I’m sure glad I’m a going with the flow kind of person. Sometimes it’s just not worth getting your knickers bunched up in a wad over unexpected circumstances. Like collecting all your laundry only to discover you don’t have fabric softener. So, you put it off for the next day until after you’ve been able to buy some. But, that requires a fall-back
wardrobe the following morning in order to get you your coffee in the lobby. What I’m saying is, I had to wear the only clean pair I had of workout pants down to breakfast. These were a heavy weight, black cotton pair that had cooked in the dryer. I really didn’t think they looked THAT bad. Okay, I admit I looked like I had water in the basement. But, it wasn’t until Confidante said his seven year old son wanted his pants back that I realized just how small they’d shrunk. “Are you saying I look fat in these?” I snapped.“No,” said Confidante, “You normally don’t wear pants that tight. It fits you like skin.” I took a gander at myself in the mirror near the desk. Damn, if I didn’t look like a blackened banana in them.
                 
I saw my first Christmas display yesterday. We haven’t even had Halloween yet. When’re we gonna learn?
                 
For some reason I’ve been dragging my butt around for the past few days. I don’t know what feels heaviest, my sinuses or my feet. This is the time of year when Mother Nature can’t seem to decide if she wants to be cool or hot, dry or humid, and if she’s had enough rain. The mold count must be high because everyone’s walking around sneezing. Folks at the hotel seem to have survived the virus that took its toll. Even the guests were sick. I kept to my room working and staying out of harm’s way.
                 
Guess who has an almost new pool table? Yes, finally. Two men were here today taking the pool table apart and re-felting it. We’ve even got new cups. I’d be overjoyed, except I haven’t played pool in at least six weeks, and goodness knows when I’ll get to play again. With Mr. Pool gone and Confidante in class at night there’s no one left. I asked the general manager if the men couldn’t wire the table like a car’s security warning. Every time someone with a glass of milk, or worse, gets near it, a recorded voice will shout, “Step away from the table.”
                 
My portable canvas closet has told me it’s time to change into my fall wardrobe. The pole disengaged from one end causing all the hanging items to fall on the floor. That was a rather blunt way of telling me I have too many clothes on one rod. Well, at least I don’t stuff too many clothes into the washing machine like some guests. Yesterday, I saw a woman roll a huge metal suitcase the size of a small trunk into the laundry with a tall laundry basket full of what looked like a month’s worth of sheets, towels and clothes. I’m assuming she’d used the sheets and towels elsewhere where they didn’t have a laundry.
Well, we may not have ice machines, but we do have a washer and dryer, and you don’t need to bring your own sheets and towels here, either. But, you do have to bring your own batteries for your…ahem. See blog post dated 9/9/11.

It took me two days to catch up on the sleep I lost from Friday night’s misadventures in the room with the loud speaker wall. How I made it through a three hour training session at church on Sunday afternoon was beyond me. I dragged myself through the evening trying to hold a conversation with Confidante and then…it hit him like a dense fog, slowly overtaking him, and then Pow! He was sick as a dog. I come to find out folks have been dropping like flies from something like the flu. Eeuw, germs. Out came the disinfectant wipes. Everything on the desk:  phones, mouses, keyboards, etc. got wiped down. I would have wiped down Confidante too, but he would have head butted me. For a change Mr. NyQuill had to take NyQuill. Poor thing never made it into work this morning. For him to miss work, he had to be really sick. 
                 
You know, it’s a good thing men don’t have babies. Squid and I were talking about this very thing. There’s no way in hell they’d put up with morning sickness, hormone changes that turn you into a crazy person, strange cravings, or the fact that you have this bowling ball attached to your insides that gradually increases in size and weight, and you have no choice but to haul it around for forty weeks. If men invented pregnancy the human gestation period would have been designed to match the length of the football season, since they’re on their butts anyway. And, then there’s labor. Let’s see how they hold
up under contractions that feel like your insides are being pulled out. Delivery? Try imagining pushing a head out of your… No, God certainly knew what He was doing when He gave the job to a woman. Mrs. Squid had her first ultrasound on Friday. Squid is going to bring it in to show me. He’s so excited.
                 
I probably should carve out more time for getting on Facebook, Twitter and to read my email, in addition to my blog and writing a book all day. I probably should clone myself too, because I have no idea how other people manage to devote so much time to socializing on the internet. Don’t you people work? Well, today I got on Facebook and there was a posting from a friend about how Facebook is going to start charging by the month, and if you already had an existing account and responded before midnight tonight, you wouldn’t have to pay like a new subscriber. Dumb ass me fell for it, but only because I trusted the person who posted it; another gullible soul. Had on logged on a day earlier, I would have seen other posts laughing about it.
                 
