The Dirtiest Post Ever Full Of A LOT I Will Expand On. Later. Probably.

Okay, so, it's been an INSANE week.

Things I have legitimately said to people in the past... six nights.

"No, we aren't the hotel with the bodies. That was the other Travelodge"

"If you don't plan on doing your fucking job, you can throw your hat over here and I'll pretend to be the fucking boy for tonight."

"Ma'am, you need to muffle your sex. I can hear you from the lobby."

"We aren't in high school anymore. You don't have the power, bitch. Slam the door in my face again, or call me a cunt, and I will have those lovely boys in blue here to haul your disrespectful ass out of here" (said tonight. Such a great night)


"Listen, calm yo tits. Creepy guys with backpacks who are tweaking isn't anything new to us. I'm fine."

There was so much more.
So much and yet I can't fucking remember anything. Old age is hitting me pretty goddamn hard.

I'm working a lot, I barely sleep, I'm surprised I'm able to do laundry and I'm crabby enough that I'm only talking to a few people with nice tones. So if you're one of them (Jaclyn, Jen, ....boy who reads my blog sometimes and Skypes me more often than not that doesn't have a good nickname yet...) You know you're in that special place in my life.

I'm also bruised, and finding new scrapes/marks every hour. It's awesome.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write a blog that has some sort of flow to it. Or explain what the shit happened. Because, y'all, for once! I was not the fucking hotel with all the crazy shit. I know. I'm as shocked as you are.

I Was Trying To Come Up With A Witty Sex-Related Post For My 69th Post, But It Wrote Itself...

So, tonight and this week has been kind of retarded with it's level of fuckery. First there was real life stuff, signing up for the second half of the fast track program for ASL (which almost for sure gets my acceptance into the Deaf Studies/ASL Interpreting program, provided I don't fuck shit up too hardcore in July), then I had a wee panic attack about that, because, it's a huge life change and now it's happening TWO MONTHS EARLIER THAN PLANNED.

I'll let that sink in.

Okay.

I've also had some other shit, aka Bad News Bears, creeping up on me. So that's fun.
Last night was stupid and crazy because of the fucking French kids, who all deserved the broken nose that one of the girls got tonight* but we can't all be that lucky.

                   *and no, you assholes, before you even think it, I was not the one to punch her in the face. I wanted to, but I did not. I let the concrete of the pool area do that for me. It was fantastic. Bloody and horrible, but fantastic.

So, after the children finally went to bed, at TWO AM, because who needs more than 3 chaperones for over 40 kids? Clearly not this school, in case you were wondering. The kids are asleep, or at least in their fucking rooms, and I get the asshole who is on probation and the cops have asked me to call and report if I actually see anything going on, guess what he goes and does?

He does a deal. IN FRONT OF MY WINDOW. The caps lock is painful, and I'm sorry, but I don't have a rage font here yet. I mean, my brain almost exploded at the level of fuckery that went on in front of me. And then they mocked me and tried to talk to me through the very thick window. When they mooned me, and I was scarred for life, I picked up the phone and dialed the number I have memorized for the local cops.

Who waited 20 minutes, so they could all clear out, and did nothing in the end. Because they're super fucking handy like that.

To top off my night, I got a call from the hot hotel guy next door (he's in my age range, too, which is nice for a change. No Daddy jokes here, kids. Shit. I'm really tired. I'm sorry, 5 people who read my blog...)
Anywhore. Jimbo called to tell me that he just spent twenty minutes clearing all the escort flyers off the people's cars in his parking lot, and he figured they bombed me too.

I go and check, and yes. Yes they did.

The part you can't probably see is the WE COME TO YOU. Yeah. There are too many jokes here, I'm not sure where to begin.

So now it's 6am, I have a bag full of escort flyers and no desire to handle the situation. Next door (both of them) called the escort service and 'very sternly told them to never do it again' and I laughed at both of the hotels I'm inbetween.

What the fuck does an escort service care about some goddamn hotel workers getting their panties in a knot?
I'm more than likely going to call the police. Because it's private property they trespassed on, it was snowing outside and I put my flip flops on to deal with it (I was/am wearing heels. Fuck walking around the entire building in heels, y'all.) and because I'm in a bitchy mood. I'm just wondering if they'll do anything about it?

Who knows.

But it's my 'Friday' from the hotel and I have 3 nights off here before the fuckery of a long ass week begins, and I have ice cream to serve to people tonight. Exciting times.
And it's my 69th post! Which, being as mature as I am, obviously means nothing.

