailand…

The problem is that I love it too much. That’s why we cannot be together. It’s not Thailand, it’s me. I’m not a rich old western man with a lot of money looking for a much-younger Thai wife. I don’t belong there!

I’m glad I came out anyway, even if it didn’t turn out as planned. It’s always better to be out soaking up the Hong Kong energy than to be sitting at home watching Netflix and eating ramen noodles and snacks from 7/11. Hong Kong inspires the fuck out of me. I love it here.

I was debating earlier if it was “worth it” to me to give up my dream of living in Paris to come out here to Asia instead. The answer is definitely yes. Paris was always this imaginary dream escape place for me where everything was always perfect. When I was the Paris Writing Workshop, I realized that fantasy was holding me back from exploring the rest of the world and really understanding reality.

Here in Asia, shit gets real so fast. I have no illusions about the reality of life here in Hong Kong, or in Bangkok, or in Bali, or India, or the GCC. Coming here to Asia opened my world up in ways I never expected. I always knew I would end up to be the Peace Corps type. I fully expected that someday I would live in some random little village somewhere in Africa, showering with a bucket and helping out around camp. Living in India was definitely an adjustment, but the reality is that I didn’t mind the blackouts or the monsoon or the bucket showers.

I never thought I would be fighting for my life to stay afloat in a place like Hong Kong, or living it up in a luxury loft in Bangkok, or following around a group of sex workers through the VIP lounges of Dubai, or spend a weekend in a gigantic villa in Bali, or any of the other totally crazy, completely ridiculous things I’ve done in between.

Wild.

The truth is that I don’t need this. I don’t need to write about this, whatever this is. It’s what I call “extra material.” I’ve already charted out the novel/show I have in mind two weeks ago. I got some good feedback on it. I already have an entire plan that doesn’t involve any of this.

If I’m here, it’s because I want to be Liz for a night and just forget that I am an “infamous, notorious writer.” As I always say, I’m just a traumatized woman in recovery who has no idea how to have fun, standing before a crowd of strangers on the other side of the world, asking them to teach me how to have fun.

There is no fun in my world. Only work, which for me sadly means being a prisoner of my own device all the time. I literally have no idea how else to live my life. It is what it is.

It’s too bad I’m not on someone’s trivia team right now. I am killing it with these categories. My new mantra: “You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. But you will respect my intelligence enough to include me on your team for Quiz Night. And that’s why we will all win whatever this prize is together. Hashtag: Teamwork Makes The Dream Work.”

Lately I’ve been really caught up in reliving past moments when my goals were actively being sabotaged by my mother. Right now I am trying to be present and look at what I’ve been able to accomplish in spite of that.

I’m not comparing myself to any of these influencer types I was jealous of before. I definitely still have goals I haven’t accomplished yet, but even the fact that I got this far is still an impressive feet.

I mean…. Hong Kong. Wow. That’s big no matter how you slice it. I am truly lucky to be here right now. I know it’s complicated and all that, but I love it, and I’m learning a lot, and I don’t regret coming here for even one minute.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say tonight. I’m just sitting here pretending to look busy so it doesn’t look like I showed up for a social event that didn’t actually happen like some total fucking loser, lol.

It is what it is…

BLOG: Members Only Club

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Saturday.

I am at the brunch spot again. I don’t know why I’m here. There’s construction across the way and it’s really, really loud. I guess I am here because they do a good Bloody Mary. It’s not quite right but it is what it is.

Last night I decided to return to The Sketchy Place. I don’t know why. I felt something summon me there, so I decided to solve the mystery of this place.

As it turns out, this was a good plan. They remembered me, and I actually remembered most of them quite well. As it turns out, this is not just a neighborhood bar. This is a private expat club, which they invited me to join. They gave me a card with a QR code on it. The link took me to a membership form, which I filled out. Now I am a member of this secret expat club in Hong Kong. I get to use the Clubhouse. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds cool.

Welcome to “networking.” I don’t have to like these people. I just have to hang out in the same rooms as they do. This is how I get a job, and maybe even an invitation to lunch at the Foreign Correspondents Club, which is insanely expensive to join, by the way. It’s basically only for rich people. I’ve already tried to attend a conference there and they rejected me. I’m not getting in there without an invitation from someone who knows someone. It is what it is.

