I neglected to end the Mr. Hong Kong chapter on my blog. Because my blog is like a public diary, I feel compelled to do so. I’ve started writing this post previously and the prior version is saved on a hard drive somewhere, but I don’t feel motivated to look for it. Thus, this version will be less detailed because I am temporally far removed from the experience.
The meeting in this story began on August 13, 2014. It is today January 18, 2016.
Without further ado, I present to you a tale of MoMo falling head over heels for a specimen. Ugh, I just puked in my mouth a little bit.
I had last seen him on July 8, 2013. We had parted on not so pleasant terms after I had runaway with him in Vegas for a weekend. I returned to my then-boyfriend, who picked me up from the airport despite my call from Vegas a few days prior during which I said, “Hey, I met this group of guys and I’m not leaving with my friends. I’m staying in Vegas for a few more days.” Yeah, weird. So, then-boyfriend and I dated for a year more from that point. Yeah, even weirder. Upon our first breakup, I emailed Mr. Hong Kong because, though a year had passed, he was still on my mind like a maggot on dead tissue – all up in it.
My email stated:
I was just reminiscing about Vegas last summer (actually, I was speaking of RiRi and Paul – more so, RiRi) and I thought of you. Figured I’d say hi. Hope all is well. Drop me a line sometime.
The next day, there was no response. Nor the day after. Nor the day after that. THE END.
Just kidding. Well, there wasn’t a response for several days because his response time is as bad as Comcast’s customer service. In the interim, then-boyfriend and I got back together. We were doing the whole, “yeah it’s over, but let’s try to reconstruct a piece of paper after it’s been reduced to ashes by Lucifer’s hellfire.” That clearly didn’t work, but while we were still in our reconstruction attempt, seventeen days later, Mr. Hong Kong decided to respond:
How are you? Hmm reminiscing of them not me?! Haha well hey I was a bit of an ass…apologies
I have actually thought about you a few times since then and not sure I’ve met anyone as mad as you – I mean that in as good a way as possible!
Whats been happening over there?
I’m traveling out to NY every quarter at the moment because of work now I am back in Hong Kong full time. I should have reached out on the last trip but am definitely over for a week or so in August. We’ll have to hook up and get out on the town when I am over
Hope you are well xxxx
Because he had taken so long to respond and because I was in relationship purgatory with the then-boyfriend, I waited eighteen days to respond.
We did some blah, blah, blahing over email with ridiculously long time gaps in between because Mr. Hong Kong continued Comcasting me.
Finally, the reunion day was upon us. (Then-boyfriend and my relationship was summer of 1945 Hiroshima status by then –- aka an atomic bomb had been dropped and it was irreconcilably over with radioactive terror looming should we proceed any further). I headed into the city to see Mr. Hong Kong. I felt a strange feeling. I thought to myself, “What the motherfuck is this feeling? I am unfamiliar with this.” I went through the list of possible feelings and determined it was nervousness. Yes, nervousness. I was nervous to see a specimen. WHAT??? I felt like a stranger to myself. What was coming over me? Who was I being? Why was this happening to me? I tried to imagine what the appropriate greeting would be. Would I just run into his loving embrace and lock lips with him like some cheesy Sandal’s commercial? Or would it be awkward like a failed high five attempt? I was having second thoughts. I loved my imaginary image of him. Should I give him the opportunity to ruin it with the reality that is him? Well, luckily, I had Goose on hand to ease my nerves.
I arrived at his hotel. He had communicated to me that he had a conference call and given me the room number, which was strikingly similar to his room number at the Cosmo in Vegas. I went up to the room and messaged him, “Knock, knock.” No answer, literally or via text. He then called me. I heard his voice for the first time in over a year. My nerves were being little bitches still. Super little bitches. He told me he was down in the lobby. I told him I was up by the room. He came up to the room.
I laid eyes on him. He was exactly as I had remembered him. My stupid nerves had not calmed down. We entered the room. I filled the air with meaningless, nervous chatter about complete nonsense. He tried to get close to me, but I squirmed away.
Now, as coincidence would have it, though this was a random Wednesday night in the middle of August over a year after the Vegas trip, the two friends (one who resides across the country in LA) with whom I had gone to Vegas were in Manhattan that night. Mr. Hong Kong wanted to stay close to the hotel that night, though, so we didn’t meet up with them. Instead, we went to some local place and grabbed a few drinks – three (per person) to be precise. Oddly enough, despite my liver’s usually decent processing skills, those three drinks shutdown certain functions in my brain, namely the memory recording ones.
Next thing I knew, it was 4 a.m. and I awoke in a dark hotel room. I was dressed in Mr. Hong Kong’s pajamas and one of my earrings was missing. Because I get lonely when I’m the only one awake in a room containing other living, wake-able beings, I woke him up.
He asked if I remembered stumbling home. Umm, no. More importantly, where was my other earring? He said it was on the nightstand. He said I had immediately fallen asleep when we returned to the room, so he removed my earring for me. He couldn’t access the other earring because I was sleeping on my side. Okay, that was the cutest specimen action ever. Seriously. Ladies, has a guy ever removed your earrings for your comfort while you were passed out? Guys have you ever removed a female’s earrings for her comfort while she was passed out? After I got over the awesomeness of the earring thing, I started feeling kind of sad. I was sad that I didn’t remember a bulk of the night with this amazing life form. We chatted a bit. One of my favorite of many awesome things about Mr. Hong Kong is his ability to function on very little sleep. This trait is important to me because sleep and I have a strained relationship.
