Los Angeles, You Make Me Want To Drink!

February 24, 2020 / Janell Martin / Leave a comment

Los Angeles, You Make Me Want To Drink!

00:00 / 00:12:04

Los Angeles, You Make Me Want to Drink!

Living in a large metropolitan city is challenging in and of its self. But, Los Angeles is unique. An urban center whose heart is the hub for the entertainment industry makes Hollywood a global hotspot destination of intrigue and excitement. A place with rich cultural and ethnic diversity, where music, the arts, and theater is celebrated. Everyone from all walks of life can find something to do and enjoy in Los Angeles.

It’s a great place to live a full, varied, and happy life. But then…

Los Angeles, sometimes you do things that make me feel like in am living in ‘LOST ANGELES’, and well, you make me want to drink when…

Scenario one – Road Construction…

There is construction ahead; suddenly, three lanes are down to one. Your seven-minute commute to the gym is now looking to be around twenty-seven minutes. You are panicked you will not get there in time and hence lose the spin bike you signed up for. The spin bike you had to get up at 6:15 am the day before to sign up for because the spin instructor is so popular that if you don’t sign in precisely 26 hours before the class, you won’t get a bike. You are now officially stressed the fuck out.

The guy in the car beside you is going God knows where, and he is as panicked as you. But unlike you, taking deep breathes, trying to chill, realizing that there literally is NOWHERE TO GO, the guy in the car beside you decided to bulldoze his way through the congested traffic. He thinks that he can somehow beat ‘the system’ and get to where he is going quicker.

Like, maybe his car really does fly? LOL!

So, what does he do? He speeds up his car, and I’ll add he is in the lane to your left, and he turns his wheel right in front of your car, forcing you to hit your breaks so hard to avoid crashing into the side of his car that you get whiplash. The car behind you comes to a screeching halt, and you can hear cars screeching and horns blowing for what seems like miles around.

Your neck is sore, you are mad, and the mother-fucker that cut you off and almost caused an accident is now sitting in front of you. You are stuck behind him for the next twenty minutes until you can get out of the construction madness when the street to your gym is FINALLY to your right.

Miserable, inconsiderate, little man… you make me want to drink, and it’s 8:20 am… and yes, someone else got my spin bike as I’m now five minutes late to class.

Scenario Two – Building Construction…

New buildings are going up around where you live or work. Hey, progress, it’s good, right? But the beauty of new construction is quickly forgotten by those who have to work or live around it.

Example one…

It’s seven am. I’m asleep. I’ve had a few problematic sleepless nights and finally, thank you, Jesus, I’ve slept through the night. So, when I am awoken by chainsaws, and hammers, and music blaring so loudly that the people using the chainsaws and hammers can not only hear the music, they can fucking sing along…

I want to scream and beat people up, but I’m not a fan of getting arrested… so I may scream and toss in my bed, but when I realize that I’m never falling back asleep, I’m forced to get up. And, damn it, you make me want to drink LA, and it’s only seven am. And… we are not talking coffee.

Example two…

It’s nine-thirty am. I’m trying to go to the grocery store. The city of Los Angeles is paving the street to the left of my place, so the city workers have that street closed off. The back alley is blocked by a large moving van carrying materials for a construction project that is going up directly behind my building. So, I turn right and head in the opposite direction of the store. But now, when I get to that intersection and look to my right, another large truck is trying to turn down that back alley, and there is no way past it.

Frustration sets in…

So, I go down another block. Finally, it looks like I can get to Robertson Boulevard. Once there, I happily turn right onto Robertson, and I’m finally headed in the correct direction. But, now I’m in bumper to bumper traffic that seems to be going nowhere. As I inch my way along, two blocks later, I see that a drunk has knocked down the street light overnight, and the police are redirecting traffic and forcing me to turn right. I now drive one block past the street to my building, and by this time, I need to pee really badly, so I just decide to head home.

It’s ten twenty-five am. I’m are home, sitting on my toilet, peeing. I’ve wasted almost hour and have nothing to eat for breakfast because I couldn’t get to the store. Los Angeles, all you make me want to do at this point is… drink.

Scenario Four – Parking Structures

In a city with limited parking structures, and when time is precious (hey, it’s all we have, it’s always precious), why do you ‘Mr. Expensive Car’ park on the angle hogging up two spaces at Equinox or at Whole Foods so that I can’t find a place to park!

The parking spaces are clearly defined by thick, white, or yellow lines. Your car is supposed to fit in between the two white lines. It doesn’t matter what country you live in, it’s a universal symbol for your fucking car goes between the two damn white lines.

UNIVERSAL!!!!!!

So, why do you think it’s okay to hog up two spaces? Is it because your car cost more than mine? Do you believe that someone is not going to respect your vehicle and ding your car? Hey, at least you can likely afford to fix a door ding if your car costs over $100,000. Would you do this at a hospital? I hope not, because that could endanger someone’s life.

Your lack of civility doesn’t make me want to scratch your car, I’m not crazy, but it does make me wonder why you think the rules don’t apply to you. It’s rude and disrespectful to others. And, at times, it makes me want to drink. Yep, a nice tall glass of red wine.

Scenario Five – Weather…

So, yes, it’s called sunny California for a reason. Most of the world thinks of severe weather warnings as blizzards, floods, hurricanes, etc. In Los Angeles, we dread… rain. Yes, rain is our weather. Los Angelites actually fear and dread rain. We know we need rain, and we are appreciative of it, yet, no one wants to go out in the rain or especially drive in it.

So, when 25 million people are driving in the dreaded Los Angeles weather RAIN condition, the one they fear the most, having been warned by the news announcers as they sipped their morning coffee to drive slowly, why are you driving faster than usual?

Do you like spraying my car with dirty water? Are you under the impression that everyone will think you’re a lunatic and move out of your way? Or, do you believe that weaving in and out of traffic when the roads are slick and when other drivers are driving in their ‘weather stressed-out modes’ that your reckless driving will not be an impediment to them?

You, crazy driver, cause accidents. You stress me out so much that by the time I get to where I’m going… I want to drink!

Scenario Six – Walking in the city…

So, they say, no one walks in LA. Unlike most of my friends, I love to walk. I prefer walking somewhere over driving. Perhaps, after having grown up in a country that was mainly covered with snow, or had inhospitable walking weather ninety percent of the time, has made me really appreciate being able to walk outside. And, I meet a lot of people walking their dogs or walking to go to places. I’m not the only one who walks in LA. But, when the majority of the people never walk, they forget that there are those of us who are walking.

So, DRIVER, you are sitting in your car, and you are turning right, and watching the traffic to your left, so that at the first open break you can quickly turn right and get into the lane of traffic. But DRIVER what you are not watching are the pedestrians, who, by the way, have the right-a-way, crossing from the left of you.

Yes, pedestrians really DO have the right-a-way!

Even when I have a ‘white walk light’ as I get near a car, and I see the DRIVER is looking to the left, I tap loudly on their car with my fist to get their attention. And, I don’t cross until I have their attention, pointing to the ‘walk sign’ and smiling as I walk in front of their car.

Some are nice and nod. Others scowl and honk their horns. I say, be bloody grateful that I AM PAYING ATTENTION! As I not only saved my life but prevented you from a lifetime of paying for my medical bills.

What the fuck drivers, pay attention! You have the right to use the road, but you don’t own it. Sometimes, after a near ‘Janell almost got mowed down incident,’ you make me go home and want to DRINK!

SCENARIO EIGHT – Doggies!

I love dogs! Los Angeles loves dogs. Dogs have almost as many rights, and rightfully so, as people in Los Angeles. Restaurants cater to our beloved pets boasting of dog-friendly patios; some even have dog-friendly menus. Fluffy can go into the grocery store, to the mall, there are very few restrictions for your best friend.

But owner, why do I see you walking Fluffy, and not picking up his poop. News flash his poop does stink, and when it gets stuck to my boot or shoe, I’m not happy. Why do you think that you are above all of the other dog owners in the world, and you do not need to clean up after your pup?

Are you entitled?

Lazy? Too cheap to buy disposable doggie poop bags? What is it? Be an adult, or a responsible person, and pick up your dogs’ poop. When I see a human, who is not taking the responsibility of picking up his dogs’ poop, it makes me wonder what else you are not doing. It makes me want to grab your dog and run because I’m guessing that your likely not taking care of it properly.

You make me sick, and I hate cleaning caca off my shoes, especially my Prada’s. Be a responsible pet owner, don’t make the rest of us look bad. You make me want to drink… ugh!
And at the end of the day….

There will always be inconsiderate people around you, so try set an example to always be considerate of everyone. Treat others in your life how you wish to be treated yourself. And remember, not everything is about you….

So, the moral of this LA you make me want to drink story is…

1. Treat others as you want to be treated.
2. Patience is a virtue, and a big city forces us to be patient. Just find your way to cope without becoming an angry lunatic.
3. There should be wine stores on every corner, just sayin!

If you want to check out my novel, Where the Dogs Go, it’s available online at Amazon! Cute, funny and heartfelt. Meant for anyone who has every loved a dog, or a pet. Kisses and Woofs!

Love and Hate List – 10 Reasons I LOVE You!

July 31, 2018 / Janell Martin / Leave a comment

Love and Hate List – 10 Reasons I LOVE You!

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Love and Hate List and 10 Reasons I LOVE You!

Have you ever sat down and made up a list of the reasons why you are with someone? I think it’s safe to bet that a high percentage of the population—both male and female—have, at some point during their romantic escapades, came to a point in the relationship where they had to sit down and make up a list outlining the numerous reasons why they loved someone while simultaneously creating an adjacent list delineating all the reasons why they hated the very same person whom they claimed to love. This process of creating a ‘love and hate list’ often becomes a barometer as to whether the person continues in the relationship; as either the good outweighs the bad, or it substantiates the person’s concerns, giving them enough negative reasons to flee the relationship.

I would argue that if you need to sit down and write out a list of reasons why you are with someone, then most likely this relationship is already doomed. I mean, shouldn’t you know in your heart why this person is the one for you? If you have to put a list in writing, outlining all of someone’s strengths, while at the same time defining all of their inadequacies or irritating qualities, doesn’t it perhaps indicate to you that maybe you shouldn’t be in this relationship?

If it takes making a list to convince you that it is time to make a change, well, then, the list making process is not a useless exercise. However, the mere fact that you are making out a list to help you to make a decision to, as The Clash sang in their song, ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’, tells me that, umm, most likely, you should go.

