So the other night, I had to pull the graveyard shift @ work and for some reason could not get myself to fall asleep during the day.  I knew this would result in me being comepletely exhausted @ work, so I popped two presumabley mild (off-brand) sleeping pills to ensure some rest.  The little shits didn’t kick in until around 6pm and when they did, I was OUT OF IT.  I am already a hard sleeper, but on these things? I become DEAD to the world.  My alarm went off @ 9pm and I don’t even remember getting up and taking the batteries out.  It was hopeless, I was not getting the hell up and BJ ended up having to smack me across the face and then spritze me to life with a water bottle (and he enjoyed that shit way too much).  Somehow, I managed to drag myself to the A train and into the subway car.  I can’t even describe how groggy I was, I could barely walk.  I was gonna be late for work (didn’t even change out of my ugly sleeping clothes) and I knew there was no way I could back out of going to work and no way I could actually make it through the night in my fucked up state.  As soon as we pulled into Columbus Circle, I stumbled into the underground convenience store and over to the drink cooler.  Although I’d never had one, I’d heard great things about the magic of Red Bull and I knew that this was my only and last hope.  They had TWO left on the shelf.  I fucking downed BOTH of those suckers and made my way to work.

The night went by in a blurry haze.  The energy drinks had only balanced out my drone-like condition and phased me into a gauzy, dreamish state.  I’d hear myself talking but had no idea what I was saying.  Ppl were a little more animated, colors were a little brighter, sounds were synthesized… I felt like I was in a fucking Enya video.  I was fucked up. Having never in my life touched drugs or ever been really drunk, I found this an incredibely fascinating and annoying thing.  I don’t remember much of the night, just a few misty images and I think the bar played a DMX song.  In the end, I made it through the shift w/o anybody catching on… but I’m pretty sure I kissed a few members of the housekeeping staff and weeped a Spanish Blessing @ some point.

Just say no to drugs, kids.  Especially the cheap, generic-brand ones from Target.

I was supposed to have a date to the Grammy’s @ MSG tonight with a cutie from work.  She actually asked ME out, I was floored.  When she asked what my plans were for the night, I told her I was thinking about getting tix to the show and she was like, “Can I come with you?  It can be like, our first date.”  So afterwork this morning I ran all over town trying to find tickets that I’d seen online.  My search proved futile and fruitless.  Not even the magical Hudson Concierge could summon any tickets.  So I made the dreaded call to her cell and even followed up with an email, letting her know that I couldn’t get tix but would still love to get together.  It’s been about 9 hours and I still have yet to hear back from her.  (Note: this is also the girl who was supposed to kiss me on New Year’s and was nowhere to be found).  Looks like I was just a stepping stone so that she could get to the Grammy’s…    It’s official.  I hate girls. 

The Grammy’s were good this year though.  The following is just some of my usual commentary **, forgive me if it’s a little more evil than usual (I’m feeling a bit vengeful tonight).

***

No Doubt: Yay!  YAY!  They won!  They’re LEGIT, that’s SO COOL!  Gwen, you rock!  Be my girlfriend!!!

Aretha:  the woman is a fucking TRUCK.  Aretha, skip a meal ok?  For real.  Why the hell did she bust out that line from R-E-S-P-E-C-T?  The last time she sang that live? she fucking forgot the words.  Bet ya she hasn’t forgotten how to spell DOMINO’S PIZZA.

John Mayer: This win make so much fucking sense.  Did yu guys know that he and I are best friends?  The boy is talented and different and I love it that he wore cargo pants and an orange t-shirt to teh Grammy’s.  He was straight-up going all Urban Outfitters tonight. 

Queen Latifah: You hafta wonder, how does a huge bonafide and respected rap artist like her get stuck introducing the Dixie Chicks’ backwood redneck asses?  I fucking love the Queen.  She’s my mom, dude. 

Dixie Chicks: these girls are cute as hell.  I watched the vh1 special on them the other day, they’re adorable.  Natalie Maines, the lead singer, looks like a chunkier Busy Phillips to me.

