The inflatables

The pool is full of inflatable animals.

An Alligator named Lizzy.

A Killer Whale called Kim.

A Swan called Swoony.

They float around in the pool.  The wind blows them every which way.

101 Dirty Hot Hotel Stories

The book that started our little company continues to impress.  Enjoy this one for $3.03 on your favorite Kindle device this summer.  Viva the Digital age and Viva your pants.  Just click the link below to see it on Amazon.

101 Dirty Hot Hotel Stories

Hot City Diary: Day Pffffffffffft

It's 120 out, which means it's a comfortable 100 inside.

I'm stripped down to my banana slinger and bicycle helmet.  Sweat falling all over the dining room table that I've turned into a command station.  I've been blacking out and falling down a lot lately and this helmet really helps.

I'm the Starship Commander of the great ship Hot Mess.  My first mate has left me, salvo'd into space; who knows if she's ever coming back.  No time for regrets.  We've got to keep pushing the envelope.  We'll be launching thru hyperspace to reach someplace nice and cool.  Hopefully Alaska, I hear it's still relatively cold up there, at least the people on TV seem to think it's nice and cold up there.

"Please sit down and buckle your safety harness" ~ Evelyn, the computer, says

So I sit down and buckle up.  There is a small stream of water running thru the mothership, my feet splish and splash about in it.  I crack my neck and prepare for the hyperspace jump.

"Prepare for HYPERSPEED Evelyn!" I scream.

My dog is barking like crazy.  Almost ruining the scenario playing in my head.  I unbuckle myself and grab that feisty little furry beast and spray us both down with a hose I've dragged into the mothership.  Water spraying everywhere, all over the computer modules, all over the couches, all over the kitchen, all over the bookshelf.  I've got to wet this little mother down so she'll be ready for space travel.  We're both soaked and  dripping wet when she bites my arm and I drop her and she splashes off down the hallway - rubbing herself against the walls, leaving a trail of dirt and hair down the hallway.  She stops and looks at me half crazed, then shakes and get's water high up on the wall.

"Buckle up you furry little beast, or you'll never survive the launch!!!" I scream as I make my way back to my Commanders' chair.

"Evelyn prepare for HYPERSPEED on 3,2,1 - LAUNCH!!!"  I scream loud enough to hopefully make it happen.

Nothing happens.  The water I sprayed onto the computer module must've ruined something.  Damn it!!  While I'm trying to reboot the system, my furry little co-pilot comes back and bites me again.  Damn you, you little damn dog!  I rip out the modem from my computer and fight off the attack by swinging it like a lasso at my co-pilot.

"You can't stop me!"  I scream

"Bark, Bark, Bark, Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Bark, Bark, Bark."  She says

"Oh you think you can stop me?  Nothing will stop us from getting to Alaska!  Prepare for Hyperspeed you furry beast!!!"  I scream and fling the modem like David fighting Goliath.  It hits her square in the snout and she runs off yipping and yapping.

"Good."  I say calmly and sit back down in my Commanders chair.  "Evelyn, prepare to launch and I don't want any shit from you this time.  I want to wake up in Alaska god damnit!!!"

The computer comes online.  The music I've prepared is playing.  I'm blacking out.  I'll be in Alaska in no time, I'm sure of it.

Hot City Diary: Day 32

It's not that hot today.  A respectable 82 degrees and some cloud cover.

This weekend friends from the city are coming to visit.  Hooray!  Finally, some savvy city minded people to chit chat with.  Nothing lately but the desert queen talk and the death talk. The sad thing is, most of the residents out here are Republican.  These Queenie old hot headed people are almost enough to make any liberal want to move back to the city, but no, I stay.  Too bad I've bought a house and not just a condo that I can shutter up and hope the HOA's deal with everything.  I'm stuck out here until I turn Republican.

You know what they say: "If you can't beat them, join them."  I'd rather die.

So, our gay friends from the city are spending the weekend with us.  My wife and I tidy up the house and buy some flowers and make up the spare bedroom.

