Room 831: Ms. Basswoman

Is it too much to ask to be Kim Deal? I mean, Kim Deal without the nicotine addiction or the (rumored) anger management issues? I'm actually one of those weirdos who got into The Pixies after getting into The Breeders, her followup band. But I do a lot of things backwards...I was a breech baby. Anyway, I want to learn to play the bass, by far the sexiest instrument. And before you ask, I would learn with and without pick. I will go both bass ways. Last year when I got my bonus, I earmarked it for an iPod and a bass guitar and amp from Target (you heard me. Is it weird that the idea of having bought my bass from Target kind of turns me on? I may even decorate it with a bull's eye sticker just to drive the point home). But I chickened out. I was overcome with the same feeling I got when I tried to buy Bop magazine as a preteen. I can't let strangers know that I think boys are cute! I likened it to buying porn. (Side note: which I did only once...a Playgirl...in college...for a friend...and the only reason I could do it was because my brother worked at Barnes & Noble and I delighted in embarrassing him so much so that it cured me of any embarrassment). So when I went to buy my bass I felt like I was buying porn. Because buying it would be displaying to the world an intimate part of me. And Lord knows, that can't happen!

Amenities of Room 831: Magazine rack for all my issues. Clean ashtray. And heavy curtains suitable for hiding.

Janitor's Closet: MIA

Where the hell have I been? In moving hell, that's where. And I'm still in it...

Contents of the Janitor's Closet: Lots and friggin' lots of boxes. And at least five dog hairs in each one.

Room 1302: Free Food

Poor Man’s Mentality. I think that’s what it’s called. Well, whatever it is, I have it. And my biggest weakness is free food. Holy shit. Doesn’t matter what it is either. It’s free, right? So it must be good. Heaven forbid that you have a candy dish. Because yes, I will partake, thank you very much. And there’s that damn side table in the main office that always has some sort of chip/donut/hummus/chocolate something on it. I can’t just go in and check the mail like a normal person. I have to eat something. I have no shame about it either. Here’s a “for instance”: eating lunch on the plaza (I even think I was a good kid and brought my Lean Cuisine that day) when my coworker said that today was the day of the marketing department’s monthly potluck. The speculation over leftovers ensued. The anticipation over the “come and get it” email was torturous. Then as we were walking back to the annex, we could see people streaming out of the back doors heading to the marketing trailer. Shit! I started running. Seriously. I couldn’t let Finance get all the good stuff. And was I hungry? No, not really. I just ate. Didn’t matter, folks. It was free. And I couldn’t let the opportunity pass.

Amenities of Room 1302: Free room service (but you must bring your own fork). Shattered candy dish. Sorry, No Willpower allowed.

Room 987: English Premier League

OK. I've said it before: I love me some cutie English boys kicking a ball. And yes, it is very shallow of me to say but there it is. And because of watching cutie boys kick a ball, I started to care where the ball went. It all started in Summer 2005...one fateful day I was checking out what channels we got with our new cable. Fox Soccer Channel? Whatever. Oh, wait. English Premier League...cutie English boys kicking a ball. Yes, kids, that's all it took. I watched on and off for that whole season (seasons run August to May, FYI) and thought I would have the summer off. Oh no, my friend. World Cup 2006! Ah shit. So to back up a moment: after I discovered this whole new world of football (that's right I said it!), I got out a map to pick a team to root for (lame, I know). I wanted to back the team that would have been the closest to me distance-wise from where I stayed in London in 2000 for the Summer Acting Programme at the National Studio (impressed?). I have big love for London. So want to live there someday...Anyway, turns out the closest team to the University of London dorms (get used to this...I refer to London quite a lot...you're lucky I held back so far...) was Arsenal in North London. Arsenal is one of the biggies. So coolio, I'm set. I will back Arsenal and watch all of their games. But fate had other plans. Cut back to World Cup 2006. I'm rooting heavily for England and oh yeah, USA as well (ah, bless them. They weren't favored to do well and well, they didn't). England, at least, got to the quarterfinals and lost to Portugal in Penalty kicks (fucking Ronaldo). But all was not lost because I found Steven Gerrard! Number 4 on the England squad and, come to find out, number 8 and CAPTAIN of the Liverpool team (and now Steven Gerrard MBE - Member of the British Empire...Fun fact!). Oh, I tried to stay true to my Arsenal guys but remember, when it comes to this, I'm shallow. So I became a die hard Liverpool fan. Never been to Liverpool. Only know about because of the Beatles. But I will go someday; strictly for the chance to watch a match at Anfield. I am tingly just thinking about it.