Coldplay:  These guys were amazing.  That performance with the symphony?  INCREDIBLE.  It honestly sent my heart racing.  There is nothing else to say.  This band is seriously one of the best groups out there and they fucking won two Grammy’s tonight to prove it.

Avril: i hate you.  Stay the hell away from me and my family.

Nelly/Kelley:  I was a little dissappointed, sad to say.  Kelley, what happened?  Why’d yu lose your place and get all off on the timing?  This was not the MTV Awards, this was the Grammy’s.  You need to pull yerself together.  Don’t yu realize there are fickle, fickle little ppl out there in TV Land who are judging you for this shit?   I love you, but don’t let this happen again. 

Dirty Vegas: They won for “Days Go By” — woo-hoo!  I hope they send a bigass fruit basket to the folks @ Mitzubishi.

*NSYNC:  I thought you guys were dead.  Didn’t Justin Timberlake have all yer asses liquidated? 

Eminem:  I know that you do this whole unimpressed, “yeah yeah whatever” thing and purposefully do not show any emotion when you when an award, and that’s cool b/c that’s yer thing, but dude don’t pull out a list of ppl to thank and then expect us to think that you don’t give a shit.  Also, why do you always have to have a little croney onstage with you?  It’s like yer the Wicked Witch of the West with all those damn flying monkeys.  Dude, we like you enough, ok?  Just you.  You’re special.  Lose the crew.  Say it with me: I am special on my own. 

Norah Jones:  You’re lucky that you’re so pretty and fresh-faced, otherwise I’d hate you for stealing all these awards.

***

So, I got dragged into this stupid office drama @ work.  Nothing I started or perpetuated, just some stuff I overheard and am now a “witness” to.  I’d love to call it petty and minor but it actually looks like it’s going to be a big, ugly mess.  I can’t even go into it here b/c it might actually become a legal matter soon.  LIke, I had to make a statement about it and everything.  Ugh.  Can’t we all just get along?!  No more drama, ppl!  No more!  IT makes Mary J Blige cry and scream and nobody wants that.

** Big Big Love to my boy Cody, whose indulgence and snark made the Grammy’s so much more fun to watch.  Thanks for cheering me up, man!  Now go feed the dog.  **

This yuppie couple came into the hotel the other night with their newborn baby daughter.  I normally don’t take much of a liking to babies, they seem to just sit there and drool all over everything.  But this one was pretty cute and was absent of that condescending glare that most babies have about them.  So, this coulple had been with us before and they really like the hotel.  Turns out they had conceived the baby during one of their stays with us last year — and when the baby was born, they named her Hudson!  How cute is that?  Our Sales Dept. ended up giving her a VIP card for life. 

I have to say, though.. as cute a story as that is?  Who the hell names their child after a hotel?  I mean what if they’d stayed @ a Motel 6 instead?  “This is our baby girl, Ramaada, and this is our son, Howard Johnson.”  Probably lied to us, those bastards.  I’ll bet the baby’s real name was something like Pamela or something.  Dirty yuppie liars.  I think I saw them buy that baby off of an 8th ave. pandhandler.

In the South, when a young man is ready to start making his way out into the world, he first has to secure a home.  He goes out and survey the terrain, finds some property, makes a bid, and he builds a house on it — that’s how you begin a life down there.  We don’t have land here in Manhattan, or terrain, or even grass — just concrete and housing units — so instead, you have to take that “Get me some damn land!” mentality and urbanize it a bit.  You get your bank on, get your paperwork in order, and set out to find the best rent-controlled space ever created.  This may require you to first weather all sorts of horrifying living situations (as most of us have) in order for you to realize that ultimate goal you must obtain in order to achieve true happiness in New York.  So you keep looking and hunting, and when you find that apartment of your dreams, you throw down your bags, sign the lease, and fucking dig your heels in for life.  That’s how we roll it here in the Naked City. 

