Posts Tagged ‘pimp’

Four Prostitutes

May 22, 2013

Three homeless people.

Two drug dealers.

And a pimp on a BMX bike.

Really?

You’re marketing tricks from a BMX bike.

That’s actually kind of impressive.

Are you like Jr. pimp?

I made a little travel on down the road to the In Between Fellowship on International Ave.

In Between crazy and crack addled.

Damn.

But I got what I needed and I got back safe and sound, not harassed, not bothered, pretty much left alone.  Oh, there was a truck that slowed down and a van that did two circles around the block I was walking down, but that could have been for me or the heavy-set woman walking ahead of me with three-inch roots above the bottled blonde weave.

Or whatever it was, but it was not natural hair.

Nope.

I don’t think so.

I got home and walked into the wafting smells of warm popcorn and melted butter.

Good times.

I opened up my laptop, made a cup of tea and settled down to write.

I keep telling myself to take each day as it comes.

I don’t know exactly what is going to happen, how long things will take, and where I am going to go.  I know this much, I am going to get my bicycle legs back and in spades.

I was pretty punked today and I realized it had something to do with the 6.5 mile long bicycle ride I took to work.  And then back.

13 miles round trip.

“You know you could take BART,” my room-mate said to me as I lay on the floor yawning and rubbing the ears of a fluff monster.

“Yup, except that it’s probably faster on my bicycle,” I replied and stretched my arms up over my arms.

I will get my “sea legs” back in about a week.

I have been riding every day since the bike came out of the box.

Literally.

However, today was the first day I did the full round trip bicycle ride.  I will be doing it at least three times a week.  I don’t mind, I like the sun on my face and the wind at my back.

Or in my face as the case was this afternoon.

But the ride is flat and quick.

40 minutes there.

40 minutes back.

That is an hour and twenty on my bike.

There’s your gym work out.

I’ll be fit and in shape, not that I am terribly out of it, in no time.

My schedule got busy today as I fielded a few phone calls and texts and some messages on Facecrack attack.

I will work and do the deal tomorrow, with a new addition, a year old who will for 1.5 days a week be a part of the nanny situation in North Oakland.

Where, small aside, I was told by man today on the way to the park with my charge, “I am not afraid of your tattoos!”

He gamboled across the street, crossing San Pablo against traffic, muttering under his breath, carrying what I believe was a relic of a radio transistor, I wanted to shout at him, “just wrap that shit with some aluminum, you’ll get better reception!”

But I held my breath, held the stroller handle bar tight in my hand and kept walking.

My calendar is looking interesting all over the place.

I found out that the family in North Oakland will be on vacation for a week and a half in June.

The day after I was approached by a family from Austin, friends from Burning Man, who wanted to secure my services mid-June to take care of their little boy for the weekend as they  were to be going outside of the city to a wedding.

They will be able to leave him with me at the house and I will be able to take care of one wee visiting monkey and the two cats at the house.

Graceland, though lovely, and alluring with popcorn scented air, is not child friendly.

Serendipitous that I will be house sitting and be able to provide care for the friends and provide care for the family I work for.

I was not even allowed to get into fear about the eleven days the family was to be out-of-town and I was to not have work with them.

That, the disadvantage to not being full-time, is the thing with having part-time hours every which way with four different families, I don’t have paid vacation, or health insurance, or benefits.

In my previous incarnations of nanny I had paid time off and sick days built into my pay rate.  I don’t this time around.  However, I don’t feel too concerned.  I feel like everything is working out exactly as it is supposed to.

I was also making enough that I was able to pay my own health insurance out-of-pocket.

What I would like is to not worry about that.

But if I am going to be riding my bicycle from East Oakland to North Oakland three days a week at 13 miles per day round trip, it may be in my best interest to secure medical care.

Or a job that will provide me with such.

Or freelance work.

Or, well, I don’t know.

I do know that I am not homeless digging through trash cans on International Avenue, and I am not pushing a stroller at night with garbage bags hanging off it, nor am I turning tricks to purchase drugs.

I am alright.

I am in the correct place at the right time.

Doing what is in front of me and saying yes to nannying and house sitting and preparing myself for what happens next.

Life is exciting.

A little exhausting at times, but I have a lovely bed to climb into just above the endearing scent of warm popcorn to buoy me up the stairs on my weary legs.


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