Amenities of Room 987: Steven Gerrard action figure - still pristine in box. Fox Soccer Channel set to "favorites". Ill-folded map of England on the table.

Room 1004: Guy A Vs. Guy B

One day while having lunch on the plaza, a guy walked by and waved at my female co-workers and I. He was wearing the grayish faded t-shirt and the rolled-up sleeved unbuttoned plaid shirt over top. And he was carrying a messenger bag. You can picture him, can't you? You've seen this guy. Twenty-something. Dorky from one angle; handsome from the other. And before you ask, it was warm out so no hipster cardigan but I'm sure he owns one. Well, my friends and I immediately started analyzing him. This dude (yes, I still use the word "dude" and without any shame or irony) brought up an internal debate: is he A) the geeky guy who happens to be attractive? Or is he B) a handsome guy who is rocking the nerd look? Because they are two completely different people. Guy A is the diamond in the rough. The one who is your lab partner that suddenly becomes incredibly hot to you two weeks before graduation and you kick yourself in the ass repeatedly for going to school with him since kindergarten and didn't really notice him until now. Guy B is the one that beautiful women date because they can fool themselves into thinking that they are dating him for his sense of humor. But ladies, don't even front. You are dating him because he's hot. I explained this theory to my friend and she thought he was Guy B. What? NO! Guy B can potentially be a dickhead (Guy Bs are funny, nice, and seemingly accessible making EVERY woman in his path fall for him even the nerd girls who think they may have a chance. However, he is often seen with said beautiful women mentioned above making him not funny anymore but annoyingly cocky). So I want Guy A, the authentic alt-geek! But a warning about him: he may force feed you Death Cab for Cutie.

Amenities of Room 1004: Vintage Clash T-shirt in the closet. Trial size bottle of God-I-wish-I-could-go-back-in-time-and-open-my-frigging-eyes.

Room 1295: Tour Eiffel - Paris 2003

I wasn't going to lie to myself. I was going to Paris and I was going to be a tourist. Never been - had to hit the highlights. And I worked it, too. That three day museum pass was begging for mercy by the time I hit Le Centre Pompidou. So to give it and me a little mini vacay from art-going, I headed to the Eiffel Tower. And stood in line. And this was November, mind you. Only two "legs" open. But I was bound and determined to go to the top. Because, hell, I was there and I wouldn't have been the good little tourist I was and not conquer the metallic beast. After surviving the Eiffel Tower miniatures-key chain-lighters vender gauntlet, I got to the elevator. I was psyched. It was a sunny day for November and the view should be tres magnifique. Well, somewhere between the ground and the sky, clouds decided to sight-see in Paris as well. I barely had time to look over the side when the ominous fog came rolling towards the 7th arrondissement. Soon the Seine was covered along with everything else. Pictures of the ground were useless. But coming around the other side, I saw a vision that made it all worth it.


Amenities of Room 1295: Metro ticket littered carpet. Discarded blister bandages. Beaucoup memories.

Room 1409: Simpsonize Me!

Hell yeah!

First the M&M and now me as a Simpson. I can't wait for my Lego alter-ego.

Amenities of Room 1409: Funhouse mirror. Complimentary waste of time.

Room 1230: Plastic Magnetic Letters

I am weirdly drawn to these. My co-worker has them on her filing cabinet at work. Everytime I'm in her office I play with them. And I'm not five. And yes, "slut" and "ho" and "sux" and "lust" have made their way to the cabinet (in my and my co-workers' defense we have stayed in the PG-13 area. It is, afterall, a place of decorum). Not many at the theatre mess with them, only a select few and apparently, I am the most consistent. I have to say there is an appalling lack of vowels. I'm tempted to get more. And they are much more satisfying then the "magnetic poetry" trend. Because, well, they're BIG and BRIGHT! And oh so juvenile! You are a slave to the pre-printed pieces in the "mp" sets. I have two: a French one (which may actually help to retain all my French knowledge...if I used them) and a Shakespeare one. But with those, you don't have the satisfaction of creating semi-naughty words with tools from your childhood!

