I know someone out there’s going to find this amusing. Last night’s wine woke me at 4:30 a.m. to let me know an elephant was sitting on my stomach. I was certain that’s what it was until I remembered all that spaghetti I ate. So, I’m still down about 8 hours of sleep between the previous two nights. And, I’m up a good two pounds.
                 
Last night I decided I should drink more. My blog was twice as long as normal. So, that’s how Hemingway did it. He was so involved in drinking and writing he didn’t even notice his cats were busy multiplying like crazy. No wonder they had extra toes. All that sex messed up their gene pool. I don’t have any cats, just other guests as neighbors. Most of them are doing the same thing. I mean to say, they’re drinking and multiplying, not
writing.
                 
I am not looking forward to tomorrow morning. I will have to face the music and get in the gym. I feel like I’m getting nowhere fast with losing the rest of the weight I planned on losing. The problem is every time I reach my desired goal, I re-set it. This is why I still haven’t lost the twenty pounds I gained from when I had my last child. She’s now 36. What the world needs is an invention that will work off your fat as you sit at a computer banging away at the keyboard all day. Maybe an attachable belt for your tummy that plugs into an electrified chair, and a heated fat-melting cushion for the seat would work. This is something I would pay for because I’d rather be writing first thing in the morning, rather than exercising on the elliptical machine. An invention like this would allow me to kill two birds with one stone. Or, kill myself in case of a short. Unlike many people, I do not live to exercise. I don’t even like the thought of sweating in a state of exhaustion. It’s boring when you get stuck doing it inside. Right now, it’s too hot and humid to exercise outdoors. I just had another idea: body suits that retain your body heat, so that in this  weather your fat will be melting as you walk. Maybe they only need the fat melting fabric in certain areas. I’ll have to look into this.


                 

My day got off to a bad start. Actually, it started at 1:45 a.m.  That’s when a group of very drunk patrons from the bar below our hotel let out, and these people needed a place to continue partying. Well, of course put them in rooms located in the middle of the floor (mine) so that they bother everyone on their way to and around their rooms. I was rudely awakened out of a sound sleep which had lasted all of a precious hour and a half. When I am abruptly awakened by something loud and ongoing it gets my adrenaline pumping. It pumps real fast if I have to get out of my bed to investigate, and then deal with the intrusion myself. The intrusion happened to be one very drunk male, who was yelling and singing in the hallway, and his female companion who was not too far behind him in inebriation. They were in turn supported by a host of other drunks who pounded on the door of the room right next to mine to get whoever was in there to let them in to a
party where even more alcohol was awaiting them.
                 
I opened my door to inform them there were actually people trying to sleep at that hour, and could they please be quiet, but they never heard me over their loud singing and laughing. I wish I’d had a stun gun. That would have gotten someone’s attention. I went back to bed, but was never able to get back to sleep. I had on my ear buds listening to soft music, and not even that worked. I watched the clock periodically, disbelieving I was still awake. They kept going in and out of rooms. The slamming of doors wasn't exactly conducive to lulling me to sleep, either. Finally, at 5:30 a.m. they went to bed to sleep it off. Unfortunately for me, I had someplace to be this morning, and I had to get up. 
                 
I laid there until 7:30 hoping it was daylight savings and I could maybe squeeze out another hour to try to get some sleep. Barring that, I sat up and forced myself to a comatose, yet standing position and made it to the bathroom. I headed downstairs for some serious coffee to wake me up. I had on my best bitch face as I rolled up to the reception desk. Confidante was on duty. Fortunately, I was distracted from laying a tirade on him by a host of minor irritations, namely Squid. Getting nowhere with sympathy, I went upstairs to shower, and after groggily making sure my underwear was on right side out, I prepared to leave.  On top of no sleep, a sour stomach and a headache, the morning was crowned by a bad hair day. Nothing I did to my hair was destined to help it behave. In my opinion, this was just wrong on multiple levels.
                 
The day turned out to be completely non productive. I tried to take a nap for an hour and a half, but a phone call followed by a knock on the door fifteen minutes later, put the kabbosh on that. I had no energy to work, but I did make it to 5:00 Mass. I figured I needed all the help I could get. My car fortunately knows the way on its own. By the time I got home, all I wanted was a good meal and to get to bed to catch up on sleep. Apparently, I needed it too because in my semi-conscious state, I grabbed my Stein Mart card instead of my credit card, and after walking all the way to the restaurant, I only discovered my mistake as I was about to order. I walked all the way back to the hotel to
get the card. I failed to mention here, that it was so humid you could feel your hair curl, and God only knows what the temperature was. It was Hot. I went up to get my credit card, but forgot something else I needed and had to turn around and go back to my room.
                 
