There just wasn’t enough to write about yesterday, unless you want to hear about my shin splints. They’re back, but why, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to build my heart rate back up to what it was before my four day hiatus on the elliptical machine, so please don’t tell me I’m getting shin splints from that too.  I figure if exercise is supposed to be a lifelong commitment, then a measly four days shouldn’t make a hill of beans difference. I read an ad in the paper yesterday that said dieting to get rid of belly fat didn’t work because that fat was caused from hormones. Well, all mine got used  up a long time ago, so what’s my excuse? I tell you…
                 
Squid’s back. He’d just taken some time off. No, he didn’t come back with any lobster for me, either. I noticed he got his hair cut, though. It was more peach fuzzy than usual. I owed him an insult after this morning. I was discussing the article in USA Today on college tuition with Mr. Madison and Squid. Squid made the comment that if you went to a private college you were guaranteed an $80,000/year job when you graduated. After I got done choking on my omelet at that, I mentioned I had gone to a private college for my first
degree and I sure didn’t start out with that. Squid told Mr. Madison that was because back in the Flintstone era, my degree would have been carved in stone. I mentioned something about mine actually having been burned into two tablets.
                 
Looks like I’m going to miss the reception at the hotel tonight. They’re serving wine with live entertainment; a guitar I think. I’ve got a meeting I don’t want to miss, so I guess you won’t be reading about it here.
                 
I haven’t done my composing assignment yet today. Last night Confidante gave me a word to use in writing two bars for a song. You may recall he’s not only the handsome face of the front desk here, but also composes music and performs in public. He gave me the word “ice.” Now what was I supposed to do with that? I managed to come up with four bars of a,b,b,a but it was certainly nothing compared to his material. By the end of the fourth bar, mine had morphed into poetic humor. I might have an easier time of it today, because ice is what I’m feeling like right now with the air conditioning blowing on my back. It’s been so cold in my room I’ve had to go outside to warm up. 
                 
Peeping Tom, the flying ant, has taken a job for the summer as a window washer. He tells me it’ll take all summer on account of he’s slightly disproportionate in size to the window. The window? As in singular? Yup. Says it’s big too, but he thinks he can wing it. You didn’t see that one coming either, did you?        

I was right. Going back to the gym was no picnic. I had no problem with the weights, but oh boy, the elliptical machine. It’s not even that I felt exhausted. I just couldn’t get my heart rate up and leveled off to where it used to be. Bummer. I’m sure glad I got up early to go for a walk before the humidity hit, because I don’t feel like I got a good work out today.
                 
For the past two days, I’ve experienced life imitating art. I’d been concerned about an underlying theme of my mystery being accurately written. I wasn’t sure if the way I was portraying it was actually possible. The Universe came to my assistance. I lived it. You’ll just have to wait for it.

The fire alarm went off after supper today. I’m convinced it’s another false alarm from the bar that opened downstairs. So, I decided not to go down. But the screech was deafening. I still took my time hoping it would just shut up. I tried to call downstairs, but the line was busy. I still waited. Finally, I couldn’t take the alarm anymore. I was so sure it was a false alarm I left my laptop on when I walked down several flights of stairs. I had on my slippers which kept coming off my feet. I also had a very full stomach since I had just eaten a large
meal.
                 
I get downstairs to a deserted lobby. Everyone’s outside with the fire trucks. I roll up on someone I know to ask what’s going on, and to be reassured this is just more construction folly. It seems the hallway between our building and theirs was full of smoke. Yours truly got her ass up the four flights of stairs faster than the speed of light, in spite of having to grip her toes to keep her slippers on. I’m not wasting fifteen years of work just so it can go up in flames if this turned out to be real, which fortunately, it wasn’t.  I ran all the way down the stairs hauling my laptop case stuffed with everything I could think of to save, as well as my purse which weighs the equivalent of a small freighter. After all that, I found out the smoke was really thick construction dust that had set off the
alarm. I’m hoping to have at least lost the weight I gained from that big dinner in the process of running up and down the stairs.
                 
