Let's hate on today's emotional mindset.

Oh good god. I’m in one of those ‘what does it all mean’ phases.

Scandalous statement:
Reality is greater than imagination because imagination is human, reality is ‘divine’.

Both have boundaries.
Imagination’s limits are what keep reality in bounds.
We simply do not have the hardware (presently) to perceive and understand.
Keep an open mind- what we as humans cannot *see* must not exist? Doubtful.

My imagination will never surprise me.
Reality can.

Imagination is limited because it can never separate itself from the human mind.
‘Real’ reality? I don’t know. Do you?
I suspect we are not even aware of half of the things we don’t know.

Therefore-

Reality > Imagination

If you can't beat 'em.

A long time ago, back when I used to write, someone kept stealing my work. (I say *used* to write because I did... really write, that is- not the charming yet naïve and simple self portraits I yammer on about now) Perhaps *stealing* is a bit harsh. His words would be different but the style, tone, and structure would match perfectly. He told me I should be flattered- imitation was the most sincere type of flattery. He admitted that, yes- maybe he was influenced by what I had written but deep down it was completely his own.

Few things in life PISS me off as much as plagiarism. In *any* medium. (Just thinking about it turned me so red, Stan had to take me to the break room and feed me French fries for a half an hour to calm me down)

Anyways. I meandered over to his myspace profile today and had a look around. There was something that he wrote... it bothered me and I’m not quite sure *why*. Ok- here’s the deal. He wrote a sweet, sappy letter to his future wife- who he’s never met. (That in itself just screamed I’m single and hating it, but who am I to judge?) It just sort of pissed me off because of how... *generic* it was.

Typical and mundane.
Vague.
Dispassionately passionate.

It’s tricky talking about love. Talking about love is like dancing about architecture. (insert hypocrisy here) He’s not good at it. After paragraphs of tedious unspecified declarations, he suddenly switched modes and got very specific. I’ve selected an excerpt to show you what I mean:

You do that often, you'll call me at work to tell me you love me. Or to tell me of something wonderful that has happened to you and I was the first person you thought of. I love the little things about you. The way your eyes light up when something has you fired up, the way you pout or bat your eyes innocently at me to destroy my resolve. I love how you cry at 'chick-flicks' and then proceed to smack me for laughing. I laugh not because I think you're being stupid, I laugh because it amazes me that despite your deep reserve of strength, you can still be that emotional. I love the 'only for ****' look...so full of love and adoration. I only hope mine reflects that same gaze. I love you for your zaniness, your craziness and not afraid to put yourself on the line for my benefit and the way you keep me on my toes, rolling your eyes at my antics, and how you're always ready to forgive.

That, my friends- is a fantasy. There is nothing worse for a woman than to try and live up to some man’s fantasy. Trust me. Why does this bother me so much? Can you tell me? I’d look deeper into it, but the truth is- I don’t want to know why. It would hurt too much for me which is silly because I got over these things a long time ago. Maybe I’m just afraid of having to go through the same things over again with someone new. God, that would suck.

In the spirit of plagiarism, I’ve decided to talk to my future ‘other’ too. But not like I know him or anything... rather, I’d like to give him some advice (Because- with me, he’s probably going to need it...

Dear Dude,

-Kill all the spiders. In fact, I don’t even need to know that they’re there.
-Really truly *listen* to me. Sometimes it’ll make sense in the end.
-Sit on the same side of the table as me. I really like that.
-We’re *equals* remember? If I deserve it- YELL at me (call me on my bullshit). If I deserve it- love me. Make me respect you.
-If there’s something you absolutely need- tell me.
-The *fastest* way to get me in the sack is to cook for me. Just saying.
-Make me understand why you love the things you love.

And the most important thing:
-I fuck up a lot. Forgive me and love me anyways.

So Dude- That’s all I have for right now. Those are the kinda/mostly/sorta important ones anyways. I fully intend to do all these things for you too... except for the spiders thing. I really freakin’ hate spiders.

THE END
(Kinda, thinking about more things to add to the list...)
Kell!