I’ve lived in my apartment for almost 3 yrs.  It’s a bigass one bedroom apartment with high ceilings, a full kitchen, dining room, lots of closets, and a sunken living room.  I pay practically nothing for it, compared to what most of my friends pay for their places.  It’s on Broadway and faces a gorgeous park across the street.  The building itself is big and beautiful with green hedges in the front, it has six floors and three sections, HUGE entrance and has elevators and a laundromat in the basement.  I have survived a series of shit-filled living situations, roommates from hell, and I realize that what I have here is gem. 

Since the day I moved in, since DAY ONE, I have endured relentless bitching from the people who live underneath my apartment.  It started first with really random little things like knocks on my floor and little notes slid underneath the doorway.  And it would have been one thing if their complaints were valid, but they were always these outlandish accusations.  They’d accuse us of “clogging” on the wooden floors, like we were a bunch of gypsies practicing our vaudeville act or someshit.  It just got ridiculous, I am NOT a noisy person — I’m never even home!  At first, I felt so awful about it.  I’d apologize my ass off in a letter and assure them that we’d try to keep it down.  This never proved good enough b/c soon they’d be @ it again, banging on the floor and graffiting my door with more notes.  Really lovely notes too, really passive agressive ones written in gold caligraphy atop black (recycled) artbook paper with the date written in roman numerals.  In response to a cute (albeit false) invite we’d sent them regarding a party my roommates and I were going to have, they replied: “No thank you.  Please try and keep the sounds of merriment down, as we will be spending the evening within the peaceful solitutde of our home.  Please feel free to stop down and join us for some tea.”  How freaking passive-aggressive can you get?  This was an obvious ploy to get us to cancel our party, but the bash went on as planned and it only ended up making everything worse.  They’d slyly threaten to write the landlord about us, they’d try and get our surrounding neighbors to say that we were noisy (no one ever sided with them).  It was just DUMB.  The thing is, there’s no tenant living beneath their apartment, it’s just commerical space.  So if they had ppl beneath them, they’d see our point of view.  There’s gonna be noise, it’s a big building and we face Broadway, afterall!  But these ppl are hellbent on making everything difficult.  They began to come UP to the apartment to complain and it wasn’t until then that I beheld what fucking FREAKS these ppl are, total dried-out hippies stuck somewhere between 1967 and hell.  The woman, Monique, has this huge mess of flame-orange hair and she always wears these big, flowing toga-looking gowns.  It’s wild, I keep expecting to see a flock of sheep behind her or something.  Her manbitch (or her “life partner” as she calls him), who’s name I still don’t understand, is a Eurotrash bastard and I swear to you he wears 18th century poet-style shirts complete with the big lace-up collar and puffy sleeves.  He and BJ got into a huge screaming match one morning and I don’t think I understood a word of what he said besides, “Theeese eees booolsheet!”  He looks like a fucking pirate and she looks like Stevie Nicks on crack.  They recently had a baby and I see that ugly little fucker everywhere I go.  BJ insists that he can hear it squealing like a demon at all hours of the night.  Monique shuns all forms of modern technology, I know this b/c the last time she came up to complain about the music noise, she explained that she doesn’t listen to electronically reproduced music and opts for strumming the lyre instead.  The bitch won’t buy a stroller so instead, she straps that baby to her back in a fucking papoose like she’s Sacagawea or someshit. 

It’s been okay for the past few months, but lately they’ve been getting restless again.  It’s like they’re these two midevil dragons, stirring, and now they’ve awaken from hibernation and are looking to devour us.  The banging on the floor, the complaints, just too much drama — it’s even inspired a short film from BJ entitled “It Came from 2B” (currently in preproducion).  I’m not really sure what to do anymore so I try and just ignore it, but it gets hard… and annoying. You feel like you can’t move in your own space.  Ugh, I dunno…  It took me 8 long months to get my name on this lease. I went the full-on textbook route, totally by-the-book with the landlord.  We’re talking paystubs and letters of recommendation, credit checks, the whole nine yards.  I do NOT have one of those “Ohh my God, I got so lucky finding this place” stories (those stories make me puke).   I fucking fought tooth and nail, even payed off the shady little watchdog (i.e. the super) to secure this place — and I finally have it now, I have my name on the lease and I finally have a roommate that I like (sort of).  My point: I love my apartment.  It’s big and it’s cheap and it’s MINE, dammit.  I will NEVER give it up.  Even when I am rich and famous and crushing everyone underneath me, I will still hang onto this place b/c it sort of marks a big step in my ongoing quest to be a grown-up.  I am grown — hear me roar. 

