Fulgencio M.'s Profile

I stumbled upon this company while doing a Google search for venereal diseases.  http://Flelite.com?  It sounds like something my doctor cured 8 months ago.  Imagine how surprised I was when I clicked on the link and realized "FL" stood for Florida and "elite" stood for "elite."  I was shocked.

Dania Beach is my homeland, but I haven't always lived in South Florida.  My modeling career has taken me all over the world, so sometimes I've just had to live in fabulous places like Jersey City and Providence.  FYI industry outsiders, Prada only shoots in Jersey.

The day I stumbled across http://FLelite.com, I was living in Jersey working part-time as a model and part-time as a pool boy for a mob kingpin.  i.e., this girl needed a vacation.

At first I was hesitant to book a vacation rental through Florida Elite Group.  I mean hEllO, why not just get a hotel, I thought?  But then someone told me if I book a hotel I might be mistaken for a tourist.  I only like to be mistaken for two things: anorexic and European.  As a result, I called the office and was greeted by the ultra-fabulous Ms. Marilyn Hernandez.  She is an independent woman to the max--like a Latin Beyonce without the weave.  Girlfriend's hair is real, and so is her business!

She set me up with a short-term rental at the glamorous Ocean Place.  It was the only building in her inventory that I hadn't been thrown out of at some point in history.  And my stay?  I have three words about my experience: O M G.  The room was amazing, clean, and most of all Ms. Hernandez's customer service was meticulous.

These days I'm living in South Beach, but when my friends visit, I always point them in the direction of Florida Elite Group.  And that's rare, because I don't even know directions to my own apartment.

So, tourists: if you're smoking hot, male, and have a six-pack, then stay at my place for free.  If you're not, then book through Marilyn Hernandez at Florida Elite Group.  But don't tell her Fulgencio Milano sent you.  She might hang up.  Restraining orders are such a silly thing...

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

You can imagine my shock when I walked into this hotel and saw that they were growing grass at the front desk!  Had the W on Lexington been overtaken by environmentalists?  I hoped to God that this wasn't one of those "green" hotels.  I've given up dating and befriending all "green" people for 2010.  They're cheap dates, smell like granola, and spend too much time outside.

Once my grass shock was over, a kind counter lady checked me in (and checked me out too--hEllO), and sent me up to my room.  And that's when the worst thing EvEr happened!

Are you ready?  There was a table of free hot chocolate.  How the hell am I supposed to maintain my ridiculously thin jean size with such amazing, rich, chocolately hot chocolate?  It was like Kobe Bryant packaged into a drink.  You know he's cheating on you left and right but it tastes so good that you don't give a damn!  And so after I downed three hot chocolates I crawled to the elevator and wallowed in self-pity.

Rooms are whatever.  No big deal.  Your standard W bed... smaller than small room.  The W's in Times Square and Union Square are my faves.  Personally, if I was the CEO of W, I wouldn't call this Lexington Hotel a full-scale W.  There's a name for that.  It's called "Brand Diminishation."  Look it up.  I didn't.

Fortunately the rooms still carry W's bliss products, and customer service is still lovely.  I had no problem getting all the extra towels I asked for.  And that's something you should know about me.  I love towels.  I ask for towels that I have no intention of ever using.  I just like to roll around in them and pretend they're stuffed animals.  Or dirty piles of cash.

On my way down the elevator on my second night in the W, I was nearly assaulted by a desk lady trying to sign me up for an Acura.  Even though my license is revoked in 35 states I said "sure."  Then I found out that the deal was even better: someone else would be driving me!

Apparently W's have some deal with Acura.  Makes sense.   I used to have a deal with Mercedes.  I had to stay 200 ft. away from their sales lots at all times, and they wouldn't throw me in jail.

The Acura ride was smooth and high-end, but the whole time they bother you to fill out some form!  What a nuisance.  Just get my phone number.  If I won't tell you, then go to the bathroom of any gay bar in Chelsea and you'll find it.

What else can I say about the W on Lexington?  There's a young, hip bar scene on weekends.  Lots of attractive people.  And their Bliss spa is blissful.  They even give you free cucumbers and brownies while you await services!

Can the hotel help it that their rooms are so small?  I say blow the walls out and turn every two rooms into one room.  Or just put my model spread above each king bed.  That'll get return customers.

Or don't be cheap, and get a bigger room!!