Love and Hate List, Stay or Go List

The ‘love and hate list’ doesn’t start and end with romantic relationships. You can make a ‘love and hate list’ about any topic that is troubling you at the moment: friends, relatives, chocolate, wine, buying or selling your home. I mean life is full of challenging moments where we often need clarification as to which direction we want to point our compass in, giving us a path to follow. What do I mean?

Let’s take your job for example. If you are making up a list as to why you like your job, while at the same time you create a list outlining all of the reasons why you are waking up in the middle of the night suffering from severe anxiety caused by job-related stress, does your loss of sleep and heightened anxiety not give you enough reason to start to look at the want ads?

If you love to drink red wine, and your red wine love list has points like it relaxes me, I am funny when I drink, all food tastes better with wine, I can’t socialize without it, I can’t flirt without it, I don’t think I could DO HIM without it, actually… it’s my best friend. Then, on the red wine hate list side you note only one negative remark: doctor said it caused my recent episode of pancreatitis and that it could lead to other more serious health complications if I don’t stop drinking so much wine. Hmm, did you really need to make out the list?

Regardless if you make out an actual list, I guess at some point we all need to sit down with our ‘quiet self’ and sort through difficult decisions. Putting blinders on a horse will keep him moving in only one direction—forward—by keeping his distractions to a minimum. But, umm…. I am not a horse. I would debate that, in life, we should be removing our blinders and dealing with our problems, our dilemmas, and our bad relationships head on. What good is looking at life through rose-colored glasses if the glasses are cracked?

So, my advice, whether you choose to take it or not, is to trust your gut, go with your intuition, and if it takes making out a list so you can physically see the issues that are staring you in the face, and if that helps you to rectify a problem, then damn it, go for it. Make your fucking list.

My story

That being said, I recently cleaned house in a number of areas of my life, and removed people and situations that were stopping me from being the best me I could be. This purging process hasn’t been easy, but it has led me to open new doors of opportunities for friends, love, work, and life experiences. Sometimes, if you look at a situation honestly, and let your heart and your gut guide you, they will tell you all you need to know; because… inside you know, you always know, you really do.

Anyway, even though I have balked and bagged on making stupid lists to help you sort out your feelings, after having made several big changes in my life in the past couple of years, I have let go of some friendships, valued others, and opened the doors for new and wonderful friends and their energies to enter my world. Your friends don’t always end up being the ones you think are going to be your friends after you have purged people from your life. It is surprising who remains, who leaves, and who enters once you are clear on what you want.

So here are the ten reasons why, if you are my friend, WHY I LOVE you:

When I text you, or call you, you text or call me back. It doesn’t have to be a whole conversation, but you acknowledge my existence. I matter enough to you that you make an effort to connect with me. As well, no matter how much time has passed since the last time we spoke, or saw each other, you understand that life is busy and you are solid enough in our friendship to know that true friendship is a lasting bond.
When I make a stupid ‘Sagittarian’ dumb-ass comment—and as you know me well enough to know that my intent was not malicious—you, therefore, choose to ignore my stupidity or blonde moment. Okay, so you may point it out to me that it came across the wrong way, but you don’t hold it against me. True friends understand each other’s faults and accept them as part of our uniqueness.
When we go out to eat, you don’t expect me to split the bill, you understand that I am on a budget and let me pay for what I consumed. You recognize that sometimes $20 is a big deal.
You know I am a terrible driver and I have night blindness, so you don’t mind picking me up, or you don’t become irritated if my Uber driver doesn’t show up on time. Plus, you don’t mock me for walking to meet you, flip-flops on my feet, high heels in my bag.
You understand that clothes are important to me, and you totally get how I could rationalize eating gluten-free ramen noodles for a week so that I could buy a pair of shoes on sale.
You allow me to be my outgoing, bubbly self. You don’t try to shut me down, or take over a conversation, or disallow me to be me. You love me the way I am.
You acknowledge that I am as funny as fuck.
I know that if I tell you a secret, that you will keep my confidence always.
You support my endeavors, you applaud my efforts, and you believe in what matters to me, because… I matter to you.
You love me unconditionally, because life is tough, and we all mess up at times but at the end of the day… I know that you are here for me as I am here for you.So, if you count me in as one of your friends, I bet you totally get my list!

That being said, take time to look at your life and your relationships. If something isn’t working, you are the ONLY one who can fix it. Making changes isn’t always easy, but being stuck in a bad relationship, a one-sided friendship, or a tenuous job are only robbing you of living a healthy and happy life.So, if it takes making a damn list of ‘pro’s and con’s’, or a ‘love and hate list’, or a ‘stay or go list’… make it, if it helps you to clarify a situation. But realize, that having to make a list means that something isn’t right, and don’t let that nagging feeling that is tearing at your soul go unfed. An unnourished soul becomes eventually an empty soul, and at the end of the day, it is our souls, and our accomplishments that remain of what was, once, our physical selves.

Check out my book ‘Where the Dogs Go’ on Amazon or Barnes and Nobles! http://www.WheretheDogsGo.com

Love Him Hate Him

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https://youtu.be/LzLgUf8qoSo

Foodie Farm Girl Feast RIVEA Las Vegas

July 10, 2017 / Janell Martin / Leave a comment

Foodie Farm Girl Feast RIVEA Las Vegas

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The Foodie and the Farm Girl feast at RIVEA Las Vegas

Recently, I truly had a ‘WheatFieldsToWonderland’ moment. You see, several months back, I was at a networking event and was the lucky winner of a dinner—a four course tasting menu dinner with wine pairings— in Las Vegas at Alain Ducsasse’s restaurant, Rivea. I am not going to lie, winning always feels good, and having an excuse to escape Los Angeles for a few days and indulge in a little ‘sin city Vegas fun’ seemed like the universe was sending me a clear message that some ’fun in the sun’ was much needed for this girl.

After basking in my ‘I won something’ glow, I started to ponder if a dinner was really worth the expense of a hotel room and the cost of a flight to Vegas. As such, I decided that being that I had a year to use my prize, perhaps I should wait and see if some ‘knight in shining armor’ would show up in my life, so he could take me to Vegas and we could indulge in my prize together. Yep, I was going to wait for ‘love’ to enter my life, and hope that my ‘future love’ would want to foot the bill for the hotel room and flights. I know… such a GIRL MOVE!

Of course, the year flew by quickly and when I received an email reminding me that my prize was expiring in one month—and while I was still ‘knight-in-shining-armor-less’—I had a decision to make. So, I decided to google Alain Ducasse and his restaurant Rivea. I found out that the very famous Alain Ducasse had 24 restaurants in 8 countries, only two of which were located in the United States. The famous French chef, being only one of two chefs in the world to have 21 Michelin Stars, brought his love of Provence and Italy together to inspire his menu for Rivea Las Vegas. The more I read, the more I realized that NOT going to Vegas and experiencing this once in a lifetime win, was going to be ‘my loss.’

But as I was still dateless, I wanted to invite someone to join me who was fun, and also someone who truly was a foodie and appreciated haute-cuisine. My friend Carrie, who has been in my corner as one of my best gal-pals for about 15 years now, loves, and I mean LOVES experiencing the finer things in life. She is a fabulous chef and hostess herself, and I knew she would truly enjoy this foodie experience.

Carrie and Janell’s Foodie Adventure Begins

So, Carrie flew in from Seattle, and I flew in from LA, to partake in what we hoped would be a fabulous dining experience and some Vegas-like fun. As we got dressed to head to our dinner, Carrie (being the Foodie that she is) mentioned to me that she had already perused the menu online, and she said that the ‘duck’ looked amazing. Duck, I don’t eat duck. In fact, I am the last person on the planet who should win a fancy dinner in a foodie restaurant. Why? Well let’s just say the first blog post I ever wrote was called ‘Surviving Sushi’, illuminating the preponderance of raw fish restaurants in LA, and raw fish appetizers that float around on hosted trays at parties and events; and how my utter disdain for the stuff caused me to have dating glitches and overall hunger hindrances since moving to Los Angeles.

Basically, I am a Foodie NOT! I am the polar opposite of Anthony Bourdain; I don’t want parts unknown, rather I want all the parts on my plate to be ‘known’ and to have the life cooked out of them; literally. So, I was getting a little nervous that I was going to have to hit an all-night-Vegas-buffet after dinner, but at least there was wine pairings, and how bad can wine every really be?

The FOODIE and the FARM GIRL Feast at RIVEA LAS VEGAS

Champagne at the Skyfall Lounge!

We headed down to the dinner a half an hour before our reservation, as we were staying at the Delano hotel (home to Rivea) and the Delano offered its guests a complimentary glass of champagne in the Skyfall Lounge, which is located adjacent to the restaurant. The Skyfall lounge looks over the Las Vegas strip, from the 66th floor, offering the best 180-degree views Las Vegas has to offer. We sipped our champagne, took some silly pictures, and my stomach was nervously rumbling—half hungry, but also half stressed that I was going to be grossed out by my food options.

Finally it was time for our ‘Foodie experience’ to begin. The restaurant was beautiful inside, large glass bubbles hung from the ceiling, and the tables were draped in white linen elegance. However, there was a much more casual outdoor patio, that seemed to have a fun vibe going on, plus the outdoor view from the 66^th floor looked to be magical at night. Truly, eating outside, on an outdoor patio, 66^th floors above the Vegas strip, seemed like a wait worth for waiting for.

The hostess came up and gave us a glass of champagne to sip on while we waiting for an outdoor table, and the bubbly beverage was definitely taking the edge off of my pangs of hunger. About 15 minutes later, we were seated outside, and the warm air was just as soothing as the bubbly champagne. Our waiter for the evening, Bianca, came up to our table and welcomed us, gently placing the printed ‘May 31^st Tasting Menu’ on our plates. As I perused the menu, it appeared to me that the first course looked to be raw fish, EW! Okay, so I am now two glasses of champagne in—on an empty stomach—so I decided to risk having the waiter spit in my food, and bravely chose to speak-up and see if they would perhaps accommodate my food requests.

“So, Bianca, we are so excited to be here. But umm, just so you know, I am Celiac, I can’t eat anything with gluten, and I am sorry to say but I don’t like raw fish or weird meat.” Carrie added, “Don’t worry about me, I like everything.”

Without missing a beat, or giving us annoying glances, Bianca smiled and replied, “Don’t worry girls, I’ve got you.”