He asked when my birthday was. He said he should be able to come to New York around then because he typically travels there every quarter. We also discussed him possibly moving to New York. In our emailed preceding this meeting, he had mentioned that his company wanted him to move to New York and that he was resisting. Well, knowing that he was seemingly realistically going to move to New York fed my fantasy of escaping into the sunset with this brown skinned British angel. Eventually, he had to go to work. He gave me a room key in case I wanted to return later. I was smitten beyond smitten. Fuck cloud nine; I was on cloud nine hundred and ninety-nine.
I spent the next several hours trying to wake up my two Vegas travel partners via repeated telephonic communication. Granted, my efforts began at 7 am. Eventually, my tapeworms summoned me to feed them. I went out onto the streets of New York and found me a delicious, scrumptious pepperoni stromboli. As I skipped through the streets and into the pizza place, the attention I was receiving was noticeably increased from the usually high amount. I was exuding euphoria and annoying strangers were picking up on my vivacious vibe.
I took my stromboli up to the room and stuffed my inner fat kid with it. Finally, hours later, around 11 a.m., my buddy Bill finally responded. I wrote a love note to leave on the bed for Mr. Hong Kong. Yeah, I did that. These butterflies and rainbows were really taking over me and causing me to go all romantic comedy up in this bitch. I placed the note on the bed when suddenly I heard the door unlock. ‘Twas my Prince Charming stopping in for a pre-noon tryst. I snatched my note from the bed and greeted him. My insides were tingling. (Mind out of the gutter.)
We chatted for a bit and then he snuggled me into bed. He almost immediately passed out. His snoring made it unlikely, if not impossible for me to fall asleep, but I was enjoying having his arms wrapped around me. I stared at the clock because he had said he had to be back out in about 30 minutes. At 29 minutes, I woke him up again. We headed out of the room – him to go to work and me to meet up with the other two amigos. When we exited the hotel, I received the second best kiss of my life. He grabbed me tight into his arms and we passionately locked lips in the middle of the busy sidewalk in front of this Midtown hotel.
I floated away intoxicated by this blissful bullshit. My friends and I met up and spent a relaxing afternoon in Central Park. I had never been to Central Park on a weekday afternoon. It’s a pretty interesting place. I swear one of the characters from Mortal Kombat showed up and started strutting his “finish him” stuff in broad daylight. My friends noticed my elated, walking on sunshine, unicorns, and lucky charms mood. I told them of my exquisite reunion with my soulmate. My friends and I gallivanted around the city like tourists, even though two of us grew up going to the city a lot. Finally, around 10 or 11 pm, I was ready to reunite with Prince MoMo. I headed back to the hotel and moments later, Prince MoMo showed up. We were almost perfectly in sync. During my touristy bs, I had purchased an American flag shirt for my favorite redcoat because the day before he exasperatedly expressed that he didn’t understand what he perceived as excessive patriotism by Americans. I asked him to try it on, but he said he couldn’t because he’d get shot by his friends if they knew he had worn such a garment.
He changed into his pjs, which consisted of a pair of shorts and a tshirt. Sounds normal, right? Yeah, except the super short shorts and tshirt were patterned with varying floral gardens. What was this gay attire?? (I learned on my next trip to Vegas that this flowery nonsense is typical of British male garb.) I rested my pretty little head on his shoulders and we chatted about our days. We soon fell asleep. Tick tock, tick tock, 4:30 a.m. Again, because being awake alone while someone else sleeps in the room is serial-killer-ish, I woke him up. He told me he had checked his calendar and that he should definitely be in NY for my birthday. He asked me if I’d pick him up from the airport if/when he moved to NY. Of course I would. I would pick him up from the end of the Earth. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I would certainly travel to JFK airport to scoop up this specimen. We spoke of our future babies and imaginary life together. Jasmine had finally found her Aladdin.
We fantasized for nearly two hours before we both had to snap out of it and get ready for work. I noticed he had his toothpaste and toothbrush in the shower. I too brush my teeth in the shower in the morning; it optimizes morning routine efficiency. I’m not quite sure whether he left first or I did; I think he may have. Our parting was less than magical.
When I went to work that day, my colleagues could tell I was elated beyond standard explanation. One with whom I was particularly close said she had never seen me like that. I told her a tale of tantalizing rapture I had experienced. Later that day, I went home and told my mom I had met the one. Of course, she thought I had lost my mind and was being ridiculous. Later that evening, I was waiting for my friend to come pick me up to go to the casino. The huahuas started barking. I thought my friend had arrived, but as I looked into the driveway, I saw that an American flat air balloon was landing on the front lawn. How often does that happen? All of never in my life. Naturally, I interrupted it as a sign that my British knight in shining armor would soon be moving to the land of the free and the home of the MoMo.
Ok, so all of that was a bunch of bullshit hopes and dreams. What really happened after our NY tryst was a few superficial emails were exchanged and then he went English ghost on my princess ass. Now, that would be all well and good if my mind wasn’t addicted to this fuckwad. I spent the next several months yearning for a fix of this Mr. Hong Kong mess. Every morning when I saw my toothbrush in the shower, I thought of him. Every dumbass love song reminded me of him. For goodness sake, the FUCKING AMERICAN FLAG REMINDED ME OF HIS BRITISH BITCHASS. It was horrible. I felt like a heroin addict deprived of her fix. About six months later, I traveled to Japan. That’s on the same continent as Hong Kong, I thought. So I reached out to him. No response. So you know what I did at that point after pining for this prick for month after month to no avail? I got the fuck over it.