If I thought things couldn’t get any more trying, that’s when God sicced Confidante on me in the parking deck. Here was another lesson I apparently failed to learn about handling things properly, and he was going to set me straight. Don’t come at me when my brain is a quart low. I didn’t complain to the front desk like the other four guests who called downstairs, because after the fact, there was nothing anyone could have done at that point to put me back to sleep short of anesthesia. Yes, next time I will call the front desk, shoot the bastards myself, or sleep in my car. But, right now, my brain is not absorbing much of what you’re saying.
                 
I finally made it to the restaurant. Screw the fact it had begun to rain. By that point, you could have shot-putt cow patties at me, and I wouldn’t have cared. I brought home an order of spaghetti with mushrooms and meatballs with garlic bread. Normally, I can only eat half of one of their servings. Tonight, I ate the entire dinner, along with a glass and a half of red wine. I forgot to mention the two cookies. They knew I had a bad day, and volunteered themselves in sacrifice. So did my white slacks. All it took was one
stray attack of flying sauce.
                 
The fact that I’m posting my blog speaks to my sorry mental state. I should be in my jammies by now because it’s after 10:30 p.m. I have no idea where my second wind came from, but I swear by all that’s holy, I’d better get enough sleep tonight, or someone’s gonna be real sorry.

I made it home too late last night to post. The evening was enjoyable as it always is when I spend it with other writers. We feed off each other. Last night, the panel was about writing strong girl characters. You know, like Hermione Granger in Harry Potter. Sometimes you  forget what it was like to be a twelve year old, until someone else writes a story or a poem about an experience, and then it all comes back. I distinctly remember the gym suits we were required to wear. Short sleeved, short legs and they snapped up the front. They were maroon, not a particularly flattering color on a pale white girl. We were forced to jump over horses, and if you were short and couldn’t get your butt in the air to clear it, you were written up. I remembered everyone being embarrassed to take a shower in front of other girls in that crowded locker room where everyone was trying to avoid infringing on  someone else’s privacy. Most of us were budding at the same time. One of last night’s poems was about just that. I remember my seventh grade teacher, we called her the wicked witch, because her hooked nose made her look just like the actress who played that part in the Wizard of Oz. This was the same teacher who when President Kennedy was shot, commented, “I never liked the man.” I went home and told my mother, and she wanted to punch my teacher in the face. Sometimes, I wish I were that twelve year old girl again. When boys were even weirder than we were, and you had your whole life ahead of you. Maybe I’m just feeling nostalgic because I have a birthday coming up soon and a high school reunion this fall. And, yet I wouldn’t change my life if I was asked to relive it. I may have taken the road less traveled, but I always arrived exactly where I was supposed to be. I’m grateful too, that I was one of those strong girl characters who turned into an even stronger woman.
                 
I can’t believe it. After spending four hours at the car dealership last week to have the emissions tested with the smoke machine for a leak, and damn if the light didn’t come back on yesterday. It’s mocking me, is what it’s doing. It’s like the little red plastic tongue on the treadmill machine that sticks itself out at me every time I climb on. I give up. At $3.55 a gallon for gas, you’d think my car could show a little more respect, wouldn’t you?
                 
My friend’s boyfriend says he’s going to Vegas by himself for some rest and to take a break from work. Yeh, I bet. Hmmm. Tell me why he needs to go alone. You know what they say, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” I’d break his friggin head, ask him what happened, and then tell him to stay in Vegas. I’m just sayin'.

Playing pool is like riding a bike. Even if you haven’t been on it for a while, it all comes back. I claimed the table last night. If you weren’t as tall as the cue stick, you’d just have to get lost.  I played several games with Mr. Pool and won three out of four. Even though one or two involved eight ball blunders on his part, they all occurred at the end of good, solid games. So, I won fair and square, which is the only way to win. I got off some great shots which restored my confidence, so now I’m ready to do battle with Confidante. I was sure glad I didn’t play him last night. He was so busy with check-ins it would have been one LONG three hour game. 
                 
I went back to the salon with the groaning chair, previously immortalized in this blog. Confidante had politely suggested I might want to think about putting more brown in my hair. The sun always has its way with me during the summer, and it takes less than a week for it to make my hair too blonde after getting it colored. “White women need more contrast on their faces,” he says. Besides, it was worth adding the brown just so I no longer have to listen to his, commenting, “B. That sounded so blonde.” 

I was afraid it wasn’t dark enough, but I got his seal of approval upon my return. Actually, it's so blended it looks natural --light brown with a few blonde highlights across the front and top. By Saturday it will be all blonde again.  For your edification and delight, yes
the groaning chair continues to groan, “GET OFF ME.”
                 