Foodie First Course on it’s way…

I was glad that I had spoken up, as I was starving, and when the first course came out I was truly happy to see that the marinated sea bass thing was not on my plate. Instead, Bianca brought out a beautiful Burrata Salad, Chick Pea French Fries with a tomato-coulis dip, and Beef Carpaccio. Carrie knew straight up that the ‘Beef Carpaccio’ was all hers, and we split the rest. We hadn’t even had a chance to finish our champagne, or take a bite of our food, when the sommelier—Matthew George—came to our table with his first wine pairing to accompany our first course. He delightfully told us about the first wine we were about to drink, a 2015 Rosé from Provence. Matthew’s knowledge of the specially chosen wines we were about to indulge in—all French wines chosen by Alain Ducasse himself— and his presentation of each pairing, made each of our courses all the more enjoyable.

The Rosé was delicious, and the Burrata melted in your mouth, but the Chickpea French fries… I mean, wow: thick fries, crispy on the outside, but with a buttery soft puree of chickpeas on the inside, were like biting into a crispy heavenly cloud. Carrie said the carpaccio was amazing. I, of course, was happy to take her word on that.

Foodie Second and Foodie Third Courses – the fun continues…

We still had only about half of our Rosé drunk, when Bianca came out with our second course: Asparagus & Morel Risotto, and before we could indulge, Matthew was back at our table with a beautiful white 2014 Cassis. The wine paired perfectly with the risotto and the blend of asparagus and mushrooms had a light, but at the same time, hearty flavor, and the risotto was creamy and delicious. I love carbs, and risotto is truly one of my favorite dishes, and I have to say that this honestly was one of the best risottos I have ever eaten.

We now had three glasses in front of us, as Bianca brought out our third course—an elegant presentation of John Dory, Calamari and Prawns that she poured hot bouillabaisse broth over—so we quickly gulped down our last drops of champagne, to make room on the table for our next wine pairing. This time, Matthew brought out red wine, a Pinot Noir. Red is not often a choice to pair with a fish entry, but Matthew explained how the essence of the red grapes brought out the delicate fish and seafood flavors of the bouillabaisse.

Foodie Fourth Course – the pace slows down…

Somehow, even though we were three courses into our dinner, and definitely had our share of food and wine, we had managed to completely devour every delicious foodie delight that was served to us. It was at this point that we asked Bianca to hold off for a bit on the fourth course, as we needed time to sip our wines, and hope that we could make room for our next course. As we were drinking our wines, the manager of the restaurant, Tracy Warburg, came over to see how we were enjoying our dinner. We both told her that the view was amazing, the food was divine, but mainly how much fun we were having with Bianca and Matthew. They were both so engaging and easy going, even though the experience we were having was definitely a ‘high-brow-shi-shi-oh-la-la’ kind of experience, that their fun personalities and extensive knowledge made the evening truly stress free and delightful. Tracy went on to say that Alain Ducasse had wanted Rivea to have the fun, casual and relaxed vibe of Saint-Tropez, while at the same time capturing the quality of fine dining with fabulous food. I would have to say, that if this was his mission, it was definitely a ‘fait accompli’.

Bianca came to the table to tell us about the fourth course, an Angus Filet Mignon, served with Duck Foie gras in a Black Truffle Sauce. Of course, I immediately piped up said that I wanted my steak well-done, and for there to be no traces of ‘duck foie gras’ anywhere on my plate. Carrie made the ultimate foodie sacrifice and offered to have my share of Foie gras added to her plate.

Do you know how hard it is to cook beef well-done and for it to be tender? Well, let me just say that the steak was so tender that you could practically cut it with your fork; and it was served over mashed potatoes that were so creamy that I believe the first ingredient was butter, and then some potatoes were thrown in to give it some consistency and so it could be truthful to its name. Truly, the entire course was absolutely delectable. The fourth course was a paired with a French Bordeaux—my favorite wine of the evening—but I was so busy licking my plate clean that I forgot to take a picture of the wine. But trust me, it was good.

Foodie Carrie had Foodie-Not Janell’s share of the Foie gras!

Foodie and Foodie-Not staple! Mashed Potatoes!

Foodie deserts are always a ‘happy ending’…

Somehow, we managed to make room for our desert, a beautiful Fresh Strawberry and Rhubarb Compote which was, of course, accompanied with a sweet desert wine. By the time we finished, we noticed that we were the last people in the restaurant. It was 11:30 pm, on a Wednesday night, and other then the light above our table, and the bright lights from the Las Vegas strip below, we had manage to consume all of the food and beverages set before us, and had basically, closed the place down.

We had just enjoyed a five-hour dining experience, in one of the best restaurants in the country. But did we have any energy to gamble or party? No, we were grateful that all we had to do was get into the elevator and push the down button to our room on the 33^rd floor.

So, thank you so much Rivea for the wonderful foodie experience; and to Bianca and Matthew for making the evening fun and magical. You know, the next time I am at some restaurant and they say ‘no-substitutions’ I am going to post nasty comments to Twitter. Seriously, I guess you know you are at a top eating establishment when not only is the food superb, but also when the restaurant goes out of its way to accommodate you, and make every minute of your experience enjoyable. Then you know that you truly have had an indulging and pampering ‘foodie food experience.’

All I can say is … the next day, pool side, we had Prosecco for breakfast… as, after all of the alcohol we had consumed the previous night, we needed a little ‘hair of the dog’ in order to lay out and get our tan going.

Well…what can I say? I wish I had more salacious stories to tell you, but umm… ‘What happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas’ it ends up on my blog. So, the next time you are in Vegas, and if you want an amazing gastronomic experience, hit up Rivea—every bite is worth the extra spin classes and Stairmaster you will have to do when you get home. Truly!

Kisses y’all! Xo

Two happy friends, glad to have enjoyed an amazing Foodie experience! Merci Rivea! Bisous!

Audio link below for those who prefer to listen!

YouTube Video from our night! If you like or enjoy this story, please share or like or comments! Kisses!

Single Awareness Day and 10 reasons it ROCKS

February 13, 2017 / Janell Martin / 8 Comments

Single Awareness Day and 10 reasons it ROCKS

Single Awareness Day, February 15^th, gives those of us who are still ‘single in the city’ our own special day to celebrate our singleness. I guess you could call it a make-up holiday for the day that falls just before February 15^th, that stupid Cupid holiday called Valentine’s Day. February 14^th, the day for lovers and love, the day when everywhere you turn, you are painfully reminded that you are still single, alone, and not in love: restaurants, movie theaters, parks… everywhere you look, people are holding hands and celebrating love. Meanwhile, your single-ass is hiding out at home, eating take-out, drinking copious amounts of red wine, and watching pathetic movies on the Lifetime network.

Even worse, when Valentine’s Day falls on a Saturday, which is already an unofficial date night, it is kind of like the universe is smacking single people with a double whammy dose of loneliness, resulting in universal ‘mass self-imposed pity-parties’ for one. It totally sucks being single on Valentine’s Day. TOTALLY!! But guess what? Don’t be sad, don’t be blue, because…. Single Awareness Day is waiting just for you!

On February 15^th, once the cupid madness has died down, and after all the happy couples, and more likely than not, a shitload of unhappy couples— who pretended to be happy because it was fucking Valentine’s Day and they were forced to feign love on this day— have had their special day, you get a day just for you! So, how can you rock your special Single Awareness Day and make the most of it?

If you can, take the day off work and really enjoy your day. The rest of the world left early yesterday for their ‘v-day’ celebrations, you might as well make the most of your special day, right? And if you can’t take the day off, make sure you find a way to maneuver most of the 10 items listed below, and rock your Single Awareness Day, it’s your damn day, so make the most of it!

10 ways to Rock Single Awareness Day:

Start out with Breakfast in Bed – there is nothing like cozying up under your covers, sipping your morning coffee and getting ready to start your day. You don’t need someone to make you breakfast in bed, just grab your damn toast or pop tart and chomp away. Who cares if you eat toast in bed and you leave crumbs! It’s your own damn bed, so eat whatever you want. If you want a shot of Kahlua in your coffee, do it!
Go to the gym and have a long work out, steam, and enjoy the fact that you have all the time in the world to work out. You took the day off remember, so you are in no rush. Plus, you don’t have anyone you need to rush home to cook for or look after! You only need to look after you, and only having to worry about you truly is a stress free blessing.
Valentine’s Day Candy – yep, it’s in the stores waiting for you, at 50% off! Go get yourself your favorite chocolates and maybe splurge on some for your other single friends. Who cares if it is a chocolate covered cupid? Eat the little fucker! Devour the marshmallow chocolate covered heart! Suck the sayings off the sweet tart heart shaped candies! Enjoy!!!
Then, head to Victoria’s Secret, Agent Provocateur, Fredericks of Hollywood or whatever your favorite lingerie store is and buy yourself something that is sexy. Maybe something that is even outside of your comfort level for sexy. Because when you have sexy lingerie on, you can’t help but feel sexy in whatever you are wearing. And with a sexy attitude you will definitely draw eligible endorphins to you. Plus, isn’t it always better to buy your own lingerie so that it actually fits you? As you try on your choices and check yourself out in the mirror in the changing room stall, think of all those women out there whose men bought them ill-fitting, butt-faced-ugly, or skanky-hoe-inspired lingerie for Valentine’s Day, and be grateful you are not having to wear and pretend to feel sexy in that crap!
Why stop with lingerie! Get a new Single Awareness Day outfit! Rock that damn frock! Hey, you make your own money, no one can tell you where or how to spend your money. You are single and you get to buy whatever you want. You don’t have to check in with your husband or wife or lover in order to slap down that plastic card and indulge in a little ‘happiness in a bag’ shopping spree! Buy something new to wear! Indulge! Someone has to keep the economy going; it might as well be you!
Have a late lunch, by yourself. It is Single Awareness Day, and today, no one is going to give a crap if you are out by yourself; the dreaded V-Day is over! No more hiding. Ice cream, salad, pizza, champagne brunch – whatever it is that turns your tummy on to a happy buzz is where you need to be.
Plan an afternoon activity, something you have always wanted to do, something that perhaps you have begged your friends to do and they never wanted to do, so it just has stayed on that dusty-wish-list of ‘things you want to do’ list. So on Single Awareness Day, as Nike says –Just Do It. Do it, experience it, savor it, because today is your day, and who knows what tomorrow will bring. Remember, you don’t need to wait to share an adventure with someone, enriching your life is the most important thing you can do…. for you!
Okay, now this one is very important. At this point in your very indulgent day, you need to go and spend at least 90 minutes with one of your coupled friends, and if they have kids, count that as double bonus points in your single awareness day adventure. Because, after 90 minutes of someone else’s chaos—after you have been pampering your inner Single Awareness Day princess all damn day—you are going to have a new appreciation for the beauty and serenity of being single.
Dinner, movie, dinner and a movie – grab you friends and party it up! Get your single buds together and have a fun night out! Celebrate your friendships, as good friends are some of the most valuable gifts that we get in life. Treasure your friends. They are there to wipe your tears, support you, laugh with you, kick your ass when you need it, and love you. You see you have love, you really do. Love comes in so many ways, so never forget to embrace love it all its forms.
And lastly, as you head home, at the end of your Single Awareness Day, make sure you take time to call your mom, hug your puppy, feed your fish, and count your blessings. You may not have a romantic partner at this point in your life, but you have you. You have your freedom, your independence, and you have the choice to make your life happy. Be happy, as happiness glows, and a glowing heart will attract the perfect partner for you. When you love you, love your life, and are happy in yourself, that is when cupid’s arrow will find its way to you. I promise! At least that is the shit I tell myself!

