And If I Push This Button... A Story Of Stupidity

We just began renovations in our hotel, for which we are all very excited. If not for the process, at least for the new digs. Amazingly and yet much to my chagrin, we people of the desk have been temporarily relocated to the bar, and the bar in no way has ceased operation. A large, white wall has been built to cover the old front desk while it's being demolished and re-constructed. This, however, doesn't discourage people from standing in front of it perplexed, looking for the front desk staff, who readily wave their hands and yell "yoo-hoo!" from 40ft in the distance.

One such lady who was checking in, bless her soul... The poor imbecile, trots to the bar/front desk happily and half-embarrassed. I explain, feeling a little sad for this stupid woman, that we will be at the bar for the next 6 weeks, due to the hotel renovation that we are currently undergoing.

At this point in the story I should mention that our GM has put up a digital picture frame right in front of the computers where the guests check in. It's the kind of frame that does the slide show, and in it we are displaying the photos of how the hotel will look after the renovation is done. One of the photos features our business center which boasts a large sign that reads "BOARDING PASS" above the computers.

Apparently, when Poor Imbecile looks at the digital frame that precise picture was on the screen because she cheerfully asks "Oh, I can print my boarding pass from here? If I push this button?".

And I guess it could have looked like a button... If you were drunk, and maybe high on prozac.

Men Everywhere Need To Straighten This Mess Up

My Ballot Box

Do men like to be treated like shit? Yes, of course! No way!

Do all men cheat? Yes, we can't help it. No, some of us are loyal.

View Results

Happy Birthday To Me . . .

I spent this last Monday the 24th of August saying goodbye to my youth through bitter tears. Luckily for me I also spent it with most of my acquaintances welcoming me to the "Quarter Century Club". It goes without saying that these are people who have jumped the hurdle of youth and into the cliff of despair that is being 25 and up.

Amongst these people was Zuzka, my Czech boss, whom I adore; My charmingly deranged, blond sister Lori, who loves me (enough said!); The lovely Black Man, who I assure myself each day is the man I love; And of course Cara-Face! I've just dropped in to share the pictures of the festivities.

(Are we going for captions? Yea? Ok we're going for captions. Just a little. Ok, no.)

Id like to also take this opportunity to say Happy Birthday to my sister Lori, who's day of birth is frighteningly close to mine. In case you were wondering what a bad sister does to celebrate a birthday, here it is. I baked her an outrageously fattening double chocolate cake, dowsed in ganache icing, and then I watched her eat it. I also gave her feathers. Yes. Feathers! It pleasures me to tell you this: She took the bait.

1/4 Century

Turning 25

This is it, my last day as a supple, fresh and young 24-year-old. Tomorrow, I will be hurling myself downhill towards the pasty dry flesh, bad hearing, hip-breaking, youth-sucking hole that is the big two-five. 25 years of life experiences which have yielded nothing but confusion and depression as opposed to knowledge and order. [Insert bit about men here: I understand nothing about men. I’d like to believe that you are not the simple creatures you proclaim to be, because if you are then I’d have to say that you are simply lazy, self-righteous, underachieving cheaters. Burn! Ok, ok... Not all of you, so pipe down.]

This morning I had a lesson given to me by a small Ethiopian lady in the form of pancakes. And for us to extract all the richness of the lesson unfortunately I’m gonna have to go into detail. So the story is that I wanted to have a 24th year commemorative pancake breakfast. Last meal-ish kind of thing. I had been thinking about it for a few days, and so I arranged with Mulu, our expert breakfast cook, to make some for me. I had helped her out the previous day so it was sort of a ‘thank you’ arrangement.

To make the long story short, I wanted pancakes. But Mulu decided to surprise me by putting a little extra something inside of them. I hadn’t seen what that something was, but I didn’t think it would completely alter the purpose of pancakes so I went for the jugular with some syrup and butter. Much to my anguish, when I come back to my breakfast, I discover that from the delicious dream of fluffy, buttery, sweet pancakes had emerged a doubly fattening, cheese drenched, two-hammed, egged-out monstrosity. I was disillusioned over the fact that I had to readjust my palate, but hungry enough to decide to eat the pancake sandwich anyway. And so I put the syrup down. And I have to say that if we, as humans, gauged taste with how fast you feel your arteries clogging up, I’d have to say that the aforementioned sandwich was succulent.

But thru the entire roller coaster that it was to want pancakes, to expect pancakes, get pancakes-but-not-really, to getting something equally delicious-but-in-a-whole-other-playing-field, I learned something: This is life! Bad surprises, promises warped in the mind of an Ethiopian lady who clearly has too much time on her hands. But I guess it’s how you handle it. Although it may not be what you wanted you try it anyway, find it to be delicious if not incredibly fattening, and in the end it all goes to the wrong places ANYWAY!

Song Of The Month

Whenever I can't get a song out of my head, I have to listen to it a good number of times so that I may stop humming it and singing it at work and thus, driving my co-workers blind with rage.

