Today Is My Last Day

So today is my last day at this hotel.
I have one final shift to get through and then I'm gone. There will not be a going away party, because I work the graveyard shift and because no one ever throws these kind of things. I've been taking some time to really think about everything that's ever happened here, all the things that I've gone through while working here...

It's a lot. I know it's only been two years, and how everyone older than me is probably smiling and thinking "just wait until you're at xxx age" and I know that I'll look back on this in a couple years and grin at how little I don't know writing this.

Just sitting here thinking about all the people I've met, all the events I've been through, how much I've grown up and changed.

It feels like this is the end of me playing it safe. I'm going to school, for something absolutely amazing and also really different. I feel like I should have known what it was I wanted to do when I was younger, but I'm also really grateful for everything I've accomplished and gone through up until today. The good and the bad. I made a lot of friends working here and I can honestly say I'm going to miss some people.

I don't really have any new hotel stories. This blog kind of lost its way I think, in that department at least. I've made some amazing friends from starting this blog, and I appreciate everyone who reads it. Just knowing that a few of you take time out of your blogging life to read my rambling bullshit means a lot to me. Thank you.


On a completely related note, I have this idea to start a blog separate from this about the journey (I feel so ridiculous saying journey, but that's what it is...yay tangents) I'm going on to become an ASL/English Interpreter. My plan is to start a YouTube account and link the two together, and talk about the challenges and awesome people and opportunities that happen to me while I'm out east or wherever I end up.

If/When I start said blog, I will clearly tell you amazing people about it. Assuming y'all weren't just here for the whores and dealers.

Thanks for sticking with me, guys.
Really.

Jaclyn's Gonna Feel Like An Asshole; A Love Story/Update

So, I realise I've basically dropped off the face of the Earth this past month. I promise I have not died, or been attacked or killed by the pimps and whores. I'm just in the crazy process of packing up my entire life, working 15 hours a day and training a new girl to take over the hotel gig, and getting ready to move myself to another province. Insanity, to say the least. So much has happened that I could talk about, and will eventually because this week and next I don't have to train the new girl so I should be able to slack a bit more and write more blogs, but today I'm trying to peel off a post because Jaclyn is an asshole.

I say that with love, of course. Some stabby thoughts but mostly love. Because I listen to the internet when the internet tells me I need to pay attention to the tags I've been given. Mainly, that she tagged me in the 11 things about me, 11 questions I have to answer and then I have to tag 11 people for this shit so it's a vicious circle of kinda cool but really annoying if you're just coming back to your blog after almost a month of being blogdead.

Anywhore.

11 Things About Me


1. I'm 23 years old, turning 24 in September. Birthday E-Cards are expected now.

2. For my 16^th birthday my mom let me dye one side of my hair black and the other half bright red. The day after my 16^th birthday I went and got my drivers license, and that picture was forced upon me until this year. Clearly I pissed off an instructor in a past life because I would trade that terrible picture over the one I currently have.

3. I broke my right arm/wrist enough times as a kid that teachers forced me to learn to write with my left hand because I was missing too much work. I can still write with both hands now, even though the left hand looks like I'm in the second grade still.

4. I miss playing volleyball more than I'll ever admit. Except for right now.

5. I hid my first tattoo from my mom for almost two years before my (now ex) fiance made me tell her. I don't know if I would have told her otherwise. Everyone in my family except for my gramma and mom found out before she did, and my gramma only found out because my mom needed her to have a distraction while we were going up to visit my uncle in the hospital. I have 8 tattoos and 2 of them are actually of my gramma, when she was 17 and doing a model shoot.

6. I am 2 weeks away from having my Level 2 in ASL and I couldn't be more excited. Except maybe when I get my Level 3 and 4, and can finally converse at a higher speed.

7. I keep the letter that Jaclyn mailed me during the anniversary of my last miscarriage in my bag all the time. I still tear up when I read it.

8. I started writing this so another community I'm a part of would be able to read the stories, and because I had a friend who wanted me to write a work (sort of) friendly blog. My last blog was so incredibly not safe for work that it makes all of this tame.

