By the time I quit writing and arrived downstairs at nine last night, Mr. Pool had not only re-emerged but had managed to corral Confidante in a two-to-one lead. He would not go home without winning a third. Confidante humored him. I was too tired to play, so that was that.
                 
If you wanted to book a room at this hotel for the weekend you are SOL. There’s a function going on tonight, two wedding parties, and a team-of some kind, but I don’t know what. Let’s hope it’s the one who stole the cue stick and they’ve come back to return it. Or, to take the two new ones we’ve replaced it with. In either case, the cameras are on and I’m taking names and room numbers.
                 
Will the guy who’s been sneaking into the swimming pool area at night to take a shower and sleep free on the chaise lounges please come back and get your dirty clothes. We’re not running a free Laundromat too. 
                 
Speaking of the pool, I recall a night not too long ago where a twenty-something year old booked a girls night out for her birthday. Only it wasn’t just for girls. Everyone got rip roaring drunk. A good time was had by all. A little too good some would say. They were almost escorted out when things got out of hand. Several left nothing to the imagination when they stripped and jumped into the pool buck naked. For those unfortunate persons stuck on the same floor when the bar closed at 2 a.m., the kids just wanted to remind you what immature college dorm behavior looked like. In case you forgot. I’m just saying.
                 
There is something I must get off my chest. No, it’s not my bra. It’s about the flack we get because our lobby is on the second floor. Yes, we already know there’s no signage downstairs directing guests to the lobby. We enjoy maintaining an air of mystery about the hotel. If you haven’t got the brains or the initiative to take either of the two elevators, both of which have a button that reads “lobby,”or climb the stairs to see where they go, we can’t help you. And, don’t use the lame excuse that you have never experienced a hotel whose lobby isn’t located off a sidewalk. 
                 
Our new general manager has decided the elevators look ridiculous with all but four mini lights shut off in the ceiling. Actually, I won’t tell you what he said. It’s hearsay anyway. Or was that heresy? So, now we can see all the fingerprints on the stainless steel interior. I’m for keeping half on and half off. It can get really hot in the elevator with all the lights on, and we do not need to give couples a head start. I’m just grateful both elevators are
working at the same time. We recently had full occupancy on another weekend when one of the two elevators went out. The elevator lobby looked like a baggage claim.

Last night’s pool games were the reason I couldn’t wake up this morning. Pool until 12:30 a.m.? Confidante was amazed I wasn’t asleep with cue stick in hand because normally I’m yawning by 10:30.  Another one of the guests here had seen me playing pool on another night and told Confidante she wanted to play me. She had been an instructor of pool years earlier. I was intrigued. The three of us started off playing nine-ball. We were nearing the end of the game when Confidante had to check in some guests. Their balls were still on the table. I technically won, or actually won, except for the sudden interruption of Mr.  Pool himself who couldn’t wait to show the new girl how it’s done. Anyway, he just started racking up without asking if we were finished. We let it go. The next game was eight ball. Mr. Pool lost to the new girl and was not to be seen for the rest of the night. She and I played the next game and I won. Confidante came back and I just watched. That’s when he noticed I couldn’t stop yawning. “Time for bed, B.” I slept like the dead and kept slipping into a dream state until something woke me at 8:00 a.m.  I’m thinking, this is how I want to go out in the end. Exhausted and content.
                 
For those of you wondering what hotel I’m living in and where, I can assure you it isn’t the one the accused Dominique Strauss-Kahn was staying in for the alleged sexual attack on a female housekeeping staff member who came to service the room, not him. Had it been this hotel, I certianly would have heard the commotion on account of the loud speaker walls, and trust me I would have been the first to complain about the noise and have his naked, French aristocratic butt thrown out. Pommes frite that.
                 
I can tell you that men do not have a monopoly on making unwanted advances on hotel staff. Women can be very aggressive as well. Consider the staff member summoned to
bring towels to a room or to answer a problem with a shade that only goes down an inch from the bottom. Please. If your room is that high up, who the hell is going to see you in an inch? When the door is answered, he is often greeted by a woman in a sheer negligee or worse. There are also cases where a staff member must get a very drunk guest that has fallen asleep on the stairs safely back to her room. She then throws her arms around his neck to pull him in as he’s trying to push her through the door. You get all kinds in a hotel. I couldn’t make this stuff up.
Really.
                 