Today I perused the online sites for Barnes and Noble and Amazon to check out children’s books and toys for one year olds. Good grief. I was shocked at the paucity of classic titles for kids at Barnes and Noble. Amazon had more, but nowhere near what I was expecting. And, educational toys? I guess we’ve given the Chinese control over the dumbing down of America. ‘Tis a sad day. 

Yesterday, The Chef ended the day with a bang as well, but not in the same way his day had started. The event was still going on in the lobby when we heard a familiarly sounding crash. It was another stupid-something drunken male from another bar who felt the Please Do Not Touch signs all over the fountain were not meant for him. He decided to test the
waters and fell in taking the plastic tubing with him. Feeling he needed solace, his two older male companions picked him up to bring him to our bar for more alcohol. Fortunately, The Chef happened to witness the carnage and confronted them. I tried to explain how it was an all day job to rethread the plastic tubing in the ceiling. Then I realized I was trying to reason with another hemorrhoid who was too drunk to care. When the oldest of the trio decided his frequent patronage of our bar entitled him to call the shots, he proceeded to tell the young female desk clerk how she was going to handle it. I told her to call the police. He told me to shut up b--ch and F.Y. I smiled and told him to do the same. What is it with these guys? Instead of accepting responsibility for their actions, they exert their ‘manliness’ by mouthing off at women. The 411 guest stood her ground smiling. The Chef told them to leave. It was just another night of fun at the o.k. corral. I guess the hotel eats another one.
                 
Going to bed didn’t exactly improve my evening. At midnight, a Lovey and Deary couple needing a room for the night, burst into the loud speaker room next to me, laughing and giggling. At first, I thought it was little kids until… that’s when I realized these were horny adults. I mean come on. This is the same room where I can hear people chewing gum. I calmly got up and put in my MP3 player’s ear buds. Unfortunately, the juice was low in the battery and I knew the music wouldn’t last the night. Apparently, THEIR juice was plentiful, and it did last all night. Just my luck, she was a screamer too. I recognized his loud
mouth because he’s been here before with different women. He must ask for the same room. Maybe he thinks it’s a good luck charm. I’d been concerned they weren’t getting along when I overheard her getting spanked. Apparently she didn’t need rescuing because about 2:00 a.m. they put on a funny movie. They fell asleep laughing somewhere around 3:30-4 a.m.  However, I did not. I know this because it was about that time that I gave serious thought to shooting myself.
                 
Not even two cups of coffee were enough to clear the fog from my brain this morning. That is until I looked across the street, and saw a man leaning over a balcony in a blaze orange shirt. It so happened to match the color of a parking cone beside a nearby FIOS truck. Whoa. Good grief. Why would someone think they looked good in that?
                 
By 4 p.m. I had worked myself up into a good funk. This is not the time to jerk my chain. When I have gone without sleep, it allows all the little monsters hidden inside me to rise to the top like cream. They lurk there until someone decides to jerk my chain, and then they escape. Ask Confidante.


                 
  

Thanks to Indigo who works at a hotel and loves my blog.

It’s a wrap folks. I’m done with the final draft of my manuscript. So, until someone buys it, and an editor tells me something different, I’m going to concentrate on pitching it to an agent. I’d better find someone soon, because I’m already eager to start the next one. And,
now I can return to my regular daily blogging. That’s my intention anyway.
                 
I decided I deserved a decent meal for supper after ten months of working seven days a week writing, so I stopped for a take out of spaghetti and meatballs with mushrooms. I’ve often wondered why a treat for me has to be so fattening. What I REALLY wanted for supper was three scoops of chocolate ice cream. I’ve done this before, so I know what I’m talking about. Ice cream isn’t really food, so it doesn’t count. Unfortunately, spaghetti does. So, I only ate half of it. I’m thinking if I run in my sleep I can work it off before it does any damage.
                 
I got back to the lobby after getting dinner and walked into a wedding planning event. Back in the day, we didn’t use wedding planners and everything turned out okay. As a matter of fact, it was usually done while you were in the throes of getting ready to graduate college, taking final exams and looking for a job. Maybe today’s brides don’t have time to do the running around. Anyway, I didn’t need to attend the event seeing as how I’ve already done it once. 
                 
