Family

This is the second in a series of four entries about our weekend trip to CA. Following this entry will be proof positive that I've the sense of humor of a 10 year old boy, and following that is my excitement about finding a store dedicated to CHEESE! Alas, I shall make you wait for such enticing topics.

The topic for today is "How RisibleGirl thought she made reservations in a nice hotel, but in fact found herself and her family in danger of their very lives". Dramatic, yes?

The hotel, which is part of a major chain that shall remain nameless unless they do not make this up to us, looked OK from the outside. It seemed well kept and it was right on the ocean. What's not to love about that? We got to the lobby at the very decent hour of 6 pm or so. There wasn't anyone at the front desk. I could see someone in the back room and when he looked at me he said something to someone else in the back room.

We continued waiting for about 10 minutes. Eventually the guy said that someone would be right up to help us. Another 10 minutes went by. Then a woman in a big hurry came from the back room, walked to the front of the counter and pounded on the bell at the front desk three times and stormed out of the front door. Shortly after that, the desk clerk finally showed up. He was putting his cell phone back in the holster, so I'm assuming that we were waiting while he was on a personal call, or perhaps we interrupted something between the angry woman and the hotel clerk and he was getting dressed. We were waiting for over 20 minutes people. If they didn't have my credit card holding our rooms, I'd of insisted that we walk out. But there was also the draw of the ocean view room with the jacuzzi tub.

He checked us in, and although our car seemed to be the only one in the parking lot, he said that they were out of the rooms that we had asked for. Would we mind having adjoining rooms on the first floor? Well, it was either that, or we would be separated. We chose the adjoining rooms. I'm sure as you read on, you'll understand why BJ's mom was glad about that.

We got to our room and looked around. It was an absolute DIVE and there was not even a hint of an ocean view. There was a big grass hill in front of our windows, completely blocking out the ocean. As I went to shut the door, I saw this:


I don't know about you, but it looks as if someone might have recently kicked in the door? I dunno... maybe it's just me.

We dropped our bags and left for dinner. As we headed toward the parking lot, we saw what looked to be a drug deal going on between the front desk clerk and someone who had just pulled up in a jeep.

A lovely dinner was had by all at a seafood restaurant, but I couldn't help but notice that 90% of the items on the menu were "lightly breaded and deep fried". I'm not kidding! I almost asked if I could have my prime rib "lightly breaded and deep fried" because it seemed to be the thing to do there. We did all enjoy what we ordered (none of which was "lightly breaded and deep fried").

When we got back to the hotel, we expected to see more cars, because after all they didn't have very many rooms available. That wasn't the case. I think we were two of three booked rooms in the entire hotel. BJ's mom was a bit nervous about staying by herself in this dive, but we were right next door so we decided to tough it out. She said that when she went to bed, she put a chair in front of the sliding glass door. Can't say that I blame her.

When I got in the shower the next morning, I saw this in the shower tile:


This, my friends, would be a drilled hole in the tile surrounding the shower. Since I could see no good reason for a drilled hole in the tile, I got a little paranoid and looked in the hole. It definitely went somewhere, but where? At first I was a bit self-conscious, but then I thought, "they'll probably go blind if they see me naked in the shower.. go for it." So, if you see this picture floating around on the internet?



Oh, and the jacuzzi tub? The place was so awful that there was NO WAY I was going to sit in that tub and turn on the jets. I imagined that if I did, lots of green bubbly stuff would come out of the jets. ::shudder::

We later went to BJ's mom's room and she pointed out little spots of paint all over the wall by the bed. When she asked me what I though that was, I told her that it was covering up the blood splatter from a recent drug deal gone wrong. I'm sure she slept soundly that night after hearing that. Sorry Mom, but you know me... I have to make light of EVERY situation.

It's apparent that we survived this hotel stay, but I'm definitely going to talk to the chain management about it. I'm also going to send a note to Expedia, because they gave it four out of five stars. I can't say that there was one good thing about that hotel, so someone must have paid them to give it such a high ranking. If they have that kind of money, I'm sure they can afford to give us a refund.

***Correction, the rating was 2.5 out of 4. I chose this hotel because it was the highest rated in the city we stayed*** I've now decided that my brother needs to move.

I have much to blog about in regard the trip we were on last weekend (accommodations, blunders, etc.) but I first wanted to write about my brother. Because he was the purpose of the trip, after all.

My brother and I are just over 18 months apart, and in case you're wondering we've both agreed that he's the oldest even though our birth certificates might suggest otherwise. As with most siblings that close in age, we've had our share of causing each other bumps and bruises, physically and emotionally. The teen years had me completely convinced and hopeful that eventually we'd part ways and never have to speak to each other again. I'm sure glad I was wrong about that.

At some point our relationship started moving back to the way it was when we were very little. The word 'adore' comes to mind.



I do adore my brother and I often wish I could place a HUGE protective bubble around him so no physical or emotional harm ever comes to him. I also wish that he was readily accessible to me whenever I feel like having a yack fest over coffee with him. Last weekend reminded me of how much I really enjoy his company, how fun talking to him can be, and how much I love him. Somehow it's just not the same over the phone.