Which brings me to the second point I’d like to comment on. USA Today ran an article on a 5-year old study which revealed 65-75% of pregnancies were unintended or mistimed, and 25-35% unwanted; an overall 40% increase across the U.S. Considering this is old news, they reported there are multitudinous reasons why people don’t plan ahead. Duh. They neglected to consider the obvious. I live in a hotel. Are you kidding me? The fact that the bottom five states in the study with the least mistimed pregnancies happen to be in cold states from N.D. to Maine, where it’s just too much trouble to get naked should have tipped someone off that the top five would be in warm states in the south and southwest. I’ll let you figure out which tier I live in.

I don’t like having to share the gym with men in the morning. Their nasty sweat flies all over the place as they’re running on the treadmill. Mud and dried dirt fly off the back of the treadmill from their shoes. You’re forced to listen to their grunting sounds while they  strain to lift weights. This is not impressive. If they’re so heavy they make you grunt, then you should stop before you hurt yourself. I’m just saying. You don’t hear women grunting. Women breathe out with a softer whuuuh whuuuh. Men should take a lesson from this. Unless you want us to think you’re constipated, stop grunting.                  

One of the more amusing daily sights I see through my bedroom window is  to watch people on the other side of the street trying to parallel-park. Women in vans are particularly entertaining. Spaces are super-sized, so it’s not exactly a tight squeeze. They either don’t cut their wheels enough, or else they misjudge how far back they can still go. It’s even more amazing to watch them pull into a space with the front of the car first. One lady was already in the space but for some reason decided to pull out and try again. Only she cut the wheel too sharp and kept going over the curb. After repeated attempts at going back and forth she finally pulled in at a worse angle than she had in the beginning. Only now, she had enough space between her rear end and the car behind her to park an eighteen wheeler. Her incredulous male passenger got out and danced back and forth behind her car trying to show her how much space she had left. But, she was done. I don’t know how the car in front of her was going to get out because she parked so close to its bumper. And before you all cry foul, I’ve seen men doing the same thing.                   

I had the BEST pancake sandwich this morning. I don’t even want to know how many calories or grams of fat I ate. Well, yes I do. But the chef was not about to let me know. I did ask. It had eggs and bacon between the pancakes with syrup on the side. I had very little of the syrup. Just enough to taste, don’t you know. I have been slightly slacking off with exercise each day too. Once I discovered the merits of taking a break, I give them to myself frequently now. Not to worry. I get on the scale every day like a trucker at a weigh station. First sign of an ounce, and I fine myself.

         Was that a great season finale to NCIS-LA and The Good Wife, or what? It looks like that may be the highlight of my week here. Unless they decide to fix the air conditioning. The hotel is packed to capacity, Confidante is too busy working to play pool and I’ve got nothing going on at night until next week. Borrring. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. I have a Baptism to attend this weekend. That should be good fodder for this blog. Everyone will be speaking Spanish there. And, I will be trying to. 

What a weirdly quiet day yesterday. I mean this place was like a mortuary. Confidante and I planned to play pool in the evening since he was only expecting 16 check-ins.  Just after I racked up, a couple appeared out of nowhere off the street to ask if they could play pool. Unh. Confidante told me not to be selfish. So we let them play for awhile. I say this as a build up to Confidante’s confident announcement that he was going to beat me soundly. “Well, I see you’ve been eating delusional pills today,” was my response. We played a really close game but he won. Hands down. I don’t know how, but he did. We only had time to play two games. Just as well. You know how he needs to feel he’s earned his win. I made him work for it, too.

I spent the entire day in the laundry room working and it’s been very productive. I realized the irony behind the fact that I’ve managed to work money laundering into my mystery novel. It must have been a subliminal suggestion. 

