The Rat Chronicles: (Part I) Google the Poop

                A few weeks ago I moved into a new apartment, got a new job, and started being a grown up. The roommates and I had to deal with some of the usual new apartment issues. Our pilot light went out on the heater, we had a really bad clog in the shower, and we found out that the apartment came with an extra roommate. Yeah, there are four of us now, and two dogs. Oh, it’s not like he takes up much space because he is a rat. YES! My wonderful new apartment that was “such a great deal” has a rat in it!

                I first discovered a small rat turd, ok a large rat turd, in the middle of the bathroom floor. I decided to ignore it. I was busy and it could be anything. I mean, I had never seen mouse poo that large and I refused to believe that a rat would live where humans live in Los Angeles, California. Rats live in New York City. Everyone knows that. About 3 days later, I find another one, and I decide to tell the roommie. She and I had minor panic attacks and start searching through the rest of the house. We find more evidence and have major panic attacks. Then the animal instincts kick in, and I HAVE to kill it. There is nothing that can satisfy me besides the death of this rat!

                Roommie and I decide to buy traps, but I’m not an idiot, I know that the first mistake I can in this war is to underestimate my opponent. If you don’t understand and know your enemy, then how do you know who you’re fighting? First things first, I download The Art of War then I get to work. I need to be sure that we have a rat and not a huge mouse. So I google the size of the poop. That worked. They had scale drawings. We definitely had a rat on our hands. I couldn’t seem to find a good source on how to kill a rat that didn’t gross me out. Lots of blood, gore, and videos with machine guns…not kidding.

                So I head to the store. I wanted a regular snap trap, but roommie thought that Folic Acid would do the trick. Too bad folic acid prevents spina bifida, doesn’t kill rats. However, those rats would have the healthiest babies ever! We go to buy the traps, but nowhere open in the middle of the night in LA sells rat traps. (A little known fact about LA, everything closes super early. I think it’s from all the crime. There is no 24 hour Walmart, and very few 24 hour restaurants. It’s disgusting) My thinking is that mouse traps are better than no traps at all, but a man at the store begs to differ. He tells me to A) tell my landlord and B) not buy the mouse trap. He seems to think that the rat will just look at the trap and laugh and me (and evil squeaky laugh) and then he will know that he is superior. This man was right. The rat is superior.

(Tune in Next Time!)

Make Little Brittany Proud: What 8 year old me would have wanted.

Ukraine welcom to the blog. Bienvenido!

Remember that nun that I thought lived down the street and had weird habits? Well one day I saw her running just as fast as she could down the street (still in nun garb) and then stopped, turned around, and ran just as fast back the other way. A few days later. I was watching Law and Order and I saw a bunch of Orthodox Jews, and I realized that was her outfit! She's not a weird nun. She's just a teen Hasidic Jew! So relieved. 

Here's a song I'm obsessed with: 

Totally unrelated:

Well, it’s the middle of January and I realize that my New Year’s Resolutions are pretty crappy. (Because I never made any) So I am going to make some.

So I have to look over my life and see what I doing and what I want to do. As I do this, I start thinking about me as a kid. I’ve been thinking about being a kid a lot lately. My toys, my dreams, my desires, and my intense imagination. Most of my strongest memories are my imaginary ones.  So I think, what life would make little Brittany proud? And I know exactly what I need to do. I need to become a LA county lifeguard, who is a part-time cartoonist, and a part-time pig trainer. (I had varied interests as a kid). Ok as you may have guessed, I’m not a fantastic swimmer. So, this life isn’t going to be as perfect as I may have hoped. I recently found a list that I had written to myself 10 years ago, of things that I wanted to do before I died. And as much as I wish, get a BA in Spanish, meet Tim Allen, and buy a car were on that list, they aren’t. I have to make some changes to make 8 year old Brittany proud.

So here is a short summary of life right now:

-I’m job hunting, that’s gross, but has to happen again. Starbucks doesn’t really pay actual bucks

-I’m moving soon. We needed our own rooms.

- I need to eat lunch soon (that one was for me)

-I’ve started the open mics around town and am getting this standup comedy thing on its feet. It’s standing up…almost.

- I’ve been doing improv shows every week, and that’s cool. It’s always good to A) exercise your brain B) exercise you voice C) Meet people D) Be creative.

-I’m writing stuff, very slowly, but writing things. I need to finish something soon.

