On eating my neighbor's food, being a masseur and being almost employed... among other things

I am employed.

Yay.  Well, almost.  I still need to pass that medical exam where they check for drugs and stuff. I can't tell you everything because i wouldn't wanta jinx it and telling you guys everything about my life would be creepyesque. I haveta be honest with you, I really need a job and there's no fakin it.  I've been wearin the same clothes the whole time.  By that, I mean, wifebeaters, boardshorts and flipflops. See, I don't have to dress up and stuff so I just wear the same clothes. At first, it was like  'maaaaaaaaaan isn't this kewl? I'm wearing the same clothes day in day out." Come to think of it, it's pretty kewl that I don't have to dress up and shit.  I just slip in to those wifebeaters and then them boardshorts and them flip flops and I'm good to go.  It's not bad and it's not that I only have ONE  wifebeater!? {I have 4 wifebeaters so I  interchange them} I do change underwear from time to time  and of course take showers and brush my teeth everyday.  So I'm still clean {just so you know, hygiene isn't the issue here}.  It's just wifebeaters and boardshorts and flipflops are my comfy clothes and I really really reaaaaaaally love wearing them.

There is a danger though.  I've noticed that people "know" me already.  Not like I'm famous no.  It's just the cigarette lady already recognizes me and nods at my direction every time I pass by and even when I am not buying cigarettes.  It's the same case with the lugaw/congee dude and fat barbecue dude and the vegetable lady  and the donut girl and the coconut man plus the bread girl.  I don't even greet them and somehow they seem to know me all of a sudden.  I mean I don't go out of my way to greet them or anything so I guess they just recognize me because I am familiar to them.  Or is it that my day to day outfit became familiar to them?

It's a sign... I need a job.  A job that would enable me to actually have a change of clothes everyday.  As much as I like wearing wifebeaters and boardshorts and flipflops, I still need to wear other clothes.  I HAVE other clothes.  I think I need to them (starting with the cigarette lady), that I do have other clothes. 

So yeah, i need a job.   It's not just the clothes man.  It's also other things.  Like I've been living off of my upstairs neighbor's kitchen supplies.  She likes cooking and I like eating.  Well, me and Oscar {my other neighbor} like free food.  She likes to share, we like to eat.   I know, I know its like sponging off of her resources and shit, but I am the indigent here.  Well, it's not like I'm the only one benefiting from this.  She gets something outta this because I give her a body massage from time to time in exchange for an occasional lunch and dinner. 

Erm yeah. I have a confession to make. See here, I'm real good with my hands.  Like my hands have the magic touch yo.  Men, women, boys and girls, fathers and mothers {ohh the mothers} have been pleasured and relaxed by the magic of my touch.   Mind outta the gutter please.  I'm good at giving back rubs and a mean massage.  I even think that this is my inner calling.  It started out as a simple backrub lesson by my former housemate {who's a real masseuse}, then I got really interested when I gave her one.  She liked it.  It was draining but it was very fulfilling because I actually felt that she enjoyed it.  That's how I started giving massages to my friends, my friends' parents, my friends' parents' friends, well you get the picture. 

It would be good if I could make a career out of this, but I can't.  It's wishful thinking but I don't think I can make good money out of this unless I go 5-dollah-suckey-suckey-long-time-me-best-mouth-in-five-villages...  And besides, my other half wouldn't agree.  

I really need a job.  And as much as I love wearing worn out wifebeaters, camouflage board shorts and flip flops all day, I can't exactly go on existing wearing the same thing over and over and over again.  It would be too weird for me, like I came out of an X Files episode where there is this time loop that subsists all through eternity and I am forever destined to wear them wifebeaters and boardshorts and flipflops and I am the only dude who knows that I exist in a universe where  I need to at least have an excuse to wear something else.   Papa God please, let me get this job.  It doesn't pay much but it's a day job and I honestly and truthfully want a day job, Papa God.  Pleaaaaase, lemme get this job {*makes the sign of the cross backwards, then spits over left shoulder, then spits over right shoulder, then looks up the ceiling then says YER THE MAN!}