I am such a hug hungry person. I used to get hugs dozens of times a day from my mother and father. I still get them occasionally-- when I leave in the morning, when I get back in the evening, when I feel lonely and ask, when they feel lonely and ask. Working like this makes me even more lonely. I see dozens of people each day that I'd like to ask to hug me. There was a woman today I wished I could ask. She was an older lady with red graying hair and big breasts. She smelled nice and had a very passionate voice that made me smile and scrunch my eyebrows. I really wanted to reach out and squeeze her. My chest gets achy sometimes and when that happens I really start to itch for a hug. I need to feel someone's chest up against mine. I imagine I have a leaky cup in my chest. After a while everything drips out and it gets empty and someone else needs to get close and hug me and pour a little of their love into my leaky heart. It's so silly but it's how I've imagined my heart since I was an itty bitty thing. It was probably something my mother told me.

The guy that works night audit, everyone calls him the drill sergeant, he's someone I wish would hug me right now. A few days ago I had to deal with a creepy character. I mean REAL creepy. The guy was a doctor and a major pain in the ass. He was constantly calling down to the desk and having me do errands for him-- find this phone number, bring this, fix this, etc, etc. After spending about half an hour in his room, alone with him as he stared at my ass, slowly moved closer, asked “what’s your sign?”, “how old are you?”, “when do you get off?”, I went back down stairs with just a few bare minutes left in my shift. That’s when he called down yet again, this time asking me to bring him up a few items. I went over to the drill sergeant and told him that I had to go deliver for the creep, and that if I wasn’t back in just a few minutes, come save me. Well, with a wonderfully gruff muttering voice he told me that he was gonna go “set that sonofabitch straight”. I could of hugged him. And today, he told me I did a good job, that he appreciated me… I would like to hug him. I want to hug people that are nice to me, who feel good things…. I need a hug.

Holiday pay must not make a lot of sense to some employers.

I understand paying employees time and a half on some holidays that they would rather spend with family and friends. You know, some people have people and religions and... stuff.

I understand that for some job positions the holidays are insanely busy and frantic. I believe that the kids that work at Kroger’s on the fourth of July and Christmas Eve deserve metals of honor for the work they do.

But what I don't understand is why I'm getting paid time and a half to work at a corporate hotel. The little corporate aren’t working today so why am I? For reasons that boggle the mind, I'm getting paid to sit in my big leather chair and read the Joy Luck Club for the tenth time. I'm getting paid for eating our cookies and blueberry muffins. I'm getting paid for writing this LJ entry at the front desk computer. I'm getting paid for the manicure and pedicure I just gave myself in the back office. I'm getting paid for watching three movies in a row on the big screen TV in the Lobby. I'm getting paid for playing Yahtzee, pinball, and solitaire by myself. I'm getting paid for all the rest of the mischief I can come up with to entertain myself for the next six hours. And I'm going to be getting paid for sitting up on the third floor with my ice tea and watching the fireworks out the hall window.

Tonight I will be paid for answering all of 4 phone calls and checking in 3 guests.

It's just nutty.

Gah. Muhahahahh gah.

Currently at work we’ve got our head housekeeper and two front desk girls away helping sick family members for at least a month and another was just recently fired. At the moment my hotel is being run by my manager and I. That’s it. He works mornings and I work evenings. Neither one of just gets help and if the other gets sick… well… 16 hours days sounds like shit to both of us.

Gah yuck.

But, on the sunny side, I’m going to be pulling in mucho overtime and fun holiday pay today!

Yay!

And on the shady side, I’m also going two weeks without a day off.

Boo.

This all puts me in a very pretty bribe-y position, though. “Bruce, since I’m basically the other half of this hotel for a month… uh… go buy me chocolate”. And he did! So I guess that’s another point for the sunny side.

Check out my (belated) birthday present from my parents…


It’s a 1979 coachman trailer camper! I’ve gone camping in it since I was an itty bitty Kayt and I adore it bunches and bunches. My mum and dad gave me the title to it so it’s all mine… and now I can spiffy it up and pimp it out.

We haven’t gone camping in the camper for a few years now. It’s been folded up and packed away behind our garage, just sitting and waiting.

Today marks my second day off from work and I was about up to you-know-where with the nothing-to-do thing. I mentioned my raging boredom phase to my mum and before I knew what was happening she pulled out the truck and started messing with the camper and dragged me into it. What a pain. I was all clean and pretty and I smelled nice and she was making me dig out bug infested logs and pull at rose bushes to free the camper. But, as it always is with the camper, I got sucked in and took over. I love unpacking and getting all set up. I'm like a freak. The inside smells faintly of mildew and strongly of camp fire smoke. It’s wonderful!



Here is my love in it’s natural environment of mud and rose thorns. There are lots of spiders back there.



The moving process. Here is where I supervise and do lots of authoritative pointing.



Here it is after we had it moved into the garage. It's pseudo-parking spot while it airs out and gets all pimp-ified.



This is my new BESTEST FRIEND EVER! The pressure washer! It’s awesome. I want to clean everything with it!



I’m so proud. See the clean side on the bottom and the dirty on the top? I enjoyed washing a little too much.



And this is my face after being sprayed by the pressure washer. Despite what the smile might lead you on to thinking… it stung like a bitch. And messed up my hair. And I don't have an excuse for the rest.



The clean camper! Notice the key chain (Spark?)?



Random flowers in our garden. You can ignore this picture... it has nothing to do with the rest.



All put together! Ain’t she a beaut!?! I heart her so much. She just needs some sexy patches and some fuzzy dice.



And lastly, a crappy picture of the insides to let you all appreciate the very 70’s feel.

I’m off to go see Serenity with my bro! And i’m wearing a brown shirt with thoughts of all the sweet Browncoats that wont get a chance to see Serenity tonight. And my brown shirt shows off my breasts like “whabam!” with thoughts of all my dirty minded Browncoats that wont get a chance to see Serenity tonight.

Hair depression-- it's a pretty powerful thing... and I was starting to get over it. I had just started to move from the sobbing rage phase to quiet acceptance when I heard my first "though."

Tammy: "You got your hair cut..."
Me: "Hehe, yeah".
Tammy: "It's cute though..."

"Though?" "Though!?!" What?

Translation: "It makes you look like you're a toddler and makes me mostly want to gag, but despite all that I guess it's cute... for a toddler".

Vicki: "You got a hair cut".
Me: "Yup..."
Vicki: "It's not soooooo bad though".

Translation: "That thing on your head... that odd growth with the strange poofage on the left , well, it scares small children and kittens... it's not sooooooo bad though... it doesn’t' t bite."

Go ahead, cut six or seven inches of hair from my head, I can take it... sniffle....

Leave my head alone people! Keep your damn thought’s to yourself!

Fuck though!

Rubble update alert!