I've always been a fan of the Craigslist Missed Connections. In that spirit, i've decided to have my own recurring "Missed Connections" for all the various and sundry missed connections I have.
Date: Christmas Break 2002
Location: Bradley Airport (CT)
You: A Senior at Yale, reading Gore Vidal from MS. Around 6'3
We were seated next to eachother on a flight home. Started making small talk about stereotypes people have about the south, history, and college. I made a comment about missing my connection to New Orleans, and you said, "you can always come home with me to Mississippi," in a southern drawl. I swooned. Eventually, it was discovered that I had sat in the wrong seat, and had to move. You also discovered that I *wasn't* reading Gore Vidal, and was instead reading Cosmo. Despite all of that, I think we could have been something.
Date: JYA 2005
Location: Edinburgh
You: A scottish law student, very tall, details hazy due to alcohol
We met at a place called "Establishment" on 50p night. I was probably close to blackout drunk, but I do remember you were moderately attractive, and smart. I will remember you as the *classiest* person I ever "met" on 50pence night.
Date: Fall of 2006
Location: Mail Room of Random Law Firm
You: A Mail Room Clerk named "Gary Barry"
This isn't a missed connection, per se. You actually barred the door of the Mail Room when I went to your law firm to deliver some papers by hand. You forced me to take your number on a routing slip --- Gary Barry" was scrawled in Serial Killer print. I always wondered what happened to you, not because I was intrigued, but because I always wondered if you saw the irony of your alliterative name.
Date: Last Week
Location: 6 Train
You: Awkward Male who I had seen purchasing a "Meal for One" at a local deli on the UES.
I think you are the male version of me -- except I think I saw you giving money to a mariachi band, and I turned up the Snoop Dogg. Every time I see you, you are alone. Why don't you take that money you gave to the homeless musicians and put it towards a date with me?
Read more
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Real World Hamaca: The Next Chapter
It has dawned on me that I never finished my "Real World Hamaca" series for you, my dedicated 2 French/Astorian readers. No time like the present.
When we last left the Gringos Americanos, the Canadians had invaded, people were laying it all out there on the bed in the middle of the Ocean, a male of undetermined age had begun following me, even though I insisted on calling him the Sherminator, no one knew anyones name, and my converse had gone missing.
The next morning after the Great Canadian Invasion, the island was abuzz with the prospect of attractive people, flowing alcohol, and possibilities. I was slightly less optimistic about the possibilities than my friends were -- lest we forget that while they were pairing off with the Canadian Electrician three amigos, I was left to fend for myself at an impromptu party by the Ocean bed being courted by one underage Canadian who was flashing me, and the Sherminator who was holding my drink, lip gloss and Dominican Dollars.
It was decided that we should throw a party in our hotel room for the Canadian Electrician trio. We prepared the room for beer pong (yes, we brought our own silo cups and ping pong balls), and brought out the ipod and speakers. The Canadians arrive, and immediately, things are off to a rocky start. 1) The Canadians don't look like they looked the night before AT ALL 2) The cutest guy who looked awkward in a polo the previous night rolled in with some sort of faux Dior graphic tee and white loafers, and 3) They were already drunk, and maybe high. I, being an unbiased non-party to these proceedings, immediately start laughing, and thinking to myself, "Sherminator isn't looking so bad right now".
To say that my friends were feeling like the party was, perhaps, a mistake was an understatement. No one was talking, so I start taking shots of our alcohol (yes, we brought our own), and start getting aggressively confrontational with the electricians. I begin asking questions about education level, national health care, and the like. My friends give me, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING" looks, but I forge on. Eventually, one Canadian and I get in a screaming fight about the practicality of the word, "eh", versus the word, "y'all". The conversation ended with him telling me, "you think you're smarter than me", and me saying, "affirmative". At this point we decide to leave to go to the Sport Bar.
Upon entering Sport Bar (Remember, this was the name of the "discoteca" at the real world Hamaca), the shit began to hit the fan. To spare my french/astorian readers, things with the Canadian Electricians began to unravel, and it looks like they decided to take us all in their wake. In order to escape the messiness, I go outside. It is at the outside bar where I meet the love of my life, a Canadian Opera Singer named Spence.
Unclear as to how I actually *met* Spence --- I was almost blackout drunk. But, before I knew it, this 19 year awkwardly tall brown haired Canadian was serenading me with Johnny Cash. I was eating it up. Spence confides in me and tells me about how he sometimes lies about "the cool clubs and bars I go to on the weekend -- you know, girls want a cool guy, but I just enjoy staying at home and reading or watching movies, or going to the opera" (I swooned a little). He tells me about his favorite bass solos in opera (I swooned some more). At this point, we're both pretty drunk, and I ask him if we can sing a duet. We make our way to the ocean, we walk in the ocean (in jeans) and start singing Britney Spears in duo whilst hugging. At the time, I thought that hugging a boy 4-5 years my junior in the ocean while singing was probably the most predatory thing i've ever done, but I was soon to be corrected.
We return back to the Ocean side bar, and things are REALLY MESSY, with the Canadian electrician trio. I just laugh, and introduce them to my new 19 year old Opera Singing friend. They called him some...unflattering...names. All of the sudden, like Deus Ex Machina, the SHERMINATOR RE-APPEARS. As I turn to him to tell him to get me another drink and to hold my shoes, Spence beats me to the punch and says, "Adam, what are you doing here?? You should be with Mom and Dad". I ask, "Hey Johnny Cash, how do you know the Sherminator??". Spence very bluntly replies,"He's my brother, he just turned 17."