If you want to stay at a New York W, I'd check out Times Square or Union Square first.  After?  Go with Lexington.  The management does a nice job with what they're given.  I enjoyed it, and I have high-end tastes.  And you MUST try the hot chocolate.  You also MUST try that one man in room service... hot dAmN!

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

I was in San Francisco on a photo shoot (of cOUrsE), modeling suits for a high-end Italian name that I'd never be so tacky as to mention in a restaurant review *cough*Gucci*cough*.  The shoot was in the fabulous St. Regis.  I'm actually banned from the whole chain, but since this was a work thing, management didn't notice.

It was about 7 PM on a Thursday night when the photo shoot ended, and my exhausted, petite little body ran to the first floor bathroom.  And to my surprise, when I re-emerged from a stall, a well-dressed Asian man grabbed my arm and hurried me to a table at Ame.

Dinner?  Models don't eat! ... but this guy was cute and the restaurant was in the St. Regis, so I figured "why not?"  My first shock came when he opened his mouth and spoke American.  My second shock came when he told me his job: investment banker.  Not only was I going to stay for dinner, but I'd even stick around for dessert too (wInk wInk).

For the first course, me and my iBanker ordered the Crudo from the sashimi bar, accompanied by the Kaisen sashimi salad.  Both were light and delicious.  If you're constantly on a diet (like me), then the Kaisen is a perfect pre-dinner choice.

Next came a special, seasonal sake with a blowfish tail in the bottom of the cup.  Fish-flavored sake?  The closest comparison I have is when I dropped a contact lense into my can of slimfast.  Within seconds it tasted like saline, and was recalled by the FDA.

Then the drama happened.  My date had been boring me all night talking about the oil industry, but who cares, I'm getting a free meal and free drAnks.  It wasn't until he changed the subject that I instantly became frightened.

Bear-market bottoms.

I may have flunked economics, but I didn't flunk Gay 101.  This iBanker across from me was clearly a panda bear (i.e. Asian guys who identify as bears).  And the drama?  He mistook me for a cub.  My knees shook.. my fingers trembled... what would happen if he found out that I was naturally hairless?  Would he go into panda rage and smash the table?  Would he not pay for my meal?  Either situation would be traumatic.

As soon as the entrée came (I ordered the Fish Spontanee, which happened to be scallops), I was sweating like a whore in church.  And I was only in a restaurant!  Luckily the delectable-ness of the scallops distracted my worries, and my date's black cod was excellently prepared.  What a meal!  Now if only the black cod would cause me to grow hair on my back, I'd be OK.

As soon as our plates were wiped clean, I was ready to ride out.  And then I saw the dessert menu...  Matcha green tea with pistachio ice cream.  Suddenly my circumstances no longer seemed so grim.  I no longer feared my panda bear iBanker.  I was no longer angry that the bus boys kept hitting on me all night.  I could even understand why the two hot blondes in the table behind us were dining with a 60 year old out-of-shape Nutty Professor look-alike.  hEllO, for his personality!!

The matcha green tea dish with pistachio ice cream made my whole world better.  And halfway through, my iBanker got a call from his wife and had to rush home (of cOUrsE after paying for the whole meal).  Lucky me... I was three minutes away from rushing to a Kmart and covering my pores with Chia seeds.

As long as the St. Regis chain doesn't have a restraining order against you, I'd highly recommend eating at Ame.

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

What the hell I was doing in Jacksonville I can never say.  In fact there are three things I can never say.

#1 - Where I'm going
#2 - With whom
#3 - For how many nights
& #4 - How many Chanel products I'll put on my credit card before the trip is over

As you know, I live in a fabulous South Beach condo, and even my homeland of Dania Beach seems too far north of my comfort zone.  Meaning: anywhere in Florida that's north of Miami is usually not where I want to be.

I forget who invited me to Jacksonville.  Maybe it was Ricky Martin.  Maybe Mark Wahlberg.  Maybe the assistant to Lady Gaga's hair stylist's assistant's assistant.  Either way, he was fabulous and famous and invited me for one night.

When my man told me we'd be staying in a loft, I expected a 3,000 sq. ft. NYC-style loft, where the sun would rise up in front of windows each morning for a natural wakeup.  I did NOT expect a hotel.

hEllO, what the hell was Aloft?  Was this like the Hampton Inn of Starwood?  Would he dare?

