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WheatFieldstoWonderland

A Canadian Girl's Tips To Remaining Sane In The Upside Down World Of Hollywood

Monthly Archives: March 2017

FEELING GROOVY and 5 Ways to Rock Your Vibe

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WheatFieldstoWonderland
FEELING GROOVY and 5 Ways to Rock Your Vibe
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Feeling Groovy, and 5 ways rock your vibe

 

Feeling Groovy

Spring, it has me finally FEELING GROOVY again. After the past two months of continual rain and bone chilling temperatures in the high 40’s and low 50’s, we in Los Angeles are once again cautiously optimistic that the warm weather is back to stay.  After only a few 80 degree days, Southern California has experienced a ‘new-kind-of-facelift’,  let’s call it an ‘attitude facelift’: the cars in Beverly Hills are once again sparkly-clean, and the rain-induced road rage has dwindled—people will even slow down to let you merge into a left lane; dogs are happily trotting along the sidewalks instead of dodging puddles; restaurants are packed and the ‘leave your umbrellas at the door’ signs have been cheerfully tucked away; and people are smiling, strangers are actually smiling at you.   After all, it’s been a tough few months—what with the rain, the cold weather, and the flu bugs— Los Angelenos are truly appreciating the beautiful weather we so often take for granted.  Los Angeles is FEELING GROOVY.  It’s like the magic of Christmas has swept over the city, and people are noticeably happier, more patient, nicer, and kind.  It’s weird for LA, but I like it.

So how do we keep the FEELING GROOVY vibe from dissipating, once the ‘terror’ of the past few months has been swept from our minds?

Here are some ways I remind myself to keep FEELING GROOVY, even when the chips seem like they are down; or when I feel like I have been dealt a bad hand; or when I wallow in the negative and forget to see the positive around me; here are some ways I put life into perspective and remind myself of how lucky I am…

Five ways to keep on… FEELING GROOVY

 

  1. Take a walk on the wild side. Yeah you heard me, put on your flip-flops and carry your high heels in your bag and walk to your nightly destination. Walking makes me happy, gives me a calming yet endorphin-buzzing feeling, and also helps to burn off a few calories before I consume alcohol and canapes. Walk! Pretend you live in NY! And in a few blocks you will be, FEELING GROOVY!
  2. Dance, Dance, Dance! You don’t need a partner; ‘Dancing with Myself’ as the great Billy Idol sang, is fun and freeing. Make a Vine or a video and post it to Facebook and Instagram. Share your joy, and when you share your joy, you start to believe in your own infectious FEELING GROOVY vibe. Trust me; check out my happy dances on my social media sites!
  3. Take a ‘perspective pill’; this pill doesn’t require swallowing potentially harmful substances, it just strains your eyes. All you have to do is watch the news and I am sure you will be FEELNG GROOVY in no time. Because when you see what is going on in the world—if you can get past the obnoxious constant coverage of ‘The’ Donald Trump’s Presidency— then the occasional 60 degree day and the traffic from hell, will make you remember how lucky you are to be living in La La Land.
  4. Remember that life sometimes is as simple and fun as a game show, and when you are down, just Phone-A-Friend! Get on the phone, and actually SPEAK to someone you like or love, because human contact keeps us grounded in life. We are all ‘Lost in TEXTation’ and having a friend give you an ‘encouragement hug’ through the airwaves really will keep you FEELING GROOVY!
  5. And lastly…. Make the words you speak happy ones, life really is FABULOUSA; stop and talk to a neighbor’s puppy and rub its belly, connect with life in all its forms; save a bug, even a spider deserves a chance to spin another web; enjoy a nice chilled glass of Chardonnay or a yummy Cabernet and celebrate the better things in life; and always remember… Happiness comes from within, so make your own FEELING GROOVY happiness count and it will create positive vibes in the Universe.

So as Austin Power’s said, ‘Groovy Baby’!

As Deee-Lite sang ‘Groove is in the Heart’!

So let’s all keep on FEELING GROOVY.

Below is a PODCAST for your audio listening pleasure – or not!  And below is a blooper reel, hell ya!

