Sunday, June 28, 2009

Can’t Decide

I was at a lovely little neighborhood restaurant grabbing a quick lunch when I noticed that one of the men entering was, in fact, in his pajamas. I can't decide how I feel about this one.

On the one hand, noon can be very early for some people on a Sunday. It's a neighborhood hangout. He was clearly a regular. So, part of me thought it was cool that he was so comfortable in his environment that his tank top and jammie bottoms made sense. Don't we all wish we could go around comfy and relaxed?

On the other hand, he could just be pretentious. He seemed to have come from yoga because he, very loudly, announced that he had just come from a "fucking amazing" yoga class, and appeared to want everyone to see him—as in "look at my awesomeness, as I air kiss the waitress and wave to another yoga classmate".

So, you need to vote on this—pjs at a restaurant at noon is a) cool and I should date him, or b) a bit much?


Also, an update: I still don't know what a "Toe Job" is. But the upside is most of you who wrote in, also have no idea. It does not involve toe sucking. It does not involve him shoving his big toe where it does not belong. Other than that, I have not a clue. But yes, I am still obsessively looking at my toes trying to figure it out.


Friday, June 26, 2009

The Club

I've just returned from the first meeting of the "ass-lickers" club. My friend Pen came up with the idea after reading the blog I posted a while ago. Her theory was that as we had all clearly taken the wrong turn at some point, we should meet and try to come up with concrete ways to get headed in the right direction.

This sounds entirely logical, right?

Mostly, we got sidetracked on a discussion of the advantages of running a cult—financially, socially, sexually… you know, the usual banter. Then we had margaritas.

Shockingly, we haven't come up with a plan that won't someday involve an FBI investigation. But you should definitely stay tuned.

I'm not discouraged. I'm really good when I have an actual goal in front of me. I'm terrible when dealing with abstract things like, "I want things to be better." "Better" is a far too nebulous concept. I like lists. I liked spreadsheets. I like to be able to check things off when I get something finished. Seriously, checking things off a list makes me absurdly happy. Not going-out-for-a-delightful-conversation-with-George-Clooney happy, but absurdly happy none-the-less.

So, I have the club, paper, pencils and a general desire. Now, all I need is a plan. Any minute now it will come to me. Any minute. Any…

Ooooh shiny.

Monday, June 22, 2009

A Toe What???

By now, I’m sure you have heard that the young actress who plays Blair on Gossip Girl had a sex tape on the market. I have no idea what the actual details are—how it got out, if she knew she was being taped, what genius ex-boyfriend decided he hadn’t had his 15 minutes yet, or what publicist thought it was a good idea. [I do know that people keep saying that the tape is “several years old” – which should make you rethink the download because that girl just turned 23 year and “several” could make that little item illegal.]

Obviously, all those issues are very important, and will no doubt be handled by people more capable than I am. But let’s face it—the thing that got my attention was the headline advertising the news of the tape’s existence: “Toe Job”.

A toe what???

First, I dare you to read those words and not immediately look at your feet. Go on. I dare you.

Second, I’m confused in so many ways.

Here I thought I was only avoiding two kinds of jobs, and now I find out that there is a third? There’s a harsh reality. I feel like I should apologize to boyfriends past. I had no idea that toes were on the menu.

Because I refuse to watch the tape, I’m extraordinarily unclear as to how this works. I’m staring at my feet right now, and I’m spreading my toes as far as they can possibly go. Oh, go ahead, give it a shot—you know you are trying to figure it out, too. It’s entirely possible that my toes just don’t have her dexterity, but even between my big toe and the next toe (index toe?) there isn’t that much space. I don’t mean to cast aspersions on the young man’s endowments, but for his sake, I’m hoping that’s not how it’s done.

Are we talking two feet action? In which case, we might be able to market this as an excellent inner thigh work out routine. See—bonus points for men, and a good way to get that extra tone before August. Who says I’m not open minded? Oh, right, everyone.

Also, a side question—men, are you excited to see feet headed straight toward your balls? In my limited experience with men, I seem to remember a real reluctance to risk unnecessary collision between the feet and genitals. Maybe the men I’ve dated are just more squeamish than others.

