Meg here and I am TIRED. Living in the “big city”can wear a woman down. I had to go to my editor’s. This month cost more than I thought. I was checking my bank balance online and seemed to be in good shape for my Paris trip. My editor wanted to know when I would be at her home. I looked at the clock and said “right away.”
I was in decent spirits, the weather was gorgeous and I turned on my pop radio station as my convertible top went down. I love my car. When you spend 90% of your life in traffic you realize that is money well spent. I have no children. I have no husband. I have a cherry red Mercedes 2 door convertible that I name “Fraulein.” Like you don’t name your car?
“Fraulein” is German for “An unmarried lady.” It’s a perfect name.
Fraulein and I were stuck in traffic. Top down. Sun beaming on us. I had my Chanel purse sitting on my passenger seat. “Chanel” is the French name of a ridiculously expensive purse that American morons, like myself, spend stupid money on. It’s a perfect name.
I was in a bit of a “sketch” neighborhood. I was on Sunset Blvd. When I was stuck in L.A. Traffic. I was minding my own business. My radio was playing Katy Perry. I screamed. A huge man decided I was the perfect target to purse snatch. He came up to my car, he reached over to grab my purse. I hit “Chanel” to the floor for her safety after a blood-curling “NNOOO!”
For my own safety? I hit the gas. My instinct to “flee” was correct. Unfortunately, I fled fast and far and shaken and straight into a Porsche…
Yup, my luck? I ain’t hittin’ no Neon. I drove straight into a Porsche Cayenne. My would-be purse robber ran. I hit my lights and pulled over. You can bet Mr. Porsche did as well.
People are inherently good and Mr. Porsche saw what had happened. He was more concerned that I was OK and he was calling 911 (which never showed up by the way, that’s a different rant.) to report my attempted robbery. If you have the money, buy a Porsche. There wasn’t a scratch on his car. My beloved Fraulein was smoking and the bumper was on the ground. She maybe finished. I know tomorrow if they’re going to “total her out.”
There went my Paris shopping money.
When something like this happens, I don’t care how “strong you are.” Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was lucky to be alive and all, but it is stressful. You want to call someone. Just as a human being, you need to reach out. I want to talk about my friend Martin Genis.
This isn’t make up related. I’ve had a hard past couple of days and it’s “Monday’s With Meg” so I am allowed to go off a little here.
I didn’t know Martin, I didn’t know him one bit. I was watching a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills where I got to know Martin. Don’t go all stalker “Meg! You’re like John Hinkley Jr.!”
I watched him on the show. I loved that he was easy going. He smoked ciggarettes, he had cocktails and a wonderful laugh. He didn’t take himself too seriously, he is handsome and seemed kind and I enjoyed that even though he was profiled on this show, he seemed to be in on the gag.
I saw him on an episode on a Sunday, I mentioned to my botox Dr. (who turned out to be a mutual friend-Beverly Hills is a small town) that I would like to meet Martin Genis on a Tuesday. Because “the Universe” likes for you to participate in your own fate, Genis was picking me up for dinner that coming Friday.
Was my intuition correct? Yes. Everyone’s is. Listen you yours. We got on “like a house on fire.” Martin makes me laugh. He makes fun of me (which I appreciate.) I make fun of him (which he tolerates.)
A year and a half later, I was standing alone, my car was crashed and I was, well…Sad.
The first text I sent was to Martin. The reply came in 5 minutes, literally.
“Nut!? Are you OK?” (He calls me “NutMeg.”)
Martin Genis is the real deal. He’s funny, suave and charming. More than that, is this, when you’re standing alone in a bad part of town, scared and sad…He’ll be there for you.
He has no reason to do these things except for the fact he’s really someone I wish everyone gets to know the like of in their lives.
There has been a year and a half of drama (oh, I attract it) illness (I get sick a bunch) and the up’s and down’s of life and Martin Genis has poured me a vodka and turned on Top Gear and the BBC through all of it. ALL OF IT. All with a twinkle in his eyes and a killer sense of humour and a giving heart that doesn’t quit.
Why don’t we date? Why ruin a perfectly great friendship? I love him too much to date him. He feels the same (I think.) Or he thinks I’m annoying. Both valid.
The truth is Martin Genis is perfectly amazing. He’ll be coming out on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and people will want to “hate on him.” I just want to protect him. Say what you want about me, but don’t “hate on” my wonderful friend. He really is the best person out there.
I’m so blonde here, but here is a photo from the first time Martin and I met.
Who is your bestie? Martin Genis is a perfect name…