And remember… Single Awareness Day, also known as S.A.D. also stands for Self-Appreciation Day. So… Happy Single Awareness Day y’all! Be fucking happy!

Below is an audio podcast link of the story for those who hate reading! If you like this story, please like it, share it and most importantly…laugh and love xo

Beverly Hills Internist

September 19, 2016 / Janell Martin / 8 Comments

Beverly Hills Internist

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Beverly Hills INTERNIST list of ‘Ist’s’

Living in Los Angeles, Hollywood and Beverly Hills means that when it comes to ‘ist’s, your lists of ist’s grows exponentially the longer you live here. In fact, it is shocking how many ‘ist’s’ the average person has in their rolodex. In a fast paced society, where the pressure to succeed is so fiercely interwoven into the framework of your existence, many people start out with only one ‘ist’ and end up a rolodex of ist’s.

What is an ‘ist’ and how do you acquire them? Check out a typical LA story of ‘ist’s’….. (NOTE: The story described below, is based on no one in particular, fabricated, but based on my observations of life and how easy it is to fall into something)

So… the pressure of your job, your mortgage, your car payment and your credit card debt – on top of your tumultuous personal relationship and iPhone full of flakey friends – has you stressed to the point that you start to develop headaches that become debilitating headaches. The headaches become so frequent that you start to worry that the above aforementioned are not the cause of your severe headaches. You decide that maybe you had better go see someone about it, so what do you do?

You go to see your INTERNIST…

Your INTERNIST wants to rule out the remote possibility that you have a brain tumor or aneurism so your INTERNIST sends you to see a NEUROLOGIST. The NEUROLOGIST send you for a MRI, and a few days later the RADIOLOGIST sends a report to your NEUROLOGIST who calls you with the good news that your brain is not going to explode into wee bits. However, in the three days it took for the RADIOLOGIST to read the results and let your NEUROLOGIST know that you weren’t headed to heaven, the stress of worrying about a possible brain tumor or aneurism explosion made your debilitating headaches become migraines so severe that no over the counter medication – even when doubled the recommended dose – can ease the pain.

So your NEUROLOGIST prescribes you with 600 milligram Ibuprofen; which literally takes away the headache pain, and shit – when you have a glass or two of wine with the Ibuprofen, you feel fucking amazing. So for a few months your headaches subside and you start to relax, and the Molotov cocktail you are now consuming seems to alleviate all sorts of problems. But then…..You start to have difficulty swallowing and you have serious acid reflux. So what do you do?

You go back to your INTERNIST ….

Your INTERNIST wonders if maybe the stress mixed with the prescription medication mixed with the wine might be causing you to have gastric issues, so your INTERNIST sends you to see a GASTROENTEROLOGIST. The GASTROENTEROLOGIST decides you need to have a scope done to see what the hell is going on, and then next thing you know you being strapped to a gurney and an ANESTESIOLOGIST – who looks like he just came home from the club and came straight into the ER – is about to inject you with Propofol. You start to worry because Propofol killed Michael Jackson – and as you make the ANESTESIOLOGIST promise to not kill you, you drift into what is referred to as a ‘mild sedation’. Mild Sedation my ass, you are out fucking cold; which is a good thing as who wants to remember the GASTROENTEROLOGIST cramming a big tube down your throat and cutting biopsy chunks out of your stomach?

Ten days later, the PATHOLOGIST sends your results to the GASTROENTEROLOGIST, and you go back into the GASTROENTEROLOGIST’s office for the results. He tells you that you have inflammation so severe that not even over the counter medication like Prilosec will work, and prescribes you with a prescription for Protonix. The GASTROENTEROLOGIST also send the report to your INTERNIST, who now thinks that maybe you need to talk to someone about your stress levels – as it seems to be the root of the problem – so your INTERNIST refers you to a THERAPIST.

Your THERAPIST, after a few sessions, decides that you have high anxiety – from all of the ‘stressors’ in your life – and instead of telling you to workout, sleep, meditate and relax, decides that you need to be evaluated by a PSYCHIATRIST because… you might need medication for your anxiety. The PSYCHIATRIST determines, in your 20 minute session, that Xanax will help your anxiety, and you leave with a prescription in hand.

It turns out the Xanax makes you fall asleep in a second, and you feel calm and life starts to feel good again. Even your THERAPIST comments on how much better you seem to be doing. The only problem is that you have to take more and more of the Xanax to sleep, and when you need two full bars of Xanax to fall asleep every night – and when the PSYCHIATRIST won’t increase your dosage any higher – you decide to add a glass of wine to the mix. And guess what? That works for a while.

Until one night, after you have been out for the evening and had a couple of glasses of wine, and then take your 2 bars of Xanax before you go to bed, you get up in the night to pee and are so loopy that you run into a wall and crack your front tooth.

Now, you find yourself with your DENTIST, who refers you to a PROSTHODONTIST who can hopefully save your tooth and apply a veneer. The PROSTHODONTIST, thank God, can fix the tooth, but thinks you need veneers on the front four teeth as your smile will be weird with only one veneer. And, OMG living in the bubble of Hollywood with one weird tooth will throw off your whole look, so you gut up and pay to have the other three teeth fixed to match the one cracked tooth. The good news is that your smile looks great; the bad news is that the porcelain veneers are about $1500 each, and now your credit card debt is through the roof and your stress levels elevate even more.

And guess what? Even with the Xanax, the Protonix, and the Ibuprofen your headaches come back. So, what do you do?

You go back to your INTERNIST.

Your INTERNIST now determines that the PSYCHIATRIST you saw is turning your into a drug addict, so recommends you see a PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGIST, who comes highly recommended. The PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGIST (which is just another bullshit name for PSYCHIATRIST) thinks that you either need to wean yourself off the Xanax and wine, or better yet, check yourself into rehab for a month. Gosh, the sound of a month off of your life sounds pretty great right about now, and you start contemplating the 30 day treatment program. Until you find out that your insurance doesn’t pay for rehab – and you don’t have $30,000 to spare – so you decide to wean yourself off of the Xanax with the assistance of your PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGIST.

As your PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGIST cuts down your Xanax bit by bit, your sleep is greatly interrupted and you start to get run down and look worn. A well-meaning friend thinks that perhaps you should get a facial, so recommends her FACIALIST to you. The FACIALIST cleans your pores and exfoliates your face – which now glows – but you still look like you have been beaten up by an ugly stick from exhaustion. The FACIALIST recommends that perhaps you talk to a DERMATOLOGIST about getting some fillers to freshen up your look.

One of your girlfriends swears by her DERMATOLOGIST, so you go and see him. The DERMATOLOGIST thinks that a little Botox on your forehead and around the eyes would be his first recommendation, and if you have enough cash maybe some Voluma in your cheeks to fill out your face, and some Juvederm in your lips will give you an all-around more youthful appearance. So out of vanity – and likely bad decision making skills from the lack of sleep – you haul out your credit card and go for it all.

An hour later, looking in the mirror, you want to cry because you look like a Pufferfish. But the DERMATOLOGIST swears that once the swelling and bruising dissipate that you will be looking youthful and refreshed. So for the next ten days you swallow Arnica to help the bruising heal quicker and hide from society as much as possible, because it takes that long for all of the bruising and swelling to go away.

Finally, you are healed, and your face does look fuller, and the Botox has smoothed out your lines, but the shit that he put in your lips makes your lips protrude and you look like are constantly pursing your lips. Fuck, the lips looks weird, the lips look really weird. So what do you do?

You go back to the DERMATOLOGIST.

The DERMATOLOGIST thinks you look great, but tells you not to worry because the $5000 you just spend will slowly dissolve into your body. You are freaked out when you realize that this shit is going to seep into your cells – but at least your lips will at some point return to normal – and hopefully by that time, you will have completely weaned yourself off the Xanax, and once again be able to sleep and look like your normal self.

So in the interim, you go to your HAIRSTYLIST to see if she can style your hair in a new way to detract from your fish lips. After a hour or so of playing with your hair, she honestly tells you that nothing she can do will detract from the lips – but at least you leave with an awesome blowout – and your HAIRSTYLIST suggests that you go to Mac on Robertson Boulevard to see if one of the Make-Up ARTISTS there can suggest ways to use make-up to minimize your lips for the next few months.

The Mac Make-Up ARTIST is quite helpful, and gives you a make-over, and $350 later you leave with a whole new bag of make-up. And Goddamnit – you look pretty darn good even with your swollen fish lips. So, for the first time in several months, you actually feel relatively good about yourself. So you walk across the street and stop at Intermix, where the in-house STYLIST picks out a new dress for you, and you head home feeling cute and broke.

Cute….at least your feel cute.

And within a few months, you are off the Xanax. You have slowed down on the wine, so you don’t need the Protonix anymore, and your lips – halleluiah – are back to normal. And for the first time in a long time your life seems pretty good.

The pressure of your job, your mortgage, your car payment haven’t seemed important after all you have been through, you are just grateful that you still have them. And even though your credit card debt is through the roof, you have tons of air miles now – at least that is some consolation. Plus you have been so consumed with all of your drama that you haven’t had time to worry about personal relationships or flakey friends at all. Life is getting better.

UNTIL…..

