Tag: UK

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: The Weekend Update

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Monday.

It was quite the weekend, wasn’t it? You know shit’s going down when I don’t post for two days in a row. So much to document. This is why I have to write daily or I will forget.

Friday night was… the most interesting. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to be since the vast majority was pretty lame. I watched Remarkably Bright Creatures, which made me cry my eyes out. I think I may have watched something else before that which also made me cry, but I can’t fully remember. Whatever it was also made me cry. I actually spent most of my night crying. That’s what I remember about it, lol.

It’s not a good weekend for me. It was my dead dad’s birthday and Mother’s Day. Not so fun for me. So I just planned to stay in and cry about it because I didn’t want to put that energy onto anyone else by going out in public.

Sometime around 3am, I decided to go up to the rooftop for a smoke. As I was coming back to the stairway, I heard someone coming up the stairs. I looked down to confirm it was my hot beefcake neighbor. I noticed he was staring at his phone and had his earbuds in. I decided to use the opportunity to scare him since that’s our little inside joke now. We are always startling each other unexpectedly, though I suspect he’s done it on purpose now at least once or twice. The last time was definitely intentional.

I decided to take revenge. I hid behind the door so he couldn’t see me. When he reached the top, I jumped out at him and yelled “Boo!” I got the full movie jump scare out of him. He genuinely looked terrified! I was laughing so hard! It was so funny! Just what I needed after a long night of crying…

It took him a minute or two to recover. Once he had regained his composure, he gave me a look I can only describe as “smoldering” and said, “Ohhh, you’re in trouble now. I’m gonna get you back. I am going to wreck you. Just absolutely wreck you. One of these days, I’m gonna come out here when you’re doing yoga and sneak up on you and absolutely ruin you.”

….

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Ummm… okay. Why does that sound less like a threat and more like a sexual innuendo? Is this one of these British English vs American English kind of situations? What’s going on here? What’s he actually saying? Am I supposed to be turned on right now? Because I’m actually kind of turned on right now.

As I was relaying this part of the story to my friend later, she raised her eyebrow and smirked at me.

“I think your neighbor has a thing for you,” she said.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Does saying ‘I’m going to wreck you’ mean something different in British? Because in America, that’s a very strong, very sexually-charged statement to make.”

My friend just laughed at me.

“Yeah, it means the same thing in British.”

“So he’s saying he wants to bang me?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

Back to the rooftop. We ended up sitting out there chatting for like an hour and a half. He said to me, “You know, you are the strangest person I have ever met. I can’t figure you out at all. You’re such a little weirdo. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Well, you know us Americans. We’re all very strange and exotic to properly uptight British lads like yourself. It’s A Thing. They’re all into Asian girls until the moment they meet an American, and then it’s like, “Ooooooh, an American. I’m obsessed with Americans and America. I love America! I want to be American! If I put my penis inside of you, will I absorb your magical powers of Freedom, Liberty, and Justice for All?”

My British Guy in Bangkok was like this as well. He was utterly obsessed with my Americanness. Then he ran off with some Thai girl to an island and was never seen or heard from again. I don’t think he knows what he wants, tbh.

Anyway, so, back to my neighbor. He started asking me all these questions about South Dakota. This is also A Thing I’ve noticed with people who have fascinations with Americans. They hear me say “South Dakota” and they think Ye Olde Western Frontier. Cowboy boots. Gunslingers. Old-timey dive bars with a piano player and bathtub bourbon. Aces and Eights! The whole thing!

Truly, not that far off from reality, if you want my professional opinion.

So obviously the last thing I want to talk about to anyone ever is motherfucking South Dakota. Unfortunately, it turns out there is a whole untapped international market that is obsessed with it and wants to know everything there is to know about it. It is what it is. I could be angry, or I could exploit my 17 years of experience and knowledge for ca$$$h money, baby! What do you think I’ll end up choosing in the end?

As I mentioned previously, my neighbor is an Actor. He says he usually plays bad guys in Chinese movies. I told him he could also play bad guys in Bollywood movies since he’s British. He said, “No, I want to play a gunslinger in a movie about the American West.” Okay, okay, I can see it, I can see it. Let’s just sit here on the rooftop and work through this concept together until we have a decent script.

