Spring Time, The Only Pretty Ring Time...

I am thoroughly exhausted from the last 12 days. It has truly been an epic final spring break.

It started with a trip to Colorado Springs for the AAO Convocation--a gathering of D.O.s from around the world to practice and learn the teachings of A.T. Still and William Sutherland. During this event, a member of our faculty, Dr. Seffinger, was inducted as the new president of the AAO. The whole thing went down at the famous Broadmoor Hotel. Easily the finest hospitality experience I've ever had.

Part of the President's Banquet was a dance competition among the osteopathic schools. There were 12 of us who represented COMP with our own version of "Weapon of Choice" in the style of Christopher Walken. 6 hours of training at 6,000'! We lost out hard to KCOM, however, and that was a bitter pill to swallow. Overall, however, it was the most fun I've had in the last 2 years.

Class of 2013 with newly minted AAO don Dr. Seffinger

The morning after the dance-off.

After returning to sea level, albeit in LA County where it is equally difficult to draw a breath, I met with BFF Almost-Dr. Stephanie, in from Seattle. We proceeded to while away our hours of freedom by watching season 3 of "Dexter" and shopping our faces off.

I exchanged Stephanie for college BFF Sara on Wednesday night, who flew in from Tulsa. I have not seen Sara since I interviewed at Kansas City University of Medicine and Biosciences, and that was in 2008. Our time was filled with happy hours, dining and shopping the fashion district--which was rife with Quinceanera gowns. Which we tried on. The fluffiest, candytuftiest gowns we could get our hands on.

We prom now.

I figured it would be fun to get a hotel in LA one night so we wouldn't have to drive all the way back out to Claremont. I came across a place called the Venice Beach Suites and Hotel on Orbitz. The price was good. The reviews were good. And it was right on the beach! I love Venice for all of its crazy, and I hang whenever possible in that area. But when we finally arrived, it just didn't feel quite right.

 I had high hopes for this place.

You know it's not good when you walk into a building and you can smell that it's 100 years old. As if the carpets have never been replaced. It smells like every thrift store you've ever been to--all at once. We checked in, and went up to our room, which was a wee little flat with exposed brick walls, old wood floors and a kitchenette. Charming, actually. It smelled better there. We could see the sun set behind Point Dume, Malibu. We also had sweeping views of the adjacent building's roof. 

However, it was 60º and windy as shit that day. The room was cold. Upon inspection, we saw that the old-timey radiator heat was disconnected and in its stead was a small space heater. We could find no other form of climate control. Sara, being quite ectomorphic and constantly battling chill, went downstairs to request another blanket and space heater. I swear to god Tommy Chong himself delivered it.

 Getting ready for a night out.

So all was well--well enough anyway--as we readied ourselves for Lilly's bistro on A-K Blvd. Lilly's was an exquisite experience, that took us well toward midnight. When we returned to the hotel we were dead tired from a day galavanting about LA and feeding far better than humans should (worth it!). We hit the bed, which was just as hard as the floor. We piled our extra blanket on, kicked on both space heaters and tried to sleep. Sara commented that the sheets felt as if there were crumbs in them. I had to agree. We gritted our teeth and decided it must be soap deposits from the laundry. In the back of my mind I thought, I won't say this out loud, but it feels like someone slept in this bed and they simply remade it rather than changing the sheets. After an hour, the room was slightly warmer but we were still awake, kept up by the constant clicking on and off of the space heaters. Sara finally got up, redressed in full, wrapped her head in her scarf and snuggled in again. I curled in a ball. After another hour of clicking, clacking and cold feet I finally sat up in the dark and asked, "Are you awake?" She said, "Unfortunately." I turned on the light. "Do you just want to go home?" I asked, blinking in the glare. I hated having to drive 45 miles at 2:30am, knowing that we wouldn't be able to do all the local fun stuff that we'd planned for the next day. But we were out of options, because the hotel office would be closed until 9am. "We can be there in an hour," I added, fantasizing about my Simmons Beautyrest, central heat, and pleasantly fragrant room. She finally agreed, so we grabbed up our bags and walked out into the night.

Descending to the first floor brought a contact high courtesy of another guest smoking a whole lot of green. "I thought this was a no smoking building," I mused as I read a huge "NO SMOKING" sign. I hate the smell of pot. It makes me think of skunks. And college. Or skunks in college. Barf. As we emerged into the now-40º-and-still-windy-as-shit night, I pleasantly remarked how well-lit the Venice back alleys were. "That's so nice of them," I said. We walked a block to the car, and threw our bags in the boot. We witnessed a couple of men trying to plead their case to a taxi driver who didn't want to drive the drunkard anywhere for fear that he would vomit in the car. They succeeded, and the taxi rolled past the Mini before stopping again so said drunko could lean out and puke on the alley.

By 4:30am we were showered, warm and tucked snug into the comforter of my giant bed, where we stayed until almost noon.

Well-rested = happy

I don't know what was the bigger disappointment: that the hotel wasn't as good as the reviews suggested, or the argument that ensued over the phone with the proprietors, who insisted that they went above and beyond their call of duty by supplying us an extra blanket and space heater, free of charge. I also received a lengthy explanation about how expensive it is to use the radiator heat system, and that no one had ever complained about space heaters before. As for the pot smell, well it's clear that "the Venice vibe isn't for everyone"--or so I'm told. We certainly could have paid the same amount of money for a Holiday Inn somewhere in LA and had at least central heat. Probably no THC. And I've personally not gotten the creeps from any Holiday Inn before.

Kind of a different experience than the Broadmoor.