And the funny truth to this story is…

Your simple life can go from having one IST to having a list of IST’S in a short time, especially in a city like Los Angeles…
It’s amazing how easy it is to fall into something, and how fucking complicated it can be to find your way back out the other side….
Just be happy I didn’t tell you the tale of the Gynecologist lists of ‘ist’s’! (Maybe I will, that might actually be hysterical…or gross…or both!)

For the podcast link, click below:

Aristocrat Asshole Hell Date

July 4, 2016 / Janell Martin / 5 Comments

Aristocrat Asshole Hell Date

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Aristocrat Asshole Hell Date

I never pictured myself with an Aristocrat. But, when I was at a party where my ex-boyfriend and his new wife happened to be; and when my ex-boyfriends ‘snobby-wealthy-educated-blue-blooded’ College Friend (also at the same party) started hitting on me, I couldn’t help but delight in his attention. I remember ex-boyfriend talking about him – mostly out of jealousy for his success. So when Aristocrat’s attention was targeted my way, I knew straight away that Aristocrat was a catch. Plus, watching my ex-boyfriend squirm was giving me a greater pleasure than money literally could buy. As such, at the end of the night, I agreed to go out on a date with the Aristocrat.

The Aristocrat was a gentleman, and insisted on picking me up. As he was not a stranger to me, I felt it was likely okay – even though I prefer my address to remain anonymous until I know for sure that a guy doesn’t have any ‘stalker-killer-weirdo-wacko’ tendencies of any kind.

It was a chilly February night, and as he had told me we were doing casual Italian, I had on my black leather pants, black boots, v-cut soft black cashmere sweater – a sexy, yet tasteful, ensemble. Likely, not the traditional date outfit when going on a date with an Aristocrat; but I am still me, and I wanted this guy to know from the get go – that conservative was not a word that rolled off my tongue, or out of my closet.

As his 911 Porsche pulled up, the Aristocrat – being the gentleman he was – jumped out and opened the door for me. Chivalry always gives my date a bonus point on my ‘invisible-check-list’ that I mentally carry around when getting to know a guy; but aside from his chivalrous behavior, I noticed that ‘casual’ dress meant a suit and a tie to the Aristocrat. It seemed an odd choice, and contrasted sharply with my leather pants – and it made me silently wonder how he would dress if the restaurant had been formal.

On the ride to the restaurant, Aristocrat regaled me with stories of his wine cellar – his massive collection of over 3000 wines – and how he was a self-proclaimed Foodie. He was excited to try what he had read was ‘excellent-authentic Northern Italian-fare’ and as such had brought a bottle of 1987 Barolo from his collection – that he had carefully entrusted me to hold on the ride over – to accompany our dinner.

When we finally arrived, the restaurant was charming inside; it had a feel of old school Italy when you walked in. As we were escorted to our seats, before the waiter could pull back my chair, Aristocrat noticed that the wine glasses set out on the table were stemless – and in fact, on the small side. Aristocrat promptly pointed out to the waiter that the bottle of wine he had brought – one that needed to be carefully decanted as well – was too fine of a wine to be drunk from the glasses set out, and he requested that they please bring some ‘finer stemware’ for his very fine wine.

The waiter scurried back with a very small – what looked to be a white wine glass – only to have the Aristocrat reject the waiter’s second attempt, again requesting for ‘finer stemware.’ When the third attempt did not meet the Aristocrats needs, I slunk down in my chair, embarrassed to be with such a snobby ass, and gave compassionate looks to the waiter in the hopes that he only hurled – what were sure to be giant spit balls – into only the Aristocrat’s dinner.

About 15 minutes later, the waiter re-emerged with massive wine glasses, that I am sure he must have sent someone out to purchase in order to appease his annoying customer. As the wine was finally poured, I decided that all of the ridiculous fuss that went into finding the ‘appropriate stemware’ should obviously result in an extensive analysis of the wine. As such, I spent the next few minutes sniffing and swishing the wine, checking out the legs of the wine, remarking on its color, swishing it to the side of the glass to see if the legs were longer, smelling it to see if the extra swishing changed its smell – well you get the picture – it was an unsubtle-over-exaggerated-wine-analysis if there ever was one.

When the waiter came to ask us what we wanted for our appetizers, I remarked that I had been too preoccupied with checking out the ‘fine, fine wine’ to have had a chance to look at the menu. Aristocrat, annoyed with my over-analysis, said “Well, I guess she isn’t having anything then. But I will have the salad.” Brat like behavior aside, as delightful as it was at moment, resulted in me left to watch Aristocrat devour his salad, with not so much of an offer to share any with me. (The Chivalry point he earned early was simultaneously crossed out in my mind.)

So lesson learned, and by the time the waiter came back to take our entrée orders, I knew what I was having, and requested the Salmon with a side of Mashed Potatoes. Aristocrat piped up and said ‘No she will have the Sea Bass, not the Salmon, and give her the Angel Hair Pasta on the side.” Was he FUCKING kidding me: first he starves me and now he was going to tell me what to eat? I said, “No, I want the Salmon and the Mashed Potatoes, I am Celiac, I can’t eat the Pasta here unless its gluten free – but I don’t feel like Pasta anyway.” The Aristocrat kept telling me that the Sea Bass was their specialty, and if I was having fish then I should really try the Sea Bass, and the Sea Bass-Salmon argument continued until Aristocrat caved and said, “Fine, give her the Salmon.” By this point in the evening – I hated him.

A frustrated Aristocrat went on to say that, had he known I wanted ‘California Kisseen’ he would have taken me somewhere different; and admitted that the Foodie in him was annoyed that his cherished bottle of Barolo was going to be improperly paired with my entrée choice. His snobby remarks almost left me speechless, but as I obviously was not in his culinary league, I decided to further humiliate myself by telling him that I would have been happy with the $10 house wine, and that I didn’t even know what ‘California Kisseen’ was.

A wry smile cracked his face as he started to try to explain what ‘California Kisseen’ was to me: “Its fresh vegetables, and fish, very California inspired fare”, and when I still was looking at him with a puzzled look on my face, he started to name a few restaurants that specialized in ‘California Kisseen.’ And then it dawned on me – he was talking about California CUISINE! I went on to now proudly tell him that I spoke fluent French and as he had mispronounced Cuisine, that I had been merely confused as to what he was referring to. You know, of course, that my remark ended any further discussion of food and wine from the Aristocrat. (Check 1 for Team Janell)

Now, struggling for conversation as we ate our dinner, the Aristocrat brought up the current election asking who I was voting for – seriously, politics on the first date? As I already knew, at least on my part, that this first date was going to my last date with Aristocrat, and guessing somehow that the Aristocrat was definitely a Republican – and even though I was completely undecided on how I would eventually vote, said… “Hilary is my bitch, no question.”

This of course led him into a debate-argument which culminated in his saying “Well, I guess you still haven’t made any money since you moved here from Canada, because if you had, you would be voting Republican.” And thinking he had won, sat back in his chair with that wry half smile look on his face, smirking at his own self-professed victory. Until I said, “How do you know that I am not a pocketbook Democrat?” (Check 2 for Team Janell!)

As I tried to weasel my way out of dessert, the Aristocrat – who you would think would want to extricate himself from my mouthy clutches – still wanted dessert. By this time, I wanted to eat my mango sorbet in silence; but that expression that silence is deafening is so, so true. So in an effort to make friendly conversation, and to end this date on an upward swing, I decided to ask him about his dog. As someone who loves dogs, and also as someone who is still in pain from losing her best friend, this was not an easy subject to bring up. But I was desperate for a conversation that would not lead to an argument, plus HOW COULD A CONVERSATION ABOUT AN ADORABLE DOGGIE EVER GO WRONG?

So I asked him, what was his dogs favorite thing to do? And he responded that his dog Sam liked to play in the snow. Now, I am looking at Aristocrat, and for some reason I just didn’t see him as a winter person, I just couldn’t imagine him on skis or a snowboard. He was born in LA , educated in LA, hell – he will likely die in LA. So I asked, “When did you take him to the snow?” And Aristocrat answered – “Never”.

“Well,” I ventured to ask, “If you have never taken him to the snow, then how do you know that playing in the snow is his favorite things to do?” (Seemed like a reasonable questions after all!) And Aristocrat went on to tell me that, he took Sam to a dog psychic once and the dog psychic had told him that playing in the snow was Sam’s favorite thing to do. (So, me still trying to figure this out asked what I thought was another reasonable question): “And what did the dog psychic say when you told him that he had never been to the snow?” The Aristocrat went on to explain to me that the dog psychic told him that “the other dogs told him how much fun it is.”

I was officially on a date with a crazy person – a crazy, self-obsessed, ignorant, WANNA BE Aristocrat who was more of an asshole who thinks-he-is-royalty-cuz-he’s-RICH kind of an asshole. UGH!

The ride home seemed to take forever, and when we got to my building I jumped out of the car and turned to look back in the window to say thanks, but by the time I turned around the ‘chivalrous’ Aristocrat had leapt out of his side of the car and was making his way towards me. I extended out my hand as a formal thank you, and he anticipating the handshake grabbed me, pulled me in, and plucked a big kiss on my lips. I wanted to hurl, but I thanked him for a nice evening, and turned to walk up the stairs to my building.

And what do you think the Aristocrat did? As I turned around and headed up the stairs, the Aristocrat did the unimaginable – he smacked my ass! I jumped from the shock, but kept motoring up the stairs, never looking back.

The next day, I was completely ‘gobsmacked’ when the Aristocrat called, and left a message telling me what a great night he had had, and how he loved that I was a girl who liked to argue, and…when could we do it again?

Daaaaaaaah…Never.

And the moral of this story is:

Wealth does not mean well-bred.
You TRULY can’t buy class.
If you are planning to be a snob, learn to pronounce the word CUISINE correctly.
Dating someone to get back at someone else makes Karma a bitch. If I thought I was torturing my ex by letting him think I might fall for the Aristocrat, the only one who ended up getting tortured was – me. My bad! Lesson learned! Ass still sore from the smacking!
And lastly, Uber…Uber..Uber..Uber …to avoid the wacko-crazies knowing where they can come back to stalk you!

Below is the audio link of the story, sorry had a cold so hopefully the odd hacking sound would distract from the story

Below is one of the 30 or so blooper takes, shit, I kept screwing up. LOL

Be safe, be happy, share if you like this story!

Indecent Plumbing Proposal

June 14, 2016 / Janell Martin / 12 Comments

Indecent Plumbing Proposal

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Indecent Proposal – you might remember the 1993 film – where a scheming rich dude offers a young married couple a million dollars in exchange for a night with the wife; a tempestuously twisted sex tale that pits morality and values against money.

