I was so comatose last night all I could do was sit outside until it was almost time to go up to bed. I was trying to hold out until 10 p.m. I could have been left out there all night too. No one remembered I was there curled up in the giant chaise. I had really been enjoying
the night air, imagining myself walking along that beach I never got to go to this weekend. It was the perfect night to sleep outside; unless of course, you live at a hotel. Confidante and Mr. Pool were busy playing pool when I finally came inside.

That’s not all Confidante was doing. Mr. Popularity was feasting on two meals brought to him by…you guessed it: women.  There’s something about him that makes women want to feed him and spoil him rotten. I know what it is! It’s that smile, with those perfectly straight white teeth.  He’s the face of the front desk. He exudes care and sincerity. You feel confident in his capable hands. You just know he’s going to take good care of all your
problems. Your trifling, anything to get his attention problems like, “I can’t get the internet to work. Could you show me?” “I need more towels.” You sure take a lot of showers. “Where’s the ice machine?” There isn’t one.  “My cable is out.” He can fix it from the front desk. “What time do you get off from work?”Forget it honey. You’re wasting your time. He’s a professional. This is his job and he does it very well. He could sell ice to Eskimos, or paint to a car. If he was on the hotel’s Sales team instead of the front desk, he’d probably sell out the entire hotel. He’d be great pitching events and bookings
to women’s groups. You know they’d never be able to resist that million dollar smile. 

I decided to try driving without the air conditioning yesterday afternoon. Somehow, I thought it might be a good idea to save on gas. It was bearable, but I’ve decided I need a dew rag because my hair wasn't havin’ it. And, speaking of gas…car gas, not…I debated whether or not to fill up the tank on Thursday since I wasn’t sure if gas prices changed on Friday or Saturday. They sure changed alright. TEN damn cents, overnight. Ten. Now, I
ask you, what calamity outside of pure greed and demand could have accounted for
a ten cent hike overnight? NOTHING, that’s what. So, today I just put in enough to last me until the prices come down on Monday. Take your gas and …it.

After not having slept well for two straight nights, when my head hit the pillow last night, it was lights out. I slept like a rock for almost nine hours and still woke up wishing I could have a little more. Unfortunately, I had early plans that propelled me out of bed:  exercise and getting my car serviced. Since I have the displeasure of being surrounded on all sides by loudmouthed teenage girls on the soccer team this weekend, I’m gonna ask you one more time: somebody please get me out of here.

Be forewarned, if you suddenly wake me from a sound sleep, that’s it for me and you have affected the rest of my night. I will toss and turn, in and out of consciousness. The next day I will drag my sleepy self from task to task. I’m down two nights sleep in a row, and this morning someone woke me after I had just drifted off, and then had the nerve not
to talk. I don’t even have the energy to be grumpy. So, if I don’t make any sense, or make worse sense than usual, I have an excuse. At least, that’s my story.
                 
In spite of it all, I had a productive day. I even met a friend for coffee at a Starbucks. It was there I had an encounter with déjà vu. I happened to glance out the window in mid conversation, and saw a familiar profile on the patio. It was obvious he was trying to sell something to a young mother holding a toddler. “Dear God, is that…?” My friend looked over, “Sure looks like Lumpy.” That was the name my daughters gave a guy I dated 16 years ago.  He literally sat around like a lump. He also looked like a lump of lumps that had all lumped up into one giant lump with arms and legs. He was 47 and never married. Never say I’m not an equal opportunity dater. Exercise was a stranger to him as well. What he knew was fried, fattening and fast food. He fell for my car: a Corvette. We had motor sport racing in common and pretty much nothing else. Mr. Excitement. Today, I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring and was thirty pounds lighter. He still has another seventy five to go. I guess that works out to about a two pound loss a year. I bet it was the scrapple he gave up. 
                 
Squid was in a grumpy mood this morning. I asked him what had tied his tentacles in such a knot. He was hungry and wouldn’t get lunch until he went home. I told him to keep a baggie of almonds in his pocket. The protein will help him stave off hunger longer. I’m full of worthless information like that, except its true. 
                 
