Somewhere between the hours of 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., I seemed to have lost my energy. I started yawning at 2 p.m. and by three couldn’t stop. I am still yawning. So, if you’re the one who found my energy, I’d appreciate you returning it. You know how contagious a yawn is. Once you start, everyone else around you has become infected. Then, they blame you. So, I’m trying to remember what I did to cause this. I’m blaming it on social media
networking brain drain. They should have people with nothing else to do who can set all this stuff up for you, and then monitor it daily. Sort of like a trusted dog walker. Leave it to them and go to work. Confidante says I have to know how all this stuff works, or when I become famous, I’ll have bottom feeders feasting off me. He’s right. I’d just rather be writing.
                 
We’re recovering from our Memorial Day weekend. Housekeeping and maintenance bear the unfortunate brunt of this effort. It’s not just fixing the stuff that gets broken or destroyed it’s the overall cleanup of the rooms and public spaces that needs so much elbow grease. And, the sad thing is the girls in housekeeping, who are at the bottom of the pay scale, work their butts off to  clean up after people who leave their rooms a filthy mess; and then don’t even receive a tip for their efforts. This is just wrong on so many levels. Why do guests assume housekeeping is getting paid to clean up after them and therefore shouldn’t expect to get a tip for doing their job? For those of you who always leave a tip to thank them for their service, thank YOU, and ignore what I’m about to say. The rest of you need to shape up. And, I don’t mean for you to think leaving the last two bottles of beer from your six-pack is good enough; try paying your electric bill with that. These girls have families to support. Just remember, what you do to others will come back to you some day. So, don’t be a cheapskate.
                 
Something has happened to the air conditioning. It seems whoever designed this hotel didn’t realize how hot it gets here during summer. This has nothing to do with what goes on in the rooms. Too many shadeless windows along western and southern exposures are turning our hallways into saunas. Apparently, the HVAC units aren’t large enough to handle the load, especially when the outdoor temperature reaches 90 plus. Maintenance says they’re working on it. Meanwhile, there’s been a nightly increase in skinny-dipping in the pool. Or, so I’m told.


                 

Good thing I got out of bed early today. Considering the way the morning went, as in, not the way I had it scheduled, I needed the extra time to accommodate the unexpected. I expected to work out, and I did. I expected to shower, and I did. What I did not expect was to forget to wash the conditioner out of my hair. If you’re a woman, I don’t need to explain further. When one puts their usual hair products on top of conditioner, a hair
disaster ensues; one of huge proportion. It does no good to try and do something with it, because you just can't. I had missed a text message from my granddaughter asking me to Skype with her. I certainly couldn’t let her see me looking like I’d worked bear fat grease into my hair, now could I? So, I had to take another shower. This was immediately after the one I had just taken, so I could wash my hair for the second time. This meant I had to use the remaining set of towels in my room. You might not think this would be a problem. Well, it was. The girls in housekeeping are used to me only using one set per day. Only couples use a pair of towels. Ergo, Ms. Information, must have had some company last night and he used one of the pair. Can you imagine that getting around? Like wildfire. So, I
had to hunt down which girl was doing my room today, and launch into a lengthy
explanation, in Spanish I might add, as to why I needed two sets. This is why I have very long days.
                 
I was visibly upset when I saw the full extent of the damage to the pool table in direct sunlight this morning. I even took pictures, just in case we needed documentation. For who, I wasn’t sure, but I got it anyway. Mr. Pool wasn’t too happy either. We both agree, something needs to be done. A sign forbidding food and drinks near it, and another sign limiting usage to over the age of 18 without adult supervision. As I mentioned yesterday, most of the adults were in need of supervision. I figure if we put up enough signs there
won’t be much space left for large groups to stand around, ‘cause they’d be in each other’s way trying to read them all. I’m taking up a collection to have the table re-felted. Please send all donations to Confidante, on account of he’s the only one we can trust with your money.
                 
Whoever washed a load of laundry and used too much detergent, I want to thank you for leaving the bucket of suds all over the inside of the machine and door. And, you left your sopping wet towel on the furniture. No problem. I have nothing else to do.
                 
Remember the flying ant, peeping Tom I had on my window? The one who left to start his own blog on the strange things he observed going on in hotel rooms? Yeah, that one. Well, he came back today; with a broken wing. Says he fell off the window laughing so hard, now he can’t type. 
                 
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Squid’s absence this week. He’s been on vacation in Atlanta, and I’ve had nobody to call me dinosaur. Miss you.

