Saturday, 31 December 2011

It's A Battle To The Death, But With Hookers and Drunks Instead of Shanks

I don't even know where to begin.

Tonight is.... going to be interesting. I'll try to document as much as I can, but kids? It's going to be a shit show.

I am tired, good luck to me napping, and I'm walking into an audit that isn't going to balance.
I also hear tonight's a busy night, what with drunk people trying to 'get it in' one last time before the year changes over.

I have some 'backup' tonight, in the form of a maintenance guy they suckered into working with me, but it could go either way. He'll either be a super help, or end up sleeping half the night away.

On a happier note,
My nephew is finally here! Wee boy arrived Thursday morning, happy and healthy and everyone's already back home. It should be fun, living with a newborn again (and now a three year old who has serious jealousy issues) I'm just grateful I live in the basement.

I'm going to go and try to do this whole napping thing I hear is helpful,
and I hope you all have a fantastic New Years Eve and a great start to your year!!!

Thursday, 22 December 2011

Come At Me With An Apology And I Think You're About To Stab Me

Dear hot and awkwardly drunk boy,

I'm using you today as an example of what to never ever do when approaching the desk of a hotel.
Don't say "I'm realllllyyyyy sorry" before I notice your state of intoxication.
I nearly shit my pants tonight because I saw hands in pockets, dark and mysterious tall man, who smelled yummy, coming at me with a fucking apology.
You know who apologizes, hot and awkwardly drunk boy?

People about to rob me.

People who are about to throw knives/darts/babies at my face.

People who have weapons hiding in their pants, that aren't attached to them.

Those kinds of people start with an apology.
Never apologize because you were too drunk to drive, and the voice of your mother scared you into walking 3 miles to get to my hotel, where you've been before so you know I'd give you a drunk guy rate.
You're smart, peanut.
One day I'll have you trained.

Happy Holidays, my friends.



Monday, 19 December 2011

The Post That Starts Out As A Dear You, And Turns Into Talking About Jail Bathrooms Without Soap

Dear Mom,

I sit at my computer for hours with this blank screen up, the flashing telling me I have to type something to appease the computer gods. Nothing I have to say right now is polite, or nice or without hurt. Yes, I am angry at missing out on the job. Yes, I'm so fucking pissed off that I'm being held here by that fucking asshole yet again, but I could swallow that. It's only five, six months tops. Then I can leave without having to come back and make sure he goes to jail. My testimony will undoubtedly put him into a place where he'll wish there was a bar of soap to drop and use. I know this and that fact helps ease my utter fury over losing out on that adventure I could have and should have had.

I'm so angry though, at you and Dad.

I understand you think you know best for me. I understand that you had what you believed to be valid objections that should have removed my desire completely to move to another province for a year. But treating me like I was 15 again, asking to study abroad? Not being willing to debate more, discuss my reasons for wanting to travel and see other parts of the country we live in? I call bullshit.

I know the past couple of years I haven't been as open, I know I don't tell you everything I'm feeling or thinking. I never have. That's not my style, to bare it all for everyone. The things that have happened to me, the things I've done and been a part of, have changed me into the private kind of person.*

*at least, to people I see on a daily basis and who know my middle name.

I feel hurt that you didn't support me and pressured me to give the job up, but I feel even angrier at the fact you played along for three days while I was getting more and more hopeful and excited and telling everyone my huge plans. Turning against me after all that, well, you should know me well enough by now to know I would react poorly. At least I'm being the mature one and not saying anything. I'm keeping my distance because I'm angry and we, as a family, have a track record for saying stupid shit we don't actually mean when we are hurt/upset.

I don't think you understand why I wanted to leave, why, once D is in jail and I'm not longer needed and hopefully still alive/standing in one piece, I fully intend to pack up and move. With or without a proper plan.*

*This is a blatant lie. I'm too much of a control freak to not have a proper plan. But whether or not I tell you, will be an entirely different story.

This was going to be my clean break. I love you guys, I love the small town that I used to live in that has put on it's big boy pants, which I hate. I love my friends I see rarely and my job I have, but I need a clean break. Do not misread this and assume I'm running away from my problems. I'm not. I'm taking them with me, but just in my heart, instead of all the fuck around me.

I live in the town where I moved in with D. I live in the town, five blocks away from the apartment I had to move us to when he got thrown in jail for what he did. I live seven blocks away from where it happened, and eight blocks away is where we began our home and life and where I was when everything happened. I drive the same streets, I drive past those places. It kills me. I drive past the apartment where I lost not one, but two babies. That apartment is both a blessing and a curse, but lately, because I know he lives near there now, it's more painful than I can bear if I let it hit me all at once.

