I finally broke down and cleaned my room during the long weekend. I�d lie and tell you I�m not a total slob, but I�m making a conscious effort to not lie these days. I don�t try to be messy. It just happens. I can�t seem to keep my room clean for more than five minutes.

It�s a good thing they put a proverbial gun to my head, too, because it was to the point where I hadn�t vacuumed in about five months. The carpet now is all one color, a refreshing change of pace.

I moved my bed, though. That was a mistake, because I get to spend the next week or so adjusting to the new sleeping positions that are available, waking up in the middle of the night all disoriented wondering aloud where the hell I am, and in general wishing I�d never even touched the furniture.

The bed�s new position in one corner of my room is ideal, though, for ensuring that crap doesn�t fall off the one side of the bed that�s up against the wall, enabling me and my junk to erect a sort of shantytown under the sheets.

A quick inspection of my bed and its immediate surrounding area will reveal, among other things: a box of tissues; a bunch of CD cases; books I�ve started to read, am in the process of reading, or plan to read in the near future; various plush animals that can�t seem to stay on their shelf in the closet (they get lonely, so shut up); pens, pencils, and a thin black Expo marker; an old Tomato Nation or two; various scholarship applications in various states of completeness; my little red appointment book; my journal; miscellaneous articles of clothing; and the fake plastic excuse for a Christmas tree I got last year. At least it has lights.

I took a sick day Monday. It worked out pretty well. I got up, took a shower, got dressed and headed out the door, only to walk back in it a few minutes later, get undressed, and crawl back into bed for the next six hours. When I awoke in the afternoon, I had plenty to do without even getting up. Sure, I missed All My Children and The People�s Court, but I finished a book I�d only started reading on Saturday and expounded at length about my recent misadventures in my journal, so I was weirdly proud of myself.

Now I�m going to switch gears completely, having found absolutely no way to combine the first portion of this entry with the following anecdote.

The Trashy Hotel Party is a time-honored tradition where I come from, and what better excuse for a THP than the fact that I had nothing to do and $30 to blow? I spent a recent afternoon chilling with friends, doing truly awful karaoke, threatening people with an ice bucket full of water, lamenting the inoperable state of the Trash Hotel�s phone, and in general having a decent time.

The fun and excitement just kept coming�until it was time to leave. Observe.

�Dude, the door is locked.�

�No it�s not. You just have to push down on the handle and pull.�

�I know how to open the door, jackass.�

�Are we sure all the deadbolts are off?�

�Yes.�

�Because the one on top is backwards, remember.�

�I remember. They�re off.�

�Let me try.�

�See? Because it�s locked. It�s not going to open.�

�Wow. The door is locked. We are locked in the room.�

�Yes.�

�This is an interesting turn of events.�

�Yes.�

�I had plans tonight, you know.�

�I know.�

�Maybe if I sort of put my foot on the door�. You watch and see if the little thingies are going down any farther.�

�No, they�re not. But it was a good idea anyway.�

�Hey, do you have your Swiss Army knife? Because we could, like, take the actual locking apparatus off the door.�

�Here we go. Man, these are some tiny screws.�

�No, no. Take your time. We�ve got nowhere to go.�

�Well, it�s not my fault the screws are stripped.�

�No one said it was.�

�We�re trapped in the room, right?�

�Yes.�

�And the phone doesn�t work.�

�Yes.�

�You take over with the screwdriver. I�m going to try to get the phone to work.�

�Damn, these screws are stripped.�

�Yes.�

�What if there was a fire?�

�Hmm.�

�No, seriously. What if there was a fire? We�d be dead right now.�

�Yeah, I thought about that.�

�We�d pretty much just be dead.�

�I thought about smashing the window out with that chair over there.�

�You should�ve. That would�ve been sort of cool. Kind of like an inconsequential hotel room version of MacGyver.�

�Yeah.�

�Is the phone working yet?�

�Well, maybe if I hold the cord in the little hole with my finger�success! Dial tone.�

�Excellent.�

�You can stop screwing now.�

�Heh. You said �screwing.��

So of course, the front desk answers our lame-ass cry for help by running to our aid with the necessary elements to ensure our escape, right? Maybe. But probably not. It took them at least ten minutes to send someone up there. At least.

The guy they sent wasn't exactly, um, smart. He had us slip the key under the door, like, yeah, we made up a ridiculous story about being locked in our room because we're too lazy to try to actually open the damn door. The guy tried the key in the lock, and shockingly enough, it didn't work.

�What�s he saying now?�

�It looks like, �Y�all really are locked in your room.��

�Yeah, no shit, dude. Like we�d make it up. We�re not crazy, right?�

�Now he�s saying...I�m not quite sure. I think it�s, �What if there was a fire?��

�THAT�S WHAT WE SAID!�

�What? What? 'We�d be all burnt up?' Yes, I know that. How about you open the damn door.�

�He says he has to go get another guy.�

�Great. That�s just great. Well, we�re going to be here awhile, obviously. Is there anything on TV?�

�Probably not. That would, um, not suck, so definitely not.�

"Oh, look, Family Feud."

"You know, this is really starting to piss me off."

"What, Family Feud?"

"This is ridiculous."

"Oh. Yes. Yes it is. Come watch the Feud with me."

The category on Family Feud was 'Name something people are nervous doing for the first time.' We had time to get five out of the six answers before the guy returned with his friend, who carried a toolbox.

We sat around while they opened the door, wishing we'd picked a less trashy hotel in which to hold our Trashy Hotel Party. I guess I'll live, since they did get us out in less than ten minutes once they finally showed up, but it was pretty much the lamest hotel experience I've ever had, and I stayed in a hotel once during a tornado drill in the middle of the night.

Ready to switch gears completely again? Too bad, because I'm out of stories. Except to say that my face was fairly smashed and misshapen after Skidball last Wednesday night. Good times. And only twenty shopping days until Christmas.