Smelling strangely of sea breeze and jasmine
I woke up at about 6 to go to the Dededo flea market.
The day seemed to want to start without the sun, so John and I sold our wares under an overcast sky with about 50 other people who probably were wondering why the hell they bothered to get up so early anyway. I sold old clothes, John sold old FHM magazines (not his, please don't be lying to me on that one...) and clothes and some old records. John did tremenduosly much better than I did.
This just in: Sex still sells.
JD came to join us at our little slot after a night of drinking and pool. But after being worn down by a final old Filipina lady at around 9:30 we decided to call it quits. I was exhausted. Not to mention that I had to go to work that day at 2:00 and get off at 11:30, but just being in a flea market was worth it. I got nostalgic all over again, and I actually found myself hoping that just around the corner were lychees fresh off the branch and rambutan, but I was in for a disappointment. It was more married men sneaking (a sometimes not so private) peek at the FHMs.
I did find that the flea market sells fabric at $1.50 a yard, better than the upwards of $3.99 that is found at any other craft store on island. I also found out that standing for about four hours in humid conditions after a morning of interrupted sleep is incredibly taxing. We went back to JD's apartment so I could take a nap and get ready for work. Being in an apartment inhabited by men I was wary of any body bar that was available for use. So I settled on John's Sea Breeze bath gel (no extra sponge available for lathering) and oddly enough I found a bottle of Herbal Essences Jasmine fragrance.
I emerged from the shower smelling like a girl who was trying not to smell like one, or vice versa. Either way, I wished John was awake to smell the morning confusion.
JD made my favorite for lunch, baked Bangus (or milkfish) and I took a nap before reporting to work 15 minutes late.
The flea market was a surreal little niche in Dededo. It really irked me how people were so nonchalant about littering. One of the things I hate about going to any public place is the fact that people walk slowly. The flea market is no exception. In fact it may just be the champion in a "Public Places With Globs of Slow-Moving People' award. I think my eye twitched but I told myself 'Dear God, pull it together man' when I found myself hoping that this especially slow-moving woman would run into a pole or get hit by a car so that I could finally get around her. Evil. I know.
But slow, oblivious people who walk in groups of four as if it was their life's mission to obstruct any sort of progress are also evil. Right down to their flip-flops and tapioca-ball-sucking faces.
The day seemed to want to start without the sun, so John and I sold our wares under an overcast sky with about 50 other people who probably were wondering why the hell they bothered to get up so early anyway. I sold old clothes, John sold old FHM magazines (not his, please don't be lying to me on that one...) and clothes and some old records. John did tremenduosly much better than I did.
This just in: Sex still sells.
JD came to join us at our little slot after a night of drinking and pool. But after being worn down by a final old Filipina lady at around 9:30 we decided to call it quits. I was exhausted. Not to mention that I had to go to work that day at 2:00 and get off at 11:30, but just being in a flea market was worth it. I got nostalgic all over again, and I actually found myself hoping that just around the corner were lychees fresh off the branch and rambutan, but I was in for a disappointment. It was more married men sneaking (a sometimes not so private) peek at the FHMs.
I did find that the flea market sells fabric at $1.50 a yard, better than the upwards of $3.99 that is found at any other craft store on island. I also found out that standing for about four hours in humid conditions after a morning of interrupted sleep is incredibly taxing. We went back to JD's apartment so I could take a nap and get ready for work. Being in an apartment inhabited by men I was wary of any body bar that was available for use. So I settled on John's Sea Breeze bath gel (no extra sponge available for lathering) and oddly enough I found a bottle of Herbal Essences Jasmine fragrance.
I emerged from the shower smelling like a girl who was trying not to smell like one, or vice versa. Either way, I wished John was awake to smell the morning confusion.
JD made my favorite for lunch, baked Bangus (or milkfish) and I took a nap before reporting to work 15 minutes late.
The flea market was a surreal little niche in Dededo. It really irked me how people were so nonchalant about littering. One of the things I hate about going to any public place is the fact that people walk slowly. The flea market is no exception. In fact it may just be the champion in a "Public Places With Globs of Slow-Moving People' award. I think my eye twitched but I told myself 'Dear God, pull it together man' when I found myself hoping that this especially slow-moving woman would run into a pole or get hit by a car so that I could finally get around her. Evil. I know.
But slow, oblivious people who walk in groups of four as if it was their life's mission to obstruct any sort of progress are also evil. Right down to their flip-flops and tapioca-ball-sucking faces.