They arrive late on Friday after work and we drink wine until the wee hours.  They remind me that nobody moves to Palm Springs on purpose.  You're either thrown out of some other community or come here to die.  I laugh and laugh and then cry a little.  What the fuck was I thinking?  Well, I'm reminded by my wife that it was either a 400 sq. ft. house in Whittier or Cyprus Hill or the grand bargain we signed up for in "The Cove".  Our friends tell us not to worry.  This place is a solid investment and it's going to turn a pretty penny in a couple years, so just stay strong and don't let the locals get into your head.

We fall asleep outside on the loungers and wake up the next morning when the sun graces us.

It's another reasonable day.  The sun plays nice and keeps us warm, and not overheated.  Everyone is having a great time playing in the pool and ordering cocaine to be delivered.  I wonder if they can deliver some marijuana but someone reminds me that it doesn't pay as well, so there.

A few hours later, 2 monstrous men bang on the door and let themselves in.  I wonder if it was such a good idea for our friends to have their vice delivered to my home.  The dealers take a quick inventory, eye my Italian wife like she's a snow cone on a hot day and then leave.

I continue to drink the wine and avoid the party favors.  I'm looking for a serious job and can't fall back into the pitfalls of city living.  A joint would be nice, but what can you do?

The party goes on until the sun goes down and then we all make our way to a fun restaurant in downtown Palm Springs.  One of our friends that has done a little too much coke seems to be oclophopic (afraid of large groups of people) but we convince him that it's all in his head.  Nobody is going to snatch him away and make off for Mexico.

The strip is bustling on a Saturday night.  Groups of young girls having a bachellorette weekend swarm the street.  Older gay men linger a little too long in front of us, while we laugh and sing and dance down the street.  We find a nice Mexican restaurant and settle in for some fun.  Margaritas are ordered and they come within minutes.  They're the size of a small boys head.  Some of our friends lament that they wish they had a nice young boy.  Oh those gay dreams!  Always so scandalous.  Some of the bachelorette girls drunkenly make their way to the dance floor and they nearly knock themselves over while dancing to the live band.  The food is delivered and it's heaven.  Chimichangas and enchiladas and tacos with rice and beans.  We shovel it all into our drunken faces and then sit back satisfied.

The warm desert breeze blows through my hair.  I'm alive.  If only every weekend could be like this.  My wife and I get up and dance a bit and the gay boys gossip among themselves at the table.  They wave over somebody.  Some of their West Hollywood friends are here, also.  Palm Springs is the gay vacation destination on a moments notice.

We're all invited to some Casino down the street to drink some more and try our hand with the Indians games.  I'm determined not to be scalped, so I just take out $20 and try the roulette, where I win on black and then some drunk asshole says that he put down the bet and it's not mine.  I quickly take my money and tell him we can go talk to a security guard and check the video footage.  Drunk jerk.  I make my way to the blackjack table and find a seat at a $5 table.  After winning a couple hands, another drunk tells me I've taken his seat, so instead of making a scene, I give it up to him.  As I turn my back to leave, he tells me that I've taken his chips that he left.  I ask him if I have a "I'm a fucking idiot" sign hanging around my neck, and he blinks at me, not understanding.

"You stole my $10," He slurs.

"Look Sir (I almost called him something else, but I'm here with friends and my wife and don't want to cause a scene; already the entire table is looking at me like I'm a thief) we can go talk to security and check the video footage, but I'm pretty sure there was NOTHING here and that's why I sat down, because it was an empty chair."

"Hmmmphfff."  Drunko slurs and plops down into the chair.

What the fuck is going on here?  I decide that twice is two time too many and I make my way to the slot machines to find my drunken gay city friends laughing and smoking.  I recall my episode and they tell me that the locals are idiots and we make our way out after saying goodbye to our West Hollywood pals.

We race back to Cathedral City with the top down on the convertible.  Techno jams on full blast and the wind blowing our hair and our minds.  Let's hope there's no police check point, because we're trashed.

We make it back to "The Cove" and settle in for the night.

The next morning is full of Mimosas and a hearty Sunday brunch before we have to bid our friends goodbye.  Oh if only our city friends would come out more often.

