Monthly Archives: May 2012

Chance encounter?

On a high from a flyer job. Yes, a flyer can get higher. I took a hop skip and jump to Angel bus stop. As usual my bus was already there so I picked up some speed and jumped in with just enough time. Just enough time to check out the drop dead gorgeous guy standing before me. My god was he beautiful. Flawless brown skin, a casual upkeep (not too much on show and not too much in trend) and a nose ring, just like mine. But once on the bus he was a thing of the past.

The doors had closed and I was prompted to scan my oyster. I was sure I had 1 pound 50 left, so I reckoned I’d be right. I was wrong. The red beep rejected me. You see I’m not too sharp with the finances. “You need 2 pounds 30 for the bus” the bus driver droned, so quickly I relieved him with a shrug “that’s ok, I don’t have any more money so you can let me go”. By that time the doors were open again and more people were pouring in left right and center. I had to practically climb my way out.

When I got to the other side, there he was, waiting for me. I wish!… Wait a second; how bout I give that a go, I mean, what have I got to lose? QUICK! No time for thinking, now’s my CHANCE! I put on a disappointed woe as me look, plonked myself beside him and sighed “now I’m going to have walk all the way across the road, ughhh” His response was pitch perfect and on cue “such a shame”. With the ice melted I figured i hone in for the kill “and your just too sexy”. That’s right, I said it. I said it whilst looking right into his big blue eyes. But now that I’d taken the plunge I didn’t know what to do. And that’s when it started. I was burning up, felt glued to the spot, and found myself hopeless.  I can only imagine I was blushing with embarrassment. He said “thanks babe” then looked at my nose piercing, and complimented me on that. A winning deflection. Suddenly a million reasons why I shouldn’t take it a step further overwhelmed me. He could have a girlfriend and then we’d have that awkward “sorry I’m taken” moment. Not too mention the fact that he’s ridiculously out of my league. I figured he’d brush me away some way or another. It’s not that I’m not sexy, I’m alright, but I’m not that god damn sexy! I felt useless and unloved and we didn’t even know each other. I clearly wasn’t making sense. So I fled. I literally ran away! On my dash I had to convince myself that it’d all be O.K. That he would chase after me and ask for my number if he wanted it. That I wasn’t REALLY letting an opportunity go. And worse comes to worse he’d still be waiting when I got back.

When I arrived back… at the station (he, he).  I tried the eftpos top up machine and it was minimum five pound. I only had five Australian dollars on my card so I lined up for the cash slash eftpos machine but that was still minimum five pound! Now I only had the human rail attendant left. Unfortunately, that line always seems be slower, mainly because of the travelers buying all sorts of complicated passes. By the time I got to the front I was sure the boy had left. I’d taken too long. I was defeated. I couldn’t even get the rail attendant on side. I thought I’d have to walk all the way home and wallow in my sadness. But no. I took a chance and had one last go on the machine with my other card, which I was sure was in debt. But it worked! I turned back to the bus stop with a slight brisk of hope. If the card had worked maybe I could! But he wasn’t there. Just like the bus, he’d gone.

When I boarded the bus for the second time, I dreamed of what could of happened if I’d taken it a second step further. What would’ve I said? What would’ve I done? And of course what amazingly sexy times could of occurred?!

My dream sequence went as follows:

Me “can I stay with you?”

Him “why sure babe, what do you wanna do?”

Me “I don’t wanna be a nuisance…you headin’ home?”

Him “yep”

* We catch the bus in silence. Silence filled with anticipation. When we arrive at his comfortable apartment, we throw down our bags, slip off our clothes and have sex in the kitchen. Full stop, the end. The rest of course, is for the boroughs of my mind, nothing more.  Post indulgence would be smiles all round, holding hands and perhaps even LOVE!