*cough*


TWO DAYS LATER: Blogger decides to not post this. What the fuck, Blogger?
I hate you already.

Blogger Fucks With My Shit. So Does Snow

So I need to figure out how to play nice with Blogger again, since I see shit has changed. This could result in me fucking with the actual blog itself, but, I figure that's okay. I get to control this bitch, right? Right.

I'm typing this while shivering and looking outside, because someone turned the Air Conditioning on again. Not that bad, you say? I beg to differ.

It's snowing like a motherfucking asshole out there. I was wholly unprepared for such an event this time of year, lulled into a false sense of comfort that spring was arriving.

Because of the bad weather, I got hit with a bunch of ragged travellers, which is always nice for business.
I also got hit with a bunch of needy whiny demanding asshats.

First guy was insanely slow about getting all of the information I need to check him in/make a reservation. At one point when trying to dig out his credit card, he asked if he could just read it to me.
               Um, no. No you cannot. I need to physically touch what I'm charging and see that it matches the name on the drivers license you take twenty hours to get to me. This is standard shit, people. Drivers license and credit card. Or Health Card and credit card. Or cash, if you're a ghetto hotel like mine that sometimes willingly checks in the whores and dealers.

I then checked in three more people who told me all about their life stories and why they were travelling so late at night (it was maybe 2am by the time the last person straggled in. Late wasn't even in my vocabulary yet). Overall the past week and a bit has been decent work wise. No more insane drug busts, or bitches acting so crazy I lose my mind.

I also found out I have a three day weekend coming up, but then I'm working 11 days straight, with a couple double days of both jobs. It should be interesting...

I'm done at the hotel June 28th. Moving early July and that should be a whole other adventure.
I might have to change the name of my blog! Can you do that?

My Hotel Is Actively Trying To Kill Me

I'm not even kidding.

Last night the weather was intense and crazy and I didn't realise until my car almost blew off the road that it was a smidge on the windy side.

Turns out last night it was windy enough to rip off siding on my hotel.
And try to kill me.

I was out doing rounds and had been warned that some siding had apparently ripped off, but the restaurant guy (who lives in the hotel, coincidentally) had picked it up and put it by the side of the building. Well, more had ripped off and I was picking it up and another slice ripped off. That shit is loud, and it was falling from the sky. Ridiculous.

I obviously tried to catch it, failed because the windy is a tricky bitch, and had to walk an extra twenty feet to grab the siding before I went back inside.

It's been a fairly eventful week, but nothing truly exciting is there to report. I'm waiting, impatiently, for word back on when I have to leave for school if I'm accepted, and busy studying the signs that were practiced in class last week.

SPEAKING OF WHICH.
OH MY GOD.

This is mainly for anyone who watches Sons of Anarchy.
I'm taking classes with Chucky.
I shit you not. I'm going to ask him this Thursday if I can take a picture, but I swear to god, the actor who plays Chucky (Michael O....something, I fail and am too lazy to imdb it) has a twin here in Canada.
I love him. Would possibly have his babies.

That's all the excitement I have for now.

Yes, I Wear Different Patterned/Coloured Socks While Telling You To STFU. What Of It?

So, I haven't died.
Instead I'm plowing through life like a crazy person and working towards getting shit organized and ready for me moving. I'm working with the theory that I'm going to get accepted into NSCC for Deaf Studies and I need to find ways to fund this and get everything ready.

So I got a second job.
Which isn't a big deal, I've done two (fuck, three jobs) before. And I don't really need training for this one, it's my old high school gig at Dairy Queen.

What IS a big deal is in the span of 43 hours I will have had a twenty minute nap. I am going to try my fucking hardest to nap when I get home in an hour, but, I likely won't, and instead will try to wake up more for my 6 hour shift. 21.5 hours of work in 43 hours is ridiculous. Even by my standards, especially on no sleep.

Two people have legitimately suggested crack or meth to me.
I find it both awesome and sad that they don't believe in my awesome.


Anywhore. The whole point of this was to assure anyone who didn't stalk my twitter (I will say that I fucking squealed like a girly girl when Jen followed me today. Just like I did when Noa followed me. I'm waiting for Jaclyn to get a fucking twitter. Or make me aware of it. Get on that.)

my twitter, I suppose, if y'all wanted to follow? is @jessamaca123
because I'm creative like that.


