Dating in LA and Other Urban Myths

The Gentle Art of the Dating

2012-02-17T19:22:00.001-08:00

There is nothing quite like that feeling of seeing someone special across a crowded room (or match.com screen). You feel this connection, and despite all your reservations (which are mostly focused around you not having visited a gym in the last five years), you think that he could be the one. All you need to do is get his name and his number… and possibly his birth date. Because everyone knows that it's easier to narrow him down in the criminal offenders database if you have that information.

Very smart dating services have been using the background check for years, but apparently now it is available to the average Jane/Joe, as well. I know this because while I was running through my DVR, the commercial for BeenVerified.com kept popping up. Obviously, I approve. New people, places and things all make me slightly nervous. Also, people, places and things I've known about for a while could still be suspect. And I think we can all agree on the fact that I'm not getting in a date's car (should there ever be a date again) without knowing his criminal history, actual marital status (because I'm certainly not going to take his word for it) and his SAT scores (GREs are optional). So, places like BeenVerified.com are speaking my language.

However, I'm curious if those of you out there in blogland are also availing yourselves of the services. So… hands up if you have ever personally checked out a potential date—or had someone else do it for you.

I'm genuinely curious. Is dating more dangerous now than it was in the 1960s? It feels like it, but is it? I really don't think it would have crossed the mind of either of my parents to investigate the other. Sure, it would have been much more expensive and time-consuming in 1965, but also, seemingly unnecessary. Is it because we meet each other in much more casual and anonymous ways so we don't have the ability to judge someone's personality over time? I'd argue that is true, particularly if you are online dating. Then again, my parents met in a diner. They didn't work together. They didn't know each other before my father asked my mother out on a date. They had no friends in common. And yet, Sam Spade (or rather his 1960s equivalent) wasn't required.

Why were we willing to give each other the benefit of the doubt then, but not now? Are we ourselves more likely to lie to someone and, therefore, we assume that the people we encounter are also lying to us?

I know why I would do it—I have trust issues. No mystery. But the friends of mine, who have faced the biggest danger from their "romantic" partners, would have faced it with a background check or not because their partners had never been arrested or prosecuted. It would have saved Reb from that awkward "oh, he's still married" situation, but "separated" continues to confound. Even the dating database suggested in the novel "Insider Dating" seems like it would be too open to vindictive ex-partners and speculation.

So, what is the solution? I'd like the answer to be that we'll all just have to be really great people and make all of this unnecessary. Then again, I'd also like engraved invitations requesting the honor of my presence in a ball gown more often, so… my wants might be on the fringe of realistic.

Give me your wisdom, for I have none. I do, however, have a lovely Pinot that I'm willing to share.

Help

2012-02-06T09:14:00.001-08:00

I am fabulous at many things:

Bitching,
Bemoaning my fate,
Being critical of my body, and
Saying no.

If awards were given in any of these categories, I would be legendary. They would have to retire my jersey in a ceremony full of pomp, circumstance and red velvet cupcakes. Sadly, I have yet to be informed of any such plans to honor me (I'm staying by my phone just in case).

Despite possessing these and other rather impressive attributes, I do falter in one significant way: I am virtually incapable of asking for help. I don't mean seeking emergency help—I'm pretty sure I would be able to dial 911 if the need arose (though I might write a "Pros and Cons" list if I was the one in need of rescue, as I nearly did here: http://katedating.blogspot.com/2008/02/caprice-crane-and-final-thoughts-on.html). No, my failing tends to be on a more day-to-day level.

I was in New York last week, meeting some very nice people and chatting about the future of higher education. The social hour turned toward what I was currently doing in Los Angeles—always a little awkward when the answer is "seriously assessing my ability to be homeless while trying to become a writer/producer." So, maybe one of my other failings is excessive honesty. Anyway, a number of people gave me quite good suggestions about who to contact for advice, guidance, etc. And now the onus is on me to do reach out and touch someone (so to speak).

Which I will.

Probably.

Possibly.

I just don't know how to do it.

If you've ever read this blog before, you know I am terrible at networking. I'm abysmally bad at reaching out to strangers. While quite good at hiding in corners, I'm quite a bit less good at making an approach to someone I don't know regardless of the situation. I feel like I'm intruding on their lives if they are strangers—they didn't ask to have a random person knock on their virtual door. If I do know them, I feel like it's an imposition on the acquaintanceship, or worse—that they would feel used and awkward from the approach. Naturally, my inclination is to do nothing in order to not seem too pushy, rude or desperate. Apparently, that approach is somewhat less successful, statistically speaking. So, over the next two months I need to get better at this—much better. I have no choice (I mean, because I enjoy meeting new people).

So…

I am looking for an agent. I want to write across platforms (novels, television, film, web series, and material for your cell phones). I will take nearly all advice about getting one (or two, as the literary side of things is separate). And when I say nearly, I mean anyone who suggests anything naked will actually be fined (no, seriously). Just in case you are thinking that a blog plea doesn't count—I will be knocking on doors (so to speak). I will be emailing. I will be showing up with cupcakes, coffee or a bottle of pinot. People will be charmed despite their better instincts.

I hope.

