Hotels

We were going to get out of town for a couple of days this past weekend, but I couldn't find anything that wasn't shady for less than $100 and if I'm going to pay that much, it's going to be downtown Minneapolis.

Anyway, it reminded me of staying at hotels with various people for various reasons. There is always a funny story that happens at the hotel, and I was reminded of one in particular.

It was my birthday weekend and some friends and I had headed up to the cities for a concert. We had gotten a really good deal on a hotel that was pretty decent. My mom was along too (seriously, she's the coolest mom EVAH!), and she had made the reservation, so she got the keys and we headed up to the room.

When the four of us walked in, we were surprised that there was only one bed. My mom and another friend quickly laid claim to the bed of course. But I hopped on it too. I was surprised to find two CDs on the bedside table. So, I started to investigate. I also came across some used chapstick and a book in the drawer. "Hmm," I thought "maybe the maids haven't cleaned yet."

Then someone opened the dresser drawer and discovered men's underwear. And in the bathroom there was an electric shaver and various other sundries.

"Aaah! We're in the WRONG ROOM!" Friend screamed. My mom said that she would go down and get it all squared up. But (stupid us!) we stayed IN THE ROOM. Friend 1 really had to use the bathroom, so we hustled her along so that we could get out of there.

Sure enough, just as we were opening the door, there was the guy who belonged in the room. Imagine his surprise when he saw three strange women in his room! We quickly apologized and continued to as we made our way out of his room. After he shut his door, Mom made her way back up and we got inside the correct room, just in time to collapse in fits of laughter. I have never had anything like that happen and we've stayed in a whole lot of hotels!

Then, the next morning, Mom got up to use the shower, only there was no water. None. It turned out that there was a huge water main break somewhere and the entire hotel was out of water. They offered us bottled water with which to brush our teeth. Or we could hop on a bus and get taken to another hotel to shower there.

We elected to use the bus because all of us use lots of hairspray and when one sleeps on a hairspray'd head, one looks quite similar to the bride of Frankenstein in the morning. So imagine four overtired (some slightly hungover) women with hair going every which way climbing onto a bus in their pajamas just to be able to shower.

Luckily, the hotel we were driven to was a Sheraton--which has the most comfortable beds in the whole hotel industry--so I got a little bit more sleep whilst the others were primping and priming. Because while I wear more makeup and styling products than them, I've got it all nailed down to about 15 minutes on a high-maintenance day. The other girls that were along take AN HOUR to get ready. And that's just hair!

Your turn. . .any crazy hotel stories?

Happy Birthday to me

So, 27 years ago today, my mom was in labor. Two weeks late and focusing on a picture of a wave (which in the birthday email that she sent me she informed me that she was about ready to tell my dad to get the *$%^@!* picture out of her face and get something for the pain), my birth was evidently a family celebration. I remember the birthday cards that my grandma used to give me where she would retell the story of the day I was born. Grandma was so excited that she burnt half a loaf of bread trying to make herself some toast before going to the hospital. Mom and Dad were so excited that they could hardly contain the joy bursting forth. They tell me how proud they are of me. How happy I've made their lives. And every year when I would get grandma's birthday card, tears would stream down my face. There was nothing better in the world than my grandma telling you she was proud of you. Because she wasn't just proud, she was darn near ready to take out a full page ad in the paper about how much she loved you.

Twenty-seven is kind of one of those meaningless birthdays. Much like 17. You aren't exactly making any milestones. Last year marked the cross-over from mid-20's. And I'm nowhere close to 30 (although it's much closer than I'm quite ready to admit).

I'm so not where I thought I was going to be by this point in my life, but I would not have it any other way. I probably haven't accomplished very much in the grand scheme of the world, but I feel pretty darn successful. I have two awesome kids, great friends, an incredible husband, and a good job. So what more could you possibly need, right?

I'm off to continue my little celebration of me. So far I've had breakfast at Starbuck's, bought some new hair color (ginger red), and played annoying computer games. I intend to spend the rest of my afternoon preparing for the sock hop tonight. It's not the greatest birthday day, but I can't complain. :)