Tag: The Publisher

BLOG: The Wolf of Peel Street

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just kidding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wild.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Manifesting. Manifesting. Manifesting.

I am a Hong Konger!

BLOG: I Think We Lost The Plot

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Thursday. Where did the week go? Oh yes, I know. I spent all day yesterday sucked into Netflix while actively avoiding reality. Nothing like a good true crime docu trio to wake you up to all of the different ways life could go wrong.

I’m not really partial to the murders myself. I like the documentaries about cults and cult psychology. I have watched ALL of the cult documentaries. Unemployment Level 100. I am also fascinated by cult psychology because, as an American, I recognize that my country has been taken over by a very dangerous cult.

This particular documentary was about the FLDS in Utah. It is absolutely terrifying to watch as a woman. I have nothing but respect for Dr. Christine Marie. She is definitely one of my new role models. That documentary was harrowing.

Then I watched the one about the pro cyclist who was murdered by the jealous girlfriend of some loser guy. The girlfriend took off to Costa Rica, where she was hiding out at various yoga retreats. That one definitely made me think a lot. I just looked back at some of the people I met in India and Bali and was like, “WTF were they running from?”

Some of them were really strange and off. As I’ve said before, I’m not sure I would go back to Bali again after what I experienced there. Bangkok, yes. Bali, no.

I found people in Bangkok were generally more open about the fact that they are running away from something. Maybe they won’t tell you what it is, but it’s kinda just the general vibe of the expat community in Thailand. It’s like walking into the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars. You know everyone in there has come from somewhere else to do some kind of shady business. It’s just better not to ask too many questions about it.

In Bali, people are presenting themselves to be something they are not, and what that something is generally involves grifting off of people struggling with mental health, grief, spiritual questions, and a lack of meaning/purpose. I definitely saw some cult-adjacent shit while I was there. I also met people who were just… way, way, way off. Like “maybe they should be in the Hotel California and not running a yoga studio in Bali” kinds of off. Ya know what I’m saying?

It did feel validating in that way. I think sometimes I can be sensitive and take other people’s weird behavior super personally when in reality it has nothing to do with me at all. Like, maybe that lady wasn’t mean to me because I’m a bad person who deserves it. Maybe she killed her husband’s affair partner and went on the run and now she’s hiding out in Bali and she’s worried some writer is going to go snooping around and find out the truth.

Maybe.

Or maybe she was just having a bad day. Either way, this isn’t about me. Don’t take it personally. I’m perfectly grand just the way I am.

Right now I am sitting outside the coffee shop, watching people on the street. I just love Hong Kong. I really do. Every day I wake up and think, “Wow, I can’t believe I get to live here. This is the most incredible opportunity of my entire life. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for it every single day.”

I was meditating last night before bed and the spirit of my Irish grandmother showed up to talk to me. She said, “Do you know what the Irish Dream is? Not the American Dream. The Irish Dream. The Irish Dream is for our children to be free to become writers, poets, artists, musicians, filmmakers. It’s to give them the gift of free time so they can create. You don’t have to slave away at the docks or in the factories or give up your education to take care of a dozen children. We did all of this so you can sit outside on the rooftop and write your book and enjoy life in Hong Kong. Stop feeling guilty about it. Enjoy it. We did it all for you.”

Okay, okay, okay. I get it. My sole purpose on this earth is to Create. I must honor my ancestors by finding a way to become a serious, professional writer. Well, we all know the first two steps: money and a room of one’s own. I have that right now, yes, but how to maintain it over time is a problem.

I don’t know. Somehow I keep making it work. Failing upward, as they say. Perhaps a reminder to focus on manifesting simple things like a fabulous apartment that someone else is paying for so I can just sit there and write all day. Hahaha.

I’m not joking. That’s a real thing. It’s called “patronage.” It’s where rich people give you money and a room of your own so you can create art all day. I’ve actually had several patrons in my life, including my father, my uncle, my aunt, and The Publisher. It really is the best way to go. At least, for now.

That’s what I have to manifest: a patron! Ah, yes, so simple. Why did I not think of it before? Patron, patron, patron.

