I have to move out of my apartment. But I realized it might not be as bad as I thought…

Really, hotel? “Chamber”? Get out of here.

The dress is so pretty you almost dont see the cold sore on her lip.

The US airways agent got on top of the luggage scale to help someone with the check-in machine. I’m gonna need her to drop approximately 24 pounds before proceeding to security checkpoint.

Yes that is my the top of my laptop monitor as I am doing work at the pool of my hotel in Phoenix. I am wearing running shorts as I neglected to bring swim trunks. So I’m about as ghetto as this pool at which I’m sitting. The water is kind of gross and an old man just got in wearing spandex swim trunks. I prefer to stay on the sidelines with this overweight woman next to me who is reading what appears to be a romance novel.

Oscar de la Renta does disco tie-dye “Carrie” style. Not like ‘Carrie’ like Bradshaw. ‘Carrie’ like the 1970’s horror movie with Sissie Spacek.

Prada for Target harajuku grandmas? Disgusting.

In case you woke up this lovely Monday morning and thought to yourself, “Iwant to watch something completely insane today”, I have just the thing.
I blame Nickerson for this. I do not understand this, nor do I have an excuse for watching this video in its entirety. I think I was trying to figure out if she was kidding or not the whole time.
I will never know. Also, I thought the poem was pretty good. And I have no words for the drum finale at the end.

It’s Sunday night and I am sitting in a Marriott in Phoenix, Arizona. I can never go to sleep when I get to a hotel, regardless of time, so I just order the maximum amount of hotel food I can to max out my per diem before bed.
Tonight I got ballsy and ordered the parpadelle. It was a wrong decision. It tasted like barbecue sauce noodle soup, and it came with horseradish dip on the side.
Now, in what part of the world do they eat pasta with horseradish sauce? I thought horseradish sauce was eaten with fried foods, like french fries or catfish. Apparently I am mistaken. I missed the history class when we learned how Arizona is at the forefront of avant garde food pairings.
I didn’t put deodorant on today. I really let myself go when I’m not at work. I took my sweatshirt off on the airplane before landing, and I felt bad for the person next to me. That must have been a punch in the head while he was trying to nap.  It’s kind of like when you’re at the gym and someone gets on the treadmill next to you, and then you have to get off because you can’t effectively run and breathe in the torrent odor at the same time. I’ve almost fallen off treadmills because of this. And I’ve seen people fall off treadmills. Never not funny. 
It doesn’t help that I am wearing the same shirt I haven’t bothered to take out of my suitcase since March. It’s one of those you just crumple in a ball in the corner of the luggage and just pack on top of it, and, like an innertube, when you pull it out and breathe a little air into it, takes its shape again. Zara. Bless.

Anyway, so I am still here. The restaurant is empty, other than me, of course. Over the course of my dinner, there was one other family here. The median age of that family was 70, and I could hear them asking about possibly chilling some medication in the refrigerator. I tried to tune them out but old people talk like they’re trying to tell you something across a crowded room with a live band playing at all times because they forget that they can’t hear anymore. 
Since the restaurant was empty, I had about 5 servers. Every time I took a sip from my spoon, someone asked how my soup was or re-filled my water glass. I would have preferred if they had just sat down with me. I had enough parpadelle left for the entire kitchen, and we could have played a quick game of canasta or something.  

Alas, it’s time for me to go up to my room. This giftshop music is lulling me to sleep. I wonder where they get these CDs. It’s always a collection of people playing piano with a touch of guitar or a synthesized instrument that isn’t really reminscent of any real instrument, but rather just “electronic” or the 1990s. Whenever I hear this kind of music, I feel like I should be surrounded by mylar balloons and ceramic statues of fairies. It reminds me of my candystriping days as a high-schooler. I used to volunteer at the hospital where my dad practices. In addition to working in the gift shop and other important assignments, like stuffing envelopes or delivering flowers, I used to do Bingo at 3pm with ”Bingo Bob” on all of the hospital TV screens. It was my favorite. hosted- I just slotted the numbers onto the board and answered when he would ask me a question on-screen. Afterward, we would go around to the rooms and deliver the prizes to the winners. I would always wait outside the burn unit because seeing peoples’ wounds makes me physically hurt inside, and a walk-through through the burn unit was like riding the Giant Drop on repeat with an ulcer.
But, it’s funny how excited people get about bingo in a hospital. It’s the small things. I guess when you’re surrounded by death at all times, a bit of joy goes a long way. The prizes we gave away were pretty much exciting exclusively for children aged 9 and under- crossword puzzles and other such novelties- but strangely, the faces of people ten times this age lit up when they got their chance to dig into the bag for their prize. And they didn’t even get upset to pull out a plastic airlplane. They would place it on their food tray, always very graciously, and say “see you tomorrow” in hopes of seeing you again, but sometimes with a very genuine sincerety indicating that they weren’t sure if they would. It wasn’t about the prize, but rather just the moment of interaction was enough. The excitement of a visitor, the energy of a live and healthy human being, the sheer warmth of a single kind word. That was enough.
 Humans are so simple sometimes. A little affection can change someone’s day. I loved that job sometimes. And Bingo Bob was like a celebrity because he came ‘all the way’ off the television screen and into their rooms.
We taped in a basement room that I’m sure was leaking asbestos.

Anyway, the cheesecake I ordered didn’t come with whipped cream like it said it would on the menu. But there were strawberries. That made up for it.

Au revoir.

The white house. The ghost tour guide just told us the helicopter we saw earlier was actually president Obama landing back home.
She also said that sometimes the dog comes out into the front lawn to take a dump, so I have my fingers crossed I get in on that action.