Romantical Weekend FAIL

Our second anniversary is on Wednesday.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get any time off because my boss decided to go back east (I’ll rant about that in another post).  It ended up working out though, because DH is going to a conference all week, so our plans would have to have been put on hold anyway.

OK.  So I thought that I’d plan us a little romantical staycation.  I’d use one of our Groupons for a restaurant and get a hotel for the night nearby.  Then DH caught a cold.  He’s been sniffling, sneezing and has a sore throat since Thursday.  Poor DH.  But he was game to try for a romantical weekend anyway.

We dawdled our way down to the Ramada on Wildwood in Sunnyvale yesterday.  We went for a jog in the morning, visited a mall, went for lunch at a restaurant we hadn’t been to before, went to the fabric store and stopped at Santana Row.  We looked at the Telsa model they had there, I discovered Anthropologie (such a dangerous store) and bought a really cute dress with DH’s encouragement, we tried (and hated) Pinkberry, ate apple pie flavored gelato… and then drove for 20 more minutes to get to our hotel.

We arrived at a place that looked like the 70s hit the exterior (in a bad way) and never left.  It looked like the kind of place you’d see in those cop dramas where the hookers are found dead and the other residents “didn’t hear a thing.”  With trepidation, we entered the lobby filled with thumping music from the party in the attached ballroom.  The lobby was dark and felt dirty.  It was filled with kids running around and screaming.  Ugh.  Not romantic.

We went to our room.

There was a hillbilly outside his room hollering about some Texas team on the TV with his door wide open and a Styrofoam cooler on the chair nearby.  His room was next to ours.  On the other side of us was another person cleaning out a bedside commode in the landscaping.

We opened our door and immediately felt icky.  The furniture was old and decrepit.  The carpet was pulling away from the floor in many places and looked like it hadn’t been shampooed in recent history.  The walls were stained with who-knows-what. The lights weren’t bright enough to actually light the room.  The mini fridge and all of the drains were covered in rust.  The old-ass urine colored bathroom wall tiles had mold growing in the grout.  The bathroom floor had hair from the previous guest on it. The little binder that all rooms have with “helpful” things for guests inside had many things crossed out.

In short, it was gross.  It wasn’t to Ramada standards.  It wasn’t even to Motel 6 standards.  Ugh.

The restaurant was attached to the hotel and was just as bad.  We didn’t use our Groupon.  I’ll be asking for a refund.

I’ve never actually asked for a refund at a hotel before, but I did yesterday.  Actually, DH did.  I didn’t know how to put my disgust into words without being insulting.  And, you know what? The guy at the desk didn’t even bat an eye.  It was like he already knew how awful the hotel was.  He didn’t offer us an “upgraded” room or any complimentary anything.  He just said “I’m happy to cancel your reservation and ensure that you’re not charged for anything here.  You’ll need to call Expedia to get a full refund, though.”

Back to Santana Row we went.  We stopped for dinner at Hot Tamales, which was pretty good in spite of the waiter spilling my margarita on me and coughing on me.  The music was super loud… but then again we were right next to the band.

And then we came home.

So… our romantical weekend plans kinda failed, but we had fun anyway.  We decided that this was a weekend for new things and adventures.  We tried 2 restaurants we hadn’t been to before.  We played with a car that costs 3 times what I paid for mine when it was new and is meant for “driving around town.”  I found an awesome clothing store that I’m trying to figure out how to afford to shop there more often.  And best of all, I got to spend time with my husband.

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