Monday, 30 January 2012

Bloody Fucking Emotions

It's been a bloody weekend, y'all.
I don't know when or why it started to happen this weekend, but my strength just... crumbled.

I've been trying to write about Bug in a more coherent way, without revealing too much, because who really wants to read all about that? This weekend, I watched as something I had building, working on with a new guy, fell to bits in one night. I drove with my best friend to basically America, almost died three times and had to deal with the panic attack I had for going into the hometown of the guy who knocked me up with Bug.

So much sleep wasn't had, and so many emotional girly feelings that I'm not used to...

I'm not a girly girl.
At all.

In case working nights in the ghetto, and my general personality online wasn't a clue, I'm more of a tomboy badass ninja than the tutu and giggly feelings kind of ninja.

Bug... the weight of what happened, the loss that has crippled me and wrapped itself up in a family death, as well as the realization my last ex was such a manipulator that he convinced me to do things and be a person I never thought I'd be.

So for the past week, I've watched Seasons One, Two and Three of Sons of Anarchy. I'm halfway through Four.

It really sucks working nights during times like this. All I have, is time to think. And remember. And remember what I was doing a year ago, on this day. How I'd be rubbing my stomach, and eating fruit and brown rice because that's the shit I was craving, and how I had secretly bought a onesie, even though my friends and family were worried I wouldn't get to keep him. I named him. I had a girl's name as a backup, but I was pretty fucking confident I'd be sprouting a penis from my vag.

I had a plan.
Rockstar wasn't really a plan in it, but... he could have been. Not as mine, because fuck that shit, whoops a baby broke off everything we had or didn't have going.

So much shit has happened, in the last three years.

I'm ready for some good to happen, and actually stick around. Not bolt at the first sign of fucking trouble.

It's gonna be a rough week, kids.  

Saturday, 21 January 2012

Thank You, You Big Emotion Inducing Jerks

Jaclyn- You know I love you. In the creepiest, creepiest way possible. I say that, of course, outside your window, kicking your ass in Words. <3.
You are a huge reason why I feel it's okay to blog about this.

Mandi- I'm sold. I'll spend hours tonight reading your blog, because my family failed to mention they're LEAVING ME for a freaking party tonight. Yeah. I drive THREE HOURS to see them, and they're all... "whoops, peace". Pfft. Horrid.

Leigh- Thank you, dear.

Misty- Too true. I really am like a freaking ninja. All stealthy and shit. I've written a lot about Bug, and kept it for myself... but I feel like I'm going to throw some stuff out here for y'all to read.

I woke up yesterday after my nap to all these comments, and an email from someone completely new, offering me smiles and support. You people are fucking fantastic, and the reason why I feel like it's okay to talk about shit that most others shun from.

I'm replying to the comments that were left on the last post here, because, it felt right.

I love you all more than you know.
Realzy. Even if there are threats of poisoning chocolate chip cookies. Ahem.

Friday, 20 January 2012

A Warning Of Crazy Shit To Come (Seriously).


I'm running away for the weekend, to go and play with my London family, because my best friend and her kids are there, and my two cousins who are more like siblings than cousins are there. So, don't expect greatness from me this weekend.

This is a warning, though.
I can feel it building up, and I wanted to offer my apologies for all the random rambly bullshit that is going to spew forth.

I'm trying to ignore it, and not dwell on it, but in 15 days the anniversary of my last miscarriage will be here.

It's already really hard to breathe.

So I've been writing. And writing, and yelling at Rockstar (what I nicknamed Bug's sperm donor before Bug was in the picture, and what has now turned into a really mean insult coming from me) and just, trying to let it go. Or move past, and pay more attention to the whores and shit going on here so I'd have something else to talk about.

This shit is consuming.

So some posts may start out as one thing, but turn into another, or I might finally write a huge thing about Bug. Because I believe writing is one of the most therapeutic things a person can do that doesn't cost money, or inflict danger on anyone else. I've used writing as a coping tool since I knew how to write.

So for the next few weeks, consider yourselves warned.
It could be a bumpy ride.

