Sometimes, I just feel irrationally mean.  I’m not sure if this is one of those times or not.  I’ll let the Internet decide.

At my office, there is covered parking if you chose to pay for it.  There are also trees in the parking lot if you don’t want to pay for the luxury of a metal ramada, however, the trees are smallish mesquites with approximately seven leaves on each tree thus only providing any semblance of shade for about twelve minutes per day.

The enormous company I work for which is actively sucking my soul dry, actually pays for a certain number of covered spots and I laid claim to one.  I’d like to say I went over and peed in it like a dog but, we’re all women in our office and, that sort of territoriality is usually unnecessary.

Recently, a woman was hired to work for one of the neighboring offices in the building.  She’s got a British accent which would usually give her a head start in the acceptance department but not even that little leg up is going to redeem her to me.

She rides a bicycle.  That alone doesn’t cause me to be annoyed, although it is much too hot to be bicycling so clearly she’s insane. Her bike has a baby seat on the back which she uses to stow her backpack.  I don’t know if she has a kid or not – merely a dirty, brownish blue backpack.  Maybe she shoves her baby in there.  Anything is possible – we’ve already determined she’s not normal. Also, the piece de resistance, she’s a smoker.  A bicycling smoker.  It’s like she doesn’t even want to try.

Here is the part where you determine just exactly how bitchy I am.

She is using my pole to lock up her bicycle.  There are approximately twenty-five poles available to her under the parking structure and it’s really irritating me that she has to use mine.  When locked to the pole with seventy-five yards of cable, her bicycle infringes on my parking spot. The pole is on the driver’s side of my spot which means I have to get out of my car and, in order to make a straight line to my office – I always appreciate economy of movement – I have to circle around her bike. That’s like six extra steps.

That’s the part that lost you, right?  The six extra steps.  That part makes me sound insane.

In my defense, sometimes her bike touches my car and I’m waiting for the day it scratches my chrome or the front fender.  That would be a legitimate complaint, I understand.

But what it really comes down to is that her bike is infringing on my area, and I don’t like it.

Crazy right?

We are not talking to Ava.  I want to make it clear if she calls you, don’t take her call. Ignore her at lunch.  She is being punished.

You know that the two of us work together at the soul-sucking day job. You also know we have been “re-purposed” and have been going through excruciating training.

I am so not talking to her.

Between the training sessions from hell, we still have to sneak in customer appointments and, because we’re so new at all of this and, quite frankly, we’re terrified, we’ve been doing the appointments in pairs. Today, we had a late appointment at 4:30.  I volunteered with another lady from the office to do it.  I did whine to Ava about it but really only  because it had been a long day and I didn’t waaaant to taaaaaalllllk to anooooother customeeeeeer. She pretended like she cared.  She promised she’d stay until the appointment was over.

Ummmm hummmm.

The customer was perfectly lovely and the appointment went very well. That was until I walked out of the appointment room to make copies and I discovered the office completely dark.  Every light was off.

All right, I thought to myself. Surely Ava was still there, waiting for me, but, no, her light was off too, her desk stowed away for the night.  The front door was locked. Not a soul was left but my partner, and the customer, and me. I was aghast. And really pissed off.

So I called her on the phone. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m driving home.” There was a pause and I could hear the wheels turning in her head. “Where are you?”

“I’m standing in a very dark, very empty, very lonely office.”

Pregnant pause.

“OH. MY. GOD,” she said and then tried to recover. “You’re almost done right?” Like she MEANT TO FORGET US THERE.

“Oh no!” I told her, “we have a bit more to go here.  Alone. In the dark.  Alone.”

“I am so sorry. I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

Riiiiiiiight.  I hung up the phone.

And then I called her back. “Dude, did you really just forget us here? You walked out of your office, PAST MY DESK where all my stuff is sitting out.  You didn’t think it odd that my car was still in the parking lot? When have I ever left the office without saying good bye to you? Where did you think I was? You had to drive by my car!”

She trotted out her tired old line.  “I’m old.  I really need to be taken to an assisted living facility and left there.”

Long, slow, aggrivated sigh. I was definitely wearing my angry eyes.

I warned her that this would be a blog post. She admitted it was only fair. She has apologized several times in several ways, but I still have a couple more days of milking this. After all, SHE LEFT HER BEST FRIEND IN THE DARK AND LOCKED HER IN! It’s a damn good thing the customer was a tiny little woman who barely made it to five feet.

She promised baked goods would show just how sorry she was.  An eclair was mentioned. She still owes me lunch for going to the office at midnight on Friday night to let the computer guys out.  MIDNIGHT! ALONE.  IN THE DARK.

I sense a theme here.

This eclair better be served to me by a beautifully accented French man at a sidewalk cafe on the Champs-Elysees with a lovely view of the Sienne. If she says the word “salad” to me while I’m enjoying my pastry and picturesque view of the waiter, I can’t be held responsible.

A lonely, dark office with a locked door.  Indeed.

I am so off the hook for like the next thirty late afternoon appointments.

