Tag: rugby

BLOG: Craic Dat Whip

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Saturday.

It’s Hong Kong Sevens weekend, which is one of the biggest rugby events in the world. I am not there because I am super lame and don’t have the right connections. Maybe I will be going out to people-watch with a friend later. We will see how it goes.

It’s okay. It’s just a lot of expats getting drunk and rowdy. I am… definitely not in the mood to deal with that energy right now. Instead, I am sitting in a random cafe somewhere in Central, stressing out over my finances and my life.

The situation is pretty stressful at the moment. Staying in Hong Kong is a huge risk. Going to Ireland is an even bigger risk. Going back to the States is not currently possible. Returning to Bangkok feels like a step backwards.

How do I make this work?

No idea. All I know is that first rule of finance is to just take the bull by the horns. Take control of the situation before it takes control of you. This much I have learned from living in Hong Kong. So here I am, taking control of the situation. I am not a victim. I am a strong, independent, financially responsible woman with options. I can find a way out of this mess.

If only The Russian had given stock tips during our pillow talk instead of lecturing me about my ovaries. My situation might look different right now. Okay, lesson learned, Betsey. Next time you bang a Finance Bro, shake them down for information before they get on a plane back to Switzerland and ghost you forever.

Fuck smarter, not harder.

Okay.

Let me try to reason my way through this.

Obviously, Ireland is the most desirable location due to family history and the massive potential to write a beautiful story about self-discovery, finding family, and falling in love. I can see this Netflix movie/show in my head. The creative potential is unmatched. I have to go to Ireland. I just have to!

However, the current financial situation there is not quite so desirable. Yes, I was accepted into a short- term program in Galway that could potentially lead to something longer-term. However, the price of tuition & fees, room & board, and general cost of living for 6 weeks alone would actually destroy me financially and leave me with nothing.

The only way I would be able to *maybe* survive it is by getting a long-term student visa, getting a loan for school, and finding a job at a random cafe/pub. Then I would still be in debt, but it would be student loan debt instead of credit card debt.

It feels like there is a better way to accomplish what I want to accomplish by going to Ireland that doesn’t require me to completely nuke my bank account.

For roughly the same amount as this summer program in Galway, I could pay off all of my current debt and float myself through a few more months in SEA while I continue my job hunt. It’s still a risk, but it’s a known entity at this point.

Ireland is very much an unknown entity. The housing crisis, the fuel crisis, the general economic situation, the visa process, everything. SEA is known in terms of cost potential, budget, cultural differences, etc.

Assuming I finally find a job here, I can apply for graduate school next year, after taking the time to do some real research and put together a quality application. The potential for finding scholarships and better financial solutions is higher if I delay school for another year.

Truthfully speaking, I am not hustling hard enough in regards to finding work. I am living my life on permanent vacation mode. It’s time to put an end to this. It cannot go on like this forever.

Either way, the job market is fucked. The world is fucked. Everything is fucked. I know that I want to go back to school. I know that. But I also know that I don’t want to completely fuck myself over financially by doing so. There is a better way.

Think smarter, not harder.

As I’ve said many times over the course of the last year, be careful who you mix your energies with. Well, now I’ve absorbed the powers of a very organized and highly controlled Finance Bro. My bad financial habits don’t stand a chance now! We are going to crack that whip and dominate this situation today!

Hahahaha.

Hahahahahahahaha!

That’s too funny.

He may not be the character we wanted to create, but he is the character we needed to create.

Oh, I’m loving this. I’ve got my GAA coach character to motivate me to get out of bed and my financial advisor character to motivate me to fix my mess of a bank account and lack of a real career. And here I thought men were so useless. Turns out it was always South Dakota that was the problem, not me.

Mad Dog was right all along. He always said that a single lady should always have a man to fix the plumbing, one to fix the roof, and one to chop the wood. Such wisdom my adopted Grandfather had…

That reminds me. I started watching the Netflix show “Sitting Bull” yesterday. It’s a two-part documentary about Sitting Bull and the history of the Lakota people. It’s been awhile since I listened to spoken Lakota. It’s strange how familiar it all sounded to me. I know the story so well, but hearing it again for the hundredth time brought me some comfort I’ve been missing.

I remembered it all. Working in the Oral History Center, researching Wounded Knee, going to The Rez, spending time with the Natives, going to ceremony, and following around Mad Dog. All of that was the highlight of my time in South Dakota. It made the entire experience worth it for me. Nothing, absolutely nothing in this world can EVER come close to the value of that experience. It’s very important that I continue to remember and acknowledge it wherever I go in this life.

I hope someday I can finally get into a headspace where I’m healthy enough to have a more positive attitude about my time living in SD. Right now all I can remember is the dark times…

Time to take some space from this issue for the rest of the day. I must let this stew marinate a little more before serving it up…

BLOG: Climbing The Peak, Round 3

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Friday. Where has April gone? It’s going by so fast. I can’t believe it’s halfway over already.

Yesterday I woke up and decided to take back control of my life. I did the only thing I could think of: packed up my yoga mat and a notebook in my backpack, picked up 2 liters of water from 7-11, and headed straight for The Peak.

As previously stated, I love to use the metaphor of working my way to top as my meditation when I climb The Peak. The first time I took the tram up to the halfway point, walked halfway downhill, turned around and walked back uphill, then around the mid-point, then up to the top. Took the entire day.

The second time, I was stewing too much over everything, so I started at the very bottom of the hill (my apartment) and worked my way through the Mid-Levels all the way to the highest point of The Peak. As per usual, I got lost, somehow, which added an extra hour to my time.

I was desperate, so I enlisted the help of the character version of the Hot Beef Stew to coach me all the way to the top. There was a lot of complaining on my end. I was very much out-of-shape. I needed to be bribed the entire way with an imaginary Five Guys bag. I kept stopping to write the story about him. It took forever! But I got my Five Guys in the end, so it was worth it.

