Dear People Who Stay In Hotels

Just because you have earned the a spot in the top tier in whatever hotel chain frequent stayer program you are enrolled in doesn't mean your ass should be kissed. 60% of the people staying at the hotel have the same tier level that you have. So just because you booked a double and your profile says you prefer a king doesn't mean anything. You booked a double. All the other people who booked kings have first dibs. If we're sold out, you're SOL. If I have one left over, sure I'll give it to you, because really, there are better things I could be doing with my time than arguing with you and your retarded pompous ass.

Also, not all rooms are built with mountain views on a high floor. Sorry, architecture doesn't work that way. We try, but seriously, everyone requests that. So, shut up and deal with it. If I could match your preferences perfectly, I would.

PS We do not carry obscure Japanese soft drinks. If you want such things, find some place that supplies them and order them for yourself. You're lucky when we have Diet Dr Pepper.

Contemplating New Things

RayRay has recently proposed the option of moving to Tennessee and staying at her mother's house for an undefined length of time. This is perhaps the "Easy Button" I have been longing for throughout the last several months of indentured servitude. Don't get me wrong, I like my job and I am very good at it, but at a certain point one tires of relentless ass-kissing and moron-hand-holding.

There, I've said it. I'm over working at a front desk. I'm over working in hotel operations. I desire a more illustrious career involving things that result in paychecks that are not laughable, and not being yelled at by idiots* who don't know how to use their eyes and ears.

*Any guest who enters a hotel seems to lose all brain functions and is therefore an idiot, unless they're stayed at the property multiple times, in which case they are only slightly retarded**.

**Even if you've stayed at a hotel multiple times, we don't love you just because you exist. Tipping really makes us love you.

Years and Years Later

So, I have been told by many that I need to resume writing. This is perhaps not the best moment as I am, in fact, quite drunk, but whatever, at least this means I am not drunk texting some ridiculous ex who doesn't deserve to be woken up at 3:30am (although really, since they are ex's they do deserve it*). I shall begin re-attempting to express things through writing despite the face that for the last several years my only writing efforts have been along the lines of, "hey, this guest is a douche bag, he'll want this and this and this for free, don't give it to him because I've already told him no."

*And I was at the bar with the bald ex** earlier and gave him a foot job which was a first since we usually stuck to more traditional things like hand jobs under the table or in his truck

**I need to refrain from hanging out with my ex's

Fluffy, Monkey

In an effort to ascertain whether or not anyone actually reads the "Daily Communication Tool" that we are forced to assemble every night, one of my managers* dared me to insert "Fluffy Monkey" somewhere into the obnoxious bit of busy work.

At first, "Fluffy Monkey Meatloaf" seemed to be the most obvious place to put the little furball, but then I figured it would be too obvious. So, Fluffy, Monkey became a VIP guest, lodged snugly in between an Indian gentleman and a Japanese dude.

I haven't been yelled at for it yet, not have I gotten any** angry emails from the GM, so I'm thinking no one ever actually reads the daily. Which means I can now start putting fun things in it like (under the HR advice section) "Managers should not sleep with their hourly employees***." Tee hee.

*No, not the one I'm sleeping with. He's on vacation****.

**I should perhaps say "anymore" angry emails since she loathes me.

***Managers who are sleeping with their hourly employees should also refrain from sleeping with their own boss in front of the hourly employee they're schtupping, but that's a whole other story

****He's pretending to be in Egypt so no one will bother him on the Nextel

Back From The Dead

Ewww, I haven't posted for a long time, have I?

Apologies.

Or something.

I just switched to night audit* at my job (yes, Kate can hold a job for almost a year, and counting, woohooo!) so now I have hours and hours in the middle of the night, between delivering guests' bills and running reports and things, when I can do silly things like type.

I am also wearing velvet pants. Who on the day shift gets to do that, huh?

Anyway, life has been interesting since I have abandoned the dear blog. I dropped out of school, but now I'm back (well, not now since we're on winter break, but classes start again on Monday). I still hate it passionately, but I'll have my associates at the end of February. And the whole friggin degree next November. Then I'm blowing this popsickle stand. Fiji is looking good right now. But I'm also open to the Seychelles. And other nice islandy types of places.

I got my nipples pierced in October. I show them off whenever I can**. They're really very delightful, I recommend them to anyone and everyone who has nipples. Guys think they're hot, and honestly, every time I see them in the mirror I have to refrain from fondling myself.

My mother's Alzheimer's has gotten much worse. She is now getting lost in malls on a regular basis. Why my father keeps letting her go to the mall by herself, I couldn't tell you.

I've also been sleeping with someone for 4 months that I shouldn't be sleeping with. I accept that it will happen whenever we drink together, it is half the reason I go drinking with him. Or to breakfast. Or to lunch.

For some reason, he is always surprised. I can't tell you how annoying it is to wake up next to someone who always*** says, "I thought we agreed we shouldn't do this anymore."

We're having lunch tomorrow. Should be interesting.

I have to go do actual work now though. Byeeeeee

*More money and fewer guests to deal with, what more could a girl ask for?

**I got snowed in at work twice in the last 2 weeks, and last Thursday, I was apparently showing them off to the entire banquets staff (I don't actually remember due to the half bottle of whiskey, bottle of vodka, and very large run and coke I had consumed)

***Well, not always, sometimes he simply indicates that morning wood is something that should not be wasted, a concept against which I cannot argue

I've Been Told I Need To Post

It is Friday night and I am drinking a beer alone in my basement.