Call me a crab, but what has happened to discipline in this country? This weekend wins the award for the noise and chaos disaster of the year. That’s what you get when you combine 10-year old boys, sugar, computers, and no adult supervision. Where were the chaperones you might wonder? They were elsewhere having a good time. Ever try explaining to a drunken adult why they need to control their charges? Well, at least I know I’m not the only crabby person who expects people to have a little consideration for other
guests. We had our fair share of guests to complain about the decibel level and the amount of kids wandering around unsupervised. We still have another day to go before they leave. But, they’ll come back because everybody had such a good time. You know they will. Dammit.
                 
Do to three hours of sleep I came down to breakfast unfit to be civil to anyone. So, I’m a touch, touchy today. Still, I managed to finish my project and print it. I actually contemplated taking the day off. I contemplated it, but I didn’t do it. I’m too disciplined. I wonder if there’s a grey area that exists someplace in between being too disciplined, and the apparent total lack thereof, that appears in many people’s behavior in public. It seems to be more and more acceptable for people to show little, to no respect for the property of other’s. Americans have become an anything goes society, spurred on by a generation used to immediate gratification. I do know they think nothing of damaging hotel rooms  and annoying other guests, and do it with a self-confident air of indifference. Or, is that ignorance? Like the woman who spoke very loudly on her cell phone, non-stop for 16 hours on a train ride, who refused to comply, then said she felt disrespected when she was put off the train at the next stop. Are you kidding me? Ever go to look at a house for sale where the owners have already moved out to find potential buyers have left a fragrant present in the toilet or kitchen? Does it have to take a tornado or other natural disaster before people decide to behave with civility and thoughtfulness to each other? Nuf said.
                 
Fortunately, my day improved immensely. The Chef made me a delicious Philly steak sandwich for lunch that rivaled, well Philadelphia. He served it on this ‘to die for’bread that was pleasantly crunchy.  It had sautéed peppers, onions, tomatoes and melted provolone cheese, and it was served with a boom-boom sauce that warmed the cockles of my stomach down to my toes. I’m saying it was spicy hot. Not as hot as the mole I ate last weekend, but it ran a close second. It could just be my taste buds. For starters, the sauce definitely added to the overall enjoyment of the sandwich, by leaving a distinctively nice after-flavor in my mouth. I’ll have to let you know tomorrow though, how it ended.

The day started off on a high note in spite of the two teenagers who tried to play basketball against the doors on my floor last night. I tolerated it the first two times, when it continued at 11:30 p.m. I told them to take it outside or I’d call security. This morning I found their response hanging on my door. Anyway, I started my morning with another delicious pancake sandwich, which necessitated another blitzkrieg on the elliptical
machine to work it off. This time I think I’m okay. As long as I don’t overdo it, I can probably ellipt my way through the rest of the week. 
                 
This weekend we have the pleasure of not one, but two teams gracing us with their appearance. I just wish the people in sales who book these groups had the pleasure of experiencing their behavior on these stays. Does it ever occur to them to explain to managers, parents, and chaperones that they are expected to put chaperoning before drinking at the bar? 
                 
I’m glad I had a lot of work to do today. It prevented me from having to listen to the screaming going on in the lobby where too many kids hyped up on sugar from drinks and snacks were all over the pool table and computers. Unfortunately, when I got back tonight, Confidante greeted me with, “Have you seen the pool table?” As in, what happened to it. The gang of boys that were playing on and around it before I left, had saturated the felt by dumping a large drink on it. Of course, they continued playing on the table. By the time I got back, Confidante had confiscated the cue sticks and all the balls. Just wait until Mr.
Pool finds out. There’s gonna be hell to pay.
                 
I had to ask one of the throngs of boys if I could use the computer for a few minutes to gain access to a file I needed to print out for work I was doing for the hotel. Unfortunately, someone had erased all the files. What I did find was someone's homework. I had to reconstruct  the file on my own computer before adding the new information. So, who’s gonna pay for my time? 
                 
To top it off, I am surrounded on both sides of my room by screaming toddlers tonight. Normally, the front desk tries not to put noisy guests in the problem room. It had to have been one of the new employees, or else the one who just doesn’t give a damn. The loudspeaker wall is doing a fine job of magnifying the crying of the little dear whose parents don’t seem to be bothered by it. I am either going to have to sleep in the garage tonight, or get myself a room in a hotel with better construction. I wish now that I hadn’t watched Vicky, Christina Barcelona last night. Not that I would be able to hear it, if I were
to watch it.
                 
In case you hadn’t noticed, I put a counter on this blog two days ago, so I’m going to know if everyone who says they're reading is telling the truth. Be forewarned, big brother is watching.