Brilliant.

Haha, aww, the song “I’ll Be Missing You” just came on the street stereo the delivery guy always plays around this time of day. Definitely a message from my ancestors. My dad always does that. Communicate through music, I mean. Sometimes I’ll just be sitting somewhere random and a playlist comes on that only he would make and I just know he’s there.

Oh yeah, they’re definitely there right now. It just switched to “Empire State of Mind.” Big New York City energy coming in right now. It’s a whole thing.

Now I am sitting here thinking about my book/Netflix show, lol. I’ve been going through my manuscript I made in January and I just hate it. The first half is such a slog. I just want to delete it all, speed up the timeline, and just have the first 10 pages/minutes be a montage of my dad’s funeral, getting fired from Starbucks, car breaking down, losing the house, getting a giant check in the mail, and buying a one-way ticket to India. That’s it. Fuck South Dakota. This is the terrible Prequel series no one asked for. Everything since India is like… my actual real life as I have always wanted to live it finally began. That’s the real story here!

I think we’ve kind of lost the plot a little bit here. Yes, I have meaning. I have purpose. I am a writer. It’s my dream to become a professional writer. That is why I am here. I got on that plane to have a crazy adventure and write it all down. Take whatever comes at me along the way. I did that. I’ve done it. I am actively doing it, even when it comes at a cost, like my little adventure up to the Mid-Levels.

So now we have to figure out how to steer the career into professional mode. I have no idea how to do that. I have no talent for business whatsoever. I need an agent/editor type to guide me in the right direction. Someone who has that eye for business in the way that I don’t and all of the connections I need but don’t have. Again, a patron type.

Okay, I feel like I’m back to normal now after my date with the Russian. Wow, what was that? Hmm. Wild. I don’t actually have anything else I want to say about him here. I just wanted him to know… I could have easily ripped you apart, but I didn’t. But I could. So just… know that.

Honestly, couldn’t even tell ya what he does for a living. You could be water boarding me old school Soviet style and I’d be like, “I swear to you, I don’t know! It sounded so boring. I checked out halfway through his explanation and started examining the crystal chandelier and hanging gardens at the Four Seasons. I can list off every plant and flower in the terrarium. Couldn’t tell ya what he does for work. Something with Finance, maybe? I thought he said he owned his own business. I honestly have no idea.”

The world will never know. Furthermore, the world does not care. The world cares about the part where two Scorpios went on a date to a bar that looks like an old-timey opium den/brothel and it was the most on-brand thing ever for both of them. Show us those terrible red leather couches from the 80’s! That’s what the world really wants to see!

Netflix execs will be like, “How is this even relevant to the plot?”

It’s not, it’s just an excuse to film at the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong. Since when do we need a plot for sex? Spoiler alert: there is no plot. This is just a random, gratuitous sex scene with no purpose or relevance whatsoever. Since when do you have a problem including that in your shows?!

They’ll be like, “You’re right. Let’s make sure we get a top-notch intimacy coordinator on board with this production.”

IDK, I think that might be too “woke” for the Russian. I can just imagine the look of outrage on his face right now…

Ha ha ha!

I think I’m hilarious.

Off now. To do what, we don’t know. We know we’re not going back to the Mid-Levels anytime soon!

The battle of Hong Kong Island neighborhoods continues. So far I’ve eliminated Causeway Bay (too busy), Wan Chai (too wild), Central (too expensive), Happy Valley (too far), and the Mid-Levels (too bougie). I’m actually quite happy in Sheung Wan. It’s very… French. Close to everything, but easy to escape from the chaos of the city with a quick trip up to my rooftop.

I think I’ll go do that right now, actually. Then I have to clean my apartment because it’s a mess. All of my clothes are piled onto “the chair” instead of hanging in my closet, where they should be. Alas, I am not fancy enough to have a “helper” or live in an upscale “serviced apartment.” I am confined to my tiny little coffin box with the rats and the cockroaches, living off snacks and instant noodles from 7-11.

It is what it is.

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…