Monday, 16 January 2012

Still Not A Real Post, I'm Being Frozen To Death At Work

I shit you not.
The temperature thing that we have in the lobby, won't tell me how cold it is right now, because it's TOO FUCKING COLD.

I have three layers of clothing on, a mini heater blasting and have considered lighting candles.

Gotta love the deep freeze...

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

This Isn't A Real Post, It's Just A Rant About The Rudeness Of The New Whores


Let's get a few things down.

I'm not stupid. I know how they act and look and talk to the desk.
I know your game and how you work, little miss thang.
Am I pissing all over your business? No. I rarely even call the cops on you, because most of the time, you are polite and handle your shit with gags and feather whips.*

                       *not even lying, the things that have been left behind by these people.... insane.

But tonight, dear whore.
When I ask you what room you're going to, don't play stupid. I can and will follow you and make sure you get to the 'right room'. When you glare at me and snarl (I shit you not, the sounds coming out of Prost-a-Tot's trapper were insane) I will politely remind your 'friend' that any non registered guests must be out of the hotel after 11pm.

When you come back two hours later asking me for change, while glaring and interrupting a paying guest? I'll possibly snap on you.

Learn your fucking manners, Prost-i-Tot. When you then throw back in my face that I'm being nosy? Guess what. It's my motherfucking right to be as nosy as I goddamn want to be in this hotel. If you think for a second the next time you show your drug ravaged face in my hotel I'll let you in, you have another thing coming.

Cute how the law's on my side, eh?


Tuesday, 3 January 2012

If You Don't Understand This Joke, We Can't Be Friends Because I'm Too Old For You

So, working nights, and with drunks and the fact I have boobs and smile a lot (I'm paid to, people.) means that I'll inevitably be hit on from time to time from people who do not know how to take no for an answer. Last night, was apparently no exception as I had a military guy check in and then proceed to badger the fuck out of me ask me a bunch of questions. Finally he went to his room, only to call me and ask for my number.

It's against the policy of the hotel, and he was not cute enough for me to risk my job over. I declined, and continued to do so for four hours AFTER the first rejection. Finally, finally, the military man wore me down. Here's (roughly) how the conversation went when he came up to the desk to ask me again.

Military Guy: C'mon, (my name), no one's gonna know. I'm only going to be in (military base near by) for a couple weeks. I just want someone to talk to when I'm bored, y'know?
Me: *sigh and dramatic eyeroll* Seriously? No. I admire the persistent badgering though, but if you think you're the first guy to try this, you're not. I reject everyone, so don't feel too bad.
Military Guy: You're breaking my heart, sweetcheeks. (yes, he seriously called me 'sweetcheeks'. I wish we had been in a place where I don't work...I would have slapped him senseless)
Me: I hear there's a support group for that sort of thing.
Military Guy: C'mon, just give me a number. You know you want to. (said in the creepiest fucking tone that made me gag in front of him)
Me: Fine. I'll say it once, and I'm not waiting for you to write it down.
Military Guy: I have a great memory. Shoot.
Me: 705 867 5309.

He winked, and walked away.

I used a local area code, so I didn't completely give it away, but I hope he hasn't tried to call that number in the wee hours of the night. I don't even think it's a real number....if it is, though....

I hope Jenny answers it.

2012 is kicking ass so far.

Monday, 2 January 2012

2012 Will Be The Year I Judge You Based On Hair Colour

Let me first say, that it has taken me years*

*by years I clearly mean five years working in the intense customer service/hospitality industry during a busy ass holiday season

accumulating this data, and I feel this is the year to reveal everything I know. I'm sorry if this offends you, but it is basically scientific fact. Blondes are bitches. Stupid bitches, at that. I know, I know. You're asking yourselves how I could possibly attack people based on their hair colour, right? (maybe not all of you are wondering...) Little known fact to you, I'm brunette. Almost dark enough to be black, but the birth certificate says brunette. I never had the inkling to be blonde, when I went through the “dye your hair to look cool” phase of life, I dyed my hair shades of red, black and purple. Yes, at the same time.

