A Little Pulp Non-Fiction, Anyone?

As promised, here is a little clarification. Happy Monday, kids!

Imagine all of humanity’s sensuality, lust, raw sexuality, rage, passion and power funneled into a single source and made manifest in one female form.

Our paths crossed on the valet deck as she floated into the hotel on the afternoon breeze and then converged in an elevator bound for the top floor of the tower catering to the needs of the elite traveler. Fate has bestowed many riches upon me, my friends; true, passionate love, lasting and fulfilling. Fatherhood, enlightening, never boring and ultimately, enriching. Employment in a place between places, a temporary haven for all manner of beings, whether they be goddesses or dregs.

Let it be stated for the record – such as it is – she was definitely the former.

 Her lips were as red and vital as freshly-spilled blood, dangerously dark but enchanting. Their moist hue evoked images of morning dew in the Amazon. Her skin, in spite of the ravages of time and dangerous living, appeared fresh and untouched. Eyes that contained the raw intensity of a million suns remained resolute, never wavering to take stock of her surroundings. Sculpted cheek bones, a delicate chin and a nose that appeared too perfect to be natural – but clearly was – were accentuated by hair as black and endless as the night sky, tied tight with nary a strand unaccounted for.

Indeed, her regimented locks were indicative of the overall look of her product, namely, herself. An upscale, icy blue blouse had been grafted to a chest that appeared to have been chiseled from cold stone rather than formed naturally into warm flesh. An ashen skirt tastefully walked the line between business and pleasure, revealing toned, powerful legs that were the result of a dedicated fitness routine. Ebony stilettos completed the package.

To the assembled horde in the lobby she was a woman dressed for a sticky, lustful rendezvous or a businesswoman looking to climb the corporate ladder in the oldest manner possible. But my years of experience made the truth clear as day. If the public was privy to that actuality they would pass a harsh judgement upon her.

They would call her a hooker.

They would call her a whore.

They would call her a concubine.

(I know what you’re thinking but don’t assume; some people still read books.)

But here’s the naked truth: While it was true that this woman charged others for the pleasure of laying with her, she was no hooker. Referring to her as a prostitute would be akin to calling Kim Kardashian an actor. Or well-adjusted.

Nearly two decades of observing travelers has left me with the sort of skills referenced in The 40-Year-Old Virgin (“Use your peripherals, dawg!’), and so my subject was unaware of my observations – but not my presence. Turning to face me, she opened her delicate yet powerful hands and revealed a scrap of paper.

“Can you tell me, honey, am I heading for the right floor for this room?”

 My ears have received messages/queries from millions of voices over the years but none of them compared. The words dripped from her mouth like honey on an August day. I rolled with the punches and nodded quickly while choking out a “You’re on the right track, miss.” She smiled ever-so-slightly and turned away again.

Time and a lack of blood to the brain tend to play tricks on a man; what felt like the longest elevator ride of my life was actually less than ninety seconds (men always exaggerate the passage of time, don’t they, ladies?). We arrived at our destination and, for no reason in particular – that I could fathom, at least – my new “friend” turned to me as I began to roll my cart out of the elevator and made a very oddly-timed declaration.

“What I offer is never overpriced and its value definitely exceeds the charge. Now, if you’ll excuse me, its way past my head-time.”

I can only assume the femme fatale in question was as evolved as she appeared to be, and was toying with me while simultaneously validating the role she has chosen to play in this little drama we call life in the so-called civilized world.

Either way, she made her point. I moved onto my destination and she did the same. I didn’t see her gain, but it was better that way; nothing could top that encounter for its surreal nature. I have to wonder if David Lynch isn’t the puppet master behind my life at the hotel. Best not to ponder such possibilities, I suppose.

That’s all I have for you today, my friends. See you in the lobby…

 

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Saturday Morning Shenanigans With The Hook.

The request appeared simple enough when the hotel’s switchboard operator conveyed it over the crackling line.

“Go to Room X, pick up a package and deliver it to Room Y.”

Of course, as you already know full well… NOTHING is simple when you’re the bellman known as The Hook…

ME:  You’re certain the young lady in Room Y won’t mind be disturbed at eight am, sir?

