Non Sequiturs from New Orleans

-There was a new "To Catch a Predator" on TV last night. The sting was set up in Kentucky. It seemed as though these predators were really interested in marrying the 13 yr old girl -- I'm not sure if this was a product of being in Kentucky or not. Also, a guy rolled up in his mother's PT Cruiser who had Cerebral Palsy. Before you feel sorry for him, please note that he brought an electric razor because he thought he could, "shave her down there".
-You seriously can't go ANYWHERE in New Orleans without running into someone you know. But here is the basic problem: I see someone I went to high school with, who was a year or 2 older than me, and I not only know his first AND last name, but I know what classes we took together, and where his seat was in relation to mine. They, in turn, know me as "Hey Girl", and ask me where I went to college.
- I'm pretty ready to go back to NYC -- while I absolutely love love love New Orleans, I am getting extremely claustrophobic in my parents' house. They are constantly up in my grill ALL THE TIME, asking where i'm going, what i've done, who i'm talking to, what i'm doing on the porch with my laptop. Read more

The 12 hr Journey Home

As the day unfolded, I started writing notes to myself every so often so I could remember all that happened to me.

5pm: Arrive to airport. Find throngs of travelers in their "weekend" Cali sportswear in line to check in. Notice my flight is now 1 hr delayed. Am slightly agitated, but realize it could be worse. If only I knew then that I would soon be finding out what "worse" exactly was.

6:30pm: Am not allowed to go to my gate, and instead am forced to sit on the floor next to the men's bathroom and an HSBC ATM. Decided to set up shop there, and whip out the economist in hopes of luring attractive intelligent co-ed to talk to me.

7:00pm: Nothing has happened, and no co-eds have spoken to me, regardless of how inviting I appear to be.

7:10pm: JACKPOT. Co-ed hottie in a Yale Crew sweatshirt sits down next to me, has blackberry, so I can only assume he is no longer an undergrad. Am so thrilled.

7:11pm: Realize something is not right. Coed Yale Hottie has his head down, and is looking like he may have died.

7:14pm: Notice co-ed hottie has napkins upon napkins covered in blood stuffed in his yale bag....

7:15pm: Coed hottie flees to the bathroom. Layne promptly gets up and runs away.

8:20pm: Decide to park next to an older looking woman, who is saving a seat for her daughter. Daughter appears in a Wicked t-shirt, holding a copy of wicked, and humming "defying gravity."

8:40pm: Another hottie, reading the nytimes, appears and sits behind Wicked and her mother. I see this as chance number two. However, so does Wicked. Wicked starts talking to co-ed hottie about how she goes to NYU (and presumably sees Wicked whenever she can). Co-ed hottie looks grossed out by Wicked.

8:45: I somehow weasel my way into a convo with Wicked, Wicked's Mom, and Co-ed Hottie. Eventually, I phase the two losers, out, and we start just talking. He is older, and very smart. I am smitten.

9:15pm: I have to leave my spot to brave the restroom situation, and to check on the status of my flight.

9:17pm: Flight is now postponed til 11pm, at the earliest. I start screaming, "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE F*CKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS," and people start slowly moving away from me.

9:25pm: I return to my area, and co-ed hottie is on the phone with this girlfriend. Wicked tries to start talking to me, and I was like, "yeah yeah yeah...gotta go sit by my gate terminal," and I walk away. I think Wicked probably thought, "us single girls have to stick together," when all I could think was, "Dear God, please tell me i'm not like this girl in the commemorative theater tee."

9:40pm: My phone has died, and I desperately need to charge it to inform my parents they will have to pick me up at 3am. They say, "we don't really love you that much...take a cab," and hang up on me. I realize I am sitting next to someone who could have been a body double for the curly haired guy in Super Bad. I think, "I hope this guy doesn't start talking to me.." at which point HE got on the phone and called his girlfriend. Well then. I soon realize I am the only single person, other than Wicked, in the entire terminal.