Yesterday, I did not enlist the help of my imaginary GAA coach to assist me in my mission of walking up this very big hill. Instead, I used the time to alternate between trying to sweat The Russian out of my system and reflecting on my time in SEA.

Where have I been? Where am I now? Where will I be in the future?

It was a very good day. I didn’t got lost. I got my walk time down, even on the second section of the walk, aka Old Peak Road. Old Peak Road is a bitch! It’s soooooo steep. There are times when it’s actually easier to turn around and walk backwards up the hill. I have to stop every 5 minutes on that section. That section alone tests my grit and determination in ways I didn’t know could be tested. I can’t even tell you how cathartic it is to finally reach the mid-point.

The mid-point trail is easy; you’re basically just cruising around in a circle on flat ground, enjoying the view. The climb to the top is much, much easier because it’s less steep and there are different scenic trails you can take. But Old Peak Road? No. Fuck Old Peak Road. Old Peak Road SUCKS! That’s why it feels so good when I get to the top of it.

There is a beautiful little park up at the top of the Peak filled with birds and butterflies and flowers and plants. There are little pagodas everywhere to sit in. It’s the perfect place to have an outdoor wedding. For my purposes, I turned one of the little pagodas into a yoga shala and went full yogi meditation mode. It was so quiet, so peaceful. Exactly what I needed yesterday. Lots of sweat, lots of meditation.

Forget this guy! Onto the next one, onto the next one!

Well, it’s not that easy. I am so tired of dating. I’m tired of the constant revolving door of men. I just want to be with one person for awhile. Very hard to find these days! Everyone is in constant swipe-right mode. One little imperfection and it’s onto the next one! It’s almost as hard to be optimistic about finding a relationship as it is to be optimistic about finding a job in this hilariously bad job market.

I am trying, though. That is why I went to The Peak. I took time to appreciate the views of the city. I took time to express gratitude to the universe for bringing me to Hong Kong. I reflected on all of the good things, the bad things, the messy things. I thought about the fact that I am generally much happier here than I ever was in South Dakota, even on the days when I don’t feel the best.

I cleared it all out, sent it all away on a cloud, and focused in on the specific vision of my life I want to manifest. It comes in bits and pieces. Right now I am focused on the most important piece, which is stability. Oh, god, do I crave stability. No more packing up to move every few months. No more revolving door of men. No more job hopping. I just want to go back to school and write, write, write, and find a partner who will actually stick around and support my various creative endeavors. And then in return he gets lots of hot sex and a beautifully decorated apartment to come home to every night. They say this is what they want, and yet…

Obviously, I have no control over that aspect. I do have control over the school thing though, so I just need to find a way to go back to school and acquire the financial aid I need to pay for it. It’s not impossible. People do it all the time. I can definitely make this happen.

In the meantime, I am focused on being grateful that I no longer live in South Dakota. No one makes fun of my outfits (because here the way I dress is considered “normal”). I can go to a coffee shop or bar and be welcomed in by the friendly staff and owners who know me personally. I get to go out on dates with sexy, attractive men who dress nice and smell good. There is no small town drama, no cruelty, no bullying, no gossip, no fake nice two-faced bullshit, no targeted smear campaign created for the sole purpose of protecting rapists and predators. Everyone is busy with their own lives and it shows.

I especially look forward to the idea of going to a university where people don’t talk shit about me behind my back because I actually raised my hand to answer the professor’s questions instead of sitting there blankly staring at the wall. I dream of a place where I can make friends and join clubs and participate in activities without being shunned for being different. A place where I can meet people from all over the world and take the classes I want to take and learn the things I want to learn and no one will be there to sabotage any of it.

Very idealistic and optimistic, I know. But I think it’s possible. True, there are a lot of assholes in the world. There are definitely assholes here in Hong Kong. I’ve seen them. I’ve met them. I left my job because I had no tolerance for the racism, bullying, and generally toxic attitudes and behaviors of the South Africans. I refuse to go back to The Wolf or The Sketchy Place because of the assholes I met there.

The world is not a perfect place. Hong Kong is not a perfect place. It has its negatives for sure, but the negatives are still better than the negatives of living in a small town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, South Dakota, where everyone acts like they’re in a cult and outsiders of all kinds are considered “bad.” Sometimes I look back on it all and think to myself, “I can’t believe I tolerated that much bad treatment for so long.”

At the end of my date with The Russian, he decided to lecture me about three things. I hate being lectured, by the way, especially by strangers, and especially by men. So you can imagine that being lectured by someone in the middle of some weird roleplay game I didn’t exactly understand was really fucking annoying, and honestly broke me out of the entire scenario. I was like, “Fuck this shit.” I didn’t want to listen to anything he was saying at all. I just wanted to whack him with the pillow and tell him to shut the fuck up and take his stupid nap while I go get in the giant tub.

That being said, he was right about his first point, which is that I should be kinder to myself. This is a very bold statement from someone who took me to a bar that looks like an old timey opium den/brothel/sex dungeon for a date! Oh, so, this is the vibe you’re generally going for, yet you are sitting here judging me for participating? That’s so not cool, bro! Someone needs to be a little more woke when it comes to their sexuality, lol.

Anyway, that criticism aside, he is right. I should be kinder to myself. It’s just that my self-esteem has been chipped away over the years by my abusive family, the cult-like attitude of the small town I was trapped in for way too long, and the questionable relationships I’ve had with men. So now I’m in a place where I have to make up for that deficiency. I’m trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be and how to accept my life for what it is. Radical self-acceptance is the key.

His other two pieces of advice were less inspiring. He told me I need to call my grandmother and that I need to go freeze my eggs ASAP. Dude, the egg-freezing thing was so weird. Why does this random man care so much about MY ovaries when he’s just going to get on a plane and block me as soon as he sets foot back in Switzerland? That’s so annoying! So annoying. What game are we playing here, again? How did we go from Pretty Woman to Fertility Doctor in the span of five minutes? What the fuck is going on here?

