As if writing isn't already enough of a self-imposed hell, I caught wind from Marjorie M. Liu's blog about the Three Day Novel Contest.
Obsessive? Yes.
Compulsive? Probably.
Crazy? Without a doubt.
Still, it sounds fun in that insane-sorta-way most authors seem to view the world. I'll be working at the stables all day, but the idea of super-gluing my ass to the computer desk for 72 hours holds a hint of merit to me.
When all other motivational tactics fail, delve into insane-self-torture tactics, I suppose. To any taking the task on, good luck. May your muse be a chatter box and may your coffee be black.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Unprofessional
For some unknown reason, this has been popping through my mind a lot lately, and Jaye only seemed to reinforce the thought with her post on slogans today, so I figured I'd give in to the urge to blog it.
Do we all know how the names Cook, Carpenter, and Smith originated? Surnames based on profession. So what about unprofessional surnames? Let's pretend all surnames originate from either a person's job or personality. What would you surname say about you?
My surname is Basham
1. professional boxer
2. person with rather violent outward tendencies
Any interesting surnames you've heard that make you wonder?
(Anyone who doesn't feel comfortable posting their surname may either just post the profession/trait, or use surnames they've heard)
Do we all know how the names Cook, Carpenter, and Smith originated? Surnames based on profession. So what about unprofessional surnames? Let's pretend all surnames originate from either a person's job or personality. What would you surname say about you?
My surname is Basham
1. professional boxer
2. person with rather violent outward tendencies
Any interesting surnames you've heard that make you wonder?
(Anyone who doesn't feel comfortable posting their surname may either just post the profession/trait, or use surnames they've heard)
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Puritanical Indentured Servitude
Props to Mignon for supplying the idea for the title.
Surprisingly, my so-called indentured servitude was not as bad as I'd imagined it would be. It was a few degrees under sweltering with humidity about 10% under sauna level, but at least we weren't hit by the severe thunderstorms forecasted.
The "paintball" group turned out to be a spin-off from D&D. We were greeted by a "witch" in some none-too-appealing garb, who politely informed us they'd be running around the property wailing on eachother with foam swords, but to just ignore them because we didn't exist in their world...unless we were monsters trying to attack them (which I rather fancied the idea of).
Ms. Witchy was actually an alum of my University, which seemed a slight embarrassment to Ms. Ditz. She threw a few satchels of birdseed at us ("spells") and was ready to depart when a Knight in Shining Armor strode up. We heard the clanking from a ways away and one of the girls commented, "Wow, he looks hot." She'll never live that down, even though the man was likely more than twice her 18-years-of-age and she meant "sweaty in all that armor" not "wow his sword is long."
Sir Knight allowed us to wail on him for a bit with his foam sword, saying it was good practice for his upcoming "duel to the death" against two ogres. Nothing personal, but my money would be on Shrek & Fiona. Especially if Donkey was there.
The majority of my group (apart from the 2 instructors) are 18-year-old freshmen who were a little harsh with comments about how they "wouldn't be caught dead running around with a foam sword fighting Ogres in their forties." I was a little pissed that the instructors didn't back me up in my comments of, "everyone has little quirks and odd hobbies - it's not like they wear that garb to work. They've been very nice to us and not been disrespectful to us in any way (with an unvoiced 'we should return the favor')" Matter of fact, Ms. Ditz was among the girls making comments about "crazies" and "weirdos."
Everyone has their own thing they do for fun. I wasn't about to make snide comments about a group of people who had been perfectly nice to us, even let us wail on them with swords. Although I will say this, I had an unresistable urge to quote Monty Python. In particular, "We are the Knights who say NI!"
So psyched about my trip up to Pittsburgh to see Spamalot, but that's a story for another night.
Surprisingly, my so-called indentured servitude was not as bad as I'd imagined it would be. It was a few degrees under sweltering with humidity about 10% under sauna level, but at least we weren't hit by the severe thunderstorms forecasted.
The "paintball" group turned out to be a spin-off from D&D. We were greeted by a "witch" in some none-too-appealing garb, who politely informed us they'd be running around the property wailing on eachother with foam swords, but to just ignore them because we didn't exist in their world...unless we were monsters trying to attack them (which I rather fancied the idea of).
