I know some people who live this much more insulated life in Los Angeles, where their feet never touch public ground. They walk out of their bathroom, their living room, they get into their garage, their car, and the next thing you know, they're at the valet parking of the restaurant or the store or the office. They're in a bubble the whole time.
I hate it when people are impolite to waiters or to the valet or the guy in the supermarket. There's no need for that; it doesn't cost anything to be polite.
To make money I picked up work as a busboy, valet parker, skateboard shop employee.
I have a wonderful road manager, and he travels with me. And my valet and friend travels with me. My little entourage is great, and they take good care of me.
I have way more freedom in Los Angeles and in the U.S. But it's funny because when I have a meeting with producers or people from the industry, we go to a restaurant to meet someone, and nobody knows me. But all of the sudden, the entire kitchen comes out, and they start taking pictures with me, or at valet parking.
Never relinquish clothing to a hotel valet without first specifically telling him that you want it back.
I was a valet for celebrity parties.
I grew up in Burbank - but not the Burbank of valet parking and TV studios. In the late 1950s, there was a small apartment complex on Elmwood Avenue that rented mostly to families on welfare. I lived there from age 3 to 11 and again from 14 to 18 with my mother, Shirley, and my younger sister, Toni.
P. Diddy gave me his valet ticket once... because he thought I was the valet lady.
I'm happy to report you still get nothing you don't need at Motel 6, and, therefore, you don't have to pay for it. I don't need valet parking. If I can drive the old crate 300 miles to the hotel all by myself, I can certainly handle the last nine feet to the parking space.