I have a friend who doesn’t know how to shut up. He will talk your head off in person. Yet, have him attempt to converse with you via texts, all you’ll get are one to four word sentences. Is that even legal? Well, I can tell you it sure is annoying. Why would you text someone and then only offer one word responses? I’m a writer, so it’s only to be expected if you’re going to have a conversation with me, you’re going to have a conversation. I’ll send several sentences and his response is yes, no, or wow. My grand dog knows more words than that.
                 
The hogs are back. Harleys, not piggies. They’re right below my window too, just sitting curbside gunning their engines, and enjoying the power trip that comes from acting totally annoying, that only a biker with a self-confidence problem can demonstrate.  See, now they’ve ruined it for me. My kids always figured when I turned old, like 75, that I’d embarrass them by getting a Harley. So, I’m thinking that could be me some day, sitting at the curb gunning my engine, showing off to impress whatever eye candy is on the
sidewalk. Only, by that time, they’d be old, wrinkled guys with pot-bellies and
diapers trying to remember where they left their canes. Ungh, I don't think so.

AHA!! I went into the gym this morning and found a young woman sitting on a Pilates ball trying to do sit ups, but she was distracted by The Maury Povitch Show! She kept stopping to watch every time the show came back on. I had to laugh and tell her how I ruined my workout yesterday by doing the same thing. She agreed, saying even though these people are too stupid to be believed, watching their drama is almost like enjoying a sinful pleasure. 
                 
Before I knew it the clock said 10:30 last night and I had only just finished posting yesterday’s blog. I’d lost track of time while working on my novel, and realized I hadn’t posted. Then I went downstairs to watch Mr. Pool and Confidante playfully beating the crap out of each other at pool. I was almost beaned with a jump shot. Confidante is becoming very skillful at making difficult shots. He’s been giving Mr. Pool a run for his money. Well, they don’t actually play for money. Neither one of them makes enough for that. They play for “men.”  No, I don’t mean it THAT way. Where is your mind? Although, with a name like Confidante, I can easily see how one might assume... Trust me, he’s  definitely hetero. I mean "men," as in players on a team. It’s an extension of their video basketball games where each one gets to choose a player from a top team if they win a game. They just transfer their win at pool to count for their basketball games. 
                 
Today is the release date for the soundtrack to Midnight in Paris. I’m waiting to see how long before it shows up at Barnes and Noble. I may just order it, rather than wait. Normally, I’m not this eager to buy a CD, but since I really enjoyed the movie last week, and I know it’ll be a while before the DVD comes out, I can at least re-live it through its music. Speaking of music, last night Mr. Pool introduced me to Biz Markie via YouTube. I don’t know why I mentioned that, except “You got what I need, even though you say he’s just a friend” keeps running through my mind. I hate it when that happens. Now where
did I put my mental floss?
                 
Maybe I can actually get the chance to play pool tonight before I forget how. There’ve been too many guests occupying the one and only table we have. Maybe we should have a sign-up sheet to reserve the table. Nah, that wouldn’t work. I can’t even get them to remember to make sure parents sign their room number for kids who use the table. No, I think I’ll just have to run them off somehow. I know, I’ll walk over and start singing the Biz Markie song they way they did on YouTube. My singing is so bad it could make every dog in the hotel howl. If that doesn’t do it, the sight of me dancing to the Biz Markie song should. 

I blew my morning workout. I was doing fine until Squid walked in and changed the channel on the TV. Fortunately, I’d already managed to lift weights and do sit-ups, or it would have been a total disaster. He loves to watch Maury Povitch, only he puts it on, and then leaves the room to work elsewhere. Darn him. Usually, I’m on the elliptical machine or the treadmill by then, so I’m a captive audience. They have some of the dumbest  drama queens I’ve ever seen on it. If I wanted to watch people screaming at each other, or making total asses of themselves, I could have watched a televised Congressional hearing on balancing the budget instead. Anyway, today’s show kept my interest for some bizarre reason, oh, I remember now, some stupid woman wanted to  marry the father of her two children, who by the way, fathered nine…count em’ nine…children; only he wouldn’t marry her unless she could prove he was the father. Well, he was. She was so sure they’d be married she wore a wedding dress and veil on the show. Trouble was she voluntarily took a lie detector test which said she had cheated on him with one of his friends…during a threesome. Well, he wanted no part of her then.  Dummy, weren’t you the one who’s male friend was in the threesome? So, he refused to marry her, she’s crying hysterically, and Maury says to tune back in a few weeks to see if they worked it out. AND, FOR THIS, I WASTED MY WORKOUT.
                 