Ms. Witchy was actually an alum of my University, which seemed a slight embarrassment to Ms. Ditz. She threw a few satchels of birdseed at us ("spells") and was ready to depart when a Knight in Shining Armor strode up. We heard the clanking from a ways away and one of the girls commented, "Wow, he looks hot." She'll never live that down, even though the man was likely more than twice her 18-years-of-age and she meant "sweaty in all that armor" not "wow his sword is long."
Sir Knight allowed us to wail on him for a bit with his foam sword, saying it was good practice for his upcoming "duel to the death" against two ogres. Nothing personal, but my money would be on Shrek & Fiona. Especially if Donkey was there.
The majority of my group (apart from the 2 instructors) are 18-year-old freshmen who were a little harsh with comments about how they "wouldn't be caught dead running around with a foam sword fighting Ogres in their forties." I was a little pissed that the instructors didn't back me up in my comments of, "everyone has little quirks and odd hobbies - it's not like they wear that garb to work. They've been very nice to us and not been disrespectful to us in any way (with an unvoiced 'we should return the favor')" Matter of fact, Ms. Ditz was among the girls making comments about "crazies" and "weirdos."
Everyone has their own thing they do for fun. I wasn't about to make snide comments about a group of people who had been perfectly nice to us, even let us wail on them with swords. Although I will say this, I had an unresistable urge to quote Monty Python. In particular, "We are the Knights who say NI!"
So psyched about my trip up to Pittsburgh to see Spamalot, but that's a story for another night.
Friday, August 25, 2006
New Student Disorientation
Or maybe it was orientation? Only thing I'm sure of is I took the long way back to my car and didn't even realize until turning back to the short cut would've been longer than the scenic route.
Today I learned the Alma Mater. It was lead by the head of the English department, who will probably end up being my advisor. She's a jovial woman with a wonderful singing voice and a bright red mullet. In fact, two of the professors who spoke today sported a Mississippi Mud-Flap. Doesn't do much in the way of my attempts to convince dormers that we local commuters are not inbred hicks running through the woods with guns in lieu of any better pastime because inebriation has left us impotent.
Speaking of hicks with guns. (what a segue) Tomorrow we're volunteering to clean up a local girl scout camp. That is, we're being forced to volunteer, so I think it counts more as slave labor, but it gives us one of the 16 health credits we need to achieve before graduating.
My FYS instructor is a tad ditzy. I'm not sure what her exact role at the University is, but I have gleamed they don't find her competent enough to teach a real class. She may be an alum.
Anywho, Madame Ditzy was speaking quite exuberantly about our forced-volunteer work tomorrow. (as a side note, I have nothing against volunteering, I do it quite often, but I prefer to choose when and where - I was supposed to be at work today and yesterday, but Thursday I stumbled upon the knowledge that all First Year Students must be present Fri & Sat....or suffer the horrid consequences...I guess) (sorry, went off track again - back to the point-) Apparently, she imparted, "there is a group of locals who have rented out the site and will be running through the woods trying to shoot eachother." Anyone seen Deliverance? I could nearly hear the banjo pickings in my classmates' imaginations. Not to worry, however, because they'll be in a different area than us. One suddenly pasty freshman asked if we would be provided protection against stray bullets. "Oh, no!" Madame Ditz assured her, "They're not using real guns....oh, wait....no....the guns are real....but the bullets aren't? Something. It's a game - that's why they're shooting eachother."
As much as I was enjoying the looks of terror, I didn't want to be the only one from my class to show up for Egyptian Slave Labor tomorrow, so I supplied "paintball." *sigh* "What fools these mortals be."
Today I learned the Alma Mater. It was lead by the head of the English department, who will probably end up being my advisor. She's a jovial woman with a wonderful singing voice and a bright red mullet. In fact, two of the professors who spoke today sported a Mississippi Mud-Flap. Doesn't do much in the way of my attempts to convince dormers that we local commuters are not inbred hicks running through the woods with guns in lieu of any better pastime because inebriation has left us impotent.
Speaking of hicks with guns. (what a segue) Tomorrow we're volunteering to clean up a local girl scout camp. That is, we're being forced to volunteer, so I think it counts more as slave labor, but it gives us one of the 16 health credits we need to achieve before graduating.
My FYS instructor is a tad ditzy. I'm not sure what her exact role at the University is, but I have gleamed they don't find her competent enough to teach a real class. She may be an alum.