So join me, listen to the song, and help me end my obsession.

Annie Hardy of Giant Drag singing Drugs.

Oh, right. The clips are taken from a 70's movie which features Al Pacino and that girl from The Exorcist. The movie is called Panic In Needle Park. And yes, it's about drug users. Also, I have nothing to with the putting-together of these clips. Some dude from youtube did it. I'm just sharing.

My money's on the hawk

A grounded hawk may be in trouble, but a cat doesn't stand a bleeping chance if the hawk is in the air. Say buh-bye pussy cat!

We're All Winners In This War Of Hate

Uh, let's see. PTO-ians, "Elite" Members, people who pay in cash, what do they all have in common? They all piss me off and I would like to see them barefoot on the pavement on a hot summer day at high-noon. And yes, occassionally they all gather in one place [ie. lobby] at once and produce mass hysteria, which of course, as you two know, gets my hamsters' wheels turning inside my head.

As fate would have it, weekends for me at the hotel are astronomically disastrous. In fact I like to call them Legendary Saturdays. As a general rule of thumb, as long as I'm working a weekend morning it is bound to rain hell, blood and guts all over me. I'm no Bjork, but I've seen it all! It's not so much that the hotel is packed to capacity, because in fact, it tends to have less people during this time. But, oh my, what people they are! They reek of bargain-hunting.

Oddly enough Legendary Saturdays are not confined or restricted to weekends and thus can happen any day of the week. To describe this sort of day, I find my friend Murphy to be far more eloquent than me. Most of Murphy's sinister laws were apparently molded to conform the behaviour or situation of a bad day in a hotel. What? I didn't know Murphy worked in a hotel!
These are all true, and they most certainly do apply.

Variety of Murphy's Laws:

• If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.
• If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
• Friendly fire - isn't.
• If you perceive that there are four possible ways in which something can go wrong, then a fifth way, unprepared for, will promptly develop.
• Teamwork is essential; it gives the enemy other people to shoot at.
• Try to look unimportant; the enemy may be low on ammo and not want to waste a bullet on you.

Everyone Can Thank Kat Von Bitch For This...

That's all I got to say! And that she's obviously lying.

Kimberley Vlaminck

http://www.geekologie.com/2009/06/star_face_girl_asks_for_3_star.php

How Much Fun Is This?!

Yes, I know. It's probably a block-head idea to TP your supervisors car. But what better way to say, "Hey Face. We love you. Thank you for being YOU"?

Don't Trust The Grass . . . That's Where They Sleep

Everyone knows. And whoever doesn't is about to find out. I don't like worms.

And I feel even THAT may be a bit of an understatement. I absolutely and positively loathe worms. Any worm? Yes. But more specifically, earthworms. Gag!

Call it a phobia, call me a wuss, call me being insensitive to the Good Lords creation. I don't care. They are nasty and vile. My disgust is such that the very thought of even killing one is enough to make me bend forward and expose my lunch on somebody's shoes.

Maybe it's that burning memory of a younger cousin chompin' down on a tiny black worm while it was still alive. (I'm feeling nauseous already...) Or maybe it was that story that I was forced to read as a single-digit grader, about a boy who's friends dare him to eat worms, and then he eventually LOVES to eat them. That story is just devastating for a child, let me tell ya'. Whatever it was, it scarred me... For life.

Living with a disabilty is not easy. Looking like a fool when it's pouring, trying to avoid worms, and squealing every time I spot one writhing and slithering and drowning. (For some reason I must always cover my mouth with my hand as tightly as possible when I see one.) Having your boyfriend give you the look of death when you scream just because "IT'S MOVING!".

And you know who makes it worse? Maury Povich!

Yea, that's right! I said it!

Maury Povich is the most horrible human being in the mother effin' Milky Way. Why? Because he gives retards like me FALSE HOPE!

I'm sure you've seen the show. People with "bizarre" phobias. A dude who can't bear the sight of peaches. A lady who runs away from cotton... All examples taken directly from MP episodes, most of which you can find on youtube. I'm not saying or even suggesting that these people actually had or didn't have the phobias, but as a person who can understand their range of exaggerated reactions, I can certainly relate. What I cannot relate to is the fact that this man, this apparent "saviour", claims to be able to, thru professional therapy, cure these people permanently from their respective phobias... In 30 minutes! And how do the experts claim to "cure" these people? By exposing them repeatedly to the element that sparks their fear.

Whoa! Whoa! Wait a minute! I've been exposed to worms... Repeatedly... For over 30 minutes... No professionl therapy, but exposed nonetheless. And if I've ever been cured of something when I see a worm is a twisted ankle, 'cus believe you me, I will run and skip and dive to the safety of my apartment in a heartbeat. For the love of cheese, I've made death threats! Not only that, but looking back, I can honestly say that I would've unremorsefully done so... had it come to a worm and it's non-porous, shiny, disgusting band of friends.