17 August 2013

I'm contemplating changing my future autobiography's title to Sleeping Under The Stars, switching "with" to "under," for my adventures with celluloid co-stars in my media noche realm. Who would spend money on that? I would. I was pondering James And The Giant Peach, since Gandolfini and I meet on a regular basis, but sadly it's already been taken.

Have you ever found yourself naked and in public? I would love to enlist the help of Lauren Lawrence, columnist for the NY Daily News and dream interpreter on Celebrity Nightmares Decoded, to demystify my psyche.  She has a fine-tuned intuition and a real believability to her gift.

My subliminal territory has been lacking a little bit recently, but I remember distinctly one with my Zumba teacher. Real life storyline: I e-mailed her one day to let her know that I wouldn't be attending class anymore, didn't get a reply which was more than strange since she'd always answer. We had hung-out a couple of times, so I felt hurt. What kind of person would diss you for five dollars a session? The illusory plot: she had written a book and was selling it from a car in a parking lot. Okay, Lauren, what does this mean? Even though my former cumbia coach is not yet famous.

It's not how you look but it's how you feel. Transcendental. "Dance like nobody's watching." I was in my element, looking down upon myself, as I rocked it on tip-toes with the Bollywood rhythm as my guide. I felt like an exotic Mumbai princess in spiritual pursuit but, in reality, more like a tangled octopus.

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