Hotel California. Uh, I mean Hotel Indigo: LaSheeka

One night she got pissed off (she had a hair-trigger—I loved her for that)

“Why don’t you just get a fucking job?!”

(Screamed at some pan-handler at Hotel Indigo late one night.)

I just walked away, but said to her, “Baby, calm down.”

She replied, “These idiots just piss me off.”

Had to concur.

LaSheeka and I worked Night Shift at Hotel Indigo for probably at least a year.

We became instant ‘Fast Friends.”

Instant Karma.

We ‘understood’ one another and neither one of us ever put up with bullshit.

Because neither one of us gave a fuck.

We just did our respective jobs.

And LaSheeka was never hesitant to tell a drunken refugee “Guest” from Beale Street that he/she was full of shit and needed to just go the fuck to bed. And STFU!

We spent many long nights swapping tales.

I told my stories.

She told hers.

We BONDED.

I MISS HER.

Indigo Girl 2: Callen

 

If Jenna was the ‘air-brushed’ perfection, professional beautiful angel, then it follows… yin and yang:

Callen was the unkempt, unsteady, unreliable, super lazy blonde stoner / juicer who did not give a fuck.

Half the times she showed up for work she was slightly stoned, or drunk, or a combination of the two.

And Of Course I fell madly in Love with HER. I really had No Choice.

Laws of Physics.

And she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. To see her smile was something I cannot begin to describe, but of course, I tried not to notice, because I was a “Professional Security Guard”—and not supposed to be prone to emotion, nor feelings. She had long blonde hair (have I ever mentioned that I have never had any luck with blondes? Pretty certain I have, but I seem to be drawn to them. Moth to flame, as it were.)

She was about five foot eight and just a little ‘chunky’ but a good kind of ‘chunky’. She really was a beautiful, kinda country-looking woman. She had a ‘soft’ look. This is hard to explain and probably does not look good in print, but she had a soft look. What I am desperately try to explain is that she just looked ‘comfortable’ and potentially ‘comforting.’ (I could fall safely asleep in her embrace) Unlike a lot of the women I have ‘experienced’ in my life; most of them were ‘uncomfortable.’ And NOT safe.

Oh fuck it. Let’s move on, shall we?

Yet trust me on this one folks, I have seen women from all over the world. I know women. I love them and I appreciate them. All manner of shapes and sizes of them. This one, this Callen, was ‘Top Shelf.” But moving on from my ‘sexist’ commentary over her looks:

Callen, being ever lazy would ask me to do things that were not in my wheelhouse nor in my mind to do. I was a Fucking Security Guard.

That was MY Job!

My ONLY JOB!

She would ask me (ever so nicely) to deliver towels or shit paper or coffee to some guest’s room. First few times she asked me to do these things I just invited her to fuck off (I did not verbalize it that way, but she caught the drift).

Now please allow me to explain something:

Hotel Indigo had a ‘gym’ of sorts. There were weights and a weight machine. I had eight hours to kill every night and I was big ‘Into’ lifting weights back then, so I took about an hour out of my shift every night to lift weights in their gym.

While sitting in my car one night, after finishing my workout, I had a ‘sudden’ epiphany.

How could I refuse Callen’s simple requests of me to break MY Rules, when she did not call me out for breaking the Hotel Indigo’s Rules?

(I was not supposed to be using their ‘Fitness’ Center.)

I got off my ass, walked into to Lobby and had this statement for her:

“Callen, do you know what an epiphany is?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I just had one. I owe you an apology. You don’t say shit about me spending an hour a night working out in your fitness center. I enjoy doing that, and you never say shit about it. You would never ‘drop a dime’ on me FOR Doing it. This much I know about you. Certainly, if you need me to do something for you that is not strictly in my ‘Security Guard’ purview, from now on, I will do it. I owe you this. I am very fond of you. More than you know. You are good people.”

I extended my hand. She took it. We shook.

“We good?” I asked.

“Yep. We good,” she replied.

And I was more in love with her at that point than was prudent.

“It’s pleasure to try ’em; it’s trouble to keep ’em.”

