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Today I had some minor adventures. First of all, I took the bus. I haven't ridden on a city bus in a long time. This time, a stocky young man with a cigarette in hand struck up a conversation with me while we waited for the bus to show up. He told me about how a friend of his was "into role-playing and vampires and stuff" and was "demonstrating how he was a vampire." A photograph was taken of the vampire in question, and when the pictures were developed, half of the vampire had become transparent. Oooh. Spooky.
Anyhow, I went to the doctor for two reasons: my sore neck and my intermittently sore muff.
Problem number one was described as being wry neck. She recommended therapeutic massages and anti-inflammatories. I have a massage appointment scheduled for tonight.
I had believed problem number two was due to recurring yeast infections, but the doctor does not believe this is the case. She seems to think I have developed an intolerance to the bleach in pads and tampons. So, rather than just gush out down my legs, she suggests I go to a health food store and buy non-bleached feminine hygiene products. Argh. Those things are bound to be horrifically expensive. This is one of those times when I wish I was a guy and didn't have to worry about shit like organically-grown maxi pads harvested by unionized itinerant workers from the rare bloodsap tree.
After the appointment, I had to boogaloo back downtown all in a hurry. I was supposed to model this afternoon. So, for the first time in ages, I flagged down a cab. The cabbie was friendly and struck up a conversation, and somehow, during the course of our chat, I let it be known that I was a Middle Eastern dancer. "Oh yeah," he said. "A week or two back, I had one of them exotic dancers in the cab. She was on her way to the club, and she picked up both ankles and wrapped them right around her head, just as easily as you'd bend down to tie your shoe! She says her flexibility is what keeps her in dough."
I'm not sure where the Middle Eastern dancer/exotic dancer connection came in, but he wasn't through. The conversation continued along even odder lines when he told me he likes to hire escorts to keep him company at home. "I don't know why I dish out the money, because I never even touch 'em. I just get drunk, and call over to the escort service for them to send over a girl. That's $120 a shot, and I've never even tried to have sex with any of them."
I wasn't about to stop his reminisces. They're so foreign to my way of life that I found them fascinating.
"This one time," he continued, "I hired an escort, and when she got there, I told her I was too drunk, so I paid her and told her to leave. Then I passed out on the bed. I was all by myself, and she must have been stupid, because she stole an $80 bottle of cologne from my bureau. And here I'd even told her how I'd been good friends with the owner of the escort agency for over ten years!
"So I called up the escort agency the next day, and the owner said she'd talk to the girl. The girl denied everything, but then the owner seen the bottle of cologne I was talking about. So the girl got fired right then and there, but she refused to return the bottle of cologne.
"The owner called me up, though, and gave me the girl's number, figuring I could get the cologne back. So I called the girl, and who should answer but her husband who'd had not a clue that his wife was an escort, let alone a thief! I didn't spill the beans on her, though, because, just to make things trickier, the husband is a regular customer of mine. I drive him to work every day.
"The wife does call me back, though, and she's real sorry about everything. She pays $11 to have the cologne delivered back to me, and then says that if I'm ever lonely again, I should give her a call. As if!"
That's about when we pulled up in front of my place, so I paid my $5.50 and got out. I'm pretty amazed that such stuff goes on in such a small place as Fredericton. I mean, how could a woman ever expect to hide the fact she's a hooker from her husband? Gossip travels really quickly in small towns.
I grabbed a quick snack, and then I headed downtown to do my modelling gig. But when I showed up, no one was there. Confused, I went down to the office to ask where everyone was. The receptionist was very apologetic when she told me the class had been cancelled and the instructor must have forgotten to inform me.
Argh again. I could have saved myself the cab fare if I'd known that, but then I wouldn't have heard about the Fredericton hooker. So I went off to the school and beat on some metal for a couple of hours.
And how was your day?
Anyhow, I went to the doctor for two reasons: my sore neck and my intermittently sore muff.
