Still in Denver: We Heart Television

My first night in the Renaissance Hotel was a restless one. The first time I awoke, it was the direct result of flashing blue lights. Startled, my eyes popped open to find that the television was on; this was my first hint that Robbie and I have different sleeping habits. Television is his Ambien. It’s also my No-Doz.

About an hour later, I woke up drenched in sweat. The room wasn’t sweltering per se, but my pajamas consisted of my new blue sweatshirt. Any normal person who wakes up hot takes off a layer. This was clearly not an option with my brother a few feet to my left. Just telling people that I was forced to share a bed with my brother, made me feel a little “Flowers in the Attic,” so I was trying not to exacerbate the situation.

Another sleep hindrance was the fact that I was sharing a bed at all. I think every time I moved, I woke myself up as a defense mechanism, because I was terrified of waking up to find that I had accidentally spooned Robbie in the middle of the night.

Let’s face it though. Anything was better than sleeping under a payphone bank at the airport.

I think Rob was up by 6 and I followed suit soon after. I was completely famished, because I had eaten one meal the day before, which was the repulsive chicken finger-beer-bloody Mary combo at Wolfgang Puck’s. I had contemplated a mid-afternoon meal, but realized the lines for every food establishment in the airport were longer than the customer service line. The Panda Express never had it so good.

Robbie and I headed down to the breakfast buffet where I ate more than I normally eat in a week. I had seconds and thirds, including, but not limited to: eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee, yogurt, orange juice, milk, and a croissant (for dessert). There were large windows looking out into the thriving metropolis that is Stapleton.

In fact, Stapleton used to be kind of a little hotspot, what with the airport and all. Once the airport moved locations though, the area suffered. This little snowstorm was doing wonders for business at the Renaissance Hotel. Their occupancy leaped from 5% of capacity to 95% in the span of one blizzard-filled day.

Across the highway, we could see (near the now defunct United terminal) a Wal-Mart, a McDonalds and a Ross (Dress for Less!). I’ve never been so excited to see a strip mall. I had showered before breakfast, but cringed as I put on the same underwear I had worn the day before. My next plan was to wander across the highway (there was no one out driving anyway….) and hit up the Wal-Mart for skivvies and dental floss.

Luckily, before I headed out into the still snowy weather, Rob mentioned that most likely the strip mall stores would be closed since the roads were impassable. Good thinking brother. In fact, there was not a sole parked in the parking lot and when I called down to the front desk, they confirmed Robbie’s hunch.

So what else do you do when you’re stranded in a hotel? I had a great book I could have read, but reading wasn’t depressing enough considering my situation. Instead, Robbie and I sat in front of the television and watched a marathon of CSI Miami.

I have to admit, I kind of fell for the melodrama of it all. Plus I was intrigued by the way David Caruso’s face looks like it’s made of cream cheese. It also gave me some really interesting insights into his acting methodology. Mr. Caruso taught me that if you want to act really, really intense, all you need to do is say the same thing twice. Except the second time around, you leave pauses between the syllables.

For example: “When you have everything, sometimes it feels like nothing. Some….times. It…….FEELS. Like…….no………..thing.”

He also wears sunglasses all the time, which frankly is a valuable lesson for all blue-eyed redheads. That Miami sun can be brutal!

When we weren’t watching CSI, we watched the news, which was more of a tear-jerker than the Notebook. We learned that the airport would not have flights that day, but planned to open on Friday. Suddenly the Saturday flight was sounding pretty promising. Certainly more promising than my mother’s plan: a 16-hour Greyhoud bus ride. Buses and cars were not an option however, because every major interstate was closed.

The newscasters cut to the airport and they estimated that about 5,000 people had slept there. They showed cars stranded on highways, the snow-covered runways of the airport and people cross-country skiing to work. And the whole time, the newscasters LAUGHED. They appeared to think that the whole blizzard was some cute little joke, as if the most adorable baby in the world had caused a wittle mess-mess. Rob and I enjoyed increased solidarity in our joint hatred of the Denver news anchors.

The rest of our day included such highlights as talking to our family 18 times, watching Cheaper by the Dozen 2 and the Perfect Man (a Hilary Duff double-feature! neato....) and being the first people at the bar when it opened at 4 p.m.

Robbie and I both stayed relatively positive throughout the day, although we were both suffering occasional negativity, which manifested itself with ideas of going back home to McLean, VA (I don’t know how we planned to get there in our little dreamworld). We decided that if we couldn’t get to Bozeman, we would go home, pick up the dog and have waffles for dinner, just like we always would. Every time we discussed our potential two-person (plus dog) holiday, my already marred Christmas spirit faded a little more.

After a day of sitting on my butt with Robbie, David Caruso and Hilary Duff, I was exhausted. We hit up the buffet for dinner after the bar and crawled into bed by 9. Back in my bright blue sweatshirt, bathed in the glow of the muted television, I started to worry that I may never get out of the Renaissance Hotel.