Ho Jo's

The Blonde is about as street smart as Bubble boy.

I learned exactly how far from the hood I grew up on a recent trip through some of the seedier towns of Texas.

I went on Hotel.com to purchase a ticket for a hotel in the cattlelac world 6 hours north of bum frack Texas.

Seeing their wasn't a decent hotel I had to choose a motel that I thought would be safe and clean. I chose one with a name I actually heard of; Howard Johnsons. I booked a room after seeing it had a rating of 3.2, a whole point above the others. I did not bother to read the comments which was my first mistake, the second was booking a single queen.

I packed clean sheets and towels and a pair of flip flops. I may be Blonde but I am not on a suicide mission to pick up some disease from improperly cleaned rooms and seeing the prices of the motels, I was certain I would need an extra can of Lysol and rubber mits.

Howard Johnson is far from the hotel I remember as a young girl on our family drives to nowhere to have one of our ice cream treats for suffering hours of my Father's show tunes and military marching music in the car.

I thought Ho Jo's was just a clever shortcut of the name but actually its ghetto tongue for Ho's doing Jo's. When I arrived, I noticed the picture on Hotel.com was older than some of the photos of guys on match.com. The place was run down and next to a stripper club. I was greeted at the desk by a chunky Latino girl who had a grin on her face the entire time I was checking in. I would soon learn later, why.

She asked for my drivers license and passed me a key, telling me since I ordered a queen bed that my room was at the back end of the hotel. I drove back and parked in front of my door hopping the parking hump to get my bumper as close to the door as possibly imaginable.

It was late and I was tired from the 6 hours of drive time. I just wanted to go to sleep. I carefully peeled the sheets of the bed and placed mine down. I moved the ice box in front of the door to protect myself and went to sleep.

Around 2 in the morning, I heard knocking on the doors outside my room and then knocking on mine. I thought someone made a mistake and was looking for someone else. Than, knocking started half an hour later, again going down the line and ending up knocking on mine. This happened about 4 times between the hours of 2 and 4 am. By that time, I am thinking what the F bomb.

I would have called the front desk but that would have entailed me touching the phone and i decided I rather not since I am not sure if Lysol would penetrate the germ fest crawling all over my room. I just stayed tightly tucked into my sheets on the very edge of the bed and slept with my eyes open until 9 am.

I never took the flip flops off my feet since the carpet was sticky and I peed like a squatting monkey never letting anything from the room touch me. I quickly got the heck out of that place.

Later in the morning I met up with Boo and Ferret for a pancake fest at a local diner, they street wisely advised me, after the hysterical laughter and bits of pancake stopped flying out of their mouths, that I booked a room on what is known as hooker row.

What is hooker row?

Its the rooms that hookers rent out. That is why you never book a single queen bed.

But why would I want two doubles, its just me?

Trust us, pay the extra for the second bed.

Ok...and the knocking?

that was dudes looking to score.

Holy Crap, no way!

To make me feel better, Boo said the sweetest thing. He said that I shouldn't worry because I am good enough to be a thousand dollar call girl.

A few minutes more of laughter and flying pancake bits later, it hit me.

I touched the remote control!!!

The Blonde has been hand sanitizing ever since!!!

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