Diplomat Digs

I have met so many diplomats. At first I thought it was a big deal, and now it's like old hat. Everyone is a diplomat or a son of one or a brother or sister of someone.

I've met diplomats or their relatives who are connected, for the following countries:

Saudi Arabia
Several from Pakistan
Iran
Canada
South Korea
Nigeria (I guess, not totally "confirmed")
Ethiopia
Turkey

hmmm, and some others.

I've stayed on a few different diplomatic couches. I think I should just make the rounds, you know? Come on, dips, let's all just get to know eachother.

So anyway, at the last place, I left a couple of very nice thank you notes, and the deal is, anyone who helps ME now, has a friend or a favor I will return in the future. It means when I have my own place and am in a better position, they can call on me to return the favor, for a friend they may have who needs a place for a little while.

I am also establishing the fact that I don't sleep around, so word of mouth is getting around, I think, that I'm not some kind of 'ho.

The only person I slept with that I actually sort of stayed with for awhile was Dabney, and I was him by choice and not to get something out of him. And even thought that is over, I haven't even kissed anyone else since. It's been several months since I've kissed anyone.

I'm a one-man woman and I'm not a floozy.

I also protect the habitat of those I've stayed with. When a taxi guy helped me with my bags, into the place of the last Pakistani guy, I wouldn't let him use the bathroom. Not because I was being mean, but because I was protecting the place that was given to me for a home for a short time. It doesn't matter what country someone is from, I am going to protect their place and their belongings, when they are doing something for me like that.

There are all kinds of spies in this town. And that taxi driver could have gone to the bathroom and stuck a bug on a wall or in a vase. And maybe it would, in some cases, have been protective of ME, but the thing is, if someone is going to give me their trust, I am repaying them with whatever means I have of ensuring their own security and privacy.

I've never gone through anyone's bags or rooms either, even though EVERYONE has gone through my bags, no matter where I stay. I'll leave my things and come back and everything has been gone through. Some are more discreet than others and try to hide it and others probably just don't give a damn.

I don't care. In this town, people aren't even looking for something like a gun or weapon. They're looking for information. They want to know who you are.

I think I could Israel to my list too, but I don't think I've stayed at a "pad" so to speak--I've just met some people who I think are Israeli Mossad or something.

I have a pretty good radar.

I'm learning too, not all diplomats are peacemaking lovers of eachother. They put on a face, I'm told, and I'm starting to see this a little bit. So, I feel very neutral...I mean, at one point, I was living with a Muslim whose father was Arab, and then dating an Israeli guy just flown in from the motherland, and then I was sleeping with a Catholic (Dabney).

So, I think that speaks to neutrality on some level. I wouldn't do favors for one country or one diplomat against another one.

This taxi guy was from Ethiopia and I LOVE these people! but I wasn't going to let him use the Pakistani's bathroom because I am not a conduit for intelligence, so-to-speak.

But it would be fun, to make my international rounds, just here and there, and then I'll write a book called:

Diplomacy From The Couch: An Insider View to Getting By With Spies.

My sequel will be on how to avoid getting killed or being mistaken for being a spy myself, in the process.

But yeah, that's my goal in life now. I want to sleep on EVERY SINGLE COUNTRY's COUCH in all of Washington D.C.

I want to become a couch connoseuier. I want to sleep on a cloth couch, a plastic couch, a floor, a leather couch, a duvee, and so far I've only made it to the 7th floor of a high rise.

I'm aiming higher. I want to climb the ladder. I've only made it to floor 7. Room 703. Room 721. Sort of going up but not really. I need to find an 8th, 9th, 10th, etc. floor.

I'm really into the high rises and I think there are more diplomats out there to meet and greet and crash with.

But yeah, I'm not an escort, so they are all discovering, and this is really sort of a getting to know you process. So anyone who opens their door to me has to know this from the start, that it's just for fun and for my writing and as a friendly favor and nothing more.