The story we ultimately worked out is basically just the male version of The Holiday. I have a friend back in SD who has the same name as my neighbor. We’ll use a fake name here to protect their identities: Dave. So this movie is temporarily titled “Dave vs. Dave.” Still working that one out.

In this movie, Hong Kong Dave and South Dakota Dave are both bored with their lives and looking for a change. They meet on an Internet forum and decide to trade lives. HK Dave goes to South Dakota, where he lives in SD Dave’s tiny house, drives his big pick-up truck, works at a dive bar on the edge of town, wears cowboy boots every day, and carries a gun around on his hip for absolutely no reason other than the fact that it looks cool.

Meanwhile, SD Dave goes to Hong Kong, where he lives in HK Dave’s tiny shoebox apartment and works as an actor. We get to see him scaling the bamboo scaffolding and doing kung fu and going on crazy car chases across the bridge to Kowloon and fighting off the Triads.

I sent this pitch to SD Dave and he absolutely LOVED it. He was like, “Can we make this actually happen?” IDK, maybe. I suppose anything is possible, right?

Right.

Sometime around 4:30am, we decided to call it a night. I was slightly disappointed that he did not make a move, but again, I suspect he has a girlfriend even though he says, “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a girl I see sometimes.” Sooooo basically… she’s your girlfriend, lol.

Men. Lol.

So that was Friday.

On Saturday, I went out with my girl friend, whose identity I prefer to protect by not “making her into a character.” We have talked about this. I told her that I mention in my blog that we frequently go out to different places together, but she’s not a “character” and I don’t write about her life. She’s cool with it.

So we went out for lunch, then we went up to The Sketchy Place. It was actually her suggestion. I had my doubts, but I mulled it over during lunch and decided it was a good idea to check in again after a month to see what’s up. As we were walking up, both of us had some doubts, but we decided to go through with it in the end.

Several mysteries were solved on this occasion. First, I figured out how I got “lost” and “separated” from her the last time we were there. It turns out, the bathroom is in a weird location. You have to walk back through the kitchen to get to it. If you come out and turn left immediately, there is an open door to the alleyway outside that splits into two directions. If you turn right, you go back through the kitchen and out into the bar. As soon as I saw this, I realized that what had happened before was that I was really drunk and confused and somehow got “lost” in this alleyway. I get lost in the dumbest ways in HK. It’s a real thing.

The second mystery we solved was the question of whether or not this place is frequented by drug dealers. The answer is yes. I saw the same guy from The Wolf who had given the coke to the Finance Bro I was with at the time. I observed him for some time. He kept going in and out, making phone calls, and “shaking hands” with randoms on the street. It appeared to be an open secret among the regulars there. Everyone knew what he was doing and nobody cared. It’s like… yeah, duh, that’s why he’s here.

The group of people he was with were the same sketchy crew of long-term expats as before. Once I sat in observation of their dynamic without involving myself, I understood exactly what was going on.

Somehow, our tab was mysteriously “taken care of,” even though we did not actually socialize much with anyone else that night. I don’t know who paid it. Was it the MAusGA guy? Was it my Irish friend? Was it someone else? We have no idea. All we know is that we didn’t have to pay for jack shit.

Hmm… I see your bribe for what it is and willingly accept it. I will no longer be reporting on The Sketchy Place. Really, what else is there to say? Everyone knows the daily consumption of Coke & Special K are an open secret in the Finance World. It is what it is. What else is there to say?

So at this point, I was pretty wasted. I know better than to daydrink with wine, but I was daydrinking wine. Questionable choices were made! All I can say is: Nothing good ever happens at the 7/11 by Peel Street. It is what it is!!!!

I made a deal not to write about what happened with the other person involved. We agreed it was a mistake and to just hit reset and move on. I am open to making deals with people not to use them as characters in my writing. You just have to approach it the right way. You’ll get much further by being respectful than you will by going on the attack. Going into Attack Mode against me will make it 1000x more likely that I’ll write about you. I reserve the right to defend myself at all times. My way of defending myself is with a Pen, not a Sword. It is what it is.

This is part of the reason why I ignored the Russian when he said he didn’t want to me to write about him. Okay, well, maybe you should have thought about that more before you used me for cheap work trip sex, tossed me aside like I was nothing, and then blocked me as soon as you got off the plane in Switzerland.

