I’ve stayed in every blue light cheap hotel
Stella Blue (April 6) - This is one of many trips to Watsonville, California from which I am now writing. My sister in law lives here in town along with my sister not too far away and my younger brother used to not be too far away. For one reason or another, I have come out this way with the whole family – now a total of 5 times in the last 7 years, and it is starting to almost feel like a home away from home. From where we live in Nevada, it is a little over 300 miles, but the trick is getting through the mountain passes – which often have snow on them and tend to be windy one lane per direction roads. So now writing this from the Red Roof Inn – I have come to a conclusion regarding lodging – that no matter what anyone may say about saving money, that at least with my family any way, forking out the dough (which usually is in short quantities in my household) for the paid lodgings is the way to do it. I know my parents for some reason or another were obsessed with us staying with my sister and brother in law for some time, and last year we decided to do it. And don’t get me wrong – they were very accommodating, very generous in their hospitality and there were no complaints there about how we were treated. My brother in law even made his coffee in his own room, so that he wouldn’t have to go into the kitchen to wake me up where I was sleeping nearby on the couch with Zukey, my dog, nearby and went way above and beyond the call of duty in his accommodations.
All the same – no matter how hard the host and hostess family may try to make it comfortable, it still is very awkward. Bringing the dog was a mistake for one thing, as Zukey seems to have an instinctual tendency to mark any new spot at least once so people know he has been there – which appears to have happened during the visit and we felt pretty bad about it. That night we showed up at 9:00 exhausted from the drive compounded by the fear that he was going to let it out at any time certainly provided a source of immediate tension and embarrassment. That was a mistake and you live and learn. But even with that aside, there are certain comfort zones you just take for granted when you are on your own. When we showed up it seemed to be boiling hot, but you can’t just turn up or down the thermostat at will – that is up to the people who live there who may or may not be on the same page with your particular comfort zone. If you show up late – and we did not get there until 9:00 due to me picking what turned out to be the long way, getting off to a late start – the normal culprits with travel, then there is that awkward guilt that you are keeping up the people who are gracious enough to be having you. But then there are other issues – such as going to the bathroom for example. I tend to get up at least twice in the middle of the night to pee, and often one time before that before I get to sleep the first time, and when the only way to the bathroom is a long walk that down a floor that seems to amplify every step – past the doorway of the owners of the house, than that awkwardness is magnified. And what if God forbid the nature of the visit to the facility involves earth shattering gaseous explosive diarrhea (a condition which seems to find me at the worst possible time) so that every single explosive sound is mired in self conscious trepidation – with such worries as – if I let it out now, are they going to hear it – are they going to think less of me – is that proud civilized front that I put up for all to see going to finally give way to that disgusting pig of a person I really am and shatter that false persona for life? These are all things to think about – and a lot easier to do in one’s hotel room – where one’s own family is the only one to offend, and God knows I have already offended them countless times already.
You really just need that space – where you can be by yourselves, not worry about putting up a front or offending anyone, not play the act, not constantly ingratiate yourself in debt for allowing the other person to spare you the price of forking out the 50 to 60 bucks for a hotel room, for as the originally quoted song says, nothing comes for free, and what may seem like a nice gesture will ultimately have some price that comes along with it. You almost feel like saying if I can chop off my left arm and hand it to you for dinner, would that be enough to even come close to pulling me up from the eternal debt I am now in for being allowed to have a near sleepless night on the couch. No – here at the Red Roof Inn my wife may be glaring at me every time I get up in the middle of the night to take a leak, but if I have to stink it up that badly, I can always head down to the hotel lobby if it gets to that state. The rooms may always have that motel odor that follows your clothes long after you have left the place, and the little refrigerator they give you may be only big enough to fit one piece of toast if you are lucky to even have one, but it your place – to do whatever the hell you want to without fear of your nasty habits affecting or offending anyone – and that alone is worth the price of admission.
(April 8) In the second part of this thrilling series on my travels, now posted upon my arrival so it is not an open invitation to come rob my house, I have concluded that traveling with the family is up there with a continuous kick in the head – in other words – it sucks. The reason why I don’t do it much – there always seems to be at least one (in this case two) nights of sleeping like crap, followed by some kind of sight-seeing event – last time it was Monterrey Acquarium, this time it was the ulimate tourist trap from hell – the Santa Cruz boardwalk (Dan – how come you never warned me about that place - overpriced food stands featuring every poisionous concoction of fat and sugar available, cheesy rides also overpriced ) – where the combination of low sleep with too much stimuli leaves me feeling some combination of light headed, nausea, dizzy and just a downright festive overall bad trip – right out of some bad movie – and as this has happened today – I always ask myself – why do I do this – why do I always subject myself to this repeated hell – knowing ahead of time it will be hell and then in turn finding I was right in my prediction – and the answer is I must really love my family – and Sara seems to like these trips – so I am the sacrificial lamb here. I always find such a sense of relief when they end, to be back home, where I know I have my privacy, where there is at least a slight chance of some kind of initimacy possible, where my dog is there, and I don’t have to worry about having the whole world know of my latest attempt at a bowel movement. It makes me glad I don’t have money, because then I would have to think of a better excuse not to travel than merely I can’t afford it. As it stands, I am at least a year away from forgetting how much I hate this before I will attempt to subject myself to this again. Never again – my last battle cry – never seems to hold. Wait til next year is more realistic. It has not all been bad – had some nice musical moments alone in the hills of Watsonville and with my brother in law last night at his house, but overall – these moments seem to really stand out – those low points where you feel you can’t take another moment of it and just want to be home again.