HIM:  Nah, you’re good! She’ll be up and about! Just take these roses and make her day!

He was one of those stereotypical Texans who slap you on the back and call you “Boy”.  A lot. I disliked him immediately but I respected his zest for life.

One wonky elevator ride later (what is it with technology today?), I’m on the floor, in front of her door, holding a ginormous vase overflowing with roses and a sickeningly-sweet teddy bear and I’m knocking… and knocking… and knocking.

Finally, the door opens and since I happen to be looking down anyway, I notice a growing puddle of water on the carpet…

“Oh! Sorry, but I was in the shower!” (Giggling all the while.)

Naturally, I looked up with a perplexed look that evolved into an awkward smile when I came face-to-chest with a middle-aged female with dripping wet blonde locks and a towel pressed against – not wrapped around – her quivering form.

“Are those for me? (Still giggling.) You can come right in, hon!”

Actually, I couldn’t. And I told her so.

“No? But I don’t mind at all!” (The towel appeared to be fluttering even though there was no breeze. Unless you count my rapid breathing.)

Julie Newmar - blonde wrapped in pink towel

A little vintage Julie Newmar for the boys and girls…

ME:  Tell you what, Miss, why don’t you go back in the bathroom and let me know when you’re there. Then I’ll come in, drop the flowers, and then I’ll get the hell out of here!”

That actually went over well.

“Oh, you! I’ll do whatever you say! You’re hilarious!”

Yeah, I’m a laugh riot.

Off she went. The towel didn’t move from its frontal position, by the way, although I kept my eyes diverted from her derriere. (It was perfect.)

“Okay, Hon! I’m where you want me!”

ME:  Great. The flowers are next to the TV. I’m out of here, miss.

“Are you sure?”

ME:  More than I’ve ever been. At least you’ll have a great story to tell, right?

“It could have been better, but yeah!”

Another satisfied (sorta) guest.

And that was my morning. How was yours?

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This is What Happens When You Pick Up The Phone On Your “Day Off”…

This has been my morning so far…

1)  I read the following headline from our favorite jurnalist, Ned Hickson: This Just In… and snickered like a little girl, I mean, boy.

2)  Encountered a hooker who really wasn’t a hooker (I’ll explain at a later date, promise), who uttered the following line in a voice so smooth the words dripped from her mouth.

“What I offer is never overpriced and its value definitely exceeds the charge. Now, if you’ll excuse me, its way past my head-time.”

3)  Ran into a middle-aged woman who inspired the following tweets:

 

 

4)  A supposedly-secure back room – with no back door. Which, of course, led to this tweet:

And that’s all I have for you today, gang. It promises to be an eventful day – even for me – so I’m sure we’ll talk/blog later. See you in the never-boring lobby, kids…

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Two Morally Bankrupt Girls: Part Two, The Motherlovin’ Sequel.

Where were we?

Buzzing bags, group sex (sorta), simultaneous orgasms, well-timed Hook humor… Oh yeah, I got it.

CLICK HERE, PEOPLE!

All caught up? Good. Let’s continue, shall we?

The gals had their room assignment and keys already, so we made our way inside the hotel to continue our highbrow discussion of cabbages and kings. Just to refresh your collective memory, gang, Girl #1 looked like this. (Pretty much.)

And her partner-in-naughty-crime was a reasonable, taller, stand-in for Buffy’s old pal, Willow.

Alyson-Hannigan-alyson-hannigan-181345_1280_800

We now return to our regularly scheduled bell call from Vivid Video Hell.

GIRL #1:  So, Mr. Bellguy, do you handle many vibrators?

GIRL #2:  JENNIFER!

GIRL #1:  He already knows what’s in the bag, Chrissy! We’re in the rabbit’s hole now!

ME:  That’s “down the rabbit hole.” But I get it. And to answer your question, professionally, I handle plenty of luggage that contains all known varieties of pleasuring devices, self-administered and otherwise.

GIRL #1:  Yeah, I let my man handle mine sometimes, too!

Girl #2 opened her mouth, but quickly realized it was better to simply go with the dirty flow. That having been said, she did try to steer things in a different direction. 

