Tag Archives: Television

The Advantages of Sleeping in Your Clothes

passed outWas watching TV last night on my fantastic wonderful leather recliner, all cozy and comfy, wrapped in a blanket – a mini nirvana episode. At some point I passed out cold and slept like a rock.

I vaguely remember Mr. Husband being as sweet and gentle as a lamb. He really can be such a big tender pussy cat sometimes. He managed to talk me up out of the recliner. No easy task, mind you, because this is one of the pillowy kind that you sink into and never want to come out of.

I remember him talking like it was in a dream. “Come on, Sweetie, let’s get you to bed.” He succeeded and then brought me a big glass of water because he knows I wake up in the night thirsty, so thirsty. One of the temporary side effects of the meds I’m on is dry mouth. That’s putting it mildly. I wake up and my mouth is so dry that my teeth are stuck together and I’m almost choking.

So I woke up this morning in my clothes. Now it’s not like I was wearing a sequined evening gown. I was wearing corduroy leggings and a long-sleeved waffle weave T-shirt yesterday. Easy enough to pass off as pajamas.

My first thought upon waking was “oh God, I slept in my clothes.” That is one of my mental markers that things are not right. My usual routine at night is a shower and then changing into jammies. My second thought was “Wow, this is so cool, I’m dressed! If I want to leave the house all I have to do is throw on a pair of shoes and a jacket. I don’t have to figure out what to put on.” And so I did leave the house just for the hell of it, and to get some smokes because I was completely out.

Maybe I’m on to something here. At night instead donning pajamas after a shower I could just put on some clean clothes. No one pays attention to wrinkled clothes these days – it’s the style anyway.

Or maybe not, but it is sooo tempting. However, realistically speaking, I really do feel much better when I take care of myself and change into jammies at night. It’s a ritual that is good for me. It tells my body and brain that it’s time to ramp it down a notch and consider going to bed at a reasonable hour. As opposed to staying up half the night because I’m having a blast doing whatever it is I’m doing. I pay for it the next day and end up dragging around like dried up leftover meat loaf. Having a hangover from poor sleep habits without even drinking is not so fun.

Hotel Owners Should Be Required by Law to Live in a Hotel Room at Least 2 Weeks a Year!

Don't Touch My Stuff

Don’t Touch My Stuff

That’s right, I think that hotel owners and managers should be required to live in one of their hotel rooms, anonymously, 2 weeks a year WITH ANOTHER PERSON. Yep, if I made laws this would be one, except that I object to passing laws in general almost to the point that I could fit into the category of an anarchist.

The 10 laws that God came up with pretty much cover everything, in my opinion.  I’m not even going to get into tax laws because I will start foaming at the mouth and it’s not a pretty sight.

So, back to hotel rooms.  Seriously, who thinks up the arrangement in these damned rooms anyway? Did somebody take notes from old I Love Lucy episodes or what? You never even saw their bathroom so I guess it didn’t exist. 2 cutesy little beds and no one ever decided to sleep at different times than their partner. Lying back on a pillow that at first seems soft and then collapses to envelop your head in a cocoon of polyester is always a delight. The pillow also doubles as a sleep mask, and if your partner decides to end you after being stuck in the same bizarre room for days, they don’t have to work up a sweat to smother you in your sleep.

And then there is the bathroom. True, I am a minimalist at heart, but come on! Hotels now provide you with 85 towels and no place to hang even 1.  But there is the chirpy little sign that asks you to save the planet and only throw your towel in the floor if you want a new one. Well hell yeah I want a new one.  If you gave me some place to hang a towel, I wouldn’t need a new one now would I?  I am not gonna pick up a towel off any floor anywhere at any time and reuse it.

Ah, counter space in the bathroom. I turn into a raging territorial baboon when it comes to my little corner of the bathroom counter.  I travel lite and keep it small, but it doesn’t seem to help. My attitude is; don’t touch my stuff, don’t put your stuff on or in my stuff, don’t even think about laying a wet towel on my stuff, don’t put the book that you were reading on the toilet on my stuff, and don’t dig through my stuff looking for something because you forgot to bring stuff you needed! Mr. Hubman has not figured out how much this pisses me off after 10 years together. I love him but he’s a slow learner. Perhaps if I beat him senseless with my dop kit I can get through to him.