Or perhaps I’ve made an erroneous assumption with regards to where that toe was headed. Hmmm. That’s got to put an interesting spin (so to speak) on any conversation you have with the person giving you a pedicure:

“No, no, Gigi. You better file that nail down more because I’m sticking it up some guy’s ass tonight. No, it’s Greg. Doug was the one who liked it pointed.”

Now, you have to know that I have often joked about wanting to stick my foot up some guy’s ass, but oddly enough, it was never sexual. And I’m pretty sure it was never literal. Ok, maybe that one time.

All I have to say is bravo for introducing me to yet another concept I don’t want to think about.

Kids, stay safe out there. And for goodness sake, take care of that athlete’s foot before trying this at home. You never know where that toe might end up.


Sunday, June 21, 2009

Dating Douchebags

I got this email regarding a new show on MTV, and the title was entertaining enough for me to pass this on to you guys. Why do I have a sinking feeling that I will end up on this show?


I'm working to get the word out about MTV's new reality show, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?". Inspired by the popular website Hot Chicks with Douchebags, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?" is a funny docu-format show that explores the phenomenon behind beautiful and innocent young sweethearts who fall for self-absorbed, overly-tanned, tattoo covered douchebags.

"Is She Really Going Out With Him?" airs Mondays - Thursdays at 5pm/4c (Please note time change). For more info, please visit

Below, Adam and Jeff, take the word "douchebag" to the next level. Check out the video clips below, and please feel free to share them with your readers!

If you require additional assets, please let me know. Thanks!

This "Hustler Douche" gets surprised with a diamond engagement ring from his girlfriend at his birthday party and in return he completely embarrasses her in public.



This douchebag takes his girlfriend, Chantelle, out for pizza, but needs to her to pick up the tab because his wallet is on empty till payday.



Friday, June 19, 2009

The Experts

Ever feel like you are caught in a revolving door of advice? I feel like I’m caught there right now.

It’s been pointed out to me that I’m not making as much of a concerted effort to meet men as I have in the past. More than one email has inquired as to whether or not I’m actually under witness protection or have just given up to defeatism.

Yes and Yes—But only in my fantasies.

In reality, I’ve started pursuing various websites that provide professional dating assessments. Many of them pose many thoughtful questions (like is hooking up dangerous or liberating? Obviously, I come down on the side of lethal.). Some are just a bit on the left side of ridiculous and clearly meant for 22 year old guys with degrees in advanced alcoholism. I thought that what I was doing made sense. My methods were not working, so I thought I’d see what the experts had to say.

I’ve come to one obvious conclusion. No one has any idea.

I’ve gotten the time-honored advice: “when you stop looking, love will come to you”. I’ve also gotten: “dating is hard work so you have to prepare and pursue often in order to hit the mark” (in essence, for every 15 people you approach, maybe 1 will be a possibility). That advice was naturally followed by: “stop looking so much because you push too hard and come off desperate”. And last, “do you look hot enough for love to find you?” God bless Los Angeles.

So, I should…


Do more.

Stop the doing more.

But I’d better look sexy no matter which path I choose, so I should have clicked on the sponsors who will chisel off that cellulite while I ponder love’s little mysteries.


Well, I think I can mark off the “when you stop looking” one. Seriously, no one has stopped looking more than I have. Also, the desperate one doesn’t seem to ring true because my friends are more likely to come off as desperate as they try to fix me up. I’m more likely to look alternately bored or frightened.

This only leaves the “hard work” option. It has been suggested that I need a work life balance (since currently all my energies are focused on work). So, if I’m willing to work very hard at my job then I should be prepared to work equally hard at dating—which is clearly ridiculous because I can’t get reduced hours based on the need to date, and I do need to sleep on occasion.

Also, I live in Los Angeles! It’s a land of extremes. People here hook up, have sex right away and then seem surprised when the other person doesn’t call again unless they are drunk (again). Can you hear that “how did you and grandma meet” story?