9:50pm: I start airing my general discontent with Jetblue, JFK, and start gathering support. It first started in the line at the bathroom when I yell, "..and if they are going keep us here for hours, at least they should have someone here to clean up the G-D bathrooms, come ON," then it moved to the line for the Make Your Own Salad station where I yelled, "...and if they are going to have people here for hours, at least they could have a lot of people making these G-D salads...come ON!!!" and then to the general waiting area, "....and if they are going to have people waiting here for hours, at LEAST they could have someone cleaning up this g-d mess, come ON!"

10:25pm: Have nestled myself between a crew heading towards Buffalo, and a crew headed towards Puerto Rico. At one point, I rhetorically ask the Buffalo crew, "I mean, no offense or anything...but if you've been here since like 2pm...why didn't you just drive there?? Isn't it like a 3 hour drive??" No Response, and angry looks are shot my way. The crew headed towards Puerto Rico have not sat down, and have been standing at the gate since 10pm. Meanwhile their flight was scheduled for 1am, at the earliest. I said, "why don't you sit??" and they, much like their Buffalo brethren, shoot me a nasty look.

11pm: Am on the plane. Pilot informs us we will probably be waiting at least ANOTHER 30-40 minutes til take-off. He claims he doesn't want to "over promise and under perform". I laugh out loud, and turn around to ask the plane, "can you believe this guy??"I think they then, in turn, turned to each other and said, "can you believe this girl?"

Midnight: Have gotten several bottles of wine, and have started playing drinking games with myself. The drinking game was called, "Drink the wine as quickly as possible and then flag down the flight attendant for another one."

12:20am: Am tanked. Everyone else on flight is asleep. I am not, and am watching "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" -- I keep laughing, and saying out loud, "OH Tila Tequila, you're such a ho.

3am: Land in New Orleans. Stumble out of plane, only to find my cell phone does not work. Make my way to a pay phone, and try calling my parents. Six tries later, I realize they have put the phone off the hook. I try calling their cell phones. They are turned off.

3:15am: Tears are streaming down my face, as a result of the almost 12 hr journey, inability to contact anyone I am related to, and my intoxication. A security guard asks me what's wrong, and i inform him that my parents aren't picking me up, they have put the phone off of the hook, and turned off their cell phones. I moan, "NO ONE LOVES ME," as I drag my totebag behind me, and generally look homeless. Security guard tells me, "I would bring you home, but I have to work." I go up to him and give him a hug and thank him.

3:30am: Apparently there is NO taxi stand at the New Orleans airport. Everyone from my flight is being picked up by family who loves them. I stand in the middle of the pickup area and yell, "IS THERE NOT A SOUL WHO WILL TAKE ME HOME???" Finally, a cab driver appears, and picks me up.

3:40am: Cab Driver seems very concerned that my cell won't work, and that no one picked up when I called. I gave him all of my my parents numbers, and he tries calling them from his cell. I tell him I have no problem going to my house, and standing outside of the gate and screaming til someone is forced to deal with me, but he thinks that is a bad idea because he thinks i live in a "really dangerous neighborhood." Finally my mother answers, and says someone will be waiting for me.

4am: Arrive home. Give Chris the Cab Driver a $20 tip for being so kind. Drag myself into my house, and tell my mom, "If you don't mind, i'd rather not talk to you right now," and go to my room and go to sleep. Read more

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

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,

"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

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

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

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving to you, my 2 French Readers! Read more

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

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

5 more work days til December

Yes, you read that correctly. Between now and Dec, I have T-giving in Houston/NOLA, and then the DR with the pretty one, the smart one and the slutty one. (In case you are wondering, I was dubbed the "hard-working one"--as sad and pathetic it is...it is fairly true).

