Monday, September 29, 2008


Do you ever lose things, and I mean really lose them, despite the fact that there is no real way they could have gone missing?

I lost a chocolate croissant. I’m serious. Now, I realize that for those of you who have seen my ass in motion lately this might seem like a good thing. But it’s not. It’s weird.

I live alone. I haven’t eaten it. It’s not where I left it. It’s in a bag. The last time I saw it, I think it was in the refrigerator, or on the counter, or on my desk. But no matter—the bag full of chocolaty goodness is nowhere to be found. It’s been missing for two days.

It’s possible that I ate it in my sleep. I do sleep walk on occasion, but as far as I know, this would be the first known case for sleep eating in my history. But then unless I also sleep-clean-up-the-crumbs-and-throw-away-the-bag-down-the-hall-because-even-the-bag-is-missing, well…. Yeah, I’ve got nothing.


Thursday, September 25, 2008

The Solution

Apparently, the solution to all the world’s problems does not rest with governments, personal responsibility, or me winning the lottery (I know, that last one was a shock to me, too). No, the solution to the world’s problems rests on penis enlargement and the ability to make those elongated members harder for days.

Don’t believe me? Check my email. I have 3700 emails in a general account. That’s right—3700. It’s supposed to be a business account. Alas, unless I’ve suddenly gotten a job as Dr. Ruth’s assistant, this was not the kind of business correspondence I had in mind.

But I can’t help but be grateful for the sage guidance being provided by my new correspondence. For instance, Mohammed asks the age old question: “Are you ready for endless December nights full of endless pleasure?” I have to say, the answer to that is yes. I’d just like to know why I have to wait until December.

Dongjin has promised to “restore power to my groins”. Awesome. I had no idea power had been shut off to my groins. I must have missed that bill last month. Can’t have my groins going dark, and resorting to groin by candlelight. It sounds most dangerous.

I’m dismayed by dell’s assertion, “Youis measured by the siz of your love tool.” Mostly because I’m not entirely certain I have a love tool immediately available, and if “I is” measured by that, I sense trouble may be afoot!

And while I’m uncertain as to how Reagan’s proclamation that I can “make chix tremble with excitement” or Jayme’s declaration that I can, “make all the girls in the neighborhood long for you” does me a bit of good, I’m eager to chat more with Carrie Maloney who intoned, “Relax. Take a Deep Breath. We have the answers you seek.” Carrie is clearly an Oracle. All I need to do is give her my credit card number or bank routing number. Thank goodness these modern day Oracles have made it so convenient to make the necessary sacrifice for enlightenment!

But first, an email to Charrli who claims to know “how to solve your everyday male problems”. Well, I certainly have problems with men every day, so this should be most informative. I’ll let you know how it goes.


Wednesday, September 17, 2008

For The Win

You know the day is going to be special when you start it by locking yourself out of your apartment at 5:00am. That's right. You heard me. 5:00am.

They are doing work on the pipes today, and water is going to be shut off intermittently throughout the day. Being the intrepid, enterprising soul that I am, I got up at my normal hour (despite working from home today) and set on a quest to do my mountains of laundry before they shut off the water.

Well… mission accomplished there. Unfortunately, in my haste to be very efficient and useful, I walked out without my keys. A fact I noticed at 5:10am.

I have no idea what to do. I have no cell phone. No money. Until 20 minutes ago, I had no pen or paper (laundry room debris has assisted me with that much). My only two saving graces are:
  1. I put a bra on before I went downstairs (something I contemplated not doing given the early hour), and
  2. There is a bathroom downstairs near the pool.

Thank you for small favors.

Isn’t there an office you ask? Yes. There is. It opens at 9:00am. I need to be working by 7:00am. Four hours has never seemed longer in my life.

Isn’t there an emergency number to call? Sure. No idea what that number is. And even if I did, I have no phone. I have no money for a pay phone even if one existed somewhere in the complex.

Can’t you just find another early riser to call? Tried that. My would be knight in shining armor came into the laundry room at 6:10am. I asked him if he knew the number, that I got locked out, etc. I was as winning as I could be given the fact that I haven’t brushed my teeth or showered yet. He mumbled something that sounded like “oh… uh, no”. Then he sort of laughed awkwardly, grabbed his clothes and left. Not exactly the fabled rescuer I had in mind.

My next gallant assist did come from a gentleman who tried to help. He called the office number, but hung up when the message started to play. Only after he left did I think that maybe he should have listened to the message.

So, here I sit. Counting dryer revolutions is not nearly what it is cracked up to be. The pen I found in the laundry is now leaking ink all over my hands (no doubt about to get all over my newly cleaned clothing). I’m running out of left over old “water shut off” notices to use for my memoirs.

I have never looked forward to folding my clothes so much. I better make that activity last because a great expanse of nothingness appears to wait on the other side. When I get back into my apartment, I will seriously consider surgically implanting a spare key.

One of the service managers lives in the complex. I don’t actually know where, but there are only 10 or so buildings here. How hard can that be? I figure just as the office is opening at 9:00, I’ll be half my through knocking on doors.

Did I mention the pen that was leaking is now nearly out of ink?

