Scandals, Drama.

Hey all,

Got woken up last night nearly choking to death. Someone had closed the window. The Chilean and Mexican combination had tried to earlier in the night – I had insisted it stay open a crack. There was a brief struggle of wills – I prevailed. I have ruled them out as suspects because I don't think they would defy me once I fell asleep – also, they were both snoring well before I was. The other male in the room I have also ruled out – based on the fact that he is male and likes to breath when he sleeps. I am currently firming on the the two English girls as the culprits. They are both quite sweet, but at the end of the day are still English, who are notorious for a number of reasons:

1. They drink tea.
2. They have bad teeth (as individuals these two have good teeth, but as members of a class their teeth are terrible).
3. They wash only once or twice a year.
4. They win at cricket because they cheat.
5. They win at rugby because of a slavish and pedantic attention to the rules.
6. They like stuffy rooms.

I plan to catch one of them in the act of closing the windows tonight.

Went to catch up with model agent this morning and get back the big warm jacket – there was a post-it note on the door directing me to a studio around the corner. So I moved on to there – a crazy little obsessed-with-death artist was there making gold skeleton necklaces, which he does to fund his real work, also skeletons and skulls, but primarily ceramic. There were animal bones and skulls everywhere and books of things like crime scene photos of dismembered murder victims and so on. I said to model agent that but for a twist of fate he would be a serial killer – which seemed to amuse him when she translated it. She was there using the studio as the setting for some French model/student to do a shoot with a very camp photographer who kept jumping in front of the camera and demonstrating campy poses. Based on the hour or so I was there I would not like to be a model – get arranged into some ridiculous off balance position then get told in increasingly irate tones to “Look natural.” Looked like much harder work than I would have thought.

Then there was a phone call to model agent from a friend of hers, a jewellery designer, who was in the middle of an acrimonious break up with her business partner – and I was offered 50 EU to help her move her stuff out of her studio before it all got pinched by the partner and sold. I of course said yes, so wandered off to some piazza somewhere to meet jewellery designer and a friend of hers who was also going to help.

If I'd known how much fun it was going to be I would have paid to do it. First there was a stand off in the street between jewellery designer and her ex-partner that went something like this:

“You betray everyone!”

“I'm just getting my shit, ok!”

“Oh – you're just getting your shit are you?”

“Yes. I'm just getting my shit. That's all I'm doing.”

“Oh – that's all you're doing is it?”

“Yes. That's all I'm doing. I'm just getting my shit.”

“Oh – you're just getting you're shit are you?”

And so on. Jewellery designer and ex-partner continued on in this vein for a while, shaking with rage. Jewellery designer's friend looked on, alarmed. I looked on, delighted. I was hoping it was going to degenerate into hair pulling and scratching but it never quite got there.

Now, jewellery designer was a part-time model and the ex-girlfriend of some famous soccer player – stunning, basically, and her friend, while not the ex-girlfriend of a famous soccer player looked like she could be – stunning, basically – and the three of us were soon trailed around town by a horde of Italian men who, while not offering to help me lug a bookcase half-way across town, literally dropped their bikes on the side of the road to help the two girls with whatever gossamer thin coffee table they were struggling along with between them. So I got paid for doing something they could have probably  got done for free, just by standing there on the side of the road for 30 seconds or so looking pathetic. At one point on one of the trips across town they left the contents of some drawers at a pizzeria. When they went back to pick it up the pizza guys were so grateful for being used as a storage facility that they made them a pizza in the shape of a love heart. I took a photo as proof.

Finally dinner with the two of them and model agent at a restaurant – ex-partner showed up at the same restaurant – there were a few deathly glares, but, alas, it still failed to degenerate into the full-scale hair-pulling drama that I was really hoping for.  Anyway.  A fun day.  Foot did not cope well and is pretty sore, but needed the money and it was all far too amusing to resign.

Cheers, B.