Hot City Diary: Day unknown

It's tooooo much.  I wake up to my dog nudging me and barking.  That's strange.  I was just riding my doggie around a race track and she was barking at all the other doggies and keeping them at bay, I was first place and bound to win the Preakness cup.  She barks again and the reality of it all hits me as I am in a pool of sweat and dirt on the carpet of one of the bedrooms.  The dirt helps keep my skin from blistering any further.  The carpet is filthy and the side door to the backyard patio is open.  The drapes flutter in the wind.  It's a hot wind.  No respite from the wind.  I try to ignore my dog and turn back over to fall back asleep and collect my wreath of roses, some kudos and do a victory lap around the track.  That's when she bites me.  The teeth cut thru my blistered skin and draw blood.

She's obviously had enough of this shit.

Ouch.  I jump up and acknowledge this furry little beast.  She's panting.  She bites me again and then collapses.

Ignoring the blood from these fresh bites, I lift up my dog and make my way to the pool.  It's green and all sorts of insects are floating around in it.  I fall in.  I don't have time to care about what kind of shit is growing in the pool.  My dog doesn't have the strength to swim so she just falls to the bottom.  I say a little prayer and swim up for air.  I could leave her down there, but that would be giving into the heat.  Giving up.  I swim down and grab her and pull her to the shallow end and prop her up on the stairs that are full of algae.  She starts to breath.  I crawl out of the pool and leave her on the steps.  I make my way around the front of the house to turn on the hose.  I let all the super hot water empty out onto the dirt and scorch the fire ants realm.  Those little fire ants are running for their lives.

Muwhahahahahahahahaha.

After a couple minutes and the water has cooled down to just a little hot, I spray my dog.  I lift her out of the pool and the direct sunlight and put her in the shade. I find her dog bowl and fill it with water.

This pool is disgusting, I'm disgusting.

Hot City Diary: Day 58

The wind whips around outside.  The palms rustle and the jacaranda tree drops it's pretty little blue flowers in the pool.  I step back from the window and drop the aluminum shades until it's pitch black in the bedroom.

It's 8am and 90 degrees in the house.  I turn on the A/C and it groans and then stops.  Shit.  I hope that's just temporary. Good thing my wife left.  She's gone to Italy to escape the heat.  Moving out of Los Angeles to the Desert was a lot to ask.  I couldn't ask her to stay through this heat.  So here I am. On my own.  I'll deal with this heat.  I'd rather it be super hot than super cold, I guess.  What kind of give and take is that?  I'd rather it be a nice sunny 70 out than anything, but I made this investment and I'm sticking to it.  Just have to wait it out 30 years until this mortgage is paid and I'll be sitting on a massive pile of money.  Who am I kidding, nobody lives 30 years out here in the desert.

I feel myself swoon and I make a beeline for the couch so if I fall I won't crack my skull on the 18 inch tiles that line the living room floor.  I'm hearing music, but I haven't turned anything on.  No, I won't lose control this time.  I breath deep and circulate the blood to my skull.  Must think clearly.

Stay hydrated and things will be cool.  Where did I put that water?  Over there on the counter.  I walk into the kitchen and realize that some of the shutters are open.  I close them.  It's important for it to be pitch black in here.  The sun can't kill me if it can't find me.  I'll show that motherfucking sun who's boss.  I pour a tall one and gulp it down.  My cells soak it up.  The music dies down.

What was I going to do today?  Look through the want ads on craigslist and maybe I'll find something good.  Why hasn't anyone returned my calls?  WTF is going on out here in the desert?  If I didn't know any better I'd say that these assholes watch out for themselves.  My 213 number is a dead giveaway.  Why would anyone hire a LA kid who lives in the cove when they can give a job to some underprivileged desert rat.  Maybe I should change my number to some 760 prefix.  Nahhhh, I'd still be a dead giveaway with all my work history being in the LA basin.

Craigslist is full of minimum wage bullshit.  How am I suppose to pay for this fucking house on some minimum wage bullshit.  I'll soon have to start dipping into my savings if things continue like this.  I put on Grooveshark and play some tunes to get my mind off the ever increasing heat.  It's going to be 100 today and I'm a goner if I don't play this right.

