Monday, November 26, 2007

I Have Found Him

I have found the one, and in true Los Angeles fashion, our eyes met while we were driving. I initially thought I was going to need to curse him. He cut me off, slightly, and it annoyed me. But really, being able to slam on my brakes like that gave me the opportunity to look at him more directly than if our vehicles had just gently glided to a stop.

“But you don’t know him” is what you are thinking, isn’t it?

Oh, but I do. I know that he isn’t bound by convention. I know he has a vast imagination. I know that he isn’t all about flash. And I know that, driving record aside, he values safety beyond all else.

And I know all this because he was wearing a helmet. He was wearing a helmet while driving his Toyota Tercel.

Now you are thinking—“so he just got off of a construction site, and he hadn’t yet taken off his hard hat”.

No, it wasn’t a hard hat. It was a helmet.

Now you are thinking—“maybe he has a seizure disorder, give him a break”.

No, it wasn’t a medical safety helmet, it was helmet.

A combat helmet.

He was wearing a camouflage combat helmet…and not much else.

This guy… this guy has a story.

So, if you are out there dark blue Toyota Tercel driving camo helmet wearing dude—shoot me an email. It is obvious we are meant to be.

Monday, November 19, 2007

The Bucket List

The other day I saw a trailer for the movie “The Bucket List”. It’s a movie about two men (played by Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman) who make a list of all the things they want to do before they kick the bucket—and then they force each other to do them. The trailer got me thinking about what my list would look like.

Naturally, since it was a Saturday night, I had nothing to do, and crawled into bed (it was late—probably 7:30) with my pad of paper and pen. I was determined to create my list. I’m good with lists. I like checking things off. I was comfy. I was ready. Totally ready. Ready, ready, ready to write.

Yeah, I had nothing. I’ve still got nothing. How can there be nothing? The guys in the movie trailer had things like “sky diving” on their lists. I almost wrote down groceries. Well, in all fairness, I did need them.

When I pose myself the question, “what do I want to do before I die, that I haven’t done”, I draw a blank. I suppose I could be crafty, and write down “enjoy turning 150 years old” just to hedge my bets, but it’s probably not in keeping with the spirit of the exercise.

I know what you are all thinking—Clooney! Sure, that would be nice, but if he stays a fantasy, I think I’m fine with that.

Those boots? Those boots are lovely, but it seems sort of, what’s the word…, shallow to not have loftier aspirations.

I have goals for other people. For instance, I’d like my friend Pen to meet Alex O’Loughlin from “Moonlight”. I’d also like more people to watch “Moonlight” so that Pen and Mich don’t have to deal with the woes of cancellation. I’d like more people to understand exactly how serious the situation in Pakistan is before they have to start dealing with phrases like “nuclear fall-out”. Also, I’d like Paul Walker to discover what an amazing person Chloe is and declare his love (You know, for her not for someone else while talking to her. That would just be rude). But these are little things, and not really personal goals. Ok, maybe that Pakistan one.

American Express had a list last year. It was something like “50 Things to Do Before You Die”. Naturally, most of the things were expensive enough to require a credit card. And while some of the things sounded interesting, most of them didn’t actually pique enough curiosity for me to do anything about them.

I’m either completely lacking in imagination (possible), or completely satisfied. Yeah, no, I’m not satisfied at all. So, if I’m not satisfied with my life, why can’t I come up with a list of things that I want to do? How did I go from having goals to only having complaints? At this rate, the first thing on the list will be “figure out what I want”. Of course, if I write that down, the universe (still being male) will take me out right after I finally figure it out.

What’s on your list? Is it cheating if I steal your lists? What is your number one thing to do, that you haven’t done, before you die?


Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Morally Wrong, But…

Obviously, many people mistake me for a top model. Between my near midget size and my penchant for sensible shoes, it really is no wonder. Sure, sometimes it is awkward for me—people stare. I am constantly getting questions like: “are those orthopedic shoes?” or “how did you manage to find a turtleneck in every color?” I have to just take people aside and tell them—“Hey, I’m a person, just like you—just so much more fashionable.”

