Chadwick and the Angry Bitch

The Beloved and I spent most of last week in Big D, little a, double l, a- s. (oh, THAT’S how you spell pretentious!)

Not my most favorite locale on the planet, but we both had work there. The other key enticement ws the opportunity to see the fabulous and reclusive Jeffoise, who has known me since I was just a princess-in-training. Plus, the outrageous CoCo was visiting from London, so we wanted to wedge onto her dance card, as well.

Saturday night was our last night there. We were in bed by a reasonable hour, after a lovely evening with Jeffoise, but our sleep was not going to come easy. You see, next door was a lovely suite, with a terrace overlooking the skyline. Said terrace actually wrapped around our room, so we couldn’t have avoided the occupants if we tried.

And boy did we want to try.

I don’t know that I have ever experienced such thin walls. Or maybe these people just had piercing voices. Regardless, they checked in with the obvious intent of throwing a party. Loud drunken slurred speech (NOT coming out of MY mouth for a change) kept us awake for hours. They would move from the room to the terrace to the hot tub to the room, all the while keeping the decibel level at “make the dog howl.”

The “owner” of the room was named Chadwick. I know this because the drunk post-sorority girl (DPSG) kept calling his name repeatedly. I had an immediate mental image of who these people were. The DPSG was actually the loudest and most talkative—a combination I particularly loathe. Unless it’s me, of course. Then it’s just plain charming.

As Missy begins to crescendo, I glance at the clock. 2:40 a.m. Nice. And just then she delivers the line of the night.

“OMIGOD! We’re all naked! All I see is tattoos and flesh.”

Now, our room was, I guess, the second bedroom to the suite. There was a connecting door that didn’t quite seal, which I’m guessing made the noise situation worse. It also provided a nice conduit for the smoke from their cigarettes. Yum. Did I mention this is a non-smoking hotel?

Simultaneously, the DPSG’s celly rang out. And she began telling her friend what a great party they were having and how she should get right over there.

And that’s when Daddy said “enough.” I called the front desk and said, “Hi. It’s time for the party in 51 to wind down now.” Shortly thereafter, the noise died down. I’m not sure if the people died or passed out. I was kind of hoping for the latter.

As I was checking out the next morning, the woman at the front desk, without exactly apologizing, said she figured Chadwick et al would be asked not to come back. I think I may ask myself the same thing.