Electrical Overload

Electrical Overload

On to electrical outlets. These are usually conveniently located on the ceiling, behind the 300 pound chest of drawers with a TV bolted to the top, or directly next to the coffee maker that only works every other Tuesday from 2 to 3 am. Outlets seem to hate being located anywhere near where someone might actually want to use one. Like near the desk or bed to plug in your phone that you use as an alarm clock, calendar, reminder list and, in moments of extreme boredom, playing games. Is that too much to ask? If there are 2 people in the room and both have a phone and laptop, plan on charging something in the bathroom. But don’t use them in the tub. That’s the only advice I can give you on the subject.

Wireless internet is progress that many hotels are implementing, but don’t always hit the mark. If you plan on using wireless in your room while traveling, practice at home first. Try browsing the internet while perched on one foot on a pillow or exercise ball. After you master that, try doing it with the laptop as close to the ceiling as possible to get a signal. You get extra points if you can type without seeing the keyboard.

Mr. Husband is a big man, but not that big. At our hotel in Chicago he sat on the corner of the bed to put on his boots and the bed collapsed. I thought it was uproariously funny. It would have been a lot funnier if it collapsed while we were in it. He was not amused. I stopped feeling amused when I ended up being the one to go to the front desk and tell them that we broke the bed. The man I talked to was polite and non-judgmental, apologizing profusely. The woman standing off to the side rolled her eyes.  I wanted to tell her that as tourists who had walked a thousand miles we were too tired to break the bed in the usual manner, but I decided to just let her think whatever she wanted to think.

So there you have it. Hotel Managers take heed. Are your ratings down? Stay a week or 2 in your hotel and you will feel your customer’s pain and know exactly what to do to get those ratings up.

You Can’t Take the Sky From Me

Take my love, take my land – Take me where I cannot stand
I don’t care, I’m still free – You can’t take the sky from me.

Take me out to the black – Tell them I ain’t comin’ back
Burn the land and boil the sea – You can’t take the sky from me
                Firefly Series – Joss Whedon

Firefly was a science fiction television series that premiered in the United States and Canada on September 20, 2002. Its naturalistic future setting, modeled after traditional Western movie motifs, presents an atypical science fiction backdrop for the narrative. It was conceived by writer and director Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

Feeling a little nostalgic today. The cancellation of this series ticked me off more than any other prematurely cancelled show ever. The thing I loved the most was the opening song. It spoke to my heart. To me it says that no matter what anyone takes from me I’m still free – if I choose to believe it and I do.

Looking back in my life, every time I felt like I was locked in a cage or thrown to the bottom of a well it was a prison of my own making. Well except for the time that I ended up actually in prison, behind bars for the longest 12 days of my life. That was a clerical mistake by a certain police force that shall remain nameless for now. When they figured out their mistake they booted me out the door without so much as a “Gee, we are terribly sorry to have put you through such a horrifying experience” or even cab fare to get home.

In a way it was a blessing in disguise for the young 18 year old girl that I was at that time. I know what it’s like to be in a real prison and there is nothing on God’s green earth that is worth going back there.  But it also taught me that all other cages are self-created.

I think that guilt and fear are the main biggies in the cage business. That old saying “Well you’ve made your made your bed, now you have to sleep in it” is evil, evil, evil. Sez who?? Oh no, I do not have to sleep in that nasty bed if I don’t want to!  If I don’t like the metaphorical  bed, I can sleep on the couch, or drag the bed out in the back yard, set fire to it and dance around it in the nude, chanting and drinking drinks with little umbrellas in them.

If I’m tired of staying home every day? Well get the hell out of the house. I have to do it myself, no one is going to drag me kicking and screaming out of the door. If I don’t have a car I have the 2 feet that the cosmos so generously provided. No money? Walking around the neighborhood doesn’t cost a cent.