Divas, wear your sunglasses, because Aloft is located on a grand concourse full of McDonald's and KFC's.  If I had my photo snapped next to a KFC, the press would be all over it.  Since I'm so thin, my tactic when I'm out in public is to turn sideways, so that I disappear completely.  I did this quite a bit in Jacksonville.

So the hotel.  The rooms are modern and dark and quiet--a bit small for me--but that's just because I'm a size queen.  Large comfortable beds...a desk with lots of plugs (FINALLY), I mean hEllO, doesn't everyone travel with a blowdryer, hair straightener, mini-vaccuum, and food processor?  I know I don't.  But when I do, it's nice to have a hotel room with lots of plugs.  Especially for my hair.  Do you think it looks this good from battery power?  Of cOUrsE not.  Ask Drako.

The bathroom was better than expected--nice big shower with room for two.  But shampoo dispensers?  I guess Aloft is trying to be all grEEn or something.  Next time I'm bringing my empty L'Occitane bottles and filling them up.

Other pros: the lobby has an open snack bar, with free coffee.  At least it's free when you don't look at the sign to see how much they're charging.  Some people may look, but I don't.  And anyway, I was too busy discussing my world travels with the lovely desk man, Kyle.

I'd stay at the Aloft Jacksonville again... IF I ever go back to Jacksonville.  And if I do, I may never tell...

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

I was thrilled when I walked into Lacroix and saw the cast of Dynasty sitting in a booth.  hEllO Joan Collins, love your cheetah-print hat!

You can't imagine how disappointing it was to learn that these were just old bourgies from the Main Line.  And that's the thing about Lacroix.  It's not for the young and beautiful.  Regardless, I was taking my Jewish matchmaker Haddasah out to eat and wanted to impress her with an upscale French restaurant.

I had been to Lacroix once before, and had a fabulous time.  Hadassah and I immediately ordered wine from some cranky white guy (it wasn't their handsome sommelier... he was elsewhere).  He recommended a "whatever" white, and then we each ordered the Eight Plate tasting menu.

Thankfully the servers were sweet.  Probably just because they all wanted to get my phone number.  As Hadassah and I spread out the latest issues of American and Italian Vogue on our table (at the window overlooking snowy Rittenhouse Square), our food began to arrive.

I love it when I go to a restaurant and have no idea what I'm eating.  I have that same experience at Denny's.  I must say, the first three seafood dishes in Lacroix's tasting menu were excellent.  The halibut wrapped in hearts of palm was brilliant.  The foie gras was very good, but so buttery.  I wanted to squeeze it into a spray bottle and use it for tanning oil.  I think Joan Collins was thinking the same thing.

The venison was delicious, but I think next time I dine at Lacroix I'll just stick to fish.  All of the dishes were beautifully prepared--I mean hEllO, you don't even want to eat some because of how nice they look on the plate.

At this point Hadassah and I were low on alcohol, so I we ordered some champagne to keep us going through dessert.  Cranky retrieved us a bottle.  I was so over him, and I could tell that the old bourgie in the cheetah hat was too.  Girlfriend and I had developed a "connection" by the sixth course.  It was like heterosexual love at first sight, only the Liberace kind.

FinaLLy dessert came: a bowl of chocolate soup with a cinnamon cream and a delicious gelato.  And I dived in.  Who cares, I knew I was going to throw it up later anyway.

Dinner was grEAt, but next time I'm ordering a la carte.  Especially when I'm paying.  Yes, you heard it.  Hadassah nor the old Cheetah Girl footed me any money for the bill.  And Lacroix didn't let me use my Neiman Marcus credit card either.

If you come here, ask for a table with a view of Rittenhouse Square.  Or just go to Bibou, where you can get the same quality without all the foo-foo presentation.  I must admit though, the wine list at Lacroix is out of this world.  Just make sure that you ask for the actual sommelier.  He smiles.

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

I found Wish totally by accident.  You see, just as the Muslims face Mecca while praying 5 times per day, I face Tiffany & Co.  It USED to be Cartier, until I dated one of their store managers and learned that he wouldn't use his discount to buy me anything.  Cheap ass.  Now where was I?

Oh yes.  So, I was cruising down Collins in my fabulous ride when I noticed the word "Tiffany" in gleaming lights, high above a building.  Had I found the Tiffany headquarters?  Had they opened a new store?  I was screaming "Oh my God" more times than Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde.  After crashing into three vehicles and nearly running over a pedestrian I parked (illegally, of cOUrsE) in front of the Tiffany sign.