Livin' dangerously.

Last night I went over to Boyd and Lynnea’s to help Nea paint her office. We’re painting it the color Peanut Butter. You want to lick this wall, I swear. Right now my side of the room has a big white gap about a foot from the ceiling... I’m not tall enough to reach all the way and we only had one chair. Nea and I are professionals.

Boyd and Nea live a little ways east of downtown St. Paul. I live just shy of downtown Minneapolis. One of my favorite things is the drive on 94 between both cities. I once heard it described that the difference between the twin cities was this: Both are typical mid-sized Midwestern towns but St. Paul thinks it’s a quaint small community and Minneapolis likes to pretend that it’s a BIGCITY city... So anyways, 94- coming from St. Paul the highway swings left, it swings right. You go up and over then you go back down. There are Volvos everywhere. It’s the most meandering city I’ve ever driven through. Eventually, I start to give up all home of ever making it out... then over one more hill and BLAM! Minneapolis skyline. I had a good moment- I switched over the last of my Duluth radio pre-sets to the ones here. When I saw the city, I realized- I’m home.

And those feelings lasted until my car did this: you know that cartoon noise when something is supposed to be bouncy- booyyyoooiiiiiinnnng? That’s what my car did. And this is on top of the already scary grinding noise I’ve been ignoring for the past 2 weeks. So now my car does this:

Shuuuuga-whoop-shuuuga
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
booyyyoooiiiiiinnnng

It’s hilarious. Well, it is now, anyways. At the time I didn’t know what to do so I just pulled over. Or rather- that *was* my plan but I was downtown on the stupid street with one lane and the train tracks. So there’s no where for me to go. Arg. I *stopped* and of course, that’s when someone pulled up behind me. And started honking. And I could feel myself start to puff up (like cats, y’know- to look more terrifying and stuff). AAAh! Don’t get out of your car, I’m a scary-killer chick. And what the hell do you think honking is gonna do? You can see me standing outside my car here. Car’s not going to move without someone to drive it rtard (I put all this aggression into one look. It probably looked like I had something in my eye...) He got out anyways and came over and asked me what was wrong. I said- ‘Sir, my car is making this noise,

Shuuuuga-whoop-shuuuga
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
booyyyoooiiiiiinnnng’

He said what do you think standing next to your car staring at it is going to do? I admitted he probably had a point and got back in and took off. I turned up the radio to 40 and to me the problem was solved. I went home and went to bed, woke up and went to work. As I was pulling into the lot here at the Normandy, Melissa (smoking outside, scandalous!) started waving her arms at me. I rolled the window down and she said- Kell... your car is making the most ridiculous noise I’ve ever heard a car make- you should have Stan look at it. She went and got Stan and told him my car was... boinging. To which I replied, ‘No no no, Melissa, it’s like this:

Shuuuuga-whoop-shuuuga
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
booyyyoooiiiiiinnnng’

Stan wanted to know if it was more GRRR or more shuuga. (Apparently one is worse) After making the noise for 20 minutes to 15 different people I finally gave up. You know what people? It’s fine... I’ll take it to the shop after work. This is a blatant lie. After work I’m headed up to Duluth. I decided to leave Norm here... just in case. If Stan doesn’t get a chance to really check it out before I leave... it may just blow up. Wish me luck.

So if you don't hear from me... yeah. It's been fun.

Marvin Rainwater

65 years ago today, a great man was born. You’ve never heard of him. He never made headline news or shocked the world with his discoveries. Rather, he lived his life with a quiet ferocity- a calm, yet unalterable set of principles that challenged the beliefs and enhanced the lives of anyone who had the pleasure of knowing him.

His given name was Marvin and he was Aniishanabe. Marvin spent the majority of his life on the Ojibwe reservation Nah-gah-chi-wa-nong, because of the deep connection he felt to The People. Later in life he would earn the name Rainwater to acknowledge his serene nature and tranquil acceptance of his place in this world. He will always be an enduring example of what it means to live the ways.

