Confidante managed to rally from his toothache last night, enough to challenge me to a game of pool; something about needing to annihilate me. It was a busy night of check-ins which kept interrupting our game. The nerve. I patiently waited for him to keep coming
back from his duties at the desk. One woman flirtatiously decided to talk his head off. Confidante brings that out in a woman. They just want to feast their eyes on him and engage him in conversation; ALL NIGHT. I was about ready to run her off with my pool cue. We are trying to play a game here, ya know. So was she, but, I had the advantage. Confidante thought he had the game in the bag. He had only one ball left on the table. I had three. Don’t get cocky with me,‘cause I’ll show you what time of day it is. Damn skippy. And, then we were neck and neck. He missed. I sailed the 8-ball on a long shot right into the pocket. You said something about an annihilation?
                 
My day got off to a really late start with early phone calls, so I just decided to go with the flow. There was a breeze in the air and no humidity again, so The Chef and I sat outside talking for a long time while I ate lunch. He has good things planned for expanding the menu here. Too bad I can’t tell you where “here”is. It doesn’t matter he’s going to let you know where it is in his own way.
                 
We’ve got another function going on tonight. I had to leave because I couldn’t stand listening to the loud mouthed jerk who kept shouting over everyone’s heads like he was at a ball park. Glad I don’t work under him. He can give you a headache. He strolled in loud and demanding at the front desk even though there was already someone being checked-in ahead of him. I guess he’s used to getting his own way by bullying, and expects everyone to jump when he talks. They probably do, but I’m sure it’s because he’s so freakin loud and obnoxious you just want to get away from him. Maybe his mommy never taught him how to be  patient and wait his turn. He should be thankful it wasn’t me checking him in. 
                 
I think it’s safe to say that I have lost my taste for food. I’m never in the mood for eating something in particular anymore. Confidante tries to get me to venture out, but I don’t eat like most other people. I used to love to eat. Now I just eat because it’s time. Usually I don’t get hungry until 2-3 p.m. So, it’s hardly worth the effort to think about something for supper just four hours later. Tonight Confidante just threw up his hands in frustration.

                
This was my kind of day. I woke early and jumped out of bed eager to start the day. I hit the gym, showered and walked to the store for lunch. The temperature was perfect; we even had no humidity. I spent the rest of my day writing. Life doesn’t get any better than this. 
                 
Mr. Madison and I discussed the problem I had trying to watch a movie when the screen suddenly turned dark and stayed that way. He reported it to the chief engineer. Super Lion shows up to investigate my problem. I’d waited all day. I plugged in all the cords and started the movie. Even fast-forwarded it, and fast-forwarded it, and kept on fast-forwarding it. Do you think the screen went almost black like it has on so many other occasions when I’ve tried to watch a movie? HELL NO. It reminded me of taking your car to a mechanic because it’s been making a loud sound when you travel over a certain speed, and then he takes it out and the car doesn’t do it for him. This must be one of Murphy’s Laws. Super Lion wonders if a digital video cord might improve my situation. He says, what would improve his situation is if I’d stop wasting his time. Humph.
                 
It doesn’t look like Confidante and I will be playing any pool tonight. He banged his wisdom tooth while brushing a little too vigorously, and now he’s in pain. I offered to tie it to my car bumper and pull it out, but he declined. Some people just like to suffer. I think he’s hanging on to it for the tooth fairy.
                 
I just witnessed Super Lion putting little plastic houses on all the thermostats in the lobby and bar. He’s determined to keep folks from adjusting the temperature. Of course, when he sets it on artic blast there’s no way to raise it up anymore. Just because he’s not cold… I’ve personally never touched it, but I have witnessed employees with chill bumps taking a key to reset it. 
                 
Did anyone see the picture of the case of prosthetic eyeballs in USA Today? Ugh. Gross. It reminded me of the first time I ate boiled prawns in Spain. They were served with their heads still on. I couldn’t eat even one with all the other shrimp still looking at me.
                 