Amenities of Room 1230: Regression at the flip of a switch. "I'm Mandy, I Rock" spelled out on the AC unit. A just-like-new French Dictionary on the nightstand.

Room 1116: “Save the Whales…Shoot the Seals.”

So sayeth Cheech & Chong.

I asked for a link to the “Save the Manatee” website because it was a Thursday and I had a guilty conscience. I wanted a cause and felt honor-bound to support a Florida icon. So I clicked on the link and took a step into Sea Cow Mania. And was slapped in the face with a “Special Message from Jimmy Buffet”. I fucking HATE Jimmy Buffet. Frickin’ Margaritaville, Who’s-gonna-steal-the-peanut-butter crap! He sucks. Out loud. (I blame my ex-stepfather for playing this shit on an endless loop along with James Taylor [I’m just a chilidog…. what?] and even worse: Phoebe Snow. I would rather gouge my eardrums out with a rusty nail file than hear that damn Poetry Man song again.) Side note about Jimmy Buffet: My friend Cynthia has it in her head that her uncle is my soul mate (I know, uncle, right? I’m only two years older than she is…). One day we were at The Grove and we went into Tommy Bahamas (or whatever it’s called) and we were surrounded by various degrees of hideous Hawaiian shirts (now I’m not anti-Hawaiian shirt. Seventh grade I was all about the Hawaiian shirt). She turned to me and said, “My uncle would love this store.” My immediate response: “Is he a Parrot Head?” (Parrot Head is a fanatical Jimmy Buffet fan…freaks.) And she said, “Yes, he loves Jimmy Buffet!” “Well, he’s not my soul mate.” There are some things I am willing to over look in a mate but not that. No way. I think I would rather my soul mate be a transvestite. Now back to the manatees. This “Special Message” really stopped me. Is my love for the manatees greater than my hate for Buffet? I had to step back. So I searched “Save the Lemurs”. (I also have a love for lemurs since they are native to Madagascar and my parents met in Madagascar.) And who endorses the saving of lemurs? John Cleese! I grew up watching Monty Python’s Flying Circus and Fawlty Towers on PBS. Cleese rules. This is when I had the sad realization that I am willing to let animals live or die based solely on their celebrity friends.

Amenities of Room 1116: Wadded up Hawaiian shirts. TV with one PBS channel. An ice bucket of shallow decisions.

Room 1087: Teeth Mirrors

After Meal Ritual: Checking for food in my teeth. Perhaps it comes from a year in braces as a teen but I am obsessed with stuff in my teeth. Yes, I carry floss (note to self: out of floss...get thee to Target!), yes, I have portable GO Smile touch-up "on-the-go smile refreshener", yes, I also have GO Smile elixir "good-for-you breath freshener" (both I bought on a whim at Sephora which can be a very expensive "whim" experience), and yes, I carry sugarless gum. And hey, I carry deodorant as well. Maybe I have a hygiene fetish. Huh. But anyway, I would say my most valuable teeth related item in my bag is my trusty Teeth Mirror. It's one of three that I own. Oh yes, you heard me: three. One for my bag, one for my desk at work and one sassy one for a fancy night on the town. (Alas, that mirror has not been used yet. But some day...maybe my wedding. It can be my "something used"). Now Teeth Mirrors are tiny reflective devices that are just big enough to get a clear view of enameled glory. A quick check and then you are good to go. Bonus: it's also good for checking for "Bats in the Cave".

Amenities of Room 1087: Trash can overflowing with discarded floss. Trident wrappers. And a drawer full of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Room 1359: Celluloid Dilemma July 3, 2007