Here me now, you evil creatures beneath me in 2B, I will not be intimidated.  

Have you ever really listened to the lyrics of “Sweat (A Lalalalalong)” by Inner Circle?  I always loved that song, gets me feeling all down with my Jamacian side and shit.  (Shut up).  Well, I was blasting it earlier and then I actually listened to the chorus.  ()  Dude, it’s kind of fucking apalling!  What were these guys thinking?!  Don’t they have mama’s they’re afraid to embarass?!

Oh, so more ppl @ work found out about my site.  Dammit.  One of the security guys spotted me in the hall and was all, “Hey, what’s up, sprite?”  I was all, “Wha?”  Tried to play aloof and blase, but I’m sure it didn’t play out.  It’s just a matter of time before my shit starts getting printed out and plastered on the staff boards.  Then my managers will read up on everything I have ever said and I’ll get the boot.  Um, GayJay? it was all in jest.  You know I flove yer fabulous self.  I have totally moved past my deep undying contempt for yer ass.  You’re the one who got my pay increase to finally kick in, afterall.  Spriteboy is growing up some and beginning to own his shit a little more.  Let’s rekindle our love and make nice. 

I watched Hedwig & the Angry Inch on DVD today.  Does anybody else think that Hedwig looks a lot like Rachel Griffiths?  No?  Just me?  Ok…

It’s raining on prom night, winners.  Kinda wet and sticky out there.  I always used to love this kind of weather and despise bright sunny days, but I think I’m growing tired of the little Thom Yorke in me.  I can’t wait till the summer comes.  Last summer was pretty damn nice, come to think of it.  I spent most of it in Chinatown with my girlfriend @ the time, so maybe that’s tainted my memory a little bit.  Whatever.  Sunny - good.  Rainy - bad. 

FYI - if you hover over the little smiley faces and pics on my site, you can see text.  Just cuz I’m easily amused by that shit. 

We had a big party @ Hudson Bar last night, for Bono. He got this big Hot Shit of the Year Award from Music Cares yesterday, like Bill Clinton was there and Mary J Blige and just everybody in the world.  I’m so sick of Bono and all his causes and the “There are starving children in Africa!” speeches he delivers.  Dude, why don’t yu go sell that fucking fur coat of yours and send them some damn money, then ok?  Anyway, the hotel was all over the place.  It was a last-minute decision for us to host the party.  We had to kick all the guests out of the bar so we could accomodate all the celebs and stars (kinda uncool of us, if yu ask me).  Master Schrager was expected to show too, so everyone was running around in fear trying to come up with ways to not lose their jobs.  I was outta there @ 11pm, just before the juice got pumpin’ so I’m curious to see what all I missed.  I’m sure I’ll catch some of the backlash tonight though, since I’m working overnight and will undoubtedly have everybody @ me all, “So why the hell couldn’t we get into the bar last night?!”  Aughh, whatever.  I’m off tomorrow anyway.

So I never heard anything from that audition the other day.  It sucks.  I always get called back.  BJ is actually up for the lead in some new off-broadway show, they really really want him which is no suprise b/c he’s a goldenboy and can do no wrong.  It’s so nice when you see all your talented friends doing so well and then you look in the mirror and remember that it’s not YOU.  *sigh*  I’m trying not to take the rejection too seriously, just assure myself that I wasn’t what they were looking for.  Still, I can’t help but imagining…

A:  Ok, so what about that guy Chris?
B:  Which one was he?
A: The really short guy with the yellow teeth.
B: Ohhh!  Frodo Baggins!
A: *lol* Yeah, that hobbit-looking kid.  Do we want him?
B: Nahh, he was awful. And puny. Trash his headshot. 

