Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I think I might be dying...
This is day 4 of my illness, and I couldn't go to work today. I must get better by the time I fly home to New Orleans, otherwise it won't be a pretty sight. If I don't post again, my 2 french readers, you'll know what happened. It was fun reporting to you the pointless details of my somewhat unimportant life as NYC Paralegal...au revoir....
Read more
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
I just want to take a break from the Real World...
To wish you, mt 2 French Readers, a Happy Holiday!
Couple of points I want to make:
1) Now that Tina is a certified YouTube Star...you think she could try and get her Audio/Visual in line, don't you?
2) How many minutes did it take you to realize she was singing a Christmas Carol?
3) Tina has definitely got the, "oh no you didn't" hand wave in front of the face DOWN as far as dance moves go.
4) On a scale of 1-10, how sad does it make me if I sing along to Tina singing Backstreet Boys songs. I had delusions of making a youtube video of me singing and dancing while watching Tina sing and dance, but then I realized I am almost 24, I have a job, and am applying to law school. Maybe not a good idea.
As I was writing this post, I discovered Tina's blog. Looks like girlfriend actually DOES have her life more together than me. Allow me to post an excerpt,
AWESOME. So Tina can find love, and the homeless men on the street just want me for my consistent housing.
Although, just when I begin to hate Tina b/c she has a Christian boyfriend who is the only guy for her, she says something so profound,
What Tina is trying to say here is, "Everyday I'm Hustlin", and, I must say, aren't we all "hustlin" in one way or another daily? With those words to live by, I bid you good evening. Read more
Couple of points I want to make:
1) Now that Tina is a certified YouTube Star...you think she could try and get her Audio/Visual in line, don't you?
2) How many minutes did it take you to realize she was singing a Christmas Carol?
3) Tina has definitely got the, "oh no you didn't" hand wave in front of the face DOWN as far as dance moves go.
4) On a scale of 1-10, how sad does it make me if I sing along to Tina singing Backstreet Boys songs. I had delusions of making a youtube video of me singing and dancing while watching Tina sing and dance, but then I realized I am almost 24, I have a job, and am applying to law school. Maybe not a good idea.
As I was writing this post, I discovered Tina's blog. Looks like girlfriend actually DOES have her life more together than me. Allow me to post an excerpt,
"I hade a dating video on youtube one time and I just wanted to tell all of the guys that I am not single anymore. I have a wonderful boyfriend who loves me and cares about me and is a Christian. If you are sad I am not single then don't be. I wouldn't want you to be sad. I thought that I would never have that many guys like me. I am glad I found the only guy for me. He cares about me a knows me. I am happy to be with him. DON'T BE SAD GUYS!"
AWESOME. So Tina can find love, and the homeless men on the street just want me for my consistent housing.
Although, just when I begin to hate Tina b/c she has a Christian boyfriend who is the only guy for her, she says something so profound,
"I still need more fans. I will not let my parents take over me being a superstar."
What Tina is trying to say here is, "Everyday I'm Hustlin", and, I must say, aren't we all "hustlin" in one way or another daily? With those words to live by, I bid you good evening. Read more
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Real World Hamaca - The Canadians Arrive
On the last episode of The Real World Hamaca, the city girls were left wondering if there were any attractive men on the island, whether the staff was involved in a prostitution/drug ring, and why there were beds out in the middle of the ocean.
One thing you should know in advance about the Real World Hamaca was that the nightlife was...somewhat lackluster. There was 1 discoteca, and it was ironically named "Sport Bar". Yes, Sport, not Sports...Sport. Apparently in the DR they only play 1 Sport. So, our first night on the Island, we go to Sport Bar to find some party. When we arrive, there are, at most 9 people in there, and they were basically touching themselves whilst dancing alone. So, in true Mount Holyoke fashion, we immediately abandon ship, and find solace in the late night snack shack called "Mangos".
So, after another day of sun and Italian propositions...we make our way back to Sport (singular) Bar. But when we walk in this time, the scene is packed with hordes and hordes of awkward north american looking types. Apparently, the chartered flight from Edmonton, Canada had arrived. We immediately pick out a group of awkward Canadian guys. We didn't seem to take note that there were 4 of them, and 3 of us. Someone was going to lose out. But maybe that person was the lucky one....