I had to yell at a couple of whore rooms tonight and one of the guys commented on my socks. Tonight one is bright yellow with black squares, and the other is bright blue with a multicoloured argyle type pattern. It's fantastic.

I have also called one of the stuffiest, and rudest construction guys a judgemental bastard, and I have called the creepy kid a fetus. To his and his co-workers face.
I'm hoping this kid learns how to back the fuck up.
My car isn't opposed to protecting me.

I hope y'all are having a fantastic day/week/month/year.
much love.

No, I Will Not Touch Your Penis!

Y'all I have hit the motherfucking wall.

I'm married and a lesbian, who has two penises and a hairy vag.

I am trying, so fucking hard, to remain polite and not spaz out like I normally would.

My wall, you ask?
It's a new spring time season for the construction crews and boy are they so excited to be here.
I have what some people consider 'pretty' features. I have a kick ass personality too (yeah, I'll own the personality part, but debate the 'pretty' part. Don't question my issues) so it sometimes (read-ALL THE FUCKING TIME) gives off the “Hit On Me NAO” vibe.

Today has been a horrible case of this.

This morning, was the first (and I sincerely hope only) time that someone calling me gorgeous made me feel like they were telling me I have a purdy mouth.

If you don't understand that reference, we are no longer friends.

Anyways. So this kid has been slow in his moves, and I could see it coming from a mile away. What is it about the youngin's that they don't know how to hide their intentions? I mean, for fuck's sake. My grandmother could have guessed what was happening.

Tonight, he made three passes while I was checking in people and talking to my regulars, before he caught me alone. He stood with me for the entire hour it took me to do my audit, which, I guess was nice of him.

And then the awkward moment of when I finished my audit and went into the office.

Me: “Well, it's been a slice, but I need to go and finish the rest of my paperwork and that's in the office.”
Him: “Oh, it's okay. I'll just stand here”
Me: “............”

two minute awkward silence where I'm trying to figure out how to tell the infant to gtfo and go to bed

Me: “I'm not coming back out, y'know. You should probably just go to bed, or sit by the fireplace.”
Him: “Oh, but then I wouldn't have the beautiful view of you”

I said nothing after that.

I just... sat here and did my work and tried to not think about how FUCKING CREEPY this kid is..

He's maybe 19? Maybe? That's pushing it.

He looks like he knows some good body-hiding places.

It wasn't too ridiculous, and after three hours of standing by the desk when I wasn't there he finally went to bed, but I think that was more to do with his need to have a nap before his work today.

I need to have a bitchier personality.

Or figure out a way to repel them.


In completely unrelated news, I'm looking for a second job, so I can save up and not completely fail when/if I move across the country and I'm waiting ever so patiently (read: I check my emails every hour. On the hour. In case I missed the vibrations from getting a new email) for my acceptance into NSCC, and next week is both ASL Club and my first class in ASL 2.

And a shout out to my handsome friend for helping to save me tonight by playing to role of my fake boyfriend.

I really need to find a nickname for him. 

You Wonder Why I Want To Slap People.... Take This Advice.

So tonight was both amusing and informative and has me reflecting pretty hardcore about some shit, but for the most part what I want to write about tonight involves a tutorial I want you all to take to fucking heart.

The Motherfucking DO's and DON'TS of Complaining To the Front Desk

DO: Call the desk if there are children running rampant
This is helpful to the desk, when you let us know that there is an issue. You're giving us a chance to fix the situation before shit really gets out of hand and we get shot with a fucking Nerf gun thing. However,

DON'T: Call the desk if it is your own fucking child who is running rampant
I am not a built in babysitter, contrary to the popular fucking belief. If you are calling me because your own fucking child is a part of the problem, then own up to that shit. Or I will not take your next call seriously and I'll tell you that you need to control your own spawn.

DO: Tell the desk how upset you are
Because sometimes people call, just to let us know. The level of annoyance on the phone does infact increase my own level of annoyance. If it's just a hockey parent calling to be an asshole to the other team, then I take that shit less seriously. If it's an old woman calling because she can't hear the TV and it's on full blast, and she's got venom spewing out her mouth into my ear, then I tend to walk a little quicker. However,

DON'T: Yell at/Curse at/THREATEN the desk.
We do not care enough. We never will. I'm sorry, but how many weekends, or nights of absolute bullshit do you reckon I put up with? Let me tell you, it's a fucking lot. So when someone gets it in their mind that they need to Yell At Me, Curse at me and then tell me that they'll “have my job” in the morning, or “they're going to pack up and leave” I wave to them. Yell at me, it just makes me not want to help you. Curse at me and it makes me twitch because I have to (at times Out Loud) remind myself that I am at work and can't go off on the person who is cursing. My favourite is when people threaten to get me fired. Really? You're going to assume that I don't know how to do my job badly enough that you can come in with your bullshit complaint and get me fired the next day. My job is one of the worst jobs in this fucking industry, and anyone who has worked it knows. No one likes this job because of the job. I like it because it's normally quieter and you don't have to deal with management. Threatening to leave is also hilarious, because if you leave and don't give us a chance to do anything, we still charge you the room rate.