Hollywood is not a city that is recognized for its moral compass, so understandably examples of Indecent Proposals are more prevalent in the Los Angeles-Hollywood-Beverly Hills zip codes. I am sure you have heard about the Indecent Proposal called the ‘Casting Couch’, or the ever so popular Indecent Proposal where ‘Sugar Babies’ can find a new guy to call ‘Daddy’. And then there is the worldwide ultimate Indecent Proposal known as the Ashley Madison Website – ick! But have you ever heard of an Indecent Plumbing Proposal??? Only my Indecent Proposal would involve – a plumber!

When I first purchased my condo, the water heater malfunctioned so many times in six months – that eventually – it had to be replaced with a new one. The only upside to this was my that condo was new construction – which came with a one year new construction warranty from the Builder – so even though I suffered through months of intermittent cold showers, at least I didn’t have to pay for the repairs. Hymie was the plumber recommended by the Builder, so during the six months of the continual-broken-water-heater nightmares, he made so many trips to my home that I had his cell phone listed amongst my favorites on my iPhone.

The good Canadian girl in me was brought up to be polite, so each time Hymie was working away in my home, I always offered him water, snacks and engaged in chit-chat as he banged away at the water heater. I learned a lot about him on these visits. Hymie is of the Orthodox Jewish Faith; as such, he adheres to the laws of the Torah. This meant that the Sabbath wasn’t on Sunday – instead it was from Sundown Friday to Sundown Saturday – and during the Sabbath he wasn’t allowed to work, drive a vehicle, watch TV or even use a phone. It sounded like torture to me, and what I deemed to be his torture became my torture when the damn water heater broke down on a Friday night or Saturday.

Eventually during his visits, our idle banter led to conversations about dating in LA, as I was curious to know how it was for him to date in a city where ‘mini-skirts and high heels’ mark a stark contrast to the ‘plain long skirts and kerchiefs’ the Orthodox Jewish girls typically wear. Hymie confessed to me that had not yet met an Orthodox Jewish girl who he found interesting and attractive enough to marry, still he was required to marry within his faith. He informed me that he found Shiksa’s particularly attractive – not just because of their mostly blonde hair and blue eyes – but also because he said he needed someone who was independent, spirited and fun. And for the most part, the girls he had dated from his faith were far too conciliatory and well, boring for him. I joked that he needed to find a blonde Orthodox Jewish girl that rode a skateboard.

So last month, when water started to pour out from under my kitchen sink every time I used it, I decided to give my plumber buddy, Hymie, a call. As I still had his cell in my ‘Favorites’, I called hoping that he would remember me.

He answered on the third ring. “Well if it isn’t my favorite Shiksa, how are you doing?” Hymie asked. Of course I was thinking, ‘obviously not great if I am calling you’, but said “Great, things are great, did you ever meet that girl riding a skateboard?” He went on to tell me that he was in a relationship with a great, pretty, upbeat cool blonde-haired Orthodox Jewish Girl. I told him that I was really happy for him, and was glad that he had met his match. He went onto tell me that even though she was everything he wanted, that he still wasn’t ‘satisfied’.

As I really did not want to know the WHY in the WHY he wasn’t ‘satisfied’, I decided to change the now weird direction this call was taking and get to the reason I was calling, and quickly circled the conversation back to my plumbing problem. After telling him about the leaking pipe, I mentioned that as I had referred his company to many people – a company that he was the sole owner of – that I really hoped that he would be able to swing me a good deal. Also, as I am a total blonde when it comes to things like plumbing repairs, I remarked that I trusted him to be honest and not take advantage of my, well, for lack of a better word, ‘blondeness.’

“So you want a deal?” he asked. “Well, if you want a deal, maybe I could swing by tonight when I am finished my jobs around 8 pm, and I could take a look at the problem, and then we could start with a glass of wine and take it from there.” If he could have seen my face at that moment, it was one of pure shock and horror, with me not even sure I believed what I had just heard. I was quiet for a second, and then decided to play it off as if I had misunderstood him, and said that umm…well, I was taking antibiotics for a chest infection (which was true, and even coughed a little to make it sound more legitimate) and said that I really couldn’t drink wine for the moment, but sure, he could stop by – but no later than six pm as I was very sick and needed my sleep.

He went on to say that he could wait until I was better, because he really wanted to hang out with me, drink some wine with me, and maybe after a few glasses of wine we might find a way to make some kind of a deal work. I told him that “Gee, the leak really shouldn’t wait until I am better, so go ahead and send someone else.” He hurried off the phone saying, “I’ll text you back and see what I can do.”

UGH I just had my first Indecent Proposal by a plumber! An Orthodox Jewish plumber who really shouldn’t even be thinking about …. umm… ‘partaking in wine and seeing where it goes’ with a Shiksa! An Orthodox Jewish Plumber who has a girlfriend! An Orthodox Jewish plumber who wanted to plug my leak with parts that DON’T belong in a tool box. It was like I was in a modern day Fiddler on the Roof, except the only that was going to get Fiddled was me! ICK!

The next day a man named Jacob called from his company saying Hymie had asked him to set up a time to come to my house to repair the leak. I was relieved that the ‘horny-unsatisfied-wine drinking Hymie wasn’t coming to ‘fix my leak’.

Jacob, who looked a great deal like Hymie – in fact they looked like brothers, but couldn’t be brothers because it was Friday night past sundown – took a look under my sink and said, “Well, it’s the pipe and likely the connecting ring is also going to need to be replaced, it’s going to cost $450” as he pointed to a little piece of pipe that was no more than 3 inches long.

A horrified me, said that it seemed like a ridiculously high price. He went on to explain that the pipe was made out of copper, and was expensive to replace. I asked him to please check with his office as I was a repeat customer, to see if they could do better than that. So, they lowered the price to $350 to do the ‘extensive repair’ with the very expensive ‘copper replacement pipe’ that was going to take ‘several hours.’

I felt sick, and said that maybe I could wait, and just not use the sink, as I had a ‘sinking’ feeling in my gut like I was being taken advantage of. Jacob explained that he had to charge me $75 for coming out, even if he didn’t fix the problem, so I ultimately gave in and gave him the go ahead.

Imagine my surprise when 32 minutes later the leak was fixed – and no expensive copper pipe was needed to be used – only the small copper ring and the washer inside were replaced. I felt relieved knowing that the problem wasn’t as large as they had anticipated, and knowing that, assumed the price should therefore be way, way, WAYYYYYY less? Jacob said, with a grin on his face, that the price was still – $350. No matter how much I argued, or tried to reason with him, he wouldn’t budge. He said that he quoted for the job, and the price didn’t change just because the outcome wasn’t as he had predicted. I was appalled! This was a disgusting, horrible, travesty of plumbing injustice. The indecent pluming proposal had now become an indecent plumbing bill.

Do you think Hymie was responsible for this? Do you think he told Jacob to literally fuck with me and screw me over with the price because, well, I refused his Indecent Proposal to literally screw me? I would love to hear your thoughts on that one! Email me you insights!

And the moral of this Indecent Plumbing Proposal is:

If your Plumber happens to be an Orthodox Jew, the first time he mentions that he is attracted to Shiksa’s, should be the last time you let him into your home.
If you are a girl, and plumbing or home repairs in general aren’t your thing, import one of your male friends to hang out with you when situations out of your knowledge grasp might require a male influencer to help keep you from getting screwed – as sexist as this seems – reality still bites.

See link below for info on the “Indecent Proposal” movie starring Demi Moore and Robert Redford!

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107211/

If you got a laugh please forward, comment or like…

Until next time bitches! xo

PS….If you are too lazy to read, click on the audio link below – but I stumble a bit, not easy to read without hesitation!

Written by Janell Martin

Edited by Brenda Meyer

Wine Relationships 15 Reasons Why They Work

March 21, 2016 / Janell Martin / 6 Comments

Wine Relationships 15 Reasons Why They Work

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WINE RELATIONSHIPS – 15 Reasons Why They Work!

WINE …I love WINE! Anyone who knows me for five minutes knows that… I… love…WINE! Can you blame me? Even Jesus loved his WINE for Christ’s sake! In a city like Hollywood, WINE – like actors – can simulate many roles: your friend, your therapist, your playmate, your liquid courage, your meditation guru, – WINE can play multiple parts – very successfully I will add.

So is it any wonder that many single people out there – in cities like Los Angeles and Hollywood – find that hanging out with WINE is easier than the energy that goes into finding a relationship? Sometimes the effort and cost it takes to get ‘date ready’ to spend another evening, where you end up so miserable, that you want to shoot yourself in the head half way through your ‘dinner date’ – makes you regret not staying home, alone, with your WINE!

Plus, there are the single people out there, who are so worn down after been tussled about in a bad relationship, that the mere thought of entering the ‘relationship playing field’ again, has them sequestered safely to the sidelines. And in these cases, staying home and hanging out with WINE seems perfectly fine.

Therefore, in order to avoid the – drama, miscommunication, rollercoaster-emotional-ride, personal baggage, energy and effort it often takes to enter the relationship waters; some Men and some Women prefer WINE! And here are their reasons why…

15 Reasons MEN prefer WINE Relationships (as a footnote, any alcohol will do!)

You can never get bored with WINE, it comes in a variety of colors and flavors.
The more you hang out with WINE, the better looking you get.
WINE enjoys and appreciates watching a good sporting event with you.
WINE thinks your jokes are funny, and doesn’t make fun of you when you laugh at your own jokes.
WINE doesn’t expect you to be a big time spender, and isn’t pissed when you get it on the sales rack.
WINE doesn’t care what you wear; you are always dressed fine for WINE.
WINE thinks it’s cool if you belch and doesn’t even notice when you fart.
WINE doesn’t get mad at you when make remarks like it is ‘empty’.
WINE thinks its a compliment when you say that WINE is full-bodied.
WINE likes to be referred to as ‘Vintage‘.
WINE doesn’t get mad if you fall asleep on WINE.
WINE doesn’t complain about having to downsize, and is perfectly content being poured into a smaller flask.
WINE doesn’t mind being shared with chocolate, or even with chocolate and cheese, WINE is open to all sorts of adventures.
WINE doesn’t accuse you of cheating when you check out other WINES that look interesting.
WINE never whines or nags you about ANYTHING!