I am coping. I have moved on from the miscarriage with D. I still resent you and possibly have disgust towards you for telling me weeks after the miscarriage that it was for the best. The rage I felt then, when I walked out of the house and out of town before anyone found me, is still there, but it's lessened because I can accept it is better for me to not be tied to D in any way. Losing a child, though? And almost dying, in the hospital, completely the fuck alone? Not for the best. I've punched people in the mouth for telling me “It was meant to be” or “God meant for that to happen, we'll never know why”. That bullshit people tell me, can go fuck itself.

I can't write about Bug right now, maybe in another post.
(Bug is what one of my best friends called the baby inside me, and it stuck with everyone. I lost him last February).

The bad things that have happened in this town and my hometown, have given me no reason to want to stay here. I want to experience things, away from your influence and control. I love you, but ever since I was born there has been this control over me. Finding out what my IQ is was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, because it altered the life I was living. It changed me almost more than any other act, because the pressure increased tenfold and I have never, ever,
ever felt like I have done well enough for you.

I know what everyone must be thinking. I know my mom loves me, I know she is proud of me and cares about me and is doing what she thinks is right. I can respect that and understand it, but never, in my entire life, has
she ever shown me that she's proud of everything I've done. I hear about her pride from my cousins, or uncle. I don't see it from her. I see the “why couldn't you do better” and the “you're making the worst choices of your life” side.

I wanted to move away to start fresh. I wanted to take all the hurt and pain I've been dealing with for two years, and I wanted to finally heal. I've tried here. I moved home, away from this city aside from work and it only hindered me. Living at home once you've been out of the house is basically like slapping yourself in the face over and over. I moved out again and into a tiny room with my best friend and her family. I love it there, as much as I can.

I am a grown woman, who knows what she wants and how she intends to get there. I'm determined, stubborn and incredibly sure that I will do it, with or without you. I just need to get through the next six months and then I'm gone.

I don't think this is going to be a strictly hotel blog anymore. I use writing as a source of venting, and letting my anger out so I stop keeping it inside. I'm still going to blog about the hotel, though. Let's be honest. I can't stop blogging about the whores and shenanigans this close to Christmas and New Years Eve.

Sorry for the rambling makes no sense because it started out as a dear you and turned into a dialogue with myself kind of post. I like to think it's quirky and charming, with a dash of endearing.

Friday, 16 December 2011

I Am Not Your Friend, You Dirty Trollop!

Dear 'Valued Guest'

I think I speak for both night audits when I tell you to go fuck yourself.
We deal with your bullshit, every.fucking.night.
I, for the most part, ignore you and give you my "I'm only smiling because I'm being paid to" smile.
You confused that with a genuine interest in your life, until the night you tore into me when I was dealing with more drama than your room has ever been a part of. You threatened me, you threatened to have my job and you assume you're 'important' because you're always here.

You're the last person we want to see here, and I'm ranking you below the creepy porn guy. Which clearly says a lot.

So I have to ask you.
How, and where, do you get off thinking I'd like to receive a Christmas gift you're making yourself? I'm not telling you, or anyone at this hotel for that matter, what my "Most Favouritest Colour Ever IS!" Because fuck you. I hate clutter, I generally have a hard time accepting gifts from family members, let alone a stranger I Clearly only tolerate.

I know I sound like a bitch, but I have declined your offer twice. Politely. But if you bring in another person at my work to harass me about giving a favourite colour, I will snap at you in the most Un-Christmas Spirit Ever. You cannot buy back the respect you lost from me, and I will continue to say politely "No thank you".

Spread your holiday 'cheer' elsewhere, please and thanks.

P.S. The next time I see you bringing your business through my lobby where they try to PEE INTO THE PLANTER, I will call the cops and have you evicted. And your little dog too.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

I May Be Dying, But I Won The Battle

Okay, so this past weekend (aka Sunday) was my work's "Christmas Party Round One". Which basically meant the dinner portion, because they are doing gift exchange after a training thing which is in the middle of the day when I should be sleeping next weekend. This year people in my hotel hated me and chose one of the two places I absolutely.fucking.hate eating at. I haven't ate there since I was 17 and ended up in the hospital with violent food poisioning. It wasn't a pretty sight then, and guess what?

Still not a pretty sight.

Yes, that's correct, kids. I ordered the one fucking thing I would eat off the menu (Chicken and mashed potatoes) and ten minutes after I started my shift, I became best friends with the toilet. My impressed level soared to an all time high, especially since I had been forced to go to the restaurant by my loving coworkers.