From humble beginnings, Marvin Rainwater rose up to meet the challenges faced in reservation life. He never believed in cultural boundaries and fell in love with a white woman who he married in the early 1960’s. That alone was enough to cause both parties ostracization from the ‘socially acceptable’ and it didn’t stop there. Having seen the disproportionate allocation of advantages to his white neighbors- Marvin decided that true equality was never going to be possible. Instead he sought out Native-specific rights and freedoms.

He thought big. :) He took the state of Minnesota to court. State taxes were conspicuous in their absence from any Native assistance programs. Reservations were already required to provide their own money for community projects, maintenance of roads and facilities, etc. Marvin felt he shouldn’t have to contribute to the privileged majority. So he took Minnesota to court and lost. But his lawsuit was one of the first steps which led to the Supreme Court case that gained Aniishanabeg this freedom. Afterwards, Marvin became a member of the Ceded Territory Board which fought continually for Native ricing, hunting and fishing rights.

Marvin and his wife had three daughters. It was in his mixed-blood girls that Marvin saw both the salvation and continuation of the culture of the people and also, sadly- their inevitable demise. Until recently, Ojibwe heritage had been a jealously guarded secret world. Marvin Rainwater was a teacher and he wanted to bring the beauty of the Native world to as many people as possible. What is a delicate treasure if it is held by a select few, hidden away from other’s eyes- never to be shared and eventually forgotten? While The People couldn’t last- their culture could and Marvin was to become a key figure in preserving that life.

He became an artist- though he would have humbly claimed to have been a simple craftsman. His work has no compare. He started small, using traditional methods of gathering the materials for his craft. He would go to pow-wow every summer and trade his birch bark baskets, nooshkaachinaagan, and dikkinagun, sometimes offering them as gifts to any who admired them. He combined the ancestors’ ways of acquiring wiigob and wiigwaas with modern techniques of construction. And now Marvin’s work can be found in galleries in Minneapolis, Chicago, Seattle, and Washington DC- it’s there... hoping you’ll remember.

Marvin believed you teach by example. He understood the inexplicable nature of life. Things all eventually change and all we can do as mortals is- let go, understand it’s not personal, and realize that whether the change is good or bad, we are all so lucky to be here. And that’s how he lived his life, each and every day.

We once were a strong, proud, beautiful people... it was men like Marvin Rainwater who made us remember we still are, that we will always be. I think there was also a universal message to his life. You don’t have to change the way the world sees you as a people. It’s up to you to decide what you believe in. Choose- believe- stand fast to those values and let the world make up its own mind about you.

Happy Birthday Dad!

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I have a boner for Frida Kahlo

Made you look.
(Cause I’m classy like that;)

It’s Monday. The chill of outside followed me in from my break and refuses to leave my hands. I stood out there for 5 minutes, scarf wrapped around my head, smoking through a gap in the scarf’s weave- thinking, this has to be the stupidest habit anyone could ever have. I had to bang on the heat vent with my stick (why they gave me a bighuge ruler is beyond me) for 10 minutes before I finally drew the attention of Stan who, as he was adjusting the temperature, informed me that the banging doesn’t do anything. I tartly replied that it got him to come over and turn it on, now didn’t it?

It’s Monday- I have a STACK of work accumulated from the weekend. I’ve .looked. at it- that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’m, as always, dead tired. *Someone* kept me up on the phone all night again. ;) It’s ok though... pretty soon he’s going to rack up his missed trivia debt to three million dollars. I <3 three million dollars. *yawn* Oh well- at least it’s too cold to snow. *looks out my window* Oh.my.freakin’.god. It’s snowing.

THE WEEKEND

On Friday I invited Chris to come out to Azia with me. And it’s like this: I’m torn between recovering and starting to become interested in other peoples again- I feel better and notice the men-folk around me. *OR* I find these ‘signs’ that convince me that Chris and I belong together and get frustrated when he doesn’t feel the same. The combination from one to the other, to the other, to the other has driven me freakin’ insane. Hence Friday night’s verbal diarrhea and The Abuse of Christopher. Oops.

