While I was trying to figure out how to deal with Olya, the 20 something Ukranian woman, I had sent her a text, suggesting how we could work around the logistics created by the fact that I had to be present to admit her into the the building.
I basically had said that I was willing to to go the extra mile, as far as hopping on my bike and racing from the Lilly Pad to the apartment to buzz her in, before returning to busk some more.
This would afford her some privacy at the apartment, which was a concern for me.
I had actually mentioned that I could "really use the money," and didn't mind doing a little extra so that the arrangement could be a win-win situation.
Then I ran into David the Water Jug Player, outside of Starbucks, from which I had emerged sipping a strong coffee. He smoked me up with some good weed, and we talked a bit about my enterprise involving Olya.
I had to admit that I had a slight interest in having the attractive 20 something Ukranian, who may be in town looking for work as a stripper, in my apartment. It was hard not to think about it, to the point where it was almost consuming my thoughts.
I knew that the whole building would soon know that an attractive young lady was staying with me, and inquiring minds would focus more attention upon the situation than I really wanted.
And, there was the fact that Olya had been sporadic in her responses to me, and had been late for the few meetings that we had arranged.
Her telling me that she was going to come to the apartment before 8 PM; the time that I said that I left to go busking (actually an hour and half before that time; to account for the fact that she had been late for our previous meetings) was on my mind when I ran into David at about 5 PM, on that Thursday.
I decided, after I thought about it, that I shouldn't have mention the fact that I could really use the money. This was meant only to explain why I would be willing to hop around a bit to make sure she was let in and out of the place; and that it was not for any other reason that I might have for wanting to get her in my place.
But, after I thought about it, I decided to send her another message, apologizing for having mentioned needing the money, and adding that it made me feel like a beggar, and was based upon the faulty logic that her choice of where to crash would be based upon my need of the rent money, rather than any number of her own concerns.
I told her I didn't want to pressure her, and mentioned that I had another guy who had been in contact and was ready to take the place if she didn't.
She texted me back, saying: "Why don't you give him the place, then.."
And that was that. I actually felt relieved. She would have attracted too much attention, and, in order to remain as professional a couch renter as possible, I wouldn't have had to have been a perfect gentleman and not hit on her in any way that might make her think that I might use my couch to lure females to my lair.
As I closed the message from her, there appeared a "new message" message, which took me to one from Travis, who was probably typing at the same time as Olya.
"Did Olya wind up taking the place?"
I thought that they might be federal agents working in cahoots, or something; maybe trying to catch me subleasing my apartment.
which, after having run into David The Waterjug player, out in front of Starbucks, who smoked me up, with the caffeine
I basically had said that I was willing to to go the extra mile, as far as hopping on my bike and racing from the Lilly Pad to the apartment to buzz her in, before returning to busk some more.
This would afford her some privacy at the apartment, which was a concern for me.
I had actually mentioned that I could "really use the money," and didn't mind doing a little extra so that the arrangement could be a win-win situation.
Then I ran into David the Water Jug Player, outside of Starbucks, from which I had emerged sipping a strong coffee. He smoked me up with some good weed, and we talked a bit about my enterprise involving Olya.
I had to admit that I had a slight interest in having the attractive 20 something Ukranian, who may be in town looking for work as a stripper, in my apartment. It was hard not to think about it, to the point where it was almost consuming my thoughts.
I knew that the whole building would soon know that an attractive young lady was staying with me, and inquiring minds would focus more attention upon the situation than I really wanted.
And, there was the fact that Olya had been sporadic in her responses to me, and had been late for the few meetings that we had arranged.
Her telling me that she was going to come to the apartment before 8 PM; the time that I said that I left to go busking (actually an hour and half before that time; to account for the fact that she had been late for our previous meetings) was on my mind when I ran into David at about 5 PM, on that Thursday.
I decided, after I thought about it, that I shouldn't have mention the fact that I could really use the money. This was meant only to explain why I would be willing to hop around a bit to make sure she was let in and out of the place; and that it was not for any other reason that I might have for wanting to get her in my place.
But, after I thought about it, I decided to send her another message, apologizing for having mentioned needing the money, and adding that it made me feel like a beggar, and was based upon the faulty logic that her choice of where to crash would be based upon my need of the rent money, rather than any number of her own concerns.
I told her I didn't want to pressure her, and mentioned that I had another guy who had been in contact and was ready to take the place if she didn't.
She texted me back, saying: "Why don't you give him the place, then.."
And that was that. I actually felt relieved. She would have attracted too much attention, and, in order to remain as professional a couch renter as possible, I wouldn't have had to have been a perfect gentleman and not hit on her in any way that might make her think that I might use my couch to lure females to my lair.
As I closed the message from her, there appeared a "new message" message, which took me to one from Travis, who was probably typing at the same time as Olya.
"Did Olya wind up taking the place?"
I thought that they might be federal agents working in cahoots, or something; maybe trying to catch me subleasing my apartment.
which, after having run into David The Waterjug player, out in front of Starbucks, who smoked me up, with the caffeine
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