I only managed to get in one game of pool after returning from a meeting last night. Plus, I was starving. Our chef made me two crab cake sliders with aioli sauce which hit the spot; that and a glass of Merlot. This was after I won at pool, and the win was a technicality win.
Confidante, who had stopped by because he loves this place so much, sunk the eight ball right into the pocket just like he intended it; which of course he hadn’t. 
                 
Remember that great workout I had yesterday? They had to send the crane to get me out of bed this morning. Since I had worked every muscle group I own, I had to take today off to let them recover. This begs the question, why then, did I bother to go so hard one day and then not be able to workout the next day? Well, I have no answer for that. Except that now I’m feeling really guilty for not exercising this morning. My muscles have fully recovered by late afternoon, only I’m too busy/lazy/not in the mood to take another shower-- to exercise. 
                 
I sure take a lot of good natured abuse from the guys here. Yesterday, Squid decided to give me a new hairdo. I no longer wonder how I’d look with a Mohawk. Today, Confidante sketched me first as a female, then a male with a mustache and long sideburns, then added color. I think the mustache has possibilities, and I will keep it in mind for the future when I run out of estrogen.
                 
Last night at a writer’s meeting, I learned all about the importance of social media networking. So, today I added Hootsuite to my other duties. I also received confirmation about a question I’ve often asked. Where do these people find the time to be productive at writing, having a job, home and having a life if they’re occupied on the internet doing this stuff all day/? AHA!! I knew it. They don’t. They’re not as productive. How could they be when they’re following 300 people on Twitter, writing a blog, posting on Facebook, writing a book or articles, and throwing in a job on top of all that? Squid may call me a
dinosaur, but at least I can remember when verbal communication worked just fine, and we didn’t die as a nation if we weren’t in everybody else’s business 24 hours a day. I’m just saying.


               
We’ve got three new bartenders at the hotel; two women and a man. Last
night we were unusually busy for a Thursday night at the bar and I’m wondering
what’s going on. I rarely stop by for a drink, even though I get one for free
because of my membership status. If I do get one, I usually bring it up to my
room and have it with supper. Last night, three of my friends sat around as I
ate, and it all felt right; just like
home.

Last night I decided to practice my pool game since Confidante was off. I had just taken two shots when Mr. Pool slid up behind me and said he wanted to practice too, but he only had fifteen minutes until his shift was over. He said he’d play against me. Remember Mr. Pool takes his game very seriously. He practices constantly. So, when he volunteered to play with me, I sensed he figured he’d finish me off quickly and still have time  to practice alone. I had come downstairs a few minutes earlier needing to blow off some pent up energy which I directed into my pool game. Sadly, for Mr. Pool, I trounced him soundly by taking him out in 9 minutes. And, no he didn’t give me the game. I earned it fair and square. He congratulated me that I beat him and told me not to tell anyone. Technically, I didn’t. I just wrote about it. Sshhhh. I still left him with six more minutes though.
                 
I do hate it when Confidante is on the daytime shift. It really eats into our pool time. I remember when the hotel was expecting a surprise inspection. Corporate headquarters wouldn’t tell anyone who, or when, the person would show up. So, everyone was on their best behavior. Confidante put a moratorium on our pool games and wouldn’t play until after the inspection. Unfortunately, it took one month for the inspector to come, and by that time I was seriously out of practice. The inspector assumed no one would know who she was but Confidante was ready for her. He was awesome. No matter how hard she tried to trip him up, his extraordinary talent for taking care of guests won her over. I think I  noticed a slight swelling of his head from the rave reviews she gave him on her report. It even affected his game. With renewed energy Confidante assumed a winning streak for 8 straight games. If you can believe it, he got upset about it too. Claims he didn’t have to work for it because I was off my game. 
                 
Squid’s been in a bad mood all week. Someone’s been dumping their bad energy on him, and now his ego’s in need of a little stroking. Isn’t that what everyone needs; a little validation every now and then? Of course, if you’re gonna answer to a name like Squid, you better have a strong enough ego to begin with.
                 
Today I managed to stay on the elliptical machine twice as long, and with twice the distance as I have before. I didn’t think it was possible, but I actually prefer it to the treadmill. There I go cheating again. I’ve told the treadmill before, and it bears repeating, “You’re boring and you never take me anywhere.”  While on the elliptical machine, I can mentally dance along with J-Lo's music in my ears, which also helps to increase my cardiac output. I think the treadmill and I have irreconcilable differences.