If I ever see that boy again, or any other boy that god damn appealing I’m not gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop til they cry rape! It doesn’t happen very often to me and these opportunities needn’t be wasted. Like my oyster card needs a top up every now and then I admit my garden needs watering. I’m a sexual being. It’s in my blood. I never thought I’d find the day where I’d learn something from a machine, but today they really did enlighten me. I learned that you just need to give them what they need and then they are happy. You want it, they want it and that’s that.  Boys are simple creatures, over complicating things are mind games and there definitely a no go. Especially within the first week of meeting them. (which seems the most popular time for these to go on)  You usually have it! Whatever it is “you’ve got it, yeh baby you got it” (bloody advert) even though your moping around not thinking you do! So stop second guessing yourself and give it a go, whoever or whatever it is. As many friends once said ‘ you only live once’.

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The birth and death of an iphone

I got an Iphone for my birthday. It was a present from my mum. At the time I’d been going without a phone for a good month since I’d water damaged my Blackberry. Note to self: don’t leave phone beside bedside water. I remember heralding that month as a triumph. When people asked, I’d act as if it was by choice.  That I didn’t need a phone, I was better than that, I didn’t believe in them anyway. Not surprisingly, I was getting a lot of shit done. Mainly because I wasn’t distracted by my ‘silly’ socializing. The people who wanted to contact me found a way, and the others… well, they were forgotten. It was like my very own friend finder. A natural siv.

At first mum had only given me a pair of tie up short shorts and a card. I got a shock when I opened her package and the Iphone wasn’t there. I thought she’d  have gotten the hint. She knew I didn’t have a phone and she knew i needed one. So I was disappointed with her those few days before my birthday. I’d opened the package early you see. I can be very impatient sometimes.

I decided to see if she would come to my rescue in the phone department anyhow. And with some careful nudging she sent me the dosh for an Iphone as well. Just in time for my birthday. The whole 450 quid!  I’d been using my Blackberry before for email on the go and music. So i guess it made sense getting an Iphone.

I headed down to White Chapel High St. home to a million phone dealers. Just like crack dealers, they were a bit dodgy. Each stall was full of men. The first indicator of dodgyness. Where were the women phone dealers? At home in bed, waiting patiently i imagined. The men would eye me as I walk past. I squinted back. Trying to figure out if they really had what I wanted. Whilst they were just imagining me having sex. I was after the new one. Yeh, Iphone 4s whatever that meant… Why wouldn’t I want the newest? Oh and the one with the biggest memory for sure. I have a lot of music you know. I’m a big fan.

Eventually I got an amazing offer of over 200 pound off . I was handed a phone number on a tiny piece of paper. I needed to call it at a certain time, on a certain day. It was all on the lay low. I wouldn’t know who I was talking to and where the phone was coming from. I was tip toeing into the black market.

The next day was my birthday and I’d organized dinner and a guestlist at an event. I needed my Iphone to make sure the night ran smoothly. I rang the secret number but the guy didn’t have it. I told him my plans  and pressured him to get it sorted today. He said ‘call back at 4pm’. I waited. I waited all day stressing about the Iphone. What if he still didn’t have it? What then? Would my birthday party be ruined and my friends scattered all over the floor? So I went down to the High st to organize my back up plan. And after much remission I found a store just off the High st. I’d decided I didn’t trust those High st. buggers this time and ventured off the main road. Here, the manager would sell me an Iphone  for 100 pound more but he assured me it was a much better choice. He claimed he was legit and went on to warn that the artful dodgers around the corner could pack up whenever they like but he, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d pretty much got me covered me when he laid down the comforting line ‘if you have any problems, you can always come back to the store’. I liked that, it was like a little bit of honesty. We all know these gadgets don’t always work like the breeze, so it was true that I’d  need some help some time or another. Come 4pm and the faceless man on the end of the phone line failed me. I headed to an ATM and withdrew my every penny. Leaving just enough pounds for some dinner and some wine. It was an exciting time the birth of my Iphone. She was brought into to the world and handled with care. I walked out a proud mother.