Anywho, Madame Ditzy was speaking quite exuberantly about our forced-volunteer work tomorrow. (as a side note, I have nothing against volunteering, I do it quite often, but I prefer to choose when and where - I was supposed to be at work today and yesterday, but Thursday I stumbled upon the knowledge that all First Year Students must be present Fri & Sat....or suffer the horrid consequences...I guess) (sorry, went off track again - back to the point-) Apparently, she imparted, "there is a group of locals who have rented out the site and will be running through the woods trying to shoot eachother." Anyone seen Deliverance? I could nearly hear the banjo pickings in my classmates' imaginations. Not to worry, however, because they'll be in a different area than us. One suddenly pasty freshman asked if we would be provided protection against stray bullets. "Oh, no!" Madame Ditz assured her, "They're not using real guns....oh, wait....no....the guns are real....but the bullets aren't? Something. It's a game - that's why they're shooting eachother."
As much as I was enjoying the looks of terror, I didn't want to be the only one from my class to show up for Egyptian Slave Labor tomorrow, so I supplied "paintball." *sigh* "What fools these mortals be."
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Hard Riding for Hardly a Rider
Horse Lover's Camp is over. Can I get a *woot!*? It's almost odd not having the little ratkins scampering all over this week. No teary-eyed pre-teens coming up to me and stuttering, "Um....Cody caught a baby rabbit."
File under "Reason's I'm going to hell" - I did get slight enjoyment over telling the girl it was probably too late to do anything for the rabbit. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad for the baby bunny, but the girl was an irritating brat.
The volunteers have been persistently asking me if I'll be returning to my dream job of hit-woman now that I'm going down to part-time at the stables. I can only assume they have work for me by the frequency of their curiosity.
Last Sunday, to celebrate the end of camp, we had a party for the three staff members and ump-teen-something volunteers. We were supposed to chill out, eat some food, play horsey games (like stable style Jeopardy). Instead, I nibbled some snacks, then was dragged around by an exuberant 11year-old as we played a trivia scavenger hunt game. We're given a note card with a question on it, which will lead us to another note card with a question on it, which we need to look-up the answer to (if we don't know it) so we can receive another note card with a question on it. I wasn't thrilled with the cycle of running back and forth across the acreage when this was supposed to be a day off.
After the savager hunt, we went riding. I love riding, but I'd been told we wouldn't be riding that afternoon, so I wore a cotton tank with a bra built in, ala-WalMart. Not the best support option for a double-D girl riding a horse who likes to trot.
As much as I do enjoy riding, I don't get to do it very often, and I rode hard for someone not accustomed to it. My boobs hurt. Every woman there came up to me afterwards and said I was a braver woman than they. Bravery, stupidity - funny how often those two can be confused. I also feel like I've been doing splits. No more cantering for me for a while. I did go down trail today, although I think I lost my kneecaps somewhere out in the woods.
Got me thinking how people think they're in shape, even people who exercise every day & stick to a rigid diet. If you're not accustomed to certain things, your muscles will let you know the next morning. Muscles you didn't know you had, and had certainly never thought of working out before. It's been a while since my thighs have had a good pounding, but I guess now I'll just be in better shape for the next time I get into some rigorous sex. Or cantering. Whichever.
Any muscles you were recently reminded of that you rarely use?
File under "Reason's I'm going to hell" - I did get slight enjoyment over telling the girl it was probably too late to do anything for the rabbit. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad for the baby bunny, but the girl was an irritating brat.
The volunteers have been persistently asking me if I'll be returning to my dream job of hit-woman now that I'm going down to part-time at the stables. I can only assume they have work for me by the frequency of their curiosity.
Last Sunday, to celebrate the end of camp, we had a party for the three staff members and ump-teen-something volunteers. We were supposed to chill out, eat some food, play horsey games (like stable style Jeopardy). Instead, I nibbled some snacks, then was dragged around by an exuberant 11year-old as we played a trivia scavenger hunt game. We're given a note card with a question on it, which will lead us to another note card with a question on it, which we need to look-up the answer to (if we don't know it) so we can receive another note card with a question on it. I wasn't thrilled with the cycle of running back and forth across the acreage when this was supposed to be a day off.
After the savager hunt, we went riding. I love riding, but I'd been told we wouldn't be riding that afternoon, so I wore a cotton tank with a bra built in, ala-WalMart. Not the best support option for a double-D girl riding a horse who likes to trot.