Saturday was better though. My friend Scarlett came down from Duluth and we went to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Walker. And it was... I don’t even know what to say. I mean, normally I snicker at those people who lean back and stroke their chins at art galleries;) Maybe it’s because I miss Chris, maybe I was PMSing or something... but at one point, I just thought- I *get* this lady and got maybe, sorta, a little emotional. But I didn’t cry. Anyone who says anything else is a liar. To make up for the sentimentality I took Scar to Billy’s Bar afterwards. And then- then we drank! To Boyd and Nea! Happy birthday!:)

On Sunday there was a hangover. And we were broke. So I took my friend to the cheapest breakfast in the area. Yep- we went to IKEA:) I <3 IKEA so much. 99 cent breakfast! WOO! Scarlett was not so impressed that I took her to a furniture store on her ‘big city’ visit... but she managed to find a $2 rug and some $1 lint rollers and hopefully she’ll come back and visit again someday. We made plans together for next Friday in Duluth so it couldn’t have been too bad...

And the Packers lost.

YAY WEEKEND!

Helllllo Minneapolis.

Ah. Hope everyone is staying warm and cozy today- it’s totally freakin’ cold... the sales *team* (Melissa) and I just came in from outside. To give you a tiny idea of just how cold it is, while we were standing on 4th Ave, we saw 2 cars get into a fender-bender. The at-fault driver looked over at the other guy all apologetic like and the crashed-into-guy simply pressed his face up against his window to try and see the damage as much as possible, then shrugged at Mr. At-Fault and drove away.

But I’m warm:) I’ve doubled in size today as I have on my normal clothes plus 15 layers of understuffs. I’ve got on my boots-with-the-fur... propped up on my desk, because I’m a rockstar. I figure I’m entitled- I practically checked out the entire city of Minneapolis from the hotel today. And I finished all my online reservations *and* the commissions (though I did have a brief fantasy of just tossing them into a bin and lighting it on fire for the warmth). It’s official. I’m the bestest fancy-smancy hotel concierge in the world!

Sometimes I love my job. Like yesterday. *Yesterday* one of the representatives from Fogo de Chao stopped by the hotel to give me 2 complimentary dinners. YAY:) I’ve wanted to go there for such a long time! (But could probably never afford it on my own...)

I’m really really looking forward to not having to drive to Duluth this weekend. I’m loving the idea of staying in and snugglin’ up with Norm all day in this cold... but I think I might want to get a little gussied up and head out too.

So how about it? Anyone want to go to Fogo with me?

:D

Snotty, snobby big-city Kell.

AGM Mike just came over and offered me a Fanta someone left on top of the pop machine. I refused. It might have roofies in it. You can never be too careful.

Idiot: Anyone on the highway driving slower than me.

Maniac: Anyone on the highway driving faster than me.

If you will- a night in my private non-work life...

So, I went home to Duluth *again* on Friday. My favorite Bad Girl best friends and I were to go and see a friend’s small town rockabilly band play at some hole-in-the-wall bar Saturday night. I figure every once in a while it’s good to go and rediscover your provincial roots, throwing all decorum and decency out the window. Heck yes- let’s make a public scene.

Saturday started off well enough. I went to see my nephew’s basketball team which was freakin’ adorable. They were all around 8 years old and Mikey was the smallest kid on the team. But. Mikey makes up for his short stature, knowing he can probably get away with things on the court the bigger kids can’t. Elbows were flying as I danced gleefully at Mikey’s aggression- kill em! Woo! (Oh good god, I’m one of *those* people) Turns out I’m a ‘hot aunt’ too. That’s nice.

I was supposed to look up a bunch of people after the game and catch up and hold hands and all the jazz. And I was going to. I just needed to stop by the mall first. I had to! They were having a SALE! A good sale too:D Four hours later, I realized it was too late to see anybody else as it was time to go to Bad Girl headquarters. Oooh, sorry friends... But hey- s a l e.