Now y’all probably think I just like to complain about people’s lack of consideration for others. I want you to know that the friend I had coffee with today told me to put the following incident in my blog because she agrees with me. We were leaving Starbucks when a long, black truck pulling a long gardener’s metal wagon behind it, pulled into a space in the parking lot. The problem arose because he chose to pick a space in the curve coming around the patio which left no room for another car to pass around it. Not only that, but if you were the car next to it and trying to leave, you would have hit his  vehicle since the driver didn’t leave any turning radius for your car. My friend just stood there, looking astonished at his apparent lack of common sense, and/or obliviousness to his surroundings. Either that or he just didn’t care. Could this be the same guy from yesterday who moved my stuff off the treadmill? 
 


                 

I ended the day yesterday by playing pool, twice with Confidante and once with an unidentified guest who wanted to play the winner of my last game with Confidante. That would be me. I think Confidante threw the game because he kept getting called away to check people in. Well, no. I made him come back and lose properly. Apparently, there are no available rooms anywhere, as of yesterday. We’re booked through the weekend, and dear God, you won’t believe all the teams that’ll be here, and wedding guests. Does anyone have a house at the beach this weekend that I could invite myself to stay in?
You won’t even know I’m there.
                 
I really miss the beach. Considering I used to live on one for four years, this has been a long dry spell for me. It’s not like I even go in the ocean. I don’t go any place where I can’t see who or what is on the bottom. Nope, to me the ocean is a form of mental massage. I can stare at it for hours on end. Evenings are best when the 5 o’clock light signals suppertime for folks and sea gulls. That’s when the ocean breeze gets cooler and more bearable, and you generally have the place to yourself; well you, and the gulls.
                 
Trying to spice up the day, I kidnapped Squid’s vacuum and held it for ransom, only the joke was on me. He forgot all about where he left it, and Dave had to come and rescue it to take it back downstairs. At least I got my toilet fixed today. It wasn’t without having to put up with a lot of s--t from the person who fixed it, but at least it flushes correctly.
                 
It started to sprinkle just before I was going to walk to buy supper, so I decided to take the car. By the time I got downstairs I remembered it had just been washed. Was I about to ruin the shine? Hell no. I waited for it to stop sprinkling long enough for me to make it back in time for rain. It looks like I won’t get my evening break outside on the patio, either. I generally don’t like to sit on wet canvas; unless of course, someone is painting my butt. 
                 
Its funny how two people can give directions to the same place and go about it from different approaches. I think it’s a male-female thing. Or, maybe it’s a left brain-right brain thing. I don’t know, except I’m always wondering why men give the long way around that only confuses people. I’ve gotten so I just keep my opinion to myself, unless I’m asked. The only important thing is that I know where I’m going. And, if I don’t, there's always somebody eager to tell me where I should.                 

I got up in a great mood today. Good thing too because someone tried to test my patience in the gym. Now why would someone, seeing that one of two treadmills was occupied with a towel, water bottle and their things, decide to move the person’s stuff to the vacant
treadmill next to it? Must I mention it was a man? I had just gone to the ladies’ room across the hall and was drying my hands when I heard the door click in the gym. Not even two minutes elapsed. I walked up to him and said, “Excuse me.” Now normally, I would have just adapted to the change the circumstance presented, and used the other machine, even though I had just cleaned off this one with the Saniwipes. But, this time, I said, SELF here’s another aggressive and inconsiderate version of the soccer mom who threw you out of the dryer several weeks ago because she felt her needs were more important. ASSERT
YOURSELF WOMAN! No, I didn’t deck him. I merely told him I was already using it and for him to use the other one. Jeez that felt good. I’m on a roll now. Don’t mess with me.
                 
And then…the toilet in my room wouldn’t flush right. Not enough water pressure, or something. I tried to report it through the proper channels ‘cause Confidante gets on my case when I don’t because I go right to the source, but it still didn’t get written down because maintenance was present when I reported it. So, if you’re reading this Confidante, it wasn’t my fault. And, if you’re not reading it, I want to know what you could possibly find more important to do than reading this blog. Hunnh.
                 
I had the hottest green guacamole soup I’ve ever tasted for lunch. There were too many jalapenos for my taste, and it was also too salty. Great, I’m going to blow up like a toad from water retention, and then still have to deal with the jalapeno’s heat, which I know will get me in the end.
                 
