or The Lundi if you’re combining English and French the other way.
Dear Mr. TSA Nutjob,
I know this comes as a great shock to you, but I’m here every fuckin’ Monday morning at 6 am (like, oh mah holy hell, 21 times this year). I do know which line is reserved for frequent fliers, and I always end up getting approval to go through the “special” one. So, when you screw up your face and ask me “WHY are you in this line?” and I respond “Because I have priority AAccess” (yes, that’s how American Airlines spells it on the boarding pass), I probably know what I’m talking about.
Yes, it’s early and yes, maybe I did stay up too late last night, and MAYBE I had a little bit extra vodka last night, but still. I could do this in my sleep. Hell, I could do it in YOUR sleep. But really, when you tell me, “No, THAT’s the priority line.” and point to the snaking, 2000 person line next to me?, I’m going to roll my eyes and respectfully disagree. TWICE.
Thank you so very much for holding me up long enough for the family with the four carry-on bags, stroller, bottles of illicit liquid and two screaming kids that refuse to take off their shoes to get in front of me. I appreciated the sticky, donut covered hands of the boy (”NO, I’M NOT TAKING DEM OFF!!!”) pushing me away from the conveyer belt while I was attempting to retrieve my shit.
I was going for my personal best get-through-security time. Douchbag.
Love, The Hotfessional
Dear Hotfessional,
Spinach has lots of iron. Iron, in large quantities, seriously fucks with your digestive system. It has a tendency to make, erm, one aspect of your morning VERY uncomfortable.
Next time you eat two spinach salads in a single day - you may want to follow them up with prunes for dessert.
Love, The Hotfessional
Dear Housekeeping Lady at my Home-Away-From-Home,
So, now you know the truth about the Hotfessional who stays in 812. I finished my workout and was in the bathroom trying to cool off before putting on some non-sweat-socked clothing to go out and find something appetizing for dinner. That generally means taking off my wig so the sweat can escape from every possible gland available. Also, standing around nekkid.
I didn’t hear you knocking. Really, I didn’t. I do appreciate the basket of chocolate you thrust into my face while offering me, “Choco-lat?” repeatedly. Thank you!
By the way, when I left the room a couple of minutes later, fully clothed AND with a full head of hair, your double-take was pretty freakin’ priceless.
I promise, you’re not losing your mind.
Love, The Hotfessional
—- I found out what Mr. Hot does while I’m away. He sent me this picture of his evening’s entertainment. —-



