Well, actually, it started last night. Went to check into the hotel. Verified with the barely-speaks-English desk clerk that the room she gave me was a smoking room (people - just don’t go there. don’t do it. )

As I was walking away, I decided that I needed to verify - I mean honestly, I stay at this hotel every month and can’t ever remember being on the 14th floor. I stopped another desk clerk and said to her:

“Can you verify that smoking is allowed on the 14th floor?” She said,

“Um. Yes. 14th, 12th, and 3rd.”

Alright then. I guess it’s just strange that I never got a room on 14. I make my way merrily to the elevator. I get off the elevator. I look at the sign that says:

NO SMOKING

It doesn’t register.

I go into my room.

On the desk, where I normally find an ashtry and a book of matches (since you can’t fly with lighters anymore, I really rely on these….), there is a sign that says:

NO SMOKING

Hm. Walk to the phone. Dial front desk.

“Excuse me. This is The Hotfessional. I just checked in. I was told that my room was a smoking room. I’m on 14, and there’s signs all over the room that say: NO SMOKING.”

“Um. Yes ma’am. Just a moment.”

So, I wait. On hold. Then this:

“Ma’am, we’re moving you to 1208. A bellman will meet you there with a key.”

—- So, how sad is that? Either I travel too much, or the Crowne Plaza really needs my help. —-

The Manager’s Dinner is tonight. We’re leaving early enough to sit outside (hopefully), since it’s 85 and beeee-yooo-teeee-full in Chicago. I’m sure there will be stories to tell.

Coincidentally, we found out that a group of ex-employees have a networking group that is ALSO meeting there tonight. We may just end up taking over the riverfront.

—- Let’s assume that one of the stories for tomorrow will end: ‘And then they toppled off into the Chicago River’. —-

I like the pieces individually, but I don’t like how I put it together. I guess part of the problem is that 5 minutes before the driver came (5:45 a.m.) to get me to the aiport for this morning’s fun, I decided that I was too bloated (damn pre-menopause systems) to wear the pants that I had laid out. I’m wearing a black cowl-neck shell, black rayon pants (lined - and they’re not my favorite), and a peachy/pink hip-length cardigan. I guess being in them for nearly 12 hours (high heels included) doesn’t help any.

I’m hoping, that before we head over to this retirement party, that I’ll be able to go check into the hotel and clean up some. Y’know when you’re just NOT comfortable and feel like crap. That’s me today.

So, I was perusing the New York Times business session, and found this article. Since I’ve already admitted to being a Kohl’s whore, this obviously caught my eye. One of my favorite lines:

She says that “$3,000 is the new $1,000, and $6,000 is the new $3,000,” adding:
“Actually, maybe $10,000 is the new $3,000. The truth of it is, it can be very
frustrating when you have built up some degree of a name in this country and not
be able to dress more people.”

I’ve never paid $1000 for any article of clothing in my entire life. Even for my wedding dress. Probably the most expensive item in my closet, other than that dress, is an Ann Taylor watermelon colored suede blazer. Which I love. Which I hardly ever wear because it cost, like, $169.00. On Sale. At the end of the Season.

—- Well, my reprieve from today’s fashion “arghhghghghg I hate this” moment just came. The execu-males are going to be ready to leave for dinner late enough for me to run over to the hotel and do a little repair. I must have known. I actually packed for 4 days knowing I was only going to be here 3. —-

The Randomness

• New sandals. Pretty pedicure (well, at least my toes aren’t mangled anymore since I gave up playing soccer in April 2006). A new skirt. My little shopping trip on Saturday was very fruitful, thank you very much. And I’ll just ignore the fact that Mr. Hot suggested using landscape instead of profile to shoot a picture of my size-10 foot. Dickhead.

• Drove on the new driveway for the first time last night. To park the VERY filthy car (when you park on a dirt road, you get a dirt car) in the garage. Shortman got the honors of actually making the first (did I mention dirty?) tracks on that beautiful expanse of asphalt. The basketball hoop went back in place, too. Yay. Garage parking. Clean car.

• I love my Samsung YPZ-5 mp3 player. I love Yahoo Jukebox plus. Together they are magic for plane rides and train rides and crappy cab rides during Chicago rush hour.
• My flowers are blooming like crazy.