We left for the bar at 7:30. Apparently that’s what they do here- I seem to have forgotten that... Let’s fast forward to 11pm. I’ve already been a little fuzzy and sobered up, I haven’t seen 2 of the bad girls since we’ve got here, and I’ve pretty much been sitting with our sober mommy-to-be all night long. I’m crabby, I’m tired. For the last hour I’ve been listening to the girls lament that every man I’m attracted to is a ‘homo-weirdo’ (they giggle and cover their mouths and apologize- ‘sorry, we mean they’re *artistic* and *unique* while rolling their eyes.) I don’t bother learning their boyfriend’s names. They only last for a week and they are all completely interchangeable.

Enter case study- Nick. Waiting to leave from the house, all I heard about was Nick. One the drive there: Nick. Over at the dart boards: freakin’ Niiiiick. Ooh, Kell- you should take him home. (And why the fuck is that? Answer: because he’s tall and you like tall guys, right?) At this point, Nick is presently trying to wrest a beer away from a 40-something barfly who is refusing to give it up. She’s never seen this guy before in her life. When he can’t get it out of her hand, he leans over and *licks* the neck of the bottle up to the rim. Guess it’s his now. The bartender tells us to clean this situation up. I tell him to boot his ass out in the snow- it makes no difference to me. Apparently this makes me a bad girlfriend. And a snob. I think I’m better than everyone else now.

About that time, Shoulder Bad Girl (completely sober) reared her ugly head.

I told them- even *if* I was interested in doing the whole dating thing now, I would never pick some homophobic, racist redneck hick who has no dreams, goals, or aspirations whatsoever. Some 30 year old man who works part time in a bar and lives with six of his friends... Hello? You guys know me better than anyone else in the world and you picked out this monosyllabic ape whose resume probably listed ‘can open beer bottles with my teeth.’ for me? Seriously.

And what the hell are *we* doing, guys? We’re too old for this boy-crazy bullshit. All you do is go to these bars and try and get some guy to go home with you- then when he doesn’t call you back, you bitch about how men suck. What *happened*?! We used to have things we were going to do and places we were going to see... The journey- an adventure, our *lives* you know? How can you be satisfied with this?

They just stared back blankly- totally closed off. I’m still a snob *and* a bitch now. At bar close, when we were walking out the door, Nick’s mom arrived to take him away. (I wanted to chase the car down, sobbing- ‘No! Don’t take my *boyfriend*’ but managed to restrain myself... ;) When I got to the house, I collected my things and left. So long Bad Girls... it really was... it was something in our day.

Bummer thing was- I told my mum that I had a place to stay in Duluth. So she locked down the house. I slept in my car for 3 hours in 20 degree weather. It was freakin’ cold. ;)

And now? Now... it’s good to be *home*.

fin!

Scatterbrained.

We’re being inspected at the hotel today. Everyone (but me, as always;) is testy. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if they shut the place down and forced me to get a real job... In fact- the only thing that’s making me even the slightest bit agitated is the fact that I have to wear my nametag.

I’m little. I have no chest. Nametags are awkward and uncomfortable- there’s no place to *put* it. It would just look silly if I put it between where my breast was *supposed* to be and my shoulder because then it feels like I’m wearing it on my chin. And the fact that the name tag itself may be the same size as said breast makes wearing it there utterly ridiculous. It makes me feel like a children’s pop-up book. BAM! A retangular abstract boobie in relief. ;)

Plus- I’m not even Kell today. I’m Linda. One of our housemen didn’t have his nametag and it was more likely he be a ‘Kell’ than a ‘Linda’...

So it’s already that kind of day. I’m trying to focus and move along here- it’s time to give myself some direction. My future and er... stuff. Maybe I should learn a foreign language or take some night classes. I don’t know. I feel like I’m so static these days. I want to learn to really cook- but I’m completely turned off by grocery shopping. Yesterday, after coming out of the market, I couldn’t find my car. I walked around for like 15 minutes thinking- omg! It’s finally happened, I’ve been stolen-ed in the big city! Turns out there was so much salt on my car I was the proud owner of a little *white* cougar instead of purple... Foooound it! :)

So yeah... any ideas? What do you do when you’re not quite sure where you’d like to end up after all? I just want a ‘thing’ to bridge what I used to be to what I’m going to be. I’d just like to do *something* so I could say- Hey, I’m Kell and *this* is what I do/am doing...