The person who gave me the card said they had lunch at the FCC the other day. So jealous. Y’all need to look this place up. It’s insane. They brand themselves as “probably the most famous press club in the world.” Oh, the irony of it all.

This feels like a message from my dad. He used to take me to lunch and events at the National Press Club in DC all the time. I can just hear him saying, “You have to join the FCC! You can go eat lunch at the clubhouse!”

Membership is much, much cheaper in Thailand. I should have joined when I was there. Ugh.

I haven’t thought about those days in a long time. I remember now. Georgetown. K-Street. Federal Triangle. Walks up and down the Mall. Weekends at the Smithsonian. Watching the fireworks from the rooftop of the Kennedy Center on the 4th of July. What a time to be alive.

I didn’t appreciate it as much as I should have. I long to have the luxuries of those days again. I have no choice but to sell my soul for them. So here I am, selling my soul to join the secret expat club, all so I can live in a gigantic luxury apartment in the Mid-Levels and never have to shower over a toilet ever again.

I’m disappointed in how shallow I turned out to be. But, you know, once you’ve lived in a rustic yoga shala in a tiny little beach town in India and showered with a bucket, certain lifestyle choices become more essential than others.

I swear to god, if I ever get married, it will only be for money. I really am that shallow. I am. It is what it is. I’ll get a pre-nup. It’s fine.

Okay, from now on I must monitor my alcohol intake very carefully when I am there. Last night was alright. I remember the vast majority of it. Walking home is kind of a blur. Apparently my neighbor invited me out but I was already too drunk to take him up on the offer. That’s too bad. I really want to go to his friend’s bar with him, which is where he was.

It’s the wine. I can’t drink the fucking wine. No more wine.

In addition to the invitation to join this private club, I also received an invitation to join a team for “Quiz Night,” which is what they call Trivia here. How exciting. I guess the hazing ritual is over now and I’ve been deemed “cool enough” to party with the rich people.

Next stop: yacht party!

Hell yeah!

Yes, for reference, this is the place where I was having weird issues before. Looks like I was right; there is definitely something weird going on up there. As it turns out, it was some kind of initiation ritual into some private members-only club. Fun! I could not make this shit up if I tried.

I’m not really the Eyes Wide Shut type myself, but I heard the food is pretty good at those parties. At least it will give me something to write about. I’ll just be there in my mask and robe, off chillin to the side somewhere, snacking from a small plate of cocktail shrimp and deviled eggs, watching the madness unfold before me from a distance, thinking about how I’m going to write about it on my blog tomorrow.

I can already picture this in my mind. Ridiculous.

This random chick just walked by with a cat in her bag. I love Asia, lol.

I know what you’re thinking: “Betsey, what happened to the pilot guy from last week who gave you his McDonald’s bag?”

Well, he got on a plane and flew away, as I knew he would. Haven’t seen or heard from him since. This is why I didn’t bang him. I just can’t go through that again. I gotta marry some bored rich guy with a gigantic apartment in the Mid-Levels. It is what it is.

I definitely feel like I just sold my soul. It’s fine. It’s the only way to get ahead in this world. That’s why I came to Hong Kong!

It is what it is…

BLOG: The Darjeeling Limited

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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: I Wrote A Book!

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Thursday night. Here I am at the Cantina. I was going to go to the pizza place for their party but it was too hot and there were no tables available. So now I am here.

I did not go out with that random guy last night. Good for me. I made a good life choice. Sure, I had to coach myself through it, but in the end I decided it was best just to ghost him. I just don’t think anyone who wants to go on a first date to The Wolf is going to be someone of quality character. It is what it is.

Instead, I went to the health cafe and got myself a salad and a juice. I sat there and wrote for awhile, then went home to watch Emily in Paris. It was boring, sure, but I woke up bright and early in the morning with my memory fully intact and no regrets about the previous night. Well done, me.

The heat warning was crazy today, so I did not leave the house. I stayed in my cozy little studio cave, hacking away at my manuscript. I charted out the plot the way I learned to do at the Paris Writing Workshop. Now I’m sitting here trying to make some creative decisions about the characters and major plot points.

