Brian and I recently took a little overnight trip to Columbia, so he could take his state boards. Considering the fact that we're still on a "student" budget (until he gets his nursing license) we weren't willing to spend much on a hotel room for the night.
Brian found a great deal on the internet for a room less than five miles from the testing center for $43 a night.
Naturally, I was slightly skeptical. But Brian, who's much better at being frugal than I am, was adamant.
"We're just going to be there for a few hours. To study, to sleep, and to shower. That's it. How bad could it be?"
Tuesday night, we checked in, got our keys, and were directed to room 122. We unloaded our bags and headed to our room. Upon first glance, it looked like we were the only ones staying in the hotel. And as we approached room 122, our theory was confirmed.
The rooms weren't just empty, they were all under construction.
Thanks to all the practice, I felt my eyebrows automatically go into "The Rock" position. (It really is so handy in instances like this one.)
But I kept my mouth shut. After all, it was my chance to show solidarity. Team Abby Gabs, for the win.
And since the rooms on either side of us were empty, I was slightly relieved to know there wouldn't be any drug deals or hooker sightings going down while I tried to watch reruns of Betty White's 'Off Their Rockers' on the twenty-four inch television.
Upon first inspection, the room wasn't all that bad. It was clearly newly renovated, and even smelled a bit like fresh paint.
Upon second inspection, I couldn't keep my mouth shut. So I went around the room, pointing out all the things wrong with it.
Abby: There are ants on the bathroom vanity.
Brian: Pretend we're camping. It's fine.
Abby: Do you hear that? I think the toilet is humming.
Brian: Call it white noise and come to bed. It's fine.
Abby: So I just tried to brush my teeth, and when I turned on the water in the sink, it also came out of the shower.
Brian: That will come in handy if one of us is brushing our teeth while the other is showering. No big deal. It's fine.
Abby: We only have one towel. And it's a hand towel.
Brian: I'm sure I can fix that. I'll just go up to the front desk and ask. Don't worry. It's fine.
So off he went to the front desk. When he asked for towels, the manager told him she was going to have to "find some."
Ghetto-fabulous status, confirmed.
Exhausted from my criticism of the room as a whole, I decided to just let the whole thing go and settle in for the night. Pajamas were donned, teeth brushed, and bed checked for stray hairs and stains. And then I climbed into bed, hoping beyond hope that it would be the diamond in the rough that was the cave of our hotel room.
OMG, the bed. I'm convinced it wasn't really a mattress, but a pile of all the hard things in the world covered with a scratchy comforter.
We took out Brian's lap top and flash cards, and pretended we were comfortable on the rock-hard king-size "mattress" while we studied for his test.
Needless to say, sleep was elusive.
Wednesday morning, I drove Brian to the nearby testing center, dropped him off, and headed back to the ghetto fabulous hotel to shower, pack up, and check out. I was only slightly nervous about being in this part of town all alone (<--understatement of the century.) In order to assuage my nerves, I took my iPhone into the bathroom with me, in lieu of a radio. There were no shelves or anything to support my phone, so I put it on the floor in the corner. Eighties tunes bumping, I hopped in for a quick shower.
Ten minutes later, freshly scrubbed and wholly relaxed, I wrapped up in one of the three tiny towels we'd managed to procure from the front desk, whipped open the shower curtain, and stared at the floor in horror.
The tub had flooded the entire bathroom. The only dry space was the 1 foot square around my iPhone. And the water was quickly infringing upon that space.
I hopped out of the tub, snatched up my cell phone, and put it up on the safety of the bed. Then, butt-naked, I proceeded to try and mop up about six gallons of water with 3 towels the size of postage stamps.
By the time Brian called and said he was ready for me to come pick him up, I was MORE THAN READY to check out of this hotel.
A little while later, as we chatted over our pancakes, I told Brian the story of the Great Flood of Room 122. Expecting him to finally relent and confess that the room was horrible, I was surprised with his response.
"It was the Red Roof Inn. Not the Ritz Carlton. You survived. It's fine."
I need a t-shirt.