Having a rough patch in a marriage? I can’t change my spouse, but I can change myself, my attitude. When I’m having a bad day with the Hubman I have the option to look past whatever it is that is making me crazy at the moment and try to look into his soul. He does have one even though there are times that I would swear on a stack of bibles that he threw it out with the bulk trash by accident. What did I love about him? Is it still in there somewhere? Unless he is possessed by demons it probably still is.

Gasp; is there something that I’m doing that is causing him to hide it? Are there things that are going on in his life that have nothing to do with me that are making him crazy and nasty tempered? Having a tantrum and screaming at him like banshee from hell is not going to make things better. Those are the days that I have to suck it up and put on my big girl panties and handle it like a grown woman, a sane and compassionate woman.

The ability to take any situation no matter how annoying or horrific and turn it into a good day and even laugh about it? Now that’s freedom!

The Day I Murdered the Remote

Is it normal to fantasize about throwing a brick through a big screen TV? Well I do, and don’t care if  it’s normal or not. I like to watch it, but watch is the operative word here. Having the damn thing on 24/7 sets my teeth on edge. Husband flips on the TV in the morning on his way to the coffee pot out of habit. On channel 362 – Fox Snooze. I hate news, it’s so boring. The same thing over and over and over. And each time the reporters act like this is the most heinous and shocking thing that has ever happened.

Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness Against Thy Neighbor

Did these people never take a history class? Have they ever read any ancient writings? Those opinionated old coots like Socrates, Aristophanes, the usual suspects. The only thing new about the news media in the last 4, 000 years is the level of hysteria and outright glee of the reporters. Or maybe the problem that no one seems willing to make even a lame attempt to verify facts. I’m waiting for the humongous lighting bolt to coming crashing out of the sky followed by the great booming voice. “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” Especially when it is born to 999 million people.  “Are you people listening? Or do I have to send another flood to get your attention?” God said this, not me.

Mr. Husband claims he was a history major in college and even he gets sucked into this kakamamy fear mongering. “this is the worst the world has ever been.”  And the weather channel, don’t get me started. Some woman standing there with the whites of her eyes visible all the way around. “Stay tuned folks, we are going to be here all night to support you through this crisis. Ladies get a firm grip on your garters, take deep breaths… There is a 20% chance that it might RAIN tomorrow.” Oh…my….GOD.  Honey, break out the emergency rubber raft. Gas up the car, lock up the dog, find the cat. Unlock the liquor cabinet, get your boots out of the cooler and go buy some ice. We might get wet. And you know what that means? We will get pneumonia and remain alive just long enough to see the roof caving in over our heads.

And so it goes in this House of Yee Haa.

Death to Remotes!

The day of the murder was the same as any other day. The sun was shining. The bird may have been singing, but who could tell with the TV and its surround sound blasting away. We were on our way out the door to dinner and movie. I turned the TV off. Husband rolled his eyes and turned it back on. I turned it off. He turned it back on and explained that it had to be on for the dog, and changed it to the news.

I literally saw red and snapped. I wasn’t playing this stupid game anymore. I snatched up the remote, turned the TV off. Husband was so shocked that I defied him that he just stood there. I huffed over to the front door, opened it, and winged that sucker out the door. I meant for it to land in the grass, just to make a statement. Didn’t realized I had such a good throwing arm.  Instead it went sailing out into the middle of the road and exploded into… a lot of pieces. Hub-man was furious. If  I hadn’t been so angry I would have been rolling in the floor laughing. His eyes almost popped out of his head like they were on stalks, just like in a cartoon. His face turned red. The only thing missing was a steam coming out of his ears and his head rotating.

We both stood in doorway to survey the damage. Then. he grabbed me by the arm and actually tried to shove me out the door. “You go get that right now!”  That was not a good idea. “Oh yea? How about You get your hand off  my arm… right NOW. If you want that piece of junk, go get it yourself.” He ended up going out in the road and picking up every little tiny piece. I peeked from the window. I don’t remember if we went out after all.

He spent the next few days searching the internet for the exact same 20 year old remote and complaining that it was no longer made. “Would you like some cheese with the whine, darlin?” Months passed and then one day I came home from work, and lo and behold. He glued it back together, and it worked! That’s just absurd. He must have made a pact with the devil. That is the only solution that seems believable to me.

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