Day 151

Today, I freaked out because when I woke up in my hotel room, I had forgotten where I was. Hotels are so non-descript it’s kind of obnoxious. I do have a fairly nice room and considering I’m going to be living in it for 3 to 4 months, I guess its great that it has a microwave and a fridge. The windows only open about 2 inches, which is kind of annoying since sometimes I just want some freaking fresh air.

I keep forgetting to put the “do not disturb” sign on my door, so the maid has come everyday so far. I never know how much to tip them and I get a little frustrated when I put things the way I want them and the made comes and moves everything back to the default settings – like the coffee maker is on the left of the counter, not the right. The $3 bottles of water I refuse to drink are put back on the counter. I do like that my bed is magically made and my towels are folded and pretty.

I used to think that living in a hotel was glamorous. I think the important part if this fantasy is living in a LUXURY hotel is glamorous. If you had to live in a Super 8, you might was to die. I’m not saying that this particular hotel is bad, it’s clean and nice and all that jazz, but hotel living is hard. You have a tiny fridge and no oven and your tv automatically resets to channel two when you turn it off and the volume adjusts itself louder, so you’re convinced that some geriatric hobo came over to watch the tube while you were out. There are never enough hangers and there is always a smell that’s either annoying or unpleasant… because you’re not home. That’s part of the problem with hotel living – it’s painfully temporary. You could settle in, get some matching throw pillows, some potpourri, but in the end, you’re leaving so it doesn’t matter.

I especially feel like I’m living in a stranger’s house because when I find blonde hair on the shower… or the sink… or on my pillow… I think, “Who’s been in my room!?” It’s a literal reverse-Goldilocks scenario and it’s a trip.

Today gets 3 Barbie Warhols: