Archive for February 23rd, 2009


First Month Marker: Mistaken Identity & the DEA

They say the couple that plays together stays together. Or is that prays together? Anyway that question is irrelevant; my real question here is…what happens to the couple that wanders accidentally into the middle of a DEA sting operation on, hm, about the 10th date, and not only comes through it together unscathed, but also extends that date into a one-week slumber party? Because that is basically what just went down w/me and Jimmy the Pirate.

We were doing absolutely nothing untoward when it happened. Nor do we ever, really—at least, nothing that would possibly interest the DEA. My friends hahaha this, but it’s true.

What happened is, Jimmy the Pirate was parking my car right outside of his house in West Hollywood.  It was a weeknight. I had driven, but didn’t feel like reversing into a small space, so down he came b/c he is a sweetheart like that. As he’s parking, a neighbor says hello, and JTP says hello back. I cross the street over to the car. The neighbor crosses in the other direction, where I had come from–and several men run at him from out of the bushes, all dressed in black. JTP says, “Oh, shit, they just pulled guns on that guy,” and tries to lead me quickly away into safety. The random scary thugs in black shout, “Wait there was another guy. Get him… HEY YOU. We see you. Come out and put your hands up.” Jimmy walks out & two guys point 9mms at him.  At this point, we both think it is a hit and we are toast. I crouch down quietly behind a bush and start trying to get my phone and call 911, while realizing I will never be able to get the police over here fast enough to save us.  I will admit, my hands were shaking.

Then, due to how coordinated the whole thing was and how professional-like the thugs in black are holding their guns, JTP guesses, “Wait are you guys cops?” And sure enough, they start flashing badges and confirming: DEA, baby. These are not stone killers—they are cops on a drug bust. WOW.  We immediately start thanking our lucky stars, but notsofast!!  Swiftly they announce that Jimmy is being detained as the suspected accomplice of random-dude-crossing-the-street.

“Why?” I wondered out loud, crawling out from behind the bush. Whereupon the pack of overzealous policemen greeted me and, very nicely, detained me too.  For about an hour. Till they ran JTP’s license over at the home office and verified that he was not a criminal, but rather a veteran and upstanding employee of network television, who happens to occasionally rub cops the wrong way for no reason at all.

(Well, actually, there is a reason. It is because of his tattoos. If you were ever wondering whether tattoos down the forearms make a statement, I am here to tell you, yes they do. They say, “Arrest me immediately.”  Cool, right?)

Anyway. Eventually there was no more questioning or running of documents or patting-down-of-innocents to  do, so the cops took down his cell phone number and let us go. They remained outside sweeping the entire neighborhood & rounding up all kinds of folks for hours. We suspect they may have listened in on us having sex too. There is absolutely no evidence of that whatsoever, but if the DEA can accuse people of doing things on a completely unfounded basis, I figure I can do the same to them.

And happily, it did not hurt my blooming relationship in the slightest. Probably the opposite, because I can now say for 100% sure that my boyfriend (!) definitely does not have a criminal record. Not even an outstanding speeding ticket. Which is more than I can say for myself.


Oscar night at the St. Regis

A couple of months ago, I wrote* about the re-opening of the St. Regis Hotel. Located kitty-corner from my old haunt, the Railway Club, and central to much of downtown Vancouver, the 95-year-old edifice has been renovated with the business type on-the-go in mind—free wireless and local calls, passes to a nearby high-end gym. The wreckage in my condo, from current renovations, was all the excuse we needed to check out a local hotel; the folks at the St. Regis were kind enough to accommodate.


By luck, the night of our stay coincided with an event of such magnitude and vapidity, the Twister and I needed a TV. We tuned the flat-screen in our (“junior”) suite (there’s a screen in the bedroom as well) to the Academy Awards, so I could watch the dwindling returns of the ballot I’d cast at work. Pfft, 2 bucks gone up in smoke, and bad Hugh Jackman dance routines.

As for the show itself… Jackman was lame, Joaquin Phoenix was ridiculous but kind of funny, Daniel Craig was unbelievably stiff, Anne Hathaway was kind of sexy when doing the opening number, but why does every academy awards show have to start with a moronic opening # incorporating all the nominees? Sean Penn’s speech was heartfelt and cool, Kate Winslett lost it, and Slumdog Millionaire proved a sleeper hit. I can’t begrudge director Danny Boyle though because Love Actually is the best Christmas movie ever. And Mickey Rourke thought about his chihuahua. “He’s here with us,” he told Canadian commentator Ben Mulroney** on the red carpet.


Back to the St. Regis… I have to say, I like the decor and the colours; espresso brown, pale blue. It’s a tight little room for a suite but cozy. More than enough room for two people, even if one of them is the Twister (ba-DUM). And I mean that personality-wise… eager to get out of the disaster area that is our condo, we came for checkout time, 3 p.m., and around 6 went down for dinner at the St. Regis Grill: crab cakes, sambuca prawns, meatlovers’ pizza (which I’m regretting) and a chicken salad.


Following the Academy Awards, we thought we’d dial up the year’s winner for Best Picture; but we only got a few minutes into Slumdog Millionaire before exhaustion, and the comfort of the bed, took over. By then, though, all I could think about was the continental breakfast that would be mine upon awakening. I do love a good continental breakfast.

*For another publication.

**Why does this man have a job?

February 2009

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