So, we decide to reel in the Canadians in our own way. Some just pulled their dresses down, some put on some more lip gloss, some smiled a lot. But I, who was far on the route to "drunk mess", decide to challenge one of the 3 canadians to a beer chugging contest. For whatever reason, I thought this would be the way to a man's heart. Fast-Forward 1 minute, and I have most of my beer all over me, my hair was a mess, and the Canadians were gone. But fear not, all was not lost for your quirky protagonist.
At this point, my details become extremely sketchy. Abandoned by all my friends on the beach, I was armed with only my converse sneakers, and my superior spanish language skills -- a recipe for success, no? Somehow, I befriended some Dominican DJs, who lured me to the beachside bar. So, there I was, running at the mouth in espanol, whilst simultaneously singing. At this point, this extremely tall and lanky red haired canadian approached me. He, apparently, had taken a liking to me. To which I responded, "Hey, Canadian, have you ever seen American Pie? You look JUST like the Sherminator." For my 2 french readers who aren't familiar with American Pie, here is a picture of the Sherminator:
Things you should know about the Sherminator: 1) he responded every time I called him "Sherminator", as if it were his name, 2) He would never tell me his exact age, but insisted time after time that he was "legal", 3) He followed me to every place I went to on my 2 hr Drunken Journey, offering to hold my drinks, and stand their awkwardly. I figured, if he is here with his friends, and he is legal, and willing to hold my drink for me, there is no reason i shouldn't stop him from following me around the whole beach.
So, Sherminator and I found ourselves at an impromptu Canadian/Dominican DJ party at one of the beds in the ocean. At this point, I am in the Ocean wearing my Jeans, my shoes are god knows where, and the Sherminator is holding the 3 drinks I had acquired like a dutiful butler. We're talking (me, mostly in spanish), when all of the sudden i see a NEW canadian signal to me to come around to the other side of the impromptu bed party. So, I do. Seemed like this Canadian had a surprise for me. He had fully exposed himself, and he was standing there smiling. I gave him this extremely horrified, "i'm a classy southern lady", look, to which he responded, "you like?" Because the Canadian couldn't pick up on my southern disgust, I tried a new tactic. I responded, "Oh, I love it when a random underage Canadian flashes me in the Ocean of a quazi third world country..and the fact that you're packing that much heat just makes it all the better", and he was like "you know it eh?". Word to the wise, Canadians from Edmonton DON'T PICK UP ON SARCASM.
Enter into the Scene 2 of my frazzled looking friends: "LAYNE LAYNE LAYNE WE THINK OUR 4TH FRIEND IS DEAD, SHES DEAD. SHE'S NATALIE HOLLOWAY. DEAD, LAYNE WE CAN'T NAVIGATE THIS COUNTRY WITH OUR ENGLISH, WE NEED YOU, LAYNE". Being the uncommon woman I am, I quickly ditch the 1 Canadian with it all hanging out there, and the Sherminator holding my 3 drinks. We run towards the beach, when I realize that someone has STOLEN MY CONVERSE, or maybe they floated into the ocean -- but either way, they were gone. We run, like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, towards our hotel room, where we find Friend 4 asleep like a baby in the hotel room.
The next morning, as I walked towards the beach, I had about 40-50 people come up to me and say, "HEY NEW ORLEANS! how you doing this morning". I clearly have no memory of meeting these people, so it is safe to say my account of the evening is probably short a few thousand details.
On the Next Episode of the Real World Hamaca, I find out the Sherminator isn't who he says he is, I try to teach the 3 Canadians who snubbed me from the previous night a thing or two about semantics, the most awkward beer pong party of life occurs in our hotel room, a recently married 28 year old from Maryland tries to set me up with some Greek Dentists living in London in the DR doing dental work on poor children, and I meet the 19yr old Canadian Opera Singing wunderkind named Spence, and fall a little bit in love with him. Read more
One thing you should know in advance about the Real World Hamaca was that the nightlife was...somewhat lackluster. There was 1 discoteca, and it was ironically named "Sport Bar". Yes, Sport, not Sports...Sport. Apparently in the DR they only play 1 Sport. So, our first night on the Island, we go to Sport Bar to find some party. When we arrive, there are, at most 9 people in there, and they were basically touching themselves whilst dancing alone. So, in true Mount Holyoke fashion, we immediately abandon ship, and find solace in the late night snack shack called "Mangos".
