Monday, March 30, 2009


I freely admit that I don’t really know how the fancy interweb works. I have some basic skills. I can type. On occasion, I’ve been aware enough to check email. However, I’m a bit fuzzy on the ramifications of certain things that should be innocuous.

For instance…

Let’s say that, perhaps, one evening you are feeling a little blue. Just for argument’s sake, pretend it was your birthday. Pretend there was some wine involved. Imagine that your computer was running and google was whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

What’s a single girl to do?

Should you be punished merely because you might have, perhaps, possibly, under the influence of a mid-life crisis and pinot noir, googled an ex-boyfriend? It’s not like it’s really wrong. I mean, Facebook is all about tracking down and spying on people you know, so it’s practically socially acceptable to google every now and again and again and again. It’s not backtracking on all your fabulous personal growth. They won’t take your chip away. It’s just… um… a tiny bit of succumbing to temptation.

So, it’s completely wrong that it can come back to haunt you. Whatever happened to the theory behind victimless crime? Live and let google!

I just found a service that allows you to find out all the people (presumably through their computer IDs) that have searched for your name—every, single person. This could be bad. This could be very bad. And not even because I have something to hide—because I don’t… you know, mostly. But a little harmless stalking of an ex is the right of every person who has ever been dumped. They should never be able to find out that you put in his name, his wife’s name and divorce in a search engine… a couple of times. Just to use a completely theoretical example, of course.

Also, what if you pay for the service and find out that no one has looked for your name—ever. I mean, I can see huge therapy bills for legions of people who consider themselves to be web famous. It’s completely disheartening to go from “legend in your own time” to “legend in your own mind”.

Sigh. I’ve learned my lesson. I guess the next time temptation strikes, I’ll just have to do the responsible, mature, adult thing.

Use someone else’s computer.


Friday, March 27, 2009


Do you ever notice things that you don't recognize in your garbage? It just happened to me, and I was completely stumped. I must have looked it with furrowed brow for at least a minute. What was this strange empty container doing in my garbage, and how did it get there? Did it have friends? Did it have a party when I was at work? It would explain the odd looks I get from my plants when I return home at the end of the day.

Did I mention the garbage bag I was staring at was my kitchen garbage bag... still in my kitchen? It can only mean one thing: my apartment is possessed. It's the most logical conclusion.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


Just as an aside before I regale you with my latest not-so-profound observation. Today on Facebook, The Ex turned up under the always helpful for stalkers section “People You Might Know”. And, as luck would have it, today is also his birthday. That universe…what a kidder.

And onward…

I actually had a second today where I wanted to focus on cleaning the apartment. This doesn’t happen very often, so I jumped on it when the motivation hit. I opened the blinds in the bedroom, which had to be a shock for the neighbors. Don’t worry, I was fully clothed (I don’t want to be sued for inflicting that kind of trauma on people), but the room doesn’t see natural light all that frequently. I was so annoyed because despite the fact that I rarely open the blinds, there were handprints on the window. So, being in an industrious mood, I set about cleaning the window. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t clean off the handprints… because they were on the outside of the window.

Did I mention that I live on the top floor?


I’m just going to assume that one of the painters or tree trimmers who has been in the complex over the last few weeks had to touch the windows for a completely innocuous and non-creepy reason.

But this was not the first odd handprint moment of my day. The first one actually occurred in the elevator at work. It started innocently enough. There were a number of people in the elevator with me. Naturally, none of us were talking to each other, and we were all avoiding anything that might resemble eye contact.

Now, I’m creative with my avoidance techniques. Some people go straight for the floor numbers. It’s safe and somewhat useful. But it’s also completely predictable. Some people try to mix it up a little bit by staring at the floor.

I decided to throw them all by staring up at the mirrored ceiling. Just as I was enjoying my walk on the wild side, I noticed that it’s entirely possible that someone else had been enjoying a much wilder ride. Again, I’m sure there is a completely innocuous reason while two female (or at least feminine) handprints were on the mirrored ceiling of the elevator. Perhaps a very tall girl was stretching? Perhaps someone decided to get out in between floors by popping open the ceiling and climbing up the cables. Or…. Eh, only the security guard at the monitor knows for sure.

Handprints—one of today’s great mysteries.


Saturday, March 21, 2009


Anybody miss me? I’ve actually aged a year since I’ve written for this blog. No, seriously, I’m an entire year older even though I’ve only been gone for about 2 weeks. I’m not sure how that happened. My friend Pen posited that it had something to do with me going to a karaoke bar with a group of people on a Saturday night. She personally lost time (an entire hour from what I understand). I tried to point out that it had more to do with that DST thing, but she stands firm. We tested the theory out again the following Saturday when I attended a charity event—also at night. No lost time reported, but there was some earth shifting, so that fit.

Regardless of the whole “lost time” issue, this aging thing is confusing me. I don’t feel like an adult. I still feel about 24 only with substantially less stamina and no love life to speak of. Also, I do have somewhat less grasp on the socially acceptable uses for avocadoes, but I think that’s a California thing.

Because I feel 24, I kept hoping that my parents would call and that the conversation would go something like this.