We played my music whilst riding my bicycle. I’d sing-a-long to our self-compiled soundtrack always grinning with glee. I’d get frustrated with her GPS and we’d have an arguments where i told her i wouldn’t deal with her shit anymore. I found places a lot easier after that. I’d simply draw on my hand and started using my eyeballs. She offered to record my rants a few times, but i always found it a bit weird listening to my voice back. I don’t have any issue speaking out loud, but when spoken to by my own voice, it’s hard to listen.

Most of all I used her notepad. I piled a lot of shit on her. Just like I am now with my homeboy word (He’s a homeboy coz he’s set to the pad) I’d write a lot. I was trying my hardest to capture the whole world around me. And she allowed me to write when it was happening while it was happening. That was definitely a liberating experience and I’m thankful to her for that.

Approx three months later I’m heading home with a cute boy. We’re pissed. Well, I’m pretty sure I was but I’m not too sure about him. I wasn’t too focused on him at the time. I was about 5 steps ahead of myself, as per usual. I’m always on a rampage. In this instance of the sexual kind. Surprisingly we’d just walked from Waterloo to London bridge, got a bus, then walked from Liverpool st to Hackney Rd with him on crutches and me still drunk after only four drinks! Don’t know how that worked out, but somehow we managed. Anyway, from what I remember I was playing tunes off my Iphone as we were walking to the bus stop. Teardrop by Massive Attack to be exact. I was holding her out in the palm of my hand so we could clearly hear her. I must of been wavering her about like a madwoman. So bloody obvious! Ugh, the lessons we must learn. When we got to the bus stop there was a bus there already  so I ran up to make sure we got on. But the bus was going nowhere as the bus driver explained. Something had caused it to sort of switch off and all the passengers were was still sitting on the bus even though it wasn’t moving. Well, that’s strange, i thought. Then all of a sudden in a WOOOOOSH these guys came out of the bus and were all around me asking if I wanted to go to a party. I was really flattered and told them that i was sorry i couldn’t and then I had to turn around indicating to my boy. As quick as they appeared, they were back on the bus and we stumbled onto one behind it. One that was actually going somewhere. I don’t remember much from this point on but we got home and my Iphone was gone. It was during sex that she came to me. Such an inconvenient time! Half way through and all I was thinking was fuck fuck fuck fuck she’s gone!

The next day I was in a good mood. Despite my hangover. The sun was out and I was remembering the brilliance of the night before. It was only later that I started to feel the pinch. Funny, because now I remembered only days before a friend had explained to me how people steal stuff. “They tell you an interesting story…” he said, and started to tell me a story  when I told him to “shutup!”. That wasn’t very nice. I didn’t even listen to him, so he never got to show me how they get around to taking all your stuff and then i was left, too smart for my own boots, or in this case, too smart for my Iphone.

I had a good think about the death of my Iphone. And the more I thought about it the more profusely annoyed I’d get at getting her in the first place. The death of my Iphone made me feel ashamed. And to be honest the birth of Iphone made me feel ashamed as well. I’d always paid people out who had them. I’d call  them a fashion statement, a distraction from life itself and not too mention a bloody rip off!! But then I had to go and make my mum who’d already bought me a gift, was struggling with debt herself, has two other kids to feed, step up and finance me one!

I think what’s really smart about the Iphone is that it reminds you of all the things that you could do, and then makes it easier for you to do them. And then, then she grows on you. You re-learn to not be able to do these things without her. To be brutally blunt, its almost like a kind of parasite. Your disabled and she’s enabled. What a brilliant ploy! The phone companies are definitely the ones that are winning out on this one, not us. I can’t imagine how much money they make from the sales of these things, the bills from these things, and then the early upgrade replacements from all those who regularly lose these things.

I get ready to head out to Hampstead Heath determined not to get bugged down. I plug in my sisters old Ipod and upload my music . I pack a real notepad and pen. I post a shout out for anyone’s old phone on Facebook and only moments later and I’ve got a reply. I’ll be meeting my friend at the end of the week.

