"Housekeeping! You want me to...oh HELL no!"

I feel bad for those who work in housekeeping, especially at a hotel. In high school, I dabbled in housekeeping for a summer or two for an inn and for timeshare condominiums. Let me tell you...people are NASTY. Vomit, hair, urine, feces...I've seen it all. Some days I wished I had a HazMat suit and a pressure washer. So why am I telling you this? Well, we were those people on Saturday night.

A large group of us decided to hit up the beach bars in costumes for Halloween festivities. Someone got a hotel suite so we could pre-game and crash there if needed. And boy was it needed. I don't remember much in my tequila haze, but we had people tripping, falling, grabbing crotches, and puking...even before we made it back to the hotel. I ended up with a metal "Private Property" sign hanging around my neck, hugging a hottie from Cincinnati, and wondering where the hell my friends went. Luckily, but hottie-less, I did find my way back to the suite where everyone else had stumbled hours before.

To make a long story short, the suite ended up a disaster. The bedroom and both beds were full. A girl friend and I sandwiched a guy friend of ours on the pull-out couch. Another couple passed out on lounge chairs on the balcony. And the fluids...let's not forget the fluids. There was vomit on the floor of the bathroom, on the floor next to the couch, off the balcony and on three floors below it, in a bucket and in the bathtub full of already vomit-soaked towels. Oh, and there was pee in the hallway to the bathroom. Talk about people not holding their liquor or aiming at the right spots. I think myself and another friend were the only ones who held everything down that night.

The only thought I had (aside from the fact that I wanted to die) when we left the hotel was of those poor housekeepers and their faces when they walked into (and smelled) that room. I think HazMat suits and pressure washers would have been appropriate for that shit.

Bits 'n Pieces

This weekend was totally exhausting, but well worth every second. Rather than bore you with details, I will highlight some bits 'n pieces for you. Am I not the coolest?

• Hockey goalies make me speechless when they stretch. Holy hell, if they can do that on the ice, imagine what they can do without all the gear...totally naked.

• My boobs look a lot larger and bounce a lot more than I thought they did...especially while attempting the Roger Rabbit, drunk, at a bar. And even more so when it's caught on film. Note to self: I need a better bra.

• Pizza crust and chocolate taste kind of good together when drunk. They are pretty good sobering up foods too...or maybe that was the "proposition (see below)."

• My female friend, while tanked off her ass, asked me to accompany her and her date home. I was completely caught off-guard but not totally surprised because let's face it, a lot of girls have some bi-sexual tendencies that grow with the help of alcohol. I politely declined.

• Waffle House has to be one of the seediest breakfast eateries I've ever step foot in. Somehow, I can't enjoy my food when the air conditioning unit is in great danger of crashing to the floor because it is leaking on to the counter and the floor, and the ceiling tiles are peeling away before my eyes.

• I'm taking a shot in the dark, but I believe most people go to the beach for relaxation and listening to a 250 lb. steroid-soaked cunt muscle sing at the top of his lungs to his iPod is not relaxing.

• We saw an eagle on the beach, which totally made up for said cunt muscle.

• The alcohol and cigarettes all weekend long did me in, because now I have a cold. That'll teach me to relapse, because I had quit smoking. I should stick strictly to the booze. It's good for you....especially Jaeger.

• The End.

Master of Disaster

One would think that by their mid-twenties, a person would learn to recognize the so-called "red flags" in the beginning stages of dating someone. However, if that person happens to be me, then one would be totally mistaken in thinking that. I have come to recognize the blatantly obvious red flags, such as Short Man Syndrome, the obvious flirt, narcissism, the bum, the thug, the sex maniac, and so on. But one red flag I've seemed to have overlooked is messiness.

Now, I am not the cleanest person on earth, but I try to keep my messiness to a minimum. A few dishes in the sink, a pile of laundry or some specks of dirt are to be expected from time to time. However, a full out slob tends to be sloppy not only in their living space, but also in other aspects of their lives, especially relationships.

Awhile back, I dated a guy that presented no red flags at first. He was handsome, in shape, had his own place, etc. I was totally impressed with what I saw of his house, which was in the middle of a renovation. The living room and kitchen were very clean, with nice furniture, candles, and the whole nine yards. A few weeks later, I was blessed with seeing his shower. And by blessed I mean, scared shitless. The shower curtain had mold that was practically multiplying before my eyes. The plastic shelves in the corner were covered in grime, as were the bottles of product, none of which had anything in them. The floor and fixtures were in desperate need of a good, hard scrubbing. Hell, the whole thing needed to be thoroughly bleached and pressure washed.

I shrugged the shower thing off because he was, in fact, a bachelor, he was very busy with work, and I knew he was barely ever home. However, in one of our more intimate moments, he decided to ejaculate...not in me, not on me, but on the rug. We were positioned on the edge of the bed and before I could blink an eye, he had pulled out and was coming on his floor. And later, when I got up to use the (eek!) bathroom, I stepped in it.

And speaking of fluids, he liked loved his lubricant. He used loads of it. And when you use loads of lubricant, it tends to get on the sheets. A full week after a particular lube fest, I stayed at his house again. We were getting ready for bed, and I noticed a large dark spot on the sheets. I made a comment and he shrugged it off saying that it was from last time I was there. Ew. He had been sleeping in those sex-stained sheets for ONE.ENTIRE.WEEK!!! I cringed and took the side of the bed with the least obvious stains and left him to sleep in the nasty, dried puddle of yuck.

Needless to say, it didn't work out between us. He was indeed as messy in his relationships as he was with his house. He "forgot" to mention that I wasn't the only one he was dating A.K.A. having extracurricular lube fests. After I made a comment to him concerning monogamy, I never heard from him again. Red flags noted, lesson learned, and hopefully sheets were washed shortly after.