I finally got to play pool last night with Confidante and Mr. Pool. I think I lost both games. They were good games though. 
                 
I had one of those unexpected lunches today with my friend M.  The restaurant had a special summer menu and today’s drink was sangria. I haven’t had one in a while, and she just got back from the beach (even though Myrtle Beach isn’t exactly tropical, it does have sand), so we decided to split one. Then, I ordered a soft shell crab sandwich. I must say it was one of the best I’ve ever had, and considering I’m a crab myself, I should know. This one didn’t have an over-powering amount of Old Bay Seasoning on it. It was juicy and
lightly breaded. I may just go back for another one soon.
                 
It looked like it was going to rain after supper tonight, and I was afraid I’d get cheated out of my evening repose outside; so I beat it down to the patio before it started. I got in a good forty minutes and then the skies opened up. But, I decided not to leave. I was enjoying the evening air, and durn it, this was MY time. So, I curled up under an awning and just sat there watching it pour down around me. The overhang created a drip on the canvas covering on a bench before me. The drip created a rhythm. The rhythm created a
beat, and I created a musical picture on the canvas. I was mesmerized until Mr. Pool came out on his break, and broke the spell.

                
I didn’t bother posting Saturday since the only meritorious news I had to report was finding out my car didn’t have an emissions problem. It was the clamp holding the hose going into the gas tank that was loose. The fumes had set off the sensor. It took them four hours to tell me that, but I was glad nonetheless, since my bill was zero. Besides, y’all are on vacation anyway, and probably nobody even noticed I hadn’t posted. 

This has been the deadest weekend I’ve experienced in a long time. The strange thing is it’s been a very busy weekend at the hotel. We have been booked to capacity with all manner of teams, families and the usual, ahem- couples. The weekend wasn’t exactly dead for the front desk, though. As a matter of fact, a certain front desk person had to put up
with angry guests who had reserved rooms next to each other, and then discovered
someone in reservations hadn’t bothered to block out the rooms. I’ve spoken earlier about reservations. I think they’re in India, ’cause they sure don’t have access to the computer here, or they’d see which rooms are already occupied. In fact, I think they have a perverse sense of humor, since they’re not the ones who have to deal with their actions.

Then there’s the problem with the AC not working. It’s my fault. A few days ago I commented on how the last thing we needed was for the AC to go out. And then, it did. They were running out of rooms to move people into. The devil was in the heat pumps which are no longer efficiently pulling cool air in when the temperature is 108 freakin’ degrees and that’s without the heat index. With that, it actually got up to 115-121 degrees
this week. And, we still have August to go yet. Anyone in the mood for winter? I know we say that every summer and then complain about it when it actually gets here. I also read that the heat has accounted for the most comments on Twitter, Facebook and just about every news outlet in existence. My friend who was in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina said they had beautiful weather, no humidity and they escaped the horrible heat wave we’ve had in Virginia and the north. Maybe I should move there.

I knew it would happen sooner, or later. Peeping Tom tells me his girlfriend Lucy Goosey has flown the coop. I mean really. Look at their difference in height; a flying ant with a goose? What if she had accidentally sat on him? He says her honking was getting on his nerves, anyway. Well, what else do you expect when you get in her way?


 

How hot is it? 112 degrees with the heat index, that’s how hot. Or, 100 degrees without. It was so hot and humid this morning I could feel my hair curling on my head. It was enough to melt the skin off your bones. That’s too hot. It doesn’t look like it’s going to cool down for a few days, either. At least the air conditioning is working at the hotel. Good thing too considering how so many rooms generate enough heat of their own, we don’t need the AC to go out.
                 
The hogs have outdone themselves. I’m not talking pigs here. I’m talking about the three Harleys that use the street I live on as a drag strip. Every night they grace us with their presence by repeatedly gunning their engines under the hotel’s windows. Last night it went on for forty five minutes. I felt sorry for the business people who had 5:00 wake up calls and went to sleep early. Where are the police? Who knows? Maybe they think this goes on only during the weekend. It’s not like they’re not aware of the problem. Maybe it’s
the police on the Harleys. I hope not. I’m planning on stuffing potatoes in their exhaust system when they come back.
                 
Confidante returned to work today, and he’s been so busy every time I’ve approached the front desk, I still haven’t had a chance to ask him about his vacation. I did notice he came back a little darker. I should be so lucky. I’m still using tan in a bottle. 
                 