All of that says, “I have no respect for you as a human being.” So why would I have any respect for you in return? Fuck you, bro. I’ll write a story about you fighting a bear with your shirt off if I want to. What are you going to do? Cancel me for being a big, strong, alpha female?

*blows raspberry in his general direction*

Anyway, I was soooo hungover yesterday. It was not a good thing. I can’t live my life this way anymore. I am getting too old for this. My body absolutely fucking hates me right now. I need to do a cleanse. I need to do yoga. I need to drink some water and eat some fruit. Just… ugh.

I still have not made a decision about Cambodia. I need to do that like, today. I can’t just ghost this person. It’s been almost a week. I need to send them a response.

It’s hard. I love Hong Kong. I really want to make it work. I can see myself living here long-term. But I also feel like… this work trade in Cambodia is a rare opportunity and I should take it just for the experience. Cambodia is so beautiful. It has such a tragic backstory. It’s complicated. I want the chance to explore it. Isn’t that the point of coming to SEA? I gotta See the SEA! That’s why I’m here!

Plus, it might be good for me to go teach yoga and be out of the city and just do a little reset/detox to figure out my next steps. This year has been stressful and confusing. I’m so grateful to have left SD behind, but it’s been a lot.

I don’t know. I have to decide. I’m gonna do yoga on my rooftop and figure it out from there. I’ll just make sure my neighbor isn’t home first so he can’t sneak up on me and scare me, lol!

I told him this morning that he missed out on his revenge. I was walking down the stairs in my building and a GIGANTIC cockroach fell from the sky and bounced off my shoulder. I SCREAMED so loud that the entire building heard me.

I messaged him to tell him this story and he said, “Ah yes, I heard your shriek. I suspected that’s what happened. This is why I told you not to use the stairs.”

I was just trying to get my steps in, bro. Jesus. I hate cockroaches. They’re so gross. So gross! EWWWWW!!!!!

Phew! What a long post! What a weekend! What a life!

I really do love it. Even on the days when I’m sad and struggling and lost and confused. I love my life. I love Hong Kong. I love SEA. I feel so incredibly lucky to be here. I am grateful every single day. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, for better or for worse. I never, ever thought I would live in Hong Kong (or Bangkok, for that matter). I wouldn’t trade this adventure for anything in the world.

Off now. I need to tidy up my studio and run errands and do all the boring stuff now. Not every day can be an adventure. Most days are very routine and boring. But still… I can’t help but find myself falling more in love with Hong Kong every day…

Have a good day!

BLOG: MAusGA

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Monday.

Hungover after an unexpected run-in with some Aussies last night. I ended up getting very wine drunk, which is never a good thing. I have no idea how I got home with my groceries intact.

I remember being out at this random bar, then I remember being home, but I don’t remember anything in between. Did I walk? Did that Canadian call me a cab? No idea. Safe to say I should be extra weary if and when the Aussies invite me to sit with them at the bar again.

This caught me completely off-guard. I was taking a photo of the city at the night and this old Aussie guy called out to me from the patio of the bar nearby.

“Why are you taking a picture if you aren’t in it? Let me take your picture for you.”

I let him take the picture for me. It turned out pretty great. This is how they roped me in. He was sitting with another Aussie and a Canadian. All of them were Boomers, for certain. They had all lived in Hong Kong for several decades. This is the first I’ve met of the “Old Hong Kong” Expat Crowd here in Hong Kong itself. I met some of the Good Ol’ Boys back in Bangkok, but they had all moved on long ago. This group was still fresh.

The Aussie asked me if I was American. I said yes. He proudly stood up and stated, “I LOVE TRUMP! We are MAGA: Make Australia Great Again!”

Oh Jesus Christ. What did I just walk into?

I could have walked away, but my curiosity got the better of me on this one. I had to know what in the fuck this means to them. As they explained it, they don’t want Freedom. They don’t want Independence. They want to depose the British Monarchy and install Trump as their King.

…

Right.

I swear to you, this is totally real. I know, I know. It sounds absolutely insane. That’s because it is insane. Totally and completely insane.

Oh, but stick with me. Their story gets better…

They think that by making Trump their King, it will bring back the golden days of Ye Olde British Empire, where they all profited directly off the imperialist colonial capitalism model.

They are not alone in this quest. They have forged a secret alliance with Canada behind the backs of the UK government. Brexit was too much for them, apparently.

