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My “WTF is wrong with you?” brain and the hotel experience . . . LAWD!

Upon entering hotel, sniff. If the hotel smells funny, a little nitty-ass irritating squeaky little fucker in brain thinks, “Hmmm, what’s that? Are they not cleaning the hotel regularly?” Then do a visual once-over, glancing around lobby and desk area, and if clean and sparkly, sigh with relief and check in. Also, the once-over is to check for Weirdo Men. Weirdo Men are men who will try to catch your name and room number and then follow you to the elevator and then to your room, whereupon they turn into maniacs who push you into room and have their way with you and then . . . then .  . .  *don’t think about it.* It can happen, that little squeaky-voiced feker says.

After check-in, and no one pays you any mind except for that one dude who grins at you and says, “Evening,” and you smile fetchingly and say, “Evening,” and the squeaky voiced pecker-head says, “The handsome friendly ones are the maniacs, you fool!,” you enter room, notice scent. If not fresh, then see above. If fresh, sigh with relief and a La Tee Dah air of comfort.

Luggage must go on top of something—in the case there are verminy critters running around, you don’t want them climbing into your luggage and setting up residence, where they will happily make a new home once you arrive back at the little log house. Lawd! Little bastard vermins. Even if the hotel is sparkly clean, a “nice” hotel, vermin are sneaky little shitters. Remember reading how even five-star hotels with 2000 thread-count sheets have been cited for vermin. Yeah. You read that somewhere. Uh hunn, and heard it on the news! Yeah.

*maniac played, unwillingly and unknowingly, by Charles Mills*

Check under the bed—sigh with relief if the bed is one of those kinds where nothing or no one can get under them. Check the closet—maybe a maniac is hiding in there. Try to ignore the thought that if a maniac IS hiding in there, as soon as you open the closet he will jump out and maniac your ass to a bloody pulp.

Go to bathroom, look around. Notice things and nod head in satisfaction. Pee. Hope toilet seat is as clean as it looks. Look in shower—better not be any gunky crap or else feet will tingle when in shower because you will imagine invisible nasties crawling onto feet from the shower floor.

Back in the main room, pull back covers and inspect sheets. Are they a crisp blinding white? Well, they better be! Wait! Are those pillow cases wrinkled? Wrinkled from someone else’s head? There’s about six pillows on that bed. Maybe the cleaning crew was mixed up and only thought they changed all of the pillow cases—sniff test. Ewwwww! Two of them smell like someone’s head. You do not sleep on head-scented pillow cases! Ewww! Throw the two pillows that smell heady on the floor so won’t accidentally grab them in the night and hold them close. Use un-heady scented pillows. Sniff sheets—you never know; smile with relief when they smell fresh. Ahh.

You usually wipe the remote with anti-bacterial wipes or lotion, but! you saw this genius solution on a rerun of the sitcom “Til Death”—it was supposed to be “funny” as in “this dude is really freaking nuts” kind of funny, but your pea-headed brain went, “OHHH! Hooya!” Take a baggie, pick up the remote with the baggie, turn it inside out to where hotel remote is in baggie, and you can push the buttons through the plastic, never once having to touch nasty old remote. Ha! Yeah you are so clever!

Time for beddy-bye! BUT! OH NO! LAWD! LAWD! Sheet inspection isn’t over. You must remember to wake around the magical hour of between 2AM and 3AM—anywhere in that time-span—to quietly grab your cellphone, gently lift the covers and AHA! Shine the cell light on the sheets where your legs are to make sure no bedbugs are there, because somewhere you read, and saw on the news, or someone told you, that the magical hour for bedbugs is around 2AM. Sigh with relief when all is well. Sleep comes easy.

Alien Seed Pod Pouch! LAWD!

Then the dreams come.  About aliens who live in the mattress and scare the bejeebus out of you, then have a dream within a dream where you wake and say, “Whew, glad that mattress alien was only a dream,” and suddenly! The mattress moves and undulates—“AAAUUGGH! It IS real! There IS a hotel mattress alien! AHHHHHHGGGHHH!” Wake up again, for real, sigh with relief that there are no hotel mattress-living aliens that look strangely like weird babies with high intelligence who look at you askance and as if you are “not quite right.”

Push one of the heady pillows over the light coming from the door, and the other heady pillow over the clock light. Finally fall into exhausted sleep.

Morning comes.  You rise. No aliens, vermin, critters, heady pillows, or maniacs have entered the blissful sanctum of your hotel room.

Take shower. Come out of bathroom nekkid. Wait! Can people see into your room through the spy-hole? Omg! Next time remember to bring a piece of tape to put over the spy hole. Grin.

Check out. Hope nothing but your own luggage and personal germs have left with you.

What? Who me?

Think, while flying down the interstate with the music blaring and wind tossing your hair: You are one cray-cray bitch, Miss Kathryn Magendie. One completely cray-cray bitch.

But you don’t care.

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