Where I've been and such.Follow

They say that home is where the heart is. I have always subscribed to this as I don't have such a strong connection to place as to have to see or visit an area to relieve some inner longing. "Home is where I live," has always been what I tell people when they ask if I'm going to go home for the weekend. Right now, I wouldn't say that. I'd say that home is driving West on I4. Hopefully she's picked up some breakfast first instead of waiting until she gets where she's going and then scarfing it down. I *DO* have enough sense to have not shoved that piece of advice on her before she pulled out. There are only so many things a chap should utter when the love of his life has a headache and a backache and a long physical day ahead. "You be sure to stop and get your breakfast BEFORE you get on the interstate because I don't want you eating it fast at the last moment before you start doing stuff," ain't among the kosher ones. So I just thought it and said "I love you" instead.

I've been in the land of low standards and poor quality since last Friday so there have been no updates. The only access I had to a PC was at work and I just don't do things like post from work. Wrong. Bad. So... I've tons of tids saved from the past few days. Where to begin?

First, the hotel. Never, if you have the tiniest bit of esteem for yourself, stay in the La Quinta on Eastern Blvd in Montgomery, AL. Either of them. That's right - there are two of them. Separated by a mere 150 feet. And they both suck. Badly. Very badly. I seem to have gotten the cream of the suck, so I'll relate the juicy parts...

Day one: I went in @ my own place of work and stayed until I needed to go home and load up to head to the airport. Jessica dropped me off, saving much hassle with the vehicle. I then flew to Charlotte, and from Charlotte to Montgomery, finally arriving @ my hotel around 11:30ish. I checked in, a horribly long process given that the room was already paid for and all that was required was to check my ID and hand me a room key. Great...a cardkey. Not a magnetic one, but one of those old style ones with the punched holes. Am I getting into my room or passing along data to Univac? OK, so it wasn't glamorous. Come to think of it, neither is swiping a friggin ATM card to get into your room. Misgivings tucked away, I went to locate 236. I went to locate it because I don't speak dumbass. I do pretty damn good at hick, but unfortunately, the desk clerk never progressed that far. She stopped learning at dumbass. I could have sooner located the missing **** gold from WWII with her directions than my room. I recognize dumbass when I hear it, though. So I disregarded her blathering and decided I'd just read a sign or two.

Screeching halt. WTF? No need to go down a hallway there, skippy. You can read the room numbers from the front seat of your sexy ultra-modern Pontiac Vibe as you drive through the parking lot. That's right....all of the rooms had doors that open to the elements. Quite the classy hotel you have there, Tom. It's OK, dude. You've spent the night on dirt, many times by choice. You slept in a cotton wagon (damn, freshly picked cotton smells good). You slept in your car. You slept in other people's cars. You slept standing up. C'mon, how bad can this be, in comparison to all the places you've slept by choice? Boldy go forward. Besides, sleep is getting to be a priority. It's damn near midnight and you have to be up in time to be at work at a decent time.

Up the stairs (what brightass planted a tree right up against a set of stairs so that the braches would protrude into the walking area, anyway?) carefully as they were wet, hung a left and 4 doors later, voila! 236

Inserted the program card, err key, and opened the door up to reveal 2 double beds Bonus! Consolidate all 4 pillows to one bed! Bonus! Fridge! Bonus! Microwave! Silver linings exist everywhere, damnit! Everything prior is forgiven. I'll walk stairs outside, I'll brave wet steps and tree branches, I'll decode Enigma transmissions happily, and ignore dumbass talk if you give me a fridge and a microwave.

In I went, and deposited the suitcase on the far side of the room, conveniently by the closet where my shirts could be hung as soon as some energy came into being. I kicked off my shoes and headed to the bathroom with my toiletries bag in hand. Squish, squish, squish. Eh? Squish? That's an odd sound for carpet to make. Carpet should only make that sound if it's...wet. Ewwww. My socks are now wet on my feet. Wet socks rates pretty damn high on my Personal Annoyance Scale. Off with the socks, my feet are wash and wear, at least. Some close inspection of the carpet (What IS it with Americans and avoidance of direct overhead lighting these days? Is there something wrong with having light from a source other than a 40 watt bulb hidden in a corner and shaded with a pair of *****'s panties? Did I miss a class or something?) revealed not only the high tide mark, but the source of the life-giving trickle feeding my parched carpet. The air conditioner. That wall-mounted, energy-sucking, inefficient air-exchange coil beast making the low-pitched whine I'd been trying to ignore was also pissing on the floor. So be it. We were roomies for the night. I'd fix it all in the morning. Brushed my teeth, fell in to a coma on the bed.

Time passed. I woke, spelunked my way to the bathroom, got out my shampoo, and headed to the shower for a badly needed destinking. Pit stop. Must make #1. Must make #2. Done. Wipe, despite the ffact that the shower is a mere 3 millimeters away and my next stop. Flush. Ruh-roh Raggy. Well, at least it swirled some. Wait. Eventually it drained the water down. Flush. Slightly better. Flush. Wait. Flush. Wait. My ***** appears to no longer share the bowl with my urine. It can swim more freely now. Nobody likes knowing there's pee in the pool. Flush. Success! I knew I could win that one. Patience, Perseverance, and the Zen of the Flush. Coming to book store shelves soon!

Into the shower. Whoa, Nelly!. Have I grown? Hmm, not there. Well, it worth checking, anyway.

Apparently, people in Alabama don't like the concept of getting their heads wet in the shower. Or, to be more specific, the plumber who installed this shower head in this hotel room in Alabama didn't want to put anyone at risk of that happening. I'm 5'7" and was staring slightly downwards at the shower head. Ahhh, fuggit. I tapped my remaining reserves of Poo-Flushing Zen and just ignored the fact that I was squatting to get wet above the shoulders.

Next installment: Continental Breakfast and Getting it all Fixed easily because La Quinta is Spanish for "We Don't Really Want People to Know We Suck That Badly, Do We?"

Just start leaving random burn-marks in things that need replacing.

Oh, and steal the TV remote control.

Well, it appears that I'll be giving it another chance. I just got off the phone with my boss. The conversation terminated shortly after I agreed to bend over, err go back next week. They wanted me up this Friday again, but I put the nix on that. We have weekend plans to go up to my grandparents beach house.

My parents will be there taking out the boat, so it will be a "Meet the Parents" sort of deal for her. I actually think that the setting will be less stressful than if we'd chosen to visit my parent's house for a weekend. What say ye on this?

We're 45 minutes apart, which counts as too far in my book.

You are 5'7" and you had to squat down to get you head wet? Damn, are people from south midgets?

i don't mind the hotel/motels that have the rooms accessible on the outside. those are the fun ones to sneak in 5-6 more people than the room can hold, especially on road trips you took with your friends :-)