4-9- Home at last! Don’t want to leave it again for a long time!
All the same – no matter how hard the host and hostess family may try to make it comfortable, it still is very awkward. Bringing the dog was a mistake for one thing, as Zukey seems to have an instinctual tendency to mark any new spot at least once so people know he has been there – which appears to have happened during the visit and we felt pretty bad about it. That night we showed up at 9:00 exhausted from the drive compounded by the fear that he was going to let it out at any time certainly provided a source of immediate tension and embarrassment. That was a mistake and you live and learn. But even with that aside, there are certain comfort zones you just take for granted when you are on your own. When we showed up it seemed to be boiling hot, but you can’t just turn up or down the thermostat at will – that is up to the people who live there who may or may not be on the same page with your particular comfort zone. If you show up late – and we did not get there until 9:00 due to me picking what turned out to be the long way, getting off to a late start – the normal culprits with travel, then there is that awkward guilt that you are keeping up the people who are gracious enough to be having you. But then there are other issues – such as going to the bathroom for example. I tend to get up at least twice in the middle of the night to pee, and often one time before that before I get to sleep the first time, and when the only way to the bathroom is a long walk that down a floor that seems to amplify every step – past the doorway of the owners of the house, than that awkwardness is magnified. And what if God forbid the nature of the visit to the facility involves earth shattering gaseous explosive diarrhea (a condition which seems to find me at the worst possible time) so that every single explosive sound is mired in self conscious trepidation – with such worries as – if I let it out now, are they going to hear it – are they going to think less of me – is that proud civilized front that I put up for all to see going to finally give way to that disgusting pig of a person I really am and shatter that false persona for life? These are all things to think about – and a lot easier to do in one’s hotel room – where one’s own family is the only one to offend, and God knows I have already offended them countless times already.
You really just need that space – where you can be by yourselves, not worry about putting up a front or offending anyone, not play the act, not constantly ingratiate yourself in debt for allowing the other person to spare you the price of forking out the 50 to 60 bucks for a hotel room, for as the originally quoted song says, nothing comes for free, and what may seem like a nice gesture will ultimately have some price that comes along with it. You almost feel like saying if I can chop off my left arm and hand it to you for dinner, would that be enough to even come close to pulling me up from the eternal debt I am now in for being allowed to have a near sleepless night on the couch. No – here at the Red Roof Inn my wife may be glaring at me every time I get up in the middle of the night to take a leak, but if I have to stink it up that badly, I can always head down to the hotel lobby if it gets to that state. The rooms may always have that motel odor that follows your clothes long after you have left the place, and the little refrigerator they give you may be only big enough to fit one piece of toast if you are lucky to even have one, but it your place – to do whatever the hell you want to without fear of your nasty habits affecting or offending anyone – and that alone is worth the price of admission.
(April 8) In the second part of this thrilling series on my travels, now posted upon my arrival so it is not an open invitation to come rob my house, I have concluded that traveling with the family is up there with a continuous kick in the head – in other words – it sucks. The reason why I don’t do it much – there always seems to be at least one (in this case two) nights of sleeping like crap, followed by some kind of sight-seeing event – last time it was Monterrey Acquarium, this time it was the ulimate tourist trap from hell – the Santa Cruz boardwalk (Dan – how come you never warned me about that place - overpriced food stands featuring every poisionous concoction of fat and sugar available, cheesy rides also overpriced ) – where the combination of low sleep with too much stimuli leaves me feeling some combination of light headed, nausea, dizzy and just a downright festive overall bad trip – right out of some bad movie – and as this has happened today – I always ask myself – why do I do this – why do I always subject myself to this repeated hell – knowing ahead of time it will be hell and then in turn finding I was right in my prediction – and the answer is I must really love my family – and Sara seems to like these trips – so I am the sacrificial lamb here. I always find such a sense of relief when they end, to be back home, where I know I have my privacy, where there is at least a slight chance of some kind of initimacy possible, where my dog is there, and I don’t have to worry about having the whole world know of my latest attempt at a bowel movement. It makes me glad I don’t have money, because then I would have to think of a better excuse not to travel than merely I can’t afford it. As it stands, I am at least a year away from forgetting how much I hate this before I will attempt to subject myself to this again. Never again – my last battle cry – never seems to hold. Wait til next year is more realistic. It has not all been bad – had some nice musical moments alone in the hills of Watsonville and with my brother in law last night at his house, but overall – these moments seem to really stand out – those low points where you feel you can’t take another moment of it and just want to be home again.
4-9- Home at last! Don’t want to leave it again for a long time!
posted by Zook at 7:48 PM
2 Comments:
Throw it in their faces - not something I would try to do - was feeling pretty awful, physically and mentally when I wrote that section - I just tried to avoid everyone as much as I could that day to not bring everyone else down.
Have no idea what you are talking about - but for the sake of argument - if I did - it is a lot harder to do what you are referring to when your family is around - takes a lot of strategy...
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