Now, though, I look somewhat normal (some people object to that, those people aren't reading this right now) I've started looking at people and trying to judge their character by how they dress, speak and hold themselves in a public setting. Intoxication levels are also taken into account, and sometimes I'm lucky enough to see both the before, during and after. I've boiled it down to hair colour determining how fantastic you are.

Redheads? They are
wild, motherfuckers. I have yet to have a true ginger not come into my hotel and create such havoc that the room they're given can be sold the next day. Today, for example, three rooms are out of order and of those three rooms, two of them had gingers. I love them, though, because while they bring the wild out like no tomorrow, they do it in a generally respectful manner. I didn't even know those two rooms were being systematically destroyed last night, because the Reds destroyed that shit quietly. Like goddamn ninjas.

Brunettes? We are a tricky breed. Most of the time we're assholes, and give other brunettes a lot of shit. I've noticed that unless a brunette is feeling kind, or likes staring at my tits, they'll ignore me and do whatever the fuck they want to. For the most part, though, a warning can shut them up and make them turn into bargaining “please don't kick us out we'll behave” children. I can handle most brunettes, and last night they listened pretty fucking well. Only 300 dollars in noise complaint charges last night in the brunette section.

Blondes? I motherfucking hate blondes right now. I'm sorry, I know that's harsh. I have friends who had the misfortune of being born blonde. They're nice enough people. It looks like my nephew might be a blonde. I'm hoping he doesn't turn into an asshole, but it wouldn't shock me if he did. Last night I had to deal with four major Blonde moments. None of them funny or pretty, at least, during the time. One blonde moment was when I was busy calling cabs for people to go out and celebrate the New Year. Little Miss Thang decides I wasn't doing a good enough job and tried to come around the counter to touch my phone. I had security (in the form of a maintenance guy who drew the short stick) so when I hollered at her he got all grr face, but I had the situation handled. Miss Thang went away and outside, with the help of her beau.

Second Blonde to fuck with my relatively peaceful night was so intoxicated it was intense. I was drunk just breathing near her, y'all. I automatically put on my Kid Gloves to handle her, because I know from experiences Super Drunk Blondes are ticking time bombs. I wasn't proven wrong this time, either. Her and her friend (a drunk Brunette) came to the desk because they had lost their key. Not a problem, you say? I disagree. By Law, it is technically illegal for me to make a new key for a person not registered to the room they are trying to get into. Now, during the weeknight, if I know the person, or I know they're staying in a room and they aren't registered to the room (normally a construction crew being lax on putting all the names down), I'll let it slide and give them a key. New Years Eve, where experience tells me the number of domestics and “you can't fucking stay here anymore, bitch” moments that I dealt with? You ain't on the card, you ain't getting in. I was a stone cold bitch. I offered alternatives to the ladies, and tried to keep the situation as calm as I could, but Super Drunkie was having none of it. J (my maintenance guy) was on edge, because he's not used to me getting yelled at. I let them call this guy from my work phone, but he wasn't answering. She told me she was a receptionist and let people dial the phone themselves all the time (which I wouldn't do, partly because germs, partly because drunkie, partly because I'm a bitch and mainly because I never let anyone behind the desk and the phone is a goddamn giant one that's attached to the actual desk) and
I MUST be the problem, dialling the wrong number over and over. Yeah. Oh-kay. Drunk versus painfully sober? Nice try.

Twenty minutes of sitting in the lobby later, the guy comes in with two other girls and thus ensues a minor freakout because Drunkie thought he was ditching her. He let her come up, and she got all snarky “I told you so” on me, to which I laughed and asked her to remember this for next year, when she had to sign in and read the papers that clearly state “If You Aren't On The Registration Card, You Will Not Get A Key”.

