Yesterday, I woke up on five hours sleep, and went to work.
Then I went to an audition for another reality show. Swimsuit Makeover. I don’t believe I’ll be chosen, but I had to go.
Then I had a date to go for a walk on the promenade with a guy I met at Brennan’s three weeks ago. He’s a Nigerian here by way of Holland to play professional soccer. Shockingly good looking, amazing body – and I just wish the hands attached to that body hadn’t been as enthusiastic with my body. I would rather have devoted my brainpower during that time to discussing the Nigerian federalist state than using it to come up with diplomatic ways to disengage from too much attempted physical contact.
Then I came home for long enough to change and gulp dinner and start drinking before going out to Boardwalk 11 to sing karaoke and celebrate my adopted cousin Anton’s 31st birthday. Or, as he called it, 21 plus 10. I thought I’d maybe stay for an hour – and the next thing I know, I’m doing kamikaze shots and cheering for the six friends singing the Grease Megamix on stage.
The fun doesn’t ever stop. Unfortunately, it isn’t a sleep friendly life this week. I’ve slept maybe sixteen hours in the last four nights. Now, I’m working on freelance stuff and even procrastinating that. I’d better slap myself upside the head and get down to it.