Feeling Groovy

Blooper attempt 7….PS if you like the Feeling Groovy Vibe, please share or like on Facebook.  Kisses y’all xo

Beverly Hills Bubble

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WheatFieldstoWonderland
Beverly Hills Bubble
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Beverly Hills Bubble

Beverly Hills Bubble

Is there such a thing as the Beverly Hills Bubble?

When I arrived back in Los Angeles after the Christmas holidays—after spending an extended stay in the Calgary airport on my return due to ‘holiday flight interruptions’—you would think the first thing I would have noticed when I finally landed at LAX were the warm winter winds and the palm trees gently swaying amid a sunshiny azure blue sky: a quintessential California winter day.

Well, you would be wrong.

You see, when I departed LAX the first leg of my WestJet ‘two-day-trek’ to the great white north was delayed by several hours. Normally, I would be irritated and stressed about the delay.  But as I took a good look around, I noticed that Terminal 2 at LAX had been completely renovated since my trip the year prior. Last year, there was one kiosk in the whole terminal where you could only buy, basically… prison food.  So, when I realized that several new boutiques, restaurants and bars were now at my disposal, I landed at Barney’s Beanery and indulged in some tacos and wine, chatting with other stranded passengers until my WestJet flight actually departed for Calgary.  I felt grateful that the spiffy newly-renovated terminal had been a comfy distraction from my delayed flight.

Then, after spending 12 days surrounded by the beauty of what is a Manitoba winter, with the crisp cold air and the clean white snow making the merriment of the season come alive before your eyes— a picturesque Christmas postcard of beauty—I was once again sidelined in an airport on my return, the new International Terminal in Calgary to be precise.

Not only is the Calgary International terminal large, boasting of many restaurants, bars and tiny little shops…but it’s also clean. Clean as a whistle. Pristine! You could actually eat off of the floor; seriously! So when I finally landed back at LAX, back in Terminal 2 – the newly renovated terminal, one which seemed like a revamped miracle only two weeks prior—all I noticed when I disembarked the plane was filth:  garbage strewn about, mobs of people everywhere, more garbage, and miserable unhappy people breathing in an air that would not be described as odorless.   Compared to the clean airports of Canada, Terminal 2 looked like a dump; an old dump, one that needed a renovation.  It likely would have not struck me as odd, had I not been marveling at its beauty and improvements only two weeks prior.

As I got in my Uber to head to my home, I started to really take in the scenery around me: the massive freeways, the run down stores, the dilapidated buildings, the un-manicured lawns, the worn out street signs, not to fail to mention the homeless people hanging out in the middle of the busy streets looking for handouts or trying to sell you oranges.  Compared to the ‘Sunny Manitoba’ snow-kissed countryside, I felt like I was heading into a poverty stricken war zone.

As we continued our drive down the increasingly noticeably dilapidated La Cienega Boulevard, with the majority of business having bars on their windows, I remember saying to my Uber driver, ‘God, LA is an ugly city. It’s a dirty, ugly city.’ Pondering those thoughts, I felt the aching of my heart, sad having left my mom standing in tears at the little Brandon airport as she hugged me good-bye at four a.m. earlier that morning.  I began to wonder what the hell I was doing living so far from my family, in this ‘dirty-cesspool-of-a city’, one I proudly defended for years as ‘my city’.

Then, just as the Uber car crossed over Olympic and Wilshire, suddenly the topography changed as dramatically as if a fairy had used her magic wand to cast a beauty spell on everything that fell within its magical range: The grass was cut, the houses were pretty, the sidewalks were clean, the cars were nice, the bars were gone from the restaurant windows.  Ahh… I was home! I was back in Beverly Hills! HOME AT LAST!

Then later, after some soul searching and once the homesick aching finally dissipated, I realized that living, working, and playing in my comfy 3 mile radius had made me rather oblivious to life outside of my Beverly Hills Bubble.   I basically existed in a beautiful Beverly Hills bubble of life, kind of like living in Stephen King’s Under the Dome, except this was a dome that no one wanted to escape.

