Showered, and not from a bucket! Scammed entrance to my housemate's gym on the pretense of a trial use. Biked, rowed, but pretty much I just showered. Lots of shampoo, mucho soapo. Picked a tiny hunk of sweat nougat off the back of my skull. This morning I was what Wanda Sykes would call a nasty bastard, but now I am unsticky.
I haven't found a store that sells tall skinny reporter's notebooks, so I've been carrying a leatherbound journal to take make reporter's notes in. Trying to dress professionally when I report, so yesterday I wore my striped blue shirt and a khakis. Somewhere around noon I realized that everyone I apporached assumed I was a damned Mormon, all blonde side-parted and blue-eyed, scripture in my right hand. People here would rather be approached by Odiembo the Crazy Man Who Flings Poo From A Stick than a happyfaced Testament toter. Jesus freaks and the western expat gang in Africa don't seem to get along.
Why? I have theories, but it's the weekend, I don't think anyone's reading this blog on the weekend. So off you go.
