I didn’t make the meeting, but no one minded. I did, however, have a *very* important fashion discussion with my boss.

“So, Anna, did you bring your Wonder Woman costume with you to Albuquerque?” she asked.

In fact, I did.

In fact, I had it in my car, but I didn’t tell her that. Later in the afternoon, I drove my car down to security get my ID picture taken so I would never again be late due to waiting in line at the guest guard shack. . . and I had an idea . . .

I walked back into the office with the costume in a bag under my coat,  immediately went to the bathroom, changed, and  non-chalantly walked into my boss’s office as she was having an informal meeting with our project manager. The look on his face was priceless. The look on her face was priceless.

“You requested the services of Wonder Woman?” I asked, as I sauntered in the door.

“No!” she replied. “I asked if you brought the outfit!” she said between guffaws.

They like me, they really, really like me!

Yesterday morning had all the makings of what could have led me to have a bad day.

I was crabby because I left the hotel late to drive to work, forgetting the face to the car stereo and then when I arrived to the gate, there was a line of cars waiting at the guest guard shack. Why did I pull up to the guest guard shack? Well, because I just haven’t had time to go and get my ID photo taken. Now, I was late, my boss was in a meeting and I was supposed to pop into the meeting. At this rate, I wouldn’t make the meeting at all.

I waited in line at the gate for at least 20 painful minutes. Finally I gave in, did some deep breathing, put on my make-up and looked at the mountains all around me, but was still restless. The guard knows me and saw me squirming and brought me a pass. The office was all a-bustle when I blasted in the door, loaded down with purse and briefcase. I needed coffee – stat. To compound my frustration, I was becoming increasingly annoyed because my boot zipper caught the inside threading of my skirt, pulling sequins off and making me trip.

As I stood there, barely inside the door, frazzled and pulling at the snagged thread of my hippie skirt, trying not to fall on my face, someone began asking me questions about her paperwork and it was all I could do to say through a strained grin, “Can we please discuss this after I get in the door at least?”

I unthreaded my skirt at least five times before I got to my desk, I just know it. Where’s that coffee? Why’s there so much paper on my desk? Why is everybody asking me all these questions!!!! Argh! My fashion emergency was about to catapult me into the land of bitchiness. And all of a sudden, it came from nowhere.

Sitting at my desk, I began to chant, “I am going to have a good day,” very lightly at first and building with intensity until I was booming. “I AM GOING TO HAVE A GOOD DAY! I AM GOING TO HAVE A GOOD DAY.” My office-mate just kind of gave me a strange look. Someone dialed my extension from way down the office bullpen and said, “Hey Anna, Are you going to have a good day?”

“Yes,” I laughed. And I did.

After I loaded up my bedroom while trying to dodge the roommates’ housewarming party, I next had to venture out into the party itself, into the kitchen area to gather up the $140.00 worth of groceries that I’d purchased the prior weekend. I wasn’t fucking around when I’d moved in – I was truly ready to be settled, and I wasn’t about to leave without my food!

I dodged a kitchen full of people who were in various stages of food prep. I grabbed paper bags and began chucking pantry items in . . . really important things . . . like yerba mate, pasta . . . two open containers of whiskey . . . I did leave the moldy bread behind . . . Then I went for the fridge, handing out beers to their guests as I threw my frozen broccoli, aloe vera juice and other cold items into another sack. Dammit, they ate some of my ice cream!

Ahh, I was really running now, literally, trying to get out the front door with two heavy sacks when – blammo! - one sack ripped and pesto and eggs hit the floor right by the front door.

“Oh mother-fucker!” I screamed. No one seemed to notice the dramatic outburst, so I figured no one would notice when I went and got one of the big slobbery dogs to come and lick the cracked egg and pesto splatters up off the floor. No one did. And then, with no further ado, I grabbed Frank, put my key on the bedroom table and walked out the back door, never to be seen again.

Last year, I lived in various hotels for about four months out of the year, and I’ve learned a few things about soulful hotel living.

I don’t carry much with me when I’m in hotel mode, but here are a few things that I never leave home without.

1.     Lights – Christmas lights save me every time! I hate flourescent hotel lighting, so I simply string up some warm lights and – voila! - instant feel-good vibes for my temporary home. Basically, ‘home’ is where the christmas lights are. And candles are a good atmospheric touch – sexy and they smell good too!

2.     Fabric – Swaths of fabric or sarongs or saris are good to cover up anything that is ugly – from window treatments to hotel bedspreads and the like. (Sometimes I toss a cover on the TV, too.)

3.     Personal “luxury” items. Being on the road can be emotionally draining, so it’s nice to have some small things in my suitcase that are conducive to the ‘at-home’ vibe. Some of my own personal luxury items include a very well-made foam memory pillow,  a spoon that’s travelled with me for about 10,000 miles now and an antique porcelain cup for my toothbrush. These small things make me feel settled even when all of my clothing is crammed into a suitcase in the corner!

 Also pictured is a folding papasan chair I brought along for my cat originally, but since it’s pretty and it folds nicely, I think it will be added as a staple to my hotel life package. It’s so much more chill than the chairs provided!

Who lives in a hotel.

With her cat.

In Albuquerque.

We love it.

I was all stoked to move to ABQ and be settled and live with others and nestle down for the next eight months, immediately, in a home, in order to work comfortably on personal projects in my off time, while working hard at my new job. Maybe the Banana isn’t quite ready to live with others.

I’d only been living with the new roommates for less than one week when it became patently clear that I had to go. I won’t get into the details of it too much, but let’s just say that we had some diametrically opposing views on lifestyle choices. OK, look if someone you’ve found through Craigslist is calling you to be your new roommate and she is a self-proclaimed hippie chick who lives in Venice Beach, California and is into Burning Man, what the fuck kind of roommate situation do you think you’re getting yourself into?