I guess Los Angeles really is a city of neighborhoods, and each one has its own type of beauty and qualities which draw people to live there: Santa Monica – beach lovers, West Hollywood – lifestyle acceptance; Los Feliz- artsy fartsy folks (and the scary Scientology center); Venice – hippy dippy granola peeps … well, you get the picture.  When I moved to LA I had one friend, and she lived in Beverly Hills, in the heart of the Beverly Hills Bubble.  And, as I lived with her for a while, I began to feel comfortable in my new neighborhood to the point that I have never left it. So… here I am and here I be, so Beverly Hills Bubble – you are stuck with me.

Being stuck in the Beverly Hills Bubble isn’t a bad thing—it’s definitely more of an expensive thing— but the people who live in the Beverly Hills Bubble, eventually acclimate to this so-called life. So how do you know when you have become acclimated to life inside the Beverly Hills Bubble?

Bever;y Hills Bubble

 

 You know you are part of the Beverly Hills Bubble when…

  1. Going to an event or dinner West of the 405 or East of La Brea feels so far, it makes you wonder if you should pack an overnight bag.
  2. You don’t even notice the Bentleys, Ferraris or Maseratis. Now, a 1998 Honda del Sol on the other hand, makes you look.
  3. Most men you know have a manicurist.
  4. Being offered champagne when you are shopping in high-end boutiques isn’t a treat, it’s a requirement.
  5. House wine at $18 a glass seems reasonable.
  6. You are shocked that McDonalds doesn’t have a Gluten Free menu.
  7. When you see a 65-year old man with a 20 something girl, you automatically assume they are dating.
  8. Buying a $1600 Missoni dress on a 75% off sale doesn’t mean you spent 400 dollars, it means you saved $1200! (My personal favorite of this list!)
  9. A studio apartment without a parking stall at $2400 a month seems like a deal, after all you are in walking distance to Fred’s at Barneys.
  10. Children need to take tests to get into pre-school, and as a parent you stress that your child will act like a normal three year old and fuck it up.
  11. Beverly Hills has 2 hour free parking garages, so you make sure you don’t go over two hours free when you are buying your $300 dollar pair of blue jeans. Because having to pay a dollar for parking, would really piss you off.
  12. You know a few words in Farsi.
  13. You know not to call Hymie the plumber on a Saturday.
  14. Christian Louboutin, Brunello Cucinelli, Zadig and Voltaire…. are words that easily roll off your tongue.
  15. Yes it is true, a designer bag is a must have, a total necessity.
  16. You CAN spot a knock-off bag, no matter how good, and you sneer at the thought of carrying one.
  17. You ‘I heart Organic’ and Whole Foods Beverly Hills feels like home to you.
  18. Running into celebrities at Whole Foods is so normal; you don’t even give it a second thought or give them a second glance. Okay maybe a glance, but it’s not a tweet-worthy moment.
  19. It would be weird to go out to dinner at Craig’s and not run into someone famous; if you didn’t you would worry that something was SERIOUSLY OFF in the universe.
  20. Of course you read your horoscope, and visit your psychic regularly.
  21. You are shocked to find out that not everyone has a therapist.
  22. You have a list of ‘ists’ in your rolodex: Internist, Gastroenterologist, Dentist, Therapist, Facialist, Dermatologist… and they grow yearly.
  23. You think big, puffy, bloated, collagen filled lips are the new normal.
  24. Your hairdresser knows where all the bones are buried.
  25. Beverly Hills housewives really are so busy that they need a nanny for each kid and an assistant to keep track of the nannies.
  26. Beverly Hills is a smoke-free city, so going to clubs in Hollywood make you feel like you have licked an ashtray when you leave. You forget that people still smoke, and are appalled when they do.
  27. You feel safe walking anywhere at night in the Beverly Hills Bubble, but anywhere east of La Cienega, you definitely would Uber to after dark.
  28. And lastly, you know you live in the Beverly Hills Bubble, when… you think your life is normal.

Below is the PODCAST for those who can’t or don’t or won’t read, or trapped on the 405, this is for you!

