Heavenly (Overpriced) Bed

It's the negligible details of my day that are somehow the most interesting. That's what keeps you reading, right? I mean, it keeps me writing. Some of my best, most inspired posts, come from days that I piddled around. Isn't that why reality television and celebrity rags are so fascinating? Doesn't one of those tabloids have a section titled "Stars: They're Just Like Us!" with A-list celebrities pictured while grocery shopping or gassing up their Beamers while make-up-less in their houseshoes? I digress...

Anyway, my point is that I need a Sugar Daddy. If I had a Sugar Daddy, then I could attempt to satiate my wanderlust. I wouldn't be one of those women that sat on the couch watching Oprah over bon-bons. I'd go to museums, and paint, and write, and go fellowship with the homeless. I'm just sayin'.

Between Paris and my Indy road trip, something's gone off in me. It doesn't help that I got to spend a leisurely day at the Indianapolis Museum of Art. While I love my job (and I'm not just sayin' that), it's the walls that bother me. I feel confined. Stifled. Uninspired.

I got to the museum when it opened at noon. It was like a ghost town in that building, very nice and quiet. The museum's three floors held tons of artwork and sculpture, at least one piece by every acclaimed artist imaginable. I saw quite a bit of Pointillism, and Rodin minis were everywhere. With some pieces, you can't help but smile when you see them. It's always a special treat when I stumble across work by my favorite artist, Marc Chagall. They had one lone painting, so that makes it a grand total of four Chagall works my eyes have feasted upon. I also saw one of Robert Indiana's LOVE pop art paintings.

Later this afternoon, I checked into the Westin in downtown Indy. What's the deal with upscale hotels, anyway? Let's do the math. If you stay in a budget hotel that's either new or managed well, you'll find a clean, tastefully decorated room with a sturdy bed. You'll also find free Wifi, continental deluxe breakfast, and most times, a microwave/mini-fridge. All of that for about $79 bucks. For upwards of $200 per night, you can have a clean room and a fabulous bed (like the Westin copyrighted "Heavenly Bed" that I'm lounging on now. And yes, it's heavenly.), but that's about it. No free Wifi ($9.99 per day), no continental breakfast (in-room dining menu: mango smoothie $8.00; granola-n-berries yogurt $10.50, etc.), and no microwave to pop my popcorn tonight. Oh, but we have a fridge---one that costs money if you re-arrange its contents to make room for your own. The bellman told me so. "It's weighted," he said. I'll have a Hampton Inn, thankyouverymuch! And let's be real. I don't care if a hotel room cost $1,000 per night, you will never find me walking on the carpet barefoot. I've seen too many episodes of 20/20...

I had a nice stroll through the streets of downtown Indy tonight, heading toward the Old Spaghetti Factory alone. I'm not in the good ol' boys club. I don't have a beard, or the other necessary accessories that designate "male." I don't get asked to go play golf. Not that I mind...

However, as I passed a homeless man tonight on my way to the restaurant, the thought crossed my mind to ask him to be my dinner date. Instead, I said hello and smiled at him. But when I sat down at the restaurant, I was consumed with thoughts of that man. I justified my actions because of safety. And honestly, what would the host or hostess think if I showed up with a dirty old man? It's a catch-22. I still don't know the answer. Christ would've had dinner with that man.

So, I walked into OSF alone, and they seated me in a booth near the kitchen. The second I sat down, my waiter walked out and asked if I was ready to order. "Um, no, I just sat down." No kidding, he was back two minutes later. Then two minutes after that. Seriously. Give a girl some space. He didn't leave me alone the entire time I was there. I think he tried to hit on me, but he only succeeded in hitting his head on the light fixture hanging above my table. Doofus. He asked if my spumoni was cold. Duh.

Now I'm watchin' the Cubbies play the Dodgers from my Heavenly Bed. We're up 3 to 1. I don't want to jinx it, but I'm feelin' it this year. 1908 to 2008. One-hundred years. It could be poetic justice.