Possibly two eclairs.

Sheesh.

I have a very strange magnetic force. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s been with me since, well, since forever. There’s no polite way to say it.  I’m certainly not bragging.

I attract little boys and puppies.

Really.

Although, oddly, the little boys do seem to be growing older as I grow older but, no matter how you do the math, they’re always little boys.  It’s just that now the little boys are in their twenties.  When I was in my twenties the little boys were in the single digits.

You see how that works?

Ava is always cracking up about my funky little fan clubs.  They manifest themselves in busboys, barristas, and random young men I don’t wish to publicly embarass.  Now days, the little boys don’t literally crawl all over me like they used to when they were 5, 6 or 7 years old.  They don’t steal kisses anymore. Sometimes, that’s a bummer.

I’m sure My Honey doesn’t think so.

Now then, puppies.  I love puppies and those little suckers can bounce on

look at that wrinkled mess of adorableness

 over anytime they want.  My Honey actually said the following words to me today, “Maybe around Christmas we can look at getting a puppy.”

A little bulldog girly named Lulu. It’s only 187 days till Christmas!

Wahoooooooo!

Last night or early this morning depending on how you look at it, at 12:54 I wrote the last word of the first draft of Dalton & Olivia’s book.

Still needs a working title ……

Now the Sister’s have it and they”ll write red ink all over it, but the hard work is done.

Deep breath.

Let me just jump to the juicy stuff right away.  I did not catch a ghost, but it certainly wasn’t from my lack of effort.  I brought my Costco sized pickle jar and everything.  When My Honey found it in our suitcase wrapped up in my pajamas he just looked at me.

Me trying to replicate the "ghost in the mirror" pic from their site.

Honestly, the man deserves some sort of medal for putting up with my silliness.

It occurred to me on the two hour drive up there that I should probably have some bait for the jar.  It struck me like an epiphany: REESE’S PIECES.  Hey, if it worked for an extra terrestrial, then surely it would work for a ghost, right? Besides, the ghost I really wanted was the little girl and certainly she would be drawn in by candy.

Guess what was in the vending machine at the hotel?  YES, Reese’s Pieces. What were the odds? It’s not like they’re the most popular candy ever.  I swear, it’s like they wanted me to catch their ghost.

When we checked in, the front desk clerk told me our room wasn’t haunted when I asked him.  Feeling confident, I told him that really remained to be seen. The room was totally charming and I could see a ghost being very content in there.  When we left for some dinner, I left the open jar on the bed, but without the bait.  I wanted the ghost to get used to the idea of the jar, to get comfortable with it, just like you do a cat with a cat carrier.  I figured the little ghost girl could flit in and out so that later, when there was bait, she wouldn’t hesitate.

My Honey was not excited about me targeting the child ghost.  He figured, on our one night away from our own children, we shouldn’t be inviting little kids in who cry all night.  He could just imagine she’d want to climb in bed and hog the covers just like our biological children do.

Whatever.  There was no point in worrying about it.  She didn’t show up, and I’d know because I didn’t sleep well.  It had nothing to do with worrying about spectral beings or anything like that.  Somehow I just don’t sleep well in hotels. Regardless, I’d have heard her crying.  All I heard was a maintenance man going up and down our hall.

My Honey was quick to point out that I didn’t count how many Reese’s Pieces I put in the jar, which was a good point, but there were still plenty in there come morning.

When The Bandit told what the deal was with the pickle jar and the candy, he suggested that perhaps the ghost would have simply preferred the pickles.  Clearly, I had never thought of that.  It’s entirely possible that so many people have tried to seduce her with candy that pickles would have been a happy change of pace.

Well, we plan to go to that hotel many more times.  It’s just such a cool place.  Next time I want to stay in either the Clark Gable room or the Marilyn Monroe Suite.

One thing I did learn that is of the utmost value: 2 M&M + 3 Reese’s Pieces = Deliciousness in your mouth.

Candy mixology.  Just another service I provide.

My Honey and I are off to the big city for a concert.  It’s My Honey’s favorite band and he’s understandably excited.  I’m thrilled to have Friday off work.  I’m shockingly easy to please.

We booked a hotel for the night so we won’t have to drive the two hours home so late at night.  I looked online for a hotel near the venue as it seemed to me it would be easier to park at the hotel and walk to the show instead of fighting stadium traffic afterwards.  Smart, eh?  Not just another pretty face, this Sister.

I picked a really cool, old hotel, Hotel San Carlos, in the heart of downtown built in 1928.  It’s been renovated but it has retained that cool charm and character.

Remember, I chose this hotel due to it’s closeness to the venue.  It is only five easily walkable blocks from the concert.

I went online today to Google driving directions.  This is what I found instead.

It has been featured on the Travel Channel’s “Weird Travels” and received the #3 spot on Horror.com’s list of “America’s Top 10 Haunted Hotels.”

Oh great son of Zeus! I am so excited! In fact, this may call for two exclamation points. !! 