GIRL #2:  So, Mr. Bellguy, what’s new?

ME:  Well, most recently, I learned two young ladies who travel with buzzing bags and who are so close they synchronize their orgasms, have decided to refer to me as “Mr. Bellguy”.

GIRL #2:  You don’t like it, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  No offense, ladies, but I already have a nickname. You can call me “The Hook”.

We rounded the corner to the hotel’s north tower elevators, and even though I knew full well what was coming, but I figured I’d let the gals have their fun.

GIRL #1:  The Hook?

GIRL #2:  But you have both hands. (Gasping.) Is one a prosthetic?

GIRL #1:  Don’t be stupid, Chrissy! I bet it’s cause his dong is curved!

ME:  (Chuckling. I never get tired of that assumption.)  Actually… no. My last name is Hookey. A colleague just started calling me “Hook” one day and the name eventually evolved to “The Hook”.

[TRAVEL NOTE:  If you're ever in a crowded hotel lobby awaiting an elevator and you're surrounded by a dozen seniors and several families with small children, just use the word "dong" in a sentence. Loudly. The crowd will part like the Red Sea and you'll get first dibs on the next available elevator.]

Fortunately, our “carriage” arrived almost immediately. We boarded the elevator. Girl #1 turned her head and stared at my crotch as she moved. (I’ll never get used to that reaction to my name, even though it happens more often than you’d imagine.) Girl #2 was about to join her when her phone chimed, announcing a text message. She quickly donned a puzzled expression as the doors closed.

(Wisely, the crowd allowed us to have an elevator to ourselves.)

GIRL #1:  Is it Mr. X, Chrissy?

I couldn’t let that one go.

ME:  Forgive me for intruding ladies, but Mr. X?

GIRL #2:  My new boyfriend. He’s…

GIRL #1:  Married and a hundred years old!

GIRL #2:  He’s not that old, Jennifer!

GIRL #1:  He takes Cialis!

ME:  Let’s just say he’s “mature”?

GIRL #1:  Fine. Anyway, what’s he want now? You know this is supposed to be a “girls-only” trip! Besides, you’re meeting him in Toronto after this, right? Or did his wife finally get wise and cut his hundred-year-old penis off?

GIRL #2:  Jenn-

ME:  (Motioning to #2.) I’ve got this, miss.  (Looking at #1.) JENNIFER!

On cue, the elevator opened at our destination. The girls nearly doubled over with laughter and I rolled my cart out and directed my hysterical guests to their room. Needless to say, the hi-jinks continued.

GIRL #2:  (Handing her phone to her BFF.)  I know I’m going to regret this, but look at this message he just sent me! 3-alyson-hannigan-fan-page-facebook

Both ladies stopped to read the message – several times, slowly – as we arrived at their door. Finally, they began to ponder the contents of the cellular transmission.

GIRL #1:  What is that, exactly?

GIRL #2:  I figured you’d know for sure!

GIRL #1:  Why? Are you saying I’m a slut?

GIRL #2:  Are you saying you’re not? I’ve seen you do three guys on a pool table!

Part of me wanted to interject – though not too badly – but they were on verbal fire, so the blogger in me took over and stood by taking mental notes.  If #1 was bothered by my presence, she sure didn’t show it.

GIRL #1:  (Lowering her head somewhat while catching my gaze.)  I didn’t actually do all three!

ME:  I figured that. (No, I didn’t.)

GIRL #1:  I just did Tom and Greg on the pool table at our friend’s house. Billy just stood there and masturbated.

ME:  Well, that’s different then.

GIRL #1:  (In a super high pitch.)  I KNOW, RIGHT?

ME:  Well, this has been more fun than I can articulate, but should we go inside now, ladies?

GIRL #2:  I still don’t understand this message!

GIRL #1:  Ask The Hook. He’ll know!

ME:  I’m not the Wizard of Oz, ladies. There are limits to my knowledge.

They looked at me like lost puppies. Horny, dumb puppies. In tight clothes. What choice did I have?

ME:  What do you need to know?

Once again, the gleeful gals pulled a synchronous explosion. But you know, a non-sexual one this time.

“What exactly is reverse cowgirl, Mr. Bellguy?”