Speaking of food, have you heard they’re now searching for killer bean sprouts? It sounds like a Sci-Fi flick: The Case of the Killer Sprouts. They’ve been seen marching into unsuspecting towns at night and killing people in their sleep. Seriously, it has taken scientists all this time to figure out that sprouts provide the perfect medium for growing bacteria, like E.Coli.  Duh. Now they tell us, after we’ve been eating them as health food for thirty years. For those of us who eat a lot of fruit, it’s more bad news. Even washing them doesn’t remove the pesticides that have penetrated beneath the skin. I’ve decided this is a plot by the organic food growers to get us to pay more for what should have been grown and sold healthy in the first place.                
 


                 
  

The weddings have come and gone. Doors started slamming all around my room late yesterday afternoon. The room next door must have been the central hub for meeting up and chatting. By the time of the 462nd slam, in and out, in and out, I thought I’d lose it. This is the same door I had asked maintenance to oil the hinges on because it had  developed one very annoying squeak. I guess it wasn’t on their list of priorities. Oh well. Once the guests had dressed in their wedding attire and left for the evening, I had the place to myself.
                 
I had my movie date with Woody Allen last night, but I only got to see his shadow side. I had everything plugged in correctly. I even had sound. Seven minutes into the movie the TV screen went almost black. It was so dark all I could see were shadows. The picture still looked normal on the laptop screen. The flat screen TV usually has great color, so I’m wondering if it’s the box I plug everything into. This is not the first movie I’ve tried to view that turned dark. Maybe this is a job for Super Lion, otherwise known as the hotel’s chief
engineer. If anyone can check out your box, he can.
                 
You know the vans used by some of the mobile rock radio stations to promote events? There was one parked down the street yesterday. I never did find out what the promotions were, but I thought it a little odd that it would be loudly broadcasting something guaranteed to pump up your testosterone level by 50%. This is a family neighborhood. I never did hear whether it was a pill, a cream, or a drink. Just what the world needs, more testosterone. As if we didn’t already have enough. Maybe that’s the problem with the box; its testosterone level is off.
                 
Some poor girl called the front desk last night to cancel a reservation. It seems she got stood up, and wouldn’t need the room after all. Honey, he did you a favor.
                 
Things are relatively quiet here today. Since its Sunday, everyone has already checked out from the festivities. And, I can’t say it was terribly noisy here this weekend, in spite of the occupancy. We’ve had a lot worse I can tell you that, and already have on other occasions. When I heard there were three weddings, not two and the bachelorette party, I said, “uh oh.” But, this time, it was okay. I wondered if the storm we had around six p.m. affected anyone’s wedding reception. Rain may bring good luck, but lightning?


               
Confidante has had the entire weekend off, so I haven’t been playing any
pool. I should’ve been practicing my game while he’s not here, because I’ll need
to beat him when he gets back tomorrow. He gets into these winning streaks, and
there’s no putting up with him. We can’t have his head swelling too much, you
know. It makes his hair lay funny.

The hotel has a bachelorette party and two weddings scheduled over the weekend. It would figure while I was in my room working on the blog, all the good stuff worth writing about was going on in the lobby without me. Apparently, there was something about a guest who was checking in and her banana that I shouldn’t have missed. Now, I’ll have to wait until I get it second hand from someone else. 

I needed a diversion to drown out the potential noise of the weekend. Confidante has loaned me his set of audio cords so I can watch a movie on the flat screen TV, and actually be able to hear it. The volume on my laptop isn’t sufficiently loud for me to hear most of the dialogue from where I can see the TV screen. I’ve got another date planned with
Woody Allen tonight.
                 
You can tell there’s not much going on here when I have to resort to reading the newspaper. Jeesh. An editorial in the Washington Times reiterated the House Ethics Committee rules which are based on their Code of Official Conduct, states that ‘A member shall conduct himself at all times in a manner that shall reflect creditably on the House,’ so I take it that sending inappropriate pictures of your crotch on the internet is a no-no, but yelling out loud in Congress when your Commander-in-Chief is speaking, and calling him a liar, IS acceptable behavior. Hypocrites. So, have we all had enough about Anthony Weiner’s social networking exhibitionism, yet? There’s got to be more important things to talk about.
                 