As for the advice about calling my grandmother… meh. There’s no point. We have nothing to talk about. She thinks life should be lived one way and one way only, and I do not live my life that way. She’ll tell me to stop writing, and I’ll say, “No.” She will ask me to change everything about who I am as a person, and I will say, “Why can’t you just accept me for who I am? That’s what Jesus would do!” Then she’ll get upset and blame me for her mood without ever taking any accountability whatsoever.

In my family, the problem is ALWAYS me. No one ever has to take accountability for the shitty things they say and do to hurt me. It’s always my reaction to their behavior that is the problem. I am not supposed to stand up for myself, set clear boundaries, or communicate how I feel about anything, ever. I’m just supposed to sit still, stay quiet, and do whatever I’m told. Keep sweet, pray and obey, god’s love is everything, blah blah blah, just kill me now.

Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, bro. But thanks for the “advice,” I guess?

I’ll just stick with the whole “being kinder to myself” thing. Guess that means saying NO to dates with guys like him, right? Right.

Congratulations, bro, you played yourself. No more old timey opium den-inspired sex dungeon fantasies for you! Next time, you’ll actually have to pay a professional for that!

Anyway, forget him. He sucks.

Had to pause my writing to chat with one of the baristas at my favourite coffee shop. It is her day off today so she came in to load up on snacks before she goes to class. She is studying filmmaking. She wants to be a producer. We have a lot in common.

She was saying she doesn’t feel confident with her English, so I was encouraging her to practice with me. She’s way better than she thinks she is. She explained that she lacks confidence because her family taught her to be quiet and introverted. Same, same! I was just writing about that same exact topic! I definitely feel less alone after that conversation.

She was surprised that I was struggling with the same confidence issue. She was like, “But you’re American! Americans are SO confident! You’re so friendly and open. You don’t have any problem talking to anyone! I wish I could be as confident as you are!”

True, but I have to work really hard on that. If you see me around my family, I am NOT the same person, like… at all. They even said to me in Bangkok, “It’s crazy how different you are now than when we first met you. You were sitting in the corner alone, all curled up, terrified to talk to anyone. Now you just waltz right in like this entire room full of men isn’t absolutely terrified of YOU.”

True, true, true.

And obviously confident enough to be going on dates to old timey opium dens with sexy Russians dressed in leather. And then write it about all with ZERO shame whatsoever!

It is what it is!

Off now. Gotta go back and clean up my studio, again. Sadly, I will probably not be attending the Hong Kong Sevens rugby tournament this weekend, even though it’s one of HK’s biggest events. No one to go with, no tickets, not the kind of party one can simply just attend on their own.

Or maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will extend a last minute invite to a junk boat party! Looking at you, Neighbor Guy!

Alas. Maybe next year…

BLOG: RIP My Hot Beef Stew

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Sunday.

I am functioning with exactly one brain cell today, so bear with me as we try to get through this post.

Okay. Um. Right. What are words? We don’t know.

This is why I don’t drink Guinness. I drank exactly one glass of it last night and now I don’t remember who I am. Jaysus. I’m sure that all of the other drinks I had before and after have nothing to do with this at all.

I went out with my friend last night for the Six Nations Ireland-Scotland game. We decided to go to a different bar than last week. The bar we went to last week was all business people who like rugby. The bar we went to last night was full of lads who actually play a game close to rugby, more commonly known as Gaelic Football. If you don’t know what that is, rest assured that neither do I. It’s an Irish thing. I’ve never even seen this shit before in my entire life. I didn’t even know it existed until about a month ago. Believe me when I say…

So many GAA lads. The bar was full of GAA lads.

Oh my god.

Oh my god!

So there I was, enjoying the scenery, and then I saw a very familiar face. A little too familiar.

This guy looked like a miniature version of the Hot Beef Stew. He was much smaller in stature, but still pretty beefy, and his hair was not as curly. I could not stop staring at him in spite of my best efforts. There was just something so familiar about him. Not just the fact that he reminded me of the Hot Beef Stew. Something else. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

It wasn’t until after I drank the pint of Guinness that a horrifying realization came over me: this guy looks almost exactly like my cousin on my dad’s side. You know, my Irish side…

Then I sat there in horror for about five minutes like, “Did I hook up with a guy who looks like my cousin?!”

A little voice (no doubt belonging to that goddamn Loch Ness Monster) popped into my head and said, “Ayyyy, lassie, yer a real Guinness Mistress now!”

What in the fuck?!

Worst St. Patrick’s Day gift ever!

No more Guinness for me. It is a mysterious drink with magical powers I don’t understand. That happens once, it doesn’t happen again.

And that’s the story of how my obsession with my Hot Beef Stew died on the floor right in front of me at the Six Nations tournament. He drowned in a vat of Guinness on St. Patrick’s Day, surrounded by all the lads from the GAA. He would have wanted it this way, I know it.

The End.

Somehow I can’t escape the feeling that this is somehow the most Irish thing ever. It is a small island, after all…

Meanwhile, my friend who I was with was laughing so hard, she was crying. She was like, “You are so fucking FUNNY! You should do stand-up comedy!”

“That’s actually my secret dream. I want to be a stand-up comedian and create my own Netflix show. I know that sounds crazy, but…”

My friend looked at me like I had three heads.

“That’s not crazy at all! You could do it! That’s how a lot of people start out. They do stand-up comedy, then become writers, and then eventually they get their own show. You could do it! I would watch it!”

“Really?”

“Of course!”

