I land in Hong Kong on Friday at 8:50am.
The airport is super efficient, so from my seat on the plane to baggage claim will take 20 minutes (there’s always a line at customs now; not so 4 years ago). I’ll buy my Airport Express Round Trip ticket at the self-serve machine, use the rest room and then hop on the 20-minute train ride to Central station.
It’s December so the weather will be cool enough to hump my 20kg backpack up the escalators to Mid-Levels to my friend’s apartment where I’ll be staying. Impossible to do in the summer. By then it’ll be around 10:30am and I’ll be refreshed from a Xanax-induced slumber on the red-eye flight and work until evening. I don’t need to see Hong Kong.
Friday night, Christmas party that my friend’s throwing at his place. I have to attend because it’s the friend that I’m staying with.
Saturday night, another Christmas party with a big, fancy dinner, open bar and a gift exchange. This is great because this is where I’ll see everyone in a single night and be good for another year. But I can’t drink too heavily because of Sunday.
Sunday, I’m meeting Hong Kong Pocahontas, who I haven’t seen since the last time I was in Hong Kong on May 9th (thank you, Apple Calendar, and thank me for being a nazi about scheduling). She’ll inevitably want to do something active, hike to the other side of the island or something. And I’ll do it because I haven’t had sex since mid-October.
Sunday night, we’ll (probably) have sex.
Monday, I fly to Bankgok.
Tuesday, after picking up my motorbike and trusty full-face helmet, I’ll fly around the city and re-explore my old adopted hometown. It’ll be boring shit like getting a massage, eating krapow moo and going to the grocery store. When she gets off work, I’ll meet up with Good Girl Gabby, probably in the shopping mall district like we always do, munching on Japanese snacks and Korean desserts. She’ll (probably) sleep over as she works close to my hotel – there’s no point of her going all the way back home to the suburbs, you know? I know, she knows.
Wednesday, I’ll finally meet that Girl With The Perfect Face, a title bestowed upon her from the previous Girl With The Perfect Face, my ex-girlfriend, not that she no longer has a perfect face but because eh, you gotta move on with perfect faces.
We’ll go eat something delicious at a trendy place with dim lighting. I’m wondering if she’ll finally tell me that she has a boyfriend, because while I know that she does, she has not mentioned him to me yet, and I’m not going to bring him up if she doesn’t. I mean, she could be shopping for someone new, right? Maybe he’s emotionally abusive? Maybe he’s a cheating pervert? Maybe he’s not good to her and I am so none of this is really cheating or anything bad at all because everyone can win at the end.
Thursday is empty so far. I’m trying to get Rose Tattoo Alien Face to come out, but she seems pissed at me, since we reconnected a few months ago (after a few years of missing each other). I think it’s because she expected us to jump into some daily texting relationship back in September until my return to Bangkok. I think this because when I said, “Hey, I’ll be in Bangkok in a few weeks!” she responded with, “So? You don’t even talk to me anymore.” Of course now that I’m T-minus 3 days from Bangkok, I’m desperately trying to get her out – I’m bringing a goddamn souvenir – and if I can, this is the night to do it.
Or, that ladyboy. That tall, buxom ladyboy with the sharp features. Seriously.
Friday is for this girl that I met on Tinder during my first or second month of living in Bangkok. Actually, she might’ve been the first or second girl I met on Tinder Thailand in general. Very beautiful and high-society, it doesn’t appear that she needs to work but does anyway. Her parents own a factory that manufactures auto parts, and she went to some school in Hamilton, Ontario when she was younger, something like The Canadian College or equally bizarre.
We would talk on Line and comment on each other’s Instagrams, but that’s as far as it went for three fucking years. Three fucking years to get her out now. That’s what it took. So Friday is important because there’s a terrible amount of sunken cost fallacy going on here. If it’s a bust, that’s three wasted years. If it’s good, then, well, it better be because it took three fucking years.
And I’ll do all of this while messaging with The Comedienne back home in Miami, because she’s tops. Aces.