So I’ve spent yesterday and today mostly getting ready for Monday morning.
I’ve washed almost all of my clothes, and when they’re all dry I’m pressing just about everything. I have no intention of coming home from work and pressing, nor pressing before I leave for work over the next week. I’m also cleaning and polishing all my boots.
A little worried because it’s seventy five pounds alone to get work next week, not including my travel card for zones 1 and 2 on the tube to get there. Based on what I have right now, I’m going to run out of money on Wednesday.
I also have to get up at 5AM in order to get to work EARLY!
I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I’m sure some solution will present itself.
Monday can’t come fast enough for me. I’m really looking forward to it. I don’t know if it will be what I expect, but I’m still looking forward to it.
I’m telling you guys from now, I won’t be dishing up much about work. When I was working @ my last job, I tried as much to remain circumspect, because discretion is the better part of valour, especially in employment situations. I will be keeping to this policy. I shall probably be required to adhere to confidentiality agreements in any case.
Instead, let me limit myself to talking about all the attention I seem to be currently generating in the opposite sex. It’s been insteresting. I never knew white men found me attractive. The kind of men I like are all ebony coloured with creamy, silky skin and luscious lips. Yet, over the last couple of weeks quite a few white guys have blatantly and shamelessly flirted with me.
When I was working security at the club in Chealsea (hated that job) last weekend, one guy picked me up off my feet and carried me across the road, declaring to everyone within shouting distance he was stealing me and taking me home. When he put me down, his friend and I trapped me in a bear hug and started to seranade me. Okay, they were a little tight, but you know, it was weird. They were just the most verbal and phsyical, other guys on the tube, on the street, in cafes, black & white have been giving me the eye. It must be that stock up on ‘Vixen’ lipstick.
I met this Eritrean guy who works as a bouncer at the same club, and he’s the one who got my number. Since last week, he got it, but he hasn’t called me yet, although he promised me some Ethiopian food. He sent a message saying he wanted to see me yesterday, I sent back one: I’d love to see you too, but is your finger fucking broken?
Also a Nigerian dude I went out with once back in October, popped back up into the scene. Except he’s just too touchy feely for me, but we’ll see. He stood me up seriously the last time we interacted, and I dunno… that touchy feely business is a little creepy. I also only understand some of what he’s saying.
It’s really the Eritrean that I have the hots for. Chile, he makes the pussy warm, what can I tell ya? He’s not a boy, he’s a grown man, and he has a natural sexiness and he hasn’t touched me once, but he’s been real flirty from day one. He’s quiet, and I suspect that still waters run deep with this one. So I dunno, will he call?
Why is it that men don’t understand that when you don’t call you torture the woman. When you say you are going to call, and then don’t call it turns into this whole let down thing. I hate waiting on people!
Hmmmm…. (Perhaps no credit on phone? Common enough state in these parts… but still.)