Still no sign of Squid. Brick is reducing his hours. Confidante is going away for a couple of days. Mr. Madison is off. Who am I going to play pool with? I suppose I could play against myself, but I’m too competitive. How would that work? 
                 
On a sad note, I lost a friend to lung cancer this week. He’d just finished his sixth out of twelve treatments. He was craving a hot fudge sundae, which his sister indulged him. After enjoying it, he fell asleep and never woke up. I guess if it’s your time to leave, enjoying your favorite dessert before you go is a great way to take your leave from this life, before starting the next with a sweeter advantage. We’ll miss you Roger.                
 


                 
  

I was afraid the only item I’d have to talk about today was toothpaste. This would be the toothpaste Housekeeping has been instructed to place in rooms they clean on a daily basis. I’ve been saving mine for when I get too desperate and can’t afford to buy my usual brand. The tubes started piling up though, so I decided to try one. The tube read peroxide and baking soda. Ehh, I don’t know. Reluctantly, I put the boring white paste on the
toothbrush, and stuck it in my mouth. Blaah. Gross. Eeuw. The inside of my mouth felt like I had coated it with alum. Nasty, nasty, nasty. No wonder they’re giving them away. The manufacturer probably can’t sell them. I found a better use for it. Some of the tile grout was missing in the bathroom… 
                 
Praise God, they’re gone; the soccer teams and their chaperones. OMG. There wasn’t one staff member who wasn’t negatively affected by their rude, slovenly and loud demeanor. Word had already spread like poison oak on a camper’s butt about my confrontation with one of the soccer moms in the laundry room. Why didn’t I just deck her, or at the very least tell her where she could stuff her kid’s jacket? Because I decided to take the high road and just let the b….h use the dryer, hoping her negative karma would come back at her. Besides, I didn’t have any more quarters to spend on re-washing my hanging whites which were in her path. To top it off, thirty of them asked for late checkouts so they didn’t have to sit in the van after the game. Did it bother them this might cause the entire housekeeping staff to work late on a Sunday to accommodate them so the rooms they left in a shambles were clean for new arrivals? Nope. 
                 
I haven’t seen Squid in days. Where is he? He’s been in a foul mood since the beach reception he went to had already run out of lobster before he arrived. This sounds like a sacrilege and poor planning to me. I think he should go back and demand his lobster. I think I should go with him. Just to see to it that he doesn’t get a bad one. I’m just saying.
                 
The thing about living in a hotel is that you can’t cook for yourself. I’ve begun to sprout feathers thanks to all the chicken I eat. I don’t even like chicken. I’d rather have salmon, but I’m at the mercy of the store’s chef where I buy my groceries. He hasn’t quite figured out yet that the reason his blackened salmon is not selling is because people like the other way he makes salmon better. I’m also sick of eating the same white vegetables and main dishes. I need greens like spinach sautéed in garlic and extra virgin olive oil. His kale is an acquired taste, and I haven’t acquired it, yet. Never will, either. Their green beans are horrible. And, that’s about it for variety. 
                 
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I haven’t worked out in the gym for days. I have already gained twenty pounds. Okay, not twenty, but it looks like it. Not only that, but I feel fluffy. Now, I’m afraid to get on the elliptical machine in case I’ve lost my former heart rate. I hate starting over. It’s so yesterday.

This was another weekend from hell at the hotel; another girls’ soccer team. One huge sleepover: loud, noisy, and unsupervised. Squealing, running in the halls, non-stop knocking on each other’s doors. I’m trying to learn more tolerance for those lacking in
consideration for others, so I didn’t’ even complain like the other guests who had someone from the front desk come up to handle them. I also had my first experience with the ubiquitous, over the top soccer mom. Yes, they’re everything they’re known for, and then some. About 11:30 a.m. I was reading and minding my own business washing clothes in the laundry room. In walks several soccer moms wanting to use the one washer and one dryer for the team clothes, both of which I already had clothes in. Our machines are speed challenged so I told them I’d be at least another hour. They left. Why didn’t they think of the uniforms the night before instead of going out drinking with the rest of the non-chaperones? A few minutes later, one stormed back in acting like a nut job to inform me this was just not going to work for her. Her daughter’s jacket was wet and she needed
it dried for the game. It was 96 friggin degrees here at the time. It would have dried outside in two minutes. 
                 
