Karma’s Dicking With Me

As you may know, I’ve got a big birthday coming up next week. So since my friend Swamp Butt also turned fifty a couple of weeks ago, we decided to get the gang together and go to the mountains for a joint birthday bash.

A good time was had by all, and a better time was had by a couple of us who shall remain nameless. The obligatory insulting age-related gifts were given and received with varying degrees of grace, and somebody might perhaps have had a shooter:


When the waiter arrived bearing a martini glass full of whipped cream and told us it was a Muff Dive, I declined on the grounds that I bat for the other team. But once he explained that there was a Blow Job submerged in the cream, it was all good.

The object of the game is to slather the victim in equal parts whipped cream and humiliation by forcing them to drink the shooter hands-free. I think I took the fun out of it when I inhaled the cream and tossed back the shot so fast they barely had a chance to snap the picture. (Swamp Butt didn’t fare quite so well. Apparently whipped cream is not a comfortable sinus rinse.)

Hubby and I had splashed out on a fancy hotel that night, so we put on our best behaviour and checked in trying to look like responsible adults.

And guess what I saw when I went into our fancy-schmancy king suite?

First the expected granite counters, leather furniture, yadda, yadda:

hotel room

Then this:

dick window

Yep, somebody had drawn a dick on our window. The rest of the suite was absolutely pristine, and that’s partly why the smudged window caught my eye. I probably wouldn’t have even identified the subject matter if I hadn’t been lying on the couch at exactly the right angle to see it against a dark background.

Summoned by my uproarious laughter, Hubby asked what was so funny. When I pointed out the misplaced genitalia, he agreed that this was clearly another instance of my bad hotel karma. Things like this could only happen to me. In fact, I challenge you to find anyone else who’s experienced both a rappelling nudist and a dick-print on a hotel window, in separate $200+ per night hotels in two different countries. (Though I guess the statistical probability of seeing both at the same hotel might be higher.)

But karma still wasn’t finished with me. When I went into the bedroom, I discovered the hotel’s scratch pad and pen lying on the writing desk. And guess what their slogan is?

“Sleep with the best”.

I nearly laughed myself sick. It was all I could do not to print ‘Complimentary dick with each night’s stay’ under the tagline.

But I didn’t. It’s that whole ‘responsible adult’ thing.

And speaking of which, I had actually intended to clean the window before we left so the hotel staff wouldn’t think we were the guilty parties.  But then I thought, “Nah, what the hell. Why not share the joy?”

Besides, I was a little squeamish about touching it…

What’s your funniest hotel experience?

* * *

By the way, if you ever get the chance, eat at the Grizzly House in Banff, Alberta, Canada. It ain’t cheap, but it’s a blast. A holdover from glory days of the 70s, it still retains the original telephones at each table so swingers could call each other from across the restaurant if they liked what they saw. The night we were there, a complete stranger dialled our table and sang ‘Happy Birthday’! The fondues are delicious – everything from traditional cheese to exotic meats. I went for it all: wine, salad, cheese fondue, bagna cauda, shrimp, scallops, lobster, Brome Lake duck, and kangaroo, with the traditional Toblerone chocolate/fruit fondue for dessert. YUM!!! (And ouch. I kinda hurt myself. But it was good pain.)

45 thoughts on “Karma’s Dicking With Me

  1. Pingback: Our Excellent Adventure | Diane Henders

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    • Thanks, Charles! It’s always possible. It was a mountain town, after all – lots of climbing gear available. If that’s the case, I’m glad he left a silent calling card instead of waking us with whoops and hollers in the middle of the night. 😉


  3. I have a sister who got married in Germany, and after the end of the festivities I traveled for two weeks with one of my brothers, the only one I get along with well enough to enjoy traveling with without ever contemplating fraterside. We took turns trying out our high school language skills, which were rusty to nonexistent. Because we are both perennially low on funds and equally unwilling to explain our familial relationship was brother/sister and not spouse in our less than rudimentary French or German, we decided to accept whatever came our way when asking for a room for two. We traveled by rail and knew from travel books that many cheap, but decent hotels were located near train stations. That wisdom was true. Clean, modest rooms at very decent prices were found in all the cities we visited. That is, until we walked into a room with the world’s saggiest bed. It was shaped like a bowl from just the weight of the covers- an obvious holdover from the war years- which war we weren’t sure. There would be no way to keep a polite space between us. We retreated so fast and declined to see any other rooms at that establishment. In Paris, we got a very reasonably priced place in a less than stellar hotel. It actually had a private bathroom with a shower, but no bathroom linens. We managed on our own because we each had our own washcloths and hand towels brought from home and found that you can get everything dry with just one hand towel apiece. The next morning we asked for bathroom linens and they were so apologetic to have neglected to give us any, yet no towels came for any of the three or four days we stayed even with the daily request. Cockroaches abounded, but no towels. The front desk was so very accommodating in other ways, giving directions to the nearest hospital, but that’s another story. But-hey, it was the eighties, the US Dollar was strong and what do you expect for two bucks a night?


  4. Dear Diane – many happy returns and 50 as they say is the new 40…. so keep on rocking, age is only a state of mind! I spent my 50th with a mad group of friends at Pegasus in Calgary, the pictures show I had a great time I seem to remember a lot ouzo was consumed.

    Our funniest hotel experience was only funny many, many months later.
    We were moving East with a 26 foot U Haul loaded with our life. Somewhere south of Thunder Bay going down the hilly side of Superior we decided the day had become long enough. No towns in sight just forest and getting dark fast. We spotted lights up ahead, it didn’t look too bad and we were toast. Our dog was with us, were given the last room which was a smoking room – yuk – the office offered a can of Febreeze to mask the odour. Back in the room my husband is trying to figure out why the dog is cowering in the corner of the room, we discover we have a plague of flies. Our 48 pound dog is terrified of flies (another story), back to the office for a fly swatter and fly spray. Needless to say, between the the tobacco, fly spray and quivering dog who ended up under the covers, it was not a restful night. We were out of there at first light to find breakfast somewhere much further down the highway. Window art seems relatively tame, you didn’t fill in the their survey card on how their service was, a missed opportunity LOL!?