She then gave me the name of a place here in HK that has an open mic night for stand-up comedy. I think I might actually go and try it out. I just have to write a script first…

After the game, we went over to a gay club around the corner. They were having a drag show. The show was… messy. She tried to do some weird stage game and it just didn’t land. I got up on stage because she asked for volunteers and played along anyway, just for fun. I realized in that moment how much I love to be on stage in front of an audience. I felt so happy in that moment.

When I got down and went back to my friend, she said, “You could have put on a way better show than that.”

I agree. I’ve been to many drag shows in my life. That was by far the weakest performance I’ve ever seen. She had everything going for her, but the routine just didn’t land. Better luck next time!

We danced for a bit, met a bunch of new people, and then went our separate ways. I had to walk home through LKF, which is a huge party spot in Hong Kong. I stopped at a random 7-11 to get a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of water. I sat down on the curb outside to smoke and was immediately swarmed by 20-something athletes from a variety of sports, all of whom wanted to bang me.

Choices: I have them!

Whoever said women expire at age 30 is clearly delusional and deranged, lol. I feel more like a bottle of expensive, fine wine. I just get better with age!

That reminds me: I watched Louis Theroux’s Inside the Manosphere documentary the other day. I haven’t laughed that hard in a loooooong time. These guys are so fucking sad and pathetic. I haven’t seen that much loser energy concentrated in one place since the last time I was in Bangkok.

Rumor has it that Andrew Tate is in Hong Kong right now. I cannot believe immigration let him in. Unbelievable. The CCP must be keeping tabs on him, just waiting for him to fuck up so they can detain him forever. That’s the only rational explanation I have. I literally cannot even.

Well, that’s about all I’ve got to say today, other than I have the most hilarious Instagram post planned for St. Patrick’s Day. True comedy at its finest right there. Let’s just say… there is going to be a mushroom cloud over Bangkok when all the lads from the American Bar see it. Uncle Jason is going to have a full-on nuclear meltdown. It’s going to be HILARIOUS!!!!

LOL!

I am such a little troll. I can’t help myself. I love watching people’s faces melt off! I just can’t resist messing with them the way they messed with me. It’s the only way to get any respect around here.

Have a fantastic day!

BLOG: Are We Dating the Same Guy?

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Sunday. At the coffee shop. Watching people pass by, as per usual.

Went out with one of my girlfriends last night for a much-needed Girls Night Out. We went to a Thai place for dinner, then to a pub to watch the Six Nations. The pub was FULL of people. Much better atmosphere than my much-beloved little dive bar back in Bangkok. As they say, the more, the merrier.

The crowd was split evenly between actual French people and Scotland fans. Probably not actual Scots. Probably just people who wanted to see France lose. I was originally rooting for France, but then Scotland made its epic comeback and I suddenly remembered I also have some Scotch in my family tree. No loyalty, whatsoever. I just like to win.

I told my friend about how I had tracked down the Hot Beef Stew when I was in Bangkok. She asked me if I told his wife what happened. I said no, mostly because I have already been in the very unfortunate position of having to send someone’s dick pics back to his wife and it was MESSY. I don’t want to get involved again. I’m old and I’m tired and I don’t want to be involved in the drama.

She gave me a look and said, “You want to fuck him again, don’t you?”

I shrugged and said, “Yeahhhhh, but only so I can give him a good, hard spank on the ass for being bad and say, ‘I’m gonna fuck you like the dirty little slut you are.’”

She recognized it for the joke it was and started giggling. I tried to keep a straight face but I also started giggling. Soon enough we were cackling loud enough for everyone in the room to stare at us. I am still giggling as I write this right now. I am not nice.

Shortly after this, she caught sight of a familiar face from across the bar. She leaned in to me, pointed at him, and said, “I know that guy over there.”

“Oh, is it someone from work?”

“No, I don’t know him personally. I’ve just seen him on the Facebook group ‘Are We Dating the Same Guy?’ He shows up on there ALL THE TIME!”

We watched him as he hit on three different women in rapid succession, then caught sight of me across the bar and started making eyes at me.

“You should go talk to him,” she said.

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“So you can go on a date with him, write about it, and then post about him on the group.”

“That is diabolical.”

“It would be really funny though. I would read that.”

I just shook my head and laughed. I’m getting too old for this shit. I just want someone who is gonna bang me six times in a row and then take me to breakfast afterwards. I’m sick of all the liars and cheaters and whores. I have no energy left for them.

Sometime later, she pointed out an oddity at the other end of the bar: a throuple. How did we know it was a throuple? Oh, it was very obvious they were a throuple. It was an older guy and two older women. One of the women was more attractive than the other. We guessed the less attractive one was the one running the show by the way she was acting.

My friend said, “I don’t get it. She is so ugly. How is she picking up all these people?”

“Oh, she doesn’t need to be attractive. She has confidence. She knows what she is so she doesn’t need to put on a show or pretend to be something she’s not. She can just get down and dirty. Besides, that’s what they say about swingers. They’re never as attractive in real life as they are in your fantasy.”

“True.”

We watched as the ugly woman roped in a tall, handsome guy at the end of the bar. She flirted with him for awhile before he politely excused himself and left.

“Looks like he wasn’t into whatever she was offering him,” I said.

“Yeah, he seemed intimidated by her. She’s definitely the one wearing the strap-on in this scenario.”

“Oh yeah, one hundred percent.”

The more attractive one left to go to the bathroom and the couple cozied up. I watched as they started looking around the bar and playing a game of ‘Who would you fuck at the bar?’ Unfortunately for me, they pointed right at me. When I told my friend, she started laughing so hard she was practically crying.

“I’ve been chosen!” I said. “For what, we don’t know.”

Luckily, the attractive woman returned and the three of them all left together without approaching me. I don’t even know what I would say to them. I was mostly in a blind panic because I’m struggling to work on my boundaries and it would not have been a good situation for me had they approached.