She decides to hell with my laundry and commandeers the dryer. I even had time left on the machine. She started it over and announced she’d be back in a few minutes. I’m wondering why I’m allowing her to do this since I was in the middle of using it, except she was so aggressive. I decided I couldn’t trust her to not grab my already-washed white clothes, which were hanging precariously on the laundry powder dispenser machine’s coin slots, and throw them on the floor in a rage. Her few minutes grew into forty. So much for needing it in a hurry. My impatience was palpable. I kept pacing. I knew the jacket was already dry, but I left it in the dryer for fear she’d cause World War III, thinking I touched it. I had other things to do besides spending my entire day in the laundry room, ya know. Finally, she ran in, grabbed it and ran out the door. I was tossed an off-handed, quick thanks as she exited. Next time, try Motel 6. They’ll even leave the light on for you.
                 
This was the weekend of my disbelief, and it didn’t stop with soccer moms. Someone had left a little fur-ball, perhaps a shitzu, locked in their car with the windows rolled up in the heat while they went into a neighborhood restaurant/bar. Have people lost their minds? Looks like it’s gonna be a long summer.         
 


                 
                 
  

After almost two and a half days off, Confidante returned to the front desk yesterday. He had all the action from three to eleven, so I told him maybe he should write my blog. But, he was too busy answering phone calls, checking people in and warding off the ladies. There’s no end to the positive vibes, and what they attract when your wisdom tooth falls out. Finally. It happened at 5:10 a.m. on Wednesday. As you know, he’d been working on its extraction for a week ever since he crowned it with his electric toothbrush. I am so glad his ordeal is finally over, ‘cause he was getting a tad too cranky, if you ask me.
                 
He picked me up from the hairdresser yesterday. Said I looked “fly” and 25 when I got into the car. I would have been happy with 35, but I’ll take the 25. I told him I could really get used to being chauffeured around, and then he imitated Morgan Freeman’s character in Driving Miss Daisy. I meant, as in leaving the driving to someone else, twit. I was surprised the salon still hadn’t fixed the “moaning chair” at the shampoo sink: the one that sounds like its complaining, “Get OFF me” when you sit on it. It’s one of those massage chairs that recline. It could use a good squirt of oil, or something.
                 
I have no idea where yesterday went, let alone this entire week. I suppose that’s because I spent most of the day and early evening away from the hotel. If you can believe it, I haven’t even played pool this week. What I have done is gotten back on track with my exercise after taking a breather for three days. Don’t worry. I paid for it. The elliptical machine is unforgiving. Well, come to think of it, so is the treadmill, except in a different way. Ever since I took a break and starting walking outside and using the elliptical machine, the treadmill has developed an attitude. We now have issues. 
                 
There was already a man in the gym this morning when I arrived, one of those jocks who like to push themselves to the brink of a heart attack. He was lifting really heavy weights while reclining on a Pilates ball.  I thought he’d busted a gut listening to him straining so hard. Then, he stood on his head, and put his feet against the wall. He made such a racket grunting and straining that I wondered if he was lifting weights while he did this. I was
bench pressing weights myself at the time (but, quietly), so I didn’t want to be obvious and turn my head to look at him. Every now and then he’d start pacing around me. I’d already asked him if I could use the bench, so that wasn’t it. Nor, did I think he had to use the bathroom. He just couldn’t stay still. Finally he left, and I had the place to myself, that is, until Dave a.k.a. Chappell strolled in. I had an equipment problem to discuss with him which required me getting off the machine I was on. No point in finishing on it. So, I
moved to another. After all that, I doubt I even worked off 150 calories. Nothing like being in a gym for an hour, and feeling like you didn’t do anything.