So, after another day of sun and Italian propositions...we make our way back to Sport (singular) Bar. But when we walk in this time, the scene is packed with hordes and hordes of awkward north american looking types. Apparently, the chartered flight from Edmonton, Canada had arrived. We immediately pick out a group of awkward Canadian guys. We didn't seem to take note that there were 4 of them, and 3 of us. Someone was going to lose out. But maybe that person was the lucky one....
So, we decide to reel in the Canadians in our own way. Some just pulled their dresses down, some put on some more lip gloss, some smiled a lot. But I, who was far on the route to "drunk mess", decide to challenge one of the 3 canadians to a beer chugging contest. For whatever reason, I thought this would be the way to a man's heart. Fast-Forward 1 minute, and I have most of my beer all over me, my hair was a mess, and the Canadians were gone. But fear not, all was not lost for your quirky protagonist.
At this point, my details become extremely sketchy. Abandoned by all my friends on the beach, I was armed with only my converse sneakers, and my superior spanish language skills -- a recipe for success, no? Somehow, I befriended some Dominican DJs, who lured me to the beachside bar. So, there I was, running at the mouth in espanol, whilst simultaneously singing. At this point, this extremely tall and lanky red haired canadian approached me. He, apparently, had taken a liking to me. To which I responded, "Hey, Canadian, have you ever seen American Pie? You look JUST like the Sherminator." For my 2 french readers who aren't familiar with American Pie, here is a picture of the Sherminator:
Things you should know about the Sherminator: 1) he responded every time I called him "Sherminator", as if it were his name, 2) He would never tell me his exact age, but insisted time after time that he was "legal", 3) He followed me to every place I went to on my 2 hr Drunken Journey, offering to hold my drinks, and stand their awkwardly. I figured, if he is here with his friends, and he is legal, and willing to hold my drink for me, there is no reason i shouldn't stop him from following me around the whole beach.
So, Sherminator and I found ourselves at an impromptu Canadian/Dominican DJ party at one of the beds in the ocean. At this point, I am in the Ocean wearing my Jeans, my shoes are god knows where, and the Sherminator is holding the 3 drinks I had acquired like a dutiful butler. We're talking (me, mostly in spanish), when all of the sudden i see a NEW canadian signal to me to come around to the other side of the impromptu bed party. So, I do. Seemed like this Canadian had a surprise for me. He had fully exposed himself, and he was standing there smiling. I gave him this extremely horrified, "i'm a classy southern lady", look, to which he responded, "you like?" Because the Canadian couldn't pick up on my southern disgust, I tried a new tactic. I responded, "Oh, I love it when a random underage Canadian flashes me in the Ocean of a quazi third world country..and the fact that you're packing that much heat just makes it all the better", and he was like "you know it eh?". Word to the wise, Canadians from Edmonton DON'T PICK UP ON SARCASM.
Enter into the Scene 2 of my frazzled looking friends: "LAYNE LAYNE LAYNE WE THINK OUR 4TH FRIEND IS DEAD, SHES DEAD. SHE'S NATALIE HOLLOWAY. DEAD, LAYNE WE CAN'T NAVIGATE THIS COUNTRY WITH OUR ENGLISH, WE NEED YOU, LAYNE". Being the uncommon woman I am, I quickly ditch the 1 Canadian with it all hanging out there, and the Sherminator holding my 3 drinks. We run towards the beach, when I realize that someone has STOLEN MY CONVERSE, or maybe they floated into the ocean -- but either way, they were gone. We run, like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, towards our hotel room, where we find Friend 4 asleep like a baby in the hotel room.
The next morning, as I walked towards the beach, I had about 40-50 people come up to me and say, "HEY NEW ORLEANS! how you doing this morning". I clearly have no memory of meeting these people, so it is safe to say my account of the evening is probably short a few thousand details.
On the Next Episode of the Real World Hamaca, I find out the Sherminator isn't who he says he is, I try to teach the 3 Canadians who snubbed me from the previous night a thing or two about semantics, the most awkward beer pong party of life occurs in our hotel room, a recently married 28 year old from Maryland tries to set me up with some Greek Dentists living in London in the DR doing dental work on poor children, and I meet the 19yr old Canadian Opera Singing wunderkind named Spence, and fall a little bit in love with him. Read more
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Real World Hamaca: The Hot Tub
We arrive to the Hot Tub after a long day of lying on the beach, eating, and drinking. I attempted to bring a little sport to the trip, and I went snorkeling, but the snorkeling trip was cut short b/c a small 14 yr old Dominican boy swam up to me and told me I was "so beautiful", and asked if I could please go into the village to his market to buy groceries, he'd really appreciate it. BUT I DIGRESS. Anyway -- so, we get in the hot tub. Before we can even get settled, an extremely sketchy Frenchman decides to GO SWIMMING in the hot tub, and proceeds to grope all of our legs under the water. I turned to his friends and said, "SERIOUSLY?", to which they responded, "OUI OUI OUI". I think at this point, perhaps we should have realized this Hot Tub was not a good scene.