15 reasons WOMEN prefer WINE Relationships (as a footnote, in the case of women, the only substitution for WINE worth mentioning is…. Champagne)

WINE loves to listen to you talk, and talk and talk and talk and talk.
WINE loves taking a bubble bath with you, and doesn’t complain if you want to spend hours in the tub!
WINE doesn’t even mind hanging out while you soak in Epson salts.
WINE is patient and enjoys watching you try on multitudes of outfits before you head out.
WINE likes it when you are wearing your comfy Target PJ’s as WINE knows it’s a sign that WINE will have more quality time with you.
WINE will happily watch Lifetime or Bravo with you.
WINE likes all of your friends; and knows that more friends mean more WINE.
WINE doesn’t complain if you want to sleep with your puppy, WINE is just happy to be part of your life.
WINE thinks your ‘Scrunchie look’ is cute!
WINE loves to go dancing with you, and can be your best friend on the dance floor.
WINE doesn’t get mad because you flirt; WINE actually incites you to be flirtier.
WINE is never late, WINE never stands you up.
WINE builds up your confidence and never makes you feel insecure.
WINE doesn’t make you cry; but when you do, WINE comforts you.
WINE makes you feel warm from the inside out, without the risk of getting an STD.

Cabernet Anyone??

And in case you are wondering, 5 reasons science says to go ahead and drink Wine!

Giant Rock Star

February 3, 2016 / Janell Martin / 8 Comments

#Hollywood Celebrities – Giant Rock Star …..

…as I nuzzled in beside him, close but not so close as to offend this GIANT ROCK STAR of a man, a man who was generous enough to let me have a photo of the two of us, and as his assistant prepared to take our picture, Giant Rock Star grabbed me and pulled me in towards him face forward and planted a big one smack on my lips as his assistant snagged the shot….

CUT TO……the beginning…..

One of my true besties in real life happens to be a Famous Actress, so when she asked me to be her plus one when she was a guest star on Hell’s Kitchen, I jumped at the chance, as – not only do I love spending time with her – but, the offer of a free hot gourmet meal coupled with front row seats to watch Gordon Ramsey scream and terrorize people in person, was… irresistible.

The day of the taping, we arrived and were escorted to the green room – a room fully plied with snacks, drinks and of course alcoholic beverages – where we were mic’d for sound and where we signed binding agreements that any footage or any recorded verbal commentary from us could be used at the discretion of Hell’s Kitchen for basically…. eternity. This quickly led to us forming a pact between us: that we would be careful not to say anything stupid or life altering in any way about each other so as to do irrevocable damage however unintentional – a pact that was sure to be tested with the alcohol that they had already given us to drink.

It was a Rock Star themed night, Famous Actress had been invited to participate because what is a Rock Star, after all, without a gorgeous, hot babe? We recognized several of the Rock Stars in the green room, and happily chatted with them sipping our wine waiting for the taping to begin; me secretly pinching myself that I was hobnobbing a room with these amazing Gods of Rock.

Finally, seated in the Hell’s Kitchen restaurant, enjoying the ambience and perusing the menu, the waiter filled our wine glasses. Normally, Famous Actress and I have no loss of conversation; often talking until our jaws hurt; yet on this night, due to the binding agreements we had just signed, caution was the only thing we were thinking about. And then……we saw him, GIANT ROCK STAR entered the room, making his way to the stage. He hadn’t been waiting in the celebrity drenched green room as GIANT ROCK STAR is such a huge celebrity that he had been safely sequestered in his private trailer until he was needed on stage.

As our appetizers came out, Famous Actress told me that she had first met GIANT ROCK STAR years ago when she presented an MTV music award with him. Later, while they were both traveling in Europe, they crossed paths again. At that time her son was a baby, and GIANT ROCK STAR was so enamored with him that he ended up asking to be named as one of her son’s godfathers. (If I had to guess, he was most likely enamored with HER beauty as well!) His promised appearance had been one of the motivating factors for Famous Actress to agree to appear on this episode of Hell’s Kitchen.

At that point, we were about three quarters of the way through the entrée when the waiter came over to top off our glasses, and I, being a red wine lover said yes, at which point Famous Actress blurted out, “yeah give her more, she’s an alcoholic” and giggled as she said it, thinking she was hilarious in her comment. My face froze like I had done botox injections in places where botox doesn’t go. And remembering we had just signed our lives away, through gritted teeth, I uttered… “I can’t believe you just said that”.

FLASH BACK TO…. two days prior….

Famous Actress had come over to my place and we had ordered in Chinese food and were hanging out. When the food arrived, I offered her some red wine, but she had her vitamin water and was fine with that. Now, I like to drink red wine from a straw when I am at home – not because I am a Canadian country hick – but because I whiten my teeth, and drinking from a straw helps to keep my teeth from staining. Famous Actress made no comment about the straw, but when she got up to get some water from the fridge, and opened it up and saw twenty bottles of white wine stacked chilling on the shelves, she couldn’t contain herself and said, “Hon, are you okay? You are drinking wine through a straw and you have enough wine in there to choke a horse.” I laughed and told her the wine was for my friend’s baby shower and my part was supplying the wine, and explained my straw fetish so as to squelch her fears that I had turned into an alcoholic who needed to drink so fast and in such large quantities that a straw was my alternative to an IV drip.

FLASH FORWARD…..back to Hell’s Kitchen….

Okay, so I was now living in my own Hell’s Kitchen worried that Famous Actress’s comment – one, that was truly only funny between us – would not end up on the editing room floor, but rather, be an episode highlight. With both of us on our cautionary tiptoes for the rest of the meal, we still managed to relax and enjoy the rest of the dinner and dessert as Famous Actress had promised to ‘fix’ the ‘alcoholic-comment’ situation after the taping.

At the end dinner, having finished our segment, we decided to retire to the back of the restaurant and hang out at the bar, watching the rest of the taping, as one of the assistant directors had promised to take us back stage and meet Gordon Ramsey in person. As the taping ended and the assistant director started to escort us backstage, GIANT ROCK STAR was also making his exit from the stage and as we were close to crossing paths, Famous Actress gave him a flirty wave to which he replied “I have been waiting for you girls to come up and say hi to me all night.” I had goose bumps as we chatted momentarily with GIANT ROCK STAR, Famous Actress and him catching up, him giving us hugs and kisses before the assistant director pushed us along backstage.

Okay, so meeting Gordon Ramsey was pretty cool in and of itself…but I had just been complimented and hugged and squeezed by GIANT ROCK STAR, and as amazing and interesting as Gordon Ramsey is, GIANT ROCK STAR is…GIANT ROCK STAR! Finally exiting the building, alcoholic comment almost forgotten (almost), we noticed GIANT ROCK STAR was standing outside hanging out with what looked like his assistant. Famous Actress went up to him and after we started a conversation, she asked if she could have a current picture of the two of them to show her son . Feeling like I had nothing to lose, I asked if he would mind if I had a picture as well…..

CUT TO…….introduction….

…..as I nuzzled in beside him, close but not so close as to offend this GIANT ROCK STAR of a man, a man who was generous enough to let me have a photo of the two of us, and as his assistant prepared to take our picture, GIANT ROCK STAR grabbed me and pulled me in towards him face forward and planted a big one smack on my lips as his assistant snagged the shot….

And that was the end of our night, GIANT ROCK STAR had smacked me on the lips and I had the evidence to prove it. As I waited in the car, Famous Actress went as promised to ‘fix’ the ‘alcoholic-comment’ situation; and then, just when I thought the magic was over, a limo slowly crept beside our car…the window rolled down, and GIANT ROCK STAR poked his head out, smiled, looked me in the eyes and waving his fingers one by one, said ‘byyyeee’ as his car drove away.

And that’s is how I met and kissed…….(scroll down…..)

Keep scrolling….

Yep, scroll some more…….

Almost there, its really worth it…….

…….. Steven Tyler…..And all I will say, is …. those lips of his are luscious. Nuff’ said!

http://www.fox.com/hells-kitchen

Christmas in Canada

December 18, 2015 / Janell Martin / 2 Comments

Christmas In Canada

Christmas in Canada – snow covered trees and rooftops, crisp winter air, Christmas lights adorning homes and decorating trees, the northern sky so clear that the stars illuminate the darkness at night – a picture perfect White Christmas!

Growing up in Canada, I couldn’t imagine anything better than a white-snow-covered Christmas, and my friends in Los Angeles always love the wintery pictures I post to social media during the holiday season. However, the scenic ‘Winter Wonderland’ beauty somehow masks the often frigid northern temperatures, the cold bitter winds, the slippery and treacherous roads and walkways, and what often becomes a hellish-travel-ordeal-to-get-to destination, or a hellish-travel-ordeal-to-return- home-to Los Angeles nightmare from Hell! It should be noted that, usually, the ‘Universe Weather Gods’ don’t typically punish me with a Hell trip on both ends. Normally, only the inbound or outbound trip is a nightmare. And you know that I am knocking on wood as I type this, praying that I am not pissing Mother Nature off by articulating my somewhat fifty percent Canadian-winter-travel-half-luck, and hopefully not jinxing myself in some odd way.

As I prepare to fly home again, for another holiday season, let me fill you in on last year’s adventure back to the Great White Christmas in the North – in case you think – ‘I doth protest too much’!

Christmas in Canada – 2014

My mother convinced me to try WestJet, as they now have a flight that departs from Calgary and actually lands in my little home town of Brandon Manitoba. Normally, I have to fly from LA to Minneapolis (4 hours), change planes (always a 3 to 5 hour lay-over between flights), fly into Winnipeg (2 hours), stay overnight in Winnipeg at my brothers (45 minutes to his house and 45 minutes back in the morning), and catch a shuttle bus (a small van that doesn’t have a good heating system) the following morning to Brandon (about a 3 hour trip from the airport to my door). Yep, you read it right – 1 ½ days to get home.

Now, flying into Calgary still meant spending the night at my cousin Lori’s, but the next day I could fly directly into Brandon. And even if it is still 1 ½ days, at least I could spend the night visiting with my closest cousin in the world (as a bonus, her and her husband are amazing cooks) plus I wouldn’t have to endure the chilly, slippery, sometimes treacherous – and possibly cancelled in case of bad weather – shuttle ride home.

