Wha wha WHERE to begin?
First of all - I'm back in Southern Illinois. Yes yes yes, I know - It was here that I started my more... *introspective* blog entries... but that is all a thing of the past. All is different in my life, with much less angst: no more A., that is true, but just knowing where things stand make it all much better. (editors note: upon reflection, the angst is still there. Just wanted you, faithful reader, to know that I was able to identify my BS.
Anywhay - In my favorite inn in Marion, Illinois.
THREE FREE DRINKS A NIGHT INN Have a co-worker (my favorite man-crush... we'll call him Sneezey.) Told him about the aforementioned THREE FREE DRINKS, but he decided to get his safe Hampton Inn Delta Skymiles. All to his deteriment.
After a meeting with the subcontractor (also staying at the THREE FREE DRINKS A NIGHT INN) Sneezey headed back to his hotel (across the parking lot) I went up to my room, and got a call from my cousin (don't remember what I called her last time - could have been Princess? Or Precious? Or - eh, just run with the girl cousin; should be enough information.) ANYhoo, talked with her downstairs, as the sky opened up. Was glad to see that the desk clerk who was the spitting image of Holly from college was there. Best thing is that Cindy apparently knows my name too, but hey - I've been staying at the THREE FREE DRINKS A NIGHT INN for quite some time now, so they SHOULD know me. Earlier today the sub (who, in keeping with my dwarfian naming convention, I'll call Grumpy,) told me that she just celebrated a birthday. Her 21st. Ouch. But, that's neither here nor there.
So, since it had just started raining, and I didn't want to get wet, I decided against going outside. I did, however, bring my bathing suit; so I decided to go down to the pool and swim a (short) lap or two. (I fully recognize the irony here.) I checked the hours, saw I had another 30 minutes, and changed into my suit. I figured what with vacation next week, I'd go ahead and get used to people mocking my figure. You see, it's not that I am not in shape; I most definitely am. It just that, well... the shape that I am in is round. (BA-dump-dump)
As well, I decided against wearing my glasses, which has a twofold effect; number one, I can't see; number two - my life is a lot more pleasant. If blurry. You see, without one's glasses, one has plausible deniability for the looks of disgust that probably are coming for this round guy rolling into the pool. Another advantage - all the girls you see are pretty. At least potentially. And a fair amount of them are topless. Unless those are hippy boys, but again - plausible deniability.
Got to the pool. In the hot tub were two pretty blondes (at least potentially) and thin guy - MASSIVE farmer's tan, pale chest. (Even without the glasses, the glare was blinding. {grin}) So, I jumped in the pool, did baby laps, then nonchalantly squinted my way to the hot tub. And got in. To the sounds of silence.
Well, the sounds of white noise bubbles, anyway. {BUBBLEBUBBLEBUBBLE} They appeared to be waiting for something, I didn't know what. I squinted politely, and sat in the water. They looked around, nervously, nonchalantly, with flair: *I* couldn't tell. I looked in various directions, realizing only too late that it was impossible for me to look at the ladies and know if they were looking at me looking at them. Which really means it's not safe to look at them at all. So you look out the window, and realize that's not really a window, it's really a wall. So you feel like an idiot, and slowly turn your head. And realize that you haven't said anything to anybody, and now they think that you are a stalker. But really you are just enjoying the bubbles, even if they have made your suit fill with air in an embarrassing location. And realize that they haven't said anything to YOU either, and now it's just an embarassing farce the likes of which Mr Bean would be proud.
Then the cute blonde in the black string bikini says "You here for the class?" But what I hear is "MMm Mmmmm m mm mMM?" Bubbles, you know. And I say: "What?" She repeats, and I say 'Which class?" And she goes "What?" Still the bubbles. (assume that every question and answer from here on out had at least one set of WHAT? and Ohhhhh.'s )
She answered "Meth" and I said "Beth," thinking that she had given me *her* name
instead of the class name, and that was darn easy. And then she said "Methamphetamines." and I thought that was a funny name. And then Pink flower string bikini said "We learned how to make meth today in class." which is something I didn't realize they had classes for. But no, they were learning how to deal with meth addicts, and as a bonus they learned how to make meth. I asked where they were from, and they told me. Mrmemmemr, IL. Or IN. It's on the border.
Then to PaleGuy, BlackSuit says: "where ARE they?" Long story short, they sent out two of their buddies to get beer in their car one and a half hours previously. And still no word; at least no word since they called saying they had hit a culvert, and where was the insurance card. But these guys were jokers, and played inappropriate pranks at work all the time, so my crew (finishing off the beer here, and getting more and more irked,) was pretty sure that Manny and Mo were in a bar. In the county car. Which was a no-no. Especially after the previous night, when shennanigans had ensued. So Flowers, BlackSuit, and PaleGuy were getting more and more irritated, and trying to track them down. Checking their room (no luck) Calling their cells (no answer,) even paging them. Finally PaleGuy had had enough - he called the police to see if there had really been an accident. To hell with them; if they got pulled over as a result of his call (and drinking was involved) then so be it.
Then they walked in, just when PaleGuy got the call from the sherriff's dept confirming the accident. Oops. All that energy wasted on cussin their names, SURE that they had found a good bar. And they really *had* hit a culvert, avoiding someone in the rain. Worst thing - they didn't have the beer.
About then Cindy showed up, booting us out of the pool area. She had let us stay an extra 30 minutes, possibly because of me. As she said to me later, paraphrasing, "it's not often that you're sharing the hot tub with people WORTH sharing it with."
So, long story short: did I get a name, number, or some other form of ID? No, of course not. Except for my new friend Meth. But I did get to spend an hour in the hot tub with two (potentially) pretty blondes from MememMMer, IL, and then write a RIDICULOUSLY long blog entry. So that makes it a nice night.
