Tag Archives: hotel

Welcome to Chicago!

My previous post was a fine example for #FirstWorldProblem.

The kids and I survived. Of course. More than survived, we had a grand old time taking it easy playing really layback tourists in Chicago. The kids apparently inherited my love for hotels: we spent one morning inside the hotel watching the History Channel.

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As I lay on the lounge chair watching the kids frolicking in the pool on the top of the hotel under the moon and surrounded by city lights, I had to admit, with embarrassment, that I could no longer complain.

I am going to be staying at yet another hotel tonight. BlogHer 2013 is here in Chicago. I hope to see some of you in 3D. Be warned: I am hashtag awkward.

Hotels

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My co-worker once told me that my family should have a reality TV show because ridiculous things happen to us all the time. Actually, I admit: what he really meant was that we are a family of ridiculous inclination and we make ridiculous decisions and do ridiculous things.

“Hilarity ensued.”

I should have a plaque of these words hanging in our family room.

We are putting new floors in for the house this week. We did not realize that we had to completely vacate the first floor before the workers could start.

No problem. We all got a rude awakening early Tuesday morning. We moved everything (except the large pieces of furniture) off the floor, the china cabinet, the buffet table, the wine cabinet, bookcases and shelves in a record time of 3 hours. I was tearfully grateful to have a teenage son that morning.

Then I was told that starting today, we had to vacate the house because of the sanding and the staining.

THIS IS AWESOME.

I HAPPEN TO LOVE HOTELS!

I really do.

I love them so much that when I am on a business trip I often miss the chance to explore the city fully because I spend most of the time enjoying the hotel, that I used to bid on Priceline for $50 or less a night to stay in hotels, sometimes within 5 minutes drive from my house, just because.

I have fond childhood memories of my mom hiding me in the laundry cart or under the service cart to sneak me into the hotels that she worked at when she could not find somebody to watch me. Hotels to me at that time were fantastical places where super wealthy people stayed when they were not at home. I did not know the concept of vacation back then – I don’t remember my parents ever taking any “vacation”, and my family certainly had never taken trips together to faraway places for fun. The guests at the hotels always looked so grand and happy. Some frequent guests even brought me candy, and sometimes even chocolate truffles [worth their weight in gold to a child]! The ladies dressed beautifully and spoke in soft voices, and plus, they smelled nice, like flowers.

Hotels were where you were taken care of, where your towels and sheets smelled like sunshine, your bed was big and soft and bounced when you jumped on it. My mother was an expert bed maker (she kind of had to): she made beds with perfect “hotel corners”, and they looked like rectangular boxes with sheets pulled so tight that you could see the sharp angles at the foot of the bed.

Compared to the regular cramped apartments in Taipei, hotels seemed like palaces with modern amenities. The bathroom itself was a wonder – a toilet that worked perfectly, tiles with no dirt or moldy spots in between, and a bathtub so big and CLEAN that you could soak your entire body in.

NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ANTS OR COCKROACHES.

and the most wondrous thing of them all:

AIR CONDITIONING.

To this day my favorite thing about staying in a hotel is to sleep in a cool room with a soft comforter pulled over my face.

Thus began our adventure in three different hotels on three consecutive nights.

Renaissance/Marriott tonight.

Tomorrow onto Starwood.

On Friday, we are checking into an IHG hotel.

Collect all three!

I guess my co-worker was onto something.

“Hilarity ensued…”

It’s not what it’s cracked up to be.

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I feel so naked without a working cellphone with me when I am out and about. Vulnerable. I did not know how dependent I have become, at least psychologically, on having instant access to the world.

They changed the configuration of the plane: I was able to get a window seat in the Economy Plus section. After I settled into my seat, I started Instagramming. I stopped when I saw a long string of rosaries dangling near my face. No way.

Way.

It was a real Sister. I don’t know why I was so surprised. Sisters fly. My Sister immediately took out her well-worn Bible, with margins filled with notes in neat handwritings, and started reading silently to herself. When she put the Book away, I thought, what’s she gonna do now? She took out her rosaries and a tiny book filled with pictures of saints (I assumed) and continued to pray.

I felt so safe on this flight. And so content.

Sister is not going to steal from my bag when I go use the bathroom. Sister is not going to judge that I have not one ounce of makeup on. Sister won’t care that I have an erupting pimple at the base of my nose. Sister probably won’t judge me. Period. Besides Sister is all skin and bones and she keeps to herself physically so I have both armrests! Sign me up from now on!

Maybe it was as a test for me that soon I found out that my seat did not recline at all. And the new personal screen I was so psyched about was broken. Somehow I was not agitated. I probably would have felt really embarrassed if I threw a tantrum over something trivial like this after overhearing that Sister was flying to China to work in an orphanage. #TrueStory

Sigh.

Luckily I’d packed every single electronic gadget I have: Android phone, Kindle, iPhone, iPad, and a Mac, even though what I really wanted to do on the flight was to sleep.

So far I have seen the airport and the hotel.

I broke my glasses so I am in trouble at night after I take out my contact lenses. I have no idea what I am going to do for my return flight as I cannot wear those dastardly things in my eyes for 13+ hours. My eyes will be like dried plums.

Anyway, it is almost 2 am, and I am supposed to be up 4 hours from now.

But before I jump into this,

I need to take advantage of this:

Vegas Baby

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Anybody interested in listening to more of my drunken tales? This time in Vegas?

Well, no matter. I need to write this all down so I can relive my glory days when I am in my 80s… I sure do hope the Interwebs are still going strong “50” years from now…

We had never been on a vacation without the kids in tow until this past weekend. And thank goodness we did not have our kids with us. Otherwise The Husband would not be able to check out the top-optional swimming pool at our hotel.