The Chef started the day off with a bang. I was rounding the corner on my way to the gym when I heard what sounded like a large bag of plastic utensils spilling onto the floor. Expecting to be helping him pick up a thousand forks, I retraced my steps to find one of the breakfast area’s sneeze guards on the floor in pieces.  It had shattered into a million shards of glass, impossible to pick up without a broom and dust pan. He already had the broom. So, I left.
                 
Today was a dreary day of pouring rain. We really didn’t need any more rain after the hurricane. So, I’m hoping this all counts for surplus, as in we don’t have to worry about a drought next year. At least the trees didn’t die prematurely this year, unless you count the ones that blew over in the hurricane.   
                 
This weekend we’re going to be full of parents for one of the local university parents’weekend celebrations. They’re gonna be SOL if it rains for the football game, and the rain is supposed to continue until Tuesday. Oh, well, there are worse things that could happen. They could all be stuck in the hotel lobby with no power or air conditioning, and fifty smelly dogs. I’m just saying.

I’m not even going to say it. No apology. You know where I’ve been. In case you don’t understand try writing your own book. The Chef tried to get me to leave my room and socialize downstairs tonight because I stay glued to the computer writing all day and night. I tried to beg off by saying I’d promised myself nothing would deter me from posting tonight after five days off from the blog. After an argument, I won. Here I am.
Besides, I had my hair cut and colored today. Vanity was a part of my decision not to be seen in public. It takes a day for me to be able to scrub the dye out of my eyebrows so I don’t look like Groucho Marx. 
                 
Well, who knew? Fish oil and vitamin E are blood thinners. No wonder I’m always cold. I take them both every day. It’s a good thing I don’t take a baby aspirin as well, or I might have water running in my veins. And, speaking of fish oils, I stopped by the Half Way to St. Patrick’s Day celebration Saturday night and bought a Baker’s dozen of steamed oysters. Yummy. I thought Confidante might benefit from eating some, but he wasn’t having it. Sorry ladies.
                 
I hear the UARS (Upper Atmosphere Research Satellite) is expected to re-enter our atmosphere sometime between Thursday and Saturday. If you live anywhere between 57 degrees north latitude and 57 degrees south latitude, which covers most of Africa, southern Europe, China and Australia, watch out for falling debris. Libyan rebels are hoping it falls on their former leader, Mohammar Gadafi since he refuses to leave on his own. 
                 
My 95 year old mother keeps telling me to hurry up and get published because she’s trying to hold off dying until she reads my latest book. And, in honor of getting it published, my hairdresser has promised to treat me to finally getting the tattoo I've been wanting since writing mysteries. I want a quill pen dripping red ink for blood; nothing large, of course. I’ll leave it for the artist doing it to make a suggestion. Where will it be? Hip level on my back. I’m worried about it wrinkling when I get old. I figure the back’s a safe place. I wouldn’t want the quill to look like a snake when I hit 95. 
                 
The fall shows are back on. There’s only 4-5 programs that I like to watch, so when summer came, I kind of enjoyed not turning on the TV. I figure since I’m no longer playing pool, I’ll need something to do this winter. Confidante doesn’t work nights anymore because he’s in class. There’s no one else to play with now that Mr. Pool is gone. Well, damn. 
 


                 
                 

This is getting to be embarrassing. Besides my being occupied one hundred per cent of the time, putting the final touches on my manuscript, there is nothing going on here to write about. Once the end of vacations arrived, all we have left are the usual boring business people. I refuse to comment on the pre-election clap trap and y’all already know about the unemployment rate. Besides, I’d rather focus on something positive and/or funny. 
                 
My manuscript is in its final draft stage and I’m really excited about it. I’ve put it out to ten readers so far, and everyone says they can’t put it down. I already knew that because I spilled something real sticky on their copies just to keep them reading. This book is fast paced and full of intrigue. It’s got all the required elements one would expect in a great read: sex, violence, greed, love, mystery, and power. I know what you’re thinking. No, it’s
not about politicians. You’ll just have to see when it gets published. 
                 
Tomorrow is fodder for something. There’s going to be a half way to St. Patrick’s Day party in Glen Allen. I may, or may not go. So, you may, or may not hear about it. 
                 
Great news! Squid is going to be a daddy. I can’t wait to find out what the baby squid will be. I wonder if they’ll name it calamari.
                 
Can you believe the weather? Yesterday it was hot as blazes and humid. Then the temperatures plummeted into the 50’s last night. My hands are so cold as I type it’s a wonder they can move. It was weird seeing everyone in jackets today and it’s only mid-September. 
                 