I've started thinking more and more about how I am going to go backpacking when I quit my job. I think quite a bit about the day I am going to quit my job...but that is neither here nor there. ANYWAY, there are some places I obviously want to go again, even though i've been there (London, Edinburgh, Prague, Spain), but there are some other places I haven't been that I want to go to -- Vienna, Greece, South of France, Croatia. I think this backpacking trip is starting to sound incredibly elaborate, but I think I need to start planning now.

Have we all met Tina ? When I saw this clip the first question that came to my mind was, "Who is this girl in my bedroom from 1999?" Then, my second question was, "Who is this girl who stole my glasses and general look from 1999?" Then I came to a most startling realization: I am Tina, and Tina is Me. In middle school, I listened to backstreet boys. If I had the means, I probably would have made youtube videos JUST LIKE THIS. Part of me wants to email Tina, and to let her know that life won't always be like it is for her -- making videos on the internet from her bedroom...picking flower petals to find out if Justin Timberlake loves her, or loves her not. I wanted little Tina to know that one day she, too, could Live the Dream as a paralegal in New York City, and she could do glamorous things like I do, such as getting blackout drunk at Dorians, or fighting with people on the subways...or getting approached by homeless men. Yes, little Tina's future is very bright.

Love to you all, my two French Readers. Bon soiree, mon amis!

Note: I have just watched Tina sing "Everybody Backstreet's Back", and I want to state for the record that while Tina may remind me of my younger self in looks, behavior, and room decor -- I was an awesome singer growing up. I may have since lost any gift I had these last 2 years of living in new york screaming at people/not singing...but at one point in my life, I was ranked the #1 in the city of New Orleans. Yes, I'm sure you, my 2 readers, know this because I mention this fact (which occurred 6+ years ago), on a weekly basis...I think it bears repeating now. Read more

At Least it's almost the weekend....sort of...

Well...another night out. Just got home. I have recently discovered that I have a real problem transitioning from dinner to going out mode. I basically can't do it. Does anyone have any suggestions as to how to do it? Right now, I could have been at Tenjune -- but what am I doing? Lying in bed watching Project Runway on DVR. I really am Living the Dream. Read more

My "Twin"...

...Appears to be in some sort of really terrible improv troupe of 4, that is SO good, Starbucks is their rehearsal location. Her friends keep shooting me nasty looks. I love how i'm the one freaking them out -- they are the ones who are flailing about violently and screaming. They are making animal noises now, which are apparently extremely funny to them. I sure do hope my Twin has a job, because if she is banking on her acting career...I don't think it's going to happen to her. Maybe I should give her some money. Read more

My Perez Hilton Day is coming to an end

As I write to you from this here SBux, the hipster men in berets and the happy couples holding hands are descending upon the meatpacking district, so it means that it is time for me to return to SpaHa, where I call my home. It has been fun reporting to you from the front lines, but now I suppose I must return to updating you, my dedicated 2 readers, once a week.

In other news, there is this girl in the sbux who reminds me of myself in a very bad, unflattering way. She is overly expressive with her face, her hair is in some sort of whack side ponytail, she talks way too loudly, and she is, obviously, eating a pastry. I've been staring at her for like the last 3 hours, because i am obviously so morbidly fascinated by her, and i can't help but wonder if her life is about as awesome as mine is. I any event, I freaked her out, and she has now moved so she is no longer facing me. Read more

What do women want?

According to a cross section of people I have just spoken to, women want the following:


Female, Age 23, Student/Blogger:
"I want an art collector, who is a gourmet chef, plays tennis, doesn't work a lot, and wants to live abroad at some point. That's all."

Female, Age 23, Corporate Legal Assistant:
"I want a man who has a job, who will let me quit my job if I want to, who wants to spoon, holds my hand in public, is tall, and has a sense of humor. I think that's it."

Female, Age 23, Public School Teacher:
"I want someone who can make me laugh and likes downtime."

Female, Age 14, 8th Grade Student:
"Layne, why are you asking me this question? That's kind of creepy. I'm going to tell Mom."

