<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:23:52.655-07:00</updated><title type='text'>LA is Weird</title><subtitle type='html'>An actor in LA recounts the craziness of daily life.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114828222756447085</id><published>2006-05-22T00:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-22T00:18:13.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Un-Faire</title><content type='html'>The Machinist and I went to the Renaissance Pleasure Faire yesterday and had quite an interesting day. I got REALLY sunburnt on my face. When I was a kid, every fall we would go to the Renaissance Festival outside of Houston and it was always a lot of fun. This Ren Fest is significantly smaller than the Texas version and slightly more frightening. The Machinist tested his archery prowess by nearly cutting his finger off (I'm not sure how, but the woman running the archery stand was really worried about the way he was holding the bow).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a lot of fun seeing some of the shows. The Bold and Stupid Men show was great. They brought the Machinist up on stage and he had to strut about and prove his manliness in order to receive a kiss from me. They also told jokes and swordfought each other. Hilarious fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also saw some pretty pathetic jousting. Depending on where you sat in the arena you were in one of the knights' sections. We were in the Blue section of Sir Wilfart. Of course our guy lost every competition and didn't even sell it very well. We also saw a battle royal between the Irish and somebody (the story was never quite clear to me). They faced off on the field and all 50 of them would come at each other with swords and pikes and some had muskets (I'm not entirely sure what year this was supposed to be) and they would have a little fight and one guy would fall to the field. It took 45 minutes to put a dent in either army.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The highlight (or rather lowlight) of the festival were the people in costume. Of course we expected your goth people and your D &amp;amp; D nerds to be all dressed up and feeling important, but the tragic part was the horrible boobs on display everywhere. There was not a good set to be seen all day and believe me the Machinist was on patrol. The one decent set I saw was on a normal looking 20 something girl who was just wearing a tank top. Unfortunately the Machinist was in the port-o-potty and missed them. Overall the women were some of the grossest looking women I've seen in one place in a long time. They were all about 60 pounds overweight with pale disgusting boobs, mashed into place and flowing over their outfits. I actually shivered a couple of times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But at least I got soup in a bread bowl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114828222756447085?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114828222756447085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114828222756447085' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114828222756447085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114828222756447085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/05/un-faire.html' title='The Un-Faire'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114539633760961058</id><published>2006-04-18T14:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-18T14:38:57.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Swarm</title><content type='html'>I was driving down Verdugo today and at the corner of Verdugo and Olive I see the car next to me frantically rolling up his window. I look to the sidewalk on the left and there's a man running down the street swatting at something that I assume is a bee. But when I look about 15 feet behind him there is a HUGE swarm of bees surrounding a black Accord. There were literally thousands of bees. I have no idea where they came from or what was so exciting about the Honda, but they were all over it. I was really glad my window was already up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114539633760961058?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114539633760961058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114539633760961058' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114539633760961058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114539633760961058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/04/swarm.html' title='The Swarm'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114464244478379858</id><published>2006-04-09T21:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-09T21:14:04.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>IT'S UP!!!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>The commercial I filmed is now airing on quattroforwomen.com! Very exciting. They are billing it as a reality series, but nothing about my character is real. Other than my name. My father has never been in the army, I don't teach middle school, and I've never been to Spokane. But... it is cool to see the commercial. A new part airs every Monday and Thursday. Tomorrow part 3 goes up. Very very cool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114464244478379858?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114464244478379858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114464244478379858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114464244478379858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114464244478379858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/04/its-up.html' title='IT&apos;S UP!!!!!!!!'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114203445685027010</id><published>2006-03-10T15:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-10T16:25:09.340-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back from Vegas</title><content type='html'>WOW! What a crazy trip that was. For the most part, I had a really great time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upsides:&lt;br /&gt;They put us up at the Palms hotel and upgraded us to suites, so I had this sweet spa tub.&lt;br /&gt;I made some good money.&lt;br /&gt;I really liked the other girls and 95% of the crew.