Yeah. Not so much. In The Devil Wears Prada world, I am the pre-transformation Andi. Anna Wintour would never give me a nod, or even a hint of a smile. Most of the time, I feel good about that. Comfort is my guiding force.

And then I saw these: aka morally wrong.

Much like the Grinch, my small heart grew three sizes that day.

Obviously, there is no good reason to spend $1250 ($1400 if you count shipping) for boots that couldn’t touch rain or snow or pavement or grass or anything but the loving caress of angels.

And yet…oh, the sudden temptation. I’d go from weeble to umm…taller weeble. I have been relatively invisible most of my life. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to ignore anyone wearing these boots.

But obviously morally wrong… and I don’t have anything to wear with them. Ok, one thing, but other than that these really don’t fit into my current life. Of course, they do fit into my fantasy life rather nicely. The one where my bottom is human sized, and George Clooney drops by with a pizza.

And I’m wearing these boots.

I tried to appeal to my friends—my responsible, reasonable, level-headed friends. Surely, they would present the logical arguments against this kind of frivolous, excessive purchase.

So far, not one of them has landed on the side of “don’t buy them”. In fact, I’m now keeping a record of the most inventive justifications. I think my favorite so far is “Not only would I wear them every day, but I’d wear them to bed”.

I’m opening this up to the blog community. Would you? Wouldn’t you?

Which, of course, I wouldn’t because it’s morally wrong… you know, mostly.

Monday, November 12, 2007

The Off Girl

Obviously, no one is ever going to confuse me with Elsa Maxwell. People don’t leave my home raving about my lavish and animated parties. This is largely because I live in a very small apartment—and I don’t let anyone inside.

However, on very rare occasions, I will venture outside the fortress of solitude and do something that involves socialization. This is particularly true during the holidays when office parties and friend get togethers are more frequent. Like any warrior going into battle, I am girding my loins and preparing to enter the social fray.

In my preparation, which includes watching many episodes of Sex and The City and Samantha Who?, I’ve noticed that there are two extreme types in most social situations: “The Off Girl” and “The On Girl”.

I am clearly “The Off Girl”. My social switch has not been flicked in a very, very long time. There isn’t a ficus I don’t love. My instincts are to hide, even if that means that I have to physically create a barrier with my back to anyone attempting to breach the inner circle. Even though I do acknowledge anyone who does try to talk to me, I’m unlikely to engage on my own. I’m content to chat with my friends—which means that even if I go to a party where I could meet a ton of new people, I tend to stand in the corner and talk to the one other person I already know. Luckily, after watching last week’s Samantha Who?, I’ve got the outward swivel and smile move down (swivel, smile, beckon, repeat; swivel, smile, beckon, repeat; swivel, smile, beckon, repeat). I’m working on actually caring if someone approaches me. I have a feeling that one will take more time than the beckoning hair toss.

Alas, while I think I can adapt and engage with the rest of the average party goers, I’m afraid my opposite makes me want to commit murder. Oh, you’re right, that would require effort. Fine. My opposite makes me want to wall up my apartment door and just commit to never leaving once and for all.

My opposite is “The On Girl”. This girl can actually be a lovely person. She can be smart. She can even be, in the right circumstances, fun. She can also be the most annoying person on the planet. Get one drink in this girl, and everyone around her is suddenly an extra in “The On Girl” Show (swivel, smile, beckon, I will not kill “The On Girl”, I will not kill “The On Girl”). If you are actually talking to a guy (or a girl, or the wall), she will step up and monopolize the conversation. Volume levels are raised. Giggles do not stop. She will yell across a crowded room “Did you say Oklahoma?! OMG. That’s so funny because I went to school in Utah!” She’ll take whatever topic is out there and continue with “I did that too, only when I did it, it was snowing, and I ran in heels, uphill, both ways.” She might as well be tap dancing and singing “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better” (swivel, smile, beckon, I will not kill “The On Girl”, I will not kill “The On Girl”).

Perhaps I just wish I was more like “The On Girl”. Maybe I just wish my switch would be flicked. I could look upon these situations as valuable learning experiences. Rather than resenting her gift for insinuating herself into every conceivable conversation, I should watch her technique and strap on the tap shoes myself (swivel, smile, beckon).