As much as I do enjoy riding, I don't get to do it very often, and I rode hard for someone not accustomed to it. My boobs hurt. Every woman there came up to me afterwards and said I was a braver woman than they. Bravery, stupidity - funny how often those two can be confused. I also feel like I've been doing splits. No more cantering for me for a while. I did go down trail today, although I think I lost my kneecaps somewhere out in the woods.
Got me thinking how people think they're in shape, even people who exercise every day & stick to a rigid diet. If you're not accustomed to certain things, your muscles will let you know the next morning. Muscles you didn't know you had, and had certainly never thought of working out before. It's been a while since my thighs have had a good pounding, but I guess now I'll just be in better shape for the next time I get into some rigorous sex. Or cantering. Whichever.
Any muscles you were recently reminded of that you rarely use?
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Beautiful and Terrifying
Today is the one year anniversary of my Gram moving into the house we now occupy. I remember how beautiful I thought the house was...and how terrified Gram was about the decision she had made.
Today, by no design but chance, I found myself in quite a similar situation.
I'm going back to school. After a few years of sitting on my tush ho-humming over my options, some magical little motivation bug flew by and stung me in the ass.
I've been sloughing through Financial Aid forms for the past few months. I wanted to be certain I could afford college before I registered for classes. Now that I'm home from vacation, my summer job is winding down, and I awoke to the shock of crunch time. Classes start in less than two weeks.
Yesterday I called Financial Aid, who did not return my call. Today, I got through and was told it's not too late to finalize for the fall semester (that shivering, wide-eyed child in me was hoping I'd passed the deadline by *accident*) (because I feel less lazy if I qualify lack of motivation as an accident of timing).
After work, I drove down to the University campus for a few hours. I paid my deposit - the last step I'd been putting off - because putting forth my own money finalizes things in a way signing forms doesn't. A chipper young girl in capri's walked me to the dean's office to meet with her in lieu of an academic advisor.
Bouncy little sunshine tried to make conversation. I tried to breathe. The summer campus overcomes you with a warm-brick heat from the surrounding buildings. Trees bloom lush and vibrant while grass wilts under co-ed picnics. I couldn't help but think how beautiful the campus is, and what a monument this journey I'm embarking on is, and cripe if my heart wasn't about to burst through my chest. I don't recall the last time I was so nervous. Probably on a roller-coaster, except in that case I had the assurance of a safety bar and the knowledge if I hated it, the ride would be over in under five minutes. Not to mention the cost of that particular adventure ride is a drop in the bucket.
The dean was very nice, and oddly complimentary. Not that she was sucking up, just that I felt edgy and uncomfortable as she commented, almost to herself, how good my SAT scores were. I smiled meekly and bit my tongue to hold back from saying that was years ago. She wanted to put me in calculus, my god! I do enjoy math, and I'd like to take calculus...eventually. But the last time I took a math course was half a decade ago, and it was only pre-calculus. I could use a refresher.
Calculus is waiting a semester, while I get used to learning again. I'm enrolled in some honors English course with a focus on professional writing. I told her she can dump me in as many English classes as she can find if I can skip the History class. I also made a bid for 21st century history, but was stuck with just 20th century.
All in all, a very productive (while still terrifying) afternoon. I have a shiny new photo ID which will never see the light of day because the picture makes me look like I have black eyes. I have a $216 voucher for books I'll try to pick up tomorrow. Also tomorrow, I need to make an appointment to get my college shots. Not looking forward to that.
Class starts the 28th. I'm an English Major until I decide otherwise. I'll keep you updated as soon as the nervous breakdown subsides. Gram and I are celebrating tonight with a bottle of Champagne: to new beginnings when most people think they're too old to take the chance.
Today, by no design but chance, I found myself in quite a similar situation.
I'm going back to school. After a few years of sitting on my tush ho-humming over my options, some magical little motivation bug flew by and stung me in the ass.
I've been sloughing through Financial Aid forms for the past few months. I wanted to be certain I could afford college before I registered for classes. Now that I'm home from vacation, my summer job is winding down, and I awoke to the shock of crunch time. Classes start in less than two weeks.
Yesterday I called Financial Aid, who did not return my call. Today, I got through and was told it's not too late to finalize for the fall semester (that shivering, wide-eyed child in me was hoping I'd passed the deadline by *accident*) (because I feel less lazy if I qualify lack of motivation as an accident of timing).