- I’m also acting silly, dancing around, making references that most people at the table won’t get, making friends, scaring people, hoping to go to Disneyland, and trying to stay away from the cops.

Basically just being me, but I realize that much of what I feel I was known for (ie having great birthday parties and initiating sing-a-longs) has been pretty much lost.

Here come the New Years resolutions!!!!

 I hereby resolve to:

-Finish writing something great

- Have 30 minutes of brilliant stand up

-Only invest my time in things that I love. I will live by my passions. That is why I left so much back in the ol’ K-tuck.

-I will not work a job I don’t like,

-I will not be friends with people who I do not enjoy.

-I will not eat food I think is yucky.

-I will not wear anything that I feel isn’t great. I will make my 8 year old self super proud!

-I will attempt to cultivate a group of people who will celebrate an epic birthday with me,

-I will also attempt to cultivate a group of people who will have a sing-a-long with me. I can do it. 

Of Cabbages and Kings: A Rumbley Ramble through my Reminiscence

Here is how my mind works. (Let’s pretend this is artsy)

I have to write a log line

                I have a hard time concentrating on stuff. Sometimes I think I 

                have a disease.

Write a log line

                There are red leaves all over the ground. Look at the textures

Write a log line

                I hated the sidewalks in Mexico

Write a log line

                I miss my brown shoes. I liked the way the laces felt

Write a log line

                I don’t have a headache. I need to check, but I don’t have one

Write a log line

                Tweety Bird made a weird comeback in the 90s, and reinvented

                 himself from a smarty pants boy to a cute girly bird thing.

Write a log line

                Tweety Bird is like Madonna

Write a log line

                I wonder what Tom Hanks first wife looked like. I need to look her

                 up.

Write a log line

                What did we do before the internet? I would have had to live in front

                of a micro film machine thing.

Write a log line

                Remember that time I drove across the country? It was really 

                windy in Arizona.

 Write a log line

                I can’t see things far away, so when I’m 45 and I can’t see things 

                close, I will have perfect vision.

Write a log line

                Or I will be blind

Write a log line

                Why am I on IMDB?

Write a log line

                How did Shining Time Station get George Carlin and Ringo Star to

                play tiny little train conductors? Drugs did that.

Write a log line

                What is the entire original cast of Barney doing these days?

Write a log line

                What is the cast of Dr. Quinn doing?

Write a log line

                I should write a remake of Baywatch!

NO, I SHOULD WRITE A LOG LINE!!!!!!

                                The End

I’m a total Freaking Rock Star from… Charlie is boring: I’ll talk about the cops some more

First of all I would like to welcome the 5 Russians who have started reading my blog. Welcome to the blog.

I haven’t written in a really long time and frankly, it’s been too long to keep my attention on the Charlie Sheen blog. I’m bored with Charlie. I know that everyone is very disappointed, but I will try to keep Charlie’s principles in the overall themes. But, I really need to talk to you all about the past 2 situations I’ve had with the cops…yeah 2.

                I’ll preface this entry with a little bit of information about my current relationship with the LAPD. At least 3 officers know me on a first name basis. I work at a coffee shop and I’m pretty talkative, that’s to be expected. Even though I have a great reputation with the LAPD, I’m still not ok with being involved with any type of police situation that doesn’t involve coffee and pastries (smoothies are also acceptable)

                My first situation with the cops happened a few weeks ago when I was dog sitting for my friend. I just want everyone to know that I have learned a very important fact about LA. It doesn’t matter what part of town you live in or how nice your home is, at least once every six months, you will have the cops called to where you live. It may be for a shoot out (like at my house) or it may be for a breaking or entering, or it may be for people beating the crap out of each other and yelling about it.

This particular situation was happened one night after I came home from work and start to play with the dogs that I was sitting for. While running around with the dogs I hear some sounds coming from outside the apartment. I listen…nothing. I start playing with the dogs again. I hear the sounds again. I listen…it sounds like people yelling. I turn off the radio…I still hear yelling. I turn off the AC…I still hear yelling. Then I hear, “Steve, Steve, this is the LAPD. We’ve got the place surrounded. Steve, come out or we’re sending the dogs in.”

