Relax-O-Rama

I bet you didn't know that it only takes one vomiting child to thwart even the most serious attempts at living like a rock star. Now take that and multiply it by three.

As you might imagine, a person needs some time to recuperate after an entire household is struck down by plague.

After merrily hosing down the walls of several common rooms, like the scullery maid I really am, with bleach tinged cleanser, I picked up the phone and made a reservation at Washington D.C.'s very own Topaz Hotel for my husband and I. Many times I had been tempted to do this after hearing rave reviews about the location, funky, spacious rooms and exquisite service, but something always seemed to get in the way. A basketball game, endless birthday parties, needy pets and offspring, etc. With fierce determination I asked for a one night stay and a hot rock massage for my overworked and under appreciated spouse.

Grandma flew in on her broomstick and had just enough time to toss off three housekeeping related insults before we bolted out the front and hailed the nearest cab.

First off, I've got to say how impressed I was with the hotel itself. It looks small from the outside but it boasts cavernous rooms and a fantastic bar/lounge area near it's entrance. Every inquiry was met with a smile and genuine warmth and the bartenders kept me company like big brothers while my husband went upstairs at 6:30 for his massage appointment.

Speaking of the massage.......

Let me just start by saying this is provided by an outside service and a good one at that. My husband being a massage virgin was terrified at the prospect of a stranger rubbing him down with oil in a locked room. Baby. It turns out our masseuse was an enormous Russian fellow with an odd resemblance to John Wayne Gacey. His first words after "hello" were "I FORGET ROCKS" not "I forgot the rocks", just a simple caveman like "I FORGET ROCKS".

For one nanosecond I contemplated making a fuss and then had a vision of him snapping off my husbands twig like arms and brandishing them as weaponry against me leaving me concussed on the floor. Wait, where was I? Oh yes, he opted instead for the deep tissue massage which was in a word ..delightful.

We spent the rest of the evening drinking a strange blue mixed drink from the bar, both delicious and potent, and ate while watching March Madness on the bar TV.

Since we are from the area and we've frequented all the local DuPont Circle haunts, we stayed close to the hotel and went outside for a few quick walks to people watch and enjoy the Saturday evening. Those coming into D.C. from out of town could spend all evening out and about I'm sure.

The Topaz Hotel is a Kimpton Hotel (love them!) and is located at 1733 N Street, N.W. Washington, DC 20036.

http://www.topazhotel.com/

Do yourself a favor and spend a night!

United We Stand, Disgruntled We Fall

http://money.cnn.com/2009/04/06/news/companies/airline_quality/index.htm?postversion=2009040610
I recently found myself standing in front of the United Airlines kiosk waiting for said machine to vomit forth my boarding pass while a watchful but mostly disdainful UA employee kept me in his peripheral vision. A fellow random traveler whose audible sighs wafted past me was clearly in some sort of distress having to do with the inability of his kiosk to answer his question. "These prompts don't have the info I need" he called to no one in particular. Dead silence.
I had just finished so I thought I'd lend a helping hand. "What do you need?"
"My gate number is nowhere to be found on my boarding pass OR the computer screen, and I keep having to log back on with my confirmation number because it shuts me down when I take too long." I checked his methods just to make sure he wasn't some sort of idiot or flat out bat s*%t crazy and his gate number was in fact, a mystery. Putting on my most gracious face and using the polite voice I learned to substitute for my shrill God given one in kindergarten, I tried to summon one of the four airline employees who stood not two feet away. "Can you help him find the screen he needs?" I implored. "Just read it" one delightful layabout suggests.
You can probably imagine how this case scenario deteriorated until whatever shreds were left went swirling down the vortex into the land of "travel horror stories".
The end result was one very unhappy male traveler who stalked off, shaking his head and saying "flying is just not what it used to be". So true.
I can't say I wasted too much time contemplating his sorrow, as my trip was a whirlwind all girls extravaganza in Vegas that included spa time, a private cabana at the pool, endless gambling and late nights dancing, but it did give me food for thought when I returned.
I've flown every airline numerous times in my life and in my opinion no other carrier has lost it's touch quite as obviously as United. Snarky comebacks to travelers questions, rolling eyes at simple requests, inability to keep a level head over simple infractions (in this case a toddler repeatedly pushing the stewardess call button). Next time I fly Continental.