Bever;y Hills Bubble

Her FIRST TIME

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Her FIRST TIME

 

Her First Tiime

A girl’s FIRST TIME is something she never forgets: her first kiss, first lover, first husband, first Chanel bag… every first—whether good or bad— is an experience which results in an everlasting memory.

I recently wrote blog post called Hookup World where I alluded, once again, to the horror of receiving a Dick Pic. So you can imagine my delight when a male acquaintance of mine emailed me to say he had read my story to a female friend who had just received her FIRST Dick Pic—and he told me how she had laughed out loud at my surly comments. So, of course, I asked if I could contact her to hear her story, and the result is…

Caroline’s FIRST TIME

Caroline—an attractive, forty-something brunette with a successful real estate business—recently divorced her husband and business partner after 20 years of marriage. Ready for some new FIRST TIME adventures, as well as some much needed R&R, she attended Art Basel in Miami and then headed over to Naples (Florida, not Italy) to stay with her best friend for a few weeks of, well, I guess you could say… a ‘divorce detox.’

Her best friend, Sophia, lives in a beautiful high-end ‘you need to be a multiple-millionaire to live there’ condominium complex right on the Gulf of Mexico. So after the 5 days of ‘partying-art-and-more-partying’ at Art Basel, she was happy to land at the seemingly sleepy beachfront town.

Best-friend-Sophia lives with her boyfriend James, and the first day Caroline arrived, Sophia and James decided to invite James’ best buddy – Patrick, who coincidentally lives in the same millionaires-only condominium complex—to meet them for dinner at their Country Club. Sophia said Patrick was a fun, great guy, and they thought it would nice for the newly divorced Caroline to have a single friend for her Naples stay.

The restaurant at the Country Club was upscale, elegant, and catered to the wealthy boating community who wintered in the area. Patrick, who arrived a few minutes after they were seated, had the look of a distinguished gentleman. He lived half time in New Hampshire, spending the winters in the South.  The preppy, Ivy league educated, handsome, 61 year-old man ended up being a charming conversationalist.  He also was a chivalrous gentleman, standing up each time she left the table, and always checking to see if she wanted some more wine when her glass was getting low. They laughed, talked, and seemed to both really enjoy each other’s company.  It was a perfect evening.

The following day, Caroline spent the day at the beach and, when she returned to the condo, she was surprised to find a gift basket and a note from Patrick. On the enclosed note, Patrick thanked her for the enjoyable evening of the previous night, adding that he had assembled a welcome basket of various local delicacies to help her enjoy her stay.  The gift basket was full of various items— wine, cheeses, chocolates, flowers—and Caroline was really quite touched.  After all, this had been the FIRST TIME she had been set up with a man in 20 years, and the FIRST TIME she had received a romantic gesture from a man (other than her now ex-husband) in two decades.  It was a very sweet and classy thing for him to do.

So, when Sophia and James decided to host happy hour that night at their condo, and invited Patrick, Caroline was actually looking forward to getting to know Patrick better. The happy hour invite was for 4pm—as it turns out, this crowd of ‘young-wealthy-retirees’ like to start drinking early, and they hit it hard.  I mean, none of these people have to get up for anything except for their workouts, golf games and lunches aboard their yachts.

As the four of them sat around indulging in ‘serious-serial-cocktail-drinking’, the conversation ended up getting much rowdier than that of dinner the previous night. The atmosphere was far more relaxed, and the alcohol consumption was considerably higher.  The four ‘happy hour friends’ chatted about parties, food, travel and at one point, Patrick asked Caroline for her cell number so he could text her an invite to a ‘splishy’ yacht party the following day.  As the alcohol consumption continued at a quicker pace than Caroline could even begin to compete with, the conversation turned contentious, and at times developed into alcohol-induced full-blown arguments.

When the recent Presidential elections became the topic of conversation, and when Caroline admitted to having voted for Hillary Clinton, a drunken Trump-supporting James threatened to kick her ‘democratic-voting-ass’ out of the condo.  Patrick, her charming preppy gentleman from the previous night, never came to her defense; and the more Patrick continued to drink, Caroline noticed that his behavior became increasingly loud and obnoxious as well.  At 7 pm, Caroline, who is a light drinker, excused herself and went to bed – basically passing out from all of the wine she had consumed – and left the rest of them to drink and party the night away.