–Joni

Oh, in case anyone is wondering, Callen was probably twenty-eight and change, years-wise.

These kinds of details are not important to me.

But they may be important to the casual reader.

So there ya go.

******

Very sad footnote:

I discovered after we had known each other for some time that she had had some real tragedy in her young life:

She woke up one morning next to her dead boyfriend.

He had just died during the night.

She could not explain why nor how, but I am quite certain it fucked her up.

As it would anyone.

Her story made me almost cry.

Actually it did make me cry, but I waited until I got back to my car.

Then I tried to think up ways I could win this woman.

Came up empty.

Probably for the best:  hers and mine.

****

To be continued…

 

 

Indigo Girls Chapter One: Jenna

First “Indigo Girl”: JENNA

My First night working at Hotel Indigo.

Jenna, (Night ‘Auditor’—manager) asked me:

“Do you like music?”

“Of course. I love music,” I replied.

“Look at this video,” she said as she came over to me with her cell phone locked and loaded.

“OK”

I watched some dude singing and playing guitar (pretty well actually) some obscure C/W song. Then I recognized said dude. He was a rather familiar face—I had already made a couple of ‘patrols’ and had noticed this guy unloading some shit from his truck in the parking garage. He looked a little (very little) like Garth Brooks, but still…

“Uh, isn’t that one of the construction workers, working here on the renovation of the Hotel?”

“Good eye,” Jenna said. “Yes.”

“Your boyfriend?” I asked.

“Kinda,” she said.

Well damn, I thought, there goes MY plan and hopes Dashed (Jenna was VERY attractive, long slightly blonde / brunette hair, sleepy eyes—and probably too young for me—but what the hell. I am an optimist.)

“He’s not from Memphis is he?”

“No,” she said. “Texas.”

“So, he’s just living here in the hotel as the renovation work is going on?”

“Yes.” And then she added quickly, “He’s also a rodeo cowboy.”

“I see.” I said. “And what’s your story?”

“I have a degree in classical music,” she said. “I can play several musical instruments: Violin, the viola, the cello and the double bass”

“Yet, you like country and western?”

“Yes. I love all music.”

“Me too. Got any more on that phone of yours?”

“Yep. Sure do. Gimme a sec.”

“Can you sing as well?” I asked while she was searching on her phone.

“Nope. Can’t sing a lick.”

Instant Karma

We became fast friends after that.

*******

Not Jenna, but close enuff:

Nikon D4s, Lifestyle, Copyright Dixie Dixon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ludicrous” is Just a Scare Word. (I’m Over My Head, But It Sure Feels Nice.)

But, I am having THAT TIME OF MY LIFE!

My life has taken a turn toward the bizarre.

Recent memory (of which I have not so much)

Recent memory teaches me my life may be falling apart.

But then…

I look at my prolific writing of late.

And I smile a ‘knowing‘ smile while regarding my folly.

I love my LIFE.

Will never give it up without kicking and screaming.

I love my life.

I am having FUN!

I want for NOTHING.

I am living the DREAM!

Below please discover some of the silliness I have recently posted on Face Book.

(If I cannot laugh at me…. Well, what’s the point?)

I laugh at me constantly.

Incessantly.

*****

Still Moving IN.  

Should have taken half a day.

Taken almost three months now and still counting.

I am savoring it.

To be fair: There were some ‘detours’ along my way.

Denton, UBH comes immediately to mind…

Happy Saturday Y’all

***

As well-documented:

My life is an open book.

I hold back nothing. Not sure why. I guess I am just past the point of giving a shit.

***

This is ‘Social Media’ I really do not know most of y’all, nor would care to. I ‘write’ stuff that is in my head—a scary place–for certain.

However, I love to write. Writing allows me to get deep down–explore what is going on in my head–what I am FEELING. It is usually lame, but….

I do try to add added value to my posts. Generally in the form of some esoteric video or song. (And, more often than not, an oldie)

Just to make your trip not worthless.

***

In my ‘Inbox’ This Afternoon:

From: Indeed

To: Marcom

Job Alert!

‘Seeking Tinker, Tailor, Sailor, Spy’

Job Description: Sit in Shit-Hole Hotel Room. Write Stupid Shit All Day (and Night)

Spend way too much time on Social Media.