Still, we persisted, and decided to move to the other side of the hot tub. This is when we notice that we are joined by a group of older Italian men, and a grandparently esque couple. All seems quazi normal, until I am struck with this sudden realization. The grandparently couple are wearing, no joke, their underwear. Let us keep in mind it is 5pm. The bra was, basically, see-through b/c it was wet, as was the underwear. The husband was wearing tighty whities. Adding insult to injury, Grandma saunters into the middle of the hot-tub, and she starts dancing (by herself). Okay. I mean, I can deal with this...I went to Mount Holyoke, right? That was until Grandmother's grand-daughter gets in the hot-tub, and starts lap-dancing grandma in a bikini with the words LOLITA scrawled over it.
ENTER INTO THE SCENE two dominican women in matching neon bikinis. I notice them motioning to a resort employee, who points to the hot tub. They get in. I think to myself, "something seems...suspect...about these two women who are wearing matching bikinis..." Then, I see them make a beeline for the old Italian men. I see the words, "Two Hundred" being mouthed...I see more rapid discussion, I see staff motioning to the women in the matching Bikinis, the Italians motioning "100" with their hands...the men saying, "i want you, i don't want her..", the men saying, "meet me in my room in 10 minutes"..and then it was like an epiphany: THESE WOMEN ARE ARE PROSTITUTES, and THE STAFF IS PIMPING THEM OUT.
The men get out of the water and head to their rooms -- the women then get out and follow, and we are sitting there absolutely speechless.
On the Next Episode of the Real World Hamaca...the chartered flight from Canada Arrives, things get messy, and I am found standing in the middle of the ocean in my jeans, shoes stolen, and unable to remember where I was staying, and what my name was. See you then. Read more
Still, we persisted, and decided to move to the other side of the hot tub. This is when we notice that we are joined by a group of older Italian men, and a grandparently esque couple. All seems quazi normal, until I am struck with this sudden realization. The grandparently couple are wearing, no joke, their underwear. Let us keep in mind it is 5pm. The bra was, basically, see-through b/c it was wet, as was the underwear. The husband was wearing tighty whities. Adding insult to injury, Grandma saunters into the middle of the hot-tub, and she starts dancing (by herself). Okay. I mean, I can deal with this...I went to Mount Holyoke, right? That was until Grandmother's grand-daughter gets in the hot-tub, and starts lap-dancing grandma in a bikini with the words LOLITA scrawled over it.
ENTER INTO THE SCENE two dominican women in matching neon bikinis. I notice them motioning to a resort employee, who points to the hot tub. They get in. I think to myself, "something seems...suspect...about these two women who are wearing matching bikinis..." Then, I see them make a beeline for the old Italian men. I see the words, "Two Hundred" being mouthed...I see more rapid discussion, I see staff motioning to the women in the matching Bikinis, the Italians motioning "100" with their hands...the men saying, "i want you, i don't want her..", the men saying, "meet me in my room in 10 minutes"..and then it was like an epiphany: THESE WOMEN ARE ARE PROSTITUTES, and THE STAFF IS PIMPING THEM OUT.
The men get out of the water and head to their rooms -- the women then get out and follow, and we are sitting there absolutely speechless.
On the Next Episode of the Real World Hamaca...the chartered flight from Canada Arrives, things get messy, and I am found standing in the middle of the ocean in my jeans, shoes stolen, and unable to remember where I was staying, and what my name was. See you then. Read more
Monday, December 03, 2007
F-ing Canadians
I have returned from the DR -- and the first thought that has come to my mind is "f-ing Canadians!" I will give a more complete update of Real World Hamaca when I am not so bloody tired. Talk to you then, my 2 French Readers.
Read more
Monday, November 26, 2007
The Return of Tina
Yes, Yes -- Time to get excited -- Tina has returned!!! Let us remember that in an earlier post, I came to the realization that had youtube been around when I was in middle school, I probably would have produced similar videos, although executed to a much higher standard.