Hallway Blonde was half drunk and half stupid, but Fully ready to debate with me about that paper I just mentioned. New Years Eve, it is standard for a hotel to have extra forms and coverage for people to sign. We aren't stupid, kids. You cannot check into a hotel on New Years Eve and genuinely expect us to not assume you're there to party and drink and be stupid. We cover our asses with a piece of paper that states The Hotel has the right to evict without notice, The Hotel has the right to charge for noise without a prior warning, and The Hotel has the right to refuse permitting anyone into the hotel without proper ID.

Hallway Blonde and her 10 friends decided to party in the upstairs hallway. I got my ass reamed out, my ear torn off and verbally spanked by no less than six people who were trying to sleep at 5 am because of them. Guess how excited I was to walk my ass upstairs and deal with them? Automatic noise charges, that's how excited. I walk up, and most of the group is apologetic and stupidly telling me the room numbers (I would have stayed upstairs longer to watch them go into the rooms, but they for the most part told me the rooms they were in-made my job easier) and agreeing to go straight to bed. Hallway Blonde thought I was in the wrong and proceeded to lecture me for my approach and execution of clearing the hallways out. I asked her if she had read the paperwork and signed it, and she had. I politely may have told her that I didn't need to be so nice to give the $100 a room charge, I could just tell them to get up and leave my hotel. It
clearly states this in the paperwork. She then argued that she wasn`t in the room so it shouldn`t count. At that point I pulled the paperwork out (I had the foresight to have a blank copy of the paperwork the drunks had signed with me) and pointed to the part that states they are responsible for their actions in any part of the hotel, inside or out. As long as they are on the property, if they are excessively stupid (aka noisy) I can charge or evict as I see fit.*

*I was God last night, people. I ruled with an Iron Fist and rocked the audit harder than Ron Jeremy`s erection.

She then went on a rampage that had four people coming out of their rooms to not only yell at her to shut up, but at me for not containing the noise. I apologised to the people who she had woken up, told her friends she had ten seconds to get into her room and to expect a higher noise charge. They wisely listened and that was that.

The last Blonde, is my most favourite Blonde ever. Blonde Number 4 is male, for starters. He was the only person I called the police on last night, and the only person to successfully get
four seperate rooms noise complaint charges. He was so intoxicated it was kind of humorous. Unfortunately, he was also incredibly tall and bulky and did not like listening to people. He got the rooms he was in the noise charges, and those people had the wise notion to kick him the fuck out of their rooms before they got evicted (at that point, I was ready to just boot the lot of them, they were making my night less than pleasant). So Dumbass (appropriate nickname and you will read why in a minute) decided to take his half full case of crappy beer and leave my property. Drinking an open beer.

I cannot express to you how fucking stupid that is. Technically, you can`t drink in my lobby or hallways. The Hotel owns that property, and we are not licensed so we can technically be fined. But in the hotel rooms? That is different. The guest technically owns that property for the night, or however long they rented the room for. We cannot control the drinking (or other things) in that room, even though we try to monitor it. But the second you leave my property, and possibly endanger something or someone else? I personally can get fined up to FIVE GRAND for not calling the cops to alert them. Plus Dumbass was a true douchecanoe, and I wanted to stick it to him.

When I called the police, the lady taking the information down actually sighed. It turns out another hotel in my city got the shitty party people and their hotel only has 5 (out of 110 rooms) available to sell, because the rest of them had to be put out of order. The cops were just down the street from me the whole time. Twenty minutes later, Dumbass comes back raging, ready to throw a few swings and I possibly taunted him. I`m an asshole, and even if J hadn`t been there I still would have taunted him. I was standing by the panic button (still so fucking cool to say) and the cops hadn`t left yet, they were watching him to make sure he got into his room. He huffed and puffed and made more noise, but eventually he went to his room and I went back to playing solitaire.

Now, I respect that there are some blondes out there who are fabulous and well behaved members of society. Those blondes do not come to my hotel or live in my city. I also took age into account while accumulating data, but for the most part, age has no affect when you look at hair colour.

Instead of charging based on age, I might start charging more based on hair colour. See how that works out.

Here`s hoping 2012 brings me more whore stories (I know you love them), less crazies hiding in my storage rooms, and a more interesting social life.

How did you guys celebrate the New Year?