When she woke up again, at 11pm, still feeling a little loopy from all the wine, she grabbed her phone and noticed that she had 3 new texts messages, all from Patrick. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she read the first text from Patrick, and almost fell off the bed…

                             “OMG, I so wanted to eat your pussy tonight.”

 A speechless Caroline was dumbfounded…..this was the FIRST TIME she had ever see the words ‘eat your pussy’ both directed at her AND in writing. Shocked, she opened the next text as she couldn’t imagine what could possibly top the pussy-eating-text….

 “Next time you are going to have to leave your door unlocked so I can come in and give you the time of your life. You are just so hot, you got me turned on.”

Caroline, glad she had locked the door, and wishing there was also a dead bolt on it, wondered what the hell Patrick was thinking….what happened to the gentleman she met the day before? … As Caroline’s shock continued to unfold she opened the last of the three text messages to find… a…

Dick Pic! A penis picture! Patrick’s naked erect junk! His penis with his hand at the bottom of the shaft of his dick, masturbating away, to what she could only assume was the thought of her, with his flabby hairy stomach as a backdrop for the shot. EWwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!

This was the FIRST TIME in Caroline’s life that she had ever received a Dick Pic from a man, and on top of that, this man was a virtual stranger: a stranger she had not so much as kissed, or even held his hand. Was she turned on? No, FUCK NO! She was sick to her stomach.  And after she gagged, felt both verbally and visually violated, she contemplated what to do next.  I mean, this man was best friends with her best friend’s boyfriend, and he lived in the same complex where she was spending another ten days.  So the chance of running into ‘Penis Patrick’ again were highly likely, and being that, she reasoned, his behavior was the result of basically an alcohol-poisoned brain, she politely replied at 11:37 pm….

“Thank you for your interest in me, but I am not that kind of woman.”

And his drunken response at 11:38 pm was…

“Well, you are the one that got me fired up; don’t make me feel ugly about it.”

Caroline was stunned. First, he had sent the series of sexual texts, only to be followed by a picture of his erect naked penis.  Then, for him to turn it around on her, and blame her for his inappropriate actions, was reprehensible.

The next morning when she woke up, she had a closer look at the series of ‘sexty-texties’. She realized that he hadn’t made one typo, and he was alert enough to shut her down and try to deflect his actions onto her.  This wasn’t the behavior of a drunken soul who was not responsible for his actions; rather, this was a man’s true character that reared its ugly head—thank God, early, before she got in too deep.  This was the FIRST TIME she had experienced this kind of an encounter, and for the FIRST TIME since her divorce, she truly realized that she was in a whole new dating world… Boy, was she in a new dating world.

Then, she looked carefully at the dick pic text; something seemed a bit odd upon closer inspection.  Caroline noticed that in the corner of the picture there was  a window, and through the window she thought she saw… SNOW?!? ! Impossible!?! Hmm, there isn’t snow in Florida??

Caroline realized that this dick pic needed a much closer inspection than what was possible to see in a text. So she uploaded it to her iPad – the picture was now very clear, and very large. The window in the distance was indeed full of snow.   Hmm, he must have taken this picture when he was in his New Hampshire house, obviously before he even met Caroline.  What a creeper!

Her First Time

Then, when she went to save the picture, a date popped up under the image – March 3rd, 2010. OMG, the picture was 7 years old!!  What the hell?  Was this a ‘dick pic profile picture’ that he carried in his wallet? Did he have it saved in the favorite section on his iPhone as his penis calling card? Was he too old to get it up now, so he needed to send one from his pre-Viagra years?

Let’s just say the rest of her trip was slightly uncomfortable. Somehow she worried that she still might run into ‘The Ghost of Penises Past’, live and in the flesh.  She never told Sophia what happened; instead Caroline just told Sophia that she preferred not to see Patrick again, as she really wasn’t ready to date.  After all, she didn’t want to ruin any friendships or cause any drama since she was merely a visiting ship passing in the night. (Hey as long as she didn’t have to be his VESSEL, she was fine with simply avoiding him.)