Determined to get an early start on my day, I rolled into the gym this morning and headed for the elliptical machine. I went through the usual sanitizing of the handles, and grabbed a towel, and…no water. I can’t exercise without water. Where’s Squid? He’s supposed to have the water on the shelf in the morning. A man on a treadmill had taken the only bottle. So, I trot off to the front desk and ask where Squid might be. Mr. Madison informs
him he’s needed. I’m greeted with, “Dinosaur.” 

“Yeah, well there’s no water, and I need at least one bottle if you don’t have time to refill the shelf.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” he promises.
                 
I started warming up while I was waiting for him. I got warmed up, still no Squid. I moved on to the weight machine. I was only able to use the top pulley system of weights. Someone before me had replaced one of the handles on the lower set with a body sling do-hickey, and I couldn’t figure out how to change it back to the hand pull that belongs there. Man, I hate it when folks (read men) go in there and change stuff around, and then don’t put it back like they found it. Some of us (read women) don’t know how to correct their changes, nor can we lift heavy equipment they’ve left strewn all about to get it out of
our way. I looked all over the machine for an Allen wrench to make the change, and there wasn’t any. How did they do it?
                 
I trot back to Mr. Madison who returns with me to see if he can figure it out. Nope, and he’s got a weight machine at home. Apparently, he doesn’t have to share his with inconsiderate jocks. I asked him to put in a report with maintenance, and to just not tell Super Lion who it was that had the problem. Super Lion and I are like oil and water, but you didn’t hear that from me. Yes, you did, because it’s true.
                 
Finally, Squid shows up with my water, and I can now get on the elliptical machine. I’m listening to J Lo, dancing in my minds eye, and moving my arms to the beat. Now of course I have to breathe. I also have to exhale. I’ve been told to whoosh out on the exhale to get rid of toxins. This is true. Next thing I know, Squid is making these weird sounds and imitating my arm movements. “WHAT?” I said. He’s laughing. Apparently my exhaling is too loud. Well, who could hear it with ear buds in?
                 
This afternoon I found out why Peeping Tom’s baggage cost me so much to check in. The little bugger had stuffed it with hooch. I’m going to break his other wing when I get him.

Happy first day of summer. It’s now legal for you to wear white.
                 
I’ve been thinking of how far this hotel has come in working out its construction kinks during the past year. I remember they had a problem regulating the hot and cold water. Then there was a problem with the air conditioning. And, oh boy was there a problem with the fire alarm system. We celebrated our own version of the Fourth of July one evening, and come to think of it, it WAS the Fourth of July when it happened. I was in bed and already in a deep sleep when the alarm went off. This is a piercingly loud and shrill siren
accompanied by the usual recording which instructs you to evacuate and not use the elevators. The voice was indistinguishable from the one used in car alarms telling you to back away from the car. Anyway, everyone piled out from two exits on either side of the building. I had grabbed the most valuable things to me, my laptop and my purse. I also grabbed my jeans and a jacket, and put them on. When I got outside, there were already people standing and sitting on the curb in front of the hotel. Fortunately for us, this little experiment in inconvenience occurred on a warm summer night. Most had come down in pajamas and some of the men, in boxer shorts which was too much information for the rest of us. The fire trucks rolled up, and within five minutes left as fast as they had come. We were told it was a false alarm and to go back to our rooms. An hour later, at 2 a.m.
the alarm went off again. I could hear doors opening and people talking in the hallway. I opened my door to see if anyone was going to go downstairs, but apparently, not. We all must have decided to go back to bed. The alarm eventually stopped. We fell asleep. I have now forgotten how many times the alarm went off between 2 and 4 a.m. that morning, but I can tell you there was a mob scene of angry guests downstairs at the front desk demanding their rooms be comped for the night. No one got any sleep. Not one of the hotel's more profitable days.
                 