I'm back in NY after what seemed like a 2 day vacay. I went to bed at 7pm, and now I am unable to sleep.
I don't really have much else to add, so I'm going to watch law and order now. Read more
I'm back in NY after what seemed like a 2 day vacay. I went to bed at 7pm, and now I am unable to sleep.
I don't really have much else to add, so I'm going to watch law and order now. Read more
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
The Hilton's go to Houston
I write to you from a La Quinta Inn and Suites in The Woodlands, Tejas.
Yesterday morning started when I was awoken by the phone call at 5:30am from my car service telling me they were waiting in front to pick me up. I had overslept, and I had obviously not even packed. I left the house wearing, literally, the clothes i slept in, and without brushing my hair. Normally I try to look my best when flying, because you never know who you might see/meet on a flight, but clearly, this time it wasn't going to happen. OF COURSE, this was the time that my flight to NOLA there were about 100 tall dark and handsome dreamboats, and also the flight where I ran into someone I knew in from HS.
As soon as I landed, the family and I embarked on a 9+ hr drive to Houston in the Katrina Minivan. In order to fill time, the Hilton family did what they do best, and my mother and I engaged in debates as Dennis moderated. You might think I am making this up, but I am not. We have rules of debate, rebuttals, topics, and time limits. My father, of course, came up with only the most logical of topics like, "old people or young people....who is better?".."what is a woman's place? the home or the white house?"...and "is Britney Spears an unfit parent, or just misunderstood?". That killed about 30 minutes of the ride. Then, for the last 8+ hrs of the ride, I came up with some general observations about parents i'd like to share with you.
Parents Love Talk Radio
Can anyone explain to me why parents LOVE talk radio? I can't STAND talk radio...if only because the AM frequency it broadcasts from is grating to the ears. I feel like my parents would listen to someone reading a tv manual if it came on Talk Radio.
Two Types of Dad
I have also discovered that there are 2 types of dad -- the stoic, un-talkative types who never show emotion, and the emotional mess Dads, who cry all the time, ask retrospective questions like, "do you think you had a good childhood growing up?" and talk to ANYONE and EVERYONE. My father, clearly, falls into Category B. Every stop we made on the torturous journey here to Texas, my father stopped to talk to someone. Usually, it was to ask directions, EVEN THOUGH we already had directions, and he always asked the most unsuspecting people. Example: Stop 1, my father asked a 15 year old who was wearing a Mickey Mouse Shirt, and flip flops. Yes dad, I'm sure this girl from outside Baton Rouge, LA who can't even drive is going to know whether there is much construction on the road between Beaumont and Houston. Next Stop, he asked this senile old man who was part of some group home outing. The man couldn't even remember that he had ordered 2 petite cheeseburgers at the mickey d's, nor could he remember his name, or how he even got to the mickey d's...but my father decided to ask him, "When do you think they are going to open up that patch of highway that they closed because of the oil spill?"
After arriving, I fell asleep on the bed in the La Quinta, and woke up 20 min later to find that my ENTIRE FAMILY had left me there, by myself. So, I decided to venture to the Denny's located conveniently next to our roadside motel, and I got a table for 1. Let me tell you something: There is nothing more depressing than a table for 1 in a suburb of houston the night before thanksgiving at a roadside Denny's. I think every person in the place pitied me SO much. Meanwhile, I was pitying them because I am on vacation, and that was their reality. Anywho, this co-ed approached me and told me that I looked like I wasn't "from around here". I, of course, started batting my eyelashes and was like, "i'm not..you're so right.." Then it dawned on me to ask him how old he was, not because I was concerned he was young, but because I was trying to figure out if he was some sort of 27 yr old engineering grad student from Rice, who was going to be the man of my dreams, and rescue me from my Table for 1. As it turns out, he was -- wait for it --- 17 years old. After sitting there quietly for a few painful moments, I was like, "oh, I'm almost 24...I should actually get going...you have a nice holiday", and I ran out of there with a quickness. Comforting to know, however, that should I want it, and should law school not work out, I could have a career as a Mary Kay Latourno (sp?) in Texas. Read more
Yesterday morning started when I was awoken by the phone call at 5:30am from my car service telling me they were waiting in front to pick me up. I had overslept, and I had obviously not even packed. I left the house wearing, literally, the clothes i slept in, and without brushing my hair. Normally I try to look my best when flying, because you never know who you might see/meet on a flight, but clearly, this time it wasn't going to happen. OF COURSE, this was the time that my flight to NOLA there were about 100 tall dark and handsome dreamboats, and also the flight where I ran into someone I knew in from HS.
