So where was I all this time? Monterey, California. Beautiful place. Although in my opinion it couldn’t hold a candle to my time in New Orleans.
Why? Number one: it’s freezing there. Think a cross between Alaska and the North Pole. There is a constant biting wind, and it’s constantly biting you right in the face. Number two: not a whole lot to do there. There is only one real club downtown, and it was filled up with pre-pubescent fake-id carrying 21-year-olds before you could say “Jagerbomb.” The food was absolutely outstanding, however.
But my favorite experience of Monterey had to be the crazy excuse for a hotel I was made to stay in! Casa Munras. More like Casa Mocos. Here’s the lowdown on this place:
1. Only the registration area was quaint and styled. The rest of the compound was laid out like an old insane asylum. Very creepy. Weird sections of abandoned building with prominent “Keep Out! Unfit to Inhabit” signs. It felt like a Resident Evil video game.
2. Something was terribly wrong with my bathroom. The toilet required a step-stool for me to reach it. The shower head came all the way to crotch level. Then I realized: they put me in the “special” room. Nice job guys.
3. I had a gorgeous view….of the parking lot. And even that was blocked by an enormous and unnecessary bush.
4. When I went to open the shutters to gain a little more of my bush view, mosquitoes came out. Big, healthy mosquitoes. They were living there more comfortably in this craphole than I was apparently.
5. My television refused to work with the remote. But it would randomly turn on at sporadic intervals during the night. I expected the chick from The Ring to emerge and turn me into a pile of green goo at any moment.
6. The heater was not only archaic, but possessed. It was one of those stupid boxes that rests in the wall on the floor, offering warmth to a circumference of about 1 foot. I used the dial to crank that bitch all the way up to 80 (remember, I was in Alaska). Then every time the heater kicked on the dial screamed. Not a low whine, I mean the painful howl of a cat being tossed in a blender or Paula Abdul when she runs out of painkillers. A very comforting sound at 3am.
The only plus was it was situated about .5 miles from the actual conference. Yes, I had to walk miles every day to go to work. But at least no one else could see where I was staying. Although I’m pretty sure they could vaguely hear the howl of Paula Abdul, somewhere in the distance….
Yeah, here's the promise on the website.....
Here's what you really get. At no additional charge!
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