Movin' on. Movin' on.

It breaks my heart that Chris doesn’t belong to me anymore... I told him that. Lying in bed, he turned to me and said- softly, sadly, simply-

I don’t belong to anyone.

Perhaps he meant something else. We’ve never completely connected in the way we communicated. I did what I usually do in that situation. I kissed his forehead and sat back and regarded my sweet man- hoping, as always, that I’d have the time to figure out his heart and mind someday. Someday... someday- who knows?

I couldn’t get what he said out of my head. I thought about what it meant to me. By default then, was I also untethered and ‘free’? The past couple of months spent meeting new people and exploring new emotional territories have made me incredibly grateful for the concept of the urban family.

I <3 urban families.

Why do we choose to bind ourselves to specific individuals and not others? Why do some people immediately enter and refuse to leave our hearts while others simply walk on through? I took a look at the people I surround myself with, people from all different situations- different ages, races, incomes, attitudes, dreams, and environments, and decided our only connection at times seems to be that we are all many miles away from the familiar...

*They*- in who they are and how they see the world, combined with how I react to them- make me who I am. I’ve known a lot of them long enough to say also- perhaps they wouldn’t have had the same view if I wasn’t along for the ride.

I don’t belong to anyone? I don’t think so. I belong to my friends and families. I belong to my coworkers and the random people who enter my day in passing. I belong to anyone who makes my story what it is. I belong here. I belong *now*, you know?

I wish my hands made more. I wish I was smarter, faster, stronger, *better*- just for these people...

Anywho- have to run. Victor from maintenance just walked in and he gets very cross with me if I don’t try to sexually harass him at least once a day.

Bye!
;)

I seem to have misplaced a week of my life.

I woke up (in utter shock) at 5:30 this morning. I was wide awake. In keeping up with appearances, I turned off the alarm and slept for another hour. No sense in giving everybody at the hotel a heart attack...

Monday. New Years Eve.
Saaad... Captain! Happy! Bathroom floor! To the bar! More sad, then dancing. Malibu, vodka, chaser- FLOOR! House party- how’d I get here? Sleepin’. Home.

Tuesday.
Sleepin’. Sleepin’. Wakin’. UGH! More sleepin’... Nea drags me outtah bed- YAY! Girl talkin’! Bed.

Wednesday.
Oh wait. Maybe the Tuesday stuff actually happened on Wednesday..? (Note to self: Drink Less) Shoot. This is disheartening.

Thursday.
Workin’. Packin’. Finally staring to feel better. Vowin’ never to drink again.

Friday.
Station 4! Vodka… vodka… VODKA! Beautiful Friends! Tall man + my uncomfortably upright carseat = Ha! More vodka then lemonade. Then vodka then coffee. Then bed.

Saturday.
ROAD TRIP. Bobette got a squeegee bath. Mum almost got us kicked out of Olive Garden for stealin’ breadsticks. Visitin’, yahtzee-in’, bed.

Sunday.
Drivin’ home. Normanin’, passin’ out.

Monday.
Workin’. Seein’ Christopher again. Talkin’ on the phone for hours. Realizin’ things are gonna be ok. Smilin’.

There. Now we’re all caught up.

;)

Oh.

*And* I was late again this morning. My alarm went off at 5 and due to an overwhelming exhaustion- I got up, stumbled into the kitchen, made myself a peanut butter jelly sandwich, and went back to bed. At 6:30, when I finally regained consciousness, (clutching a half-eaten sandwich) I tried to figure out my thought process that morning. Apparently I must have thought I had *the clairvoyance*... and the only reason I set my alarm for that particular time was because I *knew* I was going to be hungry. Hm. Wouldn’t that be something? ;)

And since that moment- I’ve been able to think of practically nothing else but going home after work and getting back into bed. But I have to help one of my co-workers out later and call one of my friends back... ugh. How sad is it that Nap-Time has become a treat? LAME!