The Moaning

• Remember this? The one where I rhapsodize over the wonderful weekend with Mr. Hot’s kids? The one where I said we really felt like a family? Once again, I am a fucking fool. Neither of them thought to call or write to him for Father’s Day. I really believed that after the TYO pledged that he wanted a relationship and was going to try to make it work, that the least he would do is email or call. On Father’s Day. I guess my faith was misplaced.
• Back to Chicago tomorrow. After I packed up my office last month, waiting for them to find me someplace new to sit, I got a call saying that my phone would be hooked up for tomorrow’s visit. In the “visitor’s office”. Which is a closet - in the hallway. Ooooh, wheeee.

—- Well, packing would be my last moaning. I guess thinking about the empty promises of 2 young adults has overshadowed any other things I’m facing today. But I really, really hate packing. —-

I married my Dad. Well, not really (of course) , but the similarities between these two wonderful men are scary, people. Even they’ve noticed it. But what can you say? They both love me (and even weirder - they both understand me).

My father was a cop for 32 years. …After serving in the Marine Corps in Okinawa. He didn’t see me until I was 6 months old - his older daughter. But man, oh man, did he get pictures. Mom and I lived with my grandparents while he was gone. My Aunt and Uncle lived there as well. There were photographers falling over themselves to get more and more shots to send overseas.

When he returned, I peed on him. (Well, that’s the story he tells anyway). I was also obviously his daughter - I have the nose to prove it - but I’ll always be someone that he doesn’t quite understand - or maybe he understands better than I’ll ever know.

I did well at school, focusing on Math and Science, because these were important subjects to him. When I left for college, with plans to become a Veterinarian, he was cheering me on. When I came home after Freshman year - with grades that proved just how much FUN college was (it was so not a pretty sight you all) - he got tough. When he found out that I came home that summer as a (ehem) non-virginal daughter, he stopped speaking to me - and made sure that I had no money to go back to school.

I disappointed him several times that next year. After selling my horse to buy a car, getting a job, and returning to school locally, he found out that I hadn’t given up that boyfriend and was seeing him on the sly. (Hey, don’t tell me I can’t.) When I tried to move out to go live with a girlfriend, he got out an ax and threatened to slice the tires on my car. (He would have done it, too.)

So, he watched and waited with me while I grew up. He stopped telling me I couldn’t go out with the virginity-taking boyfriend. He stood with me at the end of the aisle in the church, trying to make me laugh (this Muslim father, standing in a Catholic church, telling his oldest daughter “Remember, when you get to the end where that guy on the cross has his arms out? He’s telling you, “Stop”. That’s where you need to stop.”).

He watched me move South with that boyfriend who was now my husband. He visited. And when that marriage crumbled and I moved out, and got divorced, he never said “I told you so.” He held his tongue when I told him that I only married the boyfriend because he told me I couldn’t.

He watched while I went back to school again for another degree. He watched when I met Mr. Hot - that southern boy charm won me over - and when I became pregnant with Shortman, he came visit. When Mr. Hot and I got married, he was the first one to call me by my new name. When my water broke in the middle of the night, and I called to tell him and Mom that they’d have a new grandbaby later that evening, he drove six hours - and very nearly beat us to the hospital (I needed to go shopping - there wasn’t any food in the house, and contractions weren’t too bad at the time).

When Shortman was born, he was in the room, and when the Dr. put that baby in my arms, my Dad was there to say a prayer into that baby’s ear. Fifteen years later, my Dad is one of that baby’s biggest fans.

Now, when the 3 of us get together with Dadandmom, my mother and I laugh at how much these men are alike. One in his sixties, one in his fifties, and one only 15. But they have the same insane passion for news, the same smartass know-it-all attitude, and the same unending love for family and friends. Of course, our love for them is boundless as well.

—- Happy Father’s Day to you Dad, and to you Mr. Hot. I love you both more than I can ever say. —-

For the past 4 days, I’ve sat looking out this window at the beautiful sunshine, knowing that Summer ! In ! Michigan !! is finally here. From 7:30 until 5:30, I’ve sat here. Then, I got to go home - and here’s what the last 4 evenings have meant:

• Monday: Went home, changed clothes, drove to Momanddad’s house (these people, as you will learn in a future post are inseparable….therefore, they get only one name), played with one niece and four nephews visiting from Virginia, helped Momanddad get cover off of pool, crammed spaghetti and salad into mouth, drove home, watered flowers and newly planted grass, sat on porch for 20 minutes, went to bed.

