It's been a long time. Good, but long.
Finally--FINALLY--I can stop the do-not-talk-about-work thing on the blog. Mum's been the word, lest I say the wrong thing and get canned.
For over a year, I've worked at the Hard Rock Hotel.
THIS Hard Rock Hotel.
Technically, the official name is the "Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino," as the Seminole Indian Tribe opened the property on their land, thereby skirting those pesky no-gambling laws. But no one really cares too much who owns it, the "Seminole" part just takes too long to say. So people skip it. It pisses off the Seminoles but they can just sit back and be angry while they count their money.
Did you know that just for being a Seminole Indian, you get, like, $7000 a month? Just for being you, you get a big fatty check to spend however you like. Indian casinos all around the US operate the same way, paying for the tribal members to zip around town in limos and fly around the US on private jets, and all they have to do is wake up every day. Think about THAT the next time you pop $50 into a slot machine. Mmm-hmmm. Although it's no different than any other trust-fund kid getting millions, I guess.
I could tell lots of stories about working at this place. Like, the time Richard Lewis wandered around the hotel lobby, hand to his forehead, telling everyone he couldn't find his wedding ring. Or the time James Gandolfini yelled at me because his in-room movies wouldn't work right. Or the time that one hip-hop artist who's big on the radio right now couldn't find a credit card that worked so he could check in. What was his name? He's totally famous, if you're into all that stuff. Whatever. But I don't remember most of the good details. I should have written them down as they happened.
Yesterday was my last day, filled with cakes and well-wishes and a few people who seemed annoyed that I was leaving. That's especially flattering. If you want a piece of THE MOST DELICIOUS cake ever baked--yellow cake, with chocolate frosting--you can come over to my place. I have a lot left. Our manager sent one of the hotel's butlers to order the cake, to which the baker asked "Is this for a man or a woman?" And the butler said "...well, he's gay..." and left it at that. So I have a half-way girly-man cake, light brown with yellow roses. It was so ugly. But so damned delicious. And...nice.
I don't understand how people talk about "leaving work at work," and separating their professional lives from their personal lives. You spend most of your life at your job, I would hope you take it personally. And you don't have to care about the actual paperwork you do; but the people around you...if you're going to speak to them every day, hopefully you'd have some interest in how they are doing.
Anyway--I have lots more time now. So back to gossip. Back to yelling at people. Back to Deadliest Catch, which is another topic for another day all onto itself.
Hugs. Thanks for reading.
P.S.: Anna Nicole's room? Totally haunted.