They Put a Bitch in JAIL.

What do you get when you cross



with



?














Yep. Like Uma Thurman, I have a stalker. And like Vito Fossella, I have a record.

First up for discussion ... the stalker.I'm not planning to prosecute. I figure I should retrieve the bail money my boss put up and find a way to serve house arrest on my own case before pursuing any personal prosecutorial cases. Plus, I really like him.

Dan is smart. Handsome. And a filthy rich gallery owner who sells photographs for hundreds of thousands of dollars every day. You could do a lot worse for a stalker.

Dan is obsessed with me. And I get it. You deal with these kinds of things when you're a brilliant blogger who puts their whole insane life into words for the world to read. But, what bothers me is how he stalks me.

8:45 AM
Tits. (He calls me Tits. Has something to do with some Will Farrell movie. I just go along with it.) I don't know why you never call me. I'm officially putting you on probation. This is a warning. There won't be another one. Good bye.

9:08 AM
Susan. What is your issue? Why do you not call me back? It is offensive and rude. Maybe you're in prison again. I don't know. Bye.

9:27 AM
Hey Tits McGee. I'm thinking that you should start writing country songs. It's just a thought that came to me. You could make millions just writing your life story to music.

See what I mean? I don't even get a chance to call back and when I don't, he makes snide comments about my white trash background and digs at my recent incarceration.

10:23 AM
I've called you four times now and you never call me back.

Jack Jordan could take lessons from Dan.

So. Yes. The arrest. Here's how it happened:

As I told you, I drove to Kentucky for an event recently. I take two days to travel and finally arrive at the Brown Hotel looking forward to rest and a world famous Hot Brown. I park the truck behind the theatre and head in to meet with the rest of my crew and have a well-deserved glass of wine.

Of course, being an event planning (aka party planning) company, we're into having a good time. And my well-deserved glass of wine turned into a couple of vodka tonics and several glasses of wine. Who knows? I wasn't counting.

Then, it's time for bed and with our PowerPoint Guru in tow, I head back to the truck to retrieve my luggage before piling my drunk ass into bed. As Amy (PP G) and I are leaving the truck, the IATSE theatre guys come out of the backstage door and tell me I have to move the truck. (IATSE is the official Theatre Stage Hand union and they mean business.

Me: Dude. I'm drunk. I'm not moving the truck anywhere. Here are the keys.

IATSE Theater Guy: Can't. Union rules. You have to move it. What about her? (Pointing to PP Guru)

Me: She's as drunk as I am. Not happening.

IATSE TG: Seriously. It's gotta move. It's only 20 feet.

Obviously, what happens next is that I am peer-pressured into drunk driving in the back alley of a Louisville, Kentucky theater and of course, I hit the front fender of a car.

The IATSE lighting guy's mother's car.

As I'm going through my litany of, "I told you I was in no shape to move a 20' long truck," and "I'll pay for everything. Don't worry," guess who shows up?

Five - oh.

Yep. Someone somewhere called the fuzz. Or they just happened to be driving by and saw the crowd and the collision damage. Whatever the case, I ended up desperately trying to muster every bit of balance I have to walk a straight line and to follow his pen with my eyes. I fail miserably and next thing you know ...

Click.

People. For those of you who have never been arrested while drunk in Kentucky, let me tell you. There is no feeling more despairing than that first click of handcuffs around your wrist. I don't remember the second click. Perhaps that is because I was sobbing uncontrollably and begging this guy to please, please, please not take me to jail.

After all, I had to work at eight the next morning.

I drove to Kentucky last week for a job we were doing in Louisville. I rented a 20' box truck and picked it up from midtown at 11 last Friday morning. From there I drove to Long Island City to pick up video and audio gear and I was on the road by 2pm.

Our client had planned to use a local A/V company and at the last minute they bailed. Our gear is more expensive and there's a pretty big shipping cost, so to try to save them money, I volunteered to drive down. I was kind of excited about it.

One thing -- I like driving. Now that I live in New York and no longer own a car, I rarely get the opportunity to drive. Plus, a road trip all alone rocks. So, I take off and drive all the way to Columbus the first night. People. They upgraded me to the Presidential Suite at the Hyatt. I am so excited. I walk in and the place is enormous. I have three bathrooms.

One has a bidet.

I have my own little cedar sauna. Seriously. And I have a wet bar. By the time I got to the hotel it was past one in the morning and all I wanted was a glass of wine and to sit and watch TV. When I saw this place I was in heaven. Then I checked the fridge. Nothing. No wine, no beer, no water. Nothing.

Before I arrived at the hotel I requested that a cheese and cracker plate be left in my room for me. I knew it would be late and I'd be starving. Guess what. No cheese.

So I call Room Service.

RS: Ma'am. Room Service closed at midnight.
Me: I can't get anything? I don't need anything to be cooked.
RS:No, Ma'am.
Me: What about wine? Can I buy a bottle of wine?
RS:No, Ma'am! It's illegal to bring liquor into your room in Columbus!
Me: Okay. Thanks.

Now I go downstairs to talk to the desk people because there is no point in continuing this with her and time's a ticking.

DP:Yes Ma'am? [I swear I thought only Southerners did this.]
Me: Hi. I requested that a cheese plate be left in my room for my arrival tonight and it's not in there.
DP: I'm sorry ma'am. Let me check that for you. (Checks that for me.) Nope. There's nothing on your reservation. Did you get a confirmation?
Me: Yes. But that's okay. Can I get something now?
DP: No, Ma'am. I'm sorry. Room Service is closed.
Me: I realize that this is not your fault but I specifically requested that a cheese plate be left in my room for my arrival and I confirmed that I would be coming in late. I have just driven eleven hours straight and I was hoping to have something to eat when I got here. Isn't there anything you can do?
DP: I can get you some orange crackers with peanut butter.

Can I tell you how proud I am of myself? I did not freak out. I did not let the fact that I was hungry and cranky and sore from bouncing around in the world's crappiest rental truck.

I went back to my palatial suite, gave myself a little pep talk, drank some tap water out of one of the champagne flutes from the not-so-wet bar, and took a sauna.

I am SO growing.