Also, guns. They want guns. Specifically to stockpile lots and lots of guns the way Americans do. And they are “tired of being woke about Aborigines.” I’m sure you can imagine what kind of insanely racist rant ensued from there.

The Aussie then loudly and excitedly proclaimed to the entire hillside that he hoped Trump would drop a nuke on Iran, then cackled gleefully as he chugged down the last of his wine.

Now you can understand how I ended up blacking out from too much Australian wine. This was probably one of the more insane things I’ve seen or heard while at SEA, and as we all know, I have seen and heard a lot of very insane things on this journey. Bangkok ain’t got nothing on this, lol.

So that was my evening. As I said, I do not remember how I got home, but I do remember that the Canadian was kind enough to offer to call a taxi for me. Perhaps that is what happened. Who knows? It’s a mystery.

Now I am just sitting here laughing about what they told me. It’s really funny when you think about it. These Baby Boomers want Trump to be King of Canada and Australia. Like, what? That just sounds made up. I could never make that shit up, ever. I am not creative enough for that. It’s just so hilarious to me, lol.

Ridiculous.

BLOG: Ye Olde Caste System

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Saturday afternoon.

I did not get home until about 4am last night. My sleep schedule is officially fucked.

I stayed after at my favourite bar with my bartender friend and her auntie. They are from the Philippines, and therefore have some absolutely crazy stories to share.

We sat out on the street and had some drinks (very much legal and acceptable in HK) and traded stories. I asked them if they minded if I wrote down their stories and shared them on my blog. They laughed and said, “I thought you already were.”

At the end of the night, they thanked me for giving them a safe space in which to share their stories. They said Westerners usually treat Filipinas like crap. I’ve definitely noticed that since I’ve been here. They are treated like second class citizens here. They are usually working service jobs or as maids/helpers/housekeepers/nannies.

I’ve noticed I get really strange looks from other Westerners when I’m at the bar chatting with my friend. We usually go out to have a cigarette together during her break. People always give me a weird look like, “Why are you talking to The Help?”

IDK, because they’re human beings with interesting stories to tell, and you’re a boring business executive who drones on about work all the time? I guess I relate more to the bartenders and servers because those are the jobs I’ve always done to support myself as a writer.

Unfortunately, my endless experience means nothing, as I am locked out of the service industry here for the aforementioned race and class issues. They don’t give those jobs to educated white Western women here. They just don’t.

If I have to listen to one more racist rant from some old British dude, I swear to god I’m gonna lose it. Last night there was one who came into the bar at like 11pm and ordered a Bloody Mary. My first thought was, “What time of day do you think it is? This is a morning drink!” Both my bartender friend and I were judging him.

He came in with his British-Indian friend, who he proceeded to hold hostage with a rant about immigration in England. I get so annoyed when English people do this. They have ZERO self-awareness whatsoever. It always follows the same pattern of “They come to England and they don’t try to understand our culture or history or heritage.”

I’m always just like… “Now you know how it feels, oh Once-Great Colonizer of the Entire World.”

I could tell his Indian friend was just sitting there like, “I hate this fucking guy.” Needless to say, they left after exactly one drink.

I then turned my attention to the other side of the bar, where the energy was increasingly weird. In one corner, we had a group of businessmen who my friend recognized from Wan Chai. Wan Chai is now called “The Grey Area” because it is becoming increasingly common for sex workers to do business there. Being recognized from Wan Chai as a man is not a good thing.

At the bar were two sex workers, one who was working that night while the other acted as her “manager.” They were deep in conversation with another old white British dude, who would not stop making loud, obnoxious, sexually-charged comments for all the bar to hear.

He was also chatting with another one of the servers, who was off-duty at this point. Another guy tried to come in and talk to her while he was in the bathroom. When he came back, he put himself between her and the random, who looked very heartbroken when he realized he had been rejected. He took out his phone and spent the rest of his time playing chess while occasionally looking up at me with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I was very much not into it. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After they all cleared out and they closed the bar down, we all went out to sit in the street. We watched people as they walked home from their various adventures out. We saw one couple coming that was quite obviously a John and a sex worker.

How do we know she was a sex worker? Let’s just say… you learn to identify the calling cards over time. It’s not always necessarily how they dress, but there is definitely a certain way they dress that stands out in a more conservative, business-oriented city like Hong Kong. There’s also the types of drinks they order and how they stand at the bar. It’s a whole vibe. I was taught how to spot them by a man when I was in Dubai. Turns out this lesson has come in very handy in SEA.