Like when are people going to learn how to parallel park? Don’t they teach that anymore? I know I’ve covered this before, but it really is amazing the stupid things drivers do across the street from this hotel. I watched a woman today try to back into a HUGE space-- twice. She kept cutting the wheel too close, and hitting the curb. Instead of pulling out far enough, and then gradually cutting her wheel to back in, she just gave up and drove off. Not two minutes later, another car attempted to pull in, front first. Why do they do this? It makes me wonder if we’re so used to pulling straight into a space at the mall, that we’ve forgotten how to parallel park. Is this indicative of a deeper social problem, in that we give up too easily when some degree of difficulty is presented to us? I don’t know. What will they ever do when Sears stops issuing drivers licenses?
                 
That sneaky little 8-ball was at it again last night. One of the new guys, I’ll call him Mr. Madison, since that’s where he attended college, challenged me to a game of pool. If you can believe it, I really wasn’t in a pool-playing mood last night, but I was cajoled into playing anyway. He played well, and the only reason I won was because I’ve managed to train the 8-ball to obey my hand signals, and it just happened to magnetically attract the white ball to follow it into the pocket; so he lost on a slight technicality. My Karma  came back to me later because Confidante apparently has his own set of hand signals, only his are not always so polite. As you know, he hates winning by a technicality; he’s got to trounce me fair and square. By the third game I was having trouble standing up, let alone staying awake, so we just didn’t finish the game. Mr. NyQuil had done me in again. 

Another scorcher today. I had an appointment that required dressing in semi-decent clothes, which meant a jacket and slacks. I sure picked the wrong day for this ensemble. Then I stopped at Barnes and Noble to get a frappuchino for my parched throat, and to cool off. Big mistake. It was great as long as I was still in the air-conditioned store. As soon as I opened the door to leave and the heat hit me in the face, I was sick to my stomach. Getting into an even hotter car made matters worse. Good thing I didn’t have far
to go. The heat saps my energy like a dish rag these days. To think it’s technically not even summer, yet. I just can’t take the heat anymore, or any less.
                 
I read in USA Today that a stack of 14 trillion one dollar bills measures more than two round trips to the moon. Supposedly, this is a good way to understand the national debt. What would make someone so curious they’d measure the thickness of the paper a dollar is printed on, and then figure out what it would take to stack them to the moon, and back, not once, but twice? Do people actually get paid to figure this stuff out? If so, I want their job.
                 
The only thing cooking at the hotel this week is The Chef. Apparently, Dave, a.k.a. Chappell was put out because Mr. Pool got the last steak sandwich until June 23rd. Some event is going on that day, and in case there’s a beef shortage, The Chef wants to be prepared. 
                 
Good news. It seems intense exercise may protect an aging brain from infarcts. Hiking, tennis, swimming, racquet ball and biking were among the best; although I don’t remember seeing too many octa and nonagenerians actually playing these sports. By then, your walker presents a formidable obstacle. I was disturbed to hear that walking, golf, bowling and dancing were among the light exercises that did not work. Apparently, whoever categorized these activities had never actually danced before, nor have they walked at a pace of 4.0 plus, miles per hour. Still, there was one obviously strenuous activity they neglected to mention. You knew I’d go there.
                 
Well, maintenance got the pool water cleared for the second time this week. It seems some little urchin has been pouring something in the water to make it cloudy. I just hope they don’t get any more ideas. Maintenance kept the door locked while they were remedying the situation. That meant people couldn’t get to the outdoor area beyond the pool if they had to smoke, or just sit. I hope they play back the security tape that recorded who did this. I want to know if it was the same culprit who stole our cue stick and broke the other one earlier in the spring. If he’s starting a life of crime, we need to nip it in the bud now.