Thank God the air conditioning is now working in my car. I’d already made an appointment at the dealership because it was blowing hot air out of the vents. Come to find out, the heat was on, even though the dial was on cool. I decided to play with the knob a bit to see if that helped. I’m so relieved. Ya’ll know you can’t go without air conditioning in the summer in the south. I’m still wondering why the service light went out from the other problem I’m having with emissions. Maybe there’s a Grinch in my engine. I already have a tiger in my tank. Or, is that a cougar?

Woody Allen is a creative genius. I went to see Midnight in Paris today. I LOVED it. The movie made me want to move back to Europe. I would highly recommend it to anyone who feels stuck in a time warp searching for their very own Belle Epoch. Imagine meeting and being able to spend time with all the twentieth century greats in literature and the arts. I've often felt I belonged in another era. Except whenever I do think that, I do have to remind myself indoor plumbing is so much more convenient. I’m not going to ruin the movie for anyone. Go see it.

I seem to have concentrated my free time on going to the movies these past few days. I’ve made up for all the times I didn’t go to see something I wanted to see while it was still in the theaters. It’s good to get out of the hotel once and a while to do something fun. I do think writing is fun, but it keeps your butt in one place too long. Last night I visited with Dave a.k.a. Chappell and his family for movie night. He could start his own movie rental
business with all the DVDs he has.  Squid and I are still lamenting about the end of the Harry Potter series. He insists had they retained everything they left out of the books, he would have had no problem sitting through a five hour movie. Just think of the cost, Squid. Besides, I know I couldn’t sit that long without two bathroom breaks.  
                 
There’s a downside to leaving the hotel to do something for fun; coming back and having to find a place to park. I’m not used to having to park on another level on the hotel parking deck. The hotel has remained booked to capacity most nights. Plus, it seems more nights than not, there’s an event going on in the lobby/bar area. I haven’t played pool in at least a week; with anyone. Confidante gets back from vacation soon. I bet he comes back with a great tan.
                 
I’ve decided the reason I’m losing steam in the gym is because I’m bored doing the same routine. It’s too hot and humid to walk outside for me. Maybe I’m just a fall/winter/spring kind of fitness buff. I’d rather be out of doors walking or hiking. Hell at this point, raking leaves or mowing the lawn looks entertaining. Today, I had to force myself to stay on the 
elliptical machine for a half hour. When you think about the fact that you only use up roughly 200 calories, more or less, doing something that’s not even fun, it makes you think twice about ever eating again. I’m just saying.
                 
There’s a field hockey team of girls currently at the hotel. I wish they’d work off their energy doing something other than squealing like stuck pigs and yelling through doors. Why can’t they find more quiet vehicles like reading or arm wrestling, or playing chess, or…       

This has been one jumpin’ weekend at the hotel. Friday and Saturday nights each had a private party held in the lobby which included a lot of loud music. I’m always glad I don’t have one of the corner rooms which would put a guest directly over our lobby and the pub below it. Somebody should have thought about that when they designed the hotel. But,
they didn’t, so it is what it is.
                 
The lacrosse teams have come and gone. Not as good as I’d hoped, but not as bad as I feared, either. My MP3 player and ear buds were never far from my pillow. I’m told they won’t be booking anymore large sports teams. Yea rah. They present a veritable cleaning nightmare from stuff tracked in on their shoes to spills, garbage, etc. Not much in the way of profit considering damage control. 
                 
At least they didn’t walk around with a dog in a baby carriage. Since I’d seen this guest here before pushing the dog around, I assumed it was paralyzed, or something. No. She just likes to baby her dog. Okay. I think I’d be a little embarrassed to be seen pushing my dog in a carriage, but apparently she isn’t, so who am I to criticize? I wonder if she holds it over the toilet too.
                 
Yesterday I went to see the last Harry Potter movie. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and somehow managed to keep from crying at the sad parts. It was already sad enough for me, to think it’s the last we’ll see of the three from Hogwarts. Kind of like high school graduation when you know you’ll never see your friends again. It was a Peter Pan moment for me. I can’t go back to Neverneverland and now I have to grow up… in a world without magic. Who wants that? Not me.
                 
I’ve come up with a new way to classify marriages based on my observations with couples getting out of their cars. I would imagine the most successful ones would be the couples who get out simultaneously, or sometimes with the man opening his mate’s door. Couples with small children tend to disperse simultaneously around to the trunk and sides to let kids out and open strollers, etc. It’s always a tip off when you see a woman walk off ahead of a man, especially crossing the street, and leave him to lock up the car. You could wait a sec.
                 
I haven’t seen Peeping Tom lately. I wonder what he’s up to. Not much, I would imagine; considering how low he is to the ground. Still, he could have called. He’s probably busy with Lucy. He never paid me back for the extra baggage fee when he flew back from the Keys. He’s as goosey as Lucy. They make a great pair.