Sometimes I come back to my hotel room to find a little special something left behind by housekeeping. No, it isn’t a tip. One of the girls here is a master in towel art. She can take ordinary facecloths, bath towels and floor mats and turn them into little sculptures.  Yesterday there was a facecloth done into a flower with a little blue bar of soap in the middle. I also found a floor mat folded up into a pocket with a fanned out face cloth growing fernlike from its center. The problem is I feel I’m committing a sacrilege by using these little works of art. So, I preserve them pictorially in my cell phone where I can later transfer them to my computer for towel posterity. Otherwise, I’d have to resort to drip-drying after my shower.
                 
I’ve been here so long I’ve already been through my first refrigerator. Yesterday, the motor burned out. I have no remorse over this. It had taken to making weird high-pitched sounds in the middle of the night. You’d think I’d be used to high-pitched sounds in the middle of the night, wouldn’t you. The loud speaker wall has certainly provided me with its fair share of them. The difference is the refrigerator didn’t make noise ALL night.
                 
I had my monthly hair appointment today for a cut and color. I always look forward to this appointment. Besides affording me the assurance of looking neat and trim, if not slightly younger for the next three out of four weeks, it’s fun to get caught up on salon gossip. As usual, when my hair has reached its pre-determined state of processing I’m ready for the shampoo bowl. They have these neat massage chairs stationed before each bowl. Normally, I am guaranteed the enjoyment of a fairly stimulating massage as it goes up my lower back to my neck and then down again. Today I wasn’t even sure the chair was on. A low moaning sound from its base was the only proof the massage was even happening.
“Your chair sounds like it’s moaning,” I yelled to my hairdresser. “I think I just heard it moan, GET OFF ME.”
                 
I am sorry to report that my throat has begun to wrinkle. This is so unfair. I lose a little weight on my face, and boom, I’ve exceeded Young’s Modulus. Isn’t that a bitch? So, today I decided to nip it in the bud by cruising the shelves for the latest innovation in skin rejuvenating miracles. For what they charge for this fountain of youth glop it damn well better work or you know it’s gonna wind up in this blog.
                 
Girls, (or guys, if you’re prone to keeping your stuff in a purse) you have to check out bunbunbags.com. You can design your own bag with their fabric and styles or you can buy a ready-made one. In either case, you’re sure to love these purses. My clutch bag arrived today and it turned out perfect. Now I just need someplace to use it. Like a date.

I can’t help it that I just happen to be in the right place at the right time. People just tell me things. I’m also detail oriented and remember what I see and hear. So this is the reason why I sometimes know more of what’s going on than the majority of employees at the hotel. And, if they’d be a little more observant and ask questions, they could have their own blog too. I’m just saying. I don’t need to live in Missouri. We have enough wind
at this hotel to cause as much destruction as a tornado. 
                 
We had a full house this past weekend and I never heard a lick of noise; until last night. Forget what I said about women being louder than men. Someone checked in an anomaly through the loudspeaker wall last night. Mr. Anomaly’s voice carried across three rooms and down the hall. He was responsible for my staying up late to finish yesterday’s blog, and be able to have it posted before midnight. Why oh why, do some people insist on using the speaker phone late at night in a hotel? This is not your office and no one is interested in your friggin conversation.
                 
The chef here has great plans for the hotel’s food service. He plans on expanding the menus already mentioned in previous blogs. He tells me he wants to attract people from surrounding areas, not just guests at this hotel. So, I guess that begs the question: How’s he going get them in, if they don’t know where the hotel is? I’m thinking he should put a GPS chip in the menu booklets so folks can just home in. If the reception desk has to field any more questions for directions due to an increase in phone calls for food service, someone’s going to need protection from the front desk.
                 
Stupid is as stupid does. This morning I decided to resume working out on the weight machine. Squid came into the gym as I was pulling down on forty pounds, and I turned around to see who it was. It didn’t hit me until I was in the grocery store later in the day. At first, I thought it was from typing for several hours. My neck muscles felt like someone had put me on the rack and then forgot about me. Then I remembered the weight machine. Unfortunately, I had purchased four bags worth of groceries which included several heavy water bottles. I say unfortunately because I had walked to the store. My neck still feels like whiplash. I suppose I’ll need a doctor’s note to give to the treadmill and elliptical machine or they’ll be sending someone to fetch me in the morning.