Does everything need to be easy nowadays? Just a flick of a switch away? Is it really getting easier? Or is just getting more complicated and more financially taxing? What about those times you get lost and found some place you’ve never seen before. Or the time you found that scrap piece of paper with someone’s details on it and a nice message weeks down the track. Isn’t that more special? I use to scroll through my contacts never calling and never messaging people. I’d just like to contemplate the action. Or the other extreme, I’d message a boy way too much jibber jabber all under the influence of infatuation, ruining any chances i once had.

The Iphone is sold on the ideal of getting more connected. But earlier I mentioned my utmost use and the getting connected part didn’t change at all. I spent more time tagging where I was in the world than speaking to loved ones. Like i said if you really want to contact someone you will. With the advertising world getting smarter, in a couple of years there will be a new ubiquitous product that will out date our much loved Iphone  and you’ll be going through this whole process once again.

Never satisfied.

What if instead, we focused on that initial thought. The idea itself. In this case “Getting connected”. So how bout we spend a day with our mums, and thank them for putting up with our bullshit. Look out for our siblings, or if your the baby of the crew let them look out for you. Or drop by unexpectedly at friends place, and catch up for old times sake.

That way we save ourselves a lot of trouble, let alone a lot money we can use for far better good.

One More Time?

I perch at the bar with a glass of wine in my hand. As I sip it down, staining my lips I explain to the others “I don’t believe in drinking, I don’t need it anyhow”. I decide not to push it any further. There’s a place and a time for this and standing at a bar with free drinks isn’t that moment. Still, its nice when Michael nods his head in agreement to my “it’s an epidemic” joke (we’ve just finished our community musical ‘Epidemic’). Coz to me, it really is an epidemic, and sometimes I feel like nobody actually cares.  “When I get drunk I love everyone I really love everyone!” Claire chimes “But you already love everyone” I try and stress but to no avail. When I get drunk it’s too much…I just don’t like it.

An hour later and I’m following the crowd to another pub. Oh no, it’s not a pub. It’s a curry joint, that’s right, sorry about that, I’m a bit pissed. And right now? Now I’m gonna scrounge for free drinks. I jump at my opportunity to accompany Pauline to the cash point. “If you get me a drink” I add cheekily as we stumble on our way. Pauline stands at the cash point adamant that she hasn’t been paid. She’s right, she hasn’t. Still she asks me, of all people how much she should get out for drinks. I blurt “I dunno, enough to buy you and me drinks?” Sold “thirty’ll do” she replies. Madelaine’s been chased by some crazy bilingual bum. I’m not sure if he’s foreign or just talking jibberish but damn is he persistent! We’re chased to the bar and he stops. He doesn’t follow us in. This befuddles me. Since when is a bar a safe house? It doesn’t make any sense. He stands at the entrance, alone and stagnant, like some kind of leper. But enough about him I need to wee!  I storm past as fast as I can nearly crushing a fellow cast member with the toilet door. Why the door opens inwards beats me. But my god! This cubicle really is a cubicle. They must think we’re made of squares.

Pauline is lined up at the bar, well practically everyone’s lined up at the bar. Matthew is at the front, ahead of us and turns round and shouts “what do you want?”.What do you mean, what do i want? I shoot back a confused look and take my chances “what? A drink?” so apologetic and all “Yeh” he buys and now to make my order… “uhhh, rum and ginger”. Pauline’s gone and back again before I even notice. She’s hands me a glass of wine compliments of Marade. Oo, how lovely! Drinks are appearing left right and centre and I haven’t even got to the front! Pauline pops out again coz Chioma’s leaving. Ahh…shite hopefully that doesn’t inspire her to do a runner too. I’m enjoying her company, and her generosity. I hold the post to make sure we get that bottle. But I don’t last long and by the time she’s back again I’m already on the dance floor with my two drinks flying high. That’s right. One of them fly’s right out of my hand and plummets into the floor. Your supposed to fly high not straight into the ground who the hell gets a kick outta that? Silly drink… you know i really liked you rum and ginger. Ah well. I’m not gonna start licking you off the floor am I? And I’m not gonna by myself another one on the count of I already have a glass of red in my hand, a whole bottle coming up, and oh and not to mention nine quid to my name, I must remember that.