As you can see, I think expectations for potential mates sometimes runs the gamut. I wonder how much expectations are tied to geographic areas? Before I lived in New York, I would have answered the above question as, "someone who went to a really good college, has a good job, is taller than me, has brown hair, is funny/makes me laugh, and in turn laughs at everything I say. Oh, and enjoys things like hunting or fishing, and orders beer at a bar", and I would have thought that a completely realistic answer. But I just asked myself this same question, and my expectations have now become, "Graduated from college and has direct deposit". And yet, this is apparently very difficult for me to find. Go figure. Read more

I am Perez Hilton

Dear All (and by All, I mean, you my 2 readers),

I write to you from a Starbucks on 9th Avenue near the meatpacking district. While the neighborhood is very trendy, I am looking particularly women's college today. I am wearing jeans, a MHC hoodie sweatshirt, and my new balance. Most people go to coffee shops to meet their mate...and I'm fairly certain it's not going to happen for me today. In fact, if I saw anyone who DIDN'T know what I was like back in the "red sweat pants/northface fleece" dark days of Mount Holyoke, I'd probably crawl in a hole and die. I didn't come here specifically to update my blog, but since I am putting off any and all attempts at re-working my personal statement, now seems like the perfect time to update. I will bucketize this post by topics:

LSU Game
I couldn't be happier that LSU won. As I had no one who wished to watch a football game with me in this city, I, in engaging in some sort of whack social experiment, decided to go my local Irish pub to watch said game. Needless to say, I was the youngest person there by a good 20 years. I eventually struck up conversation with some 50 yr old Irish construction workers, who then proceeded to grill me about why I wanted to go to law school, and then bought me 4 beers. It was like Cheers, except Irish, and no one knew my name. By the end of the evening, the told me I should come back again. I'm thinking about becoming a "regular", if only for the stories I think becoming a "regular" at an Irish Construction Worker pub might provide.

Recent Engagements
I logged onto Facebook today, and was, yet again, notified that another one of my friends was engaged. This will make the 5th or so engagement I found out about this week. I thought the average engagement age was like 27/28, but maybe I am wrong. While everyone I know getting engaged petrifies me...I would very much like to be invited to each and every one of these weddings. Not because I have a date (as is clearly evident from the below posts), but because who doesn't love a free party? That probably makes me cheap.

Age
I can't decided if we're getting old or not. Everyday I am bombarded with signs in either direction. For example:
Leelee's 14th birthday party: old
Hearing about people purchasing property: not
Walking around the NYU/East Village area: old
Applying to Law School: not
My parents talking to me about my "inheritance": old
My parents sending me money so I can pay my billz: not

23 as the Michael Jordan Year
I recently heard from a friend that she was so excited about turning 23, because she took it to be the start of her "Michael Jordan Year". I've been thinking about this a lot recently, in a retrospective way, and I've realized perhaps 23 wasn't the best year I've ever had. Reasons are:
- I fell and broke my rib when drunk at a bar in Murry Hill;
- I didn't score a 180 on my LSATs;
- My identity was potentially stolen by some hacker who hacked the Louisiana Student Loan database;
- The ceiling in my bathroom collapsed in the middle of the night;

Let's hope, generally, 24 proves to be a better year. Of course there are still 2 months left of my Michael Jordan Year..so, there is still time, I guess.

Miscellaneous
There are two men sleeping on a couch behind me. I was going to comment on how tacky I think that is, then I had a flashback to the time that I took a nap in a starbucks in Prague WITH all of my luggage, and I think we even had the nerve not to buy anything. I really miss traveling Europe. I think I will definitely go backpacking next summer. If you want to be my travel companion, please let me know. I am very easy to travel with. I have stayed in the Worse of European Hostels, so it really takers a lot for me to complain. Usually, it takes a complete loss of water and or electricty at the hostel for longer than 24hrs. Read more