Oh, yeah, it’s Kate… for the win!

Finally, a lovely young man came into the laundry at 7:00 with a cell phone in hand. We called the main number, waited through the message, and I was talking to the after hours service, one of the service managers walked through to start his day early. Of course, when he teased me about not getting back in until after 9:00, my reaction to the joke was somewhat muted (actually, I thought to myself: "I’m going to cut you. Seriously. I’m going to cut you right now, even though I’ll have to use the edge of my laundry card since that’s all I have on me"). God bless R for letting me in--- two and a half hours after I started the day. Awesome.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

9 to 5

Today I decided to combine my love of musical theater with my quest to spend more time around straight, single guys. Well, one out of two isn’t bad. I did see the new “9 to 5” musical, and enjoyed the hell out of a great “girl power” story.

This is a simple one. If you loved the movie, as I did, you will love the musical version of “9 to 5”. Dolly Parton wrote the music and lyrics, and there is a definite advantage to knowing the characters (and the experience) the way she does. While certain things are altered for time and staging, much of the original film and dialogue survives. It does take an adjustment to swing back to the mindset of the late 1970’s/early 1980’s with some of the concepts and songs feeling a little outdated, but once you make the adjustment the ride is pure enjoyment. The best alteration made to the original script is the addition of a love interest for Violet in the form of Joe (played charmingly by Andy Karl). Because it’s so strikingly similar to the film, it’s difficult not to compare the performances in the lead trio against their film counterparts. I’m happy to say that it did not take long for the leading ladies to make the parts their own. Based on the enthusiastic standing ovation at the end, I’m guessing I’m not the only one who responded that way.

I knew I was going to enjoy the cast. I saw Stephanie J. Block (who has show stopper moment in “Get Out and Stay Out”) and Megan Hilty (funny and vulnerable, particularly in her signature moment in “Backwoods Barbie”) in the lead roles in “Wicked”, so I knew that they were going to be top notch. I was pleasantly surprised by Allison Janney. While I loved her character on The West Wing, and have followed her work in films for years, I wasn’t quite convinced that this was going to work for her. While no one is ever going to cast her solely on the strength of her voice, she works her belting, character voice for all she’s worth. Luckily, the character of Violet requires a great comedic actress more than a “pretty” voice, and Allison is fearless and entirely successful.

My biggest surprise, in terms of the cast, was the outstanding work by Marc Kudisch in the part of Franklin Hart. He has an amazing voice, and works the sleaze to his advantage. The part is written as much more overtly despicable than the movie version, and Kudisch tackles it with seeming delight. Also winningly sycophantic is Kathy Fitzgerald’s Roz. Her skilled performance (and perfectly written songs) makes her sympathetic in a way that the film’s character never was.

The show is doing its try-outs here in Los Angeles through October 19th at the Ahmanson Theatre. From here, I believe it is going to New York, or is at least a good candidate to do so.

Too much fun to miss!


Friday, September 12, 2008

Condom Ring Tones

Hey, I just deliver the news, I don't make create it.

I'm picturing myself in a meeting. In this meeting, we're discussing the complexities of strategic planning and the difficulties of doing that in a shaky economy. And then suddenly, I realize that I haven't turned my phone off because my boss is now tapping her toes to my catchy "condom, condom, condom" ring tone that is echoing off the hallowed halls of the fine institution I call "work". Yeah, that wont come back to haunt me during bonus season.

On the other hand, if a guy is actually thinking about sex a zillion times a day anyway, perhaps sending the so subtle "condom, condom, condom" message is actually a good thing.

Well, at least you all know what I'm getting you for Christmas.

ETA: If you would like to listen, here is the ring tone:


Sunday, September 07, 2008


Buying a tabloid in Los Angeles is sort of like buying porn in Ohio. You know it happens, you’ve heard about it happening, but no one admits to doing it. And if they do admit to doing it, they are filled with shame and guilt.

That was me on Thursday (the tabloid, not the porn), and now I feel like I need some sort of public confession.

Hi. My name is Kate, and I bought… sigh… the National Enquirer. But it was only once—I swear.

I really do feel guilty. I hate these tabloids. I hate that paparazzi make life really complicated here. I hate the fact that these tabloids can say anything they want to say and that truth is rarely printed. I hate the fact that occasionally they get things right because then it lends credence to every other piece of garbage that they write. I hate the fact that someone standing next to me at the time could have been in that tabloid. I hate that I couldn’t stop myself from buying it.

Why did I buy it? Oh, I’m sure if you ponder my predilections and recent celebrity news you’ll be able to figure that out.

How did I buy it? Badly. The tabloids here are actually kept right next to the porn. I think I might have felt more comfortable buying something like “Naughty Sex Slaves and the Women Who Spank Them” than the trash I did buy. In fact, for a moment, I tried to pretend that I was actually checking out the porn instead. But then I quickly grabbed the tabloid and folded it just in case someone might see me do it. Then I also grabbed the fall preview special of the TV Guide to cover it. I had my cash in hand, and I kept looking around me when I went up to the cashier.

All I can say in my defense is, it just happened. It wasn’t planned—because if I had thought about it ahead of time, I would have worn dark sunglasses and a trench coat.