I take my time with the red. Mingle a bit, talk some shit, and dance to god awful music that people seem to know all the words too. It’s only when I notice people leaving that I find myself with Pauline again. She points to the bottle she bought for us and asks. But I can’t see it. I can’t even follow the line of her finger. She looks the same. And silently we agree to not have a bar of it. “Share it round?” I shrug. I look up and after all that time and debauchery the crazy bum is still there. Lingering. Suddenly i feel guilty. We treat them awful, but we’re god awful the same. Drinking whores. That’s what gets it all started. The downward spiral and the ignorance. I retreat to the dance floor and before i know it I’m having out of line thoughts about any man that moves. I really am drunk. I know it because I’m getting horny horny and as you heard, preachy. I better head home, before I cry rape! I mount my bike and insure my assistant director with a popular slogan “slow and steady wins the race”.But after a few minutes of dedication I really can’t be fucked with this journey so I ride like a mad man just to get it over with. I’m all over the place and I’ve got the jiggles. No, not the wiggles. The jiggles. It’s a worldwide thirst, oops first. I scrap the gutter not once but twice! It isn’t pleasant. I’m surprised my bike didn’t crumble beneath me. So much for riding in a straight line and the slow and steady wins the race hook! I’m nearly home and I still feel wasted. I can’t go to bed like this! I’ll have a horrible hang over. Then i remember that coke I found the other day when I was cleaning out my draw. I decide I’m gonna have it when I get home. That will straighten me up. Then i wont have to deal with it anymore. Getting rid of it sounds like a plan. I tramp up the stairs to my room and throw myself all over the floor. Now where is that god damn stuff. Ahh there it is. Still in the bottom draw. I snort down line number one. Wow. That feels great. Lay back on my bed and soak it in. Line number two isn’t as good. I start to feel a bit restless with myself, unhappy I started it all. Line number three, well, line number three just feels fucked. I really did fuck myself. I didn’t even have the energy to masturbate.

Hung over. It defines me. My room repulses me and my reflection looks worn out and tired. When I try and do anything I seem to have to back step at least once to do it right. So this is what they call ‘labor’. A friend is talking to me on face and I am psycho analyzing my every reply. Cat got my tongue? Unfortunately, no. Josie’s still home and it doesn’t sound like she’s going anywhere. I bite the bullet and make my way to breakfast. I know she’s going to ask me for money for the internet bill but I just don’t have it. I will have to face that bridge when i meet it. I stop next to her and wait. Poised. Ready for the blow. But I’m wrong, surprisingly. She apologizes for the noise the other night instead. And now I’ve got the upper hand and nothing more. Phew. I don’t need to pay the bill. Yet. The conversation stifles and she brings up the weather. Supposedly it’s sunny outside. I peer out the window to check and she’s not wrong. Hmm that’s a first. Maybe I should get out. I really do love proper weather. It reminds me of home.

I screw around on my laptop in my room for ages. Way past the point where I’d actually decided to go out. I’d think to myself ‘why don’t I go out?’ Strictly followed by an internal struggle and then no budge at all. ‘It’s not time’ I’d say, over and over again.