()  Why can’t I be a star already?  Last year was the first time I hadn’t turned any profit as an actor.  I worked, but not on any paying jobs.  Money’s never been the goal or the issue @ all.  But one of the perks of being a working, struggling actor is that you get to claim really cool deductions on your taxes.  Movie tickets, videos, magazines, CD’s, gym memberships, clothes, any equipment or services that contribute to your livelihood are all tax-deductable.  Last year I made zilch, so I think I’m unable to legally claim those things as anything more than frills for “a hobby.”  Ugh, this is starting to depress me.

I found an old mixed tape that I made from a few years ago.  Mixed tape, mind you… this was before I discovered the joys of mp3.  What a blast from the not-so-long-ago-past!   There was some Jamiroquai on there, some New Radicals, some Deep Blue Something, some kickass Robert Miles shit, and some group Semisonic — remember that song “Closing Time”?  The one that was like, the theme song for every senior class of 1998.  Ours was that Green Day song “Time of Your Life”, or @ least it was supposed to be.  The director of our graduation ceremony didn’t get the right CD, so they ended up playing that “I Had the Time of My Life” song from Dirty Dancing.  It was really fucking stupid.  Anyway, yeah the mixed tape was fun, I must have been like 19 when I made it.  I can’t believe what a pop-whore I was back then.  Hee (shut up, I’m being ironic here). 

Something about buying groceries and restocking your pantry shelves makes you feel really manly.  It’s the metropolitan equivelant to reaping the harvest. 

I have got to get to the gym.  I joined over a month ago and I still have yet to step foot inside.  No, actually I walked in the other day to use the restroom b/c I was in the neighborhood but there were too many buff, hard-muscled bodies @ the front desk and I suddenly felt insecure and all unpretty.  Yes, I am way too in touch with my feminine side.  Whatever.  Gwen Stefani told me that I’m really lovely underneath it all, anyway.  Tomorrow’s a new day and as God is my witness, I’ll get my ass to Crunch tomorrow… uh, unless it rains.

I have yellow teeth.  I realized this after being horrified @ the sight my hideously jaundiced grin in a recent picture.  There I was, just standing there grinning away like damn fool who’s teeth are more blonde than his hair.  It wasn’t always like this, I think it’s just from drinking nothing but sodas, juices, iced teas, and Starbucks for the last few years. *sigh*  After learning that my insurance ain’t gonna cover “cosmetic shit” like teeth-bleaching, I ran out to Duane Reade and got one of those at-home-whitening kits.  So here I sit, squirming with these huge rubber things in my mouth, trying really hard not to swallow this gummy crap for fear that I will regurgitate and get my teeth all stained again.  I’m supposed to leave these things in for 55 minutes.  It’s only been about 4 minutes and I’m pretty much ready to say “Screw it” and go pour myself some Kool-Aid.

I have to say, I’m having something of a love-hate relationship with work right now.  I love it that I’m starting to hit a stride and getting some recognition for my work… but it just makes me wanna kick back and stop going.  Part of me likes it that I work odd hours.  I like being a night owl, I like being wide awake @ 3am and getting to sleep in all day while the world is heading to work… but it sucks that nobody else has a schedule like this.  I don’t have weekends like other ppl.  I guess I kinda miss the 9 - 5pm routine, just a little bit.  Ugh I dunno, just feel like I’m stuck in a whole.  Today’s a weird day.

Stopped by TOWER last night and got the Rules of Attraction DVD basically for the sole purpose of seeing me some Shannyn Sossamon… um, okay and Ian Somerholder too.  They’re just so pretty, I like it when they smile @ me.  Makes me feel pretty too and less like a yellow-toothed troll.

