Monday, April 30, 2007

Party Planning

I’ve been asked to help schedule and plan a party.

Let’s just let that sink in for a moment.

I have been asked to plan a party. Yeah, because when you think to yourself—gosh, you know who loves going to and throwing parties? Kate. Totally. She loves people. She can’t get enough of people. Social. Social. Social. She’s never home. Life is just one big party for Kate. You certainly don’t find her hiding in a corner behind a plant.

You know what aspect she loves the most—Food. Lord only knows how much she loves dining out, particularly at night. Foodie and Kate are practically synonymous. Foodie, party planning and Kate. She’s really the best person for the job.

I mean… have these people met me? Have the words “I want to throw a party” ever left my mouth? Not to my knowledge. In fact, I’m not sure the words “I want to go to a party” have often left my mouth (alright, there was that one time that involved a guy, a frat party and a toga, but that was years ago, and all the witnesses have been disappeared).

On what planet does someone expect me to have any clue how much food feeds 150 people, or how much that would reasonably cost? I go to the grocery store once a month tops. And if it is food that can’t be eaten while standing over the sink in my kitchen, it’s going to stay in my freezer a very long time.

I’ve known these people for years, but either they aren’t remotely aware of who they are dealing with, or they just don’t have time to do it themselves.

So, dear friends, expect a call. One, or more of you, will be coming very, very soon to a restaurant near you (well, near me). And you will sit down and play taste tester.

Now, any volunteers to help me test out the alcohol? Since I rarely drink, I’m going to need help on that one, too.

Dang… phone is already ringing, and I haven’t even posted this yet.

Lushes. ;)

Please pray for me. Or rather, pray for the guests. They’ve worked hard. They deserve a good time.

(Ok, go ahead and pray doubly hard for me. I may need to hibernate soon just to recover).

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

Kindly stop f’ing with me.

Your prompt attention to this matter is much appreciated.

Hugs and kisses,


I am the “anti-Secret” person.

I don’t mean that I can’t keep secrets, I mean that positive thinking book, “The Secret”. I am, apparently, the exception to the positive thinking rule. People who know me in real life are probably nodding along to the home version of the Kate game and saying “yeah, she really is”.

It’s not because positive thinking invariably leads to disappointment. Clearly, it does. But it’s because the word “never” is apparently like catnip to the universe. It can’t resist. I use the word “never”, and you can practically see the tiny universe ears perk up. Its claws come out, and they start tapping. The universe starts licking its lips (Yes, the universe has lips. I’ve seen them.). The universe’s brows knit together (not to be confused with the uni-brow, which is actually something entirely different). And you want to know what the universe says? It says “Reaaaaaaallyyyyy” in a voice sounding very much like Steve Martin in “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels”.

Think I’m kidding?

“I’m going to miss Dale so much. Brad’s another matter. I can’t wait for Brad to leave. I’ll never miss that one”. (Dated Brad on and off for 3 years following this statement, but after he enlisted and was shipped off across the country. And yes, missed him terribly in only the way a high school girl can do anything—with lots of drama!).

“We got stuck together for freshman year, but it’s not like I’d ever live with her again. Thank God! I’ll never have to room with her again” (Lived with roommate for another entire year. Didn’t speak to each other at all for the last 4 months of that. Very small room. Quite the challenge. Luckily, I have skills).

“Sure, we’re moving to New Jersey, but at least I won’t have to commute into NYC for work. I’ll never do that. I’ll never work in New York.” (Worked in NYC for slightly less than 4 years with a commute that was 1 ½ to 2 hours each way. Started that less than a month after this statement).

“Fine, so I’m working in NYC. It’s not California. You know I’ll never move all the way out there”. (Yep. Sensing a trend?)

“I’ll never stay at this job if he leaves… or him… or…” (yeah, totally trapped).

“I’ll never drink again” (ok, everyone has that one, but I think mine relates directly to the never above, or the one below).

“I’ll never find the man I want to spend the rest of my life with here”. (Evil. Found him. Lost him. Bad. Bad Universe).

“I’ll never see him, again. Why would I? It’s not like our paths will accidentally cross” (Cross? More like collided).

"Ok, last time I did see him. But that was just fate laughing. I'll never see him ag... uh... really?" (shit)

And this is just a sampling. I have millions of them (some with good results, some—not so much). The universe finds the word “never” to be a challenge. So, now I have a plan. While the rest of the people out there are thinking only thoughts of “this will happen” to get what they want, I’m finally going to put this never thing to good use.


I will never date George Clooney.

I will never marry the man of my post-20 something dreams.

I will never win the lottery.

Ha! Suck it, Universe.

Kate, dodging lightning bolts, in LA

(Unless, of course, the Universe is already wise to this reverse plotting, in which case all those things immediately above… totally going to do those things).

Friday, April 20, 2007

Quick Question About Destiny

I just have a very quick question about destiny, as we all begin to enjoy the coming weekend. I just looked up the definition of destiny. has it as “the predetermined, usually inevitable or irresistible, course of events.” Cool.

