New & Improved!

Ever notice when a product or service has a blip on their screen they "change" something about it? The hotel is mid blip. Changes are happening at the speed of light. New policies. New employees. Old employees with new titles or responsibilities. New accountant. New bar plans & construction. New atrium. ATRIUM??? WTF??? They're RED NECKS, for gawd's sake! What do they know from plant room to atrium? I knew.
When asked to "find somebody to fill the porch up with plants and maintain them.", I replied
"oh, you want to have an atrium? That will be beautiful!". I got a blank look and then..." yeah, one of them".... this is the OWNER.
And I did. Several somebodies, in fact. One I really liked, another was a patron, one downright snooty-your-beneath-contempt type and a couple tree huggers. All designers. I shoulda known....And to think, I got the job because the BIG GUY was scared a man might look at his butt. No gay men responded to any of my plant inquiries, except my sorta son, but he doesn't count, not this time anyway...
After several proposals were submitted to me, I asked Mr Cheese if perhaps we ought to go and buy our own plants at home depot and try to maintain them as best we can, in house. He said he didn't want to deal with maintenance.
guess what?
We're going to the plant nursery next week to buy our new plants.
I now have a third title at the hotel. Interior scape designer.
Guess that makes me New and Improved?

Children of Divorce

Every break up has a few, and the Cheese's have more than their fair share. Now that the divorce has been declared emminent, tears have started to flow, and of course the requisit anger and mayhem ensue. OK, it wasnt THAT bad, but I'm not one of the "kids".

What brought on this declaration?I think I did, inadvertantly. I didn't even know I was doing something wrong... I was merely walking out of the store with my kids, and what do I see but Mr B. Cheese wrapped around the 20 year old "Sinister Cupcake" in the checkout line. Well colour me suprised! I did not run home and call MRS B Cheese, nor did I call Mrs H, or Dolly or anyone else for that matter (I don't have a cell). Where the man puts his parts is of no concern to me, I felt the same way about a former president too. So long as the JOB gets done and gets done right, whats it matter to me? It doesn't, not at all. My life has other far more complicated issues at this time to be overly concerned with Hotel shananigans. But it sure does provide drama for this here lil ditty of a blog!

Friday night, we had a small meeting, the declaration was made and most were in a stunned state, Mrs H & I were not. Being the two grown ups in the building, we tend to not get excited over idle bantering and gossip while on shift. Being adults, we also know you should NEVER EVER shit where you eat. Thats a metaphor, for those who don't "get it", google it. What lit up my night was the simple act of Mr Cheese sitting down next to me and sharing a laugh & a margarita. First time in 4 years. Then it happend again on Saturday, breifly. Good thing I had saved my shock and dismay earlier, huh?

Saturday was one of those nights you walk away from shaking your head, but feeling rather goodly about. And I did feel good about the night as a whole.At one point, I felt as though Mrs Cheese would feel that we were dancing on her metaphoric grave, by simply doing what we do every night we work, life went on as usual for us.This is HIS midlife crisis in action. He's nuts, he's been nuts and that hasn't changed. The fact is this, HE IS the Hotel, she was a bright flower in the vase at the bar, and well, we all know what happens to flowers after a while, don't we? One day, SC (s-cupcake) will be a very similar wilted thorny rose on her way out, but I'm betting she will have a new rack and a new ride befor she rides into the sunset. As a former Wallet miner, I know another one when I see one. I'm not a bitch, I just know shit. Trust me.

ADDENDUM: I was RIGHT! SC already requested the new rack! bahahahhahahaaa!

Playing with Barbie

You all recall "Barbie" from my previous posts? Well, she's back and bitchy as ever! Friday night, the displeasure of her company was all mine. I ask, about ten thousand times a night, each girl, "do you need help? can I do anything for you?" and with Barbie, the answer is always the same, a resounding "NO!". Not being omnipotent, I find something else to do instead of assisting her, then she goes full tilt, into the weeds. She rants and raves at the bus kid for not doing whatever it is that SHE thinks they should be doing, and all after declining the offered help she needed from the start. One would ask why she declines the assistance being offered, and I have no sound reasoning to offer in her defense.
But what do I expect from Miss methadone besides pendulum like mood swings? professionalism. Its a high expectation, I understand, but its expected of me, so why not Barbie? I digress....
Barbie has never been to NYC (its a mere two hour drive from this hamlet), and I, ever on the peace train, was trying to broaden her world, just a bit, by taking her on an NYC excursion. Well, the MET is out, Barbie isn't "into" art (translation, she's under-educated and has no concept of fine art). Broadway is out too, Barbie doesn't like "plays" (yes, I'm dying laughing as I type this). So the winner is MONTEL WILLIAMS, with special guest SYLVIA, the psychic medium! oy vey, my head! I can guess why she wants to be in this audience, her late husbands demise. I am not judging Barbie on this, I can't say with 100% surety that contact after death exists or does not. If I were in her shoes, perhaps I'd want some comfort via Sylvia too, but I'm not. It just seems so damn pedestrian to me. to each her own, I suppose. I'm sure if nothing else, the trip will provide fodder for this blog, so stay tuned!