I Cannot Stay

no way! that's not what I meant to say but... we have predictive texting on this site now? Or is that just my computer/google template/the little green men watching me...

ok really, apparently we don't have predictive texting but I could SWEAR the title started to do some kind of predictive text type of thing. Damn. Cut down on those hallucinogens. kidding, kidding...

Seriously. I meant to say. I cannot stay in hotel rooms without room service. Well, I could. But I don't. Err... won't. That's right Bster. No Motel 6 for me. Nor Motels for that matter. Much anyway. Sometimes in Canada the choices ARE rather limited in some areas. I know this one-horse town with a Ramada in that has got to be the worst Ramada in history.

And it truly does qualify as a motel. Rather than, you know. A hotel. They serve great wings in the restaurant across the street though. And it sells those cute little cigarette cases with the pictures of the dead fetuses and diseased lungs and limp dicks on the front, I mean, not real dicks, the cigarette is broken at a rather downward bent to symbolize erectile impending umm... perhaps less than lackluster results.

Not my point. Point is. I was going to stay at this place on Wednesday when I fly into L.A. called the Kawada. Right. I KNOW. Trippy name and all but still, it seemed kinda like maybe a cool place and there WAS a picture of the HOLLYWOOD sign right on front.

Mais non! The Kawada no longer has room service. Mais oui, yes they did have room service. Mais non! Now they do not. Bastards. Why? Oh, because I'm coming to town? Non! And once again, non! Because the restaurant downstairs has taken over new management. Has been taken over by new management. Has had a hostile takeover. No longer serves takeovers. No longer serves during takeovers. No longer serves. At all.

Except.

Within the bounds.

Of the Restaurant.

Which Means Especially

During

Restaurant Hours

Now it should surprise no one here that I am not a "restaurant hours" kinda chick. Nor am I a bankers hours, nor anyone in particular's hours kind of girl. I have only one set of hours. On. And. Off. Mostly on. In highly animated fashion.

Which is the mood in which I explained, post purchase, my dilemma to the charming Orbitz representative who perchance, happened to have a charming British accent, but work somewhere on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean where Orbitz now filters many of our calls. He was, in fact, British, and though I would have loved to go into his life story I DID have that little hotel thingy to which to attend.

After I told him my dilemma and why I needed all of my money back from Orbitz in order to rebook into a more appropriate hotel, he...
COMPLETELY UNDERSTOOD. Hey. It shocked me too.

Of course. There's understanding and then there's understanding. It took a bit to get it through the computers, and then we quibbled about thirty-five dollars or so in booking fees and taxes (I let Orbitz have three dollars in the end because we'd been on forty-five minutes and I figured that was less than minimum wage, but I got the rest of it back as well as my hotel fee.) I re-book tomorrow. At a Radisson or a Hyatt or a Yacht Club Hotel or something. Something with food. In little covered dishes. Brought to me by foreign people who live in my own country.
Because THAT is what traveling is all about.

By the way, why do the french have to put that fussy extra little n on the word NO?