After work, I drove down to the University campus for a few hours. I paid my deposit - the last step I'd been putting off - because putting forth my own money finalizes things in a way signing forms doesn't. A chipper young girl in capri's walked me to the dean's office to meet with her in lieu of an academic advisor.
Bouncy little sunshine tried to make conversation. I tried to breathe. The summer campus overcomes you with a warm-brick heat from the surrounding buildings. Trees bloom lush and vibrant while grass wilts under co-ed picnics. I couldn't help but think how beautiful the campus is, and what a monument this journey I'm embarking on is, and cripe if my heart wasn't about to burst through my chest. I don't recall the last time I was so nervous. Probably on a roller-coaster, except in that case I had the assurance of a safety bar and the knowledge if I hated it, the ride would be over in under five minutes. Not to mention the cost of that particular adventure ride is a drop in the bucket.
The dean was very nice, and oddly complimentary. Not that she was sucking up, just that I felt edgy and uncomfortable as she commented, almost to herself, how good my SAT scores were. I smiled meekly and bit my tongue to hold back from saying that was years ago. She wanted to put me in calculus, my god! I do enjoy math, and I'd like to take calculus...eventually. But the last time I took a math course was half a decade ago, and it was only pre-calculus. I could use a refresher.
Calculus is waiting a semester, while I get used to learning again. I'm enrolled in some honors English course with a focus on professional writing. I told her she can dump me in as many English classes as she can find if I can skip the History class. I also made a bid for 21st century history, but was stuck with just 20th century.
All in all, a very productive (while still terrifying) afternoon. I have a shiny new photo ID which will never see the light of day because the picture makes me look like I have black eyes. I have a $216 voucher for books I'll try to pick up tomorrow. Also tomorrow, I need to make an appointment to get my college shots. Not looking forward to that.
Class starts the 28th. I'm an English Major until I decide otherwise. I'll keep you updated as soon as the nervous breakdown subsides. Gram and I are celebrating tonight with a bottle of Champagne: to new beginnings when most people think they're too old to take the chance.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Pandemonium
Okay, yes, I'm sorry. I know I've been sorely remiss in posting lately. Part of the reason is I'm busy, I haven't had a day off since my vacation - not that I'm complaining, although getting stomped on my Cappy wasn't anything worth celebrating. The other reason is, having my foot trampled and being shit on by a baby chick are about the two biggest news headlines in my life at the moment.
SO, to make up for the lack of drama, I'm posting a story of mayhem from my trip to the RWA conference in Atlanta about a week back.
On the last day of the conference, a luncheon was held with Christina Dodd as the keynote speaker. She was nice enough to set a bundle of 2 of her books and a cute little notebook on each seat. My bag was already stuffed to seam-stretching capacity from book signings, so I had to carry these three latest conquests.
Immediately after the luncheon, I had a workshop, and the luncheon ran a little late. I had to pee more than a woman in her final trimester & flew to the women's bathroom before my workshop, but there was a line out both doors.
I fidgeted, squirmed, and maybe whimpered a little, because I caught the attention of the man standing in the intersecting line for a book signing. He suggested I run across to the men's restroom which did not have a line. I said I'd love to if he'd pop in & make sure it was empty. Which he graciously agreed to as long as his space in line was saved.
So, I scamper over to the men's room with two other ladies from the line. Our hero in the pink shirt informed us there was a man in the bathroom, but I told him to just let us know when he was done. A lamenting look crossed his face as he said, "He has a newspaper in there with him - I think he's in for the long haul."
I cracked the door just enough to call in, "Excuse me, sir? Could you please hurry up a little, or pinch it off or something? We really have to pee!"
The hero in pink doubled over & turned red, my two co-conspirators from the line to the ladies room almost bailed from shock and embarrassment, but my straining bladder didn't afford me tight lips.
After a moment, we sent the man in pick back into the restroom to ask the man with the Times if he'd mind us coming in to use the stalls. Despite my somewhat snide comment, he kindly said he wouldn't mind (or call hotel security on us).
There were two stalls still available, which meant one woman was standing at the sink talking to the other two when a man waltzed in to use a urinal. (there were two doors into the bathroom & the hero in pink was standing guard at the wrong one, apparently) I was in the stall, but story is a look of terror blanched his features & he turned tail in a hurry. I just hope he realized we were women & hadn't thought we were drag queens or something. You'd figure a man would be curious about women in the men's room, not terrified to a point of paleness.