Speaking of hot, someone told me the heat index today is 110 degrees. Confidante came in at 3 p.m. looking like he’d just walked to work. It can sure take a lot out of you. He seems to be a quart low on energy. I bet a jalapeno is just what he needs.
                 
Earlier today, The Chef gave me a slice of triple chocolate cake drizzled with fudge. It made up for the slice I didn’t get the other night which one of the other guests snaked away from me in the refrigerator case. On a rare occasion I get the urge for chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. I ate it knowing full well that I had just erased the 200 calories I worked off in the gym this morning.  Three hours later there was a knock on my door. I opened it to see a hand holding a rectangular white plate with a piece of chocolate fudge cake and vanilla ice cream, all drizzled with fudge sauce and a strawberry, extend through the door to place it onto the vanity top just inside my door. Isn’t that somethin’? I
can go from nothing for months on end, and then I get it twice in one day. 
 


                 
  

Confidante was in demand by crazed females again this weekend. It’s downright shameless, is what it is. Grown women throwing themselves at him like that. Two women over fifty years-old, propositioned him within five minutes of each other. Confidante even tried to hide behind a chair so one of them wouldn’t see him. I bet he’s emitting those  chemicals insects have that attract them to each other, pheromes, I think they’re called. I’m afraid it’s going to affect his head; make it swell, you know. As long as it just affects his head, I guess it’ll be alright. Lord knows, we won’t be able to live with him if it does.
                 
I had a busy day Sunday. Brunch to celebrate my daughter’s birthday, then three hours babysitting the laundry, and then I even got some sun. Later in the evening I sat outside again working on my book and just enjoying the lack of humidity. Suddenly, I heard these two large birds honking at each other on the other side of the high wall from where I sat. I couldn’t see them, so I don’t know if they were ducks, geese or what. One of them honked “Ha Ha Ha.” Then the other replied “Ha Ha.” Then, “Ha Ha” again. I swear it sounded like one of them said, “I don’t know. Ha Ha.”  What sounds like uneuphonius racket to me, means something to them I guess. I didn’t know they had a sense of humor, either.  Well, of course I do. I remember that duck that used to come down on the Groucho Marx Show.
                 
Today I decided to reverse the order of my schedule. I woke up inspired and eager to get to work writing, so after breakfast I headed for the computer. After a couple of hours I ended at a good stopping point and went to the gym. Normally, housekeeping waits until after I work out to do my room. Because I was later than usual, the knock came at my door as I had just gotten out of the shower. It wasn’t the usual knock though. This was a familiar knock, usually followed by “dinosaur!” It was Squid and he wasn’t alone. Dave a.k.a. Chappell was with him.  Oh, Lord.  I told them to go away because I’d just dried off. They had the housekeeping cart with them. “You are NOT cleaning my room, forget it.” Then the housekeeping manager chimed in. “Sorry, the girl who was doing your room had to go home. They volunteered to help.” I bet they did. I told them to come back in twenty minutes. They came back in seven. “That was no twenty minutes!” I yelled through the door. Squid commented he knew I needed a long time to gather up all my skin. The nerve. They left again. They came back again. I  opened the door, “You guys are like a bad cough. Every time I think I’ve gotten rid of you, you keep coming back.” I was afraid they’d short sheet the bed, so I took care of that task myself. Apparently not to Squid’s satisfaction. I’m sure they spent twice as long kibitzing as they did cleaning, but they did do the room.  Of course I tipped them.

I did a blitzkrieg yesterday writing for nine hours on my novel and then fell asleep before I had a chance to post this blog. Actually, I believe I had already used up all my writing neurons for new material. Then, I paid for it physically. I wonder how many other writers have sciatica?  I get so absorbed in what I’m doing, I forget to get up and move around. To add insult to injury, last night my mini refrigerator kept me awake. It was making sounds like one of those drivers of claptrap cars that rev their engine at a stop light. Dave a.k.a. Chappell came to the rescue and fixed the fan. Of course, I had to remove all my food for an hour or so, but at least it’s quiet. Too bad I can’t go back to sleep. I’m a quart low on snooze. This morning I had to force myself into the gym. That was it. I just forced myself to go in. I didn’t have the energy to do much else.
                 