For those who are curious, Brian did very well on his test. We won't find out his official results for a few days, but he's confidant that he passed. Thanks to all who texted, called, or sent messages of support! Hopefully, the next time we stay in a hotel, we'll be able to afford the Ritz Carlton instead. Or at least we'll be able to afford to design and purchase the awesome t-shirt seen above.
Are you guys on Vine yet?
If you're reading that sentence with a blank stare, let me fill you in. Vine is an app owned by Twitter that allows you to send short, 6 second videos to your Twitter and Facebook feeds. Creativity is a must!! So you know Vine has my name all over it!!
Not really. Just figuratively.
Anyhoo, best bloggy pal, Laverne, introduced me to it Saturday in a series of Tweets. And since I installed the app, I haven't been able to stop playing with it.
So naturally, I was saddened when I turned on the news this morning and saw that people are using Vine to make 6 second pornography.
To that I say, REALLY??
There are a million zillion other things you could be filming, and you choose to film THAT??
If you've never used the app before, one of the things that makes it unique is that the videos loop, similar to an animated gif. With that new knowledge, and the word "porn" in your head, I'm pretty sure you now have a good idea of why this is a problem for my shiny new favorite app.
I guess I'd be lying if I said I hadn't shot at least one pornographic video using Vine. But, it was FOOD porn, so I think that comes in under the radar as "safe viewing for children."
I also used it to show Donnie Wahlberg that I'm digging the new single by the New Kids, called "Remix."
I marked the grand occasion of finishing my novel with a Vine video, just seconds after typing the last sentence.
You can even use Vine to wish your friends Happy Birthday, just like I did for pal Ray this morning!
So to all the weirdos who are trying to tarnish my new favorite social media toy with their sexy escapades, I say STOPPIT! Don't ruin the fun for the rest of us! Try shooting videos of dandelions blowing in the breeze, or your kids playing in the snow, or kittens sleeping in a puddle of sunshine! Because the rest of the world does not want to see your kibble-n-bits on a six second loop every time we log into Vine.
And I hope the rest of you won't be scared off from downloading this app, because it really is terrific fun!! Come join me on Vine today! I promise I won't record anything that will make you go blind.
On Saturday afternoon, January26, 2013, at approximately 3:45 in the afternoon, I completed my very first novel.
I asked for real Champagne and a chocolate fountain, too, but I didn't get them.
Allow me to be forthcoming when I say that, while the bare bones of the novel are finished, there is still a ton of editing to be done. So, I'm not headed to the presses just yet.
However, I have, in my possession, two-hundred and seventy-four pages that are MINE, ALL MINE.
The smell of new paper, fresh ink, and potential rejection is a heady elixir, my friends.
Now comes the time of nit-picking, of finding all the missed commas and typos, of fixing timeline issues and capitalizing the word "Twitter" eleventy-hundred times. Now is the time of rewording wordy sentences and reworking flawed characters. It is the time of red ink and highlighters.
(It may just be my favorite part.)
Let me back pedal and tell you a little bit about this book. I started writing it in November of 2011, in association with my first NaNoWriMo experience. For about twenty-five days, I pounded out a little over 60,000 words. And as it turned out, it was a story I was totally in love with. However, with the sudden death of my grandfather, along with the holidays and other life events, the novel got shoved into a tiny corner on my hard drive, and I didn't look at it again until November of 2012. That's when I picked up where I'd left off, and pounded out another 50,000 words for NaNo 2012.
By the time the dust had cleared, I had about three-fourths of a completed novel, a clear direction, a main character I totally identified with, and her heart throb--a character based on Donnie Wahlberg.
Put your eyebrows away. You know you aren't surprised.
In case you're curious, here's a little synopsis about the book I'm calling "#TheContest."
Lena went to all the right schools, followed all the right paths, and shook all the right hands. And yet, 8 years out of New York University, she still finds herself in a dead-end job, working out of a tiny cubicle, with nothing to look forward in her immediate future. The only thing that gets her through each soul-sucking, boring day is her infatuation with The Beantown Boys, the popular boy band from her childhood.