&lt;br /&gt;I got to drive around in a red Mustang convertible.&lt;br /&gt;I got Marky Mark a gig as a P.A. on the commercial, so he was around. The producer, Tortuga, thought there was something going on with us because I saved him a spot at dinner one night. One of the other girls was like, "She knew him before this. She's the one who got him the job, he's her boyfriend's roommate."&lt;br /&gt;Since we were shooting at The Improv in Las Vegas, they let me do my stand up set there. The crowd was a little old for some of my jokes, but they laughed which was cool.&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a freakin' commercial!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Downsides:&lt;br /&gt;The bedding in the hotel was goosedown which I am totally allergic to. I didn't realize it was goosedown until the first morning when I woke up and my eyes were swollen shut and my lips looked like I'd been punched in the face. A couple of benadryl and a few hours, and it went away, but I had the bedding removed after that.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't have any time to hit the tables or see any shows, they kept us really busy.&lt;br /&gt;For one of the scenes, we had to get a "private show" from strippers from The Thunder from Down Under. They kept their pants on but they were incredibly close to us. I got my lip gloss on my stripper, Donovan's shirt. I was like, "Dude, I'm sorry I got lip gloss on your shirt." And he said, "That's ok." And he pulled out his personal lip gloss out of his pocket and put some on me and then himself. I was like "I AM SOOOO UNCLEAN!" if I could burn my lips, I would. GROSS!&lt;br /&gt;I had to come home a night early. I was supposed to come home Thursday morning in the caravan of cars and the other two girls were going to fly back (I am not a fan of flying and they gave me the choice between flying and driving). So, right after we wrapped, they told me I had to leave immediately because the only car that could take me back was leaving. If I had known I was going to go home early, I would have played some blackjack the night before. So, I never got the opportunity to hit the tables.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how the commercial is going to end up looking, but Tortuga sent me some pictures from the shoot. And I'm excited about seeing the finished product.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114203445685027010?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114203445685027010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114203445685027010' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114203445685027010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114203445685027010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/03/back-from-vegas.html' title='Back from Vegas'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114083415998072002</id><published>2006-02-24T18:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-24T18:22:39.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Going to Vegas!</title><content type='html'>Remember that commercial audition I had on Valentine's Day which prevented me from going to Disneyland. Well, I found out this morning that I booked it!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to Las Vegas for a 4 day shoot for Schick razors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How sweet is that? I guess missing a day at Disney wasn't such a bad thing after all. I am soooo excited. It will be nice to pay off my credit cards and it will be super nice to be working. I had to cancel about 50 rehearsals for the weekend and the early part of next week, but if people can't deal with it then they don't understand why we are all out here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Machinist was sooo excited for me. My parents were super excited for me. I am super excited for me. I hope I don't suck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is wardrobe fitting and then we shoot in LA on Sunday and Monday morning we drive to Vegas in a red mustang convertible. I am really looking forward to this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114083415998072002?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114083415998072002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114083415998072002' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114083415998072002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114083415998072002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/02/im-going-to-vegas.html' title='I&apos;m Going to Vegas!'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114050526255290212</id><published>2006-02-20T22:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-20T23:01:02.566-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Suddenly I'm Very Busy</title><content type='html'>For the last two months I have been super slothful. I had a regular gig doing improv in Sherman Oaks, but I left the group in January to pursue other options (nice way of saying I had to get the hell out of there). But up until recently I had been quite bored. Pilot season is upon us and although I had a few auditions here and there, things didn't start to pick up for me until about 2 weeks ago. In the last month I have started improv classes at the UCB, committed to a sketch show run, and had 8 auditions, not to mention that I'm about to start sketch classes at the UCB, and I'm writing a sketch show with Ocean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it rains, it pours. I like having lots to do. Keeps me occupied. Although I am also trying to finish proofreading the teacher's manual to the law book I just finished writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not complaining. I'm just venting. After all, there are people in 3rd world countries without any auditions at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114050526255290212?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114050526255290212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114050526255290212' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114050526255290212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114050526255290212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/02/suddenly-im-very-busy.html' title='Suddenly I&apos;m Very Busy'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-114023271607992339</id><published>2006-02-17T19:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-17T19:18:36.090-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I am a badass!