It is a real Belgian beer. From Belgium. And it is good.

I know someone else who is drinking alone tonight. And I am too chickenshit to make a move.

That is sad.

Anyway, I think I'm going to go run away screaming. Or not. I might just sleep. My feet hurt.

Ta ta...

Update Of Sorts

Good morning darling blog. I know I have neglected you most horribly lately and for that I am sorry. Today was my first real day off for quite a while. I was supposed to have coffee with Chipper, but he had a wedding to attend (not his own, of course). Instead, I have spent the day pondering things and cursing the fact that I can't order movies on my TV.

Anyway, I'm still working at my hotel. This time for actual money. Unfortunately, to date, I still have not had sex in a random supply closet. I did have dinner with one of my co-workers the other night, though. I have no idea if it meant anything or not as he is a conservative enough muslim that he can't seem to make a move on anyone, despite having spent most of the last 10 years outside of his country. And the fact that he came home with me after dinner. How much more of a green light could I give him? Maybe I don't want to go there at all though, he gives terrible hugs so I can't imagine anything more would be that interesting. Oooh! His name is that same as Marmeduke's and he's from the same city. How weird is that?

Last week was rather interesting. One Tuesday, I accompanied one of my friends to Planned Parenthood so she could have an abortion. It was absolutely the right choice for the situation she is in (she's having an affair with one of her co-workers while being married to someone else she has not has sex with in over 2 years, plus she's on many medications for a medical problem, and she's been drinking a lot lately so the kid would have had a very small chance of being healthy), but I don't know how I feel about it. I think what bothers me most about it is how little whole thing has bothered her. I know a lot of women experience a sense of releif after the procedure, but she's taking it to an extreme. I know other women who 20 years later still have nightmares of blood red oceans crashing in on them while a small voice calls out "Mommy!"

Further complicating how I feel about it is the fact that I am an adopted child who was delivered by an abortion doctor. So, my life itself is a result of an obviously difficult choice. I guess that is what is really bothering me. I am here because a woman made a difficult choice and my friend rather flippantly made her choice without a second thought and doesn't give a damn. Had my birth mother been the same way, I wouldn't be alive today. I haven't always been happy to be alive, but at this moment now, I am glad that I am here. I'm glad I have the opportunity to live. I just wish my friend would seem to notice the gravity of the decision that she just made.

I've had my tense moments in the bathroom waiting the five minutes after peeing on a little stick, but I don't think I would ever be able to have an abortion. Don't get me wrong. I am eternally thankful that I have the choice to keep a kid or not. I just don't think I could do it.

Moving on...

A couple weeks ago I also lost my faith in men in general. We went out to Milo's (our improvised after work drinking place) to get trashed on a Wednesday night. A couple extra people from work showed up. One of them was a very sweet woman with a tendency to be a bit agressive with the males (and I should mention she is roughly the size of Hagrid). A guy came and sat with us who knew another member of our group. He was very obviously not interested in her in the least, and in fact seemed to be a bit scared of her. She kept flirting with him (she was drunk before we got to the bar) and started a flashing competition*. My two favorite co-workers bailed when the bar closed, but Hagridette was far too drunk to drive, so I had to take her home. Random Boy followed me back. Another couple came with us as well. So we were standing around in the living room and H looks at RB and says, "Kiss me now or lose me forever," and they started making out. Then the other couple started making (at which point the girl realized I was just standing there looking annoyed so she came over and kissed me, but that is a whole other story**).

Anyway, H and RB went off to the bedroom and I found myself quite confused and disappointed in the whole state of the art of romance. Are boys really that easy? He really wasn't into her when they met. Is drunken large pussy really that attractive after a beer? Where is the artistry in the conquest? I guess I just prefer a bit more flair in my pick-ups, and I don't like seeing people do it that artlessly. It's distasteful.

So that is my life in a nutshell at the moment. I'm going to Belgium in a couple weeks. And I'm not going back to Kyrgyzstan since I have to work in August.

*I will flash anyone, anytime, so long as there are no small children or cameras present

**For the record I still remain annoyed by the whole experience

Last Minute May Post

Still alive. Just no time to blog.

My Feet Hurt

Like a bitch.

Still no random sex in a supply closet.

Although, I do have a mark.

Tee hee.

The Job

What, you may ask*, does SuperKate do for 8 exciting hours at the front desk?

I shall tell you.

"Good morning, thank you for calling the [insert name of hotel here]. This is Kate, how may I direct your call?" "Hotel operator, this is Kate, how may I drect your call?" and, "Front Desk, this is Kate, how may I help you?" have become an integral part of phone technique so much so that I have to stop myself from saying such things when I answer the phone at home. I have started referring to everyone I know as "sir" and "ma'am". It's not pretty.

On a good day, I actually check a real person in without fucking up completely. And check real people out (though not in the fun way) without charging the wrong credit card. On a bad day I check the wrong VIP into the wrong suite (is it my fault the group of VIP's descended on me en mass when the supervisor and everyone who knew what they were doing had gone on break and Mr Smelly responded when I asked for Mr Buggy after Mr HairGel had done his very best to confuse the Hell out of me?).

Today I got to make key cards for 45 teenagers. After checking them each in individually because no one bothered to inform me that there was a group check-in feature in the PMS (property management system). I also got to restrict telephone and movie access in each of their rooms.

At least I get smoke breaks.

*Or not