Natasha Lloyd

Natasha Lloyd
Tracy Birdsell Photgraphy

Friday, February 27, 2009

Almost murdered at Yale.

I wake up yesterday while its still dark- something about that always messes with my mind. I get to the airport with plenty of time to buy a trashy romance novel (which by page 60 has produced no... um... romance, so quite the disappointment) and get on the plane. Only a 45 min. flight to L.A. But oh, the adventures...

I sat next to a millionaire (who I will allow to remain nameless, esp. considering I gave him my website)... This man apparently is a big contributor for Yale, and also has a, um, thing for younger women. He told me he'd get me into the school, but also told me I should spend a few weeks with him at his house in the Hamptons, or Buenos aires, or something...

My next flight I sat next to A film/TV Agent who represents Naomi Watts and was reading one of her new scripts during the flight. I was reading it over her shoulder. It was terrible. This woman was great- we both agreed 'The Reader' sucked, except for the boy. We both agreed that Leo was best in Departed, and we both knew when to shut up and read. God bless good plane partners.

When I got to New York, I had to wait an hour for my shuttle, and when he got there, I had gone back in for food. Had to run out and catch him, but the Jamaican driver forgave all when I offered him the rest of my cheese. I got to my hotel to find they had overbooked and were transferring me elsewhere. I decided to hold off on the cab ride and see a Yale cabaret show instead. Shannon picked me up and we walked over to the charming little theatre. I sat at a little table with Paula Vogel (How I learned to drive) and had a glass of wine and watched a real good piece of theatre. Zappleman was in it. He was hi-larious. Got a ride back to my first hotel to get a cab to the new one... this is when the shit really started to fly...

The receptionist called me a cab, said itd be here in 5 minutes... Then a stout, sweaty man with awkward facial hair comes in and calls me over to him, I inched closer, keeping at least 6 feet between myself and this specimen. He proceeds to tell me he's very wealthy is willing to offer me "copious amounts of money" to spend some "time" with him tonight. well, shit. Thats two in one day. I tell him I dont need his money, but thank you. To which he responds, "No, I mean COPIOUS AMOUNTS... just to come to my room and say hi to me." "Well, I'll say hi to you down here for free." Thus begins a 45 MINUTE effort to get this man to realize I will not be his call girl this evening. Thank you, Metro Taxi, for taking nearly an hour and trapping me in a lobby with an ex-priest that smells even more like shame than the booze he's clearly been knocking back for the last 3 hours. When the taxi shows up the freaky pimp has taken a brief trip to the restroom, and before we can pull out of the parking lot, priesty-boy has run out of the hotel and is knocking on my window to say goodbye. Oh, god. The last thing I see is the poor guy locked out of the hotel knocking on a window drunkenly to get back in. This is when i notice the cabbie...

Wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank top and b-ball shorts, this behemoth of a man, who was clearly an extra in Gladiator, starts driving. I notice he's attempting to enter something into his gps and failing. "Airehpord?" he asks. "No, not airport, premier suites? the hotel? I think they told u about it on the phone?" "Yes," says Hulk. He starts driving to a real dank part of town, and by this point its almost 2 am and im wondering if he knows where the hell he's going. Ignoring all the directions his british gps is spitting out, he take 3 u-turns and heads down a residential street. we get to an over pass and he starts slowing down, I can barely see out the window cuz its so dark and suddenly this man appears right next to the cab and starts to try to open my door. The driver turns to me and says "dis is yor friend...."

"No! This is not my friend. I dont know this guy. keep driving, man!" The driver thinks for a second, and starts to drive. what- the- hell. We get to a race track and he pulls in the parking lot and stops. I ask "Do you know where we are?" He looks at me and just says "Dont be scared." I proceed to tell him i have pepper spray in my pocket (well, i had a cellphone and some gum) and he should find my hotel very quickly. He pulls back out and starts down another road, i see a place that looks like the right name in the distance and tell him to go that direction, after passing it twice he stops at the wrong end of the hotel. I jump outta the cab like a bat out of hell and go to the lobby only to be told they didnt get the reservation from the other hotel, have to get papers faxed in, and I should wait for a while. While waiting , I look out the window and see the cabbie has since pulled to the front of the lobby and is staring at me. 5 minutes pass. 10. 15. He's still there. Finally I tell the 3am receptionist to get security and make the guy leave. Security equals a 300lb black woman covered in tattoos who I immediately wanted to be my best friend. She goes outside, I see her yelling at him, and a few minutes later he drives off. She tells me he argued and said he wasnt gunna leave, and that she thinks he was waiting to see what room i went to, so she decides to escort me through a back door so he won't see me. great.

I get to my room, (in the outdoor motel accessible to any and all murderers and rapists) check all the closets and try to sleep. 10 minutes later I hear footsteps outside my door. I grab a knife from the kitchenette and walk to the door, prepared to become Jessica Biel in any and all movie. I look out the peep hole... no one. I call security, they come to the room and say theyve called the cab company and they want to talk to me. I talk to the company and give them the drivers info. Guess what- no driver by that name.

I file a complaint, turn on pbs real loud and check all the locks. Fell asleep by four, checked out at noon, and am now safe in my bed in my original hotel typing to u fine people with just one thing to say after all this- I better get into this school.


  1. hellllo! it's sarah carter - remember that time in high school when we dated the same guy (although not at the same time, which would have been a better story)?

    i just had to say that of all the horrific things i've heard, seen or experienced, "don't be scared" might be the one that stays with me for the rest of my life.

    also, when i headed to college, my grandpa gave me three different cans of military grade pepper spray - so i have extras, if you actually need some.

  2. Wow! What a story! You could almost publish a book with that one! Seriously kept me interested! gonna be moving to new york anytime soon? LOL