Tag: Secret Society

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: Men Aren’t Lonely Enough

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Friday.

Here I am at the Secret Society. It’s just me and a room full of old men, as per usual. Nothing interesting to eavesdrop on so far. Mostly just World Cup chatter. Snoozefest!

How is the situation with my neighbor? Oh, well… just full of ups and downs, as per usual. Now that I know he has been monitoring me so closely these last few months, I decided to return that energy and put him under observation for the week.

As it turns out, he is very boring. All he does is work and go to the gym and sit on the rooftop smoking with his ear pods in while staring at his phone. Talk about living life on Zombie Mode. What are you even staring at on that phone, bro?

Last night, he left a single protein shake on the stairwell by the communal trash area. It was just like… the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. This man is not lonely enough! No wonder he’s invested so much time into judging me. I am way more exciting than he is.

Anyway, his new nickname is “The Double Double” since he’s so stacked. Hello, Beefcake! Honestly, didn’t really notice it before since he was hired to be a background extra on set, but now that I’ve seen him up close, I’m ready to offer him a leading role. He could definitely play the bad guy opposite my good guy Russian in my Spy Thriller. For sure.

Also, just to explain this joke to Americans: At McDonald’s in Hong Kong, they have a late-night “Double Double” deal, which is two double cheeseburgers stacked on top of each other, no bun in between. Just four stacked beef patties.

Hehehehehehe.

Yeah, I mean, he’s pretty annoying, to be honest, but honestly… think about this right now. How did I get so lucky as to move to Hong Kong, fuck up everything, get a second chance, and then move in right next door to a hot and sexy beefcake/actor?

Like, that’s not even real. I could make a whole movie out of that right now and none of it even has to be true. It just has to be marketable to single women between the ages of 30-45 who dream of leaving it all behind and moving to the other side of the world.

Grand!

We might even be able to push that age range up. After all, he’s the one who told me to “cruise the mom’s groups for gigs.” Maybe he’s never taken down a fully- grown mountain lion, but he has clearly wrestled a few cougars. I really feel like we could capture the magic of that dynamic if we market it to a slightly older audience.

You’re only as young as you feel, ladies! It is what it is.

So, you know, he can keep acting weird and giving me the silent treatment. I don’t need him to be real. I just need him to stand there and be hot so I can project whatever story I need/want at the time onto him. That’s literally what actors are for. Duh!

Anyway, he did unblock me, but he did not add me back. Then he tried to shoulder check me when I passed him on the rooftop last night, but I was carrying my yoga bag so I basically just used it to body check him right back. Then I called him a “mean person” and went to set up my mat in the garden to meditate.

He is a mean person. He’s so judgy. British people and their judgments. Ugh! I’m starting to understand why I actually secretly hated studying English Literature so much back in university. The English… grrr… yeah, wow, the more of them I meet, the more I understand why I’m eligible for DAR membership. We had the American Revolution for a reason. That shit is real AF.

I know, it’s a whole fantasy. They brainwash us, truly. They convince us we want a Mr. Darcy, a Mr. Rochester, a Dorian Gray. But here’s the problem: they’re always hiding something in their attics. You think he’s being mean and condescending because he likes you, but really he’s just a jerk who is hiding a secret ex-wife up in the attic. It is what it is.

It is what it is.

I know, this one claims to be different. He says, “I’m not English, I’m a Hong Konger.” Like… okay… so as a person whose family came to American on a boat way before the Revolution, I don’t even have the energy to unpack the multiple layers of colonial processes happening over there right now. All I can say is… that explains why you’re so comfortable sitting on your little rooftop looking down at everyone else. It is what it is, bro.

I’m calling him the Schlong from Hong Kong because he’s such a fucking ding dong. It’s not racist. He’s white. Also, I can tell by his whole vibe that he was totally stoked to watch the White House Lawn UFC Fight with his bros at the latest stag do in Thailand. As we all know, no one is more oppressed in the modern day world than the white man. That’s what all of this is really about!

He’s just jealous of my freedom. It is what it is.

Anyway, this is lame AF.

Everyone is outside socializing while I sit here and write and watch. It is what it is. I have made peace with it.

Also, I just realized I desperately need to replace the blue light glasses I lost two weeks ago. It’s becoming a real problem. I definitely remember why I bought them in the first place. The radiation is just… too much.

Okay, okay, they’re talking about Hedge Funds now. Finally, something juicy. Why else even live in Hong Kong if not to eavesdrop on Finance Bros openly bragging about how efficiently they are running their crime schemes from a luxury yacht?

Oh, now it’s back the World Cup. So boring. Ugh.

Ugh, my brain already feels like it’s melting. Casually hanging out in a room full of wealthy men on a drug-fueled power trip is not for the faint of heart. Trust me.

Oh lord, here come more of them.

Funny.

Something, something, AI… something, something, evening the playing field in third world war-torn countries, something something, I look like I’m trying to listen way too hard and I’m definitely giving myself away right now by doing so.

Honestly, I really think people underestimate how hard it is to actually be a good spy. This is a real skillset. It’s so much more than just picking up James Bond at a bar and listening to him spill all of his international secrets while talking in his sleep. Who knew?

Omg, I could be narrating a nature documentary right now.

*puts on fancy posh British accent*

“Here we have an elder finance bro, a real British lad who has been occupying the island of Hong Kong since ye olde colonial days. Now we see him passing down his ancient wisdom to newest crop of finance bros, armed with nothing but AI and a sense of entitlement. See how he spreads his knowledge to ensure the continuation of the species…”

LMFAO!!!

I am actually hilarious. Tortured genius? Yes, definitely. Rising star with so much to offer the world? Also yes. Bored AF and ready to go to bed? Girl, yasss, am I fucking ever!!!

Now I understand why it’s so hard for me to get married. Whoever does it better be ready to sign up for a whole “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” type of situation. Domestic violence on an airplane involving the children not included, of course. That was actually crazy.

I’m actually getting bored right now. I miss Bangkok, tbh. Vibes.

Speaking of Bangkok, I passed a vanity plate on the way up here that said, “Hermes.” Something tells me Bangkok is thinking of me too, lol…

Okay, time to go. I’m bored AF and it’s still way early. So lame. Literally snoozefest. It is what it is. The End.

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…