 Admittedly, it took me a moment to stop laughing – though my smile lasted hours – and another moment to ponder an appropriate response that would A) keep me out of the HR office and B) keep me in the girl’s good graces.

ME:  (To #2 while pointing at #1) Let me get this straight: You hang out with this young lady and you don’t know what reverse cowgirl is?

GIRL #1: HEY! I’m not that bad!

ME:  If pool tables could talk…

Both girls broke up, thus reinforcing my faith in my ability to select “targets” that appreciate my “gifts”.

GIRL  #2:  (In a loud, giggly voice.)  Hello! Mr. Bellguy, I mean, Mr. Hook! Over here! Reverse cowgirl, remember?

Sure enough, two older guests just happened to be dragging their withered forms by at that exact moment (of course, right?).

ME:  Okay, ladies, we really need to get inside now!

GIRL #1: So you can show us reverse cowgirl?

Stereophonic giggles erupted, naturally.

ME:  So I can tell you what reverse cowgirl is.  (Even that sounded like something that would land my name in another HR file, but I went with it anyway.)

Finally, we made our way inside (#1 even snickered as she inserted the key in the door) and I did my best to wrap this verbally naughty little encounter in a bow and get the hell out of there.

As if.

GIRL #2:  (As I was busy fulfilling my actual role as a bellman, as opposed to being a sex ed teacher.)  Okay, so my boyfriend sent me a message saying he wants to experiment more. So what is reverse cowgirl, Hook?

I looked at #1 again.

GIRL #1:  I SWEAR I DON’T KNOW! (Her voice was as smooth as a broken bottle being dragged against against a pane of scratched glass covered in sand.)  I DO ALL THE POSITIONS, BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE CALLED!

ME:  (Sighing. Internally, of course. never let the guest see you sigh, kids.) All right, girls, let’s get right to it, shall we?

GIRL #1:  Oh yeah!

ME: Easy there, tiger. Let’s all pretend we’re mature, shall we? Listen carefully, girls… (Directing my attention to #2 specifically.) Have your guy lay back on the bed – or if you prefer, the pool table – and, facing away from his face, straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips.

( I realize my explanation was ridiculously cold, but remember, if I was walking a thin line. One misstep and I could have landed in a heap of trouble. No to mention what the wife would have done to me.)

GIRL #1:  That’s it? All she has to do is ride him backwards?

GIRL #2:  What do you mean, ‘That’s it?’ I could get hurt! What if I fall off? Or worse, what if I fall back? That could wreck a man!

ME: That’s for you and your man to work out. Look at it this way, if he gets hurt, his wife will have to be th eone to nurse him back to health.

GIRL #1:  Not if she finds out how he got hurt! She’ll finish the job! And by “finish”, I mean she’ll rip  his nuts off!

We all laughed at that one.

ME:  All right ladies, this has been… I’m not sure what this has been, but I’m out of here.

GIRL #1:  Hang on, Hook! I think my friend here needs more instruction! She’s a slow learner! (#2 just giggled – of course – and nodded.)

ME:  See where you’re going with this. Love the moxie… not gonna happen.

I’ve got to hand it to #1, she was a trooper, through and through. Rather than let my refusal damper her spirits, she hopped up on the bed and laid on her back.

GIRL #1:  Hop up here, Chrissy!

And so she did, with lightning speed, I might add. Their height differential made the resulting image a little awkward, which actually worked for me. (The last thing I wanted was to find that coupling appealing.)

ME:  That’s my cue, girls. I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.

BOTH GIRLS:  YOU’RE ACTUALLY LEAVING?

ME:  (Holding up my wedding ring.)  I’m married, bound by professional ethics… and terrified of my wife. have a great stay girls. And good luck with the reverse cowgirl… and the married boyfriend.

I headed out, grabbed my cart and started down the hall when I heard a door open behind me.

So close.

GIRL #2:  Hang on, Hook! We forgot to tip you!

ME:  Trust me, miss, I’ve been duly compensated for my time.

GIRL #2: (In a sultry purr while slowly rocking side-to-side.)  So you don’t want it?

ME:  My tip, you mean?