It almost hit 100 degrees today, and it’s only June 8. Scientists tell us to get used to it. Over the next thirty years, they say this will be the norm. As anyone here will tell you, I’m always freezing, so I don’t think I’d find hotter temperatures a problem, unless we had the usual high humidity to go with it. That’s what does me in. Plus, it does a number on my hair, although in thirty years I may welcome the extra frizz to cover any old-age bald spots.  
                 
The news today reported which cell phones had the most potential to cause cancer. The Blackberry was among the worst. Anthony Weiner used a blackberry to text the lewd pictures of himself on Twitter. I wonder if that would stand up as an excuse for his poor judgment, in case he’s subject to an Ethics Committee investigation. He could argue his weiner was schnitzeled from putting his cell phone so close to his privates. I hear he’s not arguing anything these days, choosing to keep quiet. What was that saying, something about better to remain silent and look like a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt? 
                 
I’ve been challenged to a pool game tonight by The Chef and Mr. Pool.  I have a webinar at 8:30, so it just depends when I’m done, and how much work I’ve got left to do. So, you may, or may not hear about their regretting the invitation. The Chef has been  experimenting in the kitchen, determined to put this hotel on the map for its  food service. I just hope he doesn’t decide to play around with the ice cream. It seems that Sparky’s Homemade Ice Cream in Columbia, Missouri collected a bunch of cicadas in the area, and after cleaning them, thought it was a good idea to put them in their ice cream. If you can believe it, they sold out within the first hour after offering their inaugural batch. No, I’m not going to do a Missouri joke, but I do know our chef has better sense than that. It would be the equivalent to adding Smithfield ham chunks here, as in when pigs fly.
                 
Anybody familiar with a new way to create self-employment, called “Crowdfunding”? You get a bunch of people to invest in your idea in exchange for a reward of some sort. Say, they give you $25.00, and you give them a tee shirt. Who’s going to miss $25 if it’s going to a friend’s good cause? I should caution these enterprising individuals, they might want to avoid losing friends and having them counter with a tee shirt saying, “My friend made a million dollars and all I got was this lousy tee shirt.” I’m just saying.


                 

                
What a way to start my day. According to an article in USA Today, it seems our government is $62 trillion dollars in debt. Someone has figured out these unfunded obligations breaks down to $534,000 for each household. Of course, if most of us agreed to die soon, that would reduce the amount significantly that would have to be paid out in Medicare and Social Security. What I want to know is this: if we don’t agree, do we have to write a check? Would it have to be for the entire $534,000, or can we deduct the payroll for Congress who got us into this mess? If you or I ran our budgets the same way they did, you can believe we’d be in jail. Maybe we should bring back debtor’s prison. That could be our alternative to trying to get Congress to agree to term limits. You want pro choice? Pick which one.
                 
Then, I read the front page article on Rep. Anthony Weiner from New York. In six days he went from claiming a prankster sent the picture of him in his briefs, to “This is me doing a dumb thing…and lying about it.” I laughed so hard, my cereal came out of my nose. Poor Mr. Weiner got caught sexting his weiner. How stupid are these guys? Public servants sending pictures and graphic messages on Twitter and Facebook, and they don’t expect it to become public knowledge, come on? These are the same men in charge of fixing the fine mess we’re in, who are busy sexting instead of working on our behalf. The ironic thing is last summer he married Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton’s, senior
advisor. Bill Clinton even officiated at their wedding.
                 
Yesterday, someone told me I had a winsome personality. So, I bought a lottery ticket. Someone’s got to pay down the national debt.
                 
Well, can you believe Confidante and The Chef were the only ones who remembered yesterday was my one year anniversary here? Then it dawned on me, I’ve been here longer than most of the employees, including the G.M. I even forgot to treat myself to  a celebratory drink. I also forgot to eat dinner, so it’s probably a good thing I didn’t have the drink.
                 
