Portland, its freakin wierd

Mind one. (Warning, I'm on a rage and this will likely be the longest post EVER)

Mind one has gone on a road trip, and she hates it.

Midget showers, "rearranging" furniture, naked people in Costco, naked for breakfast, pizza hut tango, and hospital twitches. Doesn't this sound amazing? It's fan-freakin-tastic. This mind, has gone over the edge. And Mr. Delivery boy is seriously late, doesn't he know that there is a starving teenager here? Doesn't he know that I have no problem with snapping him into teeny tiny pieces if he does not knock on this hotel door right the eff now!!!!

Anyways, story time, lets start with the midget showers. Mind one is about 5'9'', which means that I am faced with "Tall people problems". Such as you know, finding pants long enough for my legs, hitting my head on EVERYTHING, and spending the first fifteen years of my life looking down on almost every other person my age. (Thankfully this year I stopped growing and everyone else kept on moving, now I look up to a few, and most in the eye.) Never once in my life did I think however that my height would interfere with my showering. I could understand it if I was like, seven feet tall, but I'm not.
The first hotel room I spent the night in, didn't seem so bad. Sure there were plenty of bushes next to the ground floor windows for rapists and Jason to hide in but, I was on the fourth floor. Suckers. However, when I stepped into the elevator with my half sister and my dad, I felt a cold sweat break out all over my body. I hate elevators, they are tiny death trap cages, and even the most smoothly running elevator turns me into a nervous wreck. This one lurched off the first floor with a dying screech and shuddered its way towards the second floor. I was backed into a corner holding onto my suitcase for dear life and wondering "Why didn't I just take the effing stairs...". The elevator slowly made its way up toward the fourth floor with many creaks and groans, and excessive amounts of swaying back and forth. Aren't elevator shafts supposed to be fitted to the size of the elevator car? Is there really supposed to be that much wiggle room? By the time it had lifted its sorry carcase to the fourth floor, I would of cheerfully trampled an old lady to get out of that miserable death trap. We step out into what looks like a scene from a slasher movie. The hallway is dimly lit, there is a weird looking plant every three feet, and it smells like bleach and hookers. (In case you're wondering Hookers smell like cotton-candy perfume from K-mart and sweat.) (Mind Two jumping in here. I am very glad you explained what hookers smell like otherwise I would have had to Google it and that would have been awkward. Also, I was wondering how you knew what a hooker smelled like but then I read that and that is the first thing that would have popped into my mind if I smelled sweat and cheap perfume.) The door to my hotel room felt like it had a dead body behind it and it literally took all of my weight to open the stupid thing, and as soon as I was inside it slammed shut with a boom that a jail door would be jealous of. (Mind Two again. Actually, the good thing about having a huge heavy room door like that is that it makes it harder for the rapists to get in. But if they do get in, your probably screwed because of the massive door.)
Consider this whole paragraph a massive strike one.
Then we get into the actual hotel room. Sweet. Zeus.
It smells like sweat, and chocolate syrup, purely gross. Sleeping in there made me feel nasty, and I felt the need to either shower or peel my skin off and roll in flour. (horrible mental image there.) I gather up my bathroom essentials, such as my razor, tooth brush, shampoo and conditioner, body wash, and soap. Most people use the shampoo, conditioner and soap provided by the hotel but not me. I don't want the herps. Getting naked in a foreign bathroom always gives me "the weirds", there might be a midget man in the exhaust fan watching... I noticed that this shower was built for people around 5'3" and shorter. The freakin shower head hit my chin. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get shampoo out of your hair when your doing what appears to be a combination of twister and the limbo??? Dear hotels, TALL PEOPLE NEED TO SHOWER TOO!!!!!!!! Jerks. I spent the rest of my shower sitting in the tub like a hobo. Getting out of the shower I looked up and happened to notice a sticker on the bathroom door. It was bright red and written in that font that's supposed to look old timey but all the Mexicans use it. "Ye Olde Spic." At least, that's how I refer to it. It had a rather ominous message. "Below Salvation", we're on the fourth floor and we are Below Salvation??? What the hell? Where do you even get a sticker like this? "Satanists R Us"? "Get your pentagram necklaces in Isle 3, and don't forget, with every purchase of $6.66 we include a free sticker of damnation!" 
Strike two for the portland trip. (I almost feel like I should stop here, cause this post is huge.)


...(I think I will.)

TO BE CONTINUED!!!