Holy Crap. Here are my choices: Multi Product Tie-In CGI-fest Transformers Vs. Generic Rom Com License to Wed. Now I love a good girl movie. Ever After? I fucking LOVE that movie! That’s right. I said it. I fucking love that film. Now if this were the only thing you knew about me, you would assume that I would take my ovaries out for a night of Mandy Moore and John Krasinski. (Side note: According to imdb, Mandy Moore is 5’10” and from Orlando, FL. I myself am named Mandy, I’m 5’10” and from Orlando, Florida. I, however, don’t record albums. Also, as my mother likes to remind me, Mandy Moore used to take kids theatre classes at Civic Theatre…around the time I worked there…as a full-fledged adult. Alas. I would like to ask Mandy Moore two questions if I ever met her: 1) Mandy, did you ever have a hard time finding personalized key chains or mini license plates? Because, my God, they have “Madison”? But no “Mandy”? Whatever. 2) And how much do you loathe that horrific song “Mandy” by Barry Manilow? You don’t know humiliation until you walk up to a table and say, “Hi. I’m Mandy and I’ll be your server tonight” and they respond, “Oooooh Mandy! Well, you came and you gave us our drinks….” I hate that song. Anyway, as for John Krasinski…well, I love me some Jim Halpert. Now if I said that about a year and a half or two years ago when “The Office” just started, that statement might be considered novel. Today, however, it’s: “Get in line, bitch.”) But, to continue my original thought, I’m not just a girly romance sucker, I also happen to be a nerd girl. So Transformers? Giant robots smashing into each other? I have to admit that I’m intrigued. But how can I turn my back on my Central Florida sista and my new lust cowboy? Well, I’ll tell ya. The more I learn about License to Wed the leerier I get of it. Is it Robin Williams, you ask? Well, not quite. You know how when Phantom Menace was coming out and everyone was saying, “Jar Jar Binks is going to ruin this movie!” so you prepared yourself to hate Jar Jar. But then you were completely blindsided by the kid who played Anakin! That’s how I feel about this movie: I’m all prepared for manic Robin Williams but wait! Little precocious kid sidekick. Didn’t see that coming! (Josh Flitter plays the kid. Flitter was also in The Greatest Game Ever Played, starring Shia LaBeouf, star of Transformers! I can’t believe no one is addressing this side of the July 3rd match up. And just so you know, I have not seen The Greatest Game Ever Played because it’s about golf. However, in the trailer, Flitter utters the immortal line “President Taft!”) But Transformers has the con of being a Michael Bay film and I hear he’s a dick. So which one do I give my money to? Well, it doesn’t matter because the group consensus is Transformers. So I guess that makes me a sheep. Baaaaa.

Amenities of Room 1359:
Movie stubs of Independence Days past. One long overdue personalized sippy cup. And a fan letter to Mandy Moore from my mom.

Room 1130: You as an M&M

Or actually me. Yes, congratulations ad agency: after seeing The Addams Family as M&M's, I went to the website to see if they had the incredibly creepy pic of Burt Reynolds as an M&M. Weird, right? (And I didn't find this pic on the website, I found it on the Unofficial Dutch Burt Reynolds Site. I'm serious). But on the M&M site, you can create yourself as an M&M. And I mean, why not? It's only a Friday night when the rest of the world is interacting with other human beings. (Side note: Fridays are usually Cold Stone Creamery/Borders night but kz had to be at a family reunion. Whatever!) So after one entry, I'm sure all in cyberworld are chomping at the bit to see what Doyenne looks like....as an M&M. Just so you know I don't play Football (that's right, as an American, I said Football and not Soccer) but I love me some cutie English boys kicking a ball! And the hair isn't quite right. I should have made it darker but at least I know how I would look with highlights. Thanks, M&Ms! But I do love my flip flops as all good Florida girls do. (And really with the advent of the thong pantie, does anyone call flip flops "thongs" anymore? I don't think so...not in my house!)

Amenities of Room 1130:
WiFi access to the Unofficial Dutch Burt Reynolds Site. One Hour of Lost Time. And no ice cream.

4th Floor Hallway

This is where you will see them. Those pesky gals in matching dresses. Come play with us, etc, etc. But it's time to stare down those Shining bitches. So instead of the "feel the fear and do it anyway" stuff, just say, "Excuse me, girls, you're in my way," push right past them and keep walking.

(Side note: Notice I didn't post a picture of those two. I tried. I really did. But the image came up and I flinched. Have you ever tried to close a web page with your peripheral vision? It's challenging. Alas...)

Amenities of the 4th Floor Hallway:
Long spooky corridor with two twin creepy British girls welcoming you forever and ever and ever. And lots of mental torture potential for older brothers everywhere.