I returned to my bed here in room 607 at the Radisson in Largo Merrrrrland, which by the way, has this wonderful system called Sleep Number! This wonderful invention would for sure get my bi-racial ass to sleep in seconds if I could simply find the appropriate number for my optimum R.E.M. cycle! I know I like my bed to be harder than the last level of Dance Dance Revolution! So I pressed the number as high as I could. I pressed the "up" button and felt the vibration. It was lovely. The sound of the shaking bed was almost enough to seduce my own body into slumber; this may have also had something to do with the Skinny Girl margarita I had consumed earlier (Thanks Evangeline!). I was out like a light! See you at 4:00am Jesus! Or so I thought!
Around 1 in the morning, I was rudely awoken from my deep beauty rest by Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back To Me". I had purchased Celine as a ringtone for $1.99 from Virgin Mobile. In complete distress I ran to my phone which I couldn't understand why it was wrong this early on account of my alarm not being set for another three hours. It so happens it's my roommate calling me who had been locked out of our room somehow. My roommate, when my company is on tour, is a lovely man named Tuscaloosa; he is of the dark chocolate variety. He is originally from the tornado infested land of the same name, Tuscaloosa, Alabama. He grew up in a place where all the best Black ideas came from such as chicken 'n waffles and probably the weave, Atlanta, Georgia. At this moment I wish I had some fresh chicken 'n waffles to throw at his face for disturbing my very important rest for my very important Canadian face. I let Tuscaloosa in and immediately went to bed. Or tried to. My mind was plagued with images of a naked Joan Rivers. When ever I'm awakened by someone of the chocolate variety and try to go back to sleep, I am always troubled by this re-occurring nightmare making a return to peaceful slumber rather difficult.
Somehow I managed to fall back asleep without touching myself inappropriately. I thank Jesus, Moses, and Allah for that (in that precise order, obviously). My sleepful dreams were filled with images of ME, completely naked straddling a rainbow. I truly was at peace. Only to be awoken moments later by Celine Dion again! For Christ's sake, why does this bitch have to ruin it for me all the time? This matters not. The question of course was, who the Hell is calling me at 3 in the morning! The only reason for anyone to call me at this un-Godly hour is if my pet bird had been run over by a pick-up truck! My childhood pet bird, Sammy (the first real name I've actually used in this blog, along with Celine Dion) was accidentally "let go" by Princess Toadstool (my Mother) because in that moment she felt Sammy needed "fresh air" (I suppose the vodka drinking apple doesn't fall from the occasional beer drinking tree). I grabbed my cellular device and ran immediately outside as to not disturb Tuscaloosa, and answered my phone. It was Pilar! She told me that she and Shoniqua were stuck in the District of Columbia and could not find a number for a taxi cab. At first I didn't understand why Pilar couldn't just call one of her thousands of cousins that are all employed by the hotel for a phone number.Then I realized that none of those illegal immigrants have cell phones or cars. Sometimes you have to be understanding. I told her I would run downstairs and ask the front desk whom for some reason were not answering Pilar's phone calls.
For some reason I still in that moment had sensitivity towards Tuscaloosa's needs as I used only the light from my cell phone to guide me around my room. I found my key and some clothes. I couldn't go downstairs in my purple underpants. I want to eventually write the "Adventure of Purple Underpants" blog at some point, but today is not the day. As I was tripping over myself to locate only a pair of dress pants matched with the top half of a tracksuit, one filp flop and one tennis shoe I realized something. I recalled back to the days when I sang in my Elementary School musical! I sang a very special song by the Beatles "Put a Little Love in Your Heart". As I staggered out of my room in my ridiculous outfit, I realized that I in fact had WAY TOO MUCH love in my heart! Why was I tip toeing around trying not to disturb Tuscaloosa who had just disturbed my slumber a few hours earlier? Why was I log rolling my way to the elevator at 3 in the morning to find a taxi cab number for Pilar? It's too much love! I was questioning the enormous amount of love I had to give as I prayed noone at that Godforsaken hour would see me in the elevator in that ridiculous outfit. I retrieved the number from the front desk, called Pilar and went back up to my room.
As I opened the door, the light peered in the dark room of 607 and shon onto one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen. Tuscaloosa has a grey pillow with what appears to be a bunny on it. A HUGE ONE! It looks like one of the live game that were killed at Shoniqua's house. Even in my frustration I had to laugh. But it wasn't over yet! I knew that I very much was in need of a drink. I knew it was purposeless to try and catch 30 minutes of sleep only to wake up with Jesus. So I decided to simply pack my things, pour myself a drink, and write this lovely blog. I figured it would be only the next best thing instead of waking up with Jesus, to beat that little bitch to the punch and great him already awoken and slightly inebriated. So Cheers Jesus! Good morning to you! Good morning to all whom are up at this hour for no particular reason! Bottoms up skanks!
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