                I’m starting to freak out at this point. I’m double, triple checking that the doors and are locked. I’m texting everyone I know who is awake. And these dogs that I am sitting for, the dogs who bark when someone walks into their home across the hall, are sitting on the bed, just chilling. Not even bothered by the crime being committed downstairs. The police surround the building with flashlights, and radios, and yelling. Dogs don’t care. The helicopter is over the building, blowing the water in the pool around, creating waves, shining lights into the windows, making hideous amounts of noise, causing the cops to yell even more. The dogs don’t care. The police dogs start barking, Steve is screaming, these dogs don’t care. The aftermath of a crime scene, people come out into the courtyard. Someone starts screaming about their career, these horrible cops, their press ID, and someone they hate named Mike Jones. The dogs don’t care.  By 4 am I go to sleep, still freaking out. The dogs don’t care. I don’t get the deal with the dogs.

                The second time I’ve had a police situation this month was when I was hanging out with this guy who calls me kiddo, and hear some screaming out the window. Naturally I think, “Bunch of drunk kids, horsing around, up to no good. Some people are trying to sleep! Not me, but some people.”  Then I hear a guy yell shut up, and a chick yell, “No, no, help me, help me!” So once again, cue the freak out! This guy and I start freaking out! We go out on the balcony to see and find the drunk chick in a fetal position on the sidewalk with a guy standing over her. We yell at him. Tell him that hitting women isn’t ok (I think he already knew) and ask if she’s ok. He says that she hit him and we have no idea what he has to deal with, with this woman. (We had no idea but thought that she was pretty clumsy to have hit him and then fallen down on the sidewalk like that. We also thought that he was pretty tough to have gotten hit so hard and still be standing up and mocking this violent and angry drunk woman)

They went along their way and we wondered what we should do. Call the cops? If they aren’t complaining about the violence, can the cops do anything? Why is that girl so dumb? Why is that guy such a jerk? Neither of us saw him hit her but we heard it, does that count?

                While we were pondering all of these things, we hear them yelling again from the apartment. So, we leave and run out to find them. According to the sounds, they are clearly killing each other. We meet some other neighbors in the hall. They’ve heard the screaming too, and they called the police. (Yay! We didn’t have to!!!)

So we find the apartment, talk the jerk guy into the hall and wait on the cops (Ok I didn’t do anything but the waiting part, but I witnessed it all). The cops arrive and the 4 of us wait while justice is served. Apparently I am hilarious while I wait because a girl we were waiting with asked if we ever did shows. I told her yes, but I didn’t have any scheduled. There was no justice served that day. Just some really awkward glances as the violent drunk couple parted ways and left. But I learned 2 important lessons.

1)      Crime is everywhere in LA, and I should get to know more cops.

2)      If you can make fans during a domestic dispute, that’s a good sign that you are a TOTAL FREAKING ROCK STAR FROM MARS! (and you may have tiger blood) Also, it makes me feel like doing the standup comedy thing is a pretty good idea.

Thanks domestic violence for giving me a thumbs up and a push in the right direction.  Oh, LA.

Banging 7 Gram Rocks? (It's how I roll) and "The GO"

So today is day one of living like Charlie Sheen, well, Ok, I actually started this a few days ago, but I just now got to the point where I could write about my experiences.
So, in the last post I mentioned my issues with the hippies and all of the self evaluation that I had been doing lately. (I hate when one blog post builds off another, and that's what I'm doing. I think each blog post should be like an episode of Seinfeld. You can watch it, without following the show and be completely entertained and then nominate it for a people's choice award a year after it's been off the air. That's what I aspire to be, in this blog...ok..back to the blog)

Anyway, I decided to follow the epic words of Charlie Sheen in this song

So, the first phrase that I decided to explore was:
"I was banging 7 gram rocks"
(this sounds like the beginning of a crappy paper I would have submitted in Spanish Class, but it would read like this: La primera frase que yo decidia explorar fue, "Yo estuve usando las rocas 7 gramas" It's so crappy, trust me)
 LA is the perfect back drop for this story. Crazy drug dealers driving the streets. Homeless people walking around Starbucks parking lots wearing only underwear and a kids life jackets. Armenians yelling at you for looking at their bagels. It's a rough town. The perfect place to BANG 7 GRAM ROCKS!

So I did it, and I was told I had a great time.  Unfortunately I woke up wearing a Tshirt from 2 concerts I didn't even go to, with a bag from Carl's Jr and a tea light candle. (Thanks Jeff for taking the pic)
This experience taught me that I'm pretty much invincible. No, I am.