She's been in love with Derrick Walsh, the band's "bad boy," since she was 10 years old. Her childhood was spent writing love letters to the fan club, in hopes that somehow, her celebrity crush would read the words she wrote to him, so earnestly, in purple crayon. With the invention of social media--Twitter especially--Lena found a whole new way to connect with her favorite group. And in the past few weeks, the band has been hinting at some major announcement. Their biggest fans--Lena and her best friend, Greg, included--are all a flutter.
Lena never suspects, on a random Tuesday in November, that her life is about to take a rapid turn from cubicles and coffee runs to road trips and potential romance. And it all boils down to one Twitter contest, a girl's undying love for a boy, and the opportunity of a lifetime.
That's the general idea of the book. A jacket-cover insert, if you will.
So, if we're keeping score here, I have a completed first draft, a title, a jacket cover insert, and a dedication page (already written but not to be shared here.) So, if I'm doing my math correctly, all that leaves is finding a publisher.
Ahem.
It's not purple crayon, but it's still a love letter, readers. I swear.
Either I ate something really weird before bed, or I'm having subconscious delusions of grandeur, because I had some doozy of a dream the other night. It was the kind of dream that, when I woke up, I immediately started jotting down notes so I could blog about it. It was weird, and epic, and somewhat sci-fi-y, all in the same brain blip.
So, in the dream, I'm at the optometrist's office, being fitted for new glasses. Brian is sitting behind me, playing Star Wars Angry Birds on his phone, while the doctor flashes the light in my eyes, asking me a string of questions. When the interview is over, he flips on the lights, clears his throat, and informs us that I'm going to need eye surgery to correct my vision. No contact lenses or cat-eye frames are going to do the trick.
In dream land, there's no paperwork or waiting involved. You just flash forward to the day after the surgery is done. I'm sitting in a hospital bed, my head wrapped in bandages. Brian is sitting beside me playing Star Wars Angry Birds on his phone.
And then the doctor comes in to reveal my shiny new eye sight.
When the bandages come off, not only can I see with perfect vision for the first time since my early twenties, but I can even read the serial number off the bottom of the television on the other side of the room. WOWZA! That's some surgery!!
The doctor informs me that, for the first forty-eight hours or so after the surgery, I can expect to be amazed by all the many things I can see that I couldn't see before. Then, he promised, it would be just like normal for me. So, we packed up and headed home.
Flash forward again, and I'm bundled up on the couch with Brian, happily watching Doctor Who reruns sans glasses. A shadow passes in the corner of my eye, and I look up. That's when I see it---a giant spider, sneakily snuggled in the corner above our DVD shelf. It's the size of a chihuahua, and not the tea cup kind.
I leap up, shedding afghans and unceremoniously dumping my husband on the floor, and shout, "SPIDER!"
At that point, red lasers come shooting out of my freshly fixed eyeballs, leaving nothing but a black ring of ash where the arachnid used to be.
Insanity ensues. Brian freaks out, spewing information about joining the X-Men and hitting up the Hobby Lobby for red spandex so he can make me a cape. And then, when things settle down, we make a list of all the many different things I can fry with my newfound laser vision.
And then my alarm clock went off. So we'll add it to the list as well.
Brian and I have a knack for maintaining conversations using random, and often nerdy, references. Yesterday morning was no exception.
Brian was slaving away in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of his deliciously light and fluffy pancakes. I was sitting at my computer, banging out the most exciting blog post of my life, when I absentmindedly scratched my cheek.
I'd forgotten there was a blemish on my cheek, and the scratching led to subsequent bleeding of said blemish.
I grabbed a tissue and dashed to the bathroom mirror to check out the damage.
As I walked back through the kitchen, Brian said, "Everything alright?"
I walked up to him, showed him the bloody tissue, and said, in my bed Funny Blood Kid voice, "BLOOOOOD-UHHH."
He shook his head, laughed, and went back to flipping flap jacks.
Never one to lose character, I poked him in the shoulder and said, "Not funn-ay, Bwian! BLOOOD-UHHH."
"You're right," he said. "It's not funny."
And then we both laughed.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you've either been living under a rock for the past few years, or you somehow managed to miss this video when it went viral:
Funny Kid "BLOOD" by jennythehot
You're welcome.