You should have been a fly on the wall last night. Mr. Pool played Confidante seven games in a row in one of their most entertaining sets yet. Mr. Pool was thrilled to announce victory every time he won a game, even though the only reason he won half of them was because Confidante accidentally sunk the eight ball. Confidante argued he GAVE Mr. Pool the game. Mr. Pool insisted it didn’t matter, he still won. Keep in mind, earning the win by playing skillfully means more to Confidante than winning it on a technicality. I had to keep dodging missiles and moving my seat just to avoid getting beaned by balls angrily flying off the table. And, they call women testy. Insulting allusions to each other’s pool skills were not the only barbs exchanged. They did an hour long Cheech and Chong monologue that had me laughing so hard my stomach muscles cramped up. I used to call Confidante Mr. NightQuil because he’d keep me laughing so hard playing pool I'd sleep like a rock at night. Maybe I should call the two of them the Ambien twins, cure for insomnia.
                 
Last night two nearly comatose and frustrated women walked into the hotel after driving lost for hours.  Apparently, in her sleepy state, the driver misplaced her key ring before she went to bed. They were supposed to check out of the hotel this morning. After inquiring at the front desk if anyone had found the keys, which no one had, the driver feared she had dropped them in the trunk. A lock smith was called to break into her Mercedes. I happened to appear in the parking deck as the drama unfolded. I thought of several places they might try looking in the room where sneaky keys could hide undetected. I did tell the driver that things often happen for a reason. The delay might well have saved their lives from being involved in an accident had they left when they originally intended. You just never know. They both said the thought had already occurred to them too. Unfortunately, when the locksmith sprung the lock, the keys were not inside the trunk. As I left to run my errands, they went back into the hotel to search their room again. Later, I returned to find two very relieved women. The keys had been found cradled in the well of the luggage handle. They salvaged the rest of the day and evening with a tour of our River City. Don’t you just love happy endings?
                 
And, on that note, I’m happy to end it here tonight.             
 


                 

I made it home too late and too tired to submit yesterday’s blog. Sorry about that. I attended a baptism party for the infant son of one of the girls who works in housekeeping. You may recall I was concerned about being able to hold up my end of the conversation with the other guests. The majority didn’t speak any English, or just a few words. I was surprised how much of my Spanish came back. I used to be really good at listening. I can understand conversations if people speak slowly enough for me to translate. Since I never learned verb tenses well enough to give me the confidence to speak fluently, I warned them if something was past tense I was going to throw my thumb over my shoulder. I managed to muddle through to the best of my disability, and since I was there for five hours, I guess I did okay.

They made this gringa feel very welcome and I really had a blast. One of the older women sitting next to me at the table asked if I was married. When I told her no, she leaned over to me and whispered, “Mexican men make very good husbands.” Surprisingly, for once I didn’t have a comeback. 

I ate my first REAL Mexican food and listened to authentic mariachi music. Since my lame idea of Mexican music was salsa, I was expecting them to play Jennifer Lopez. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. Speaking of the food…OMG, the mole, which is pronounced mo-lay, was delicious! I was not expecting its heat to build up in my mouth as quickly
as it did. All I could think of as I ate it was “you’re going to be SORRY!” I just knew it would come back to remind me I can’t tolerate spicey-hot food anymore. My friend told me the best remedy to quench the heat was beer with a lime in the bottle. I’m not really into beer, but I must say it worked. Either that, or by the time it took me to get the stupid slice of lime shoved down the narrow neck of the bottle, the heat had dissipated by itself.

Later, I was offered another bottle of beer. When I declined they assumed I was afraid to drink and drive home. They were nice enough to offer to have someone drive me home. Was I being set up as Mexican marriage bait?  I explained one beer was enough; I’m just not into beer. When they saw me get up to use the ladies room, I’m sure they all thought I was lit by the way I walked. It was the shoes. You see, I had this high heel malfunction. Somehow, someway my foot seems to have shrunk an entire half a size, and try as I might I couldn’t keep the shoes on my feet when I walked. I’m sure I looked suspect, so I said something to this effect in my defense. They probably didn’t understand me so I guess I’ll
always be remembered as the gringa who got drunk on one beer and walked out of her shoes.

I stayed until after the cake was served. By then, I was as wound down as a clock. I’d been up since 5:30, worked out on both the elliptical machine and the treadmill, and then eaten my weight in Mexican food. “But, we haven’t danced yet. You can’t leave.” “Oh, no, I pleaded. I can’t even walk in these shoes; how can I dance in them?” I managed to drag myself home tired, but contented. In spite of the packed occupancy of the hotel this
weekend, I rolled into bed and immediately fell asleep. If there was a party going on next door through the loud speaker wall, I was too comatose to hear it. I hope I kept them awake with my snoring.