My Sweet Digs

In my last post I made mention of my incredibly sweet living situation in this really delightful motel that I just can’t get enough of being inside of. The internet connectivity there is sort of a pipe dream, so I’m here at my local library, surfing the web, trying not to imagine how much nicer it would be to live here at the library, and subconsciously planning to hide in the bathroom before they close and start a new life living here, amongst the periodicals (the YA fiction section has comfier looking chairs, but there’s a huge tapestry of Robert Pattinson that is just incredibly distracting and creepy and I don’t want it in my new room).

You may think that I’m being a prima donna about this (motel life, not the tapestry. I think I’m being pretty reasonable about the tapestry), so I’m going to take you on a virtual tour of some of the things that make my digs so sweet. Also, you should know that up until yesterday, there were four full grown adults and one puppy living in this room with all their worldly goods. Two of the adults have since been killed by fellow members of a tontine in which they were participating embarked on  a hitchhiking race across the country. They took the puppy with them.

So without further adieu, let’s begin this tour! I’m going to focus on the little things that I think make this room really special. Like the inside of the closet door:


There’s no door knob, but if you need to lock yourself inside, there’s a super convenient deadbolt! Obviously, someone has been murdered in this closet. Probably he or she fled into the room, locked him or herself in the closet, but were immediately spotted by the murderer, through the giant gaping hole left by the abscense of a knob. Probably, the murderer toyed with the poor closet refugee by putting his sinister eye up to the hole and looking around goofily like Jack Torrance. Maybe the victim tried to rake their fingernails across that eye, but the deadbolt got in the way (I can’t imagine another way for paint chips to be so ferociously absent from that spot) and they were so disheartened by their poor aim that they just didn’t even bother trying again. At that point, obviously, the murderer inserted his gun and/or poison dart-loaded bamboo chute into the knob hole and the motel guest got got. There’s a chance this never happened, but I just can’t imagine that that’s the case.

Another really fun thing is the bathroom door stop!


The rubber stopper piece (which some might say is the linchpin of the whole doorstop operation) has vanished, leaving this rusty bolt to bear the brunt of the work (the work being not damaging the wall). Don’t tell the bolt this, but I do not think it is qualified for this job. Luckily (!) someone thought of that and made this:


This beautiful, mocha plastic baseboard is a really elegant way to protect the cinder block walls from any harm the rusty bolt doorstop might engender.

Let’s take a trip outside real quick and take a peek at the Lone Pine’s venerable facade:


I found this vintage 2008 photograph here on the internet, but I assure you nothing has changed in the past four years. I’d like to address the name ‘Lone Pine Lodge’. I’d put a quick estimate of the number of pines in the vicinity of the lodge at eight hundred thousand. Even in this picture there is evidence of, like, nine pines. What I’m getting at is that I think the lodge has a stupid name. If you could see behind the lodge, you might be surprised, as I was, to find that I have, by no slim margin, the least luxurious car in the lot. My stylish, gold 1997 Volvo 960 wagon looks like a real pig in lipstick compared to its neighbors, a Saab convertible, an older but no less stately Mercedes, a newish Mustang, and my roommate’s 2008 Nissan Sentra. Other than the Sentra, I have no idea to whom these vehicles belong. I guess my imagination just can’t conjure the image of any of my neighbors taking time out of their busy days of sitting outside in sweatpants of varying degrees of shabbiness, discussing the varying severity of their various illnesses in voices of various volumes, smoking their various off-brand cigarettes–to visit a car dealership and leave with these cars.

Let’s head back inside! Obviously, according to Dateline, one should always black light test a prospective hotel room. I don’t have a black light, but this is what I imagine a test would reveal:


Let me walk you through this. That’s a picture of our whole room. The whole thing is glowing because there’s semen on everything. Some places (the brightest spot) have more semen than others, but rest assured, there is no shortage of semen on everything here at the Lone Pine!

Somewhere I have a picture of a cockroach that we found in a water bottle, but I can’t find it on my roommate’s phone, so just try to picture it! It’s one of those little pissant type of cockroaches, not the full-on trilobite kind which cannot be killed by conventional weapons. Here’s a fun fact, I’m allergic to three things– one is cats, one is an antidepressant called Wellbutrin, and one is Madagascar hissing cockroaches. They secrete some kind of oil when threatened, and it gave me a terrible rash in the summer of 1996. I hated it.

So that’s my home for the next one and a half fortnights! I hope you don’t want to come visit because there’s no room for you anywhere! I could give you some discount Easter candy that I got, I guess, but that’s it.


One Response to “My Sweet Digs”

  1. Jules Says:

    Holy crap. The roaches are going to eat your easter candy. The whole thing is just a shit show. Please tell me you have beverages to get you through…


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