Here we are on the brink of yet another late afternoon thunderstorm. Looks like I don’t get to sit outside. It serves me right for waiting so long to do it. At least the temperatures were bearable today. I forgot to ask Peeping Tom where he goes when it starts to pour. Since he wound up in the Florida Keys, having blown there in a storm, I’d hazard a guess he’s found a way to stay under cover since then. Maybe that’s when he met Lucy Goosey. Yep, the torrential rain has just begun.
                 
I thought about spreading dishwashing liquid on my car and putting it out in the rain, because it really needs a bath. Confidante informs me dishwashing liquid can ruin your paint job because of the chemicals in the detergent. Well, who knew? I’ve been using that in a bucket of water all these years. It seems there’s actually a product called car wash that is safe to use. Know what’s even safer? Car Pool.
                 
Dave a.k.a. Chappell won’t be asking me to play pool with him any time soon. No, I did not make up the rule that if you scratch on the eight ball you lose. I dunked him twice and he’s still upset about it. Jeesh.
                 
So, what was that… a five minute downpour; just enough to wet the seats outside? That’s one of the downsides to living in a hotel. When you need a diversion or to just warm up, there aren’t too many places to go.  Speaking of warming up, this place is freezing. Ever since Super Lion put the little houses over the thermostats, it’s been colder than a witch’s…broomsicle. That’s not what you thought I was going to say, was it? Anyway, I turned up the thermostat in my room yesterday and slept in a jacket. If he did it to deter me from hanging out in the lobby with Confidante, it worked. My words have been
hanging in the air since. Confidante has to defrost them later to find out what it was I said.

I’m glad to see the sun breaking out through the wall of windows in the lobby. You’d have thought we lived in Florida with the daily storms we’ve been having this week. Sunday night’s storm was a doozie too. I am no fan of lightning; couple that with hail, strong  winds, and a torrential downpour, and I just decided to get in bed with the covers over my head. I called myself a chicken shit until a horrendous boom scared the living crap out of me. Good thing there’s a pad for that under the fitted sheet. They used to say thunderstorms were a sign the angels were bowling again. I think they should switch to pool. It’s not quite as loud, and they can always use the balls for hail.
                 
Peeping Tom the flying ant informs me now that he has a job he can afford to have a girlfriend. So, he decides to bring her by one evening to meet me.  I’m expecting another height challenged insect with wings. Well, she has wings alright, but she isn’t exactly his size.
She’s a goose. It surprised the heck out of me too. I didn’t think he had it in him to date someone so tall. See, size really doesn’t matter. Anyway, he calls her Lucy… Lucy Goosey. Seems like a nice girl, a little flighty to me, but nice all the same. I wonder what she’s doing for Christmas this year.
                 
Confidante came back from Florida to find the lobby furniture and pool table all rearranged. Kind of reminds me of the Dick Van Dyke Show when he’d come home to find the furniture rearranged and he’d fall over the back of the sofa. Confidante didn’t do that though. He’s observant. This is what happens when you have a slow weekend and the staff gets bored. It actually looks and functions better, if you ask me, but then usually nobody does. It’s a better use of space, plus the pool table is in the middle of the lounge. Now we can avoid banging into the column or the wall divider with the cue sticks as we draw them back to shoot. There’s no longer any excuse why your shot is off. Guess we’ll
have to come up with new ones. I’ve got one already prepared. I tripped over the large floor outlets. I’m going to use that one.
                 
Manny Fresh has been working around me as I sit here typing. He’s been sweeping the floor getting ready for the night crowd to mess it up again. Sweeping and mopping the floor here is kind of like raking leaves in the fall. As soon as you turn around it looks like you never raked it. Sweeping, one of life's thankless jobs.
                 
Someone broke the indoor fountain again and today was the day to fix it. The fountain creates the appearance of rain dripping down very thin plastic tubing. I have no idea why people feel compelled to pull on it. It looks fragile. The sign says it’s fragile. It is fragile. My idea to have the fountain electrified didn’t go over too well. At least then, we’d know who to bill each time.

I’m going to start by owning up to a mistake I made in my last blog post. I was talking about a mini cherry pie in its own little dish. I can’t believe I said manakin, except that’s a familiar town near me and the name rhymed. I meant ramekin. What a dolt. I didn’t catch it when I proofed it too, which is even dumber.
                 