I threw a white scarf around my neck (to be classy, hEllO) and ran up to the building.  But when I got to the front, Melissa Etheridge was at the door and mistook me for her lesbian blind date.  She yanked me into some restaurant on the first floor of the building.  I soon found myself in a swank room with colorful light fixtures and petite tables, completely surrounded by Eurotrash.

The most amazing person ever, a server named Nelson, greeted us with menu books that lit up when opened.  I was shocked.  For fifteen minutes I closed and re-opened the menu book like a baby watching a puppet show, all the while Melissa stared at me dumbfoundedly.  hEllO, I've never been to a restaurant with such fabulous menus before.

I could tell Melissa was fed up with me because she ordered the four-course tasting menu for both of us.  For me she chose the foie gras, lobster ravioli, swordfish, and a side of truffled mac & cheese.  Anyone who knows me realizes I'd never order swordfish.  Whenever I think of that word I think of Halle Berry's boobs, and I can't help but laugh uncontrollably.

And I did.  For 10 minutes straight, until my foie gras arrived.  Oh my God.  Foie gras with wasabi and almond crumbs?  The most amazing foie gras I've ever tasted.  And honey, I eat foie gras all the time.  That's right.  I'm on PETA's "Most Wanted" list.  I don't even need to be wearing fur and they still throw paint on me.

The lobster ravioli was beautiful, almost as delectable as the foie gras ravioli at L'atelier de Joel Robuchon in New York.  Dare I say.  And the swordfish (MWA HAHA)?  The tomato compote and zucchini were excellently paired with the fish.  FYI, portions are small.  No wonder there was so much Eurotrash at Wish.  This place is not for Americans.

Best thing on the menu?  The black truffled mac'n'cheese.  Melissa and I fought over it.  Literally, she drop-kicked me on the table.  I ended up spilling some old bourgie's sauvignon.

For dessert, Melissa forced me to have the vanilla cheesecake.  She said I needed to beef up.  Honey, cheesecake doesn't create a 27-waist.  Bulimia does.

As I was enjoying my coffee and waiting for Melissa to pay, our server Nelson gave me the sad news.  That no, Tiffany & Co. has nothing to do with this building, and it "used" to be called The Tiffany and is now called The Hotel.  I had committed sacreligiosity... and was going to Cheap Jewelry Hell.  The rest of my night would be spent reciting Tiffany's return policy and anxiously waiting for my next chance to dine at Wish.

And in case you're wondering: no, Melissa never called me back.

Then again, I never gave her my # in the first place.  Boo-yah!

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

It was a cold, Friday night in Vancouver, and I decided to put on my best v-neck and venture out into the restaurant scene.  I was supposed to meet my Venezuelan pyschic, Iberiana, for dinner.  I was long overdue for a tarot reading and my matchmaker Hadassah had "not" been doing the best job of finding me a Jewish husband.

I wandered into Goldfish and was placed at a little round table in the middle of the restaurant.  As I waited patiently for Iberiana (psychics are always late), I did the unthinkable: ordered food.

"Oh my God" was the first word out of my mouth when my crispy tofu arrived alongside some glass of red.  Was it wine?  Vodka?  Manischewitz?  I don't know, but it was red and at least 13% alcohol by volume, so I drank it.

The crispy tofu was in fact crispy.  Crisp-ily delicious, too.  The inside was a bit tender, but satisfying.  For my entrée I ordered the sablefish with a side of jasmine rice.  Since Princess Jasmine is one of my fave Disney celebrities, I just had to order her brand of rice.

After tofu and two drinks, while waiting for my entrée (and my psychic), I noticed that the whole back part of the restaurant was being occupied by a party.  And... I was not invited!  How this happened, I don't know.  But my mouth was watering as I looked at the serving table full of open bottles.

Forget about the delicious sablefish with its gentle hints of coconut, coupled with Princess Jasmine's rice; the rest of my night became about party-crashing the liquor stand.  I even flirted back with our server, who had been hitting on me since the moment I sat down.  Unfortunately when I was about two flirtatious smiles away from free dranks for the rest of the night, Iberiana showed up and scared him away with all her Mardi Gras beads and her crystal ball.