This morning I rode down in the elevator with Squid and the housekeeping manager, whom I’ll call Tom. Squid called me Dinosaur and Tom thought he said Dinah Shore. Well, of course Squid being 28 had no idea who Dinah Shore was, but Tom gave him a lengthy infomercial on her and her relationship with Burt Reynolds, more than Squid wanted to know. I got the last laugh, Fred Flintstone. Dinosaur indeed.

I wonder if any of my readers have their own hotel stories they’d like to share. (Or, stories on Dinah Shore and I’ll give them to Squid.) If so, I’d enjoy hearing from you. I’ll give you credit for the entry. Just email me at pconcodora48@gmail.com. Anything funny that may have happened to you in your travels will do. 

Confidante is off tonight so it looks like I’ll be working until CASTLE comes on at 10 p.m. 

We had an event here last night which lasted until late. If you mix women and shoes you’re gonna have a good time. The bar featured some weird bluetini thing. I didn’t want to know what mixture of alcohols gave it the blue color. I’m a purist at heart. If I’m going to have a martini it will be vodka with a twist. That’s lemon for those of you who don’t
know. I encountered someone who called himself a bartender and made mine with a
twist of lime. Yech.
                 
I am sorry to report that Mr. Pool left here very angry last night. It seems Confidante smacked him good for two games. Then Mr. Pool, being a sadist at heart, told Confidante to put two dollars on the table. It was all of two dollars but... I’m just saying. Confidante beat him badly, really badly on the third game and Mr. Pool left in a huff. Ah, the delicate male ego.
                 
I got caught in the torrential storm we had last night as I was driving home from church. I’m hoping that’s what stood me in good stead with the Lord. I am terrified of lightning, so when a bolt hit the area to the right of where I was driving on Rt. 288, let’s just say, I’m glad I decided to use the restroom before I left church. I could barely see through the windshield, that’s how hard the rain fell. I was determined to stop for a lottery ticket before I went home. I didn’t go four feet after I got out of the car before I was soaked to the skin. I went to the counter to get my ticket and as soon as the attendant put the slip in the machine it shorted out. How’s that for a big no from the Universe?
                 
Well, at least the peeping Tom got washed away in the storm. I wonder if he’s now writing his own blog about his experiences looking into hotel windows.
                 
I’m still shaking my head from some of the things guests ask us for. Do you have room service? NO. Do you have valet service? NO. Do you have a shuttle bus? NO. Do you have a restaurant? NO. Why don’t you ask us about the things we do have? Reasonable rates, different ambiance from your typical Williamsburg, Virginia-looking hotel, great customer service, free parking, friendly staff and me, Ms. Information.

 We have a new general manager. He arrived earlier than expected. I went to introduce myself as the resident dorm mother and he said he already knew who I was. I’m not sure if this should worry me or not. “Just in case you need anything don’t hesitate to ask,” I told him. Seriously, I met another guest last night who during the course of our conversation told me he had thought I was the G.M. 

Today is Friday the 13th and I’m feeling lucky. 
                 
I got off the elevator this morning and greeted two of the girls from housekeeping as I walked by. I wondered why they had this curious grin on their faces. I walked all the way down the hall. They watched as I put my key in the door. “You’re on the wrong floor,” one of them said. I looked up at the number on the door and sure enough, they were right. We all laughed and I felt like an idiot. I guess there’s a first time for everything. I mean, going to the wrong floor not feeling like an idiot.
                 
Last night Confidante’s friend was determined to regain his perfect winning streak at pool. Confidante was baaaalliiiing and I sat there laughing at the two of them. It’s just a game, guys. His friend, I’ll refer to him as Mr. Pool, does not like to lose. Oh, no. Losing is not in his vocabulary. Talk about competitive. He takes his game VERY seriously. When Confidante had something to do before quitting time, Mr. Pool asked me to play. I happened to be chilled to the bone at the time. All I wanted was to go to bed and get under the comforter to warm up. We played nine-ball. I won. He wanted a rematch. I wanted the comforter. The bar tender wanted to play whoever won. No, I’m going to bed.
There wasn’t going to be a third game for me. Goodnight, gentlemen.
                 