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Subway Musings

-This morning on the subway, I started reading the Financial Times over a random co-ed's shoulder. I thought this would be the moment where Random Co-Ed would catch my eye and say, "Here, lets share the paper", and then I would have insta-boyfriend. This did not happen, and instead he turned around, shot me a nasty look, and then folded the paper so that I would no longer be able to read it.
-Who are these women with extra large engagement rings, who ride the subway in sweats?? I have realized that even if, by some off-chance, someone DOES ask me to marry them, I think I will never quit my job. When I took 3 days off to study for the LSAT, circa hour 8, I almost applied for a part time job at pinkberry to kill some time for the rest of my 3 day vacation.
-Who are these people who lean against the pole during rush hour traffic??? I hate these people so much. I've tried fighting back any way I can, but usually my "fighting back" ends up meaning that my hand is crushed behind someones back, and i look like i'm inappropriately touching a stranger.
-Sometimes when I ride the subway, I like to pump the Eric Prydz, "Call on Me", on the IPod, and pretend like i'm in Europe. But then some a-hole in an a-rod jersey pushes me out of the way, I drop my purse and everything falls out, people kick it around and then a mariachi band tramples me. Read more

Random Thoughts

- I've started to watch way too much tv, so now, in lieu of television, I am going to try to try and read 2 hours a night. I will start tonight...right after I watch this ep of Gossip Girl;
- Remember when I used to say, "If I meet a guy who had read Daisy Miller, and would understand a Daisy Miller reference/make a daisy miller reference, I will run off with him immediately"? I thought about reinstating that policy, but then I realized that most of the guys who approach me don't actually know how to read. Sadness;
-I will probably be getting my LSAT scores later this week...so if you see me sitting in the fountain at Wash Sq. Park eating from a take-out container of Saag Panir and gently sobbing, you'll know why;
-It looks like the advertisers for Viagra are getting really bold. I just an ad where the song, "Viva Las Vegas", had been changed to "Viva Viagra". Remember when these ads were like older men in shadowed light whispering, "i've got a secret.."???
-My 14 yr old faux little sister recently wrote a song entitled, "Rejection", about her breakup with the 8th grade class stud. She was very upset about this situation, so I put it in perspective. I told her, "Hey Leelee, you might be writing songs about your painful breakup with the class stud, but when I was your age, my song lyrics were like, "why did you steal my beanie babies, burn them and video tape it?". She shut up. Read more

Begging on the Streets

As my two readers may not be aware....I recently found myself in what could best be described as, "a sticky financial situation". I had...how do I put it delicately...no money. I had heard my whole life, "if you're rich in spirit, and you have a roof over your head...you can never be poor". Whoever told me that was a liar. Having 0 money is terrible. Paying for subway rides with pennies and nickels is terrible. Becoming a dollar menunaire at Mickey D's is terrible. But, like the same person who lied about the rich in spirit BS told me, every cloud has a silver lining. My poverty allowed me to empathize for beggars. Before the week of poverty, I had thought, "HEY GET A JOB. I DID", everytime someone can on my subway train and started, "i'm sorry to bother you..." But during the week of poverty, everytime i saw a beggar, i would tell them, "i hear you, man....I just paid for this ride with some pence from the UK!" . HOWEVER, all of that having been said, I'd like to take some time to give any of my homeless beggar readers out there a few tips:

Keep it nice
I can't tell you how many times i've seen beggars lash out when things don't go their way. One time I was walking home, and there was some woman on the street begging who started out so nice and was like "sweetie..i need money..." -- I did the obligatory "look down and pretend you didn't hear" move. Obiviously Woman on the Street didn't like this AT ALL, and she responded with, "well you look like you've never had to go hungry for too long". Hey, you just called me sweetie -- now you're telling me i look like i've never skipped a meal?? Any shot you had at my turning around and giving you some spare change has flown out the window. Yesterday, on the subway, one particularly aggressive beggar yelled, "SLUT", to this awkward librarian type with glasses who didn't look up from her book to give him money. I, of course, didn't make matters any better b/c even after he got off the train, i turned to the entire train and asked, "wait, did he just call that girl a slut??" Awkward Librarian looked like she wanted to die.