A guy is laying half naked smack bang in the middle of a park. There are daisies everywhere. It’s like that scene out of trainspotting, where Ewan McGregor has heroin for the first time. I swear they weren’t here before (the guy, and the daisies). The wind rustles through the earth and the skies blue over English apartments. It really is beautiful. There are so many trees! Different shapes different sizes… Birds calling, kids playing, and general chit chattering. The place is both peaceful and alive at the same time. The cars are still going round and round the circumference. It’s like when your playing Sim City and you zoom in three times. There are always people going somewhere, no matter what! The warmth on my skin as I lay down and shut my eyes takes me back to oz. I get it. They’ve just replaced the beach with the park. That’s not too shabby. I could never handle the sun directly on my face for too long. So I turn round pick up my book and keep reading. After a while I write myself a list. Yes, another one. Only this time it’s of my beliefs that I should always stick by. Well I hope to stick by. I figure if it helps with goal setting to write things down it should help in this department. I guess they are goals in a way.

I will not take drugs or alcohol

I will only do work I believe in

I will always be true to myself

I will accept myself

I will respect others

I will be there for my family

I will not depend on others

I will take the steps to get what I want

I will respect the environment around me

I’ve got ants in my pants. Literally. I don’t wanna squish them but it’s hard to ignore their patter. I look around and wonder. If this is a picture, then how do i color it in? There’s a man, a truck and a black crow strolling through the grass. Its funny, someone else could be here, in the same park, next to the same tree, at the same time exactly, and notice completely different things. Its hard when your seeing things differently to live as one. It makes sense most people wont see eye to eye.

My dress is so short you can see my undies. My extra large granny undies. I bought them for a stand up gig which I didn’t really stand up in. But the undies, they’ve definitely grown on me. Now they’re my favs. Comfort really should come first. My legs are prickly coz I’m not shaving anymore. It’s not a protest. It’s just I don’t see why I need to cut off my hair and spend time doing this when I don’t have a problem with it.

I read for a very long time. I only stop when a bumble bee appears next to my rug. I can’t take my eyes off of him. At first its fear ‘what if he keeps edging closer or fly’s right into me?! But he doesn’t he just hovers within arms reach so I begin to resent him. Why don’t you go away? This isn’t your place! After a considerable amount of general bad feelings I figure if I hate him so much he might hate me. Come to think of it. I just plonked my rug on his grass so maybe I shouldn’t hate him at all! Maybe if we just go about our business we’ll work out just fine. But as soon as i come to an agreement he’s gone. I’m not sure where perhaps he crawled under the rug but I do hope he’s ok that I don’t move and crush him.

A boy walks past all ‘frumped’. You can see he’s awkward. The awkwardness is all over his body. Why do we live in a place where people feel awkward with themselves? A truck toots its horn then disappears, a dignified acknowledgment to my longing “here, here”. If its this hot again I’m gonna wear my swimmers. So what people will think I’m an exhibitionist. I really just like being naked and practicing feeling comfortable in my own skin. Is that something wrong? It doesn’t bother me, if it is. I get deep in my book till I’m roused by a ‘hi’. Young boys are walking back from school. I recognise one, the one that’s greeted me. He watched me rehearse here last time the sun was properly out. That’s nice. He remembers me. The recognition is nice but what’s most nice is the fact that we can say hi. Shortly after his departure a sharp “HELLO? HELLO!” unearths from two girls walking past. One shouting the other with headphones on. Who’s she yelling at? I mean, the girl she’s with clearly isn’t listening. It’s kind of ironic. One minute I’m greeting a boy the next there’s this girl shouting hello and no one even answers her. Not even me. I stand by and don’t budge a muscle. Instead, I look over at the half naked guy. This time a different one, sitting on a bench. And I wish I was naked. Next time I’ll wear my swimmers, i think once again. I don’t really see the difference. Why shouldn’t I just take off my dress here and now just wear my bra and undies. I flash my undies for a moment, and then remember i haven’t shaved again. I feel anxious and cover up. A wasp comes over and here we go again. I try and like him I really do but I can’t. “Go away” I mumble. But he doesn’t and we both get agitated and I have to stand up and move away. Some guy walking past sees me. And to prevent him thinking I’m crazy I pretend like I’m just stretching.