Hot City Diary: Day 55

Midnight gardening. It's cold outside. Must be in the low 80's. Weather.com says it's 87. Whatever. It's like free air conditioning. The plants and lawn must be watered at night so out I go. I'm stretching the 50 foot hose to it's full length and I still can't hit the mango trees in the corner. I'll have to fill up a bucket and attend to the mango trees, later. I spray the dry pieces of hay that fill up the yard. Thank god it's dark out or I'd see I'm just spraying dirt. Dirt and fire ants. Nevertheless, I still water the lawn and dance around to avoid standing on the hill and getting ant foot. It takes about half an hour and then I switch from the fountain spray nozzle to direct spray and hose down the big palm trees and some smaller palms. Then it's the buckets of water to the mango and olive trees. The bougainvillea gets a good soaking twice a week.

These plants are getting scorched.

Wonder what is happening to me?

Hot City Diary: Day 150

Indoors. I don't even dare open the shutters to let light in. My dog and I walk around in the dim light and accomplish our daily routine remembering the whole time that we must stay hydrated. Stay hydrated or go mad, then die. I open the door to grab brunas water bowl and it's like opening the oven door. I'm hit with intense heat and flinch. Whoa! 111 is hot. I yank it inside and slam the door. I carry the water bowl to the sink to fill it up and think to myself that 111 is the lowest it's been all week. That is good for an August day.

The water falling into the bowl sounds like gold coins splashing into diamonds. I close my eyes and jump into the golden gems for a swim. Diving among the jewels and floating on top of all this treasure. I open my eyes and realize that I've put my face in the doggie bowl.

I turn off the water and pour myself a glass of the filtered stuff from the fridge. Water never tasted this good. How can water taste this good? I pour myself another cup. I know I'm filling up when it comes out down my cheeks and onto my shirt. Water. Water stops the madness.

These days the sun will rise around 6:09 AM and set at 7:30 PM. I feel like a vampire without any of the cool abilities. Yesterday I did some laundry out in the garage and stepped outside and thought I got stung by a couple bees. Turns out, I just stepped into the sunlight.

Hot City Diary: Day 250

I'm a dirty, dirty dolphin.  I swim with strength and poise and can do multiple back flips out of the water.  I live here in the water.  It's too hot to be anywhere else.  Wait a second.  I'm at the beach.  My wife is smiling at me.  No, No, No, this must be another one of those illusions.  How did I get to the beach?  Oh this is so nice, though, I'm jumping around in the water like a dolphin and all my dolphin friends are here.  Wait, I'm human.  I'm just swimming around in the breakers.

The cool breeze whips across the water and I can hear my wife laughing and splashing in the water.  She must have driven me out here to the beach.  She's surrounded by sharks, but she seems to know them and they don't hurt her.

I'm never going back to the desert.  It's too hot.  It will bake your brains and then kill you.

I wake up on the filthy white faux leather couch in my living room.  I'm not at the beach.  Maybe I'm already dead.  This must be the moments when you flashback before the blood and oxygen stop going to the brain.  I trip over something on my way to the kitchen and open the barn door to let out the cows.

It's cold inside the barn.  That's where I want to be.  I see a flash of food and beer and realize I've opened the refrigerator door.  The illusion stops for a moment.  I reach inside and drink something, anything, I think it's cranberry juice because there's red juice pouring down my chest.  I hope it's cranberry juice.

The moment I close the door it turns back into a barn and my dog is barking in the distance.  I don't have time for this.  I'm a dolphin.  Dolphins don't live in barns, unless you're a country dolphin, and I'm sure as hell not one of those.

I make my way to the light.  The burning light.  It takes me outside where I'm torched and flip and flop until I find myself in the green pool.  This is where dirty desert dolphins live.  In a dirty algae filled pool in the desert.

This is the life for me!!!

Hot City Diary: Day 9

It's getting hot out.  Really hot.  We've turned on the air conditioner to keep things at a cool 70 degrees inside the house, but it's really unbearable outside.  It must be the third or fourth day of 90 degree heat.  I'll have to put more chlorine in the pool and cover most of the plants outside.  I know I was moving to a desert but I guess I didn't plan for this.  My wife says she's leaving for Italy if it continues to get this hot.  I don't blame her, I want to leave for Italy, but I've got to stay in town and look for a job and hopefully score one and then keep it.