As soon as I landed, the family and I embarked on a 9+ hr drive to Houston in the Katrina Minivan. In order to fill time, the Hilton family did what they do best, and my mother and I engaged in debates as Dennis moderated. You might think I am making this up, but I am not. We have rules of debate, rebuttals, topics, and time limits. My father, of course, came up with only the most logical of topics like, "old people or young people....who is better?".."what is a woman's place? the home or the white house?"...and "is Britney Spears an unfit parent, or just misunderstood?". That killed about 30 minutes of the ride. Then, for the last 8+ hrs of the ride, I came up with some general observations about parents i'd like to share with you.
Parents Love Talk Radio
Can anyone explain to me why parents LOVE talk radio? I can't STAND talk radio...if only because the AM frequency it broadcasts from is grating to the ears. I feel like my parents would listen to someone reading a tv manual if it came on Talk Radio.
Two Types of Dad
I have also discovered that there are 2 types of dad -- the stoic, un-talkative types who never show emotion, and the emotional mess Dads, who cry all the time, ask retrospective questions like, "do you think you had a good childhood growing up?" and talk to ANYONE and EVERYONE. My father, clearly, falls into Category B. Every stop we made on the torturous journey here to Texas, my father stopped to talk to someone. Usually, it was to ask directions, EVEN THOUGH we already had directions, and he always asked the most unsuspecting people. Example: Stop 1, my father asked a 15 year old who was wearing a Mickey Mouse Shirt, and flip flops. Yes dad, I'm sure this girl from outside Baton Rouge, LA who can't even drive is going to know whether there is much construction on the road between Beaumont and Houston. Next Stop, he asked this senile old man who was part of some group home outing. The man couldn't even remember that he had ordered 2 petite cheeseburgers at the mickey d's, nor could he remember his name, or how he even got to the mickey d's...but my father decided to ask him, "When do you think they are going to open up that patch of highway that they closed because of the oil spill?"
After arriving, I fell asleep on the bed in the La Quinta, and woke up 20 min later to find that my ENTIRE FAMILY had left me there, by myself. So, I decided to venture to the Denny's located conveniently next to our roadside motel, and I got a table for 1. Let me tell you something: There is nothing more depressing than a table for 1 in a suburb of houston the night before thanksgiving at a roadside Denny's. I think every person in the place pitied me SO much. Meanwhile, I was pitying them because I am on vacation, and that was their reality. Anywho, this co-ed approached me and told me that I looked like I wasn't "from around here". I, of course, started batting my eyelashes and was like, "i'm not..you're so right.." Then it dawned on me to ask him how old he was, not because I was concerned he was young, but because I was trying to figure out if he was some sort of 27 yr old engineering grad student from Rice, who was going to be the man of my dreams, and rescue me from my Table for 1. As it turns out, he was -- wait for it --- 17 years old. After sitting there quietly for a few painful moments, I was like, "oh, I'm almost 24...I should actually get going...you have a nice holiday", and I ran out of there with a quickness. Comforting to know, however, that should I want it, and should law school not work out, I could have a career as a Mary Kay Latourno (sp?) in Texas. Read more
Sunday, November 18, 2007
SERIOUSLY?
So...I just googled myself, and I discovered this site. I can't decide what is more disturbing: that I appear on this sort of IMDB database for theater at all, or that my only credit is when I played the role of "Bear" in the Jungle Book when I was in third grade? Oh, BTW -- "Bear" was one of those roles like "Tree" or "woman in village" that they added when they had too many cast-members and not enough roles. Maybe one day I'll add the rest of my roles from my esteemed career as a New Orleans thespian. Or is that pathetic? Difficult to say.
Read more
OF COURSE
Well, I've suffered another drinking related injury. We all remember when I broke a rib when falling down on a step at a bar, and had to go to Mt Sinai at 4am in tears. Well, it appears as though I may have now chipped a tooth. It doesn't LOOK chipped, but it feels chipped. AWESOME.
Okay back to Law School Applications. Read more
Okay back to Law School Applications. Read more
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