I must warn Peeping Tom, the flying ant to be on the lookout for the PestMasters truck parked on the street. He’s on his way back to Richmond from his unexpected trip to the Florida Keys. I had to wire him money to fly home on account of his wing not being quite healed. I want to see what he bought while he was down there that cost me two extra bags.
                 
Poor Confidante is still struggling with the wisdom tooth he hit hard with his electric toothbrush. It broke and is now trying to work its way out of his gums. He’s determined to wiggle it out himself in spite of the fact that it’s still hanging there. I’m wondering if this will affect his pool game whenever it does come out. If that’s where he stores his pool playing tips, then I hope it falls out real soon.
                 
I discovered I’d received my first retweet today from someone who read this blog on my website. Thank you! I’m glad somebody’s looking at it. 
 


                 

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. We had several single dads and their sons staying with us this weekend, just chilling out and playing pool with each other. One boy old enough to know better wasn’t even aware it was Father’s Day. I told him to remember to acknowledge the day with his dad, but by morning he had already forgotten. It makes me wonder if the ex-wives are not doing their jobs in raising them to be respectful. Then they come here and steal our cue sticks.
                 
I actually did something away from the hotel and writing yesterday, which was why I didn’t post. I got home too late, fancy that! And, then after I checked in with Confidante at the desk, I met two interesting guests, one from New York City and the other a white, female missionary from the Sudan. She wondered if I owned the hotel. Go figure. It goes to show you how being out of civilization for so long can warp your perception. The woman from Sudan had fallen several months ago injuring her hip. Apparently, some nasty Sudanese parasites took up residence in her bones and since we don’t have tropical diseases here, she needs to go back to the Sudan where a doctor who’s familiar with treating such things is waiting to help her. It’s painful to watch her inch her way along as she walks. The pain in her hip and leg is excruciating and she must use the wall and a primitive-looking, wooden walking stick to support herself. Her organization is reluctant to fund her trip back because they don’t think she’ll make it physically. She’s might not make it here physically either, if she doesn’t get some immediate medical help. I had to admire her indomitable spirit, always making light of her circumstances. If I had the money, I’d send her home myself.  
                 
The other guest had been invited to attend a family celebration at one of our local restaurants. After a 12 hour, long and tiring bus trip from New York to Richmond, they not only had not reserved a room for him in the same hotel with the family, but gave him terrible directions to the place where they were to meet up. Unable to find acommodations elsewhere, he wound up at our hotel because, I guess, he was meant to. He got lost trying to find the restaurant and missed the event. Without a car to get around, he soon found out Richmond is not New York City, if you can believe it. We don’t have mass transit or even buses running outside of the city. His Father’s Day weekend wasn't a total wild goose chase. He got to meet us.
                 
I didn’t have to get too excited over the expected cultural clash between the older religious group that was here for the weekend, and what can be our loud bar on a Friday or Saturday night. They drove everyone away so we never had to worry about it.  Since they didn’t drink, the bar could have stayed closed, and it wouldn’t have mattered. 
                 
I heard a rumor that someone was here to give an estimate on getting our
embarrassing pool table re-felted. Shhhh. We don’t want to jinx it. 

                
Poor Brick is on again tonight, and we’re really busy. There’s no telling  what’ll happen, it being a Friday night and all, but you can be sure you’ll hear all about it. As a matter of fact, we have a group of older people, part of some religious conference, from Europe. Things can get very loud and not so holy at the hotel on Friday nights. Although on occasion, I have witnessed copious amounts of wine being partaken at the bar. 
                 