BJ, his mom and I flew out to see my brother play a lead role in a musical. He auditioned for the play on a dare from his drama teacher who said that she'd give extra credit for anyone that auditioned. Not being one to pass up an opportunity, he auditioned and what do you know.. he got the male lead role.

When he walked out on stage, I was absolutely mesmerized by him and moved to tears several times when he sang. I was just.that.proud. I realize that I'm his sister, but he had such a presence on the stage. My tears were tears of pure joy because I saw his passion and I was reminded of how truly talented he is. I am so glad that he's considering following this passion because he hasn't been in a play since before he joined the army twenty-some years ago and I think he might have forgotten how wonderful this creative outlet is for him. I'm so glad he's like me and can't turn down extra credit.

After the play, he came to our hotel room and shared a impromptu meal of wine and cheese as we talked about the play and the philosophy of life. We covered quite a few topics that night, and there could be no doubt at the end of the night about how we feel about each other. It was wonderful that we both felt comfortable enough to be ourselves and share several emotionally intimate moments in front of BJ and his mom. I'm so glad they are so accepting of us (emotions and all), because the gift they gave us was an evening I will treasure for a long time.

When my brother told us how much it meant to have us in the audience supporting him, it felt good. It feels good to know that our being there made a difference to him and that he felt supported by us. It's all about that protective bubble in the end. Although I can't really place a protective bubble around him, there isn't a thing I wouldn't do for my brother and the best part about it is, he KNOWS it.

Mike over at Senior Thinking wrote about his dog-like cat and it reminded me of my son's cat, Jimi Hendrix.

We got Jimi at the pound and knew he was the cat for us the moment we laid eyes on him because he had a lot of spunk. He kept sticking his arm out of the cage as far as he could, trying to grab us all while practically screaming at us. He wouldn't shut up. When we decided to take him, they let us have him in the office while we filled out the paperwork. He got into EVERYTHING and kept knocking the phone off the receiver and knocking papers off the desk. Eventually the pound worker took him back to the cage until all the paperwork was done because he was such a pest. He totally sealed the deal with his antics.

If I were to compare Jimi to a human, he'd be James Dean. He is a tough and cool cat. Even though he was neutered at a very young age, I'd feel sorry for any cat OR dog who was on the receiving side of Jimi's rage. Jimi even had a spiked collar, which fit his personality to a "T".

Jimi had some weird idiosyncrasies as well, and I'm sure he'd hate me publishing it for all of the world to see but I'm going to do it anyway. Jimi liked to maintain the "bad boy" image in public, but he's a big softie when nobody is looking.

Early on, he adopted one of my son's stuffed bears that was twice his size. It was clearly his bear because, he'd nurse on it (loudly, I might add!) which was always funny. But the most funny thing was that he used to bring 'offerings" to the bear. Thankfully, they weren't the type of gifts that most cats bring (dead mice, dead birds, etc.). He would steal makeup and leave it next to the stuffed bear.

My sister was living with us when Jimi started doing this and we'd regularly have to sort through the pile of mascara and lipsticks around the bear when we had to get ready for work in the morning. One morning, we found a tube of mascara that didn't belong to either one of us. That's when we discovered that Jimi was also a cat burglar (get it? ha ha) It was during the summer, so it was apparent that he was sneaking into open windows and stealing makeup to bring to the shrine of the bear. The funny thing was that it was always makeup.. nothing else.

Jimi also liked riding in the car, so he'd try to sneak in whenever he saw us leaving. If it was just to go pick up the kids from somewhere, I'd let him come along because I enjoyed seeing the strange looks I'd get from people who noticed that there was a cat in the back window. It got to be a problem once when the neighbor was having a garage sale, because apparently he tried to go for a ride in EVERYONE's car. Someone actually drove off before they noticed him in the car. Funny cat.

I miss Jimi. He's living with my son's ex-girlfriend right now because my son can't have cats where he is. I can't either because there are a lot of wild animals where we live and Jimi is not a cat that can be kept indoors. I've tried it and he's miserable. He likes to be inside to sleep, but he's beyond cranky if he can't go outside as he pleases. You know that saying, "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"? Well, let's just say that Jimi is 'mama'.

I'm a dog person. I'm not even a little bit of a cat person. But Jimi was definitely the exception to the rule.

UPDATE:
I finally located a picture that I wanted to put in this post. We all wondered if Jimi was sending us a message when we found him laying next to a headless bunny on our front porch.


Yikes.

In case it's not glaringly obvious in the things that I write here, I have an extraordinary capacity for guilt and I feel guilty for things that are completely out of my control. This is something that I'm currently trying to fix.

Although my parents do not know where my blog is, they do know it exists. I've made them promise me that they will not go try to find it, and in return I agreed to send them entries that I knew wouldn't offend them. There are a lot of things in my blog that would offend my parents on many levels, but I also wanted them the opportunity to know what I was thinking and doing. I did this mostly because I was feeling guilty about not writing emails several times a week to my parents anymore after I started this blog. They used to be the recipient of they types of things you might find here.