Here’s my question-

If I believe that dating and marrying George Clooney is my destiny, then it really doesn’t matter what I do to achieve this, right? If it is destiny, I’m every bit as likely to see this predetermined course of events occur if I’m plucking my eyebrows, or not plucking them. Right? I could hide in my apartment, celebrating the joy of a room entirely filled with dark chocolate, and still date and marry George. Right? So, the fat sucking, eyebrow plucking, afternoons on all fours in front of a waxer are not really necessary. Total sloth and days filled with the comfort of soft cotton sweats and a blankie are as effective as hours doing ab crunches and spandex-wrapped squats.

Justification. It’s a beautiful thing.

Kate, feeling slothy, in LA.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Here’s the Thing

I have two things on my mind at the moment, so you are getting them both (why does that sound like a threat?).


I really like this article:
I’m going to concur and say that this is 100% true. This is based on years and years of trying to eat my body weight in chocolate. It’s based on my last biology class, which was sometime last century. It’s also based on years and years of not being kissed, and the bitterness that this has caused—which I suppose has added to my original determination to eat my body weight in chocolate. See, everything comes back to the beginning. Circle of life, my friends :)

If my goal for the year (it’s actually on the sacred New Year’s resolution list) is to go out on a date, eventually there might be a kiss in my future. Right? Ok, so after 5 or 6 months of cautious hand-holding (obviously, after the background check comes back clean—I mean, I’m not easy), I could finally work up to a kiss. But if that kiss has less long-term satisfaction than something I can get now at the grocery store, couldn’t I just jump straight to the chocolate part of the relationship (the one that comes after the break-up and the rocking back and forth in the corner)? It just seems like less work. I mean, I don’t have to fill out a 27 page form in order to meet some chocolate that might be a suitable partner. I’m just saying.


This thought is for all of you who actually know men. Please pass along this little tip. Boys, don’t hit on a girl while you are complaining to your friend about your current relationship. Seriously, it tends to make the new object of your semi-affection ponder your sincerity.

I was walking through the parking lot of my dance studio when two attractive men were walking towards their cars. The dark-haired guy was quite loudly expressing to his friend that he thought the “honeymoon phase with her” has ended. In the midst of continuing his thought about his relationship, he turned to me and gave me the full-on Joey Tribbiani treatment. I’m not kidding—I got the full “how you doin’?” with the eyebrows and the grin. I couldn’t decide if I should be flattered that a guy actually noticed me, or offended for girlfriends everywhere.

I settled for confused. It’s what I do best.


Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The New Diary

Remember when you were a pre-teen/teenager and the most embarrassing thing ever would be someone finding and reading your diary? I’ve discovered the modern day, adult equivalent—the iPod.

It’s universally accepted that my iPod is trying to kill me (and by universally, I mean accepted by anyone I’ve told to agree with me on this). But I have only recently recognized the real danger that is posed by the iPod. It is the danger of my secret thoughts, desires and fears being revealed. It’s the danger of someone else seeing what is actually on my iPod.

Picture me wearing a snazzy sweat suit—something matching that speaks more to a life of Eva Longoria’s character on “Desperate Housewives” than lumpy, pillow-like comfort of the life of Kate. I love to take long walks (preferably on the beach at sunset with George Clooney), so my iPod is with me. And in between bouts of rapidly impacting my moods and trying to trip me, the iPod is my friend (so, a good 2-3 minutes of solid musical friendship).

Now picture me actually meeting a man, who actually looks in my direction, who actually decides to give me the time of day (perhaps because I’ve literally asked him the time). Obviously, this is a recipe for a love connection. Beaches in Los Angeles are practically made for this kind of scene. I think for a quarter, you can actually get the lifeguards to turn up the “beach scene soundtrack” that is constantly playing so you get a realistic swell of sound as eyes meet and hands are held.

Now picture the man who was trying to hold my hand looking down at the album art that is now glaring from the bright white iPod screen. Yeah. His first words would undoubtedly be something along the lines of “Barry Manilow?” or “Captain & Tennille?” or “Air Supply?”. Really?”

Sure, I could bluff. “uh, yeah, it was in a compilation cd, and I didn’t uncheck it fast enough, and the iPod loaded it. Stupid iPod” (followed by an appropriately adorable kick of the sand). But let’s face it, there is no good bluff for the tune in question being at the top of the “Top 25 Most Played” list. And yes, it is possible for a happy person to listen repeatedly to music that involves love, loss, meeting after years, new year’s eve, buying beer at the grocery store, sitting in the car, getting out in the rain, seeing the other person drive away, never seeing them again, etc. Shut up. It is.

I’m just going to have to be honest. I am hopelessly uncool (because the sweatband and side ponytail probably wont give it away). I’m just going to have to keep the iPod screen covered. Or try to explain how my complete lack of “cool” is actually endearing because it makes me so “real”. Yeah… that’s it. I’m just keepin’ it real. Nice. That’s the one I’m going with the very next time out.

In the meantime, I’ll be trying to complete my 100 top 80’s songs nostalgia playlist.

Yep, shocking that I’m single, I know.

“don’t put another dime in the jukebox… I don’t wanna hear that song no more…”

Kate, your guide to the best in “oldies” (ugh), in LA