This is short, so I will also talk about
       "I have one gear GO"
(This one will get a little bit more in depth.)
       Everyday we have to get up in the morning and GO. If you've ever met me, you probably know that I don't like to get up in the morning, and if I don't have somewhere to be, I won't do it. When I was in middle school, I was homeschooled and the only reason I ever got out of bed in the morning was to watch re-runs of Knight Rider. Yep. That's me.
       So, we wake up for our jobs, our kids, our appointments, but what happens when you don't have any of those things? Why do you ever wake up? Theoretically, you should wake up because you're not tired anymore, but really, c'mon, that's not going to happen. When I moved out here, I had no job, no kids, no appointments, no plans, no reason to wake up, but I still did. I didn't really know why, but Charlie Sheen says that he has one gear, GO. Maybe it was the GO that got me up. Sometimes you just do things because you have to. You want to pee so much that you get out of bed. No matter how much you hate your life, you feel that push inside your guts and you keep going. Deep down inside I knew/ know that I have to get up every morning and write a blog, and practice my ukulele, and write my stand up, and write my pilot, and write my feature, and go to work, because I know that I didn't leave everything I loved in Kentucky to sleep in LA.
        I'm positive that Charlie Sheen probably was talking about getting jazzed up on expensive cocaine, but the theory is the same. It's a focus on the force that moves us forward. (Not "The Force" from Star Wars. That doesn't move us forward. That "Force" controls our actions, but it also obey's our commands.) Charlie Sheen's GO and my GO are similar in that they keep us moving when sleep, and happiness, and fun die out. Dreams and Plans; Coke and Supermodels, it all works the same. Chew on that introspective stuff Hippies. I'm waking up in the morning and eating a healthy breakfast. That's the kind of girl I am.
Thanks Charlie.
So, we beat on, boats against the current, ceaselessly into the future (Shut up Fitzgerald, this is how I like it)

I’m working for the most powerful rodent in the world. #6

I work for “Mouse Works Inc.”. My first real day was to work the press junket for a film we will call, Autos 2. (It’s the sequel to Autos.) My job for the day was to, and I quote my manager, “Stand here and look pretty.” So, I stood next to a hand sanitizer dispenser for 5 hours in the cold. Yes, back when this happened, it was pretty cold here. I know what you’re thinking, “Wasn’t it really great to work the press junket? There were reporters and celebrities, and interesting interviews!” Well, I will tell you, YES it was pretty great. I got to see great interviews with really interesting people on topics that interest me. Yes, autos and animation interest me. I never claimed to have sophisticated interests. However, I also realized something, when you work for a giant corporation with endless funds; they have no problem paying you to do nothing. A major part of my “standing there and looking pretty” was “not to talk to anyone.” That is very hard for me. Very hard!  It’s even harder when the people who are standing around you notice that you have been standing in one spot for hours and they start asking you questions, like, “Why are you here?” What was I supposed to do, play Pictionary? I had to answer them.

So, now we have another entry of here’s what I said, here’s what I wanted to say:  

            They would ask: What are you doing? You’ve been standing here for hours. Or they would say. Why are you standing here? Or what’s your job today?

            I wanted to say: I have no idea. They told me to stand here, look pretty, smile and not talk to you. I think they are just trying to A) guard their stuff from you and your grubby hands and B) make it look like there are more people here. It makes the entire situation more exciting when there are more people here.

            I really said: I am demonstrating how to use this hand sanitizer. Would you like a demonstration? Then I would giggle and show them how to use the automatic hand sanitizer pump. It’s pretty easy.

They would usually leave me alone after that.  

After 5 hours of watching people interview celebrities, I came to this conclusion; some celebrities are babies. I kind of want to say, “It’s not going to get better than this for you. You are sitting in a chair (I’m standing up) and people are being nice to you, and asking you questions that have no wrong answers, like, do you have a car? Do you like cars? What’s the most fun thing about your car?

After those questions you will get some free food, and the people around the food will be nice to you, and you don’t have to park your own car, or pack your lunch, or make sure that your black pants are clean for tomorrow. You don’t have to find any quarters to wash those black pants. You probably have a washer and dryer in your house, and a wife or nice Mexican lady who knows how to use them. If you are unhappy after all those things, then you need to really examine yourself.  Maybe you followed the wrong dream, because I’m pretty sure all your dreams have already come true at this point and you are still being a baby. Maybe you really wanted to be an administrative assistant. Maybe then you would be happy. If you need help figuring out what you want to do with yourself, I will gladly trade you. You can work at Central Perk and stand here next to this hand sanitizer for 5 hours and I will sit in that chair and have people kiss my butt. I hope that helps! 