Now that summer is here, I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my secluded spot outdoors each night where I go to plot my book. It’s just me and the stars on a clear night. That is until I scared the crap out of one of the employees the night before last, who didn’t see me sitting off to the side when he came out to smoke. I’d been debating if I should say something, or wait to see if he’d leave without ever noticing me. I was after all, at the opposite end of the patio. While I was debating, he caught my image in his peripheral vision., He screamed thinking I was a ghost, since he never heard me come in. Of course not silly, I was already there.

                
Today is a special day for me. No, it’s not my birthday. As Squid often reminds me, dinosaurs are extinct, so I’ve escaped having to go through that each year. Today marks the one year anniversary of the 411 guest at this hotel. Twelve months ago I gave myself permission to experience the uncertainty of wherever life led me. I can tell you, this is not for the faint of heart.  I just let go. I put my stuff in storage, and took myself and my laptop on the road. I wanted to see what being untethered felt like. Having lived in the Richmond area for the majority of my life, I also wondered if perhaps it was time for me to let go of that, as well.
                 
My first stop gave me the impetus to keep going, and not look back. I  had unfinished business in Richmond, so upon return, I stayed at this hotel which was located in an area that I'd watched grow into something unique to Richmond. At first, it was a serendipitous sense of curiosity. I left for the Shenandoah Valley and stayed on a sheep farm. It was my intention to go there to write. Surrounded constantly by nature, and the love of a family of dogs and cats that never left my side, when my time there was up, I left heartbroken. The animals had touched my soul deeply. I came back to this hotel, and stayed a few more days. I liked the companionship of being surrounded by younger people who are close in age to my own children, whom I don't get to see often. 
                 
I kept leaving and coming back, leaving and coming back, each time staying a little longer. I kept writing. Then, one day, I didn’t leave. I realized how much nourishment this environment was providing me; someone who has lived a good deal of her life alone. I had found a home here. And the funny thing was it's still in Richmond. As with any place one lives, I began to take an interest in helping out around the hotel. It came naturally. Over time, repeat guests who kept seeing me here thought I worked at the hotel. Some have even assumed I was the G.M., God help us. I think it’s because I’m older than the staff, is the reason guests often come up to me instead when they have a question. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’m also standing at the desk.

As anyone here will tell you, I have the annoying habit of noticing things that need attention. As irritating that may be to some of my friends, at times it does come in handy. People also tell me stuff. Gradually, I learned how a hotel is run. I always believe in putting every experience to good use in my writing, and my observations here have enabled me to write a mystery that takes place in a hotel. As, you know, it also led to this blog.

None of this would have been possible without the help of many people God chose as the vehicles to allow me the freedom to live here, and write full time. I am extremely grateful to each one. There have been people who have moved on to other jobs, who I miss. But, the core group of friends who are still here, well…we’re like family. They’re the characters I write about each day, who take my parody and satire good-naturedly. Trust me they know how to dish it out, too. 

I have deliberately chosen not to mention the name of the hotel in my blog, for a variety of reasons. Actually, it doesn’t really matter. The stuff I write about can happen in any hotel, and usually does. In the event someone uncovers the identity of this hotel, I would also hope my readers know the 411 does not refer to my room number. We’re not THAT kind of a hotel, you know.  

Yesterday wasn’t one of my newsier days. The only thing worth mentioning was that I finally got to play pool with The Chef Friday night. Actually, Mr. Pool got to him first, on account of the same excuse he always uses: his shift was ending soon, and he JUST wanted to play a quick game before he left. Only, he winds up staying for two or three games. His last was exceptionally quick, hastened by prematurely landing the 8-ball in the
pocket. By the time The Chef got around to me, he said, “Man, I can’t let YOU beat me. I wasn’t immediately sure how to take that, so I assumed he meant he’d never live it down. So, what was a girl to do? She would give him a run for his money. Our first game was close right to the end, but he got the 8 ball in before I did. When he started getting cocky on the second game, the Universe humbled him. 
                 
