Original Post re-edited as of Janaury 10, 2010
January 8th, 2010
It was time to go back and venture the city. I haven't fired my drinking gun for at least 4 days now and was due for some kind of liquid company, probably whiskey.
So, even though my excursion to the city was set to end in a drunken draw, I made sure to attend a yoga class first before I did anything else. After Dickson's yoga, which wasn't anything special, I found my way to a tiny tattoo parlor, run by a petite Chinese girl who specializes in feminine style work. I suppose it's important to mention I didn't make any set city plans following the yoga sesh or before the drinking time. Tattoo just seemed like an obvious addition. So I consulted and was quoted. ....We'll see what kind of design she comes up with and whether or not I will really do it. (...........TBA)
PARTY TIME (Editor;s note: I was scared to reveal the truth of the story,, but it's been wearing on my conscience since.
The true accounts of this entry have been edited on January 10, 2010)
No more holding back.
I made it to the happy hour district, the notorious Lan Kwai Fong. The time was about 5:30pm, and all the Englishmen business professionals were out and about in the sports jackets holding oversized Guiness glasses. There seemed to be a scarcity of both Chinese people and women, but the tremendous amount of young men obviously didn't detour me from the pint I was relatively craving. ;)
( also interesting to note I hadn't yet come across one single American person, other than Aaron and myself. (Eh, ponder.)
Moving on, I sat down at a sidewalk table at this place at Bit Bit's and had the largest and cheapest San Miguel on tap they could give me. Three young English guys and one frenchman parked right next to me, and asked to borrow a chair. One gesture led to another and I was taking whiskey shots with them by the end of it.
I then found myself seated in a cabby right next to Michael __whatever__? on the way to Wan Chai for a Thai sauna. Oh boy... there are only two types of sauna places in Hong Kong; one involves naked women who also give 'deep tissue massages' and the other involves gay men 'probably doing the same'. At what point in the whiskey extravaganza did that arise as a good idea! I quickly came to my senses and told him that we probably should just find another pub to have a beer and forget about the massage idea. Totally enraged and faster than you could say, Fire in the hole! Michael unveiled his true identity, that he was actually an extreme asshole and better yet, a raging hater of all American women and absolutely despised the very presence of them (us). For the next two minutes at a traffic light, Michael ____? preceded to imitate his so-called idiocy of young US girls who proclaim to be free, FUCKING STUPID AMERICAN GIRLS he said OH I'M SO FREE, LOOK AT ME, SO FREE while bopping their heads around, falling down in high heels and puking in pub toilets. Normally this kind of banter wouldn't bother me, as I am the first to agree and use the sorority girls at FSU as a perfect example. But, this wasn't a conversation making fun of college girls... this was a bash! And he was all this in particular to me!
So, I attempted to brush it off as an general insult and not one directly in my face. We got off in Wan Chai, bickered about our next stop, got one last beer, and hailed another cab to get back home. The can ride was quiet. I leaned against the opposite window.
Out of nowhere, Michael what-ever-his-name is grabbed my shoulder and pulled me towards his mouth. I pushed away and he grabbed me tighter.
At this point in time, I reared up with adrenaline and kicked him against the side of the cab.
STOP THE CAB, NOW!!! I turned to Michael ____? (fucking asshole) 'well, how ironic Michael whatever-your-name-is... you allegedly ventured out of town with... no, WAIT! go figure AN AMERICAN GIRL! and look, you invited me into a cab that you, yourself went and hailed. I hate to be clouding your intellectual space with my half wits of an American brain, you're a fuckin asshole. FUCK YOU.
and turned to the cab driver, politely asking him to let me out the door. Two seconds later, I hailed a different cab to take me back to the pier. what a fuckin moronic dick brained fuck bag.
(minus the fact that telling him off was quite liberating, I admit my drunken actions also bring me guilty of being an complete idiot, too.) that could have ended pretty badly, like something you may see in a plot sequel for the movie Taken 2, or some show like that.
I will wake up in the morning and try to wash off the shame.