DO: Speak Calmly When Talking To The Desk
Seriously. I cannot emphasize this enough. When you're calling, for ANYTHING, don't rush your words. Unless there is blood, or broken bones, there is never a need to race through a sentence like you're on crack. It also gives the impression that you're a rational human being. Anyone in the retail/customer service business will appreciate someone who speaks calmly when telling us how children are screaming their little heads off in the hallway upstairs.

DONT: Come Out In Your Underwear To Yell At The Desk I say this for two reasons. One, the chances of a person being anywhere near to what I want to look at half naked, are so slim that you can assume I'd rather stab my own eyes out with a rusty spoon. Even the hot construction guys. Keep it clothed, people. There are cameras, and it is a lot harder to take someone seriously when the desk is wondering if you're fully naked or just mainly. The second reason, is Don't yell at us at the desk. Seriously. Think about this for a hot minute. If you're standing here, yelling at me, telling me how useless and incompetent I am, where can I go? What can I possibly fucking do to help your situation out? The answer, kidlets, is nothing. Not a goddamn thing. I cannot leave the desk when someone is standing there. It is the golden rule, it is a fucking pain in my asshole when I get drunks who will not go to fucking bed, but it is unspoken. If I leave, I'm inviting people to fuck up my workstation. It's happened before (Story for another day) and it will likely happen again. The only time I ever leave someone at the desk, is when I'm grabbing them pillows or blankets. Because that shit is down the hallway.

I can't leave the desk to go yell at the drunks or the children, until you let me.
I understand your frustrations about not being able to watch “I Love Lucy” but I can't do anything until I am able to leave the desk. There is only ever one of me.


Suggestions On How To Handle Shit

Take a moment. Think about how noisy the hotel is, and whether or not the desk can hear it.
I know in my hotel, the only shit I can't hear is down the hallways that are upstairs. I can hear running, and I can hear serious noise, but singular room shit? If it's not on the ground floor I can't hear it. I would absolutely welcome a call letting me know that there is ruckus going on upstairs. I'd prefer it to be a calm call and without anger towards me (because really, people, I didn't fucking tell them to go and be assholes upstairs. I'm bored some nights but never that bored). I'd also really prefer only one call about the issue. If you call within a five minute period of calling the first time, you almost automatically put yourself on the douchebag list.

I guarantee, unless it's a problem downstairs and I can see the room door from the lobby (which is a total of five rooms, and I can hear them sneeze from here) then I need about 10 minutes to get in contact with the room and issue the warning. Add five minutes for them to settle the fuck down, that means you should only be calling me once every 15-20 minutes. Even then that's excessive.

Call once. Let the desk know what the fuck is up, then try to be patient. Wait a good 30 minutes, and if shit hasn't changed, call the desk again. It could be that you weren't the only one and I had to answer the phone 13290 times before I could go and do something about the problem that everyone and their mother told me about.

Remember that normally the desk only has one or two people. If it's a busy night, you can bet those poor souls are being run ragged. I know it seems like they should be able to drop everything and deal with whatever has your ass in a twist, but sometimes you need to have patience.

Don't threaten. Or blame the desk. We are here to help you, for the most part. I hate having to apologise for shit that isn't my fault. Assholes not listening to me, isn't entirely my fault. I can only do so much and evicting people is actually a lot harder than it sounds. I really hate having a person come stay here and their night be ruined by drunk idiots. But unfortunately, sometimes, that shit happens.

As long as you stay cool, control your own spawn and follow the hotel rules it should be good. And when those noisy fuckers start shit, I got this. Hopefully.


On a completely unrelated note, I'm running away for the weekend and plan to come back a lot less stressed out and more my old badass self. No more people trying to kill themselves in my hotel, no more court hanging over my head and no more threatening exboyfriends. Just waiting for my acceptance into school and for my next ASL class to start.

Behave yourselves!