But guess what?  Revenge is sweet! Caroline already has a gift picked out for Sophia and James for Christmas 2017.  She is getting specialty coasters made from Patrick’s Dick Pic shot.  They will think it’s a hysterical gift, and perfect for their ‘happy hour party crowd’ of rich drunken soulless souls.  And Patrick, well, when he sees his penis picture with a glass of Chardonnay sitting over it, chances are, he will lose any erections for the foreseeable future.

And the moral of this FIRST TIME tale is:
  • A FIRST TIME isn’t always a charm, but the bad memories shape us and make us cherish the good memories.
  • If you are going to send a Dick Pic, be prepared to have that pictutre shared with the world, you dumb ass you!
  • And as an FYI, I still don’t have a Chanel Bag, so if anyone out there is feeling generous….

A side note from Janell….

After closely inspecting, multiple times, Patrick’s Dick Pic picture, and showing it to both several men and women I know, I am tempted to hedge a bet that the 7 year old dick-pic-penis-calling-card picture, was also likely Photoshop enhanced.  I mean, I wish I could enclose the picture for you in this story, but I don’t want to be accused of putting up porn shots on the internet.

So, if I were to describe it for you, I could only say that…. that thing is huge! Have you seen the movie Boogie Nights? Picture that penis! With a hairy flabby belly…and…. on top of that, upon further inspection, I don’t think the size of his fingers match the size of the…well….

Just sayin’!

Her First Time

If you enjoyed this story, please like or share! Also, if you have a story that needs to be told, just let me know! Until next time…xo

 

 

Dating a Killer

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WheatFieldstoWonderland
Dating a Killer
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Date with a KILLER!!

 

Have you ever seen any of the Lifetime movies where the girl isn’t aware that the man that she is dating is, in actuality, a killer who is eventually going to try to kill her? He is always some handsome ‘catch of a man’ who is so seemingly perfect –too perfect—until his psycho killer personality rears its scary head? I have seen so many of those movies that you would think that by this stage in my life, I would be outwardly skeptical of any ‘random stranger’ that I happened to meet.

So, when…

Two years ago, I was out with one of my girlfriends, catching up and indulging in the relatively cheap happy hour menu at Café Roma in Beverly Hills. We were sitting on two bar stools, giggling ourselves silly – the $6 glasses of wine undoubtedly contributing to the giddiness—when all of a sudden, a handsome man pushed his way in-between us to order a cocktail. When he spotted my friend, you could tell that he was very attracted to her and he immediately began to engage her in flirtatious banter.

The man was visiting from Texas, and if his accent wasn’t a giveaway to his tourist identity, the Crocs he wore on his feet were an obvious sign that this guy wasn’t from the hood of Beverly. He said his best friend was on his way to meet him, and he asked if we would like to join them for dinner.  Okay, so I had just eaten two appetizers and was on my second glass of wine, and I wasn’t interested in hanging out with this tourist and his friend for another few hours, but my girlfriend seemed to really like this Texas boy named… Jess. So, even before meeting Jess’s friend, I conceded to hang out with the Texan tourists to make my girlfriend happy.

Jess ended up being a gentleman, and when our bill came, he insisted upon paying for the entire happy hour bill. I was starting to think that maybe there really was something to southern charm, holding out hope that my last-minute dinner companion would be just as cute and charming as my girlfriend’s Texas boy. I was starting to daydream, hoping that my Texas guy was going to be a southern prince, and was sipping on my cheap wine, when Jess taped my shoulder and said “Janell, meet Tommy.”

I swiveled around on my bar stool, with my happy alcohol-induced buzz, and had my first look at Tommy: 50ish, 6 foot 5, skinny – yet with a protruding belly of some sort—wearing khaki shorts, a Hawaiian button-down shirt, and flip flops.  He had a full head of dark brown hair, and I was trying to determine if he had an attractive face, but all I could see was his big, bushy, MASSIVE handlebar moustache— one that was so pronounced that it practically swallowed up his face.