9. I have always wanted blue eyes, but I've grown to like how intensely dark my brown ones are. I hate contacts though, so I'll never be able to change my eye colour.

10. Moving to Nova Scotia is probably the best thing I'll ever do for myself, even if my family is so very against the idea of me being so far away. I have 16 more days of working 2 jobs, 21 more of working any jobs in Ontario and 28 more of being in this province at all. The closer I get to leaving the more stressed and excited I get. I'm so excited to go on the road trip I'm planning, but so fucking scared I'm gonna fail. I think that fear is healthy though, because I know it'll make me more stubborn and I won't give up unless I'm dying or something drastic happens.

11. I'm 95% sure there is a porn being filmed in my hotel right now. The fact that I'm not doing anything about it, should speak to everyone about how little fucks I give anymore.



Jaclyn's Questions She Asked Me (This is where she will feel like an asshole. Or not.)
1. Who wronged you this week? Go ahead, vent. You know you want to.

All of the fucking infants who work at the Dairy Queen. Their lack of bullshit motivation to get anything done and my inability to not give a fuck while working means that I fucked my back up somehow, and I got sick, and they aren't fucking working. Oh, and the people who fucked up my coffee order on Friday morning. I had to drive three hours to say goodbye with NO GODDAMN COFFEE IN MY SYSTEM. It was TERRIBLE, for everyone involved.

2. Top 5 bangable celebrities

a) Chris Evans
b) Ryan Gosling (Fuck you, he's Canadian and I'm sorry, but, yum.)
c) Mila Kunis (Don't judge.)
d) Ryan Hurst
e) Norman Reedus

3. 5 completely unbangable celebrities (for the record, I don't get the whole Ryan Gosling thing. I guess he's not technically "unbangable", but I wouldn't hit it. At all. Please don't chase me with sticks. It had to be said).
I won't chase you with sticks. I'll just continue to mock you for your shitty taste in men. OH SNAP that was more of a burn than I meant for it to be.

a) Lance Bass
b) David Hasselhoff
c) Katy Perry
d) Steve from Blues Clues
e) Mister Rogers
4. Tell me the story of the drunkest you've ever been. If you don't remember all the details, feel free to make some shit up.
This one time, at band camp, ... no. Kidding. Drunkest I've ever been? Jesus. My dad reads this blog. ....alright, no longer caring about that (And to be fair, people can skip this part) I think the drunkest I've ever been was at a party I had at my parents house when I was 19. They had gone to Vegas or somewhere far away and knew I was having the party, because I have been a responsible child like that and let my parents know when to expect the neighbours to complain and shit, plus I've never invited the entire school to my house because I'm not a goddamn moron. Anywhore, a group of us (I think there were... 30? less than? Who the fuck knows.) had gotten together and we were just dancing and drinking and someone was stupid and OH MY GOD THIS WASN'T THE DRUNKEST I'VE EVER BEEN.

Drunkest I've ever been was at someone elses house and a group of us decided (well I think it was one of the guys in the group, but we'll all take blame for this shit) that we should do a vodka shot contest, and I was the only girl who lasted past 5 shots. I was only friends with pussies back then, apparently, but the competition continued on until there was me and one of the guys and he was ready to tap out, but I was a determined bitch and I crawled over bodies of drunken people to get to the next bottle of vodka, and double fisted shots so I could seal the victory at a ridiculous 15 shots.

Yeah. 15 shots of vodka and I didn't puke, or overdose. Or at least, didn't overdose to the point where people took me to the hospital. Fucking absurd. I can't drink vodka today though without wanting to die. It's like my body remembers what I did to it that night, back when I was a mere 17? 18? I feel like 17 is the right age answer here.

5. What did you want to be when you grew up? How is that working out for you? Please tell me why you failed to reach the goals you set for yourself when you were 8.
When I was 8 I wanted to be a mom and a writer. When I grew up a bit more I wanted to be a mom and a writer and a lawyer. When I grew up in high school I went back to wanting to be just a mom and a writer. When I turned 20 and miscarried the first time, I wasn't deterred, same for the next two miscarriages. I'm still gonna be a mom, and I am a writer. I may not be making any money off of it yet, but it's happening.