As we all know, I will literally talk to anyone off the street, and I had soooooo many questions for them about how they conduct their relationship. However, I don’t want to be involved in whatever they’re doing. I just have questions, as any proper journalist would. But ultimately, people like this can be extremely manipulative towards vulnerable individuals with no boundaries (like myself), so it’s best to just stay away.

Not today, Satan!

After this, my friend got up to go to the bathroom and left me sitting alone at the bar. I was immediately approached by a Nigerian guy who asked me if I was alone. I said no, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. My friend came back and he still would not leave us alone. It was… exhausting.

I was grateful my friend was there to help me fight him off because, again, I have serious boundary issues. Had she not been there, I would have been roped right in. This is exactly why I do not go out to bars in Hong Kong alone. I learned my lesson the hard way in Bangkok.

He told us he’s just here for the weekend as a tourist. We looked at each other and rolled our eyes. We started trying to redirect him elsewhere and away from us.

“Oh,” I said politely, “We will not be much fun for you then. We live here full-time. We’re actually quite boring. We’re only here for the rugby games. You should go to LKF. There are lots of bars and clubs down there that stay open late. You’ll have more fun there. You can meet other tourists like yourself.”

Still, he persisted. Again, no means no, bro! Finally, we gave him directions and he went away. We decided to leave shortly after that in case he decided to come back and bother us again. At this point, the Italy-England match had started and the bar had pretty much emptied out anyway. We went our separate ways and I walked back home alone, which is actually quite safe to do here.

Now here I am, still giggling over the Hot Beef Stew for some strange reason I can’t figure out. I guess I just decided to turn the whole thing into a comedy instead of a tragedy. There’s something quite hilariously satisfying to me about calling him a slut on paper after he called me that directly to my face while actively cheating on his wife. Such a simple solution! I don’t know why it’s so funny. I think it’s just my way of coping with years of compound trauma caused by all the lying and cheating men I’ve been with.

Sad, I know.

Anyway, what shall I do today? Perhaps take a hike up the Peak? The weather is perfect for it. I need the exercise after spending most of the last week in bed. I wasn’t feeling well at all. I did, however, stop obsessively watching the war on TV, which is good. Again, boundaries.

Off we go now! May your nights be much less interesting than mine…

BLOG: My Latest Obsession

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Friday afternoon.

Woke up late today because I stayed up late last night doing yoga on my rooftop under the full moon, as one does. It was not my best session. I haven’t done my Hatha routine in awhile so I am not in good shape! I need to start going to class again. I can’t live my life like this.

Had a long chat with my brother yesterday. He told me he doesn’t want me to travel anywhere until things calm down. I agree. I promised him I would stay in Hong Kong until my visa expires (unless I magically get a new one). It is my understanding that the airport here has become a nightmare because so many flights are being re-routed through the hub. I think most major international airports are a nightmare right now.

Once again, my plans to visit both Vietnam and India (again) have been derailed. Alas. I am clearly meant to be where I am right now, so I will be here where I am right now.

I was sad when I talked to him. I just wanted to get on a plane and go see him, but I can’t. Not right now. We just have to wait it out and see what happens.

In the meantime, I checked on my friends who got stuck in the UAE. One of them got on a flight back to their home country yesterday. The other is still stuck. I sent her some info on how to cross the border into Oman and get out through Muscat just in case.

Then I saw the news that Krusty Gnome had been fired and rejoiced on behalf of all dogs everywhere. Pretty sure Trump only replaced her with a Native American because his dementia-ridden brain saw that t-shirt they sell with the vintage photos of Natives reading “Department of Homeland Security.” But you know what? I’ll take it.

Otherwise, I spent my evening in bed eating pizza and watching Netflix. I finally got around to watching that documentary about Jimmy Savile. I didn’t care for the style. I don’t think it focused enough on the survivors and their stories. It also didn’t delve as deep into his crimes as it could have, nor did it look into his connections with the Royals (especially Prince Andrew). The vast majority was focused on the whole “But we thought he was such a good guy!” Narrative. Ugh, please. They’re always a good guy, until they’re not.

So over it.

I needed something more lighthearted after that so I started re-watching House of Guinness. I know it’s not meant to be a comedy, but it is. I already thought this show was completely ridiculous and absurd the first time around. It is even more ridiculous and absurd now that I have spent time around actual Irish people and started learning about Irish culture and history. Still, I find it hilarious, so I will continue my re-watch. I need to get myself hyped up for the Six Nations this weekend.

My friend and I are planning to go out tomorrow and watch the France-Scotland game. I know the Ireland game is on today but I still haven’t found a place to watch it because it’s on at like 3am here. I asked around but no one is showing it because of licensing issues. Disappointing AF.

Anyway, I am just happy to go out and have a proper girls night. I love my guy friends, but I get really fucking tired of being surrounded by men all the time. I might be “one of the lads,” as they say, but I am a woman, and I need to be around other women sometimes. Women understand things that men are literally incapable of understanding. Plus, it is WAY more fun to watch rugby with other women. I don’t have to pretend like I give a fuck about the rules of this sport or what is actually happening in the game. I can just admire the beauty of the male form.

Plus, I just want to stop fixating on the Hot Beef Stew. I’m so over the whole situation. I literally do not care anymore. He’s a liar and a cheater and a slut. That’s it. That’s The End! No more story to tell! I got to tell him to go fuck himself in a dream and that was resolution enough for me. I have bigger fish to fry.

My friend saw my joke posts about rugby and asked if I want to go with her to the Hong Kong Sevens in April. Uhhhh, yeahhhhhh! Obviously! I don’t even know what that is. Don’t know, don’t care. All I know is that there are gonna be hot sexy beefcakes in tight shorts running around a muddy field. Sign me up! I am all over it.

And here I thought being a sports reporter was the most boring job ever! Wrong! I should try to get that job. Why am I even wasting my time doing anything else? I could be interviewing these guys about their workout routines right now! And by interviewing, I mean watching them drag each other all over the field. So hot. Wow. How did this sport even get invented?