Watch U.S. of A. going to hell in a hand-basket (Preferably On CNN, but FOX News will do as well)

Requirements:

Applicant will be Sixty-Plus White Male.

Juicer

No self-esteem required.

Must type 40 WPM

(Grammar is important. Spelling not so much)

Must drink 45 Ounces per hour.

Pay: ‘It won’t cost you a dime. Just send One Dollar, Postal Money Order along with your application.’

“Shit! Put me in Coach!”

Applied for Job.

Fingers Crossed.

***

I am struggling with this whole sobriety thing.

Not sure if it is going to work for me.

I do not want to go back to THAT PLACE

But, I may be Over My Head on this one.

I try to eat.

I try to sleep.

I try to keep up

With current events.

I try to watch old movies.

Nothing works.

In short:

“I am properly fucked.”

***

So… I wake up and it’s sixty-one degrees in my ‘house’ right now.

(How do I know this? Because I have a fucking thermometer—that’s how!)

I turn my HVAC to heat and guess what?

The fucking smoke detector alarm (conveniently placed right over my HVAC unit) goes the fuck off, thus awakening both my neighbors and my ire!

What kind of idiot did this? Who engineered this?

I pulled the battery out of the damn smoke detector.

Yeah, I like to live on the edge.

***

This Shit Just Keeps Writing Itself:

Dear

Finney Foods

I know you are just trying to scare up customers.

However, I am a writer and I am just trying to scare up readers.

I seriously doubt y’all are interested in my writing.

I only have some few, special friends.

Friends who read my shit.

I am fairly certain I cannot include you in this group.

Therefore, If you are not interested in my HG Stories, I will de-friend you. Comments are your ticket to paradise.

You have thirty minutes.

Clock ticking.

Post Haste.

***************

 

There is a very narrow window in my world.

Let us call it the “Sobriety Window.”

For lack of a term.

Sometimes, I thrust me out of that window.

Sometimes I just ignore it

Sometimes, I actually make it outside.

Into the Real World.

Then I panic!

Try to get back in.

The Window has already shut tight behind me.

I cannot get back in.

But eventually, I do.

Get back in.

And the whole shit – show begins anew.

(There is a serious post here, fixing to happen.

But not tonight— this one Will require some sobriety to write.)

And that narrow window opportunity….

******************

This is RAW!

Un-Thoughtful.

Un-Examined.

Un-Polite.

Un-EDITED

I may come back and edit later 

(but probably not)

I am using my ‘Shotgun’ approach to writing these daze:

“Just Shoot! See if you can HIT anything.”

“Look at me! I can… BE…. Center Field!”

Abusive Lovely Muse–Chapter Two

I sat down and starting writing.

Muse was over my shoulder, massaging my hurting neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“My Job, Musing.”

“Knock it off! I am trying to work here.”

“Jesus! Relax.”

“Why don’t you sit down? I don’t need a spider looking over my shoulder.”

She looked a bit hurt and started to pout.

She parked her lovely self on my nasty couch. And glared at me.

I went back to my keyboard.

“Uh, Musey, What should I write?” I finally asked.

“You’re the fucking Genius; figure it out.”

“No! I do need and love you.”

“Write what is ON-YOUR-MIND.”

“My Erstwhile Girlfriend is on MY MIND.”

“Well, write that then.”

“Okay, I will. How should I begin?’

“A long apology letter might be a good start.”

“Alright; I will start with that.”

“Now we are getting somewhere.”

Chapter One Found Here: 

Escape From Memphis–Chapter Twelve and a Half– Friends

I have very few friends.

But the ones I have are ‘keepers.’

I love them.

They, of late, are ‘concerned’ about my

Mental state.

“Doan worry,” I assure them. “I am in a good place.”

“Ya sure?” They always ask.

“Yep. I am certain, anything else on your mind, or did you just call to borrow money?”

“Lance,  yer funy.”

“Yep, I know.”

Moving on….

My posts are all over some place…

This does not escape me.

No one reads.

Don’t matter none.

I am writing now for my own edification.

So there!