He said very loudly to her as they passed, “I don’t even know how old you are!” My friend and I went silent, looked at each other, and nodded in acknowledgement that yes, she was definitely a sex worker.

I’m not judging. I’m just here to watch the show.

My friend told me another horror story she heard about the Indonesian sex workers in Wan Chai. Here is another strange race/class differentiation I did not realize existed. She said Thais and Filipinas used to be seen as the “bottom of ladder,” so to speak. These days they have “elevated themselves,” so they mostly come to Hong Kong to work service jobs, save money, start a business, and get an education.

The bottom rung now belongs to Indonesians, who are now seen as being “lower” than Filipinas because they are so desperate they will do anything for money, including being exploited and degraded sexually. I suspect most of them are being drugged and trafficked, especially based on the level of degradation involved in some of these stories I’m hearing.

This is all brand new information to me. Racism in Asia is on another level, truly. I thought I understood what racism was after living in South Dakota, but I was wrong. I don’t know shit about shit in this world. That is the only thing I am 100% certain of these days.

As we discussed all of this, my friend turned to me and said, “This is exactly why all those men didn’t like you writing about them in Bangkok. They don’t want you to know the truth about what they’re involved in. They know you’re onto them.”

True, true.

She thinks they were actually trying to protect me from something I don’t understand. I suspect the same. My only question is, “Are they protecting me, or are they protecting themselves?”

She says she’s afraid for my safety if I go back there again. I think she might be right, especially after they started making “jokes” about how I remind them of an Irish journalist who got shot in the head while out on assignment. Grand.

Again she said to me, “I am so grateful you are listening to our stories. I feel safe with you. You can help a lot of people by getting this information out there. They don’t listen us, but they will listen to you.”

I don’t know about that, but I’m definitely trying.

As I walked home alone at 4am, I felt the weight of the world upon me once again. I knew without a doubt this is what I’m meant to be doing. This is my mission. This is my purpose. This is what gives my life meaning. I am supposed to be a writer. I am supposed to be here, listening to these stories and sharing them with the world. I just need a different outlet for it. How do I make myself into a professional writer?

I don’t know.

This is the only question I have to answer now. I must move forward somehow. I cannot remain as I am. I need to figure out how to play my hand. I guess I will just have to be patient and wait for the answer to come.

BLOG: Feeling Just Fookin’ Grand

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Here we are at the Irish Pub. I needed to get away from my neighborhood today because there is so much construction going on. The noise was destroying my ears. Plus I was so angry after writing my previous story that I had to get up and walk around to release the pent-up energy.

I walked up and down the stairs and hills in the Mid-Levels for some time, but again, there was too much construction going on and it was destroying my ears. I can be very sensitive to light and sound when I get into moods like this. I decided to hit the metro and cross over to the Kowloon side. I walked around for a bit before coming here for some beer and a bit o’ stew.

The usual all-woman krewe is not here today. Instead, they have been replaced by a man from Wales. I have not met many Welsh people in my life. My only real experience with Wales is watching the rugby team do their Dragon Dance on TV. I keep waiting for him to bust a move behind the bar. Any minute now…

I ordered a Stella and told him it has been a long day.

“But you’re only halfway through.”

“Ugh, I know.”

“Nothing a few pints can’t fix. Do you know what they call Stella in England?”

“What?”

“They call it ‘The Wifebeater.’ They have an expression there. You drink 10 pints of Stella, then go home and beat up your wife.”

I was not amused by this information.

“In Wales, we call it different,” he continued. “In Wales we call it a Husband-beater. It’s the wife who drinks too much and goes home to beat up her husband.”

I thought of the story I had just written and smirked.

“What do they call it in Ireland?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ve never been there. Probably the same. We have a similar sense of humor; Ireland and Wales.”

“I can’t imagine why…”

I laughed in spite of myself. If only this man knew I literally just spent my morning writing a story about my altar-ego beating the shit out of a man. Hilarious, truly. Quite fitting, in fact.

Well, I’ve already metaphorically beaten up a man today, so I guess I can check that one off my To Do list. My plan for the evening is to go to a free screening of a documentary about the history of Ireland. I’m sure I’ll learn something new.