I'm not sure what the look on my face was -- probably a combination of horror, disgust, and self loathing. So, the individual I was calling the Sherminator, who I was leading around the beach, and ordering to pick up my alcoholic beverages was 7 years younger than me.
When someone who is pursuing you was a baby when you were reading CHAPTER BOOKS, it is time to Call it a Night. So I, like any self-respecting uncommon woman, decide to head back to the hotel room.
As it turns out, after we left, Spence started vomming, and passed out on an Ocean chair -- his parents and siblings found him there the next morning -- his jeans were wet, and he had some vomit on his shirt. So, perhaps he wasn't the respectful, nerdy, Canadian Opera-Loving wunderkind I had made him out to be.
On the Season Finale of the Real World Hamaca, the Canadian Electrician Three Amigos start getting "real" with us by letting us know how they REALLY feel, Spence has no memory of the duet we sang together, some Greek Dentists enter the picture and save the day, and we say Goodbye to the Coral Hamaca. Read more
When we last left the Gringos Americanos, the Canadians had invaded, people were laying it all out there on the bed in the middle of the Ocean, a male of undetermined age had begun following me, even though I insisted on calling him the Sherminator, no one knew anyones name, and my converse had gone missing.
The next morning after the Great Canadian Invasion, the island was abuzz with the prospect of attractive people, flowing alcohol, and possibilities. I was slightly less optimistic about the possibilities than my friends were -- lest we forget that while they were pairing off with the Canadian Electrician three amigos, I was left to fend for myself at an impromptu party by the Ocean bed being courted by one underage Canadian who was flashing me, and the Sherminator who was holding my drink, lip gloss and Dominican Dollars.
It was decided that we should throw a party in our hotel room for the Canadian Electrician trio. We prepared the room for beer pong (yes, we brought our own silo cups and ping pong balls), and brought out the ipod and speakers. The Canadians arrive, and immediately, things are off to a rocky start. 1) The Canadians don't look like they looked the night before AT ALL 2) The cutest guy who looked awkward in a polo the previous night rolled in with some sort of faux Dior graphic tee and white loafers, and 3) They were already drunk, and maybe high. I, being an unbiased non-party to these proceedings, immediately start laughing, and thinking to myself, "Sherminator isn't looking so bad right now".
To say that my friends were feeling like the party was, perhaps, a mistake was an understatement. No one was talking, so I start taking shots of our alcohol (yes, we brought our own), and start getting aggressively confrontational with the electricians. I begin asking questions about education level, national health care, and the like. My friends give me, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING" looks, but I forge on. Eventually, one Canadian and I get in a screaming fight about the practicality of the word, "eh", versus the word, "y'all". The conversation ended with him telling me, "you think you're smarter than me", and me saying, "affirmative". At this point we decide to leave to go to the Sport Bar.
Upon entering Sport Bar (Remember, this was the name of the "discoteca" at the real world Hamaca), the shit began to hit the fan. To spare my french/astorian readers, things with the Canadian Electricians began to unravel, and it looks like they decided to take us all in their wake. In order to escape the messiness, I go outside. It is at the outside bar where I meet the love of my life, a Canadian Opera Singer named Spence.
Unclear as to how I actually *met* Spence --- I was almost blackout drunk. But, before I knew it, this 19 year awkwardly tall brown haired Canadian was serenading me with Johnny Cash. I was eating it up. Spence confides in me and tells me about how he sometimes lies about "the cool clubs and bars I go to on the weekend -- you know, girls want a cool guy, but I just enjoy staying at home and reading or watching movies, or going to the opera" (I swooned a little). He tells me about his favorite bass solos in opera (I swooned some more). At this point, we're both pretty drunk, and I ask him if we can sing a duet. We make our way to the ocean, we walk in the ocean (in jeans) and start singing Britney Spears in duo whilst hugging. At the time, I thought that hugging a boy 4-5 years my junior in the ocean while singing was probably the most predatory thing i've ever done, but I was soon to be corrected.
We return back to the Ocean side bar, and things are REALLY MESSY, with the Canadian electrician trio. I just laugh, and introduce them to my new 19 year old Opera Singing friend. They called him some...unflattering...names. All of the sudden, like Deus Ex Machina, the SHERMINATOR RE-APPEARS. As I turn to him to tell him to get me another drink and to hold my shoes, Spence beats me to the punch and says, "Adam, what are you doing here?? You should be with Mom and Dad". I ask, "Hey Johnny Cash, how do you know the Sherminator??". Spence very bluntly replies,"He's my brother, he just turned 17."
I'm not sure what the look on my face was -- probably a combination of horror, disgust, and self loathing. So, the individual I was calling the Sherminator, who I was leading around the beach, and ordering to pick up my alcoholic beverages was 7 years younger than me.
When someone who is pursuing you was a baby when you were reading CHAPTER BOOKS, it is time to Call it a Night. So I, like any self-respecting uncommon woman, decide to head back to the hotel room.
As it turns out, after we left, Spence started vomming, and passed out on an Ocean chair -- his parents and siblings found him there the next morning -- his jeans were wet, and he had some vomit on his shirt. So, perhaps he wasn't the respectful, nerdy, Canadian Opera-Loving wunderkind I had made him out to be.
On the Season Finale of the Real World Hamaca, the Canadian Electrician Three Amigos start getting "real" with us by letting us know how they REALLY feel, Spence has no memory of the duet we sang together, some Greek Dentists enter the picture and save the day, and we say Goodbye to the Coral Hamaca. Read more
Saturday, December 29, 2007
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
-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
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
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
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
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
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