Show some creativity
There are some homeless people who really show some creativity -- they sing, they tap bricks on the ground to make noise, they breakdance, they hum really loudl while rocking back and forth. I like to see this, and I am definitely more inclined to give you money if you, in whatever way you can, "worked for it".

Look the Part
I sometimes see beggars with nicer nikes than I have. This makes me particularly livid, as, right now, I have 2 pairs of shoes I continue to wear with holes in them. Now, I'm not saying I *should* be walking around with hole-y shoes, but I don't think beggars should be wearing un hole-y shoes when they are asking me (girl who is wearing shoes w/holes) for money. Read more

I HATE HIPSTERS

I think the title says it all, but I want to reiterate: I HATE HIPSTERS.

Scene: Salon-themed hipster bar next to a "Nathan's Original Hot Dogs".

I can't even begin to describe the parade of individuals I witnessed. I, of course, roll in wearing the ubiquitous "i'mgoingoutandgoingtohaveawildnight!!" black dress. Upon entering the bar, I immediately realize that perhaps I should have done one of several things: a) not blown dry my hair..instead, let my hair embrace its more lion-mane quality, b) worn my jumper, and perhaps, a skull & bone button up shirt, c) gotten a modified bob, and worn my glasses or d) shaved my head, and come in with overalls, stiletto heels and a page-boy cap. To say I looked out of place was probably an understatement.

To me, hipster used to mean "counter-culture". In fact, back home in New Orleans I used to consider myself a hipster because I wasn't a debutante, I wore glasses, I wrote my own plays as a child, and on weekends I used to work the front desk at my parents guest house. All of these things were counter to the normal culture of children and teenagers in New Orleans, so therefore, I was a hipster. Once I moved to New York, I realized, my definition of hipster was vastly different from the one I had conceived of since childhood. In New York, all the hipsters were counter-culture in the same exact way: guys who dress like British School Boys, too much eye-liner, tight t-shirts and vests -- girls who wear skull outfits, suspenders, adidas soccer cleats and one earring. I can't understand how these people don't realize the hipocracy of their existence. Oooohhh..you wear vests..let me tell you something: if everyone wears vests just like you, you are as mainstream as the girls with polos and longchamps that you probably hate on unmercilessly.

I want to re-define the term hipster. I think hipsters are people who work obscene hours, live in crackdens, just want to survive, and just do things that make them happy, even if that includes just staying in and reading instead of going to a bar that masquerades itself as a "former massage spa" or "former salon" . To me, THESE people are the true hipsters. Show me a slightly out-of shape accountant who is picking up his take out thai food to go home and watch the discovery channel on a thurs night, and I will show you a hipster.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this entry....if I don't end it now, I may start going on a rant about my normal topics of rage: florida, my job, the new york city dating scene, and homeless people who proposition me.

And with that, I leave you. Read more

I'm out of ideas

But sometimes when I am bored, I re-read the emails my parents send me. I will call this a "Best Of" Dennis and Joanne emails. I also find it better, when reading emails from my father, to imagine Christopher Walken reading them aloud. Note: I have inserted comments where appropriate

"Layne
for some reason watching the movie about "Miriam" (L: What my father meant here was the Devil Wears Prada -- we all know that the main character's name is actually named "Miranda", but I think that was lost in translation) and hearing you talk of
your experiences at work and in New York---made me laugh about how different we are down here and what the speed of life must be in NY.. I think they would hospitalize me for some type of "lethargy" that is un-explainable. in the diagnostic manual.
I think that once we do visit you---or you visit us there will be such a "cultural lag" that we will have to work on communicative styles. (as if we don't have to already) hot down here-----muggy-----Gatlinburg --very cool in the mountains Dollywood -- kind of cute and friendly---sort of like Deliverance----duh dun a dun dunt don (L: I think this is meant to be the banjo theme song -- oh, and as an aside, one particularly low Christmas Evening, my family watched Deliverance together)-- not exactly the banjo playing --but you get the point--love ya Dad"

