Greetings from Hotel California.

Wish you were here, so I wasn’t here by myself.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave...

Yes, indeedy, it is that creepy.

I feel kinda bad, like I’m throwing Chip the nice, hardworking homeowner under the bus, but if you’re going to have a 24-room Victorian haunted house-slash-carpet warehouse, then people are going to blog about ya.  Just sayin’.  One of the weirdest things about the house (and that is really saying a lot) is that it is surrounded by (nestled in, really) a neighborhood of nefarious characters.  Read: Hoochie mamas, crack dealers, and all manner of folks who have just given a big middle finger to lawful ways to make money and raise children.  There was some amount of, shall we say, inaccuracy, in the online description.  And clearly the several dozen reviewers who waxed lyrical about the place were the type of people who would sit around the dining room table (see above for visual) singing Day O, otherwise known as “That Banana Song.”

Here are some other weird things about the house.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Mother Mary’s gonna watch me take a shower, y’all.  She does seem to averting her eyes, which is a good thing, given the 20 pounds I’ve gained over the past year.

Gigantic copper bathing apparatus.

OK, this isn’t technically “weird,” it’s kinda cool.  Except it, very literally, is as deep as my waist when I stand next to it.  Clambering into that thing is going to be athletic tomorrow morning.  Also, you could drown a lot of people simultaneously in that thing.  Hm. That’s not a normal thing to think.  I do believe this place may be rubbing off on me.

Mexican bathroom in the Victorian house in the 'hood.

Again, more “cool” than “weird.”  However, who do the toothbrushes belong to, for the love of God?  And Cetaphil?  Seems a little…clinical.  For dry, sensitive skin.  Because all that drownin’ is gonna chap those hands and forearms.  And biceps.  That tub is DEEP.

The guest accommodations.

Where I’ll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.  The weird thing about this room is that somehow Chip has exercised restraint.  Well, that and the walls are puffy.  Like wall-sized marshmallow panels.

Stay tuned, and if you don’t hear from me on a regular basis over the next couple of days, I implore you, come find me.  I’ll be drinking pink champagne on ice…

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3 Responses to Greetings from Hotel California.

  1. Sherrie says:

    Okay, after looking at the last info you posted about the place I was seething with jealousy! Now I am doubled over with laughter at the visual of the crack whores on the sidewalk and the horror movie (or rescue me) bathtub! The place does match perfect with a good bottle of wine!

  2. Sheri Berry says:

    And your blackberry is acting up. Must be the strange force-field Chip has installed. Get out. Get out NOW!!!

  3. Well, after a lovely breakfast on fine china and an educated discussion with Chip regarding property taxes and the history of Providence, I feel like I might have been a wee bit hasty in my assessment of the man. Or it’s Stockholm Syndrome. One or the other.

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