TOPTIONAL.

That is the new word I learned from my trip there. Don’t you just love Vegas?

I am leaving on an early flight to NYC this morning, and I need at least 2 hours of shuteye since I have been sustaining on minimum sleep since we came back from Vegas. Therefore I will be brief, (and you all know “brief” is a relative term when you are dealing with someone who is borderline Narcissistic when they are talking about themselves…) I will make a list of things I can still remember as the massive amount of alcohol finally found its way out of my system.

1. It actually was not that startling to have a woman turn around and you found yourself face to face (?) with her boobs. Well, I am not a straight man so I cannot speak for them. For me, it was kind of natural anyway. Anti-climatic almost.

2. Young boobs are perky. Either that, or all these girls all have had boob jobs. Once you pass 30 though, your boobs start drooping. So enjoy them while you can. Or start saving money.

3. Older, trim and fit women’s boobs even if they do drape a little do not bother me at all. Yes, the young women next to me exclaimed quietly, “Ewww.” I so wanted to tell them, “Let’s see what yours look like when you hit her age.”

4. Men are hilarious when they pretend they are not looking. Ladies, you know what I am talking about.

5. This is a note to the girl who was competing against her (former?) best friend for the same young man’s attention: Taking off your bras somehow did not work, eh? Your friend put hers back on pretty quickly and guess what? The young man continued to talk to her while your boobs were bouncing up and down in the background. I am sorry. Next time, don’t try so hard. And I hope your (former?) best friend forgive you for trying to upstage her the second you got into the pool.

6. People watching is a lot more fun when it is TOPTIONAL.

7. In Vegas, Adult Shows mean TOPLESS. Duh.

8. Those boobs on stage are no larger than yours and oh my goodness they do not stand up like “Boing!” the way porn industry makes you think they do. They droop, a bit. Naturally. Due to gravity. They fucking droop. And they all look gorgeous. You chuckle at yourself because who would have thought that you’d found affirmation at the show Fantasy?

9. It is a brilliant idea to get well buzzed before you head down to the night club so you don’t spend all your money on those over-priced drinks.

10. Chuck Liddell is apparently somebody famous. (You found that out when the security personnel told you off “Please stop taking pictures!” even though you were taking pictures of the go go dancer). More importantly, he apparently can crush you with his bare hands, according to your husband, after you obnoxiously yelled Chuck Chuck Chuck! And your husband is no fun because you really want to say to Chuck, “Chuck, Asia loves you!” – a bold faced lie of course. But you are so drunk you could not fucking care.

11. You say and then yell some variation of “I am so drunk I cannot fucking care” throughout the night.

12. You don’t mind going and waiting in line at the bar because you are so drunk… yeah, and you keep on talking to random strangers.

Some young man asks whether you’d mind if he cuts in line to get some water from the bartender. You say, “You are so cute. Go right ahead.” While you are waiting, you ask him, “What’s wrong with you that you are drinking water? Are you Mormon or something?” He mimes giving you a pamphlet, and you laugh and tell him that your son sprinkles you with holy water as a joke. To which, the very nice young man feigns surprise, “You have a son?! Impossible. You look about 21!” Of course you thank him, “I will buy you any drink you want!” When you ask the bartender to give the young man a glass of water, the young man says, “I want to marry you right here right now.” You think, “Too bad he’s gay, and of course, I am married.” Then you send him off to have a great time “because that’s what young people are supposed to do!”

13. When you go back to the bar the 3rd time, you strike up a conversation with a nice gentleman from Hawaii who is a boxing club manager and whose fighters finally get invited to Las Vegas. In the middle of your conversation, you say to him, “Well, I just don’t want to see white people ruin Hawaii.” He bursts out laughing and tells you “You are real.” So of course you have to buy him a drink. And guess what he orders at the bar after the long wait? Pineapple juice. Yup.

14. So yeah, and then there is the part about you getting kissed by a girl. Twice.

15. Your husband actually got a picture as proof.

16. Maybe that was why he was not mad at all even when you dropped his Crackberry into the swimming pool.

Dear God, it’s me, not Margaret, but before I die, may I please go to Bora Bora?

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Seriously, I have promised myself that I will finish this white paper I am working on before I do anything else. Except breathe. And drink a lot of water which is good for you. And then of course, pee. And I have been working really hard, until I had to search for a research paper online and I came across this picture, completely by accident, of Le Meridien Bora Bora…

It, how did you say it, oh yeah,

Simply. Took. My. Breath. Away.

I couldn’t go back to do whatever I was doing until I spent some time daydreaming about it…

I love hotels. I think my love for travelling, my Wanderlust, stemmed from my very basic fascination with hotels from a very young age. (Ok, the clean, fancy kind. Or at least, the not spooky gross-out kind. Not the ones looking like they are from the movie Barton Fink, oh no…) My mom worked as a hotel maid and she sneaked me into the hotel when she couldn’t find or afford a babysitter. Sometimes, after I begged her to smuggle me in. Literally. Many times I rode on the bottom of the service cart, camouflaged by a bed linen. I was always excited. Hotels to me are where dreams are made of. Clean, fluffy linens and pillows. Nicely made beds.

(Of course I understand the hard work put in by the hotel cleaning staff. Until this day, I clean up after myself as much as I can whenever I stay in a hotel…)

I don’t even care about Bora Bora. No offence to people who are Bora Bora-nese? Bora Bora-en? I am sure it is a gorgeous tropical paradise, Kodak moment everywhere you turn. What I am trying to say is: I just want to go there so I can stay in one of these bungalows, over the lagoon, before I die.

That’s all I’ve got to say.