waffleghost

youmightfindyourself:

1. I’ve had enough of overly attentive hotel managers. If any hotel managers are reading this, is there really any need to come into my room at 4:30am and physically shake my body with excessive force until I’m woken (startled beyond belief, naturally) just to ask if everything is to my liking and if there’s anything you can do for me? No wonder people live in houses.

2. Vague baby-grams. If somebody has something to say to me, I wish they would just say it. Not long ago, I opened the door to my room at the Beverly Garland Holiday Inn and found a squirming, tear-stained, drooling, screaming, frantic, naked baby laying facedown in the hallway, with the message “I know your secret” tattooed across the poor thing’s back. Is this implying that the person who tattooed this baby knows my secret? Or does it mean that the baby herself knows the secret? Is there more information inside of the baby? Am I supposed to tear this thing open for more details? Those who are close to me know how much I love babies, and know how much I would hate to tear one open for further information. I believe that a baby’s life is precious.

3. I really can’t stand Denny’s waitresses asking if I want more coffee. Yes, I want more: it’s free. Don’t ask. Just pour.

4. The information channel at the Beverly Garland Holiday Inn. Every time I go to a party, premiere, restaurant grand opening, clothing store grand opening or charity event, when I come home, the chambermaid has, without fail, left the TV on channel 1, the one that gives you all the information about the BGHI and Beverly Garland’s career. After living in this place for three years, I think I have this whole thing memorized, so you can stop putting it on. Why don’t you put on a football game or a basketball game or something? I’ve told you I like sports. We’ve chatted about sports before. You don’t listen.

5. Personal accountants. Basically, a personal accountant is someone who follows you around and tells you what you can and can’t afford to spend money on. I came into contact with such a person after he was very highly recommended to me by my dear friend Vick, who plays piano every Monday night in the BGHI bar. Vick mentioned that his cousin Perry Seindelfeld was looking for clients and he was one of the top personal accountants in the Valley. So I hired him (as a favor to Vick, whom I adore) and this guy went everywhere with me for a while, advising me against spending my money on most of the things I like to spend money on. Hey, Perry, too bad you didn’t advise me against hiring you. Vick’s still a good guy though.

6. People who worship expiration dates. You mean to tell me this product is only good up to a certain date? So when this magical date arrives, which it inevitably will, you have to go out and get some new milk? Why don’t you just hand milk farmers your money? It’s milk, people—it doesn’t go bad. That’s why it’s called “milk.”

7. I can’t stand people who say, “I’m worried about you.”

8. I can’t stand the way the waiters at CPK act when you order a Coke. They say, “Hey, you’re back.” I say, I’m Back in Black, baby. They say, “BBQ chicken pizza, no cilantro, no red onions?” I say, Bingo was his name-o. Let’s do a cup of the tortilla soup tonight, too. They say, “And to drink?” I say, How ’bout a nice Coke? “Is Pepsi alright?” Um, if Pepsi were all right, don’t you think I would’ve said, Let’s make it a nice Pepsi? Hey guys, Pepsi isn’t all right. So stop asking. Why don’t we make it an Arnold Palmer and quit playing games with each other? Who needs the hiccups, anyway?

9. Why can’t I take my shirt off when I’m getting a haircut? Guys, you’re putting the apron over me anyway. There’s nothing under my shirt that these nice folks haven’t seen before. We’re not in an office building. We’re not in a church. We’re in Supercuts. Let me take my shirt off.

10. I can’t stand living in a hotel. I really want my own place.