Back in the Game

Spring is here, with summer right around the corner and I've realized how bad I am about updating/writing on this thing. This terribly demanding "thing." Because of this I have decided to attempt at least 1 new entry a week concerning my goings-on (not including the infrequent entry about bunnies or Paris Hilton that I'll continue to post when I'm drunk). I mean, what better way to stay in touch with loved ones than to brag (weekly) about how fun it is to frolic around West L.A. during the summer months? "But you grew-up in Southern California, Monica- how can it possibly be that much more fun the second time around?" you might ask. Well besides being older, wiser and more "legal" this time around, I live in Venice and not Orange County. For those of you who aren't aware of the difference between the two, watch 3 minutes of any teen drama television series (on-air or in syndication) that have the words "Orange County" in them and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. Regardless, here's to a spring and summer of more regular entries.

To kick things off, here are some fun photos documenting what happens when you have half of Good Friday off and you're no longer a practicing Catholic.

all work and no play

makes mon a lame girl.

i worked all weekend helping to flesh out a concept that my agency is pitching for new business thursday of this week.
i took a break long enough this morning to run for AIDS. still no cure, but it felt good to walk at a comfortable pace for such a good cause.
ryan gets in thursday evening and i'm super psyched.

LA Rulzz

At lunch last week, a co-worker of mine described an encounter he had had with an A-list celebrity a few months ago. It was interesting for a handful of reasons, but namely because it involved Paris Hilton. I can't describe the fascination I have for this young, indecent woman (a zeal that is only matched by the intensity I track her former partner-in-crime, Nicole Richie). My only rebuttal is that following celebs is a whole lot safer than doing crack. Or something like that.

So the story goes that my co-worker finds himself out with an attractive-looking group of people, with a ratio of girls to guys that's in the groups' favor. (In LA this is approximately 5 girls, 2 guys.) Anyways, they get into this club that apparently is really hard to get into if you're not someone important. The majority of his story revolves around the fickle attention of this girl he's interested in, but the highlight of the evening is while my co-worker is going wild on the dance floor, he manages to smack (and cup?) Paris Hilton's breast, as she's leaving the club, with his open hand that's flying through the air. He says that she just sort of stopped, shrugged and kept walking. Shrugged and kept walking! I can actually picture her not even blinking when this took place. And that is so cool. No, not grabbing the underdeveloped cleavage (like I should talk) of one Ms. Paris Hilton. But the fact that she didn't even seem fazed by it.

And that's why LA rules.
Kinda.