So Saturday December 20^th, I Uber’d to LAX at the crack of dawn to catch my WestJet flight to Calgary. I hadn’t had time to eat breakfast before I left and was actually looking forward to maybe having something at the airport, and wondered what kind of yummy food was a waiting for me in Terminal Two. Once checked in, through security, I noticed that the terminal was under construction. After walking the length of the airport twice, I realized that the only place to buy anything to eat was at a make shift kiosk, with a line of people waiting in line that ran half the length of the terminal. I stood in line waiting for 40 minutes to purchase a bag of chips and a water, and then found a comfortable place on the floor to sit because most of seats in the airport had also been removed, and there were only a few places to plop your ass, so mine ended up on the floor.

Seat on the Floor at LAX, waiting for three hours….Water and Chips for lunch…yum???

The WestJet coach seats seemed comfy after the cold floor – a cold floor that had become increasingly uncomfortable as the flight was delayed by almost three hours leaving LAX. At least they had food for purchase, and more importantly alcohol. More chips, and wine – the start of a great holiday, I reasoned.

Three hours later…….Calgary ….arrived! Bag….. arrived! Cousin…. arrived and waiting for me!! A yummy dinner, great wines, and a gab fest that lasted until one am, made the long travel day a forgotten memory. I tossed and turned for the next five hours – knowing I had to get up by six am in order to shower, gulp coffee and get to the airport in time – made it a sleepless night for me. No matter, in only a few short hours I would be at home, smelling something delicious cooking in my mom’s kitchen.

Sunday morning, after a one hour ride back to the airport, finally checked in, more coffee consumed, waiting for the plane, knowing I was half way there, felt cheery and the ‘it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ song was silently playing in my head. I just had one small hurdle, one fear to overcome that day, there was one thing I was dreading – there was one major caveat in that direct-flight-home-no-shuttle-needed flight; the aircraft was a ‘Propeller Plane.’

My mother had promised me that the ‘Propeller Plane’ was extremely safe and I had called WestJet myself inquiring as to its safety. I made my travel agent call and check out the aircraft’s safety rating. Even though I am a nervous flyer, I decided that since the overall consensus – and being that a propeller plane flew in and out of Brandon every day and the death toll was currently none – decided that my paranoia was groundless.

As I bundled up to run out to the plane (it was too small and insignificant to pull up to a real gate, and could only be entered from a little icy metal staircase out in the boonies of the airport terminal), held my breath as we took off. As it was just my luck, I was seated in a window seat facing the engine, the giant propellers my only view for the next two hours. The hum of the propellers was loud, and once we were safely above the clouds, the noise didn’t exactly lull me to sleep.

Two hours later, we were almost to Brandon, and the pilot came on the loud speaker to inform us that Brandon was experiencing unusually warm weather. And because of this freak-of-nature-December-heat-wave (it was actually zero degrees Celsius as opposed to the normal -40 degrees Celsius), the airport was under a dense fog caused when the icy cold snow met the warm air, and the result was zero visibility. Unfortunately, the propeller plane was not equipped with the technology it needed to land in this obscure-never-happens weather situation, and they had decided to circle and wait for the ground fog to lift.

One hour and 15 minutes later, still circling the city of Brandon, the pilot came on again and said that it appeared that the fog wasn’t going to lift, and as we were running out of fuel, they had decided to fly us to Regina Saskatchewan to fuel up and out wait the fog. The groans from the passengers were louder than the noise from the propellers, and in case you aren’t familiar with Canadian geography, we had already passed Regina on the way to Brandon. So that meant we were turning this propeller-bird around and heading back west, 45 minutes in the direction from which we had just come.

By the time we landed in Regina, I had been on the prop plane for almost five hours: A plane so small that you can’t even stand up without hitting your head on the ceiling, equipped with a very wee bathroom at the front of the plane, with a small toilet and no room to move or turn around in, with no running water to wash your hands; a plane where only cold snacks are the only available choice as there is no mechanism to heat food. Yet….they kept us on the plane for about another hour sitting there waiting. The pilot apologized that everything was taking so long, he said that since 9-11, airport security was tight, and the airport wasn’t sure how to deal with passengers ‘re-entering’ a secured area.

Okay, the Christmas music was officially turned off in my head. I was starting to get mad and annoyed. And I had to pee. Half the plane had to pee. I mean seriously, were they thinking that a terrorist would be on the plane flying to Brandon and that Regina Saskatchewan was going to be under attack? Let’s just say I don’t think that Brandon Manitoba is a terrorist target, and even if for some obscure reasons it was, no terrorist would brave a Canadian winter…..only Canadians will brave a Canadian winter.

Finally, in hour six of my journey, the small now familiar little metal stairway rolled out onto the tarmac, and the 70 passengers on board ran into the airport. I wanted to call my mom, I wanted to call my mom and cry. And of course, I hadn’t paid to have an extra package on my cell phone, so I couldn’t use it in Canada without having crazy roaming fees, and had to beg a fellow stranded passenger to use her phone.

The Regina airport was bigger than Brandon’s airport, but was definitely smaller than your average Walgreen’s drug store. There were two places to get food: a Tim Hortons where you could get coffee and a donut, or a bar where you could get alcohol and popcorn. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I decided that alcohol and popcorn was the better choice of the two options. As I waited, making friends with now other stranded passengers from my flight, hopeful that the fog would clear and at least I would have dinner to look forward to with my family, munched on my greasy popcorn and sipped my horrible crappy bar Cabernet.

Three hours later…..THREE HOURS LATER…..they made an announcement and called us back to the gate. The attendant waited until everyone was back (which only took about two minutes because like I said, well, picture a Walgreens), and announced that they had decided to cancel the flight.

WWWWWHHHHAAAATTTTT????? At which point, the American girl in me reared her mouthy head, and in a loud voice, I said, “Are you fucking kidding me? You are going to cancel the flight and leave us stranded here? That’s so fucked up!” The rest of the timid Canadian passengers all looked at me with a ghastly look on their faces, and the attendant said ‘excuse me young lady, there is no need for language like that.’

Was HE fucking kidding me? After no sleep the night before, and a day from hell, they were cancelling the flight, and he expected to see the polite Canadian girl say ‘Oh gosh, oh no, well…okay, okie dokie, you betcha!’ He went on to say that we had the option to get off the plane, take our luggage, and make our own way home – which he didn’t recommend as the roads were treacherous and it was blizzardy with zero visibility – or they would fly us back to Calgary and try to get us out on a flight the next day or two.

I was now trembling with fatigue and frustration, and noticed that most of the hearty Canadian passengers on board had chosen to figure out a way back to Brandon – the five hour drive across the blizzardy-zero-visibility-icy-roads seemed a better bet than the ‘let’s try and get you on a flight AT CHRISTMAS on the already-fully- booked-one-flight-a-day planes heading to Brandon.’ I borrowed my new bar buddy’s phone and called my mom sobbing saying that I thought my best option was to befriend a fellow passenger and head home. She said the roads were awful and begged me to go back to Calgary, adding it would literally kill her if something happened to me on the way home.

It turns out that Canadian mothers are full of ‘Jewish Guilt’ as well, so heading back to Calgary it was going to be for me, in fact only 9 passengers all together decided to head back west. My new bar buddy was also heading back to Calgary, as she lived there and at least could go home, so once again about 1 ½ hours after all the luggage was unloaded, I bundled up again, walked up the icy metal stairs, and headed back on to the propeller plane for another 90 minute flight.

The flight attendants felt sorry for us, and handed out free drinks and food, but I was so tired and upset that it hardly took the edge off. By the time we landed in Calgary it was 10:00 pm, I had left my cousins at 6 am…I was exhausted. I barely had the energy to go and get my bag, and I had the choice of sleeping in the airport lobby or finding a hotel. Somehow I knew that it if didn’t lay on a bed that night, that the next day a TMZ worthy meltdown was likely to happen, and I didn’t think an orange jumpsuit would be a good holiday memory.

One hundred and eighty five dollars later, I had a room at the hotel at the airport, and all I wanted was a bath, and to sleep. I emailed my travel agent getting her to waitlist me on any configuration possible for the next day and told her that if I didn’t make it home on Monday, then I was heading back to LA. I wasn’t going to be one of those people interviewed on the news waiting in the airport for five days trying to get home. Chinese Food take-out seemed like a perfect Christmas option number two to me.

Of course, I never slept, I tossed and turned because I had to be back at the airport by 6 am to waitlist myself for flights. The next morning, back at the terminal gate by 7 am, I found my new 9 friends again – each hoping that we would somehow get on a flight into Brandon – we waited patiently for some sort of news.

And then, a Christmas miracle happened – or more likely, WestJet had a situation, a Christmas-bad press situation. You see not only were we stranded in Calgary, but a whole plane full of people who were leaving Brandon could also not depart yesterday for their holiday travels. WestJet informed us that they had decided to bring in a plane from somewhere else to fly us into Brandon. I didn’t even know if I should believe them, and it wasn’t until I was back on board that I called my mom and said it looked good for a 2:30 pm pick up that afternoon in Brandon. I was optimistically Christmas hopeful at this moment.

Two more hours across the prairies, me praying for cooler temperatures and no ground fog; believe me, the screams of glee from the nine passengers was deafening when the wheels touched down on the small landing strip at the Brandon airport. I was home. My mom and sister were there to get me. I had been traveling for 72 hours. I was exhausted. I could barely speak.

But…..I was home for Christmas. And at the end of the day, that was all that really mattered. And the trauma slowly lifted as I ate my mom’s home cooked happiness, slept and watched TV and enjoyed the beauty of the Canadian Christmas winter topography. And, I prayed that the ‘Universal Weather Gods’ would not punish me with a return trip from hell – which turned out was only 4 days away as the 3 days of travel had eaten up half of my vacation time. I had 3 days at home before on the 4^th day I had to head back to the little metal stairs and sit on that damn propeller plane for hopefully, only, 2 hours!

So as I get ready to pack for my annual Christmas trip home, brining essentials in my carry on in case I am stranded somewhere, at the end of the day I know that arriving safe is really all that matters. And if braving holiday travel and the cold means that I get to spend that one special day with my family, then all the drama and bullshit that goes along with getting there really doesn’t matter, does it?

So, I am wishing you all out there the happiest holiday season, wherever you go and for whatever you celebrate, I hope it is full of love. And I pray that during one of these ‘Christmas in Canada’ winter wonderland trips home, you don’t see me on the news being hauled off in cuffs with only an orange jumpsuit to look forward to for the foreseeable future! Or if I do, at least you might have some empathy as to ‘why’!

Ho ho ho…Merry Christmas…Joyeux Noel…. Feliz Navidad… Happy Hanukah!!!!

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