Problem number one was described as being wry neck. She recommended therapeutic massages and anti-inflammatories. I have a massage appointment scheduled for tonight.
I had believed problem number two was due to recurring yeast infections, but the doctor does not believe this is the case. She seems to think I have developed an intolerance to the bleach in pads and tampons. So, rather than just gush out down my legs, she suggests I go to a health food store and buy non-bleached feminine hygiene products. Argh. Those things are bound to be horrifically expensive. This is one of those times when I wish I was a guy and didn't have to worry about shit like organically-grown maxi pads harvested by unionized itinerant workers from the rare bloodsap tree.
After the appointment, I had to boogaloo back downtown all in a hurry. I was supposed to model this afternoon. So, for the first time in ages, I flagged down a cab. The cabbie was friendly and struck up a conversation, and somehow, during the course of our chat, I let it be known that I was a Middle Eastern dancer. "Oh yeah," he said. "A week or two back, I had one of them exotic dancers in the cab. She was on her way to the club, and she picked up both ankles and wrapped them right around her head, just as easily as you'd bend down to tie your shoe! She says her flexibility is what keeps her in dough."
I'm not sure where the Middle Eastern dancer/exotic dancer connection came in, but he wasn't through. The conversation continued along even odder lines when he told me he likes to hire escorts to keep him company at home. "I don't know why I dish out the money, because I never even touch 'em. I just get drunk, and call over to the escort service for them to send over a girl. That's $120 a shot, and I've never even tried to have sex with any of them."
I wasn't about to stop his reminisces. They're so foreign to my way of life that I found them fascinating.
"This one time," he continued, "I hired an escort, and when she got there, I told her I was too drunk, so I paid her and told her to leave. Then I passed out on the bed. I was all by myself, and she must have been stupid, because she stole an $80 bottle of cologne from my bureau. And here I'd even told her how I'd been good friends with the owner of the escort agency for over ten years!
"So I called up the escort agency the next day, and the owner said she'd talk to the girl. The girl denied everything, but then the owner seen the bottle of cologne I was talking about. So the girl got fired right then and there, but she refused to return the bottle of cologne.
"The owner called me up, though, and gave me the girl's number, figuring I could get the cologne back. So I called the girl, and who should answer but her husband who'd had not a clue that his wife was an escort, let alone a thief! I didn't spill the beans on her, though, because, just to make things trickier, the husband is a regular customer of mine. I drive him to work every day.
"The wife does call me back, though, and she's real sorry about everything. She pays $11 to have the cologne delivered back to me, and then says that if I'm ever lonely again, I should give her a call. As if!"
That's about when we pulled up in front of my place, so I paid my $5.50 and got out. I'm pretty amazed that such stuff goes on in such a small place as Fredericton. I mean, how could a woman ever expect to hide the fact she's a hooker from her husband? Gossip travels really quickly in small towns.
I grabbed a quick snack, and then I headed downtown to do my modelling gig. But when I showed up, no one was there. Confused, I went down to the office to ask where everyone was. The receptionist was very apologetic when she told me the class had been cancelled and the instructor must have forgotten to inform me.
Argh again. I could have saved myself the cab fare if I'd known that, but then I wouldn't have heard about the Fredericton hooker. So I went off to the school and beat on some metal for a couple of hours.
And how was your day?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-03-06 12:03 pm (UTC)From:Sounds like a good title for a suspense novel.
alternative to pads and tampons
Date: 2003-03-06 04:18 pm (UTC)From:Gah I hate being Anonymous - Soirenoir
Date: 2003-03-06 04:46 pm (UTC)From: (Anonymous)Good Luck - Soirenoir/Amanda
Re: alternative to pads and tampons
Date: 2003-03-06 05:41 pm (UTC)From:Re: alternative to pads and tampons
Date: 2003-03-06 06:26 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2003-03-06 06:39 pm (UTC)From: