Oh, and the gifts were nice, too (an epic entry, with visual aids)

I’m sorry, have I mentioned work work work? And the roadtrip to St. Louis? And then more work work work?

During the 9 hour drive last Thursday, Monk and I engaged in pleasant conversation, before and after tackling the State of the Relationship talk, and also narrowly escaped having the grill of a truck embedded in our rib cages in Small Town, Oklahoma. Due to some quick thinking (Monk’s, not mine) and even quicker driving, (again, Monk’s, not mine) we avoided danger, damage and dismay to check into what must have been either a converted natatorium/gymnasium, or an unused set left over from that Beetlejuice movie. You don’t believe me? Of course we took pictures:

I’d laugh if this were in someone’s yard. Didn’t really know what to do in this instance, however, since it was in the hotel lobby:

I'm not including the photo documentation of the mini-stages lining the perimeter of the main floor, or the cinder block flower boxes containing various fake shrubs, trees and orchids. Or the Christmas lights strangling the tops of said fake trees, which actually seemed like a year-round touch. All of this inside the building, just so we're clear. Also? We lucked out and got a room with a sex chair! Presumably.

Not what you thought? I just hope our theory was wrong, too. So then maybe that wasn’t the greased-up ass print of a low budget hooker on the headboard?

I’m sure you’re wondering why we didn’t complain and switch rooms. If you had seen the public laundry area, you’d understand that we didn’t think we were going to do any better at that point.

On a positive note, they had the world’s safest kiddie pool! Well, in terms of drowning.

Since the in-laws weren’t aware that we were in the hiz-ouse Thursday night, we went to the nearby mall to finish Christmas shopping (what? Like you all were finished with a week and a half to spare? Shut up). Monk initiated some fancy mall walking, which involves a speed at which your eyeballs dry up and people’s baseball caps get zipped around on their heads, plus muttering angrily when stalled behind the idiots that, for whatever reason, shop four across.

(Is this a power thing? No one wants to “walk bitch,” so they all walk alongside each other?)

We were walking behind a group of said idiots when we were engulfed in a hot and heavy Bad Smell. Monk stage-whispered “are we walking behind a fart?” which set us off giggling and veering around the group like lunatics. Unfortunately, we were almost immediately stuck behind another pack of dolts, and (nearing panic) discovered that yes indeed, we were again walking behind a fart. However, proving that odors, like looks, can be deceiving (an issue under much debate, I’m sure), we rounded a corner to see liquid pooling in our path. As my foot came down with a splash, we realized the fart smell was coming from the “water.” Most likely there was a toilet/pipe explosion issue. The security guards began yelling conflicting orders at the masses (“Go around!” “Jump across!” “Go back that way!” “No, don’t come this way!”). We the sheeple were herded this way and that around the sewage canal now snaking around and throughout the building, until Monk and I managed to find a way out, never to know what really happened back there.

With no one to hear the tale of the Melting Mall, we continued the strange and slap happy evening at White Castle. During the 40 minute wait for our “food,” we were entertained by a Very Angry Woman. We were first tipped off that this was a Very Angry Woman when we walked in and she shot an “excuse ME” in our direction (we were not in her way, but I’m sure SHE HAD HER REASONS). The Very Angry Woman was dressed in a festive sweater and earrings, pursing her lips and scolding the Whiteys staff for… something. Multiple times. Her earrings said Merry Christmas, her haircut said Great Clips, and her attitude said she expected first class service from White Castle.

Monk also received a weirdly familiar hello-plus-nod from an unknown man apparently arriving from a sales conference. Or a Jehovah’s Witness meeting.

The rest of the weekend was mostly filled with the usual in-law antics (i.e., Monk’s mother forgetting to include me in conversation, Monk’s father’s inability to state his opinion directly or honestly, both parents having massive orgasms of pride and joy at whatever comes out of their son’s mouth, and abruptly changing the subject after asking me a small-talk-type question that I had the gall to answer), and of course the family portrait session was a blast. The teenager taking the picture had obviously been trained well in the art of Making it Look Real! And Casual! And Fun! And Having Otherwise Dignified Adults Lie Down on the Hard Floor on Their Bellies! She was oddly surprised and at a loss when I told her “no, I’m not going to sit on Sister-in-law, actually.”

Sunday evening we arrived home to discover that half of my clothes were still hanging up in the hotel room. More accurately, they were when we left St. Louis that morning. According to the front desk manager, no clothes have been found and we should keep calling if we ever hope to reach the housekeeping supervisor, as Housekeeping is short-staffed at the moment. Yeah, no kidding.

And now, back to work work work.

3 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

Where in the world did you stay? Were you in Arnold or Festus or North county? Ewwww.

Where does his parents live? That is so wierd. What mall was that?

I could have given you five really great malls to visit and directions. Ya should have e-mailed me! And I could have given you some tips for a good hotel and restaurants as well.

I'm guessing the hotel and mall wasn't in Kirkwood, Chesterfield, Ladue, Frontenac, or Town & Country. Those places typically have pretty good shops, restaurants and other services.

But, ughhh. Sorry you had to go through that. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger though, eh?

6:19 PM  
Blogger Lisa said...

And I could have totally pointed you in the direction of my favorite bars, too! Sounds like that would have been very necessary. :-)

6:20 PM  
Blogger Lisa said...

OH MY GOD. The Holiday Inn at Watson and Lindberg looks like THAT inside? Holy shit! That is so nasty. I used to live five minutes from that place. I've never been in that hotel but there's a club called "Generations" in it and my hubby and I went one night just to laugh at all of the desperate mid-life crisis people. It is one of the cheeziest places in St. Louis. There were so many women wearing skimpy things 16-year-old girls wear. But their figures were definitely on the "I'm 45, have no muscle tone and lots of back fat so I'll just tan the hell out of my skin and hope no one notices." And the guys had combovers and lots of jewelery. We laughed our asses off! Whenever we go passed it, we STILL laugh.

And I'm guessing you went to Crestwood Mall then. And yes, its an icky one. They need a serious overhaul. If I look like warmed-over ass and don't want to put in any effort to look presentable. I go to that mall to shop. Because then? I blend right in!

Growlers, a really great bar, is about a half mile from that nasty hotel off of Lindberg. It would have been a good spot to grab a drink and hide from the family. Or Ellen Fitzgerald's is usually hopping too. Course if your hubby grew up in St. Louis, odds are he'd be accosted by someone at Ellen's, asking him that infamous and annoying question: "Where'd you go to school?" (They mean high school!) Oy!

8:43 PM  

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