Now that I'm an old 23 years old, I'm hoping by the time I'm 27 I'll be an ASL/English Interpreter. And a writer. And maybe a mom, but maybe not until a bit later. Let's get me through school first.

6. You have to be in a room with Newt Gingrich for an hour. Do you end it all?
If I knew who the fuck you were talking about maybe.

7. Song you hate the most and why.
Anything by Nicki Minaj. Because she's fucking retarded. I'm sorry. I can't stand her and turn her and Drake off my radio anytime they come on. My whole body shakes with hatred.

8. First and last name of the first boy you ever had a huge crush on, so when that narcissitic asshole Googles himself, he will know all your private shame.
This is where Jaclyn will feel like an asshole, because the first boy I ever had a huge crush on is dead now. Royce Hickman. Grade six through eight, I swooned over his blonde locks and Russian figure skater looks. When we hit high school and he had a locker near mine, I had basically died and gone to heaven. We lost touch in grade ten, even though we went to the same school all four years of high school. He was a sweet kid who hung out with the wrong kids in high school, got out of all that shit and was doing well before he died in a car crash that to this day no one knows wtf happened. That was almost three years ago.

9. Do you like me? Circle one ----     yes               no             I like you so much I know your social security number
If you have to ask, you'll never know. If you already know, you only need ask.

10. Why did the chicken cross the road (I suspect hallucinogens but please tell me your theories)?
Because the cock was there.
11. Hot air balloon or white water raft? (I'm not even going to give you context here. Tell me a good story)

Hot air balloon. More likely able to have sex and not die.

I'm not tagging anyone. I'm too lazy for that shit. Here are some questions for you though, if you feel so inclined to answer.

1. Favourite time of day?
2. How many chucks could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
3. Dream job and why aren't you doing it?
4. Name five movies that John Hughes made.
5. What book changed your life?
6. How many pictures of you are on the internet?
7. What time is it right now?
8. Thing you love the most about winter, thing you hate the most about summer?
9. Do you know any other languages?
10. Favourite smell?
11. You can only take four things with you to a desert island. What do you take and why?

And now I have to go and finish my chores for the morning.

I'll try to blog about more real shit tomorrow!  

ASL Practice, No Talking Dinner and A Drug Bust- Typical Wednesday

So, I'm writing this to stave off the boredom while the cops haul the douchebags away.

Yeah.

ASL practicing is tiring, because it's just review of the things I already know and I want to learn more but my next level doesn't start until April 12th.

Tonight was my last class with the local college, and we went out to dinner and had a No Talking rule. That was wicked fun, but I think I'm the only one who thinks so... everyone else was chomping at the bit to talk while they signed. I think I'm both odd and awesome for not being affected either way. I don't mouth the words I'm signing, I just sign and assume everyone knows what the fuck is up.

Then tonight my favourite cop came in and said he missed me, asked about the trouble rooms and I pointed him to one, like a good night audit. He and his partner wander down to see if they can hear anything, and they smell an amazing amount of pot (which is why I'm so fucking tired and have the munchies tonight) so they knock on the door, get no answer and then come up to the desk.

I advise them that the dumbasses will likely bolt through the back door, and my cop takes my advice and calls in backup. So I get swarmed by cops, all of them hot and delicious, of course. Ten minutes later they're running down the hall and telling me I'm right.

I'm not even phased by this. Seriously. I think it's absurd how nonchalant I am about shit like this nowadays. It takes a fuck of a lot more to shock me or ruffle my feathers, which is probably a good thing?

Who the fuck knows.

Anywhore.
I'm alive, and I'm okay, and I love all of you for everything.

No Clever Title, Just Word Vomit

This post is going to be an insanely long tangent and I'm already apologising. I will bold the shit that might be funny/interesting to read. The rest is going to be word vomit and a terrible show of my character. Or something seemingly important to only me.