I’m only 2 cats and a crocheted sweater away from turning into the Cat Lady!!

Misbehaving children.

I’m sitting along my desk, discreetly polishing my nails. Stan and Kew the houseman are using my computer to look up something about a Naked Cowboy (No, I didn’t bother asking). Marie is sedately solitairing it at the Front Desk. It is peaceful. It is calm. It is quiet... You can hear individual footsteps. Wait a minute- those footsteps are running. Towards the Front Desk.

We all stop what we’re doing and turn towards the sound, craning our necks to see down the corridor. Those footsteps are *frantically* running. And they’re getting closer. We all share a questioning look when all of a sudden our Director of Sales comes bursting into the lobby.

Hands on his knees, doubled over, and red faced, he presents a comical picture... short of stature and slight roundish- He’s our 3rd in command and presently in charge as the hotel’s owner- Mr. Noble, is on vacation til Monday and the AGM is currently AWOL.

Me: Randy? What *the hell* are you doing? You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.
R: *gasping to catch his breath* Nnnn-
S: Hey man, let me get you some water- you don’t look too good…
R: Nnnno time- NOBLE!
Me: What? He’s not coming in til Monday- remember?
R: *still gasping* Passed him... on freeway... coming this way... had to drive REALLY fast...

Cranky guests. No hot water in C building.
Overbookings. Stay-overs. Papercuts.
Managers coming back from vacations unexceptedly.
NO FEAR: THE NORMANDY

(We all sort of freeze for a moment- seemingly in shock. Tense seconds pass and then we all spring into action)

AHHH! Stan runs downstairs to the boiler to turn the heat back down in all the employee areas while Marie starts throwing out all the coffee we stole from the restaurant- which is presently sitting in the sales office. Kew scrambles to rip down all our inappropriate New Years decorations as I make the mad dash to the back door. Noble had this pet project- he ordered like 10 billion poinsettias to place around the hotel. He gave their upkeep to me while he was away. I’m praying the lack of poinsettia is less noticeable than dead poinsettias everywhere...

We somehow all manage to do what we’re supposed to do and get back to where we were supposed to be by the time he arrives. Well wishing ensues. He accepts and leaves and we all breathe a sigh of relief. For our Secret Santa this year, he gave us all $60 Cub Foods gift cards. After the party, he promptly fired one of the new houseman- presumably (to us) to offset the cost of our gifts. We’re all walking on eggshells these days around him.

I thought- now would probably be a good time to organize the concierge desk and look fabulously busy and important. Naw... I think I’ll blog about it instead...

Noble nods approvingly as he walks by and sees me typing like mad. I love being me.

;)

The morning after the morning after.

RECOVERY: The art of picking myself up off the ground and bandaging the sore bits all over again.

RETROSPECT: The realization that today’s credit card statement should have directly influenced the prior week’s spending... Hmph.

I must say- this year’s hangover was epic. Or perhaps I should say *is* epic, as it is *still* in full force. Everybody else seems to be walking REALLY fast and talking REALLY loud, I have a fabulous new collection of bumps and bruises in REALLY inappropriate places, and I basically have little-to-no recollection of Monday night.
Mission Accomplished.

(I usually try and avoid the whole belligerent drunk thing, but hey- it *was* New Years)

Anywho- I’d just like to say something. I got a lot of messages and calls and whatnot on Monday. (And only one of them called me a dirty cheating whore, so that’s nice;) Whether it was a seriously sincere little note, a shared experience short story, casual distracting banter, or an invitation out- I just wanted to say Thank You.

It was kinda like this: I go to a diner and order French Silk Pie. The waiter- he tells me ‘You can’t have that’. Bummer, right? Then the people sitting at the table next to me order a slice of Caramel Apple Pie and send it over. Eh, it’s not the same... Then I eat it and realize Caramel Apple Pie is pretty spiffy too :D

So yeah. Thats my way of saying- I really appreciated that. Thank yous.