Well, kids, I bent her over a sink in the ladies bathroom about an hour after we
met at someone’s birthday party. Yep. We were wasted.

Aww. Tear.

No wonder it’s also the land of immediate marriage. If you do find someone who is willing to see you more than three times, Vegas is calling. And yes, someone is probably drunk (again).

I feel like an explorer. Not only do I have the burden (how is that for hopeful) of actually trying to date, but I also have the task of re-introducing the concept to the residents of this city. However, as intrepid as I am, I’m not quite sure how I’m going to respond to the question, “But if I can get sex any time I want, why should I date?” Because “human connection isn’t always about sex” doesn’t seem to get me anywhere.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

June 16

One Wrong Move…

One of my favorite lines from Californication comes courtesy of Marcy who is providing sage and time-honored advice (and a bikini wax) to a porn star: "One wrong move, and you're the ass licker".

As much as it pains me, my friends, it is clear, I am the ass licker. Naturally, this isn't literal in my world because I can't lick my own ass, and I'm certainly not getting near anyone else's. But metaphorically, I have sadly embraced my new moniker.

For instance, I got into work this morning at 5:30am for a 6:00am conference call. Right away, that's bad. As part of this call, the tech people are revealing a new database in New York. But it's not up as a video conference—no, no, I'm listening to someone describe a database from 3,000 miles away, as I try to stay awake.

What are my friends doing? They are getting ready to fly to London today to enjoy a couple of weeks of travel, plays and film festivals.

Ass licker.

What was the wrong move I made? Pen, being a "Doctor Who" fan has indicated that I turned right instead of left. But when? And was there only one wrong turn? Or is it a history of not RSVPing to events that has resulted in me sitting here trying to figure out if bashing my head on the desk would do any good, or just require stitches.

Update: It's just been suggested in the meeting that I might like to fly to NYC for a day of training. Yeah. Because flying for 12 hours to get a single day of training sounds like the most fun ever.

That Seems Wrong

There are two things you should never do:

  1. put me in charge of food
  2. put me in charge of getting men to do something

Naturally, every film project, screening project, random side project I've ever assisted on included me dealing with catering. There is something perversely consistent about this type of thing.

And sadly, I'm currently in charge of recruiting men for a charity project.

Now I can see some of you jumping up and down and pointing at me. You're thinking, "Men! She's finally talking to men!" Calm the hell down. So far, I'm 0 for 5 on the invite list. And while the rejections have been lovely and thoughtful, and technically, in no way related to me, I'm going to take this personally. Who thinks making me get men to agree to something is a good idea? In order to do this, they'd have to agree to spend time with me. That's never going to work. That's never worked. It's been years since any guy thought that was even a vaguely good idea. It's as though they know I am kryptonite. Being in my mere presence will destroy them, so they stay as far away as possible. They'd like to wrap me in lead so that no part of my being contaminates them.

Is my island ready yet?

Friday, June 12, 2009

A Play in One Act

[Please enjoy the synopsis of my day today]



Kate: So, that's a "yes" then?

X: No.

Kate: So, the answer is "no"?

X: No.

[confused look]

Kate: So, that leaves…

X: Not a "no".

Kate: But if it's not a "no" then it's…

X: Not a "no".


Kate: hmm.

X: Indeed.

Fantasy Guy

I'm certainly not the first person to sit around with her friends and wax poetic about the finer points of a handful of well-known handsome men. My friends and I might disagree about which "celebrity" guy floats our particular boat, but it's still not unusual for us to get girlie and giggle (even at this advanced age) just as I might have when Rick Springfield (guest starring on this season's Californication, by the way) first made me wish that I was Jessie's Girl.

It's been suggested that girls (and certain nearly middle age females we all know and love) spend time fixated on the joys of these fantasy men rather putting themselves "out there". After all, fantasy guy rarely disappoints. It's one of his most endearing qualities. I take this suggestion in stride, as it's very likely accurate. Wandering through an increasingly depressing bar scene pales even more when I can choose instead to stay home and watch "Solaris". The bar scene makes me lament the future of humanity, while certain scenes in "Solaris" makes me celebrate mankind—or at least one particular man.