So last week when I posted, I wanted to talk about how I don't talk about the bad shit that happens here at work. I have no issues talking about the stupid whores or the crack addicts who try to come at me, but when it comes to talking about the women who get beaten in their homes and use my hotel as a 'safe haven', I tend to close up. Last week, I had a woman who came in and exhibited every single sign that she was a battered woman. I would have used her in a model to explain what the next night auditor should look for.

She was nervous, always looking out the door she came in, she did not park anywhere near the front so her van was hidden from sight unless you drove into my parking lot, she came in wearing only the clothes on her back and a really long jacket, and had a big purse. She walked like she had been beaten, and talked so quietly I turned everything loud off just to hear her. She teared up when I asked my roundabout question to confirm what I knew- when the front desk ever asks you if you'd like any calls forwarded to your room, or if you would prefer to not be disturbed, we either suspect you are hiding out and for a good reason, or you're a horny teenager with their girlfriend for a hot night.

At 3am in the morning, it was the former when I asked her and she did not want anyone to know she was here. I understood and quietly told her no one would bother her. I put her in a room away from everyone and left her to her own devices.

At 5am in the morning, something was clearly wrong when she checked out, worse for wear than when she checked in and talking senselessly about going to the hospital an hour away as opposed to the one ten minutes.

Then I noticed the blood.

I had no idea how I managed to not freak out, because I was hitting the wall of “Let's Remember When I Was The Bleeding Scared Girl” and I needed to not go through it at that moment. I kept calm, tricked her into going back into her room, called the cops and tried to keep her on the property because I was worried she had injuries that were worse than what I had originally thought. She obviously needed help, and I hate forcing it upon people, but, when there are bloody hands involved, I get to be a pushy bitch.

It wasn't until almost 620am that I learned it was a self inflicted reason. That the woman had more issues than her abusive husband, and that my hotel room was soaked in red. The officer wouldn't let me go any further than the door to which I let him in.

I think she lived?

That's the thing, about hotels. Cops and firefighters and other hot helpers, they come and they help you and they take away the problem to go and fix it somewhere else, but they never inform those who were involved or affected what the overall outcome was. I'd never know if she died. They had taken away all the evidence they needed that morning.

People don't like to hear about those kinds of stories. Or about what happens when the husbands come in looking, or the wives of a cheater come in knowing fully well that they are here, but I either can't or will not tell them. I legally cannot.

That, combined with my shock over dealing with it, combined with the stress of court, made me break a bit.

And then people started telling me how strong and tough and able I am to testify and how I should just suck it up and deal.

Um, no.

Fuck you.

Fuck you very much.

A lot of the people in my life do not know every single detail about my relationship with him. Or the aftermath, or the terror I lived with for weeks after. I was never worried about testifying against him. Ever. Fuck that worry. Bitch can't get up on the stand and tell the truth and nothing but the truth about how he woke me up with a kiss, went away for forty minutes in my car and came back to our bed after having brutally raped his ex? Bitch needs to be smacked good and hard.

I was freaking out and stressing and trying to show that I HAVE FUCKING WEAKNESSES, over the fact of having to actually SEE him again. I can tell you where I was, exactly, the last time we saw each other. Down the street from here, at the local Tim Horton's. I go there every night, and he knows this. He's only ever shown his face three times there when I was. Each time, he'd smile, or say something, or suggest that he was going to do something and it would make me want to scream.

He hasn't left a bruise on me. He hasn't emailed me in two years, almost to the fucking day, and he has not contacted me via cellphone even though my number has not changed in almost three years. He is smart. He knows all of that is traceable and with his fucking history, it would not look well.

Court was this week.

I did not have to see him, because he pled out. I have no idea what he got instead of the years in jail he was going to get, but he is not my imminent threat anymore. I don't know if he ever was, but I hate that I let him have that power over me.

I wasted two days of not working, and I am officially so stupid tired that my assessment test today should basically spank me without even trying. But I will find a way to get what I want. I always do.

I'm hoping this week, and the next, are lazy and boring and full of non grown up things, because I need a moment.

So I haven't died. I told y'all about the thing that freaked me the fuck out, and I admitted I have weaknesses. I think thats a pretty stellar vomit, don't you?