All I could think was ‘God, I am going to be stuck with ‘Croc-boy’ and ‘Moustache-Man’ for the next several hours, and I prayed that I didn’t run into anyone I knew for the rest of the night. Tommy and Jess were staying at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, and the concierge had told him that the Soho House was the hottest place to go in LA.  My girlfriend piped up and said, “Oh Janell knows lots of people who go there, maybe she can get us in?” as she looked at me.    I tried to tell them that it was a private club, and as I was not a member, I had no way to get them in. Besides that, even if I could… would I take them and be seen with them there? NOT!

Tommy wanted to go, and said he could throw a few hundred at the door and knew we could get in. He informed us he was wealthy and could buy his way into anywhere in the world by throwing cash at the door.  At this point, I was really starting to get irritated with Tommy, as I patiently tried to explain to him that LA is a city where money doesn’t always talk.  The two of us were bickering back and forth.  I was starting to hate his obnoxious ‘money can buy all attitude’ and I told my girlfriend that I was tired and really wanted to go home. Tommy looked relieved, as neither of us wanted to spend two more hours in each other’s company.  But Jess insisted I stay, and I conceded to dinner down the street at Mastros, where I have to add that Tommy’s money-throwing talents did manage to get us a table in the best section of the already-packed restaurant.

Okay, so how bad could dinner at Mastros really be? As such, I settled in and decided to order literally ‘everything I wanted’ as I did not care if Tommy liked me or not.  I was stuck in this situation, so I decided to make the best of it and pig the fuck out.  As such, I suggested the seafood tower as an appetizer for all of us, and then ordered a petit filet and lobster garlic mashed potatoes, and what the hell, wouldn’t a bottle of Opus One go swimmingly with my dining choices?  (And remember, I had already eaten two appetizers, let’s just say this prairie Canadian girl can really put it back when she wants to).

As Jess and my girlfriend chatted away, I was forced to make conversation with Tommy. As it turned out—handlebar moustache aside—Tommy was a really interesting man. He owned an oil company in Texas, had a ski chalet in Vail, had been divorced twice, had three kids, but most importantly… he had a dog, and in my books, dog people are good people. By the time dinner ended, Girlfriend and Jess took off and left the two of us to chat, and we ended up sitting and talking for several hours about life.

Tommy said that he was bored with his life, that he had been everywhere, travelled the world, and that there was no excitement left for him. I told him maybe he should try giving instead of taking, and spend his time helping others with his wads of cash; that helping others to make the world a better place just might make him see his world in a lovelier light.  I think the Texas oilman was not used to big mouthed, opinionated girls like me, and for some reason my sassy suggestions seemed to resonate with him.

Finally it was midnight, and even though he did not turn into a Prince, he was a gentleman and ordered a car to make sure I got home safely. And I realized that I had met a new friend, and was glad that I had given him and his handlebar moustache a chance.

Well, we aren’t done yet, what about the Killer bit… hmm, lets continue…

So Tommy kept emailing me over the next few months, sharing photos of his life: pictures of his homes, his kids, his dog – basically we became email friends.  Then one day out of the blue he invited me to celebrate his birthday in Vegas.  He was hosting a big party for all of his friends. He said he would fly me in, and put me up at the Cosmopolitan as he would like to get to know me better.

Hmm, I wasn’t sure what the implications were in the ‘get to know me’ better bit, however he did emphasize that I would have my own room, and he thought I would enjoy meeting and hanging out with his friends. Okay, so VEGAS – it’s only an hour away by plane, and worst case, if he was a wacko I could always run to the airport and jump on a flight as flights leave to LAX practically every hour.  Plus let’s face it, how bad could two nights in Vegas be with a Texas Oil GAZILLIONAIRE???

So I packed my Louis Vuitton and off to Vegas I went….