</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I'm only sort of a bad ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But stand up was awesome. I performed at a hole in the wall bar for 40 or so people. But they laughed. A lot as a matter of fact. And now I couldn't be more excited about doing stand up again. So, hopefully soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was supposed to go with the Machinist to Disneyland on Valentine's Day, but I had a callback for a commercial and I had to cancel. He was more excited about the callback than I was. It went fine, but it's Friday and I haven't heard, so I assume I didn't get it.  We're going to go some time in the next couple of weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an audition today for a sketch show in Hollywood. They have already called to offer me the part. And I said yes, so I will be doing a sketch show. I really enjoy doing sketch runs. I haven't seen any of the sketches and I don't know who else made it into the show, but they seem to have good taste so far, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus, I signed up to take a sketch writing class at UCB which should be good. And... Ocean and I are working on writing our own sketch show. So, I have a super busy next couple of months ahead, which is great because I can't stand sitting around all the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-114023271607992339?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/114023271607992339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=114023271607992339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114023271607992339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/114023271607992339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/02/i-am-badass.html' title='I am a badass!'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113928864812868424</id><published>2006-02-06T21:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-06T21:04:08.146-08:00</updated><title type='text'>T for the D: Stand Up Is Scary</title><content type='html'>I am doing stand up on the 12th and I am actually nervous. I NEVER get nervous about performing (on stage, that is) and I am incredibly nervous. I am doing almost all new material and I haven't done stand up in about a year. Soooo... we'll have to see how that turns out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113928864812868424?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113928864812868424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113928864812868424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113928864812868424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113928864812868424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/02/t-for-d-stand-up-is-scary.html' title='T for the D: Stand Up Is Scary'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113694788971658482</id><published>2006-01-10T18:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-10T19:03:38.350-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I must really love him...</title><content type='html'>I am going to see the Machinist and his buddies, the Heroes, perform at the Chicago Sketch Fest this weekend, and I am a beyond terrible fly-er. So, I am already panicking about that. But, my agent calls me today and tells me that I have an audition tomorrow for a SAG national commercial for VISA. I gently remind her that I had booked out for the rest of the week and that I can't make the audition. She says OK, and hangs up. Of course I feel like stepping out in traffic now because I so desperately need my SAG card and this would have been a great opportunity for me if only I were in town. I must really love this guy. I'm not actually that upset. If I really wanted to cancel the trip and go to the audition I could and he wouldn't be mad at all. It's just ironic and I hate fucking irony.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113694788971658482?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113694788971658482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113694788971658482' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113694788971658482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113694788971658482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2006/01/i-must-really-love-him.html' title='I must really love him...'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113460750528929929</id><published>2005-12-14T16:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-14T16:45:05.290-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I was better off not knowing</title><content type='html'>I had an audition on Wednesday of last week for Dish Network. I thought it went pretty well, and I wasn't surprised when I got called back on Thursday. I had another stellar audition, and as I was leaving the room, the director called out to me, "The reading you just did was absolutely perfect. Only perfect audition all day." I was soooooooo excited, and of course I thought, I got this, right? So, I've been basically waiting by the phone for the call that I am sure to get. Which is never going to come as I've realized. I would not have been waiting by the phone had the director not said that comment. I had other auditions last week, 2 on the same day as the Dish Network audition as a matter of fact, and I didn't wait by the phone for any of those. And you know why? Because nobody said I was perfect. When someone tells you that you're perfect you think you booked work. How is it possible not to? But here I sit. By the phone. Not actually waiting anymore. Just sad. So sad. I would have been better off had he not said anything at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113460750528929929?