Okay, I gotta go home now. I am not feeling well today. I need to conserve my energy for tomorrow night. So ready. Soooo ready. Never been more ready for anything in my entire life.

Show me the grass stains!

BLOG: Happy for a Night

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Wednesday night.

Currently sitting at the pizza joint. I haven’t seen the owner yet, but I’m sure I will later. As previously stated in several posts, this is one of my “spots” I check into at least once a week. I told them I was going to Bangkok for one week but was gone for a month. I’m sure they will be relieved to see I was not murdered by the so-called “IRA” after all.

Anyways…

Yesterday ended up getting better. I am still annoyed with The Publisher, but I always am these days. It’s hard to have a serious, professional conversation with a sloppy drunk. I always leave our conversations feel frustrated and sad.

Spent the rest of the day sitting in the Irish Pub watching rugby to soothe the existential pain of living in this timeline. It worked! Then I went and took a walk up and down the Avenue of Stars in Kowloon, which is right along the harbor. It has the best view of the Island skyline. Kinda touristy but whatever.

I made it back to the observation platform in time for the nightly laser show. Unfortunately, it was too foggy for it to be that impressive from a visual standpoint. The musical soundtrack, however, was on-point. I really enjoyed that aspect. It was just nice to take a break and sit without any thoughts for awhile.

I took the Star Ferry across the harbor back to the Island side just for funsies. It’s super cheap and super fun. Great way to avoid the claustrophobia of the metro, especially because Central Station can be a nightmare at certain times of day.

We landed at the Ferris wheel and I headed straight to the Escalator, which is close to where I live. It feels so good to finally be able to navigate Hong Kong Island with some confidence. I still remember when I first got here and kept getting lost everywhere I went. It’s a great feeling to be able to walk a straight line through one of these grandiose mall mazes and be like “I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE I AM GOING RIGHT NOW AND I AM GOING TO GET THERE FAST!”

Hashtag: Achievement Unlocked.

Took the Escalator straight to one of my regular spots to catch up with my favourite bartender. She was so happy to see me. I walked in and said, “Surprise!!!!” She ran out from behind the bar and gave me a hug. Then she hit me on the shoulder playfully and said, “You didn’t tell me you were leaving! We were worried about you! Finally I checked your Instagram and saw you were randomly in Thailand again. I was like ‘Ohhhh noooo what is she getting into over there this time?’ I’m so happy you’re back!”

I told her the follow-ups on the stories I’d been collecting there. She always smiles at me and says, “I’m so excited to read your book.” Then I told her I solved the mystery of the Hot Beef Stew. Her eyes lit up. “Show me.”

I dug through and showed her a picture. The other ladies on the floor all crowded around to see. They all agreed he was hot! Then I showed them a clip of him playing The Sport and they were *screaming.* All the girls were like, “OMG Becky, look at dat butt!”

I was like, “Yeah and he’s got that little streak of silver in his hair. Like not enough to look old but just enough to be Sexy Silver Fox status.”

At this, the other two men sitting at the bar lost it. They were both definitely in the 50-60 age range and Western AF. I’m sure it must have been a strange sight for them to see an American woman talking to “the help” as equals and friends, let alone giggling away as if we were all there for girls night.

I already knew one of the men from a previous meeting. The other had his earbuds in, but it was very clear he was eavesdropping by his reactions to everything I said. He finally revealed himself when I showed the girls the video clip. He just put his hands over his face and started laughing hysterically. When he looked back up again, his face was BRIGHT RED! He was in shambles, y’all! These men out here cannot handle being objectified by women the same way they objectify us. It’s actually hilarious.

I was happy to make them all laugh. My bartender friend even said, “Betsey, you need to do stand-up comedy! You are HILARIOUS!”

Or maybe just traumatized AF and this is my only way to cope, HA HA HA!

Sometime later, the place emptied out and I was left to ask the bartender the real question on my mind. I wanted to know what she knows about the “old man weirdos in Wan Chai.” I trust her judgment because she is Filipina. If anyone on this planet knows what a creeper is, it’s going to be her.

She took a moment to think about it, then said, “I used to work down there at a club. One night, my friend was working the VIP lounges serving drinks. She told me she walked in on a group of businessmen with an Indonesian sex worker and one of them was playing with her poop.”

Okay.

So.

Definitely not a place I need to be going around then, yeah? Yeah.

She said, “It gets worse.”

I said, “I know. Remember when I told you about the creepy old American guy that was dining out with two underage Russian girls who kept making jokes about him hosting their friend’s 15th birthday party? And he was loudly shouting to anyone who would listen, ‘What’s the FBI gonna do about it?! Come and get me?!’”

“Yes.”

We looked at each other and nodded in solidarity.

“I can’t wait for your book,” she said again. “You’re the only Westerner I’ve met who actually gets it.”

God help us all if that is the case.

I walked home alone in the rain under the cover of my new umbrella. Just for a moment, I felt happy. I don’t know why. I was happy they laughed at my jokes. I was happy they liked my writing. I was happy to spend the day watching rugby. I was happy to be in Hong Kong. I was happy I had met the Hot Beef Stew and to feel what I feel for him, even if it is not meant to be.

I was just singing, and laughing, and dancing in the rain!

[insert video clip of Betsey going full Gene Kelly in the Mid-Levels late at night]

Today I woke up so late. I couldn’t even get out of bed. I didn’t go to the coffee shop. I didn’t go anywhere. I slept all day long. I dreamed of the Hot Beef Stew, which was unexpected and strange. We were in my loft together. He was doing what My Andrew used to do at the beginning. He was fidgeting with his ring finger, which is always a dead giveaway. We kept doing what we were doing, then he got up to take a break. I watched him as he went outside and called his wife to tell her he would be home late.