Sometimes I look at myself and think what the hell am I? Not ‘who am i’ that’d be too cheesy and only works in Zoolander. I stare at my toes on the foot of my feet and think “what if I was a hobbit?” and born into The Shire. Will I always think like this? Will I ever stop wandering and see the picture for what it really is? What’s behind it? Funny that, that you can never actually see, clearly what’s behind you.

No rest for the wicked

After being royally screwed by too many a job I embraced my artistic integrity. By 1. clicking like on the popular slogan “I am an artist this does not mean i will work for free. I have bills like you too. Thanks for understanding”. And 2. refusing to look for what i call a ‘normal’ job.  Did you know that the online dictionary defines work as; an activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result. So watching reruns of the original “nana nana nana batman” still count as productive!

Hackney Job Centre.  I stand at the welcome sign but there is no welcome. A tumbleweed floats past… “Hello is anybody there?” I call out but as expected, no body answers. As far as the eye can see there are people, but the people are waiting. Who knows what for, but its a god awful place to be waiting in. Eventually a weary looking woman appears. She looks like she’s been up all night taking it up the…nah, it’s probably just the job. I’m told to wait. Ah I shouldn’t of asked! I waited all that time just to wait? The fact that I didn’t confess I’m running ten mins late starts to bother me. What if my names already been called? What then? Will I be waiting here for eternity for no reason?

Some ladies spazzing out at her computer. A man goes over to help then she spazs out at him. She’s electrifying! If only we could switch her charge to positive. Then she’d be dancing with her tits out all over the tables of course.  But instead, we’re stuck with this awkward silence (pause). M. Eden. M. Eden Me me! Fuck me next! So I can get the hell out of here! I’m given a form a print out of the form I’d already filled out. I’m told to double check. That makes sense. I may of changed. Could of would of should of. I bullshitted some of this – I highlight my bullshit in pink highlighter! I’m not sure I’m meant to be marking the form. Oh well its already marked now, may as well do it again. I’m under a magnifying glass? Who cares. They can magnify me all they like. I start to burn. How can this person be in customer service when she’s expressionless? Maybe she came in human and now she’s machine. I explain I’m a performance artist. A renaissance woman. I have shows. She doesn’t compute. “when did you sign the contract, when will they pay you?” Does she not read the online dictionary? I’ve got a pile of forms, a list of shit that I didn’t bring that I need to bring and meetings. I should feel important. Instead I feel screwed. Shoulda seen that coming. If the jobs screw you the job centre certainly will. Then a funny thing happens. As I’m silently screaming “please god please let me go!” She hands back my visa and points. Smack bang in front of my face is “you are not entitled to funds”. What?! Now I’m thinking out loud “Thank you god! Oh, sorry for wasting your time!” She’s utterly ticked off. She shoves a piece of paper in front of me and demands I declare my new found knowledge.  Why? I try and cheer her up with a joke that now I think of it. Probably didn’t help “Sorry, but you’re only going to have to do it all over again!”

Mums finally cut the umbilical cord. and the cash flow. I start manically looking for work but I’m dismissing 99% of the jobs as per usual. When my trigger lands upon beauty consultant. It’s the last straw. I don’t want to be a beauty consultant! I don’t even wear make up. Immediately I vent this to the world and entitle my vent… DESPERATE for WORK. My hopeless cry is answered by male proposals left right and centre! I’ve decide to leave the add up and keep em cumin; Can you send me your photo I may be able to help. I’m looking for a PA, house keeper, and companion when can you move in? We are hiring lap dancers 500 pound a night…500 pound night!