Our neighbor across the street laughs and laughs when I tell him it's hot.

"This is nothing! Wait until we're into the third month of the heat wave.  Temperatures typically stay over a hundred for a couple months!"  He throws in the obligatory "You'll get use to it!"

I don't want to get use to this.  This isn't normal.  I come from the Los Angeles Basin where the temperature is always a nice 70 degrees.  This isn't right.

It's not only the heat but the sun stings.  I've got to invest in a large hat and sunscreen or else I'm doomed.  It's only the second week in April and it's over 90 degrees.

What was I thinking of investing in a house in the desert with all this talk of Climate Change.  If things continue like this, there won't be a Coachella Valley within a hundred years.  Unless of course the sea rises and brings all kinds of water back over there to the Salton Sea.  Then maybe.

Stupid Desert living.

Hot City Diary: Day 7

The Desert is like some strange time warp.  Maybe it's the idea that Palm Springs is a vacation destination and everything slows down when you're on vacation.  I can dig that.  I like it slow.  After the fast pace of Los Angeles and the Go, Go, Go feeling when you're forced to get up and get your shit done hourly, it's nice to be able to relax and take it easy for a while.  The problem is that I'm looking for a job and every resume I've sent out has yet to be addressed.  It's not like I've got a shitty resume either.  I've worked at some of the top hotels in Los Angeles and you'd think that employers would be pretty happy to interview me.  Well, I guess that I'll just take this time to enjoy my swimming pool and fix up some things at the new house.

Dirty Dan, the previous owner, and we call him "Dirty Dan" because he left the place in shambles and all kinds of dirt streaks on the walls and the carpet in the bedroom looks like somebody just rolled around in dirt outside and then rolled all over the place in a drugged induced haze, so Dirty Dan is going to get a strongly worded letter from me and my Realtor about some cleaning fees that he needs to pay.

So time floats by on the gentle winds that sway the jacaranda tree.  The small palms list this way and that.

It's a little bit hotter today than it was yesterday, but nothing that can't be remedied from a dip in the pool and some air conditioning.

Hot City Diary: Day 5

Wow.  Some of these Desert Rats (indigenous people, not the indians, but the white and brown trash) are horrible people.  I thought I was getting away from all that shit when I left Los Angeles.  Well,  I guess there are a few bad apples everywhere.  Most of the people out here in the desert are either over 70 or gay, and those two sets of people are typically pretty nice.  They're referred to as the Gay and Grey set.

Whatever, so, I'm making a left turn and I'm hitting it at maybe 30 miles per hour because I wanted to make the green arrow, so I gunned my little ford escort, and some shithead coming the other direction makes a right on a red without stopping and we almost ram into each other.  His huge fucking truck would have demolished me and my car, but somehow that doesn't stop me from pulling up beside him once we get down the road and rolling down my window and asking him if he typically drives like an asshole, or if he just started today.  He flips me off and then follows me around for the next ten minutes honking and yelling and causing a scene while I drop off my mail in the drive-by post office blue boxes and then even follows me into the supermarket parking lot and blocks me into my space and continues to cuss me out and tell me how he's gonna get all his homies to get me.  I ask him why can't he do it by himself, while I make sure he see's me write down his license plate number and then I walk into the pool store to get some chlorine and acid and by the time I come out, he's gone. That fucking jerk.  That's no way to welcome somebody to your new city.  Another thought on the subject is why did he seem like he was in such a big hurry and blasted thru the red light where we almost collided and then had ten minutes to follow me around.

I moved away from Los Angeles to avoid some kind of Road Rage incident.  I think I'll carry my machete in my car from now on.

Also, the pool people made me buy like 3 other things that I don't think I need.  What the fuck is conditioner?  Do I need pool shampoo also?  

Not feeling the love today from the Coachella valley.

Spring Break

Hot City Diary: Day 243

I'm still underwater. It's so nice and refreshing down here. I swim around like a seahorse, dither this way and that. Moving with the tides.