I was flipping through this music magazine the other day and i spotted this face that I thought I recognized.  Then I spotted TWO faces I thought I recognized.  I had to do a double-take.  Kind of fitting, b/c it turned out to be Al & Claud, two former co-workers (and very good friends) of mine.  They’re twins, they’re musicians, and they’re the coolest girls in the world!  I used to chill with these girls 24-7 when I first moved into Manhattan and started working @ this funky uptown gift boutique called ALPHABETS.  We seriously had the most fun I have ever had @ work, just making each other laugh and finding ways to enterain ourselves for our 8hr shifts.  And spending all day with two girls who look like that?  Um, SURE!  I miss these girls, actually.   ran into Al a few months ago down in the Village, we hung out and caught up for about 15 minutes and it wasn’t till I was on my way home that I realized it had actually been Claud the whole time.  Imagine my glee when I spotted their faces on the cover of The Boggs debut cd. 

These absolutely beautiful and chill girls are steady fixtures in the whole NYC indie music scene (the REAL scene, not the poseuery, Williamsburg wannabe one) — especially now that their band On!Air!Library! has been gathering mad attention in the past year or so.  I went to see them perform their first show @ the Knitting Factory about two years ago and they’ve just gotten so amazing since then.  I don’t know how else to describe the music other than using words like ethereal, expiremental, ambient, and lush.  You can listen to their shit @ their site, but I’ll try and link it from here.  II’m not really very up on the whole Hipster scene (altho I just bought The Hipster Handbook and it is fucking hysterical), but I just had to take a minute to brag on my buds.  They’re cute and they’re obviously doing well.  Rock on, winners. 

I was on my way out of work tonight when Nelly and his crew arrived to check in.  I really freaking like his new album Nellyville (more than Country Grammar but whatever), and yes, that “Dillemma” song (with Kelly Rowland — those two are gonna rock the motherfreakin’ house this weekend with that shit) came out a longass time ago but it’s still the damn anthem.  What is it about that song that just kicks ass?  Could it be the cute chorus?  The falsetto vocal hook?  The fact that Nelly and Kelly have names that rhyme?  Who the hell knows?  I love it and blast that shit incessantly on a loop (as a result, I think the lyrics have been burned into BJ’s head for eternity).  So, naturally, I had to stop in my tracks and profess my shit to the Nelly-man directly.  The interaction went something like this:

Nelly: Hey, what’s up.  I’m checking in…
Spriteboy: It’s you.
N:  Um, yeah. 
S:  Nelly, I love you.  I do… need you. 
N:  *confused* What the fuck?
S:  No matter what I do all I think about is you.
N:  *sigh*  Not this bullshit again.
S:  Even when I’m with my boo…
N:  You’re messed up, dawg.
S:  I know.  I’m sorry.

Ok, not really but whatever.  Look, is it my fault that they were playing it @ work tonight in the Bar?  Everytime I hear it, it just makes me wanna skip through the lobby and hug everybody.  Can you picture it?  Yeah, don’t. 

MY FRONT STEPS

Despite the fact that it takes an extra 45 minutes to get anywhere, and the fact that all of my pants will have to be re-hemmed soon, all this snow actually is kind of freakishly beautiful… in an artic sort of way.  I was in Times Sq. the other day and it was so cool to watch everybody just walking through the empty streets.  It’s really nice to walk home through all of it, trudging along in snow that comes all the way up to my knees (okay, okay.. up to my waist), get inside, take a hot shower, heat up some leftover spagehtti, kick on some Daria, and relax. 

I look fwd to when my books arrive in the mail.

Vanessa Carlton was chillin in the Library Bar tonight too.  I didn’t so much care, her voice sorta annoys me.  But I did wish her luck @ the Grammy’s cuz I know her newbie ass ain’t gonna win shit.  She’s up against top dogs like Aerosmith, Eminem, Coldplay, and Sheryl Crow.  I anticipate a whole lotta pop-music ppl hitting Hudson this weekend, we’re hosting the Gramy After-Party on Sunday.  I somehow managed to escape — praise be to God — getting scheduled that day, so I will be sittin’ @ home, glued to the TV b/c I am pretty much psyched about most all of the nominees this year.  I really like John Mayer and am proud to say that I bought his album way back before it really got a lot of attn, back when it was on the $9 rack @ TOWER.  Also, he thinks that my body is a wonderland, so we kinda like this guy.  If he (or Michelle Branch — I like her, too) loses the Best New Artist award to that ferret-faced little teen-Alanis Avril Lavigne, I will be forced to shoot myself in the head.  I actually got a call the other day from this casting agency I did a job for once, they wanted to know if I’d be an extra in this new Avril video shooting in the city next week.  I immediately thanked them for calling and then cussed them to high hell, and instructed them to never call my voicemail with a bullshit offer like that again.  Yes, I am an Avril-hater, and I will straight up bring my hateration/holeration up into this dancerie.  No qualms about it. 