I believe this is prom weekend. It has me worried. I haven’t had a lovey-deary couple in a few weeks. Nor, have I had an all night party going on in a room near me for awhile. I’ve been SO grateful too. I got the term lovey-deary from my mother, although I have no idea where she got it. I remember when I used to think a hotel was a place you stayed in on vacation or en route to somewhere else. Boy, have things changed.  Hotels are places where some people go to do things they would not ordinarily do at home. And, they do them very loudly. Some couples must have their room confused with the club they just left
because they keep “talking” at the same decibel level. When I am startled awake and then forced to listen to your heavy breathing and the banging of your headboard I turn into a raving lunatic. 

Two o’clockish in the wee hours seems to be the witching hour to wake up unsuspecting guests as you are returning to your room. At least that’s when the bars close down. I
wish someone could explain to me how some people think running down a hallway
knocking on doors while laughing and hooting at 2 a.m. is acceptable behavior. I guess if you’re a flippant college student, female, blonde and drunk you wouldn’t know.

There has been a peeping Tom looking in my window at the hotel. This has been going on for four days and I can’t believe it’s still happening. Tom resembles a flying ant or a termite, although I can’t imagine why it’s confusing wood with all this concrete. Anyway, I’m waiting to see when or what it will take to get him to leave on his own. If not, I’m having the little pervert arrested.

I must be slipping. Went down to heat up my leftovers in the microwave and discovered a reception was going on without my knowing about it. How did that happen? Had I known free food was involved…
                 
Seriously, since I’ve been writing this blog as well as my other writing projects, it has kept me far too occupied to keep my nose into things. How’s that for irony? Then add Facebook and Twitter and my normal email. Exactly how am I supposed to get anything done? I wonder how I managed to be productive when I worked at a job-job? Oh, I remember. I had no life. 

We still don’t have ice machines, but we do have four new, stupid-looking plastic lighted cubes stacked on each other with the name of the hotel. 
                 
I had to make an appointment with Confidante to play pool last night. Ever since a friend of his got a job at the hotel, he has monopolized Confidante’s time at the pool table. If truth be known, he plays even better than Confidante, professional actually, and I suspect Confidante was all too eager to play with me again to restore his wounded reputation. Unfortunately, this did not happen. He was expecting to win, and I took his joy away. I beat him. My bad. Then, I beat his friend. 
                 
The chef has rearranged the breakfast area for the umpteenth time. I think he’s a frustrated decorator. He was in the process of ordering and re-stocking today while talking to another staff member. I asked if he had gotten Naked yet. The staff member looked at me and said, “WHAT?” “She means the orange juice.” What did she think I meant?
                 
Yesterday, I wore a pair of red patent leather wedge sandals that I haven’t worn in about three years. As Confidante remarked, they were “fly”. I was in Barnes and Noble’s café with a friend around lunch time when a man’s voice called to me from behind. He said he felt compelled to tell me how pretty my shoes were. Pretty they are. Comfortable they are not. The problem is I remembered why I haven’t worn them in so long. My little toes are so blistered I had to wear slippers all day. Cinderella I am not.
                 
It dawned on me I haven’t seen the girl who used to make a reservation to be with a different guy every Friday night. You know the one. Tall, perky redhead. She’d get started drinking long before they showed up to meet her. Then she wouldn’t recognize them. Kept calling her husband asking where he was. That one.
                 
We’ve probably had our own share of “ladies of the night,” but most try to be discreet about it. Except for the girl with the cap. She’d show up to check in with the brim pulled down over her eyes and kept her head down. Next time don’t wear a loud plaid. Like we didn’t know.  

I’ve decided to wear a sign that says,“Yes, I really live here.” If you’ve seen me each one of the times you’ve stayed here in the past months, and you’ve jokingly said, “What, do you live here?” Believe it, I do. There is an art to living in one room and I have mastered it. 
                 
I also work here. Well, I “help out” around the hotel, but I actually do “work”here as well. It just doesn’t seem like work. I like to think of what I do as exercising my imagination. I’m a writer, don’t you know.
                 
We got a new menu for breakfast. The Chef has put his noodle to the griddle and come up with tasty treats to start our day. He slipped copies under the guest room doors while we were still deep in slumber. I loved his pancake sandwich with bacon, egg and syrup. Of course I felt guilty enjoying eating it, but I ate it anyway.