Well, I’ve got to get out of this room before I lose it. There’s a man talking baby talk to his little yippy dog in the loud speaker room next to me. The little yippy dog is barking its little yippy head off, and he’s encouraging it. Don’t make me have to yell, QUIET!!  

Can you believe it? Race weekend has come and gone, and I’ve got nothing funny to talk about. As a matter of fact, the hotel was so quiet, if you hadn’t seen groups of pregnant-looking men walking through the lobby on their way to the race, you’d never of even known they were there. Maybe the economy has had an effect on the consumption of beer at tailgating parties. Whatever it was, it sure messed up the content on my blog.
                 
About the only annoying thing to happen, didn’t even happen because of the race. It happened because the bar below us ejected a couple of drunken blondes, intent on crying in their beer over a broken relationship. We need to lock the doors after 1 a.m. like most hotels. If you’re a guest, you can use your room key to get in. If you’re just arriving, use the intercom. Or, go home and sleep it off.
                 
Already the daylight is waning, and I’m not happy about it. I’m a firm advocate of long days. I should say, days with a lot of daylight, but you know what I mean. This means in a few short weeks, the temperature will be dropping and so will the leaves. I love the colors of fall, but when every tree has finally shed its coat, all you’ve got left are a bunch of naked limbs. And, unless you’re in bed enjoying naked limbs of a different sort, the ones you look at on the street are nothing more than a sad reminder that we’ve got six or
seven more months to wait before the days become longer and nature greens up again. 
                 
When the time changes, I turn into a pumpkin. Not orange, round, or fat, I just don’t like to go back outside in the dark to have to go anywhere, unless I have to. When darkness hits at 5 p.m. my pineal gland says, shut it down, the day’s over. I’m lucky if I can last ‘til 9 p.m. before I’m in bed reading. During the summer, I’m just shutting down the computer at dusk. I know I’m not the only person to feel this way. I don’t understand why we need to turn the clock back since we’re no longer an agrarian-based culture. Well, I guess they’re going to do it whether I like it or not, so I’d better get used to it like I usually do: that is go into hibernation mode. I still have a little daylight left today, so I’m heading for the patio while I can. I’m going to wring out every last bit of summer from the day while possible. And, the stars, they’re waiting.

Ladies: a word of advice if you choose to bring your vibrator to a hotel. Bring your own batteries, please. Poor Mr. Madison was asked by a female, late twenties-early thirties guest for batteries for her toy. Without skipping a beat, he managed to locate the four she needed. It must have been one of those large “rabbit” types to have needed four of them. Not that I would know. Before she went back to her room she managed to ingratiate herself with everything in pants (including a few dogs) within thirty feet of her. Mr. Madison was doing his best to ignore her advances. Eventually, she disappeared. Awhile later she returned. Why? She wanted to return the batteries. They remain in the back of the desk drawer on account of no one is willing to touch them. Besides, they probably don’t have much juice left.
                 
I swear, in spite of my not being downstairs as much as I used to, this place still manages to amaze me. There are stories I choose not to reveal for a variety of reasons, and even without those, the weird, the funny, the annoying, and the incredible still manages to find its way onto the pages of the 411 guest. We could use more laughter too, especially following an earthquake, a hurricane, torrential rains, flooding, fires, and tornadoes that befell us, all within the span of a week. I’m sure everyone is thankful the locusts didn’t arrive, as expected. Now with the tenth anniversary of 9/11 upon us this weekend, I
think people are getting tired of wondering if there is any end to all these disasters. It’s hard to find humor in things that cause us so much heartache. When we dodge a bullet we’re grateful, but we’ve become almost accustomed to wondering when the next shoe is going to drop. Well, laughter is still the best medicine. Especially if taken prophylactically. It helps us to ward off the negative stuff we attract to ourselves when we live in fear. So, here’s hoping this weekend’s Nascar Race churns up some interesting stories that might find their  way onto these pages. 
                 
Last night I was asked what ever happened to Tom the Flying Ant. Honestly, I’ve been afraid to mention him because I haven’t seen him since before the hurricane. I didn’t receive a post card, like I did the last time he disappeared for over a week. Come to think of it, the little bugger never paid me back for the extra baggage charges I loaned him when he flew a suitcase full of hooch back to Richmond from the Florida Keys. I didn't even know he drank.
                 
I’m learning to do the “dougie” and the “wobble”. I have no plans to use my newfound dance skills other than to say “I told you so” to my dino-critical friends. They will be amazed to see that I didn’t lose a single scale in the process of all that shakin’. So, there.