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113460750528929929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113460750528929929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113460750528929929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113460750528929929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/12/i-was-better-off-not-knowing.html' title='I was better off not knowing'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113460718110690263</id><published>2005-12-14T16:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-14T16:39:41.116-08:00</updated><title type='text'>shopping at trader joe's</title><content type='html'>There is something about shopping at Trader Joe's that makes me feel like a good person. I'm not exactly sure what it is. Trader Joe's is sort of like Whole Foods, except Whole Foods makes me feel a little too granola-y. Trader Joe's makes me feel like, hey, I'm doing something great for the universe by eating zucchini. I'm not sure how it helps the universe, but it has to. I actually feel healthier just by buying food there, whether or not I eat it. I guess that is the power of TJ's.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113460718110690263?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113460718110690263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113460718110690263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113460718110690263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113460718110690263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/12/shopping-at-trader-joes.html' title='shopping at trader joe&apos;s'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113384239802138331</id><published>2005-12-05T20:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-05T20:13:28.113-08:00</updated><title type='text'>too true, too true</title><content type='html'>&lt;table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" width="350" align="center" border="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="COLOR: #dddddd" align="middle"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;You Have a Choleric Temperament&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#eeeeee"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img height="100" src="http://images.blogthings.com/whattempermentareyouquiz/choleric.jpg" width="100" /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;You are a person of great enthusiasm - easily excited by many things.Unsatisfied by the ordinary, you are reaching for an epic, extraordinary life.You want the best. The best life. The best love. The best reputation.&lt;br /&gt;You posses a sharp and keen intellect. Your mind is your primary weapon.Strong willed, nothing can keep you down. Your energy can break down any wall.You're an instantly passionate person - and this passion gives you an intoxicating power over others.&lt;br /&gt;At your worst, you are a narcissist. Full of yourself and even proud of your faults.Stubborn and opinionated, you know what you think is right. End of discussion.A bit of a misanthrope, you often see others as weak, ignorant, and inferior.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="&lt;a"&gt;What&lt;/a&gt; Temperment Are You?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113384239802138331?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113384239802138331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113384239802138331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113384239802138331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113384239802138331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/12/too-true-too-true.html' title='too true, too true'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113347295632144860</id><published>2005-12-01T13:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T13:35:56.336-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back from out of town</title><content type='html'>Well, I've been visiting the family in Kentucky (not where I'm from, but where they happen to currently reside). It was great to see everyone, but especially my dog who is on the brink of death. I am glad I got to go home and see him before he dies. He's a good dog who will no doubt go to heaven (if there is such a place, and I hope there is, at least for dogs).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also got to meet my sister's fiance, and he seems like a nice guy, so good for her. The only annoying part is that their wedding is literally 11 months from now, and I have already had to endure countless arrangements (I am the maid of honor), including throwing an engagement party (as mandated by my mother), trying on bride's maid dresses, picking out color schemes, and helping my mother find a mother of the bride dress, my lucky father gets to wear a tuxedo he already owns. If this is the level of annoyance this far away from the date, it is going to suck when it actually arrives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an awesome workshop last week with a casting director from My Name Is Earl, it was like an awesome audition and an awesome acting class rolled into one. I felt super good about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I had one of the best days of my life yesterday at Disneyland with my boyfriend, who I am more in love with than words can express, and with my mom, who yo-yoed between sugar highs all day. It was a really super fun time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been gone for nearly 3 weeks, and I must say that it is sooooo good to be home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113347295632144860?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113347295632144860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113347295632144860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113347295632144860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113347295632144860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/12/back-from-out-of-town.html' title='Back from out of town'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113078373593877321</id><published>2005-10-31T10:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T10:35:35.940-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Family Meet and Greet</title><content type='html'>The Machinist, whom I mentioned earlier, and I are still going strong more than 2 months later. And he already had the joy of meeting my father in September. So, his sister "Golden Girl" came to town this weekend and it was my turn to justify my existence. First off, I really like her. She's very cool, funny, nice, all the good things that make it easy to make a decent impression. Of course, I know that The Machinist values her opinion a lot, so I'm trying to be on my best behavior, which is INCREDIBLY difficult for me, not because I don't want to be, but because I don't really have a best behavior. So, I start doing what I do around my Dad when he's not talking and I feel like I have to fill the silence. I start rambling on and on about who knows what. And every time I try to pull myself out of the hole, I just feel like I'm making it worse. Golden Girl was extremely nice, and I'm sure that it went fine, but of course in my head all I can hear her reporting to his parents is "she seemed like she was drunk the whole time I was there."