Since I was depressed and Iberiana is always hungry, the two of us ordered the banana spring rolls for dessert.  And I adored it!  And hEllO, when I actually eat and like a dessert, you know it must be good.  Because I never eat.  Especially not desserts.

Goldfish is a cute place, but don't try to crash a private party.  Instead, enjoy its cool vibe, its youthful serving staff, its modern décor, and those--mmm--those banana spring rolls.  LoVe it!

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

I'd heard about Bibou through my foodie social circles.  Actually it was probably just the Bibou owners trying to get "Reviewed by Fulgencio."  I'm onto you, Pierre Calmels!!

It took me forever to find Bibou, only because I try to stay as far away from Washington Street as humanly possibly.  But when I finally found this charming little BYOB (almost as small as Little Fish!) I was hustled to my table by a beautiful hostess.

BYOB means I get to bring my own bottle, so hEllO, I came prepared.  As I was forced to wait a whole three minutes for my date to arrive, I chatted with some stuffy French guy who seemed incapable of smiling.  hEllO, this is Fulgencio you're talking to.  The least I can get is a compliment about my hair, or my radiating tan.

I was starving by the time my date arrived.  Did I mention I had to wait 3 minutes?  But it was a Make-A-Wish thing... he was poor or handicapped or something, and so I was obligated to stay.  Or maybe he just worked for Make-A-Wish.  I forget.  So anyway, the menus come and I can tell I'm in love with Bibou because I can't understand a single word.

I ordered the foie gras (of cOUrSe), and the pan-seared scallops as my main course.  Then I suffered through fifteen minutes of my date talking about what it's like to "help people" for a living.  Oh.  My God.  Someone shoot me now.  Unfortunately Bibou's bread isn't as delicious as its foie gras, so my belly wasn't satisfied until the appetizer arrived.

And the scallops?  Delicious.  The parsnip puree was just a fabulous addition.  Some of the best scallops I've had in my life.  And believe me, I've had my fair share.

I wasn't going to order dessert until our friendly server said the magic word: pistachio ice cream.  hEllO, that's like my favorite thing ever.  Between that and my goody-two-shoes date who ordered crème brulee and some cranberry pie, our table was packed with sweets.  I'll admit, I "sampled" all three.  But I needed a sugar high to get me through this nightmare date.  All he talked about was world peace and Sudan.  And who's Sudan anyway?  Is that like a pop couple, like... Brangelina ... or Speidi?  This Sudan couple sounds wild, and I think it's time for them to break up.

After dinner I left our bottle's last glass for the owner, who I'd chatted with throughout the night.  Generous?  Hell no, I was trying to ride outta there.  This Make-A-Wish date was O-V-E-R, and I needed to get as far away from Washington Street as possible.  Was Bibou worth the trip?  Absolutely.  A must for Philadelphia foodies.

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

There are only three things that I like to do on Saturday mornings.  Sleep, tan, shop, or go in search of my Jewish husband.  And so on a recent, chilly Saturday morning in Vancouver, I called my Yiddish Matchmaker, Hadassah, who demanded I get my cute ass to Siegel's Bagels on Granville Island.

I was nearly distracted by the Gucci store on my way to the ferry (which, by the way, who takes a ferry anywhere??  Helicopter, hEllO, do they know who I am?).  Since there was no landing pad at the dock, I had to squeeze into the smallest little aquabus I'd ever seen.  I knew I was in the right place because the dock was decorated in gay flags.

FYI, Canadians are too friendly for me.  At 8:30 in the morning, I don't see how anyone can smile.

I found myself on Granville Island, surrounded by mountains with snowy tips, and hungry Canadians.  "Bagels," I thought?  Did Hadassah think I'd find my dream Jew by stuffing a cream cheese'd pastry into my petite mouth?  Worth a try!

Imagine my utter shock when I arrived at Siegel's Bagels and found no Jews!  Instead I was bombarded by three older women speaking Asianese, serving me samples of smoked meat in a napkin, and then asking me what type of bagel I wanted my lox & cream cheese on.  Lox?  Did they want a hair sample?  I give these out sparingly, and standard procedure is to go through my broker (i.e. my stylist Drako at Hair Dragon in Miami, hEllO, who else?).

I requested a wheat (duh) bagel with lox and cream cheese and NO OnIonS.  hErrO, what beautiful Jew will want to meet a hot latInO like me who has onion breath?  At the register they asked me in Asianese if I wanted anything else, and since I'm slightly fluent I requested two rugelachs (or is it rugelachi?  I don't know.  I missed that day in pastry class).  The apricot was delicious, and chocolate walnut was a close second.