Well let’s just say that throwing money at people in Vegas – works, EVERYTIME. Tommy had his birthday scheduled out for the two days, and his friends were cool right down to their handlebar moustaches.  I felt like I was in a time warp, hanging out with a bunch of Tom Selleck wannabe’s from Magnum P.I.   However, money does make for easy fun, and over the two days we went to the best restaurants, saw shows, a concert, laid out in the sun and drank – a lot.  I started to notice that Tommy was never without a drink in his hands, even the first morning at breakfast he had a double vodka and tomato juice.  I started to count his drinks, and he had at least 2 to 3 an hour – and at that, was completely sober.  The second night after the tasting menu at Guy Savoy, we gambled. By this time in my trip it was obvious to everyone—including me—that Tommy liked me.  We started to gamble and he kept giving me money to gamble with, and let’s just say that when you aren’t gambling with your own money, it is a lot of fun, and you have nothing to lose. By the end of the night I had about $700 in my pocket and had consumed a few glasses of champagne, and Tommy’s handlebar moustache was actually starting looking pretty damn sexy to me.

With that revelation, I realized that I must be drunk, and as I could barely keep my eyes open, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to my room and basically, passed out. At five am, I almost had a heart attack when I was awoken by someone trying to break into my room.  I feared that a rapist, stalker, or killer was loose in the Cosmopolitan hotel and I was about to be the highlight of the Vegas morning news.

The killer ended up being a drunken Tommy who slur-rely explained that ‘he who pays for the room, gets a key to the room’, and he jumped into bed with me and cuddled me and passed out.   I laid there rather motionless until he got up to pee (like a racehorse I will add, for like at least 4 minutes straight I will add) and came back and sat beside me, and apologized for his drunken brazen actions.

We actually ended up talking the rest of the night, and I told him that he had better be a gentleman as, after all, we weren’t even on an official date. He said I was a weird chick in a good way, and wondered if I would let him get to know me further.

By the time I flew home, I was actually beginning to wonder if I could go from Beverly Hills to Southfork and be happy. Could I change my name to Janellabelle? Tommy was sweet, funny, and generous, and I was actually even quite fond of his handlebar moustache. Moving to Texas aside, it was his constant and continual drinking that was troublesome to me.

Regardless, I was back in La La Land and ready to resume my life and see what transpired between me and my Texan guy.

Okay Janell, so that was the killer part of the story?? You made us read through long-assed story to find out that the killer in him was only his killer intrusion?

Hang on, my killer story isn’t done yet….

So for the next few weeks, Tommy called me daily. In one very long call, he asked if he told me something about himself, something he regretted having happened, if I could get beyond his past regrettable transgressions. And I, jokingly said, well as long as you weren’t a wife beater, a criminal or a killer, I could likely get past anything … as I giggled at his oddly phrased question.

The next day I didn’t hear from Tommy. In fact a few days went by where I didn’t receive an email, text or call. I was upset and going over every text and email with a fine-tooth comb, trying to figure out what I may have said or done wrong.  As I was telling this tale to a male colleague at work, hoping for some testosterone-inspired advice, my colleague asked if I had ever googled him.

And of course, I hadn’t. So we both started to google his name, and my colleague said….”does he live in Dallas? Because there is a Tommy _____ from Dallas who ran over a boy, killing him while driving an ATV drunk as a skunk at a party, and he was so drunk that he dragged the poor kid’s body for a block before he realized that he had even hit someone. “

Ugh, Tommy was killer. He wasn’t a hitman killer, or a mobster killer, or a psycho killer, or a serial killer, or even a lady-killer – he was a drunk, who became so drunk that he became a reckless drunken killer.

There was a trial, he was arrested on second degree murder, and once I started to dig, I found out that his lawyer had come up with some ‘technical ATV malfunction’ bullshit of a defense, leaving an entire community enraged that this his rich-drunken-KILLER-ass had been vindicated by a jury of his peers.

Of course, I never heard from him again.

And the moral of this story is…
  1. Handlebar Moustaches and Crocs can grow on you, so give people you normally wouldn’t find attractive a chance, because you never know lies beneath the surface.
  2. You can date someone with ‘Killer Style’, or who is ‘Killer Fancy’, but never someone who is a ‘Killer Drunk’ because you never know who might get injured in their drunken state of intoxication.
  3. I was sad to learn that not all ‘Dog People’ are good people, and that even some good people make bad choices sometimes.

Check out the audio link below… Cheers!!!

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