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113078373593877321?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113078373593877321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113078373593877321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113078373593877321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113078373593877321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/10/family-meet-and-greet.html' title='The Family Meet and Greet'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-113078335151553937</id><published>2005-10-31T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T10:29:11.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Have I Mentioned That I Love 7-11?</title><content type='html'>OK- This trip to 7-11 wasn't nearly as exciting as the others, but totally worth a mention. The funny thing about it is the list of purchases of the guy in front of me in line. It was this early 20 something year old guy, he had a pack of Marlboro Lights, a Pot Enthusiast Magazine, a 6 pack of chocolate mini donuts, and a box of Trojan MAGNUMs. I have no idea what the night he had planned was going to be like, but he made all of his purchases and then rode off on his... bicycle. Wow, some lucky girl had quite an evening I'm sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-113078335151553937?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/113078335151553937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=113078335151553937' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113078335151553937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/113078335151553937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/10/have-i-mentioned-that-i-love-7-11.html' title='Have I Mentioned That I Love 7-11?'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-112933924381970972</id><published>2005-10-14T18:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-14T18:20:43.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>drag racing on the 134</title><content type='html'>In LA there are on ramps with little stop lights at the top to control the flow of traffic, so when you get to the top of the on ramp, you have to wait for a green light for two cars at a time to go. Well, today I was at the top of the on ramp on to the 134 fwy, and there was a bus from the Senior Citizen Living Center next to me. It was full to the brim with seniors out on some exciting excursion, I'm sure. Well, our light turned green and the bus and I both powered up to full speed, and the bus essentially cut me off in a bid to get on the freeway first. I guess the seniors were in some sort of hurry. The best part was after soundly defeating me in my efforts to enter the freeway first, the seniors on the bus all raised their fists in triumph. Congratulations seniors. Of course, being the LA resident I am, and full of road rage, and more than a little humbled by my embarrassing loss to the seniors, I sped up beside them on the freeway, passed them, and then raised my fist in triumph. Take that old folks!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-112933924381970972?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/112933924381970972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=112933924381970972' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112933924381970972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112933924381970972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/10/drag-racing-on-134.html' title='drag racing on the 134'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-112828924662536326</id><published>2005-10-02T14:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T14:40:46.630-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nice to meet you</title><content type='html'>My friend, we'll call her St. Olaf, is dating this new man, the Tenor. I had not met him yet, and they have been going out for about a month, so I was really excited to finally meet the guy last week. She introduced me and I went to shake his hand, and the guy gave me a beyond firm handshake. It was the kind where you can feel the small bones in your hand crack. I'm a woman, so I have no idea why he thought he had to assert his dominance to that degree. Honestly I thought he was going to break my hand. I can't imagine what sex with the guy is like.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-112828924662536326?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/112828924662536326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=112828924662536326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112828924662536326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112828924662536326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/10/nice-to-meet-you.html' title='Nice to meet you'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-112794687350265156</id><published>2005-09-28T15:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-28T15:34:33.506-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I love my pets</title><content type='html'>I'm driving in Hollywood to go drop off my new headshots at the reprinter, and there's a woman crossing the street in front of me pushing a baby carriage. When she turns the corner, I realize that the baby inside, is actually... a small dog. It had an outfit on, it was all strapped in, and it was a freakin' dog. Wow. How Hollywood. I love those moments. It's like, what the hell was that woman thinking this morning. "I'm gonna walk the dog... but I would hate for the dog to have to do too much work... and he might get a little chilly... or fall out... so I'll put him in a carriage in a sundress and strap him down." Makes perfect sense.