But here's something that is somewhat unique to Los Angeles: fantasy guy could live down the street, be standing in your corner Starbucks, or driving by you as you wait to cross to the post office. In reality, fantasy guy is just another guy who lives in Los Angeles.

I can hear you thinking, "Yeah, but it's not like you are going to date Alex O'Loughlin or George Clooney or…".

To this I say, "Why not?"

Grant it, it's entirely likely that I'm not fantasy guy's type, but he's just another single man working in Los Angeles. There isn't a moat with a drawbridge (even in Malibu) that stops someone from introducing themselves and giving it the old college try. Now, I'm not blind to the fact that you are likely to have a heck of lot of competition for said fantasy guy, but in Los Angeles, there's a significant amount of competition for any straight, single man with a job. Plus, what are the odds of me actually introducing myself to any man and asking him out? Yeah, those odds are hovering dangerously close to zero regardless of the level of SAG dues he pays.

"But where would you meet one of these fantasy guys?" How the hell should I know? I can't meet any guys. Thus, technically my odds of meeting Clive Owen or Bob Jones are roughly the same.

I can hear your next thought, "But hot, famous actors are not going to be into faithful long-term relationships—they might hook up with you, but they'll definitely cheat".

To this I remind you that people keep telling me that most men cheat. So, if I'm going to be cheated on anyway, I'm not going to factor hot, successful men out of the equation merely by virtue of heightened probability. That's practically discrimination, and that's wrong. I'm an equal opportunity theoretical dater.

Fantasy guys—they're not just for fantasies anymore.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

A Challenge

My friend Pen threw down the gauntlet today. I have been challenged to a battle of wills (because somehow a battle of apathy seems impossible). This is her contention: I will not find a date in the calendar year 2009. She thinks I've allowed myself to become distracted by work, more work and fantasy men in order to avoid (or sublimate) my natural instinct to "couple".

Now before any of you jump to my defense (no, really, you should have, but that's fine… I'm not hurt), she means well. She just knows that my propensity for alone outweighs any desire to socialize with other human beings (outside of a laminated list I keep on hand for emergencies). And the bet wasn't so much that I couldn't possibly find a guy in Los Angeles to go out with me (although that's a genuine concern), but that I would not be taking any remarkable steps to make that happen.

So, she has decided to speak in a language that I understand: the language of cash. She has bet me $100 that I will not go out on a date in 2009.

Naturally, my first instinct is to say, "Eh, whatever" and then grab another muffin from the cart. Also, I'm a little concerned that if she's technically paying me to date that somehow prostitution fits into this scenario. The old moral compass can't quite embrace that element. And the life of hermit doesn't really lend itself to bar hopping.

But I'm very competitive, and I like money.

What to do ….

Being highly analytical, I weighed my options and figured I could find a loophole. Surely a male friend could by me a drink (that I would nurse for a couple of hours without drinking, of course), and I could come away with a new shoe fund.

Sadly, Pen was ahead of me on this one. She had a list of criteria:

  • Single, straight, male (although separated male is also acceptable);
  • I must have some romantic interest in him, and (this is the tricky part) he has to have some romantic interest in me (unless this is a set-up and then how the heck would I know this);
  • I have to find him attractive (although, again, if this is a set-up, it's not my fault if the spark isn't there);
  • He has to take me out to an event (ie can't be fixing the plumbing in my apartment when I get home);
  • We can't split the tab (I tried to argue this point, but we're on wait and see with this one);
  • He must be over 18 (can't take the nephews bowling, apparently); and
  • I must have an impure thought during the course of the date (thankfully, she didn't specify if the impure thought had to be about the date, or cursing her for getting me into this).

So, here we are. The bet has been made. Now the questions is will I win the bet, win the bet by getting around the rules, or fail miserably, thus allowing Pen to keep the money?

Did I mention that I really like winning even if I don't necessarily want the thing I've won?

This could get interesting.