Business done, we thanked the man with the Times & I ran to my workshop (barefoot, because my feet were quite unhappy over my choice in footwear of the previous day).
Bundling up my belongings as the workshop finished up, I realized I was missing the Christina Dodd books I'd received at the Luncheon.
In a hotel brimming with 2200 women, it's damn hard to find a man who isn't busy. I finally grabbed hold of a bell hop & asked, "Excuse me, could you please do me a favor?"
"Sure, what do ya need?"
"I need you to go get some books out of the bathroom for me."
*look of skepticism*
"No, no - the MEN'S bathroom!"
*look of skepticism deepens, blends with confusion, and just a hint of fear*
Good news is, I got my books back - bad news is, the bell hop had to tell his friends, plus - some of my roomies saw me thanking him for bringing me books out of the men's bathroom and had to ask.
Also, this same bell hop just happened to be standing around the luggage rack the next morning as I was checking out & felt it necessary if I'd managed to "stay out of trouble - and men's bathrooms" which of course was overheard by his buddies.
I seem to have acquired a certain reputation at the Atlanta Marriott, among other places. Good thing con won't be back there for a while yet.
SO, to make up for the lack of drama, I'm posting a story of mayhem from my trip to the RWA conference in Atlanta about a week back.
On the last day of the conference, a luncheon was held with Christina Dodd as the keynote speaker. She was nice enough to set a bundle of 2 of her books and a cute little notebook on each seat. My bag was already stuffed to seam-stretching capacity from book signings, so I had to carry these three latest conquests.
Immediately after the luncheon, I had a workshop, and the luncheon ran a little late. I had to pee more than a woman in her final trimester & flew to the women's bathroom before my workshop, but there was a line out both doors.
I fidgeted, squirmed, and maybe whimpered a little, because I caught the attention of the man standing in the intersecting line for a book signing. He suggested I run across to the men's restroom which did not have a line. I said I'd love to if he'd pop in & make sure it was empty. Which he graciously agreed to as long as his space in line was saved.
So, I scamper over to the men's room with two other ladies from the line. Our hero in the pink shirt informed us there was a man in the bathroom, but I told him to just let us know when he was done. A lamenting look crossed his face as he said, "He has a newspaper in there with him - I think he's in for the long haul."
I cracked the door just enough to call in, "Excuse me, sir? Could you please hurry up a little, or pinch it off or something? We really have to pee!"
The hero in pink doubled over & turned red, my two co-conspirators from the line to the ladies room almost bailed from shock and embarrassment, but my straining bladder didn't afford me tight lips.
After a moment, we sent the man in pick back into the restroom to ask the man with the Times if he'd mind us coming in to use the stalls. Despite my somewhat snide comment, he kindly said he wouldn't mind (or call hotel security on us).
There were two stalls still available, which meant one woman was standing at the sink talking to the other two when a man waltzed in to use a urinal. (there were two doors into the bathroom & the hero in pink was standing guard at the wrong one, apparently) I was in the stall, but story is a look of terror blanched his features & he turned tail in a hurry. I just hope he realized we were women & hadn't thought we were drag queens or something. You'd figure a man would be curious about women in the men's room, not terrified to a point of paleness.
Business done, we thanked the man with the Times & I ran to my workshop (barefoot, because my feet were quite unhappy over my choice in footwear of the previous day).
Bundling up my belongings as the workshop finished up, I realized I was missing the Christina Dodd books I'd received at the Luncheon.
In a hotel brimming with 2200 women, it's damn hard to find a man who isn't busy. I finally grabbed hold of a bell hop & asked, "Excuse me, could you please do me a favor?"
"Sure, what do ya need?"
"I need you to go get some books out of the bathroom for me."
*look of skepticism*
"No, no - the MEN'S bathroom!"
*look of skepticism deepens, blends with confusion, and just a hint of fear*
Good news is, I got my books back - bad news is, the bell hop had to tell his friends, plus - some of my roomies saw me thanking him for bringing me books out of the men's bathroom and had to ask.
Also, this same bell hop just happened to be standing around the luggage rack the next morning as I was checking out & felt it necessary if I'd managed to "stay out of trouble - and men's bathrooms" which of course was overheard by his buddies.
I seem to have acquired a certain reputation at the Atlanta Marriott, among other places. Good thing con won't be back there for a while yet.
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