Tag Archives: Milwaukee Public Market

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Unabashedly Trashy on a Private Plane

Is it possible to act like taking a private jet is no big deal?

For some, yes. For me, hell no.

As I have stated before, white trash is doing something you know is a tad inappropriate but doing it anyway while not giving a rat’s ass. And it seems as if I fit this description every time I try to ‘be cool’ about outrageous things I get to do. So while riding in a private jet, I was my typical fabulously trashy self (hey, at least I’m consistent).

If taking a private plane is second nature to you, there is no need to take a photo of your transportation.

Hey Mom – look what I’m riding in!

But when you’re classy like me and think this may be your one and only opportunity to ever board a jet plane like a superstar (I’m the hired help), you go bananas and try to document the trip so you can prove you were actually on the plane.

Fancy folks are not impressed with the gold plated seat belt. I, on the other hand acted like it was a solid gold and felt the need to capture the moment.

Doing my very best Vanna White impersonation with the fabulous accessory. Impressive, I know.

Private planes have heavily stocked liquor cabinets that I was happy to help empty.  And, when you constantly travel via private jet, you know to sit in the seats with cup holders to hold your tasty beverages.

Not me. I had to sit on the couch because the planes I normally ride in don’t contain living room furniture.  Therefore, I had my neighbor hold my wine glass when my hands were busy.

Seat mates = cup holders on private planes.

And the glass remained in tact during landing. A classy experiment we had going on. Our traveling companions were not as amused. Go figure.

The truly fabulous jet setter knows that pilots fly the plane.  I of course had to capture the moment in the cockpit in case I forgot.

Pilots flying a plane. How outrageous.

After helping the flight attendant clean out the liquor cabinet, I had no shame in becoming her best friend. And of course I had to solidify our new found friendship with a photo.

The ever patient Chelsea who provided endless refills. You know she’s secretly thinking that this flight seems never ending with a passenger like me.

The fabulous jet setting crowd know that they can carry whatever they want onto the aircraft. I got so excited to bring the Milwaukee Public Market millionth customer gift basket aboard (over my dead body was that basket going under the plane to get banged up after the great ‘sweet potato incident’) that I spilled its contents boarding the plane, horrifically watching my loot hit the tarmac (you can breathe a sigh of relief – all of my goodies remained in mint condition.  But I don’t think the flight crew had ever seen anyone loose marbles over a cookbook the way I did as I galloped down the stairs to collect my scattered basket).

I would not let my loot leave my side. And I would not shut up about it, referring to myself as “one in a million girl.” Annoying? Yes. But not to me!

And after all that running around the runway, gathering my basket belongings, I hustled up into the plane to get a snapshot of myself acting like a lady of leisure in the talent’s seat (of course before he got on).

Oh Dahling. This old piece of metal? No biggie, I fly around in it all of the time. Where’s my glass of champs?

Oh this private jet thing is no big deal. If you’re a billionaire.

CBXB

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One in a Million

While in Milwaukee, WI last week for work, I was deemed the ‘star wrangler’ of the day.  As I was getting the talent all situated in his hotel room before a concert, I asked if there was anything else I could get before I headed back to the venue for sound check.

The second the words came out of my mouth, I immediately regretted my offering.  The talent wanted steamed salmon, grilled vegetables, a baked sweet potato and a Heineken.  Typically this request would be no problem but we were at an airport hotel with no room service and I was in a state that I had never before stepped foot. Shit.

I ran downstairs and let the overly friendly front desk clerk (who didn’t know her ass from her elbow) provide suggestions. I was able to score the salmon and grilled veggies in the same restaurant and begged them to prepare it for me before they opened for the day (I can be quite a schmoozer when the situation arises).

The baked sweet potato, however, proved to be the bain of my existence.

As I drove downtown Milwaukee, I was calling, Googling, texting (all the while sweating heavily in my underarm area) trying to locate a sweet baked potato above the Mason Dixon line. I found sweet potato fries, tater tots and chips but nothing baked. F!

I about shit as I walked into the fancy schmancy Harbor House to pick up the talent’s salmon, as I had no company cash on me and I was crossing my fingers my check card would go through.  After picking up the $30 fish and veggies, I continued the search for the baked sweet potato.

After several unsuccessful search calls to local restaurants, I decided to get the Heineken (and possibly shot gun one myself) out-of-the-way.

I wanted to stay all day at this liquor store.

After easily scoring the beer, I decided to buy a sweet potato at a grocery store and cook it in the hotel microwave (I of course had to call a Martha Stewart type in Nashville to get advice on how not to over cook in the quick heating appliance).

I ran into a what looked like a farmer’s market and frantically asked the first woman behind a counter where I could find a sweet potato (by my demeanor, you would have thought I was with a search and rescue team trying to locate a missing child).  The kind woman said “there are baked sweet potatoes at the soup counter.”

You mean already cooked, ready to eat, I can buy and get the hell outta here sweet potatoes? SCORE!  Just as I was approaching the counter, a man tapped me on my shoulder. I was clearly annoyed, sweaty and stressed because I needed to get lunch to the talent that I had left in a hotel room 55 minutes ago.

As I whipped around to let him know that I didn’t want to sample what he was pushing, or buy a flower from his basket or take a tour of the market, or whatever it was that he wanted he said, “You’re our millionth customer!”

My response was, “No shit?” I mean, I’ve never seen anyone be the millionth anything (except on TV or in movies where they win a million dollars. Wait, did I win a million dollars?!)

Turns out in lieu of cash, I won a gift basket with a cooking class certificate (obviously needed), apron (will come in handy while I bake a sweet potato), cook book (hopefully containing instructions on how many minutes to scorch a potato in the microwave) and a $50 gift card to the market.

Milwaukee Public Market loot.  Too bad I live 500 miles away, so I can’t redeem my certificates.

Who, me?! Hurry the F up and take the photo! I have a sweet potato to deliver!!

Instantly relieved with a baked sweet potato in my hand, accompanied by my basket of millionth customer goodies, I raced back to the hotel, and presented the talent his lunch and beer. To which he said, “this is cold.”

He’s one in a million.

CBXB

CBXB!