This morning I asked The Chef if he planned on adapting his French toast dish, mentioned in the previous blog, for women, as in, not three huge, manly toast sized pieces of bread. He says, “Just because YOU can’t eat all that for breakfast…” It’s not right to waste food. There are starving children in Europe. NO, wait, that’s from my generation. Now, they’re starving all over; here too. I used to tell my father I’d be happy to send my food to the kids in Europe. Somehow, I don’t think the French toast would look too good by the time it got there.  

Sundays here are usually quiet, sleepy days. Or, at least it seems that way, especially if we’ve had a busy week, or weekend. I can usually count on a quiet night for sleeping on Sunday-- Friday and Saturday nights not so much, especially if I get a” lovie and dearie” kind of couple in the room with the loudspeaker wall. I wish I could remember where my mother got that term for a romantic couple. Listening to music with my ear buds in and the pillow over one ear, only mutes their sounds but so much. I’ve been kept unwillingly awake all night on occasion. Usually they fall asleep around 5:30 a.m. and sleep late while I have to get up at 7:30. I’ve been programmed to be quiet, so it’s not in me to retaliate. The most I can hope for is the fire alarm going off while they’re still asleep.
                 
We have two new employees at the front desk. This morning was the first day for one of them, where he didn’t have back-up. True to the keeping of Murphy’s Law, his shift was far from uneventful. First, the computers shut down on him for an hour, which prevented him from being able to check people out. Then, he had a real “situation” on his hands, which did not even involve a guest who was staying at the hotel, but who happened to be experiencing a delusional state resulting in an altercation with someone else, also not staying at the hotel. He handled himself well. Then one of the guests set off the smoke alarm in their room, which if you’ve ever experienced one’s loud shriek before, can make you want to apply a baseball bat to it. When they say this is a smoke-free hotel, they mean it. Don’t push your luck. 

By the time I got down to the lobby for my morning coffee, they were all there waiting for me: Confidante, Squid, Dave Chappell, The Chef and the latest victim of our employ, of whom we haven’t as yet christened with an alias. Squid was armed and fully loaded. I was ready for him. I let him get a few rounds of dinosaur comments off before I let him have
it with both barrels and a straight face. Half of him was out of uniform, so I started there. We traded insults back and forth with the new guy laughing, but thankful he wasn’t targeted. We knew he wasn’t ready to keep up, yet. I finally decided that Squid isn’t really bald, after all. It’s just that he wears his hair so short, his head looks like it has five o’clock shadow.
                 
Well, you should have seen the size of the French toast platter The Chef made for Dave this morning. It was huge: three slices, WITH whipped cream and a strawberry, I might add. Jeesh, and, I thought I was his favorite. I did get to try a bite yesterday, and it was really yummy. This morning I had to point out the sad state of four bananas on the table to our Chef. They were looking slightly risqué.  “Can’t do much with these anymore,” I pointed out. “They’re too old and too soft.”
                 
No word yet, on whether we’re going to get the pool table re-felted. Ketta says good luck, but she doesn’t play pool. Well, I can tell you, I’m just fit to be tied. First, I had to break in new cue sticks from the time the kids broke one, and stole the other. The new cue sticks didn’t slide through my fingers as easily as the old ones, worn from use. YES, it did affect my game! Threw my strokes off is what it did. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it. And, somebody better take care of getting that table fixed, or it's going to set my pool game back. I will not have Mr. Pool or Confidante having an unfair advantage, since they have access to playing on other tables.
                 
I’m hoping this is going to be a quiet Friday night at the hotel, at least on my floor. I don’t care what kind of shenanigans happen on the other floors. I can hear them anyway on account of the ceiling not being much better than the loudspeaker walls. The drunks outside last night outdid themselves with hollering and singing until 1:30 a.m. They’re surpassed only by the loud hog, as in Harley, whose daily dalliance at the new bar makes for a fun moment as he’s leaving at 1 a.m. He sits there and guns the motor for two very long minutes to ensure he’s proven how studly he is to all the babes in a three block radius. If only these windows would open.