My friend DM just jumped in with another of $100. That's $200 to me if I go out on a date following that criteria by Dec. 31, 2009. She's actually willing to extend it to Jan. 2. She's willing to throw in an extra $50 to kiss him on New Year's Eve.


And my friend Bonnie is in for another $10.


Mich just added $50. We're up to $260.

You realize I'm going to go out on a date just to spite you people, right. ;) Get those checkbooks out.

Monday, June 08, 2009

Happy Monday

Here are little known facts:
  • If any part of your Sunday night is spent thinking, “I’m not a religious person, but if that Rapture thing happens right now, I won’t have to go to work tomorrow”, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • If you exchange texts with a friend [ahem, you know who you are] that say anything along the following lines, “Is it wrong that I don’t want to fall asleep because if I do when I wake up, it will be Monday, and I’ll have to be go to work”, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • If you start to think that winning the lottery is a more viable alternative to financial security than your actual job, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • When the power goes out forcing you to shower in the dim light of your emergency lamp, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • When the elevator in your building is also on strike because the power is still out, forcing you to walk down several flights of stairs, in heels, also by the dim light of a flashlight, on a Monday morning at 6:00am, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • When the straps on your tank bra give out, after you’ve already arrived at work at 6:30am on a Monday morning, forcing you to grab a safety pin and pray, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • When Monday morning’s next adventure involves an email telling you that you have missed a submission deadline, a deadline you were never informed of in the first place, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • When you tell yourself that it will be all ok if you can just grab a quick plain bagel and juice so you can start over, only to find that there are no plain bagels and the juice is making you sick, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  • If you spent any part of the weekend laughing with a friend and saying, “I swear the guy looked a lot like [fill in blank with favorite celebrity male], but there’s no way it was, so I didn’t even stress about going up to thank him for his help”, only to find out after all of this that [fill in blank with favorite celebrity male] was in fact in your neighborhood, you will start to think that alcohol on a Monday morning might be a good idea.

And I just got a paper cut.

It’s going to be a rough week.

Happy Monday all.

Friday, June 05, 2009

FAQ Redux

Because I've been fortunate to "meet" many new readers in the last few weeks, I thought I would repost this FAQ as sort of an introduction. Who is Kate? Read below to find out all you've ever wanted to know (or at least what I'm willing to tell you today) about Kate Dating.


Periodically, I get questions about the blog and about me. Here is a small attempt to answer some of the most frequently asked questions (or statements). Well, the clean ones anyway.

1. Is the blog based on real life events, or is it all fiction?
The blog is based on real life events. Occasionally, I have altered the time frame to protect the not-so-innocent. Likewise, I’ve obscured the names of the people involved so that when their prospective employers google them, their names on this blog will not incriminate them in any way. Unless, of course, they piss me off, and then they are so busted.

2. Are you actually dating all the time and just not talking about it?
No. Trust me, if I was dating, you’d know. For instance, hell would have frozen over. Hell freezing over is actually an excellent indicator that romance is in the air for me. Sadly (or happily, I suppose) there is no need for you to run out and buy that parka just yet.

3. Do you hate men?
Absolutely not—I do not hate men. If I did, my life would probably be easier. I do, however, wish I had the manual that goes with men.

4. Do you hate The Ex?
No. I love him dearly, and I always will. He is a good man. He simply made a choice that was best for him. Someday I hope to see the wisdom of that choice.

5. Are you really doing a web series based on the blog?
It’s a real possibility. I don’t know if I’ll be playing me, though. It’s entirely possible that many different women will “play Kate” because I find the idea entertaining.

6. Do you work in the entertainment industry?
I work in the entertainment industry from time to time. It is not how I make my living. But I do live in Los Angeles, so I interact with a lot of filmmakers. I enjoy working behind the scenes. I’ve spent my life in the arts to some degree. I was a dancer in my less decrepit years. As you’ll soon find out, I’m better with a script than without one, but even then I think I’ll be producing the Oscars before I receive one.