Parents: “We lied about your age to get you into school earlier”.
Me: “So, I’m really a year younger?”
Parents: “A tiny bit more, actually.”
Me: “I see. How much younger?”
Parents: “Ten years.”
Me: “Sweet.”

It isn’t important that 10 years is awfully hard to fake. I felt that this scenario was a strong possibility. Still waiting for that call.

Because I’ve been gone so long, I’m sending you a treat. Also, I think we can all agree that I should work for “The Onion”.

And as a teaser, my next blog is definitely (probably) going to be about this guy:

Kate, still waiting for that call, in Los Angeles

Friday, March 06, 2009

Those Fug Girls
I have absolutely nothing to add of any merit to their brilliant posting. All I can say is that I would sell at least three, if not four, of my friends (sorry guys, but you understand) to be at this seminar-- you know, somewhere in the back with ice cream, wearing sweats and laughing my ass off.

As an aside, I'm fairly certain I should be friends with these girls. Plus, I have no idea how to dress myself, and I think they could be really very helpful on that front. They, in turn, would be relieved to know that someone in Hollywood does, in fact, keep it under far under wraps that you would need someone who played a former Indian guide to find it, but I digress.

Happy weekend. :)

Sunday, March 01, 2009

That was unexpected…

That was unexpected…

On October 19, 2008, I embarked upon an experiment. I left the five months that followed it up to the grab bag of fate, and hoped for the best. Admit it. You are curious how it all turned out, aren’t you? I will keep you in suspense no longer. While we still have approximately 20 days left to achieve greatness, let’s review.

1. Go Back to Dance Class.
Fate decided to get me moving again. It was a subtle nudge that simultaneously screamed “get off your fat ass”. Nice try. The ass is still firmly planted on the couch. I’ve started naming the dimples. I’ve not even dipped my toe back into the pilates pool. I’ve morphed into an actual sloth. Seriously, I hang from trees most of the time now.

Somewhat humorously, back in October I declared that this one was the easiest of the four tasks. My identity was so wrapped up in being a dancer for such a long time that it was just a given to me. I couldn’t begin to explain why it hasn’t happened. I like to point out that at heart, I’m a lazy person. Pen, my therapist friend, likes to say that I’m depressed. Well, ok, she doesn’t “like” to say it, she has just decided to diagnose me.

Points for achievement: 0. Points for effort: 0. Points for momentarily considering going back to dance class at some point in the next 20 days just to prove I can: 5.

2. Sell or Produce the Kate Dating Web-Series.
Interesting. I’ve written the first season of the web series, and now I’m re-writing it as a television series (or at least the pilot). And before March 19th, I will have submitted it somewhere. I can’t guarantee a sale, and the show will not be produced by then, but I think we’re definitely moving on this one.

Points for achievement: 0. Points for effort: 10. Champagne for everyone if this one is actually achieved in some measurable way before the end of the month.

3. At Least Once A Week, Open Mind to New Ideas (and say “yes”) and 4. Attend Charity Events and Actually Converse with Strangers at Event.
Wow. I can’t even tell you how many points I deserve for these last two. I thought these two were going to be impossibly difficult to achieve in any measurable way. I’m not a joiner by nature. I’m so narrowly focused on my life that the second I agree to something instead of excitement, I tend to feel the oppressive weight of obligation.

But I took a deep breath and said, “Yes”.

I became fully involved in IBG, a group that raises awareness and funds for start-up and underfunded charities ( That mere act of saying yes to being part of the organization required me to start talking to strangers at events. I’ve met some fascinating people, and, knock wood, so far my interaction has been pleasant—and in some cases, hilarious!

There was this event with Frank Spotnitz in December: The event was a huge success raising much needed funds for Neurofibromatosis, Inc. While not everything went exactly according to plan, everyone seemed to have a great time, and meeting Frank was wonderful. Sure, I actually tried to hide from him during the photo call because a) he was a stranger and b) I was being forced to have a photo taken, but let’s not dwell on that battle over my more covert tendencies.

As a direct result of that event, last Saturday night at a book signing for “The Complete X-Files”, Frank introduced the IBG team to Gillian Anderson. I couldn’t begin to tell you what we said to her. Everyone in the shop was in shock. She lives in London. But there she was. Talking to us. Bizarre doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The group is a whirlwind of activity. I’ve even been forced to let some of these people into my apartment. Gasp! I know! I’m right there with you. I’ve even been known to be out at night for at least 20 or 30 minutes. We’ve got a whole host of upcoming events planned, including a concert, a movie/tv marathon (ha! You didn’t think I was going to say some sort of exercise, did you?) and more auctions. We have items from/signed by George Clooney (swoon), Jimmy Kimmel (amazingly tempting green room passes are among his items), the cast of Private Practice, Kate Walsh, Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz, David Duchovny and, of course, Gillian Anderson.

Points for achievement: 10. Points for effort: 50.

It’s hard to say at this point whether or not the grab bag of fate has been successful. The goal was to let a random pick of the draw force changes in my life. While I’m still very much in the same place I was before—small apartment, hermit-like aspirations, single, not a partier—in many ways my life has become increasingly connected with the outside world. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, I am committed (or will be, once my need for a straight jacket can no longer be ignored).

Kate, fighting the good fight, in LA