Ugh. But then I’d just be annoyed with myself, and according to my Entertainment Weekly, self-loathing is so 5 minutes ago. And you know how trend conscious I am.


Saturday, November 10, 2007

A Week (or so) in Review

Clooney v. Fabio
Clearly, I fall on the side (or the front, or the back) of Clooney here. While I’ve read differing accounts of whether or not Clooney actually pushed Fabio, would anyone really be all that bummed out if Clooney had decked him? I mean, who hasn’t thought about decking Fabio at one time or another? Sure, it seems to have started over a misunderstanding, and Clooney appears to have misinterpreted something. Again, don’t care. Plus, it appears to have been a manly response without gun play (rappers take note). Points go to Clooney here regardless of irrelevant things like facts, etc.

State of California v. Wildfires
Happily, we appear to have finally won this round. Thanks to all who inquired, but we got very lucky up here—really just some ash and smoke. It looks like the southern fires are also well in hand. Let’s not do that again, shall we?

Kate v. Possible Oscar Nominations
I’m already woefully behind on seeing movies that might get nominations. Each year friends and I print out the nominations and try to see everything on the lists. And I do mean everything. This generally means that you must pay some attention early in the year just in case something hasn’t been released yet on DVD by the time of the awards.

I’ve seen two movies in the last two weeks, and oddly enough they both featured Amy Ryan. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her before, but now I’ve seen her in two movies in a row, and I understand she is also in Dan in Real Life. Good year for Amy Ryan.

The good news—Gone Baby Gone and Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead are both great movies for the actors. If you primarily go see a movie for performances, these are excellent pictures for you. Both movies present some very interesting moral dilemmas and the concept of “gray area” gets a real workout. The bad news—I’m not a big fan of violence, so I did avert my eyes a couple of times in both, so if you are really squeamish, keep that in mind. Most people probably wont flinch. Also, if the idea of watching Philip Seymour Hoffman in a very naked sex scene makes you uncomfortable, you might also want to avert your eyes from that. But damn, he’s good--- wait, I don’t mean in the sex scene (well, he appears to perform admirably, I suppose), I mean in the movie generally.

I have noticed that pacing in three of the major movies I’ve seen recently was very different from what you’d expect. For instance, in Gone Baby Gone, I actually said to myself “wait, that can’t be it”. And it wasn’t, but it felt like the movie was wrapping up. “Devil” plays with time in terms of how things are presented. Even Michael Clayton (oooh, baby) had weird pacing to it—although the end… wow, the end.

Anyway, I’m losing the battle of the numbers, but winning in that I’m seeing some great performances. But I’ve got to see a comedy soon because none of the ones I’ve seen recently have been all that warm and fuzzy. If only they would make my love life in to a comedy—now that would make you laugh until you cry. ;)

Kate v. Male Population of Los Angeles
Males seem to still be winning this one. Albert Ellis would be so disappointed in me. I was supposed to speak to 50 men—25 per month. It turned out to be far more challenging than originally planned. Apparently, my ability to turn invisible is still as keen as ever. Joy. When men do see me, my attempts at conversation seem to yield nods—not technically responses, so they don’t count. The other day I actually thought I had a live one, until I realized he was actually on his phone’s headset, and his responses were to the person on the other end. Damn Bluetooth.

The rules committee has generously allowed me to the end of this month before drastic measures will be taken. I’ve made it to 25 (and ½). I’m thinking that I might need bait in order to make this happen successfully. I need a vivacious, gorgeous, 20 year old female to reel them in. Of course, since the idea is for me to get a guy to respond to me, that might actually pose a roadblock. They might not be able to talk to me and drool over the bait, what with all their blood rushing southward and all.

Drastic measures involve me pretending to take a survey in the mall just to start conversation. It’s less likely to get me arrested than a bathing suit.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Ah, Romance

This is the subject of an email that came to me today and is currently in my inbox:

“your new penis is here waiting for you”

I swear to you, if this is from my blind date, I'm out.