Oddly, I miss the blue pail with the yellow “piso mojado” sign near it which were in the hallway under the leak, which isn’t leaking anymore. Funny how you get used to seeing something that was ugly to begin with, and then one day it isn’t there and you feel this sense of nostalgia for it. It added presence to an otherwise bland hallway.

I went to an interesting seminar on women’s sexuality recently followed by a slumber party for adult women only. You could say it was a “no-holes barred” kind of lecture. If you didn’t have a partner but you still had a good memory, you could still find it useful. 
It was the kind of info you file under “future” reference. Seriously, cougar or not, who was I going to practice on? The slumber party was a hoot, though. No we weren’t in our p.j.’s. It was like a Tupperware party for sex-toys. I wish I could've been a fly on the wall the following night. It was for couples only. 

Today was laundry day. Again. While I was writing and waiting for my clothes I remembered a recent incident where I managed to put my foot in my mouth with another guest who came in to do his laundry. He was a nice guy who stayed off-and-on at the hotel with whom I’d periodically chat. I continued writing as his clothes were in the washer. Eventually, he returned to put them in the dryer, and in the process of  transferring his slacks, several coins dropped out of his pocket onto the floor. I looked up when I heard them drop and without missing a beat quipped,“Are you laundering money?” I immediately realized the inappropriateness of what I said because of whom I said it to, but it was too late to retract my words. I was trying to make a pun and had not intended to refer to his legal troubles. I doubt that he ever knew I was aware of his local fame as a convicted embezzler who is now in prison. Now I can’t go into the laundry room without thinking of him. No, I don't know where he hid the money, but I can tell you it wasn't in the dryer.

Remember the leaking pipe in the hallway? I was told the water would be shut off after 12 noon. I ended my exercise in plenty of time to shower which is what I was about to do when the phone in my room rang. It was a little after 11 a.m. The caller was announcing the water was already off. Off? “Off-off?” I asked incredulously. Yup. They gave us no
warning, just shut it off. No idea how long it would take to fix the leak. Well, here it is going on 5 p.m. and I’m still waiting to get in the shower. I refuse to go out to get something to eat with my hair a mess and no makeup, and I’m getting cranky. 
                 
Watching two men fix the leaking pipe was entertaining. They decided to drain the water that had been lying in it by cutting a section of it away. Water poured out like a waterfall. Everywhere. I felt kind of bad for the man who was using an electric soldering gun. He was holding it while standing on a metal ladder. This was while water cascaded all around his head. Two large trash cans could not contain the contents of the pipe. The other man was trying to vacuum up the water with a shop vac. Except that he was using a 2-inch upholstery attachment to suck up the flood. It was a Laurel and Hardy moment.
                 
At least the weather turned nice today. Well, it looks nice. I haven’t actually been outside to experience this yet, and I would like to experience it before the day ends. I would if I could get in the shower and dress. It was pointed out to me that I look like drek anyway when I’m outside walking in the morning, what difference does it make that I look like drek now because I’m still dressed in my exercise clothes at 5 p.m.? Men don’t understand. Women have an excuse to look bad without makeup because everyone they run into can tell they look that way because they’re exercising. One does not look like this at the end of the afternoon when they know there’s no excuse for it. I will not be seen
like this in public and I don’t care who thinks it makes no sense. 
                 
It was almost 5:30 p.m. by the time the water came back on. The only way I discovered this was because I periodically turned on the faucet. You’d think I hadn’t showered in days as I luxuriated in the warm water. 
                 
To add insult to injury, last night I made sure I got back to my room in time to see CASTLE. Two minutes to air time and I’m still looking for the remote. Knowing I had specifically come upstairs to watch my program, I was sure one of the guys here was playing a trick on me by hiding it. So, I called the desk in the lobby. I told them I had looked everywhere for it, ha ha very funny. Then something hit me. An idea, not the remote. My sheets had been changed that morning. I moved the mattress away from the headboard and tada! There it was. I found it just in time. Fifteen minutes after the show started I was out cold. Did anyone see how it ended?