Then I bump into a cactus. What's this cactus doing down here? 

All the sudden the full force of the scorching heat comes back and I snap out of my dreamy water world. I'm laying in the front yard up against a cactus. How did this happen? I look around and find some mail, a pennysaver and some advertisements scattered around the rocks and Cacti that cover my front yard. I must have gone out for the mail and the heat got me.

I crawl back over the hot stones and burning tile that leads to the front door. I can see the door handle in front of me but the whole world goes watery again. I'm flushed into the house through the door and my dog is there swimming alongside me. I smile and swim down to the couch and grab the remote control.

Some television would be perfect, but will it work underwater? Of course it works! I turn on my favorite Alaskan show and enjoy them walking, hunting, playing in the snow while my dog swims above and around me.

This is the life!

Hot City Diary: Day 242

The heat has permeeated...pemerated...peeeeeeeeme...snuck into the house. I'd turn on the Air Conditioning but it doesn't help. I play the music to get it out, but that doesn't help either. I rush to the bathroom and step into the shower. Scorched by water that's been heatin' up in the pipe. I jump out and flail about the house. Somebody is screaming. It's me. The pool is the only safe haven, so I open the oven door and make a run for it.

Waves of heat so intense I can feel the hair singeing. Who needs hair anyways. It's just making me hotter.

I slip on dog vomit. There's dog vomit all over the backyard. She's unhappy, too. Am I crazy? I need to drink more water, and obviously send my dog back to Los Angeles. I must-just-bust this feeling. Nonsense. Bain daMage. Losing my grip on things. I must make it to the pool for safety. At first look it seems like it's bubbling, but it's boiling, so I dive deep down to get to the cool water.

Splash.

A light burning feeling and as I sink deeper, I finally find relief. I swim deeper. Fathoms. Lifetimes. After what seems like 20 minutes, I wonder how I can possibly still be underwater. I don't care. I'm going to stay down here forever.

Hot City Diary: Day 1

I'm not painting the new house.  I just painted the house we're renting out to some people from NY who phoned in the rental application.   It took forever to get everything into the fucking moving van and then the drive out here from Silverlake was hell.  I should have known better to leave during rush hour.  Well, it's the last rush hour that I will ever see, because now I live in the desert.  I'm still tired.  It's kinda hot out.

It's refreshing to jump in the pool and wander around my half acre lot.  It's really nice to have so much land to run around on and it looks like my happy little doggie likes it as well.  No longer stuck in her 500 sq. ft. backyard.  I don't think the wife is happy, but hopefully she'll get use to things out here.  I'm sure a beautiful Italian girl like her will start to feel like a princess amongst all the desert rats.  There's only 400,000 residents in the whole Coachella Valley and probably just about 100 people that live up here in the Cat City cove.  It's been dubbed the Hollywood Hills of the Coachella valley and although I wouldn't go that far, it's definitely the West Hollywood of the Coachella Valley.  It's as gay as the day is long.  I think we're the only straight Italian couple.  Well, she's really from Italy, I'm just some 3rd generation mutt with a great grandmother from Sicily.  

Things will be much slower now and hopefully I can get some writing done.  Write that novel that I've always wanted to write.  I'll also hopefully leave all my vices behind.  Stupid Los Angeles and all it's glimmering hope.  Nothing but superficial people and overpriced living.  I was one of those superficial bitches.  Maybe I can change my ways out here.

There doesn't seem to be too many distractions.  I'll still have to get a job and that will take up half of my day, but that's par for the course in any life.  You have to work or else the novel will just be about living under the bridge with some kid with a compound bow & arrow and his bike and drinking habit.  I wouldn't have anything to write on either.  I'm sure whatever notepad I'd buy to write in would just be used for toilet paper.  So the job is essential.  Let's just hope it's not that taxing.

Well, I'll spend the rest of the day in the pool and figure out how to operate all this machinery that the gay couple that sold this house left for us.  Looks like they just kinda ran out on the last day of Escrow.  Leaving all sorts of stuff behind.  Gonna talk to my Realtor about that as well.

May Day

Here we are again.