Right now I feel so tired. Just drained. Writing as Liz is exhausting for me. She takes so much of my energy. I wasn’t expecting her to show up today. She has not been around in quite some time. I thought I was doing really well with keeping her suppressed. I was. I really was doing well.

Then I saw those stupid birthday party pictures from the American Bar on Facebook and totally lost my shit. I don’t know why I was so triggered by that. Maybe because I had to sit there and be treated like a persona non-grata for the last month for posting the exact same shit. Ridiculous. It just… set me off. I’m so sick of men and their stupid bullshit. Please stop projecting your insanity and paranoia onto me!!!! I literally do not give a fuck about your stupid little fucking life.

I woke up this morning and instantly I knew I was her. I wasn’t me, I wasn’t myself. I was her. I woke up in a fit of pure rage, the likes of which I have not felt for some time. I showered and walked down to the coffee shop and wrote the story. I exorcised her out on the page, as I always do. Then I left and went for a long, long walk.

Now I am myself again. Now I am here. Now I am calm. Now I am… so fucking exhausted I can’t see straight. I have no idea how I’m going to sit through this event night. I am… not stable today.

The upside is that now I understand a new cultural element about the UK that I did not before. So this particular audience is less likely to think of me as “psychotic” and “unhinged” and more likely to shrug and say, “Ehhhh…. She’s Irish. What did you expect?”

Grand. Just grand.

I still feel a bit… unhinged. I have been working so hard on controlling my anger issues. That’s the whole reason I went to Bali for the Yin Yoga course. I am desperately trying to control The Rage. I am disappointed in myself that it came up again. It’s been so long. I was doing really well. 🙁 🙁 🙁

I know how it got triggered. I’ve been watching an Irish TV show on Netflix called “Bodkin” about an Irish journalist and an American podcaster who go to a small, rural town in Ireland to investigate a cold case. They promptly get roped into a whole crazy situation none of them understand. As the series continued on, I realized that this whole situation seemed very familiar, and it was familiar because I was recently roped into a similar situation in a very similar way.

Now I know all these things about all of these people in Bangkok that I really would prefer not to know. I feel like I’ve been dragged into something I really do not understand and don’t want to understand. There is exactly one person and one person only who I can blame for this: Hermes. And so, I took it out on Hermes, in the only language he can understand.

Do NOT feel sorry for him, by the way. He is a real-life gangster up to no good. He is literally an actual criminal who is living in exile in Thailand. He literally cannot go back to his home country or they will throw him in jail. Literally.

Believe me when I say… He gets punched in the face ALL THE TIME. Literally all the time. This is an actual fact! He will pick fights with people just he can post the photos of his bruises to Facebook. This guy is totally fucked up.

I don’t blame him, as I’ve said before. It’s literally not his fault he was born into the utter fucked-upness that is Northern Ireland. It’s not his fault he was recruited to a gang at a young age and became a child soldier. None of these things are his fault.

That being said, this man is pushing 40 now. He has a responsibility to move past his childhood trauma and do the work on becoming a better man. He does not have to continue his lifelong streak of criminal behavior. He especially does not need to rope unsuspecting women such as myself into his activities and therefore make me complicit. He did not have to give me a fake story about the Hot Beef Stew, or obsessively stalk my social media, or put on some big dumb show about how he’s with the “IRA” (he’s not). These are choices he made, and no amount of posturing on Facebook next to orphans and cancer patients can fix that.

I came up with the idea for this story when I was back in Bangkok. His photo is prominently displayed on the wall in multiple places at the American Bar. Every time I walked past them when I was there, I would stop and look at that stupid little smirk on his pretty little face. I thought to myself, “He has the most punchable face I’ve ever seen. I wish I could take a fucking swing at him after the shit he pulled with me.”

And so… I did. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I do feel somewhat better now. Just exhausted. But it’s fine. I’m at the Irish Pub, I’ve eaten some stew, and now I’m chugging down my beer while listening to Irish music. Grand. Just fookin’ grand.

We are all feeling very grand here in Hong Kong today.

Okay, I need to finish this drink and make my way back to the Island side. I have an event to attend.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day!