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-112794687350265156?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/112794687350265156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=112794687350265156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112794687350265156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112794687350265156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/09/i-love-my-pets.html' title='I love my pets'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-112781184686305926</id><published>2005-09-27T01:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-27T02:04:09.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nude is good... sometimes</title><content type='html'>I got a call from my agent this week, there is a cable show that is looking for an actress who knows Sign Language. The catch is that the actress will be naked (all parts obscured in some way). My agent wanted to know if I was interested. My first instinct was hell no, but after reading what the part was, it seemed like a really interesting role, so I told her to go ahead and submit me. I don't know how much naked time and how much nakedness will be seen, but it's worth going in for the audition. I just don't want to embarrass myself. I'm a girl, so my thought is that no one is going to want to see me naked. Ever. Ever. But, I'm willing to give anything a try, once. Actually I'm not, but I wanted to sound bold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO... Have you ever been on the phone with someone and they aren't your significant other, or even friend, let's say it's a sibling for the sake of argument, and that person is clearly getting some sort of sexual gratification from someone else while they are talking to you? Happened this week on my birthday. What could I do? I just said, "Dad's visiting, let me put him on the phone." Hopefully a cease and desist order immediately went into place, otherwise I have just traumatized my father.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-112781184686305926?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/112781184686305926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=112781184686305926' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112781184686305926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112781184686305926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/09/nude-is-good-sometimes_27.html' title='Nude is good... sometimes'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16886017.post-112711680404588756</id><published>2005-09-19T00:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-19T01:00:04.050-07:00</updated><title type='text'>2 Crazy Trips to 7-11</title><content type='html'>I don't know when it happened, but 7-11 has become the place where crazy people have started trying out their new material.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trip 1: I went to 7-11 a couple of days ago, and there was a man standing in line, or at least I thought he was. So, I decided I would stand in line behind him. My mistake. He turned around, looked at me like I was the crazy one and walked off. So, I made my purchase and was preparing to walk out the door, when I saw him drop the bag of mixed nuts he was holding (appropriate as you will see), and followed me into the parking lot. I got in my car. He got in his car. And what a car it was, a navy blue piece of crap with white primer paint showing through, and a red racing stripe in the back. Well, I didn't realize he was following me, until I pulled onto my street. He zoomed past me, made an illegal u-turn in the middle of the street, like he was trying to block me from continuing down the street. Unfortunately for him, he made the turn down the street past my driveway. I pulled up my driveway and he pulled his car in front of my driveway and parallel parked in front of the driveway, preventing anyone from getting in or out. I ran down the driveway, up the stairs, and banged on my neighbor's door until she let me in. The man stayed there, parallel parked in front of the driveway, standing by his car, staring at my apartment for about 20 minutes until he heard the sounds of sirens, from the cops that I had called.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trip 2: I know, you're thinking, "Why did you go back to the 7-11?" Well, it's convenient, it keeps Diet Mountain Dew in stock, and I'm not going to let some nut keep me from shopping in my pajamas. So, I went tonight. I pull up in the parking lot (looking for the navy racecar, of course) and there aren't any other cars, but there is a man standing in front with a magazine in front of his face. So, I park and get out of the car, and the man pulls the magazine down to reveal that he is wearing the scariest Halloween mask EVER! It's white and wrinkled, not a plastic mask, more like a plaster mask, and you can't see in the eye holes, and there is no mouth hole, just a creepy smile. Do I walk in the 7-11? Or do I flee in terror? I walked right on in, got my refreshing beverage, and walked right out. And there he was, mask and all, dancing with glee in the parking lot, waving his hands in the air. As I drove home, I half expected him to pop up from the back seat and kill me, like in a horror movie. Didn't happen. Obviously. But I am seriously starting to rethink going to that particular 7-11.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16886017-112711680404588756?l=laisweird.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/feeds/112711680404588756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16886017&amp;postID=112711680404588756' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112711680404588756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16886017/posts/default/112711680404588756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laisweird.blogspot.com/2005/09/2-crazy-trips-to-7-11.html' title='2 Crazy Trips to 7-11'/><author><name>Jules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12588900759765581892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