7. How can you call yourself a hermit when I keep seeing pictures of celebrities on your blog?
I suppose I’m not technically a hermit because I do leave the apartment to work. I call myself a hermit because there is a part of me that would be entirely fine having very limited contact with other human beings—maybe not for long stretches, but definitely for shorter ones. Also, the celebrity events that I have attended have been pretty low key events meant to be more celebratory of the work than drunken, Hollywood bashes. It’s not my fault that Clooney is smitten with me. I told him I just didn’t think it would work out between us. I hope we can still be friends.

8. Ur 2 ugly 4 wrds?!
And yet you found some. Thankfully, I don’t get many of these.

9. Is your real name Kate Dating?
No, but it would certainly be ironic if it was.

Thursday, June 04, 2009

Tuesday Wrap-Up

Just a few more words on the Californication event held on Tuesday. By and large the event was great fun, and I think people really did enjoy the screening of the episode and hearing a bit from the creatives/talent involved in this highly entertaining show. It was obvious that the cast has not only great chemistry, but a tremendous amount of respect for one another. Each one brings unique talent to the table, and I honestly believe that in less capable hands, the show wouldn’t work. As it is, I can’t wait for Season 3 to begin. Pamela Adlon said she thought it was going to be the best season yet, and I’m ready to kick back and enjoy a bit more of Hank Moody’s world.

If you have an opportunity to attend any of the panels/screenings that are being hosted as part of The Envelope series, you should definitely do it. Also, I think I mentioned this before, the Los Angeles Times recorded the entire event, and it should be online soon. Update: here's the link of where the clip will appear:

Here are a few more pictures from the event. They were taken while Natascha was explaining that during the rehearsal period for the show, she thought that Karen should be French. David got quite a kick out of being called ‘ank, which was admittedly amusing, but I’m pretty glad that went the way they did.

(as usual, click on the pictures to get the bigger versions)

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Californication: The Tour Continues

Updated 1:33pm Evan on the challenges of nudity and sex scenes in Californication.

Evan Handler Discusses Sex Scenes in Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

Updated 12:25pm David on Directing David.

David Duchovny on Directing for Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

Updated: a couple of more photos while we wait for the videos to process.

Here is a mini-clip (eventually two or three) from last night's Q&A panel. I highly recommend heading over to the LA Times website and checking it periodically. They were professionally taping the event for the web, and their footage will be a billion times better than this. But if you need a Duchovny fix before then...

(will also be posting on Big Light, so if you can't see the vids here, try over there at

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

A Little Tour Through Californication

For all of you who sent good vibes my way, these are for you. :)

(keep refreshing, they should show up as I add them).

In line

In line at Californication. Saw Zellie and a couple of others I recognized. About 30 people. I'm sweaty and collapsed on the floor. But I'm here! Now I just need to get in.

Update: awesome seats in 2nd live row. Not too close, but close enough. Everyone is getting in I think.

Californication Q&A

I’ve gotten a couple of emails on this because of the tweets.
Yes! I hope to be attending the Californication Q&A and Screening event tonight. But I’m not a member of the Hollywood Foreign Press. Shockingly, I’m also not a member of the television Academy. I’ve not been invited to vote for the SAG awards, either. The event is sold out. My odds aren’t looking good. However, I have responded, and I’m on the Standby list.

Now, let us pray:

Oh, LA Times Envelope Series,
Which art all powerful;
hallowed be thy name;
thy capricious will be done,
in Hollywood as it is in heaven.
Give me this day, my Duchovny fix.
And forgive my blank stare and panic.
Absolutely lead me into temptation;
but deliver me from the arresting officer with minimal bail.
For thine is the panel,
the power, and the hotness,
for ever and ever.
Priority guild and association members please adopt me.

I’d like to say that I’ll be updating this site tonight from line, but that’s likely to be difficult. I will be tweeting tonight, though. If I get in, you’ll at least get your Duchovny fashion report at @katedating on twitter. The event starts at 7:30pm, so line reports will be before that, and then minimal updates while the event is ongoing.

Monday, June 01, 2009

That was Awkward

Uh… oh my.