I look sort of scroungy, but that can be improved upon. As you can see from my photos, I just need a makeover and some botox and a little plastic surgery. Surgery could do some serious wonders for me.

Oh, and I finally called upon my friendly drivers for help and they came to my assistance and I've received some more numbers too.

I don't write about the country's until I'm away though, because it's not always a good idea to have people know. One Pakistani guy was telling me not to tell the other brother of a Pakistani dip, his name or anything. I don't know why not, but I never did. I haven't seen the other one for awhile anyway.

The whole deal is being honest and upfront. Some of these people really think I'm just kidding about not wanting romance but I'm not kidding.

Anyway, the dips are telling me things, so I'm learning a lot. Like, I thought all the dips are friends with their neighboring countries but it's not really true. I had thought all of Africa was sort of friends and similiar in culture but they're completely different I'm hearing. Same thing with Latin America. I thought all hispanics love eachother, no matter which country they're from, but then I heard, the other day, that some people from Equador don't like Mexico or vice versa or something. In general. So there are these little rivalries which I had no idea existed.

I'm listening to Monica Naranjo. She's from Spain and is pretty good. I thought I was listening to 80s music on lastfm but I'm getting a ton of international fare, good for the mood of this post I think. John Secada is pretty good too, singing "It's Over".

I cannot even imagine what I would do in Wenatchee. I just need to get my son the hell out of that dried up well. It's like a sunken pit. A sinkhole.

THOSE people thought I was "delusional" when I said I'd been assaulted or had even known 2 employees from the FBI. Now, I've met diplomats from all over the world, and spies too, so I'm told and I'm sure I have, and CIA and FBI employees and who gives a rip? It's fun for the imagination, as a writer, but it's not a big deal and I'm fucking pissed about people like Michelle Erickson who don't know anything about anything and don't even understand what it is to live a different kind of life and know people who are so over their heads I don't even have time to explain.

"Yo Vivo en Ti" is a good one by Monica Naranja. Whatever happened to my 80s music I've no idea.

At any rate, I need to shower and then get pumped to write about Dabney. God, I just need to get it over with.

And I have a hearing for the bogus restraining order deal but the guy gave me wrong info, the police guy. He said it was on the 25th and that's on a Sat. so that's not right. So I have to find out about it and let the Judge know I've been slightly impaired with this crazy back injury and stuff. And I have to pick up my prescription today because I woke up last night in pain.

I really think I'll be fine on this, but I WOULD take a cortisone shot. I think it's dumb to say I should wait. I mean, I've broken my neck and have a plate in it, and my left arm twice and have metal pins in it, and my left knee and have pins and a bone graft, and have had a head injury and a broken pinky and broken tailbone and pelvis and lower lumbar stuff, and who the hell knows how long I'm really going to live anyway? Ummm, so I'm not exactly counting on living to be 99. Dear God no.

Let me live, be in love once, and marry and have my children, and write about spies from the couch and then die in peace. With a nice 'ole morphine drip and dreams that I can use for further poetry. I guess I should experiment with the dictionary idea and get some vocab and just throw some words together and see if I sound like a real intellectual.

Now I get to hear "Triniti" from Dublin. Really, very, pretty music. They're singing "Scarborough Fair." It's a really good rendition. I love the part about the sea strands. I just love this song, and seeing the sea strand and imagery.

Well, my next couch about, is with, I believe some Latinos. Well, yes, I know this already. Hopefully it will all be okay and we'll get along. Some GOOD LOOKING men there I tell you. Really fun people too.

We'll see. Maura O'Connell is good too...Gotta get up from this chair and shower but then I keep hearing this good music. I would be great in an Irish pub, singing with some fiddlers and violists. I think. "Stories" is her song, like, love, adore it.

What shall I do when I get to the very top of the highest high rise?

Shall I wave a flag, like the man on the moon did?

If I make it to the very top, I will wave a flag.

It will be white.

Then I'll jump, holding hands with the one I love.