So I quietly left on Sunday. To be more correct, I indeed slipped out the back (door), jack. During their house-warming party. Yes, that’s right. Truth told, I felt slightly bad about doing it that way, but the timing of finding my new place dictated the particulars on the move. It was actually pretty funny. My room had two entrances – one to the rest of the house and one to the backyard. So, as guests were coming in the front door, I continued to quietly carry boxes out the back. I did have to dodge three dogs, close the doors behind me so the cat would not escape and navigate two separate squeaking gates for each box lugged before getting to the car, but I was determined to do it all with grace, smiles and style.

The front gate of the yard has a tendency to stick, so as I was shoving boxes in the car, people were looking to me for help in opening the front gate. One guy said, “Getting out before the rush, then?”

More and more folks kept showing up, eventually filling the backyard. So, then I began to cart my shit out the front door. Then the party moved back inside and I snuck out the back some more. By that time, everyone knew that something was up. Every time someone would look at me, I would just smile and say a shining hello and be on my merry way. Plus I was dressed all rock n’ roll . . . boots, knee high stockings and a shirt proclaiming “Red Meat.” I overheard one of the guests say, “What . . . ? Was she a rabble-rouser?” Yeah, you could say that.

So the question I’m sure everyone is asking is . . . . where did I go? Please, read on. Frank and I are much happier now.

I stumbled into a ghetto grocery store in ABQ last night looking damn dapper.   A brown fuzzy hat, sleek black very high-heeled boots, a lacey purple skirt and a green scarf thingie wrapped around my chest to keep warm.

In the line to check out, a man with about four teeth remaining in his head looked me up and down and slowly smiled. “Well . . . you sure do dress . . . differ’nt.”

“I’m not from around here,” I smiled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Neither am I.”

Who’d a thunk it?

I was moved to call my best friend from high school yesterday.

“Johanna!” I squealed with all the gusto of high school days. “You are never going to guess what band I’m going to see tonight . . . WINGER!”

And then we had a half-hour long conversation about how hot Kip was in that tank top in the photo of that one album, which the name of escapes me now, but I used to know every word to every song.

Apparently, Albuquerque is *the* capitol of big hair metal bands, 1980′s revived bands and smaller acts that other towns don’t get. George Clinton and Parliament Funk are playing a casino in a few weeks. The amphitheatre recently sold out for Iron Maiden. And god-damn if Kip Winger wasn’t in town last night. Unfortunately, the act ended super early and they wouldn’t even let us in the door.

Umm . . Kip . . dude . . . . it wasn’t even 11 o’clock yet. I know that your hey-day was 15 years ago, but 11? Really? I mean, I had my Aqua Net ready and everything.

Frank the cat caught wind that something was up last Friday morning.

And he bolted, hiding in the depths of my neighbor’s back porch with no way to nab him. Calling didn’t work. Treats didn’t work.  I was annoyed . . . I was ready to go and now I just wanted to get on the road, dammit, and not hit any traffic. Then I realized that this particular situation was out of my control. Trying to catch the cat would not work. So, after a few moments of exasperation, I decided to try another approach. His food was packed in the car, and I had no intention of getting it out, so I knew he’d eventually come around. I’d already sublet my bungalow, so now I just sat on my rented couch leisurely reading a magazine that was not mine. On the surface I was patiently waiting, but on the inside, I was definitely tapping my foot in urgency.

I was just about to give up and take a nap. I’d been waiting for almost two hours. I stood surveying my small living room, saying good-bye to all of my things, including a wall of musical instruments. I absently picked up the goat toenail shaker and began to rattle it. I’d forgotten completely about Frank, and was just listening to the hollow sounds of the hooves  like heavy rain falling. I’d only been at it for about half a second, when quite suddenly, he came bounding in the door. I had no idea Frank had such an affinity for goat toes!

I popped him in that cardboard kitty carrier and we were off! He was pissed, but I suppose I wouldn’t like being shoved inside a cardboard box either. That’s why I let him out pretty quickly once we were on the road. All my friends warned me that the cat might try to get near my feet while driving, or that he might decide to scratch me, or . . . or . . . but I decided not to worry about any of that shit.

I’ve found that traveling with a cat is not so bad. We hit Friday afternoon gridlock and Frank wrapped himself around my thigh, shoving his head between leg and steering wheel. He wasn’t obstructing my driving, so I let him stay there, because, after all,  LA traffic can be scary. Eventually, he buried himself at my feet, like everyone warned he might. I gently kept pushing him away from the foot pedals and he respected the boundary, so I allowed him to stay on the driver’s side floorboard for the next 13 hours. There were absolutely no problems.

Getting in and out of the car was another adventure. I had to get in and out of the car by crawling through the passenger seat. I was slightly worried that the little guy might try to bolt every time I stopped to pee in the middle of the night on various deserted country roads, but he never did. I wanted to stop and admire the stars, but really felt I couldn’t stop because I just felt bad for the little guy who did not have the same bathroom opportunities as I.

I kept picking random music from my CD holder in the dark and somewhere about 100 miles outside of ABQ, between Prince and Tom Waits, Frank the cat decided to come out from underneath my feet. He sat in my lap like a dog and watched the middle of the night fly by like a starry dream, propping himself with his little paws up on the driver’s door, perfectly content.

This morning, as I drove through the interstate sprawl of ABQ to my second day of work, I was reflecting upon literally where I am presently located and figuratively upon where I am in life. And I looked up at that moment and spied a giant billboard proclaiming:

YOU ARE RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. (Where do you want to be?)

Wow! What an answer . . . . and how timely!