Today I am Hugh Grant in that movie Two Weeks Notice. This hotel is my home and I am running around here like I own the joint, which I do, for the next day and a half.
Except I can't, by rights, call it a hotel because it is a motel. Actually it is a glorified truck stop.
I was all excited about going to Mississauga for two glamourous days in a spa-like writing sanctuary while Dave is taking a transmission course at Chrysler and, lo, here I am in the Husky truck-o-rama, full of grizzled, leathered, tattooed truck drivers and enough carbohydrates to to float a rolling turd.
Yup, I look out my window on the fifth floor and there, spread before me like a Freightliner assembly plant, are acres of tractor trailers. The thought has occurred to me that I could go for a "walk" out in the parking lot and maybe make some extra coin. It could pay for one of those nifty polyester-fluff neck rolls they have on sale in the gift shop.
I am, however, making the Best Of It.
This morning I chose a fresh apple over make-your-own-waffles, stale croissants, white toast and canned fruit salad. Then I went to the exercise room and tried out all their equipment. Man, their bike is WAY harder than my bike. I just about popped a gasket on that one. I can just see the headline: Country Bumpkin Found Dead In Puddle Of Sweat In Tacky Truck Stop. Mother Mortified.
When I was good and stinky I staggered into the pool area, had a lovely swim with the pool all to myself, then an even lovelier hot tub with all the jets pointed at my sore bits – namely the throbbing gluteous maximus on my hiney.
Then I dashed into the truck stop store and picked up a large coffee (free for hotel guests!) and have come back to my freshly cleaned room where I am now drinking coffee and eating dry bran cereal which I brought from home. I also brought yogurt but forgot a spoon. Am thinking of chugging it right out of the squeezable container, although I'm sure Hugh Grant would send up for utensils.
I must write now. Although googling photographs of Mr. Grant is far more entertaining.
Talk hubby into popping over to Guelph.....I'll feed you.
ReplyDeleteThat, Delores, is almost the best offer I've had all day! There was this guy named Butch out in the parking lot, though, that offered me something REALLY unusual to eat. I, er, said I was busy writing. Which I am. Honest. But thanks so much for the offer!!!! Hugs!
ReplyDeleteWhat a delightful treat! I'm on my laptop, in the sun, having done a workout and herded a couple of cats, who are still looking for the mouse that one of them ate. sigh Cheers from Cottage Country!
ReplyDeleteYou had me giggling at the first paragraph, then chortling at your "headline". When I got to Mother Mortified I was LOLing (or should that me LingOL).
ReplyDeleteJenn, you have sun there? It's raining cats and dogs out my window but not, I don't think, the cats that ate your mouse.
ReplyDeleteLaurita, so glad I got a chuckle out of you today. Always makes me happy when you laugh. But what, pray tell, is LingOL?
I also smiled for for for the Mother Mortified line. Stay on the narrow!
ReplyDeleteLingLOL - maybe Laughing Out Loud, as opposed to Laugh Out Loud? Can acronyms conjugate? Is that indecent?
That does sound rather risque, John...perhaps you have come up with a new, ahem, racy kind of grammar... perhaps now grammar will become popular with the masses ... there'll be sleazy little adult grammar shops on every corner! I'll have to buy my conjugations in a plain brown envelope. Oooooh, excited just thinking about it.
ReplyDeleteWe have that movie on DVD, although I've never watched it. That pic, it almost looks like the model city is a chessboard.
ReplyDeleteYeah, I can imagine it's a little… creepy, being a woman at a truckstop. Maybe the restaurant will give you a plastic spoon so you can eat your yogurt in a more civilized manner? Heehee.
Hope you get lots of writing done!
Oh to heck with the spoon! I totally squeezed it into my gob. Delicious and nutritious!
ReplyDelete