    • Flies, yuck! What a night that must have been. For a minute there I was afraid this was the start of a horror movie: The isolated motel, the dog cowering in fear from nothing immediately visible…

      And you’re right, dagnabbit, I should have filled out a survey card. Missed opportunities…


  5. Hehehe! Trust you to choose that room, Diane! 😉
    Actually, I thought you were pointing out bear scratches on the wall before I read what you were ACTUALLY pointing out. My mind is obviously in a completely different forest!
    Happy forthcoming birthday, by the way, should I not get to mention it again.


  6. Happy birthday, Diane! You made your early celebration a great event!! One of my friends celebrates her birthdays for the number of days that correspond to the number of years she is into the decade culminating with a 10 day blowout at the next decade mark. Congratulations and best wishes for an even better decade to come.
    I’m a week out from the following rung on the decade ladder. (I wonder if we share the same birthday? Mine is the 21st.) How did this happen? I can’t be more than 35, can I? I need to make some sort of plan to have an especially nice day instead of getting gloomy about the creape paper skin that has taken over my left arm, etc. Luckily, my best friend is almost a decade older than I am and looks 25 years younger than she is and she is always up for an adventure. I’ve always been bad at making plans. This year…


    • Thank you, and Happy pre-Birthday to you, too! Mine is the 19th so we’re not quite twins (within a decade or so, but who’s counting). An adventure definitely sounds like a good idea! My favourite adventures revolve around food and drink, so I’m thinking for my next big birthday I’ll do a wine tour or food tasting… or maybe I won’t wait that long… 😉

      Whatever you decide to do, enjoy!


  7. Talk about bad hotel karma! Ours tends to go the other way. Dear friends of ours (the husband of the pair being crowned the King of Cheap by the wife of the pair) used to get our hotel reservations for us when we would travel together…until “that fateful day” one hears about so often. We were all headed somewhere swell for a long weekend when we stopped for the night at one of his “finds.” Disgusting. I won’t elaborate, but think “worse than the manager’s office in the Silverside Hotel.” Ewwww doesn’t even begin to convey, well, never mind. You get it, I’m sure. We revoked his travel agent privileges immediately thereafter.

    The King of Cheap is the same guy who converted an old Greyhound SceniCruiser to a motor home. Thankfully, he spared no expense on this project. It was a first class rig. Seriously swank.

    We were all heading to Santa Fe, NM, for a long weekend several years ago, and he let me drive. Gad, what a hoot! I was just going to do the highway miles, then turn it over to him to navigate the narrow, crooked streets around the Plaza where we were staying.

    We get closer. Wanna drive now? No, you’re doing fine!

    We get closer. Wanna drive now? No, you’re doing fine!

    We get closer. You wanna drive now, don’t you? No, you’re doing fine!

    Okay, too late now. We’re close to the center of town, and there’s no place to pull over, so I just go for it. In an old bus, forty feet long, no power steering, with the transmission–four speed non-syncromesh, by the way–thirty-five feet from the driver’s shifter, with a cable-operated clutch that’s also thirty-five from the driver’s clutch pedal…and the clutch stops working! I try to stop for a stop sign, press on the clutch, and the pedal freefalls to the floor and stays there.


    The air horn helped. A lot. Traffic disappeared from us as if by magic. When I had to stop, just pull the fuel shutoff. When it’s time to go, put it in first and hit the starter. The 24-volt starter on a Detroit Diesel engine is about the size of a small-block Chevy, but with more torque. Just start it in gear and double-clutch your way to wherever you want to go. Made it to the hotel parking lot, found a pull-through space and parked just like I’d been doing it all my life.

    Which I had. Well, not all my life, but for a couple of years I’d driven 18-wheelers on a regular basis.

    We popped the engine cover, El Cheapo’s wife handed me a bobby pin out of her purse, and I used it to replace the ages-old cotter pin that had finally worn through. Problem solved.

    Hotel karma has a way of spilling over onto real life, doesn’t it? 🙂


    • Holy SHIT! Just the thought of trying to drive a vehicle that big in urban streets makes me shudder. I don’t even want to think about doing it with no clutch. I’d have pulled over and walked the rest of the way. With real-life experiences like that, no wonder you need to write!


      • The pressure buildup from life overload may be the undocumented source of spontaneous human combustion. Or maybe just metric tons of pure BS. History will decide… 🙂

        And HAPPY BIRTHDAY, kiddo! You SO rock! And fifty ain’t so bad. I’ve been fifty for fifteen years. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. And I can guarantee that you look lots better with whipped cream on your face and a shot glass in your mouth than I do. Just accept it, since photographic evidence will not be provided. Ever.


  8. That was hilarious! You made the “Big 50” and did it with true style and grace, you GO girl. LOL
    BTW, in that scratch pad, right under “Sleep With The Best”…..you should have written in………”I did and He, er.. It was great!”
    In honor of what must be the world’s greatest husband. hahaha


  9. Happy Birthday and welcome to the club! Thankfully I do not have any such prints on windows to share. My guess is it was done with the side of a hand…not that I have ever been involved in such prankster like activity. 🙂


    • I hope it was hand-drawn. I guess it would be theoretically possible for it to be an imprint of the real thing, but only if the guy was double-jointed and capable of doing the splits vertically. That would be something to see. Or not. *swills brain bleach through ears*


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