In Miami there are no such things as bagels.  They've all been deep-fried by the Cubans.  However if you take a roll (don't deep-fry it, fellow latinos), and cut out a round hole, apparently the Jews like this.  Maybe it's a code word for something.  But I swear I've seen them in Dunkin Donuts and I've never seen a Jewish person in Dunkin Donuts so I don't know, I'm confused.  Anyway, this 'thing' was quite tasty, except for the onions which despite my explicit instructions were snuck into my sandwich.  Clearly this older lady working at Siegel's was trying to foil my matchmaking attempts.  She must be arch-enemies with Haddasah.  I've heard of these Brooklyn-Vancouver rivalries but had never seen one until that day.

Siegel's Bagels is a wonderful treat, and worth a ferry ride.  As many choices as Dunkins has of donuts, this place has of bagels.  Bagels are the new "black."  They are totally slim, and if a 27-waist like me can eat them, you normal people can too.  How to get there?  Look for the gay flags.  Just watch out for the employees, especially if you're trying to find your dream man on Granville Island.

This has been a Review by Fulgencio

As you know, the Olympics are coming to Vancouver in February.  Or maybe you don't know.  I only know because the entire fencing, ice skating, and skiing teams are trying to date me.  I was invited to Vancouver to make sure things are "OK" for the city before the Olympics.  And I'd been looking forward to this trip for months.

Starwood is typically my preferred choice (just not Sheraton, puh-lease), and thus I booked the Westin Grand in downtown (near the gay village, hEllO, it's like oxygen).  Unfortunately they haven't built me a W yet, so I had to settle for the Westin.  At first, everything seemed okay.  I was warmly greeted and escorted to check-in upon arriving in my chaffeured town car.

Now, I know I've been accused of being dyslexic, but when they handed a room key with the number "6" on it, I knew something must be wrong.  Was that a 9?  Was the "2" invisible?   Surely they couldn't have placed me on the 6th floor.  I only stay on the 6th floor of a building if there are ONLY 6 floors, or if there are at least 30 floors below the 6th floor.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into a sixth floor room, with only two large towels, and a view of the outdoor pool (we'll get to that later).  I don't mind a view of the pool (especially if there are hot men sunbathing), but I don't want the pool to have a view of me.

I instantly put in for a room change, but dreaded the fact that I 'd have to spend at least one night in this 6th floor bedroom.  I could tell things were going downhill because there was a clothesline in the bathroom.  Was I given a room for "people who do laundry"?  hEllO, when's the last time I've washed my own clothing?  Did I fly south of the American border, or north?  At this point I wasn't too sure.

The next morning I was moved to the 21st floor.  I settled.  This time my view was much better, and included a sweeping panoramica of the downtown.  I love that word, panoramica.  It reminds me of that movie with Ethan Hawke.  Which one?  I forgot.  I probably didn't see it anyway.

Next I hit the gym.  Beware, at 5:30 it gets crowded with boys (wink wink).  A small assortment of machines and treadmills, and lots of free weights made for a decent work out.  I pumped it for about 1 hour each day.  Space is an issue.  And as ripped as the guys were in the gym, they weren't cute enough to bump butts with while performing my squats.

P.S. to the General Manager, someone must have stolen the 2 lb. weights.  Five was the smallest.  Do I look like I'm trying to gain muscle?

My king bed was comfy, and my mini-bar was stocked.  I even had a lengthy sofa (normal people probably don't get this...).  However the next hotel that provides me artificial creamer will be removed from my Starwood Alliance.

The bathroom (aside from the clothesline) is ultra-modern, which I love.  hEllO, spacious bath (and you know I love bubble baths), and a separate shower with two showerheads, so that I don't have to share with whoever my man of the moment is.  Luckily my date in Vancouver was intolerant to water, so I had the shower all to myself.  I dumped him this morning, when I realized we could never vacation in Hawaii together.

Since the Four Seasons was overbooked (and SO not Starwood), I was OK with my stay at Westin Grand.  Perfect?  No.  But for me, nothing is.  I'd stay here again.  Especially since I didn't have to pay for the room.  Now that I know there's a clothesline I'll be sure to bring my laundry.

This has been a Review by Fulgencio