—-

UPDATE: I did not make it to the film screening. I gave myself an entire extra hour to get there and I still fucked it up and got lost. First I went to the completely wrong place on the completely wrong side of town, then I couldn’t get a cab back, and by the time I made it to Admiralty, I was already too late. I fucking hate Admiralty. It is literally the DUMBEST FUCKING PLACE in all of Hong Kong. I could not find my way out of that fucking maze, so I proceeded to have an epic meltdown right there in the middle of all of it.

Somehow I made it home, but now I’m just pissed off. The film screening is the one fucking thing I wanted to do this week. So fucking mad. I’m so fucking mad. I am having a literal fucking rage fit right now. Full meltdown status. Screaming into the pillows and everything.

I fucking hate my life today. I really do. UGH!

If anyone needs me, just leave me the fuck alone. I’m so upset right now. I just want to go to sleep and turn off my stupid fucking brain forever.

That’s my cue to leave and go meditate with the lights off until I fall asleep. I must control the rage. I will control the rage.

I am calm. I am at peace. I am okay.

Not really. I’m not okay at all, actually. But whatever. It’s grand. Always fucking grand.

BLOG: I Am Not A Spy!

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Sunday?

I think?

The days are different here. Hong Kong hours are like… normal hours here, plus London Time, plus New York City time, plus Chicago time, plus San Francisco time. It’s like every day here is really the equivalent of a day and a half.

I was feeling this but I did not really recognize it for what it was until New Year’s Eve. Okay, we celebrated, I went to sleep, I woke up and everyone in the US is just celebrating now, in the middle of the afternoon the next day.

I noticed my sleep schedule had shifted to accommodate the time difference. I am used to waking up at sunrise, doing yoga, getting a coffee, and keeping my whole strict writing routine. I was not feeling very good about myself for staying up all night, sleeping all morning, and then waking up around noon. Now I see what is actually happening here.

It’s a good thing I am adjusting well, because the nightlife here is so real. After I went to the Irish Pub, I came back and got off at Central. It’s not the closest stop to my apartment, but I always get on and off there so I can get my steps in. Plus I love to wander around Central and see what’s happening.

I got a little lost last night and accidentally wandered into a neighborhood known as “LKF.” I heard it was Lit AF, but I had never been there before. Well, I think I wandered down there once during the day, but everything was closed so the vibe was super weird.

Nighttime, however? Wow! It is POPPIN’! So many bars, clubs, and late-night restaurants. People were out in the streets, drinking, talking, dancing, having a great time. It was like New Orleans, especially because you can just drink alcohol openly on the street here. I made a note to myself to come back and people-watch later.

I saw a great singer-piananist duo busking on the street. They were beautiful! The singer’s voice just stopped me dead in my tracks. I stayed for a couple songs, tossed them a HKD$50 (~USD$6.50) and carried on my way.

By the end of my walk, my once-cozy sweater had become a prison. I was sweating like crazy. Dressing for the weather here is harder than in SD. At least there, you already know to wear 7 layers, plus your fur-lined boots and buffalo-skin robe. Here it’s like… yes, it’s a bit chilly out tonight, much more so than usual, so you need a sweater and a scarf and fleece-lined leggings underneath, but you’re going to be walking uphill both ways and standing on the MTR where it’s crowded, so eventually you will get hot and start sweating until you’re practically drenched.

Shoutout to the chick I saw on the metro who was straight-up dressed like a Dragon Pokémon. Fuzzy onesie with fins down the back and a tail dragging behind, elaborate silver wig with a homemade headpiece, just standing there chillin’, not giving a single fuck.

I love that about Hong Kong. The outfits people wear are just crazy to me. There’s the business casual look, then there’s the comfy-cozy look, then there are the people who just walk around dressed like cats and Pokémon as their “every day look.” Like, the cat thing is so real. People just wear cat-ear headbands and tails with a whole fuzzy outfit and no one gives a fuck. Not a single fuck! I always used to get made fun of in school for doing that. Turns out, I was just ahead of my time.

Eventually I found my way back home and decided to hit up my fav neighborhood LGBTQIA+ club. I could say “gay club” but that just doesn’t feel inclusive enough these days. I’d rather spell out the whole alphabet soup specifically to raise awareness.

I went there for the third time and they definitely remembered me. The bartender was like, “I see you in here all the time.” I was like, “Yeah I feel very safe here.” They smiled at me and I smiled back and I felt happy and safe again. I went out on the floor and danced a bit, then somehow ended up chatting with an Indian-Irish couple.