I’ve been as busy with family as you’ve probably been on this Fourth of July weekend, so I didn’t think you’d mind if I didn’t have the time to post yesterday. I ate my share of Ukrop’s fried chicken, pasta salad, bean salad and Jello mold. I’m not even gonna worry about the weight I probably gained because I enjoyed putting it on. Even more, I enjoyed being with my baby grand daughter who has to be the prettiest, most photogenic child since the Gerber baby. Anne Geddes, eat your heart out. 
                 
All’s quiet on the hotel front, except on my floor. How is it that our occupancy can be low for a weekend, and someone will put all the noisy families with small children in a circle around my room? I must be a noise magnet, or an OLD grouch, and I vote for the latter. Must be, since dinosaurs are fossilized and Squid tells me all the time I’m at least 300 years old. Back in the day, we used to discipline small wonders with mastodon bones. Today, parents send them to play pool while they go to the bar. Go figure.
                 
I met a really nice guy in the laundry room today from Brazil. He’ll be staying with us for a month. He’s about the age of my daughters, so don’t get your knickers bunched up in excitement. Now, I’ve often requested the Universe send me either a Brazilian, a Spaniard or an Italian with all the “goodies” I had on my wish list. I’ve already had two out of the three, so that left a Brazilian. This just goes to show you God has a sense of humor. I forgot to mention the age. Ha Ha Ha. That was a good one. Let’s try it again. 
                 
So, I said to our G.M. what’s with the cheap toilet paper? Somebody changed the brand. I hate scratchy toilet paper. Now, you can get by with it if you use it on guests that only stay a day or two. They won’t like it, but they generally don’t complain about it to the head honcho. Not me. I believe in going to the top with a situation, and what we’ve got here is a situation with the toilet paper. If you’ve got sensitive skin, your brand of toilet paper can make or break your day. I’m not having scratchy toilet paper. If you want to cut back, find  some other place to economize. I'm happy to say, he bought me my very own 12-pack of the softest quilted toilet paper he could find. And, it’s all mine.

I was told I missed a good reception at the hotel last night. By the time I got home it was over. Oh well. I had a really good meeting though, with my writers group. The panel was on writing dialogue, one of my favorite things, and y’all know I love to talk. The art is in paring it down. No information dumping.
                 
Confidante wanted a pool game before he left on his trip. He got off to a great start: zinged three shots in the pocket right off the bat. Then two more. Bada boom bada bing. The game was over. And, that was that. I barely had a chance to play, but at least he knew he earned it.
                 
Too bad if you wanted to spend the Fourth of July in a state park that’s been closed. I wonder if the animals living there had anything to do with this. Every holiday and summer they complain to park rangers about noise and trash left behind by humans. I mean
enough is enough. The bear you think is raiding your tent is actually on the clean up brigade. 
                 
This is going to be a dull weekend at the hotel. All my friends are off. Well almost all. Squid told me he’ll be here. I’m glad too. Squid’s a great guy and a wonderful friend, even if he does call me dinosaur. So, I guess we’re holding down the fort together. Brick has turned in his resignation, so obviously he won’t be here. Mr. Madison should relieve Confidante tomorrow. I’m going to have to think up some way to spice things up for the Fourth. Set fire to the pool table? I don’t think so. That’s not going to get us a replacement, and then what’ll we do? How about coloring the pool water red, white and
blue?
                 
I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I was in the mood for a piece of cherry pie today. I have never liked cherry pie: too sweet, too tart, too… So, why this Fourth of July weekend should I develop a craving for it? I have absolutely no idea. I knew better than to buy an entire pie, since I’d be the only one eating it. I wished they sold it by the slice, like pizza. No, sooner had the idea popped into my head, than displayed on a shelf before me was a mini cherry pie. It was adorable. A little pie in a manakin all its own.  I remember as a child in New Jersey, Entemann’s sold little blueberry, pineapple, and cherry pie tartlets. I can still taste them. The little pie tin would buckle as you bit into the tart and if you weren’t careful, you could get your tongue cut. But, the crust! That’s what I remember just as much as the fruit filling. I’m eating my cherry pie as I type this. The only thing lacking is the vanilla ice cream. I didn’t want to push my luck, considering I’m eating over my
laptop.