This morning I discovered someone had broken off a huge chunk of plastic covering the weight machine’s pulley system. I found it on the floor near another machine, so that tells me whoever it was just let the weighted handles fly into the machine instead of being gentle with it. I turned the piece in at the desk, but was afraid to use the machine myself. With my luck the cords would’ve come off the pulley, and knowing Super Lion, I would have been the first person he’d blame. Well, it wasn’t me this time… 
                 
I was craving an egg salad wrap for lunch today. I would have to get the new girl. Apparently, no one has shown her how to take the paper casing and fold it under the wrap in order to seal off the bottom. I’ve never been able to wear yellow.
                 
Now that Rep. Anthony Weiner has resigned, I wonder who the next politician will be to make a fool of himself. Do they really think women are turned on by pictures of men’s private parts, whether sexting or through email? Most of the time, it’s too small a matter for them to get excited over.
                 
There’s a local plastic surgery group advertising a seminar on “cool sculpting”. It seems they’ve now found a way to get rid of your fat without dieting. Now, this is my kind of weight loss, and it’s non-invasive too. Great day. What they do is hook jup a high powered vacuum cleaner to your belly button, and then suck the fat out from your stomach. The lower your fat location, the longer the cord needed.
                 
I’m worried about Mr. Pool. He’s been walking around talking to himself. At least that’s what I thought he was doing until I discovered the black plastic choker he wears is actually a Blue tooth, so I guess his is a black tooth. Then, there’s the tail. His tail. It makes him look like a comic book dragon as it sways back and forth behind him while he walks. Why he needs a key chain that long is beyond me. If I were him, I’d be worried it would wind up in the toilet if I wasn’t careful. I’m just saying.
                 
Mr. Hammer is on duty at the bar tonight. He makes the best dry vodka martini. About every two months I get an urge for one, and he’s the one I go to. I love to watch the speed with which he can make a drink. He’s the Japanese teppanyaki of drinks…pour one, drink one, pour one…


                 

I was pulled in so many different directions yesterday I never had the time to post. Plus, if you don’t have anything interesting to say, have the good sense not to say anything at all.
We’ve been almost full to capacity with business people this week, and you know how serious they are. Last night there was a man and a woman eating a late dinner of Chipotle at a table in the lobby. They were working on some project throughout dinner and for another hour after that. I couldn’t help but overhear their “business speak”. I thought to myself how boring their work was since it involved working with figures and graphs. So many of the people who come through our doors fly in and out at all hours, or are always on the road. Sorry, I’d have to shoot myself if I were forced to live like that. I’m sure some of them think living in your head and writing all day and night, seven days a week must be boring too. Different strokes for different folks. 
                 
Confidante and I played a mean game of pool late last night. Actually it was two games. Both were neck and neck to the end. He won fair and square and you know that makes him happy. I felt good because I lost fair and square. The game was a little too tame if you ask me. I didn’t even have to hit him over the head with the cue stick for acting cocky.
                 
Can you believe employers are now refusing to hire the unemployed? Is that the most insane thing you’ve ever heard? American businesses keep hitting new lows of stupid. Considering they’ve created the situation over the past ten years by sending our jobs overseas, I say we give them a taste of their own medicine, and cut off all of their tax breaks until they bring the jobs back.
                 
Guess who I heard from today? I got a postcard from Peeping Tom, the flying ant. It seems he caught a strong air current and wound up in the Florida Keys. With his broken wing not fully mended, he said he had a hard time stopping. Good thing he did stop before he hit the Bermuda Triangle, or we might never see him again. He’s working on a tan and plans to be back in Richmond as soon as he can afford to fly home.
                 
Brick is on duty at the front desk tonight. Poor Brick, the strangest things happen to him when he’s on duty. The lights in the lobby went berserk and we each thought we were having a seizure. Then, some guest came to check on her group’s individual reservations and went into a long-winded explanation of how each of the men was to be called by their titles when they registered at the front desk. After she walked away, he and I just looked at each other. What does she think this is, the Vatican?
                 
Some people have all the luck. Squid went to the beach for the day to eat himself sick with lobster. I can taste it just  thinking about it. A little drawn butter…