Swissotel Woman

See that there picture? It is of the Swissotel. That is where I am right now; on the 28th floor, exercising my rights as a hotel woman by playing on the internet and being glum.

Last night while I was waiting for Garrison to get done working I took a bath in our bathtub, which was not as gigantic as I had imagined; also there was no whirlpool, and the free bath products were not even Bath and Body Works or anything good: they smelled like air. The bath was sort of a sad experience. The lighting in the bathroom is really good, so I could see all of my slackerliness in full view: the darkest, longest leg hairs, the gunk under my toenails, etc. So I shaved off all my body hair. Haha, no I didn't, but I did clog the drain. No, I didn't, but the very white bathroom looked disgusting after I shaved, which had probably not happened in a couple of weeks. The hotel-light made me feel very guilty, but also very accomplished post-shaving. It made me want to go up to the penthouse workout room/pool, which you have to pay for, and lay on the floor naked with Wayne Koestenbaum and talk about red turtlenecks.

Also I didn't know there were Swissotel bathrobes in the closet, and was sad to find them after I was already dressed and sitting in front of our window, which looks out on a bunch of office buildings and a piece of the lake, staring out and thinking about where all of the people below were going. I decided all the people below had money, and that they were going somewhere awesome, like the businesspeople I'd seen sitting at Houlihan's having after-work drinks in a big group. They all looked happy and also beautiful and very tan.

Now it is thunderstorming. This is no fun. But it sort of is fun. I think I'll meditate or something. I think I can only meditate in hotels.

The Hotel Women Gently Stalk Wayne Koestenbaum

Dear Wayne Koestenbaum,

Whoa--Hotel Theory--whoa--we are waaaay smarter now, Wayne. We have also all devolved into Hotel Women.

You're invited to come to our meeting at which we will discuss it. We will ask you questions, like: Which column did you write first? Or was it all higgledy-piggledy?

Liberace will be at meeting, too. Or if he is not, there will be blowup doll in his likeness. Also, there will be vats of suntan oil we can rub on his ass in unison.

Missy was disappointed that Cheryl was lame in book. In real life Cheryl stabbed that guy named Johnny Stompanato with kitchen knife, which actually makes her awesome.

Megan is certain that you were her agent at Apartment People in Chicago when she first moved here. You tried to rip her off with studio by lake for like 900 bucks per month. You were wearing that same pinstriped suit and smartypants glasses you're wearing in your Hotel Theory photo. She thought you were lying about your name being Wayne. We still believe you may be lying about it.

Come to our meeting to prove you're not.

Your friends,

Venom Literati

Hotel Woman I am

I finished Hotel Theory last night, in true hotel woman style. Picture me in bed, under all my covers, a/c blasting, smoking cigarette after cigarette, in silky pajamas, at 6pm. All I needed was a vodka gimlet. And a naked Liberace.