5th Post

Ok so this post is super late, but in order to keep everyone in touch I have to go in chronological order. I had been working at The Black Olive for about a month when I realized I would rather gouge my eyes out than serve another “big bowl of salad” to 6 grumpy Mexicans. I was also having reoccurring nightmares about serving there.

Here is an examples of one of the dreams I had:

                I was at home with my entire family when Robert Redford and Robin (from Batman) storm the house, they shoot all of us repeatedly. I get shot 10 times. I can feel the bullets under my skin. I am bleeding profusely all over. Robert Redford is laughing and yelling and now catching my childhood home on fire. I ask him, “Why are you doing this?!” He just laughs and says, “I’ll get you, little girl!” Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a clock. It’s 4:00pm! I have to go to work! So, I drag my bleeding body to The Black Olive, and I try to serve. It’s super loud in the restaurant tonight for some reason, and I can hardly hear what my tables are saying. They start getting super annoyed with me because they are having to repeat themselves. I finally hear them say, “We want a bottle of champagne!” Now, remember, I have been shot 10 times, and I’m still working. No one is bothered by the bleeding, they only care that they are having to repeat themselves.

                I ring in the champagne, and bring the bottle to the table. Then I try to open it. My hands are bleeding and weak from the bullets. I can’t get the bottle open. The table is super annoyed. I almost get it open when someone runs inside and yells, “Does anyone have a red Toyota Carolla? It’s on fire in the parking lot!”

                I have a red Toyota Carolla. I run out to the parking lot and there is Robert Redford, with a torch, burning my car and laughing. I fall to the ground crying, “WHY!!!!!” When I woke up I realized I needed another job. That was just one of many stress dreams regarding The Black Olive.

So I started looking for another job. I had been hired at Central Perk, but training took so long to schedule that I had been working there for 2 weeks when I got a job offer from a giant entertainment company that has ruled my life since childhood. We will call this company “Mouse Works Inc.”

I was hired to work at one of their theatres in Hollywood. They have all of their premiers there, and  I will be working in an attraction behind the theatre. Sort of a mini version of a theme park, and if you didn’t know, this company is kind of known for their theme parks. I’m super pumped, and I’m very sure that this experience will offer plenty of material to blog about. Any customer service job does.

  

SIDE NOTE:  there is a lady who lives across the street from me. I thought she was a nun in training, because she was dressed like a nun in training, but then I realized she just lives in a house and not in a Sound of Music Abby. About an hour after I discovered her, I saw her, in her nun in training outfit, skateboarding down the street.(on one of those long board things that you have to pump using your feet). I’m still unsure of her religious occupation. I am sure that she is pretty cool. 

I AM (blog post) NUMBER 4: Short and sweet, but vital information.

For those of you visiting California, or for those who haven’t been in California since February 2011, you may find something very unsettling every time you buy anything to eat…or enter a building….or buy clothes….or shoes….or a car….or pretty much anything. In California, there is a certain thing called Proposition 65. It has nothing to do with gay marriage, so if you vote against it, there really isn’t anything to fight with your family about at Thanksgiving.

                Proposition 65, was born in 1986, just like me, and it requires businesses to post a notice if there are any chemicals known to cause cancer present. There are 800 chemicals known to the state of California to cause cancer. Kentucky doesn’t know anything about these chemicals. Kentucky hasn’t even found out about tobacco yet (shhhh don’t tell).

800, is a lot of chemicals. Therefore, these signs are everywhere! Like on your shoes, on your car, on your apartment building, and since February 2011, at your local Starbucks. Now, since I work at the green logoed “Central Perk” I have recently been confronted about our cancer causing coffee (what great alliteration!!!).

The warning looks horrible, and basically says that something in this place causes cancer, and they put it right on the condiment bar. So, as soon as you buy your coffee, and start to put sugar and cream in it, and get ready for that first sip, you brace yourself, and read about how you’re going to die or have to pay for chemo, and cause your family tears and gnashing of teeth (And you thought paying $4.05 for a latte was bad).  So people flip out and bring their coffee back to me, with a look of “Take this cancer out of it! I didn’t order that!” and then they ask if our tea has, “All those chemicals in it too?” I have to tell them that those signs are everywhere and we are the only place dumb enough to put it out in a very visible spot. I’ve done some research and found out that the sign is because when you cook certain things past a certain temperature, they naturally create a chemical that some Sweedes back in 2002, discovered caused cancer in lab rats. So, roasted coffee beans could….haven’t…but could cause cancer in a lab rat.