I watched the Sororitiy Life Reunion this past weekend and found myself wishing awful things upon each of those dumbass girls.  Who did these fools think they were kidding?  I loved how they all just sat there, clearly jaded and pissed and upset, and tried to be all BIG and mature and ADULT about their whole reality tv experience when you know all they really wanted to do was get up off that couch and throw down, all Jerry Springer-style..  Especially Jordan, yu could fucking SEE the homicide bubbling in yer eyes.  She wanted to tear across that stage and kick those Pledge Masters in the face.  The new season starts next week, I think, along with Fraternity Life, which I am curious to see.  The vomiting… ohh the vomiting.  I can just see it now…  The pixled-out tee-shirt logos, the overuse of “dude” and “kid”, the endless array of wife-beaters.  I think we should start a drinking game. 
Everytime a pledge screams, “Who’s your daddy?!”, pound one. 
Everytime you hear, “Yeah, baby!”, pound two. 
Everytime the music editors play Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”, pound three. 
And everytime there’s blatant display of homoeroticism, just chug the motherfucking bottle.

It’s like a desert of whiteness out there.  Thundersnow! ^{(tm BrooklynAaron)}  Where am I — Siberia?!

ENTRANCE TO THE A TRAIN

A very cool guy who stayed @ the hotel last week wrote this incredible RAVE on me and emailed it to the General Manager of Hudson!  My supervisor brought me the FWD the other night and was like, “Whatever you did with this guest?  Keep doing it.  I have never seen anybody get so much praise before.”  I was like, “Bitch, this is nothing.  You shoulda heard him after I fucked him.”  Heh, okay not really.  What’s sex?  Ew.  Whatever.  So yeah, it was a really cool letter, I rocked his world and everything.  Allow me to flaunt myself for just one moment… (please, like this entire website isn’t an blatant tease already).

An excerpt from the Letter that Launced A Thousand Raises:
I am a frequent traveller, I have stayed at (insert long list of worldwide hotels), and I cannot remember ever being more satisfied with this kind of service from any hospitality profession at all. Chris‘ professional and simply unparalleled performance is worthy of the highest praise.  In particular, the way in which he handled an uncomfortable situation in which (insert a long story here about how some skanky woman from the bar stalked him up to his room and then wouldn’t leave) …he dealt with my problem in a way that was friendly, understanding, professional, and most importantly EFFECTIVE and EFFICIENT in a way that I did not even experience at (insert well-known 4-star hotel).

In conclusion of this very understated letter, Chris is what an organization such as yours depends on.  He is the reason that your hotel has the public perception that it does.  He is honestly and sincerely Hudson’s most valuable asset.

Can I get this shit printed on a T-shirt or something?!  Woo-hoo!   Yay, me!  I now keep the letter in my back pocket @ work.  When I need a little stress-relieving, emotional pick-me-up, I just take a minute and scan over the highlighted parts again.   Adolph wanted to take me out to a “Job Well Done” dinner the other night, to which I politely declined.  I’m not really convinced that it was about me anyway, I think he just wanted an excuse to eat free @ the Hudson Cafeteria.  Heh.

On the subject of Duncan Sheik’s new song “On a High”?  I must give praise where it is due: he’s got a great voice.  I have tried many many times to sing along in the same totured falsetto as he, yet arrived to all attempts bootless.  Duncan, you win.  You’re a better singer, ok?  Stop rubbing it in my face!  Please just take the trophy home and out of my sight b/c it’s just too painful for me to look at.  Also, get a real name. 

(I am giving myself 10 cool points for using the phrase bootless).