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rome after dark

When I travel, I become someone else. Perhaps it’s closer to who I really am. Who I strive to be at home. Regardless, I feel freer. I do things I may not do at home. I pack my life with as many moments as possible. Each one escalated. Playing in HD. Essentially, I live on more whims.

I went to Italy in October. Pasta, sun, history, wine and men. Inevitably men. I don’t know why more single women don’t flock to Italy for a burst of attention. While I was in Italy on my first mother-daughter trip, I knew there would be distractions of testosterone. Around every brick corner, under each archway, and on a variety of bar stools. The Italian stallion is no myth. Read more

infatuation strikes

Last month during the film festival hoopla in Toronto, I sat on bar stools. In actual fact it was here that I felt more comfortable, more at ease, than at the parties and festival events. The bar stool was mine. A safe haven. A portion of the bar to claim as my own. It’s easier to be alone when in an environment more acceptable to ride the solo highway. Read more

hollywood’s seedy and golden ages

I appreciate a dive bar. You know the kind (I hope you know the kind). Glassware with questionable marks staining the rim. Gum and other sticky treasures permanently affixed under bar surfaces. An indistinguishable odor permeating the air that would be in everyone’s best interest to stay unknown.  Sweat dripping down the walls like candle wax. Shady characters who may never have seen the light of day hiding out in darkness, beady eyes staring down on you, the imposter. Read more

hijinx in the british countryside

It was a beautiful summer day in the country. The British country, that is. Picture it: rolling hills, stately mansions, posh morning suits, fancy hats. Why all my friends can’t get married in Britain, I’m not sure. The setting was right out of a Jane Austen novel with a pinch of cheeky, floppy haired Hugh Grant thrown in. Read more

behind closed doors

When I think about what Parisians do behind closed doors, it usually involves heady red wine and stimulating political or art talk, mixed with a strong waft of seduction. The recent experience I had in the magical city of Paris was quite the opposite. My fantasies of sipping on Calvados while listening to jazz in an airy apartment in Montmartre living la vie de bohème were dashed. It was in fact a slap in the face back to the 21st century. Read more

travel prague: buddha-bar hotel

Eastern Europe has experienced a rising influx of visitors over the past decade – people wanting to take advantage of the region before it gets completely swallowed up in tourism and starts to resemble the often commercialized West. It was this reason, amongst numerous others, that brought me to Prague in the Czech Republic. Read more

childhood impulses

For those who know me, they also know that a trip to Los Angeles isn’t complete without a trip to the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. It was Saturday night and we were looking for trouble. After a delicious dinner at Cleo, followed by disappointment at not being able to get into Beso due to a private party, we decided on drinks in the newly opened Spare Room at the Roosevelt. We had visited the Spare Room two nights before and watched a well known svelte singer beat a hunky (yes, I said hunky) actor in bowling, and we fell in love with the carefree atmosphere in the bar. Read more

travel los angeles: sls hotel

As we rolled up to the SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills in our over-the-top Cadillac Escalade we knew we were in for a weekend filled with luxury, a stimulation of the senses and beautiful people. It’s the kind of hotel where you want to look your best at all times because there’s no telling who you may run into – hot to trot business men, provocative starlets, charming leading men or handsome Vancouver hockey legends like Trevor Linden (honestly, if we run into him in the hallway of our hotel in Los Angeles, isn’t it meant to be?). Read more