Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part I (Vegas Pink Monkey).
Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part II (The Getaway).
Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part III (Sodom, Gomorrah, and Rihanna).
Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part IV (Let There be Light).
It was my last night in Vegas. It was my last night with Mr. Hong Kong before returning to my then-boyfriend. I didn’t know anything about the club we were going to other than that it was a pool party, but my zebra senses tingled intensely. A little zebra in my head said, “Wear your finest zebra print gear tonight, MoMo.” Not wanting to anger the striped mind wizard, I obeyed. I dressed myself in a rainbow zebra print skirt, rainbow zebra print shoes, and a rainbow zebra print bathing suit. Mr. Hong Kong and I parted for the first time since I had laid eyes on him. He was there for a friend’s 30th birthday party and all of the guys were going to take pictures in matching t-shirts they had gotten. I waited in the room.
He came back to retrieve me and we were on our way. The club: XS. Some people envision heaven as paradise with a greeting committee of 72 virgins. Others picture an all-white peaceful place with roads of gold and a chorus of angels harmoniously serenading them. The scene in XS was one to behold. My mind zebra had not led me astray. Inflatable zebras. Zebra beach balls. Rainbow zebra print glowing wands. Zebra statues. Humans dressed as zebras. For the first time in Vegas, I blended in. It was incredible. It was as if I had died and gone to an ultimate zebra safari. Who was performing that night? LMFAO. Their affinity for zebra print is second only to mine and a mama zebra’s.
A bouncer named Chris approached me and commented on how coordinated I was with the venue. I told him it was sheer coincidence. He laughed at me and said, “Yeah, right.” Perhaps he would have found the story of my mind zebra more plausible.
I immediately began capturing my glorious surroundings in photographic form with Pink Magic III. Mr. Hong Kong was being markedly distant. Nevertheless, nothing was going to ruin my time in this zebra wonderland. Or so I thought…
I placed my clutch (containing Pink Magic III, my phone, my ID, my credit card, and some cash) down by their table and went off with two of his friends closer to the zebras on stage. After some time, we made our way back to Mr. Hong Kong and crew. I went to grab my clutch only to find that it was missing. The zebra bliss turned into agitation. I sought out Mr. Hong Kong to alert him of my loss. To my chagrin, I found him locking lips with another specimen. My irritation level rose. While I had not granted him carnal knowledge or really any form of physical gratification, I had been duped into some false sense of connection with this redcoat. I felt betrayed and alone in my time of despair. I tapped him on the shoulder, but he hardly relented from the lip sucking. Tears (or maybe Goose) began steadily streaming from my blue devil eyes.
Luckily, not all men at XS were in douche form that night. Chris, the bouncer, with whom I had developed a rapport, came to my assistance. He took me to file a report. When I returned, Mr. Hong Kong decided he was going to dish out some advice. His advice was for me to cancel my credit card. That advice was stupid. I told him at the time that it was stupid because if the thieves used my credit card, it would allow me to track them. But, I stupidly followed his advice. Somehow, in my frantic, inebriated state, I was able to remember my credit card number and I called to cancel. I also came to learn that when we had arrived at the club, Mr. Hong Kong had checked his belongings into a locker. I was not made aware of any such safe keeping place or that this place was subject to thefts. Oh, and he had additional advice – something to the effect of stop being so emotional. Really, redcoat? I just lost critical evidence of being in the zebra promise land and you’re telling me to stop being emotional? Thanks for the trash. British translation: Thanks for the rubbish.
The cab ride back to the hotel was super annoying. Zebra heaven had turned into a veritable inferno. I asked Mr. Hong Kong to use his phone. I called my then-boyfriend to tell him that I no longer had a phone (because he was picking me up from the airport the next day). We finally got back to the room and I wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Mr. Hong Kong. He said, “So the last two days meant nothing to you?” What did he expect me to say? “No, they were wonderful and the wonderfulness was amplified by you sucking face with someone far less aesthetically appealing than I while I had my purse stolen.” I don’t know what I actually said, but I’m sure it wasn’t too far off from that, minus the wonderful part. I was exceptionally disappointed. I felt he had emotionally manipulated me into believing our time together was more than just random Vegasness and I had allowed it to happen.
In the morning, we headed to the airport. When we arrived, I said my goodbyes to his friends and issued a particularly cold one to him. (I can’t help but wonder if I ice grilled him.) I may have hugged him, but it certainly was not a warm embrace. I thanked him because I was truly appreciative of the fun times we had and wished him a safe trip. I then turned and walked away without looking back.
TO BE CONTINUED….
(Yes, there’s more.)
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