GIRL #2:  Okay, we’ll go with that!  (Naturally, I accepted my gratuity. But #2 wasn’t quite finished.)  Thanks for being such a good sport. Do all your guests talk to you like we did?

ME:  You’d be surprised.

But I know you’re not, my friends. By the way, thanks for hanging in there through this rather lengthy tale. I hope you found it enjoyable. If you’re reading this, VampirerLover… I love you.

See you in the lobby, kids…

alyson-hannigan-wallpaper+_39_

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Two Morally Bankrupt Girls: Part One.

In the beginning, when the world was young and free of the scourge of Kris Jenner’s progeny,  a traveler was pretty much on his/her own when it came to answering questions such as:

  • “Where can I find the best trees to make fire?
  • “Where can I find the best trees from which to fashion a club with which to render my mate unconscious?” (At this moment, the feminists are hissing like Madagascar cockroaches. Listen closely, you’ll hear them.)
  • “When is someone going to invent the car or even a wagon? Half my family usually dies halfway through the trip and it’s a bitch trying to repopulate the bloodline when your mate is unconscious half the time”

The modern traveler has many resources available when traversing the world. But personally, professional bias aside, you can’t beat the concierge or the bellman when you’re seeking out those little nuggets of info guaranteed to elevate your trip from the same old, same old to “You did what?”

I know of two young ladies who recently decided to side-step Google, TripAdvisor and even Arthur Frommer’s various tomes in favor of the sage wisdom of their usually-friendly-neighborhood “bellguy”.

“What exactly is reverse cowgirl, Mr. Bellguy?”

Now that I’ve got you snickering/blushing, let’s back this up a bit shall we?

Girl #1 was a petite, elf-like lass with blonde hair, librarian specs and a cute, high-pitched voice that was fun for your ears at first but after a few minutes had you stuffing luggage tags in your ears in the elevator. Come to think of it, all I really needed to do to properly describe this young lady to my readers was post the following pic…

As for Girl #2, she was basically a towering version of Alyson Hannigan.

Alyson-Hannigan-alyson-hannigan-181345_1280_800

I know what you’re thinking. Sure, I could spend more time actually using words to describe these people, but I need to be vague to respect guest confidentially. Plus, I’m not a great writer. Although, I do know my audience; you don’t want to be dazzled by wordplay, you want me to get to the good stuff.

And here it is.

It took me fifteen minutes to load my luggage cart with the Dazzling Duo’s belongings: Two minutes to clear out the trunk and thirteen minutes to stand around the valet deck and ponder important thoughts and images that, if revealed here, would get me kicked off WordPress – and beaten by my wife –  while the girls cleaned out water bottles, coffee cups, fast food wrappers, magazines and various odds and ends out of their Prius. Finally, Girl #1 handed me a bag and the ball began to roll.

ME:  Uh, miss?

GIRL #1:  Yes, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  You may want to take this bag back to the car and… adjust it?

GIRL #1:  (Giggling.) Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Bellguy? What’s wrong with my bag? It’s a Coach bag!

ME:  It’s a Coach bag that’s buzzing.

As expected, the ladies gasped, dropped their jaws and looked at each other with matching “What did he just say to us?” expressions. 

GIRL #2:  It must be her electric toothbrush, right, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  You mean the toothbrush that’s sticking out of that other bag?

Silence momentarily reigned once more.

GIRL #1:  Uh, well, what can I say, Mr. Bellguy?

GIRL #2:  Don’t say anything! Aren’t you supposed to be discreet, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  Where’s the fun in that?

Laughter reigned.

GIRLS #1 and #2:  (Simultaneously.)  You’re hilarious!

ME:  And this bag is still buzzing.

Stereo laughter erupted again.

ME:  You’re cute when you laugh simultaneously, girls.

GIRL #1:  We do all kinds of things simultaneously!

GIRL #2:  No we don’t, Jennifer!

GIRL: #1:  Sure we do, Chrissy! Don’t you remember that time we went out with Jamie and Chris? And we got soooo drunk? And we wound up in the same room at Jamie’s house, where we all started doing it… but not together… and we both… you know?… at the same time?

It was my turn to be silent. Though not for long. We’re talking about me, after all.