The following is the conversation I had with Ava about my discovery:

Amy [4:50 PM]:
OMG – it turns out my hotel in Phoenix is HAUNTED!
Ava [4:50 PM]:
Let the bread fly!
Amy [4:50 PM]:
I’m so excited.  Maybe I’ll take the tour
Ava [4:51 PM]:
I think you should.  I’ll alert James Randi.

He's still offering $1,000,000 for proof of a ghost.

Amy [4:51 PM]:
It’s #3 on “America’s Top 10 Haunted Hotels”!!!
Ava [4:51 PM]:
It is not!
Amy [4:51 PM]:
TRUE!!!
Ava [4:51 PM]:
Bring one home in your suit case.
Amy [4:52 PM]:
I hope so!
They have pictures on their web site!
Ava [4:53 PM]:
Of ghosts?
Amy [4:53 PM]:
supposed one, yes.  I can’t believe this! I’m so excited.
Ava [4:54 PM]:
You should be.  Get pictures with your phone.
Amy [4:54 PM]:
I’m taking a real camera.  You’re totally jealous
OMG There is even a Wikipedia page on it!
Ava [4:56 PM]:
I’m jealous because I’m so bored I would actually go ghost hunting with you.
Amy [4:56 PM]:
come on.  What’s one more?
you can hang around and try to find the ghost.
Ava [4:59 PM]:
I’m in.  If anyone can find a ghost it’s me.  Being a fan and all . . .
Amy [4:59 PM]:
I know.  I’m certain to see one.  Absolutely positive in fact.
Ava [5:00 PM]:
You need a ghost hunting kit.
Amy [5:01 PM]:
what does that entail?  do they have them at Target?
Ava [5:01 PM]:
Ebay.
Amy [5:01 PM]:
I dont’ have time for Ebay.  maybe I can do a DIY one
Ava [5:02 PM]:
That needs to be Googled. I’ll bet there’s a list.
Amy [5:02 PM]:
Amazon has one for 279.00

And it’s true.  When you type in “ghost hunting kit” into the Amazon search engine you get 49 results.  49!! I was kidding, but apparently this is big business.  If you’re interested it seems that much of the ghost hunting paraphernalia is on sale. 

This is all the stuff you get in the Deluxe Ghost Hunting Kit:

Excellent Starter Kit Includes:
– GaussMaster EMF meter
– Portable Motion Sensor
– EVP Listener
– Digital Local Remote Thermometer
– “Ghost Tech” how-to book
– Deluxe Carrying Case to keep it all together.

In the DIY kit that I’ve assembled I have a Kodak camera and a giant pickle

Giant Famous Dave's pickle jar

jar I hope to trap something – or someone – in. 

I honestly hope I see a ghost.  I’d really like to believe in them. and all I need is a gentle push down the stairs or some creepy weeping by the little girl they say comes into guest’s rooms at night to cry.

I’ll keep you posted.  If I come home with something exciting in my pickle jar, you’ll be the first to know.

From my daily calendar:

“The practice of putting women on pedestals began to die out when it was discovered that they could give orders better from there.”

Betty Grable, she of the expensively insured gams

For the uninitiated, Betty was the #1 pinup girl during WWII. Her legs were so famous her movie studio insured them for $1,000,000 with Lloyds of London. 

My personal favorite of Ms. Grable’s films is How To Marry A Millionaire with Marilyn Monroe and Lauren Bacall.

Check it out – it’s a delightful comedy. Just ask my mom.

Brothers and sisters love to mess with each other.  This is a fact and I have no intention of trying to dispute that fact.  On the contrary, I’m going to add a little more fuel to the fire with the following testimonial.

Sassy has found the one thing that makes The Bandit crazy and she’s using the hell out if it.  Turns out calling the boy a “nutball” is just too much for him to bear. 

He honestly and truly finds the name offensive, and he made a really good case for her to stop using it.  He argued like a six year old lawyer so I intervened.  I usually don’t simply because I believe the kids need to work some stuff out for themselves.   Besides, I’ve started charging 1$ for the opportunity to tattle. I plan to buy a Mercedes next week on my profits.

But as for my parenting theory, my brother and I fought like cats and dogs and we turned out to be good friends. My kids will be fine.

So in the car on the way to camp, Sassy called him a nutball again and the little man threw a conniption fit back in the third row.

“Sassy,” I said, “he’s asked you nicely a bunch of time not to call him that.”

“I know,” she admitted. “It just slipped out.  What’s the big deal anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told her.  “For whatever reason, that name really bothers him. Please don’t use it anymore.”

“What should I call him then?” she asked.

I thought about this.  I didn’t really have an answer for her, but there was always the name I call him.  I made this name up one night when The Bandit and I were giggling in his bed one night.  While nutball makes him blow a gasket he seems to have no problem whatsoever with Twerp Muffin.  I don’t get it either but, from what I’ve learned, six year olds rarely operate under a mantle of rationality.

So Twerp Muffin it is.  Everyone is happy.  Only contented noises come from the third row seat.

The smells however – that’s for another post.