Who are all now eating their words.

So while I am still weak and haven't had anything more than apple juice in the past twenty four hours,
I win.

My manager saw how sick I was this morning, andddddddddddd we have officially banned the place that has made me ill. I feel like it's a huge victory.

All I want to do now is sleep, though.
Which is all I did today. 15 hours of sleep and my body could still go another 5-8 hours.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Tips On Whoring, From A Forced Observer



I have to tell you something.
Your tits need better support. You're slacking, literally, in that department.

Don't request to be beside your 'friends' and then have a screaming match in my hallways at 1am. That shit, will not fly anywhere. Now that you've gone back to your own beds and have resumed 'watching tv', I can honestly say that I am already sick of the Winter Whores.

Last year, they weren't nearly as bad as this. This year? I feel the need to point out some 'safety' tips.

Safety Tip One

When you are in the hotel, or around the hotel, act like you aren't a big dirty whore.
Why, Ninja? Because then I won't have to get the cops to come and bust your ass and you can continue spreading your legs for minimal money. I can't see anyone paying above $20 for what you have.
Safety Tip Two

Stay Classy.
Why, Ninja​? Because it makes me less inclined to call the cops. Ways to make me call the cops on you, are as follows (but obviously not limited to):
-Calling me names
- Talking to people I'm checking in and offering your services. THAT IS NOT OKAY.
- Dressing like a whore, in the most obvious and nipple-painful way. When I can see the nipple clamps on you, you're not wearing enough clothing, kids.
- Spitting outside my lobby. Or in my lobby.

Safety Tip Three
Do Not Be Dramatic. Why, Ninja? Well it's simple, Winter Whore. I know that times are getting rough, and it is a helluvalot colder now out there when you have to display your goods, so most of you have taken to working out of the hotel, rather than getting the john to pay for it. I can respect this. I have some tips in another post coming up on How To Whore Properly From A Hotel, but right now this isn't about proper hotel usage. This is about the BULLSHIT fight I just had to break up. Keeping it drama free brings the clients back and keeps my hotel name out of your filthy mouth. Let's work on that, shall we?
A Final Safety Note....

Dear Winter Whores,
Fighting in, or out of my hotel will have you kicked out on your ass. I understand this man drives a really expensive car. I do not understand why he is choosing to slum it with you, but that is not for me to judge openly. What I will judge, and what I will do, is call the police on all of you if you
ever get into a catfight over another client again. I don't care who saw him first, I do not care whose number he called. I will take pictures of his face, car and license plate, along with yours and send them in anonymously to the local newspapers. I will bust this shit wide open and make sure you are banned from every single hotel in this city if you ever call me a whore, cunt or bitch again. The cameras can be turned off, sweetheart. I don't tell you how to suck cock, don't try and tell me how to do my job. Be classier, ladies. You've only got a good five years left in this industry.



Thursday, 1 December 2011

Life Choices Will Always Come To Punch You In The Mouth, Kids. Always.

I'm not just talking about the unfortunate dress you wore to your cousin's wedding, either.
Life choices are going to affect us in so many future years that you cannot properly control everything.
I'm willing to admit some bad life choices on my part, a lot of bad ones actually, but I figured ever since Douchebag, my life was turning its shit around.
Clearly, Douchebag and his shitty life has yet to be done with me. He is ruining my life now, without even fucking trying.

Without going into details, because it's such a dramatic and long story and shows how bad my judgement was two years ago, my last ex boyfriend is going to be standing trial for something horrible in March, and I get to testify against him. Which isn't that bad of a thing, because I want the fucker to rot in hell, but it completely fucks my Move Away plans.

I'm going to the courthouse today to get more information and if the likelihood is that I'll be in court for more than a few days, I'm pretty confident I won't be moving away, at least not yet. No supervisor/big boss is going to take a chance on someone they do not know, fly them to a remote location and pay them money only to have them be gone for who knows how fucking long, over something that is questionable at best and
shows how bad my judgement was and makes them rethink hiring me at worst.

I'm hoping if I don't get to move this year, I'll be able to end things on good terms with the Inn and maybe reapply when my life isn't so goddamn 80s soap opera. I'm looking at you, Victor Newman.

On a completely related note, Month End was tonight.
It was smooth like a newborn baby's bottom, people. I take it as a sign from the Month End Gods that they are being forgiving and understand my stress levels are two seconds away from shanking the next skank to come in here.

I do have a hilarious story about drunks and escorts, though.
Saving that for next time.

Happy December, kids!