Thursday, after ten months of living in this "international banking center" I finally convinced a bank to give me an account. To get a bank account here, you need proof of your Hong Kong address - something like a lease, a utility bill, etc. When we first moved to Hong Kong, I had no employment (we moved for Kelly's job, of course) so I couldn't get on the lease. And all of our utilities had Kelly's name on them. I tried to get a phone - "you need proof of address, like a bank account." I tried to get a bank account - "you need proof of address, like a utility bill." Can I get on my husband's account? - "We need proof that you're married."
So for months I've been running from utility company to bank, to other bank, to yet more banks, clutching my paychecks in my sweaty little hands, desperately trying to get someone to believe that I live here. Finally I received a letter and a check from my former employer and took it to a bank where I bullied my way into an account. So I'm a real grownup now. And I don't have to ask my husband for beer money anymore.
Friday we planned to go to the famous Cheung Chau bun festival - contestants clamber to the top of a bamboo structure covered with buns (these days the buns are made of rubber) and race to collect the most buns. I was dying go because the festival requires that for three days everyone on the island abstain from eating meat and I desperately wanted to try the McDonald's mushroom burger, but it wasn't meant to be. You see, the festival begins at 11:30 p.m., with the climbing of the bun tower at midnight. And I'm just not as young as I used to be. By 10 p.m. I was yawning on the couch, and by 11 I was in bed. So maybe next year.
I also pooped out on Saturday, when we were supposed to go see some bands play at a local club. Kelly and I went out for a couple of beers beforehand and by 8:00 I was longing for bed. I think this has something to do with the heat - as the temperature goes up, my alcohol tolerance goes down. So I came home and went to bed while Kelly went to meet friends at the club. And apparently it was a successful evening, because I found him drunk on the couch at 4 a.m. mumbling that he was starting a band with "some Chinese guy" and they were only going to sing Celine Dion songs. Also, his credit card was sitting next to his laptop. I wonder how this will turn out?