Let's contrast this email style with the sort of email from my mother:

"DO YOU NEED TO GET YOUR HAIR DONE? HAVE YOU BEEN GOING TO CHURCH? YOUR FATHER HAS STARTED WRITING FICTION, HE WROTE SOME SORT OF POEM ABOUT THE TICK-TOCK OF DEATH, SO I SLEPT IN YOUR ROOM LAST NIGHT. I BAKED A CAKE AND MADE LEMONADE, AND NO ONE CLEANED THE DISHES. GO FIGURE. XOXO MOM" Read more

"You shouldn't quit your day job"

Today, I discuss a particular breed of New York Man: The "Entrepreneur".

Last night at "Ubiquitous Ibanker meets B&T Bar X", I was chatting with one of my friends, when all of the sudden I notice a gentleman caller has sidled up next to my chair. I go through my mental checklist: Brown Hair? Check. Taller than me? Check. Employed? Well, if he's at a bar, and purchasing his own beverages, he must have *some* money, so, for all intents and purposes that's a check. That is when I spot it. Gentleman Caller is wearing a black graphic tee with a:



You Got it. He was wearing a graphic tee with a Koala bear on it. It was like the entire bar went silent with a screech upon my noticing this tee shirt. I had a visceral reaction, and I screamed, "WHAT ARE YOU WEARING??????" Joe Gentleman Caller breaks out in a wide smile, and says, "You like it?? It's from my new graphic t-shirt design company!" I stood there silent with a horrifyed look on my face for a couple of minutes. I remembered that this is New York, and I am a single 23 yr old living in a crackden in spanish harlem -- I probably shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth. So, I decide I shall continue talking to Koala Joe. I asked him what the name of his company was -- he tells me, "It's Rare Unlimited". I continue to have a horrified look on my face -- I figured that if you're going to have a company that sells graphic tees of cuddly animals, the name was going to be at least a tad bit ironic -- something like "Ghostface Gangsta Killaz Bearz" or something. Koala Joe obviously picked up on my skepticism and continued to smile, "you see, it's like an oxymoron..like, oxymorons are two words that are sort of different, so like how can something be rare, but also unlimited, you know?" As he was telling me this, I thought to myself, "thank you, Koala Joe, for telling me what an oxymoron is -- I only studied English Literature, and Literature of the British Empire in college..I must have just *missed* the lesson on oxymorons", but then i remembered: single, 23, crackden, SpaHa -- so I told him, "That's witty", and I turned around and chugged the rest of my drink.

At this point, I am slightly intoxicated, so I figure, maybe I can turn these lemons to lemonade. "Hey Koala Bear" I yell, "What is your advertisement strategy?" Another look of pleased legitimacy. He comes close to me, as if he is about to impart the secret to business..."Myspace. And the best part? It's free." (Shots appear at the table, and Layne takes one), "KOALA BEAR", i slur, "I think your tshirt would be better with a smaller bear, perhaps in the corner, perhaps like a polo?" Koala Joe's look of legitimacy turns to anger. "Why wouldn't someone buy a tshirt w/a large Koala bear on it -- it's cute, its cuddly, it attracts the ladies, it's great." I'm Silent. "Also, I'm not trying to be polo...this shirt is golden." I continue to be silent whilst sipping my drink. Finally Koala Joe gets so worked up that he tells me, "Honey, you shouldn't quit your day job." and he walked away.
Another successful evening out in New York. Read more

Another Night Out

C'est 3am, and I am back from another unfulfilling night in the NYCDS (new york city dating scene). I did, however, meet the love of my life. He was a cab driver, he was nice to me, and he told me he thought I wasn't very drunk. In New York, this equates to love at first sight. In college/abroad, love at first sight meant a tall geeky awkward guy with brown hair and glasses....but sometimes, I suppose, you have to manage expectations. So, in short, if anyone has Nadim the cab driver's phone number, please let me know.