The afternoon started innocently enough. It was like any other late afternoon of any other work week. I was walking to the jeep parked on one of the lower levels of my parking garage at work. As usual, I was in a daze, contemplating both cutting myself at the prospect of an upcoming work debacle (please, it will be) and whether or not I’d respond to the invitation to the Global Green event (and apparently landing on, “Nah, I think I’ll call it an early night instead”).

I know I should pay more attention to the people around me. Grant it, I work in a pretty upscale area and financial districts are more known for fraud than violence -- although now that I think about it a woman was killed across the street in a parking garage going to her car in the late afternoon (sheesh, bitter soon-to-be-ex-husbands). Anyway, I wasn’t expecting anything unusual to occur. But Murphy’s Law being what it is…

I think, perhaps, possibly, that I may have, entirely inadvertently (of course) interrupted some sort of sexual act. I think.

And no, smartasses, it’s not because it’s been so long that I don’t recognize it anymore. I have a very vivid memory of elegantly scrolled parchment and vows being spoken, so I absolutely remember how these things are supposed to go—thank you very much. I’m just not quite sure what I saw. Maybe the guy was just sleepy?

Here is the back story:

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve seen these two people at work talking as I have been leaving for the day. For the most part that talking has been outside by the one restaurant. In the last two weeks, I’ve noticed the woman standing by the guy’s truck waiting for him. Then the other day, as I was pulling out (that’s what he said), I noticed that they were both chatting inside his truck.

This time, I was whistling a happy tune, and I thought I was alone in my section of the garage. I can only thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t carrying on a one person rant (because when you live alone a long time, you do tend to start carrying on highly involved conversations with yourself… or is that just the insanity taking over? Eh, whichever). I got into my car. I turned to put my bag in the back, and noticed hair swinging—the woman had just popped forward in the passenger seat. I didn’t think anything of it—I figured she was alone in the truck waiting for him. I pulled on my seatbelt, and then all of a sudden, I see the guy sitting up with his back to the driver’s side door.

Odd. What was he… oh my.

Naturally, I very subtly snapped my head and eyes around to the front (with only a slight whiplash to show for it) and got the hell out of there.

First thing the next morning, I accosted my work colleague, J, in order to explain what I had seen to get a guy’s perspective. His exact words were:

J: So you think she was giving him a hummer? Nice! He is now my hero. He is living the dream. Tell me everything.

Kate: No, I think he was actually… uh… helping her out.

J: How would that work?

Kate: [stares blankly trying to figure out how to get this point across without actually describing this act]

[more silence]

Kate: Um, well, his head was in her lap, so…

J: Right, but that can’t be easy from that angle.

Kate: When there’s a will…

J: I’m walking you to your car tonight.

Alas, J was tied up with actual work when I was leaving, so I was under strict orders to text him immediately after leaving the garage if the dynamic duo was at it again.

But for the first time in months, the truck wasn’t parked there. It was nowhere on the lower level. I’ve scared them off. And worse, I had to dash J’s hopes of torrid tales from the parking garage. He took it like a trooper, though, when I finally told him 2 hours later what had (not) happened.


J: Well????

Kate: Truck wasn’t there! First time in months.

J: Geez—don’t make me wait that long! Wasn’t sure if you were filming them or kidnapped into sex slavery or what!!

Kate: It was the most excitement anyone has had at work in a long time. It’s oddly disappointing

J: I’m kind of disappointed too. So, thanks for that.

Kate: That’s sick.

J: If by sick, you mean “awesome”, then yes, yes I am. Who wouldn’t want to catch people doing it in the parking garage at work.

Kate: Well, the truck is gone.

J: Damn it. You ruined it. Way to go.

Kate: Yeah, like that’s the first time a guy has said that to me.

And so ends the saga of maybe sex in the parking garage. It was easily the most interesting thing that has happened in years at my place of employ. And since I put the tight in uptight (wait, that sounds very, very wrong), I think you should all be proud of my amusement (once I got over the extreme embarrassment). I didn’t think about calling the cops once.

Of course, when I saw the guy again… well, I couldn’t look at him. Because I know that he knows that I know that… uh…

Yeah, something funky was going on.