GIRL #2:  JENNIFER!

ME:  Not to worry, girls. I don’t judge.

GIRL: #2:  Thank God!

ME:  I blog, but I don’t judge.

BOTH GIRLS:  (Simultaneously, of course.)  You’re hilarious!

All this before we even got in the building. There’s more, but I like to keep my audience wanting more. On that note…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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For Your Pleasure: A Quick Glimpse Inside My Marriage.

This is a day of rest for many – including yours truly for once – so I’m going to keep this short and sweet.

A Typical Day In The Hook Household

VAMPIRELOVER:  (Catching an unwanted glimpse of her beloved as he bends over to retrieve something from the fridge. And yes, that’s me.)  Hey, Boy! Nice undies!

ME:  (Or if you prefer, “Boy”.)  Yeah, they’re my Superman boxers. You bought them for me, in case you’ve forgotten.

VAMPIRELOVER:  I must have been out of my mind.

ME:  Or you were in love?

VAMPIRELOVER:  Same thing.

ME:  Nice. Anyways, I like ‘em. They say “Faster Than a Speeding Bullet” on ‘em.

VAMPIRELOVER:  At least they got that right.

ME:  Nice again.

That’s all, folks.

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Some Laughs And A Call To Arms.

One of the best things about blogging – besides the fame and fortune and the opportunity to pester Ned Hicksonis the sense of community bloggers feel towards one another.

Here on WordPress, I’m not just a bellman with a Viking-size axe to grind, I’m a valued member of the most dysfunctional – and fun-lovin’ – family to ever shatter the interweb. Granted, I’ve been an absent member of that family ever since I went up against the forces of gravity… and lost, Big Time, but I’ve been working my way back into your good graces one post and comment at a time, right? It’s taken me some time but I’m beginning to get back into the swing of things.

In that vein…

Top Ten “Interesting” Things I’ve Overheard This Week.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (right now, in fact), bellmen are virtually invisible… which means we get to overhear all the best stuff. Whether we’re on the elevator, lurking walking behind guests/hookers, or delivering luggage, people just seem to pay no heed to our presence. Come to think of it, forget Bond and his STDs (come on, you know he’s had everything by now), if you want the perfect secret agent, get yourself a bellman.

And now, on with the show.

1)  “So I told him, I didn’t mind so much if you brought your ex into it, but I have draw the line at your stepsister! A girl has to have standards, right? She is hot, though…”

2)  “Great news! It’s cleared up! yes, even the dripping! We’re good to go tonight!”

3)  “They want way to much for this room! All we’re gonna do is mess the bed, shower and desk, anyway! The stains wash right off!”

4)  “That was some good weed! I’m starving!”

5)  “He was fantastic, Meg! Best three hundred dollars I ever spent!”

6)  “Really, Harold? It’s been so long since I’ve had sex I don’t even remember who gets whipped first!”

7)  “Seriously, Carol? We just got here! I need to sit, eat and take a few pills first! I’m not a sex machine!”

[ Truthfully, he really wasn't. But I'll say this for Carol: She was a gal who knew what she wanted. She began undressing in the other room while I was still dropping off the bags. Told you we were invisible. ]

8)  “I’m horny, dear!”

[ Gotta love those elevator rides. ]

9)  “Guess what I just realized? I forgot my ‘sex bag’! What am I going to tie Greg up with? It took six months of manipulating just to get him to leave his girlfriend behind and join me here! Bitch still thinks he’s straight!”

[ And the topper... ]

10)  “I’m not worried about it, your parents will never know we were so wasted we smashed their Bentley and had sex on their bed… and the washing machine!”

Remember, kids, I’m not talented enough to make this stuff up.

Now that I’ve entertained you, I have a small request. Consider it payment for the yuks. Anne St. Vincent, a valued member of our family, is hurting right now; her soul has been bruised by love’s sucker-punch. She needs to be held, but since technology hasn’t made virtual hugging possible yet, we’re going to have to try a different approach. Come up with your best reassuring line, click on the link below and send our beautiful friend some love. That’s an order, kids!

CLICK HERE TO SHOW ANN SOME LOVE!

 

Posted in Hotel Life | 30 Comments