I felt so sad in that moment. Just devastated. For both her and myself. I am so tired of being used, of being caught in the middle, of always having to settle for something part-time, only to be dumped and left with nothing yet again.

I woke up around sunset to sound of a cab driver laying on his car horn like there was no tomorrow. Seriously, it went on for three minutes, at least. Another driver honked in solidarity. Then I heard loud music blasting from multiple directions. It felt like the last dying gasps of a protest. It felt like this guy looked at his watch and said, “I’ve got three whole minutes before they get me. Let’s go.”

Game recognizes game. Mad respect.

I finally found the strength to get out of bed and get dressed. I walked up the endless staircases and through the winding maze. I sat down at my favourite table. I ordered my favourite pizza and wine. And then… I wrote the story, as I do every day, because I literally have no idea what else to do with this life.

If the world does end, I hope I get to experience true love before it goes. My only wish in this life is just to love and be loved in return. I hope it happens for me. I hope I can feel it once, just once, even if it’s right at the end when we are holding each other close while the sky falls down around us. And then 1000 years later, they dig up our skeletons and find us embraced. It’s all I hope for, all I dream of.

Someday, someday…

Yeah, you can tell I am an artiste. I have the most ridiculous notions about what love is. I know, I know. It’s stupid. It’s not real. But you know… this is the only version I know. My family doesn’t love me. They have never loved me. No man has ever loved me. I don’t know what love is. I can only imagine it. I can only write down what I think it is on the page.

It is what it is.

BLOG: Spread Dat Seed

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Tuesday.

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

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

Okkkurrrr

And everyone says Americans are the capitalists…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway…

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

Truth.

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

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

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

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

I am bored with writing now. Back to rugby…

BLOG: Irish F.I.R.E. Horse

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Sunday. Getting closer and closer to our much dreaded check-out date. Back into the real world we go, with nothing but a delusion to carry us through.

I don’t have to go back to HK, but I really do. It’s an achievement thing. I want to prove to myself I can do it. I can survive. I can answer the challenge. I can level up. I came all this way to live and work in Hong Kong. I will never forgive myself if I throw it all away before my visa expires.

Yeah, it’s hard. Some days… it’s really, really hard. But the promise of money and fabulous real estate is there and that’s a pretty big priority for me at this point in my life. A Man is Not a Plan. By extension… Thailand is Not a Plan. You know what is a plan? Aspiring to be the kind of person who flies directly to Shanghai to purchase a Hermes Birkin Super Clone straight off the factory line.

Go on and get your bag, gurl. That’s all there really is in this life.

So no, I am not exactly excited to return to HK, but again… this is the deal that I made. This is what I signed up for. There is no other way to move but forward. All I can do is chase the image of that bag way off in the distance like it’s a carrot on a stick. Somehow, it will manifest.

As I said… somewhat delusional, but it’s okay. We’re here for this Emily in Paris-esque journey here in SEA today.

Meanwhile, I really want to re-do my entire website. I’m just so over all of it right now. People keep sticking their phones in my face with my website plastered all over it and I’m so sick of the way it looks. It’s been the same for ten years! I need a change! I have more to offer the world than this same pile of stale garbage. I need a makeover, stat.

Someday this will all make a very fun Netflix show. I would watch that. Have you guys watched Expats with Nicole Kidman? It’s set in Hong Kong. It’s… awful. So depressing. I was tempted to watch it again, but I just can’t. The only way to describe it is gloomy AF.

I did watch Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong on YouTube again. It’s an indie romcom about two expats who meet in HK and spend the whole night getting lost and walking around. It’s more fun to watch now that I actually know where they are. It’s fun to look at the background and say, “I live in that neighborhood!” And “Oh yeah, I know that place, lol. I know where they are.” It inspired me again. It also reminded me what I fell in love with about the city, which I needed since I’ve been having a tough time.

Plus, there is the draw of the Chinese New Year Party at the racetrack. Let’s start the Year of the Fire Horse by drinking at the horse races. Fun fun!

I also have to find a new spot to watch the rest of the Six Nations Rugby tournament. Here is the thing: there is exactly one Irish Pub in Hong Kong, which I visit frequently. Unfortunately, it is on the Kowloon side. I personally do not like to go to the Kowloon side late at night, and the games are not on until 10pm & 12am. So I need to walk around my neighborhood and find a spot that is not so crowded. This will be… a challenge… because I live close to one of the hottest nightlife spots in town.

We’ll just see what happens. Maybe we’ll meet a fit finance bro with a cute accent and a ripped bod who lives in a luxury apartment up on the Peak. Or maybe… not.

Anyway, speaking of rugby, I did go out to the American Bar last night for the Six Nations. Watching Team Ireland kick England’s ass while sitting in a room with that crowd was certainly an experience I will not soon forget.

Even Princess Kate was sitting there like, “Damn, these Irish lads are on fire!” Yeah, they heard I was showing up tonight and decided to put on a real show. What can I say? There are perks to being a long lost Irish Faerie Princess who has recently decided to reclaim her identity. Perks like watching Team Ireland dominate the Six Nations are rugby. Hashtag: Winning!

Relax, it’s a joke. I’m not actually that level of narcissist. It’s just fun for me to write this shit to make me feel better about my sad little life. You know, my sad little life where I’m struggling to survive in Hong Kong because I decided life wasn’t hard enough as it was. I don’t feel sorry for me. This is exactly what I wanted. It’s always rough in the beginning. I just have to keep the faith that everything will work out and things will gradually fall into place.

Off now. Need to go call my brother back in the States. He’s literally the only person in my family that I still talk to. Hashtag: Black Sheep Status. Gotta love it! This is how I’m able to live abroad and continually fail without being phased or crying about wanting to go back home. There is no home to go back to. There is only a hardwood floor to sleep on…

BLOG: Be My Valentine

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Sunday. Yesterday is over, thank god. We have a new set of challenges to deal with today. It’s the same set of challenges as it was before. It’s just that I’m actually dealing with them today instead of pushing them off.