                So, there you have it, people who don’t live in California. There are things, almost as bad as the stupid people in LA, they are these signs about how all the chemicals in the world are going to kill you.

                Another stupid California thing, is that LA needs subways. There is no parking in most of the city, there is way too much traffic and pollution, and the place is way too crowded. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are subways, but there aren’t enough subways stops for people to get to where they need to go. I take the subway, but I have to drive to the station, and park my car there….yeah, that kind of defeats the purpose of taking the subway, but it saves me money on having to park in Hollywood.

                So to summarize: Cancer warning signs and driving to the train stop, are dumb. Get it together LA.

Introducing: Me! My first week, the SWAT Team and Tourrets.

Hello!
I am one of many LA Newbies. I've moved to this fine city to follow my dreams of being a star or at least working in the entertainment industry. I've decided to start this blog to keep friends and family (and the occasional reader who has followed a very long rabbit trail after a Google search) aware of the goings on in my life.
I've been in LA for a little over a week and have realized there are quite a few things to get used to.

Paying for Parking: Unless you are at the airport or a major event, it never happens in Kentucky. It always happens in LA. Get used to it.
Being Unemployed: It is really uncool in Kentucky to be unemployed. It's pretty average here. So is being homeless. Get used to it.
Traffic: Only during rush hour in Kentucky in designated spots. From 6:30-10 and from 3-7. No amount of yelling will make it stop. Get used to it.

Other than that. Life has been pretty great. It's mostly been sunny, but one time, I thought it rained because the sidewalks were wet, but then I realized that it was raining the same time everyday and only the sidewalks were wet. It was the sprinklers.
My first Sunday night here, roommate Jeff and I went over to our friend’s house and we couldn't get back home because there was a shoot out in front of our apartment. Wait, did I forget to mention that THERE WAS A SHOOT OUT IN FRONT OF OUR APARTMENT!!!!! Because there was one!

Let me elaborate.
-11:30 PM: I’m driving home (not using the GPS because I’m getting that good with my navigation skills) and my street is blocked off. So, I circle the block to come in on the other side. My street is blocked off this way too. So, I have no idea how to get home. I pull up to the blockade and say to the cop, “I live on this street. I need to get home.  He responds with, “There is a shoot out in progress. I can’t let you do that.” Well, ok then. At this time, I notice the helicopter with the spot light circling my block. Jeff and I wait at a restaurant called Tommy’s that serves hamburgers with chili on them, and I start texting Victoria who is in our apartment, which is apparently located on the OK corral!

-12:00 AM: The restaurant closed and Jeff and I decide to wait it out in the parking lot of a 7 eleven at the end of our block.   

- 12:30 AM: the helicopter leaves, and Jeff and I become hopeful. 

- 1:30 AM The cops decide to get coffee at the 7 eleven, and I ask them to give me a time frame. They have no idea what a time frame is.

- 2:00 AM: the cops approach my car, and say to me words that inspired me to blog. Words that I never thought I would hear, and words that I hope I never hear again. They say, “Ma’am, we’re sending in the SWAT TEAM to evacuate the apartment s on the street, so it’s going to be another 4 hours or so. You should make plans to stay somewhere else tonight.”  I have been in LA for one week and already I have a run in with the cops, a shootout, and the SWAT team is involved!

                Jeff and I drive out to my friend’s house (who lives 30 mins away) and stay the night there. I still have no idea what happened with the shooting, and haven’t been able to find anything about it on the news. Creepy 

                Two days later, I hang out with my friend Candice whom I haven’t seen in almost 10 years! We had a blast. We had dinner at TGI Friday’s and then stayed pretty late for their Tuesday night Karaoke. I then encounter DJ Debbi. Debbi is in her late 50’s. She has bleached blonde hair. She has the top half shaved about two inches long, and the rest is past her shoulders. She, essentially, has a reverse bowl cut. She also has turrets. She will randomly yell, “Young man!” in a high pitched voice over the microphone. Karaoke was awesome!

                This blog is getting long, so I’m going to end it. There has been so much great stuff that’s happened in LA so far. I've actually had some cool acting things look like they may happen. I've been hunting for jobs, because even though unemployment is cool, I just can't do it. I have some pretty cool roommates, and I've been having reoccurring nightmares about Robert Redford, but those are for the next one. Oh, and there is a homeless man in the living room, sleeping on my couch. True Story! I’ll let you know how that works out!