Yes, it is based on my life, but I also have to be willing to cut things that don’t fit into the neat little journey I’ve neatly laid out on the page. It does need to be commercially viable. Sometimes that means cutting out things that aren’t going to be relatable or just don’t quite fit into the story I’m trying to tell.

This is why I keep an Island of Lost Guys. Who is going to make the Final Cut? They can’t all be in there. Not all of them are relevant to the plot. Some of them were just one night stands! Like the Russian. Look at us over here desperately grasping for straws to make this guy someone of interest and substance when he’s nothing more than a fuckboy sailor with girls in every port. Who cares if he can wrangle a crocodile and ride a motorcycle? It’s not important to the plot!

There’s one guy very early one I’m debating cutting right now: Levi Gene. I feel like it’s too much. It’s not really necessary to the plot. Like it’s a whole side show that can be replaced by a magical plot device called “a check for $50,000 magically appears out of nowhere.” Did this happen in real life? No. Does it move the plot along without adding this unnecessary clown show that I’m not actually proud of to distract us from the main point? Yes.

Levi Gene is the Tom Bombadill of this novel. It’s an interesting little side show in the bigger story, but when it’s time to make the movie, he’s going straight to the cutting room floor.

I am actually trying to write this as if it will be turned into a Netflix show one day, so I am going to take a lot of liberties to make it commercially viable. It needs to be vague enough to be relatable. Sometimes, a lot of times, most times, I do a lot of dumb fucking shit that normal people can’t relate to. This has to be a story people can see themselves in. They have to be able to put themselves into the shoes of my character. That means she has to be relatable to bored housewives, corporate career women, university students, bartenders with a degree from the School of Life, and everyone else in between.

No pressure. I was built for this. I’ve trained my whole life for this. This is my Destiny. This novel was meant to be written. Everything I’ve ever done leading up to now has been all for this moment. I can totally do this.

No pressure at all.

See? This year was not wasted! I got a whole novel out of it! That’s exactly what I said I would do when my first HK job didn’t work out. I said, “Okay, the universe is clearly leading me in a different direction than I intended. Let’s follow the path and see where it takes us. In the end, I’ll write a book about it.”

And now here we are, writing a book about it.

It’s always been my dream to live and write abroad. And I did it! I finally did it!

I don’t need anyone else to be proud of me today. I am proud of me today. I am out here doing the goddamn thing.

I did it. I really did it. I lived abroad for an entire year and now I’m writing a book about it.

I can’t believe I finally did it. And I’m celebrating like this? Nah, fam! We definitely need to throw a bigger party this weekend.

I never, ever, ever thought in a million years I would ever get the chance to live in a place like Hong Kong. Wow. I truly feel like the luckiest girl in the whole world right now…

BLOG: The Wolf of Peel Street

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Wednesday. Here we are at the coffee shop. Same as always, same as always.

What is there to write about today? Hmm… Well…

Once upon a time (aa back in December), I met some random expat bro at The Wolf. Can’t quite remember where he said he was from. Hungary? Bulgaria? Something like that. He worked in Shenzhen at the time, but now he has moved here. Somehow, he remembered me (they always do) and messaged me out of the blue to ask me out for “coffee.” Apparently, by coffee, he actually meant Prime Time Happy Hour at The Wolf.

As you may recall, The Wolf is the Finance Bro Bar where I was offered a line of cocaine off of a dirty bar toilet, then groped outside of the bathroom while everyone at the bar watched and did nothing. Sounds like a pretty unsafe situation to return to, right? Right.

On the one hand, I could go and write about my observations in a cleverly-titled blog called “The Wolf of Peel Street.”

On the other hand, I’ve been to this place before, I’ve calculated the risk factor there, and I just don’t think it’s worth it to put myself in a dangerous situation like that again. As we all know, Men + Bars = Disaster Waiting to Happen.

I’m also trying to make healthier life choices, like doing more yoga, eating more salads, and frequenting the neighborhood juice bar instead of an actual bar. Nothing about this situation screams “healthy.”

I’m thinking… not. I guess we’ll see if I change my mind at 5pm. I don’t think I will. I’m still mooning over The Russian. I don’t need more problems coming from the Eastern Bloc. Let’s change regions next time, shall we? Maybe take a trip back to Latin America, where the men know how to rolls their tongues and move their hips.

