Week

Seven days without Internet or cable television.

I couldn’t imagine what was worse. Sitting on my sofa with my laptop not able to send emails, chat, or even to hop on Facebook. No reading stupid status updates. No posting status updates saying how bad you want to post something but can’t because you have no Internet connectivity so this would be sort of a conundrum. Or sitting on my sofa staring at a brand new television getting nothing but that incessant buzz of static. Made me want to do the Poltergeist thing. Not the sitting in front of the TV talking to people on the other side like Carol Anne. We all know that’s a one way feed. They can’t hear you silly girl. No, I mean like the end when they throw out the TV. It’s pretty much useless without a signal.

So why not get to a cafe?

Well, cafe’s in this city don’t have free wifi. Probably because of all the pervs surfing for porn there. Unless of course, you’re at Starbucks. And with that, they only give it to iPhone users for free. Yeah. That’s when I get my status updates off. All until I finish walking beyond their wifi range. Good thing there’s another one down the block.

Anyways, the point I want to make is that you get pretty desperate for the common amenities you’re used to after a week has passed by. So when that cable guy showed up, he became my best friend. He nailed the wires all crooked. I didn’t care. The signal was weak that he could only wire one room. Fine. My cable modem wasn’t compatible with their service so I had to rent theirs. Not a problem. If he said I had to pay more, I was sure I’d pay. As long as he didn’t leave without getting me Internet and cable television. I needed my fix.

It’s been two days.

Enough porn already.

Email inbox is empty.

Facebook’s boring again.

TV’s got over 150 channels, like 20 are HD. Still, nothing I can stand watching.

So what else to do?

I guess…

it’s back to writing and figuring out what this creative non-fiction is all about.

Chivalry

Is it wrong for me to write about people who happen to sit right in front of me?

No right? I mean, no harm if no one really knows. Just like that tree that made all that ruckus when it fell over. Didn’t even make a sound in my book. No sound at all.

The crazy thing is that I’m shelving what I was writing.  It was about the night before. The wondrous and unpredictable night life that is Hong Kong. Where locals foreigners, and expats converge in one area. All there with common goals. The most common was to get laid. Not sure if I can finish that piece now. With this one staring me right in the face.

I mean there’s this bloke here. I say bloke cause he’s Brit, or maybe Aussie, or just really good at faking accents. He’s here in the cafe having breakfast. Wait, its lunch now. And obviously he had a long night. He’s young though. Late 20′s early 30′s. Tall. Dirty blond short cut hair, top messy like Jimmy Fallon. Everyone still remember who I am talking about right? Skinny and fashionable with his designer jeans and Le Coq jacket. Figure those are popular with the young English kids.

Anyways, he’s here with an Asian girl. Long black hair with brown highlights. Shiny bracelets and numerous silver rings. Tight white short skirt. Glittering belt. All while wearing a thin black jacket. Ah the sacrifices of fashion. Cold, but sexy. I totally understand though. I leave my jacket at home when I go out. I mean I know I’ll forget it when I’m drunk. Why spend $20 at Old Navy for a hoodie just to have it go to some stranger. Then spend the next few days glaring at people wearing the similar thing, wondering if it happens to be yours. I know it may be a different color or even different brand, but you never know. Damn vagrants.

Anyways. The dark eye liner and glitter tells me they just rolled out of bed into the cafe.

From his evasive glances and curt responses, I can only gather he may have fallen victim to the combination of alcohol and his yellow fever last night. The girl is being so good to him, attentive and very affectionate. Pouring creamer and adding sugar to his coffee. Spoon feeding him her cheesecake. Caressing his hair and asking him what he wants to do later. Perfect. I’d be happy to have that kind of adoration. But from his defensive body language, I can only assume he didn’t approve the morning exposing that she was twice his age and probably twice his weight.

I’m wondering now if he’s looking straight at me for help. Sorry bloke, I’m in the middle of my undeniability. But I have to hand it to you. You’re still there even though you’re hating every moment of it. You’re handling it real well. Enough for me to document it. Godspeed.