I regret going downtown last night. After I left the pub, everything just got crazy. It was so crazy, I had to wait for three different trains to come before I could board one. The upside is that I caught a pretty cool show while I was waiting. Gotta love a good dragon dance.

Finally got back to my neighborhood, where I immediately went down to the American Bar for free drinks and the Six Nations Rugby Tournament. Ireland won, of course. It was all very grand.

The next game after was England – Scotland. This game began with an opening ceremony featuring Princess Anne walking down the team line and greeting each player one by one. She had a little quip for all of them. It was actually quite fun to watch these guys get flustered by her. She’s the first Royal I’ve seen in awhile who I was like, “She’s so relatable.” Imagine having Prince Andrew as a brother, though. Ewww. He’s so gross!

That’s enough talk about the Royals for now. My family didn’t get on a boat and sail to America so that I would have to care what the British Royal Family does. Somehow it keeps getting pushed in my face anyway. Alas.

Last night at the bar was… well… I don’t really know, to be honest with you. It was my night off. I was like, “I am here to watch hot men run around in shorts and get shitfaced. Leave me alone. I’ve had a difficult life, emotionally speaking.” So that’s what I did.

Have I figured out how rugby works as a Sport yet? Ummm… sort of. It’s like… you get the lads all together and there’s too much energy, right? So you give them a ball and send them outside to play in the backyard. They throw the ball around, maybe kick it a bit, run in circles, dive straight into the mud, and just kinda figure it out as they go along the way.

Something like that.

Yeah, Betsey, sure. Something like that.

By the end of Round 1, I was ready to put together a slideshow of the game’s Top 10 Best Grass Stains. Let’s get some more close-ups on the butts in the shorts. This is all I care about right now.

Yes, these guys do look pretty grand, but let’s be real about the downside of dating beefcakes: they tend to be pretty fucking dumb. Not exactly the award-winning national merit scholar types. I guess I’m okay with that because I have enough intelligence to do the thinking for both of us. He can just stand there next to me and look good.

Can’t wait to be featured on my very own season of WAGS. We’ll call it WAGS at SEA. It’s just me surrounded by a bunch of different Asian women with white Western boyfriends all yelling at each other in different languages. Meanwhile, I’m just sitting in the corner sipping my drink, watching with wide eyes as they flip over the table and pull each other’s weaves out.

Yeah, I would watch this.

Well, that was my Valentine’s Day. So fun, right? Agreed. It was fun. Rugby is a great sport. It’s even better if you eat chocolate and drink alcohol while watching it. I will never be sad or lonely ever again as long as this sport exists.

And she lived happily ever after.

The End.

BLOG: I Don’t Know Why You’re Mad

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Saturday. Here I am again at my beloved coffee stand. At least the aunties here like me, if no one else does.

The smog is bad today. The heavy exhaust fumes are making my eyes water. I knew it would be bad, but wow. Yeah. It’s much worse than I thought.

Today I am feeling more lost than ever. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I have no direction or focus at all. It’s very frustrating.

The only thing I can think of to do is yoga. And to go get my nails done, which I really need to do today. Non-negotiable.

Last night was strange. “Old Man Smiley” is still mad at me. Why, I do not understand. I thought we had resolved things, but apparently he has chosen to be undiplomatic in his dealings. I don’t really understand, but whatever.

At the end of the day, these people chose to talk to me. I told them upfront I was a writer. They all said, “Go ahead and write about me! I don’t care!” And then I did, and what do you know? Looks like they do care after all.

Anyway I’ve barely featured him at all since I came back because of his request. I don’t know what he’s mad about. I really don’t. You guys can all sit there and call me a whore, a slut, a bitch, a cunt, whatever you want, and I’m just supposed to laugh it off. But if I write down a funny conversation or exchange I had, suddenly it’s a problem.

Whatever.

Men are fragile creatures. What did you really expect? They’re always complaining about something. Three months ago, they were mad at me because I was “acting like a slut” and now they are mad at me because I keep an online diary. Whatever.

I mean, it could be worse. I could actually be writing about what these guys are doing in Pattaya, but I’m not. Instead I’m focused on me and whatever chaos is happening around me in this exact moment.

It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s just a mean old drunk. A Barfly. His opinion doesn’t really count.

He said, “I can’t believe they let you back into the country.”

Like, why? I didn’t actually do anything wrong last time. I just didn’t book a return flight, which was dumb. I had a whole situation to sort out with Hong Kong immigration anyway. Otherwise, I have not insulted the Kingdom or the Royal Family, I do not interfere with Thai politics in any way, I don’t do anything illegal, I didn’t overstay my visa, I’m not working or getting paid, and I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money supporting Thai-owned businesses here.

I’m sorry you’re mad that I posted a selfie of us smiling together and a video of me dancing. That doesn’t mean I actually did anything wrong. I am who I am. I’ve made it very clear that I write what I write because I think it’s interesting to watch, not because I have an agenda to write bad things about people. If you don’t like the image of yourself that you see reflected here, that is your problem, not mine.

So, just fuck off with this bullshit already. Going around badmouthing me behind my back to anyone who will listen is not an acceptable way to handle the problem.

I’m just a woman on a journey trying to find myself. It’s not that big of a deal.

Anyway, I don’t have a problem with them. They have a problem with me. I am not involved with whatever this is. If anyone needs me, I’ll just sitting over here in the corner watching rugby alone while eating my Hot Beef Stew. Who needs one man for Valentine’s Day when you can have the whole Irish rugby team? Slainte, fam! Slainte!

Okay, off to make my daily contribution to the sick water buffalo farm known as Bangkok. Manicure, pedicure, looking fresh, feeling fly! Happy Valentine’s Day to me, from me, love you, gurl!