They met in the US and considered themselves “American,” as do I. The Irish one was from Northern Ireland. He strongly encouraged me to visit Ireland, but he said he would not go back there himself for various reasons. After watching that documentary about modern-day Belfast, I completely understand why.

At first, I was a little annoyed to be conversing with anyone at all, since I don’t go there to “work.” Work for me is interviewing people and collecting crazy stories. I just go there to dance. However, I was apparently not as off-duty as I would have liked to be, so I ended up talking to quite a few people and collecting many stories.

Anyway, I was chatting with them for quite some time. Like, until “bar close.” That was when they invited me upstairs to the “after party,” which is apparently invite-only. I had so many people ask me how I managed to get invited up there. Honestly, I have no idea. I just am who I am, I guess?

Anyway, I met a guy who works for CNN and told him I’m looking for a job as a journalist. He was the first South African I’ve met here who wasn’t a fucking dickhead. He clocked me right away. I hope we can stay in touch because he was super chill.

I totally forgot about CNN, to be honest. The whole “Fake News” propaganda has totally destroyed the domestic branch, but apparently it still has a significant stronghold internationally. That’s… good news, actually. I didn’t even think of that!

I had to laugh because the running joke everyone was making was, “Oh you’re from Washington, D.C.? You must be a spy!”

I was like, first of all, a real spy would never say they are from D.C. They would be like, “I’m just a small town girl from South Dakota out in the big, bad world for the very first time. I don’t know anything about anything, tee hee! Does anyone know where I can get a Bud Light with tomato juice and olives?”

It’s not like James Bond where he’s going around telling everyone his full name and making his presence known to every person he meets. The older I get, the more I’m like, bro, what are you doing? Stop telling everyone who you are! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. These fuckin’ Brits, right? Ugh!

Second, why the fuck does everyone I meet abroad think I am a spy? I’m not a spy! I mean, I could be, maybe. I have the skillset required for the job. But really, I’d rather just be a journalist, and it turns out those skillsets significantly overlap. I could also be a diplomat, because somehow I keep getting roped into these crazy situations where I have to sort out crazy situations between two aggressive parties. But honestly? I’m so tired of having to answer for the actions of the fucking Dump Truck. Ugh! OVER IT!

Nobody likes him over here. Nobody except the crazy white South Africans I met at the start of my journey, who I ditched very shortly after. Ugh! I am grateful to escape the MAGA cult, but I can’t tell anyone I’m American without having to answer ALL the questions.T

he main one being: “How the fuck did this asshole get elected?” Well, his supporters are basically a full-on cult and he’s a criminal who straight-up stole the election with the help of Elon Musk. You really think he won fair and square? NO! Of course not! He’s a literal fucking criminal! He breaks the law! That’s what he does! I know it, you know it, everybody knows it! Why are we all sitting around treating this like it’s some dumb reality TV show? This man should be in jail! Jail! JAIL! Straight to jail!!!!

I also hear a lot of complaints about the tariffs. The tariffs are screwing everybody over, especially the F&B industry. Good luck finding American beer! The closest you’ll get is Budweiser. Heavy only, of course. They don’t even have Bud Light! Fair, honestly. It’s mostly just water anyway.

California wine? Yeah, between the wildfires and the tariffs, that whole industry has been totally decimated.

Real Kentucky bourbon? Forgeddaboutit! The only “bourbon” I can find is a leftover bottle of Jim Beam someone fished out of the last box in their basement. We ALL know that’s bottom shelf basic shit at its worst!

It’s absurd.

Anyway, I’ve had enough of writing today. I got it all out of my system for today. Time to go shower all the sweat from last night off me so I can go meet my friend to pick up Five Guys. The burger joint, I mean. Gotta give the 703 some love! Haha, it is truly hilarious to see to me how much it’s grown. I still remember going to the original one on Route 7 in that grungy little strip mall with no parking whatsoever. Wild. Is this a psy-op? Maybe!

JK, we all know McDonald’s is the original psy-op. Still a fan of the Cajun McCrispy with Pineapple on top anyway. That shit slaps!

Okay, okay, I’m off now for real.

This has been Betsey Horton, reporting to you live from Hong Kong.

Just kidding, of course. We all know my real name. It’s Bond… James Bond.

Hahahahaha!