Spotty Logic (spottylogic) wrote,
Spotty Logic
spottylogic

Back! Yay!

Impressionist travelogue, sans furries, follows...


Monday, June 28: 5:30 PM:

Bosses (sweet, sweet, 50-something women) settle into rented Blazer. One rides in back seat, the other drives, leaving me in front passenger. Mood is slightly awkward. Redemption: sdocat introduced me to a great tex-mex dive, Jalisco, everyone enjoys their meal immensely.

9:30 PM: Hotel room. I have decided to set a trap for the Gideons. I have removed my bible and left it on the cleaning cart. I will "sleep" with one eye partly open, and catch them when they come out from underneath my bed.

Tuesday, June 29, 8:30 AM:
There is no button for the elevator on this floor, only a phone. This is not XY friendly. (Wednesday addendum: Boss points button out to me. Doh.)

2:30: Packing material conference over for the day. Not sure what to do. Do I curl up with a book? Shall I eat a peach? I don't feel comfortable just sitting around at $15/hour. Protestant work ethics become problematic out of town.

I have interacted with only two males in the last eight hours. Educational publishing plays havok with gender balance.

4:30: Bosses take me shopping with them. First to Borders, then to "Bed, Bath and Beyond." Boss says, "You're a saint. My husband won't come shopping with me."

Fuck it. (throws away Man Card [tm])

Trip to Saks 5th Avenue vetoed, thank you.

8:15: It's wet, cool, sodden air. Everything in Houston is covered with a glaze of rain water, like winter fog. Even the moon is hazed by the damp air. Winter in July.

8:45: Borders Books Score! "Saturday Night Hay Fever: Bluegrass Bands Cover Disco Hits." ("YES" fist in air!) And a bound leather edition of ALL the "OZ" novels by Baum.

9:15: Walking back to hotel. Found a fairy ring--not a big thing, a dozen white mushrooms in a rough circle. Stepped in it. No missing time. May be slightly more scatterbrained, though.

10:45: Walked to nearby theater to see Farenheit 9/11. My spirit animal is on the wide screen before the movie. No, not a hyena. The dancing old guy from the Six Flags commercial. Contextually inappropriate.

10:47: Farenheit 9/11 starting up. I'm 250 miles from home, watching this alone on my aisle. This is a date flick--not because it's a feel-good or the guy gets the girl after a string of touching, awkward twits and complications, but because I'll really want to cling to someone during it, and it's wretched having your stomach torn out without someone to stare in shocked horror with.

10:50: OMG, Webber's Phantom of the Opera, The Movie. I need to change pants. Bless you, Shumacher.

11:05: Hearing the sounds of the trade center again--I'd repressed that.

Wednesday, June 30, 12:05: This is a relentless crystalization of all that was, is, dark and evil about the last four years. Rhetorically it cheats, but most effective. I wanted to vomit at 10:00, not fealing much better.

1:10: My grandparents once sat around, chatting about politics, and the old saw about "vote republican: it's easier than thinking" came up. The table, republicans all, agreed. I want a cookie.

1:30: The bathroom light fixture in this hotel room flashes like a camera before turning on, and the toilet flush is this sudden, roaring torrent. This makes the "stumble into the bathroom and back without actually waking up" thing impossible. And the toilet seat is 10 inches off the ground, which is startling.

8:00: "Our special exfoliant boath towels and wash cloths are made of the finest burlap and loofah blend! Used by woodworkers and joiners around the world, these fine products will gently caress away your sharp eduges. Available at two-star hotels around the world!"

8:45 PM: Belting out "Time in a Bottle" and "The Wind They Call Mariah" with my bosses. This amuses.
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