Just saying.

What other news in the world is there? Oh yes, only the most exciting kind of news: The Kardashians are Taking Hong Kong!

Yes! It’s true. Kim K herself is opening a SKIMS store in my old neighborhood (aka Times Square, Causeway Bay). I don’t know if that means she will physically be here filming the show, but I strongly suspect it does. I’m not crazy enough to think I could meet her, but maybe I could stand in line at the store and see her from a short distance away. Assuming I am still living here in November, of course. And that I don’t get crushed by a flock of tourists from the Mainland in the process…

Love it. I don’t care what anyone thinks. KUWTK has gotten me through some hard times in life. They’ve been my imaginary family when my real family has let me down. It’s one of my ultimate comfort shows. Sometimes I just want to sit around the table and eat a giant salad and talk shit about whatever with my sisters. Unfortunately, my real sisters are not in my life. That’s why I watch the Kardashians do it on their show. It’s not that deep. It just is what it is.

I wonder which hotel she will stay at? The Peninsula? The Mandarin Oriental? The Four Seasons? Will she go on the Escalator? Will she take the Star Ferry to Kowloon? Will she visit Macau?

I hope it’s not one of those trips like the India episode where they flew there for like two days and were too jet-lagged to do anything. I was pretty disappointed in that episode, honestly. I was just hoping for so much more.

Lol, I remember last year when I was doing magic mushroom therapy and I kept hallucinating that Kim K and Paris Hilton were dressed up in lab coats asking me questions and talking to me. That was wild.

I remember watching the India episode before doing my MM therapy session and I got caught in some weird loop where I was wandering through a spice market looking for Aladdin. I kept pacing around my apartment asking aloud, “Where’s Aladdin? Where’s Aladdin? where’s Aladdin?” My brother and cat were both like… WTF. Then I got really sick and had a super intense flashback of my relationship with my Persian ex-boyfriend, whose favourite childhood movie was… you guessed it… Aladdin.

Wild.

Brains are crazy, like I’ve said. I actually really benefitted from doing magic mushroom therapy. You have to treat it like actual therapy though. It can be really, really, really ugly and unpleasant. I basically had to take a dose, intentionally expose myself to various things that would trigger my worst traumas, and then relive them from a significant distance in a safe space. It really sucked while I was doing it, but it worked. I don’t get the flashbacks or nightmares anymore, at least not specifically related to that time in my life. I still get them in regards to my family, but hopefully that will go away with time.

I mainly used it to work through my PTSD related to my time in the Troubled Teen Industry. That is why I was specifically hallucinating Paris Hilton standing there talking to me. She’s leading the charge on the TTI stuff. Kim K was her lawyer.

Yet another one of those experiences I could write about for a legitimate publication if only I had my shit together. I do not have my shit together. Sigh.

What else happened? Hmm. Well, I talked to The Publisher. I haven’t talked to him in two months, apparently. Whoops! He was very happy to hear about my progress. At least someone is. He just said, “You did it, Betsey. You went there and you did the thing and you survived and you wrote about the entire experience. You did it. I’m proud of you.”

Thank you. Like I said, at least someone is proud of me, lol. No one, including myself, thought I was going to make it this far. But here I am, standing tall and proud, alive and well in Hong Kong SAR today!

I explained I’m only in documentation mode right now in regards to my daily adventures. I officially have a plan for this book, which I developed after piecing together that first manuscript draft back in January. I have a certain endpoint in mind now. I just need to manifest it!

Speaking of manifesting, I need to manifest a clean apartment. I picked up my second load of laundry late last night, so it’s all still sitting in the bag. I need to put it all away. It’s the perfect excuse to stay in my little cave and enjoy the aircon, which I definitely want to do today. The heat index is… yeah. Plus I was already outside doing yoga earlier this morning. No need to be out in the mid-afternoon sun.

Anything to take my mind off of the job thing. More rejections in my inbox. Really starting to panic now. I’m so ready to go back to work and open a new bank account and sign a two-year apartment lease and pay off my credit card bills. I don’t want to pack up and move, again, and start all over with the paperwork, again, and go into debt, again, and feel like this year was nothing more than a vacation from reality I took on a whim.

Manifesting. Manifesting. Manifesting.

I am a Hong Konger!