In other news, I went to go get my post-drinking slice of cheese pizza, and the man said, "everytime you come here, you get the same thing, so many times, by yourself..." I yelled something about living far uptown, in a studio...but i've decided I will never be going to Zesty Pizza again. Read more

Just another day at the ol' office

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of catgirl*
Cat Girl: what is the perfume that you're wearing
Cat Girl: what, I can't ask
Lil Layne: its from the 99 cent rack at duane reade
Cat Girl: really
Cat Girl: do u need help with anything
Cat Girl: hello layne
Cat Girl: what are u working on
Cat Girl: hey do u need help]
Cat Girl: meow
Cat Girl: frisky
Cat Girl: meoooooooooow Read more

"You have kind eyes..."

The above phrase was recently said to me by a schizophrenic man who apparently wished to court me. I bring this up as introduction to my newest crisis of identity: What is it about me that says to the weak, the awkward, the mentally ill, the homeless and the unemployed, "I am approachable, and if you wink at me whilst simultaneously spitting on the ground, or scratching yourself, I am going to say, 'Bring it, you tiger'." I am really at a loss.

This phenomenon did not start upon my relocation to New York. I first noticed my ability to attract a....how do you say...unsavory clientele when I lived in Edinburgh. I specifically remembering one homeless man asking me for my phone number as I was walking back from a bar. I, in a moment of sheer cheekiness, gave it to him to see if he, the homeless man begging on the street, was going to whip out his cell phone to program it in (he did). I was also morbidly curious to see where said homeless beggar was going to take his lady out on the town, but, unfortunately for all, I guess at some point the homeless man begging on the streets had second thoughts about ME, the girl WITH a home, money, and employment opportunities, and he never called. It was a bit of an ego crushing moment.

Last fall, I had a similar experience. I was standing on some East Village street corner trying to inebriatedly hail a cab. I had been standing there for a good 20 minutes with my hand up (no cabs stopping) when I heard a human voice yelling, "BEEP BEEP". As I turned, I noticed I had hailed SOMETHING. Down the street came Joe Homeless Man, pushing a grocery cart. I started contemplating accepting a ride in his KMart Chariot, just to see if Joe Homeless Man was going to push me 90 or so blocks uptown. I then remembered that the last time I engaged a homeless beggar due to morbid curiosity, I ended up alone on a Sat. Night waiting for a phone call, sans date, so I opted against it. I told the man, "I would, normally, it is just that it is a bit chilly out, and I already have a cold, but, do have a good night." Joe Homeless Man then told me, "that's a shame, because i'd sure like to take you home." ("What home", I asked myself, but that is neither here nor there.)

Here's my rhetorical question that I don't expect you, my 2 readers, to actually answer: If it were Paris Hilton, rather than Layne Hilton, who had been in those situations --- would the homeless people have propositioned them? I don't think so.

I think my new experiment is going to be, when faced with a crazy homeless person who wants to date me, can I somehow out-crazy them so they are like "oh jesus...this one's more than I bargained for", and then back away from me. I think if I successfully do this like 2 or three times, I will be branded, and, perhaps, left alone. I mean, I have enough examples of crazy in my life (see below), that I think I could pull it off. I'l llet you, the 2 readers, know how it goes. Read more

LSAT Logical Reasoning Question

The above provides the strongest support for which of the following conclusions:

(A) - Sometimes people leave somewhat creepy presents at others' desks just to say "Hello".

(B) - Speaking generally, only children are not socially well adjusted.

(C) - Mount Holyoke wasn't the only place with freakshows.

(D) - Something about me attracts those referenced in (c).

(E) - Layne's Cat says "Meow!".

I had to post it for those who didn't believe me.

Read more