I almost gave myself a heart attack today when I thought I’d lost the revisions and additions from the past two days worth of work on my manuscript. I’d been copying to update three CD’s and back up my own files when something didn’t look right. It just serves to remind me that when I push to do something, even though I know I should stop, it’s a mistake. Everything is okay. The files are safe, but I think I need to back up my brains. 
                 
I really do need more diversions. Too much of keeping one’s nose to the grindstone eventually wears your nose down and then you look like an idiot. Last night I had an extemporaneous gift of being asked to go downstairs for a drink with a business friend whom I’ve known for a year. Normally, I wouldn’t go, mainly because I don’t like bars or the noise it attracts. Something said,“Oh, go ahead do it.” Well, it was just the thing I needed. Even though all I had was Seltzer water with lime, it was nice to get out of the hotel and have a nice conversation with a friend.

It was also interesting. Adjacent to us at the bar, a twenty something girl with a small brain, but big boobs (I suspect thanks to her push-up bra), entertained not just us, but most of the patrons who sat mesmerized watching her throw herself at some guy sitting next to her. Her V-neck sweater was cut very low at her cleavage, and almost matched the cut of her bra. She kept emphasizing her breasts to the guy, as if he wouldn’t have found them on his own. Periodically, she’d pretend to adjust her breast in the cup and give him a show. My 55 year old friend, who is no slouch in the female department, confessed he gets so turned off by the trashiness of some girls these days that he’s no longer interested in looking at women younger than forty. I was surprised to hear his perspective since most men go for women twenty years younger. We left before the couple did, so I don’t know if they later hooked up, or what. Nor, do I care.
                 
Mr. Madison will be leaving us on Friday. So, will Mr. Pool. We’ll be sad to see them go. I know I will. Change is good, especially when more money is involved. Hopefully, they’ll come back periodically for a visit. I will certainly miss the entertainment provided by watching Confidante and Mr. Pool play against each other. They’re a regular Cheech and Chong road show. 
                 
The Nascar people will start arriving Thursday night and Friday. I try not to remember last year’s hoopla. They start drinking in the morning and things get louder as the day goes on. I’ll be ready for them this year. If they keep me up singing again, they’ll get an angry howler message via air horn delivery the next morning. Seems fair.


                 

I’m feeling the pressure. I’ve set a deadline for finishing the final draft of my novel at three weeks from now. I need to work on my pitch before I meet with the agent. Anybody that thinks getting published is easy should actually try writing a book. This is my fourth. Actually, I like being under  pressure. Meeting a deadline keeps me even more focused than my usual always focused self. Thank God I love what I do. I always wanted a job where I actually got paid to do what I loved. I’m still waiting.
                 
When I’m not writing this blog, ya’ll know where I’ve been then, and it’s working on the novel. Last night I was doing research and put it into written form today. Seeing a story coming together is so exciting. It’s like making music when you know you’ve got the beat, the vocals, and the sound all mixed to perfection. I’m going to feel really sad when the book is done and published because I will have to say goodbye to some of the characters I’ve come to feel an affection for on its pages. Some I say, because I plan on creating a series using two of the characters from the current book. At some point, I’ll be moving
on to another story, and possibly to another location.
                 
So, I may as well do as much damage while I’m still here. Like yesterday…I saw a middle-aged, sixty-ish couple walking towards the front desk as they got off the elevator from the parking garage. The man was carrying what looked like a black, rubber plunger. I made the comment to Confidante that I wondered why he was carrying a plunger. Now, don’t
tell me to do something unless you mean it. “Why don’t you just ask him?” Confidante suggested. Seeing as how I was going up on the elevator anyway, I rode along with them. When the doors closed I said, “Having a plumbing problem, are we?” The man looked at me, and I pointed to the plunger. His wife went silent. Fortunately, the man had a sense of humor. It seems he had a prosthetic leg, and the thing I mistook for a plunger, was in fact what he put on his stump after he took off his prosthesis.“Oh, well that’s good,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you realized that’s what we had a maintenance department for.” We got off the elevator on the same floor and walked in the same direction. That’s when I realized they were the couple in the room next to me. The loud-speaker room. The room I’d overheard heavy breathing coming from shortly after they'd checked in that morning. I had assumed they were doing it, you know. Now I’m wondering if all the grunting I’d heard was simply the poor guy trying to get his leg on, or off. Or, maybe they were doing it, and it was just getting in the way. My bad.