So, rather than calling my parents after I got the news about my father's suicide, I sent them a copy of the blog the entry and prefaced it with a note that I didn't really feel like talking about it. I really didn't. I had a lot of things to process before I felt capable of talking about it.

I felt guilt over sharing my sadness about my father's death, then subsequent sadness over the way he died. Even though my dad knows that in my heart he is and will always be my dad (vs- my father), it still felt a little disrespectful to mourn this. My dad has always been there for me since I was five; the year he married my mom. My dad has always made me feel that I was 100% his daughter, for better or worse. He's my dad. Simple as that.

My dad sent me a simple, yet very meaningful, note to me yesterday acknowledging my sadness and what a shock this must have been for me. He didn't try to turn it around to say that I shouldn't feel these things because this man never did anything for me, nor did he question my feelings. He acknowledged my feelings and supported me. That's the kind of dad he is, and why I feel blessed to be his daughter.

I want to thank the people who've left supportive comments in my blog after that entry. I have sorted through my feelings and have a fairly firm grasp on what I was feeling and why. I'll write more about that later on this week.

I'm in a much better place now.

Tomorrow is your 22nd birthday. That is so hard for me to comprehend because the time has passed much too quickly. Sometimes I miss that little boy that used to love to cuddle with me and promised to buy me pretty sparkly diamonds.

I remember feeling so guilty when I was pregnant with you. I thought I'd never love another baby as much as I loved your brother and I didn't think it was fair to bring you into the world under those circumstances. But then you were placed in my arms and I knew that it was indeed possible. I loved you so much that I thought my heart would burst. I'm sorry that I didn't protect you from those mean nurses that insisted on naming you Yoda, but really, look at your baby pictures sometime. The resemblance is uncanny. I thought those eyes of yours would swallow your face.

I remember being awestruck at how you kept looking around at your surroundings only minutes after birth. It was as if you were starved for visuals and you were just taking it all in. I don't remember ever seeing a baby look around as much as you did.

The pediatrician had a good laugh with me about your first visit with him. The first baby they gave him was a girl, and he knew that wasn't right. Then they handed him this little peanut of a baby. He tried to give you back too, because he thought you'd be a Howard Huge like your brother.

You were always quite a little ladies man. Your next pediatrician was a woman and she used to laugh at how you'd flirt with her before you were even one year old. You'd give her this really coy little look and rub your toe on her leg. When you entered school, it was nirvana for you. You always had at least two girlfriends at a time. Your fifth birthday party consisted of four girls and one boy. I like those odds for you, kiddo.

I hardly ever put you down when you were a baby because you were such a cuddler. You just loved to lay in my arms and play with my hair and stare into my eyes. It was magical and I always wondered what you were thinking. You were probably plotting your next meal....

I remember always sitting with you for a while before you'd go to sleep when you were little. Sometimes it was to read a story, sometimes it was to just listen to you talk. Sometimes the things that came out of your mouth had me on the floor laughing. One time I looked at you and had my hand on your cheek and said, "I love you my sweet little boy". You put your hand on my cheek and said, "I love you my sweet BIG mommy". There was another time when you were about four and you looked like you were gazing into my eyes. I asked you what you were thinking and you said, "You have a zit on your nose". Yeah, a real charmer, you were.

You always seemed older than your years and I was constantly amazed at your lack of fear. I don't think you were even eight years old when you had purchased something with your allowance that was defective. You asked me to drive you right back to the store so you could return it. You didn't want or need my help, just a ride. I was in awe of you when you did that.

We've lived without a man in the house from the time you were six until you moved out. As you got older, you turned into quite a handyman and I appreciated it because we were living paycheck to paycheck. I don't know where you learned to do the things you did, but it made me feel safe having you around. When you were 15 and the gas water heater went out, I didn't have enough money to hire someone to install it. You said that you could do it, and I knew that you could. And you did. Now that I think about it, having my 15 year old son replace a gas water heater on Halloween gives a new definition to fright night.

I remember the years that I was not allowed to call you anything except your name. If I accidently called you honey, sweet boy, or anything except for your name in public I'd get the dirtiest scowl and a tongue lashing when we got to the car. Now you put up with it all and you even say "I love you" to me in front of people. You really are my sweet boy.

I am so proud of you, and I always have been. We had a few months of rocky roads in your early teens that lead you to living with your dad, but it became a great discovery for both of us at how much we loved each other. I hated not having your presence in our home. I was so happy when you wanted to come back.

After high school when you decided to leave the nest and spread your wings, it nearly broke my heart. I adored spending time with you every night after you'd come home from work. But I also realized and appreciated how important your independence is to you.

So, here I am the night before your birthday wishing just a little that you were that sweet baby again just for a little while. I miss smelling your sweet baby hair (when you finally grew some) and I miss watching you sleep. At the same time, I am so proud at what a wonderful man you've become. Everyone that knows you thinks the world of you. You are trustworthy, you have a kind heart and you are fiercely protective of those that you love. I can't possibly imagine being more proud of you than I am.

I'm so lucky that I was given the gift of you.

I love you, son.