• Tuesday: Went home, found out that nephew (see Monday) was coming to spend the night, changed clothes, waited for nephew to come, admired newly poured asphalt driveway, helped Mr. Hot move large piles of dirt that the men with heavy equipment left, greeted nephew, went to pick up pizza for nephew and Shortman, went to store to get drinks and snacks for nephew and Shortman, watered plants and newly planted grass, sat on porch for 20 minutes, went to bed.
• Wednesday: Went home, changed clothes, opened bill for new computer, took Shortman to baseball game, found no one at baseball field, realized coach’s phone number NOT in phone, drove home, got coach’s phone number, called coach, found out there is no game (but there’s practice in 20 minutes), drove back to baseball field, dropped off Shortman, drove home, ate a sandwich, watered plants, drove to pick up Shortman, drove home, watered newly planted grass, sat on porch for 20 minutes, went to bed.
• Thursday: Will go home, change clothes, go to the grocery store, go to the pet store, water plants and newly planted grass, go to bed.

So, at Noon today, I decided that on Friday, I will:

• Stay at home. Like all Day. Like not show my face in the office. And Enjoy. Summer. In. Michigan.
• Find a ‘Beach book’, even though the only sand around will be the sand that Mr. Hot is using to level the pavers on the “Put grill here” part of the patio.
• Drink some nice summery drink that I will buy the ingredients for at the grocery store tonight.
• Give myself a new pedicure, so I can wear some new sandals that I plan on buying tonight at the shoe store next to the pet store.

—- It only lasts about 8 weeks y’all….then the doom that is Fall and Winter appear on the horizon. I am SO not a Winter Wonderland type of person. But sometimes, there are perks to being in charge. —-

My Life as a Straight Man:

I dial in to my boss’s staff meeting since I’m not onsite this week. It’s kinda like walking into a “Cheers” episode - except rather than using my name, I get a lot of “Support Goddess”!!!, “XYS Queen”!!! (I managed the System Support division for years, and before that, built an application called XYS which is still in use.) Again, dumbshit me -

• Hotfessional => “I hope you all are getting t-shirts printed with those names for me to wear when I’m out of a job.”
• The Rest of Them => *catcalls and wolf-whistles* “You mean otherwise you’ll walk around naked after you’re laid off?” “You’re fired!” “Here’s your ‘pink slip’.”

The sad thing is, I tend to do this when I’m there in person, too.

• Hotfessional to rest of group => “I’m warning you all about those margaritas. Don’t have more than one without eating. And even then, don’t have 3. Stop at 2. Take this from someone who knows. You won’t be able to stand up.”
• Sr. Program Mgr. (after 3rd drink w/o food) to person he’s sitting next to => “Doesn’t the Hotfessional’s rack look bigger?”

Which was, of course, said in that well-known, completely drunk whisper that echos through the entire restaurant.

Blackberry Conversation During a Different Staff Meeting:

• Ex-Boss of Hotfessional => “Do you shop at Victoria’s Secret?”
• Hotfessional => “Um, yes, why?” (While wondering which piece of lingerie has somehow turned flashing neon for whole world to see)
• Ex-Boss => “I want to get my wife whatever kind of bra you’re wearing - and there’s a Victoria’s Secret on the way home.”

Are you sensing a theme here, people?

Oh My Gawd, Tell Me He Didn’t!:

• Support Division Manager explaining the official definition of Emergency => “It’s not just some client saying, “‘I want my hoo-hoo, and I want it right now!’”
• Rest of Meeting Attendees => “snort, cough, giggle, snort, hack”
• Hotfessional (once again, the only woman in the room) => “I think I have to leave now.”

Technically, I think I’m the only one with a hoo-hoo sitting there.

Sometimes, Thank Goodness, I’m NOT the Target - Or Am I?:

Scene: Four Managers are walking down the streets of Chicago (3 men, 1 woman) - 2 by 2 due to the narrowness of the sidewalk. Hotfessional and LI #1 in front, LI #2 and XLMan trailing.

• XLMan => “Y’know, LI#1, you have no ass!“

Implication being “Hotfessional, you have too much ass?”

—- Okay, so that last one was a scene from the back. —-