A hostess is wanted for a Japanese Karaoke Club. Just like lost in translation! I secure an interview. It’s starting to sprinkle and I’m wearing my vintage flowy dress. I haven’t done my hair or makeup. I’m hoping there’s no downfall then I’ll really look like I’ve made no effort. This is a really nice area. So quiet. Feels strange with no sirens. No. 76 and 78 are closed down, abandoned. 74 is just another building. With a tiny nothing special buzzer. (buzzz) Two Japanese women are on reception and there’s old carpet leading up a flight of stairs. I feel like we’re in a cheap hotel. “Go upstairs!” reception shouts. I go on up but I’m not sure which level to stop. Thankfully a funky looking man points to a door ‘champagne’. I walk through into a dark long room. With a horde of girls dressed up to the tees. Fuck, I should of dolled myself up. Now I’ll never get the job. A woman with a paper and pen stops me. There’s something about her. She’s snake like. “Are you Frankie?” I ask just as the real Frankie (funky man) walks in and laughs “she Frankie!”. We sit down at a booth. “Where you from?”  “Sydney I’ve just been here over an hour.” Oops I meant year I’m trying to take the whole room experience thing in at the same time. There’s a good-looking girl with vacant eyes pouting her lips. She looks like a real life blow up doll. “Ready to fuck” as Uffie would say. Another with long brown hairs definitely seen too many nights on the piss. Most of them look lost and confused. I take off my retro jacket and granny jumper. “Are you getting naked?”  “Yeh, seems to be the trend” She doesn’t smile. She’s all business. Then it dawns on me. Maybe she’s the head honcho. I wonder. Is he the pimp or is she the pimp. Id bet you she is. Seems like the woman have got all the power here. Hmmm… Maybe I’ll be empowered. Become more of a man-eater than I already am. She asks me what I do. I start explaining but she doesn’t get it. Just like at the job centre. So you’re actress? Yes. Have you done this work -worked in club – hostess? No no. She explains you get 30 pound if they buy a bottle of wine, 40 pound if you they buy a bottle of champagne. I’ve done sales, sales are manipulation. Sales and acting go hand in hand. Acting is manipulation. I can do that easily. No piercing. You must doll face with make up. Wear short skirt. No flowy dress. Seductive. Sexy outfit. I can do that. It’s like acting. You change. Get into character. I wonder if any of these girls have personalities. Like if they actually genuinely chat to these men. Or just try and act or be sexy whatever that is. If I’m to do this there’s no way I’m not being myself. Hey I’ll change my image. Image isn’t real anyway. But I am who I am. I’ll chat to these men and treat them with respect. We’re all equals. We all have sexual needs. “We will accompany you to bus Marble Arch.” “That’s okay, I cycle”  “You can’t cycle you will be drinking” I’m confused. What for? “You wont be drinking to get drunk but you will not be able to cycle” I’m thinking if I’m not drunk I can cycle. I did it 4am on sat morning pretty pissed I think I can do it after work. And I don’t intend to get drunk. What a fucking stupid idea that would be. “A couple of a glasses” Fuck me I cant do this if they expect me to get pissed each shift. Here I am wanting to quit drinking all together and now I have to drink for work. Then what happens. I get pissed and become a prostitute. “You come Friday. Fridays busy. You see what you think and still make some money” Friday it is. That’s it. I walk out. Down the dodgy stairs into reception where Frankie tells me it’s raining. I rug up and walk out into the fresh now stale night.

I’ve convinced myself that I’m doing ‘one night only’ at the club. Even though I’ve also convinced myself it’s not a club it’s a brothel. I figure I can screw the system and walk away with the cash. Thus keeping my landlord happy. It’s only after the 5th or 6th reading of my encounter that I realize just how naïve I actually am. The funny description I’d imagined is just down right dark. Lines like “Your getting naked? Yeh that seems to be the trend” and the whole alcohol conservation. I would’ve got drunk. I always get drunk when people buy me drinks. I hate that. Then I always end up doing what everyone else wants. And all to keep my landlord happy? Who cares about him what about me I’m not a whore nor do I want to be! Thank fuck I wrote this down or who knows where I’d be or who I’d be! Arty Farty’s of the world solidify! coz no matter how hard jobs screws us we’ll always be saved time and time again.

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