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 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.