Out There

2012-02-04T08:24:00.001-08:00

I've returned to Los Angeles just in time to take part in a terrifying ritual known as "The Table Read." I've been writing a series of essays, monologues and conversations for the last few months, and today is the day I get to hear how it has all come together… or not. I've been told with absolute force that I should think positively and that even critical reactions can be useful.

Here's the thing—I'm a delicate flower. As we've already established, I hear a positive for about 20 seconds and a negative for the rest of my life. So imagine me trying to achieve a Zen-like state in the face of this much vulnerability. Can't imagine it? Yeah, neither can I. It has nothing to do with logic—a piece can always be better. I think it has much more to do with the life pressure that is now on me to succeed. I quit my job, in part, to write. If I walk away from a table reading of my work with "this was an abomination," that choice might seem less wise.

Even with great critical/commercial success, I know that I would still face criticism. This is why I plan to completely remove myself from the internet should I actually be employed. No one needs to read the pointed barbs of Twitter after a 16-hour day. My rational mind has accepted these things as truth. My somewhat fragile psyche—well, it's still working on it.

Deep breath.

Here we go.

The Worst

2012-01-31T16:01:00.000-08:00

I have an uncanny ability to remember the awkward, embarrassing or negative things that I do or say. It's not that I can't recall positive things-- I do. The problem is that I remember the less positive with amazing and excruciating detail.

Am I alone in this, or is this just human nature? Do you remember every time you've accidentally said something that was taken the wrong way? Do you remember the mistakes more often than you reminisce about the victories?

I'm sitting in a hotel bar in New York (more on that later), and at any given moment I could bring to mind a hundred arguments that went awry, things I didn't mean to say and things I should have said. In each case, I can still conjure up the feeling of my stomach dropping, a sweat breaking out, and the desperate desire to undo whatever had just been done, or unsay what had just accidentally been uttered.

That kind of vivid recall just isn't available to me for positive things. I remember them, but I can't recall the associated feelings. There are no flashes of what I was wearing, or the look on the other person's face. There is no panic at the imagined "foot in mouth" induced silence that befell once riotous conversation.

Does that mean regret is more powerful than pleasure? It seems like a grim prognosis, but it's possible. Or maybe it's because often the regret is directed at my behavior towards others and the positives are directed at me; and therefore frequently dismissed as inconsequential or less valid than the criticisms? Perhaps my own expectations for my behavior are so high that my disappointment at committing a faux paus automatically outweighs a colleague's "well done." Perhaps self-flagellation is more comfortable than "thank you."

I'd like to say that as I grow as a person this will change, but, currently, the cringe-worthy responses have a starring role. For the moment, I can only hope that the people I think I've wounded don't have the same clarity of memory, and that missed opportunities come around once again.

Some Fun on a Monday

2012-01-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

I helped out with some short YouTube videos over the weekend, and I thought I'd share. And just remember, we kid because we love. Mostly.

Social Calendar

2012-01-26T09:27:00.001-08:00

Every once in a while, I gaze into my closet in the hopes of seeing something that might actually fit me, or that will suddenly transform me into a 5 ft 10 inch super model. Neither wish is any closer to being granted. However, I have the sneaking suspicion that my wardrobe has a rather engaging social life, full of balls and parties every night (just like those awaiting Lydia Bennet with the officers in Brighton). For instance, I ran across this 50s/60s inspired cocktail dress while rummaging through the bedroom last evening.

I'm uncertain who was supposed to wear it, or where it was going, but it's very cute. Perhaps I was shopping in a fugue state and unaware that I'm usually much less formally attired while watching House Hunters? Perhaps someone younger and more playful bought it, and it has been buried in a time capsule for years? Of course, there is a possibility that I was having nightmares about being stuck on the set of Mad Men with nothing to wear, and quickly updated my wardrobe. In reality, the most likely explanation is that my closet is making its own decisions, and helpfully expelling in my direction hints about what my life should look like, rather than what it does.

That's fine. But it should be warned that if the next thing out the door is a wedding dress, I'm torching it and starting over.

The Thoughts in my Head

2012-01-23T17:57:00.001-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the thoughts in my head:

I need gray boots.

Do they still make gray boots?

The 80s were a great time for gray boots.

Everyone had gray boots in the 80s.

I miss the 80s.

I feel like my mental capacity might be diminishing ever so slightly.

True Story

2012-01-12T15:51:00.000-08:00

True Story
(aka Things About Me That Would Surprise Absolutely No One)

When I was young, I could not watch soap operas without running out of the room when the kissing started. You see, I understood that the people on television were actors and that what I saw on TV was not real. So, in my mind, because they were actors and not deeply in love, the kissing was wrong. You could not kiss someone you didn’t love (I’m not saying I still think this is true… but I might).

Then I started to rationalize: it would be ok, if they were wearing some sort of mouth guard. I remember staring very intently at some characters on One Life to Live in order to spot what was surely some sort of plastic wrap that would protect them from accidentally making mouth to mouth contact with someone they weren’t “with” in real life. Shockingly, I never found it. Those make-up artists are good.

Venice in the Afternoon

2012-01-05T21:19:00.001-08:00

It was mid-morning of December 30^th when J and I emerged from the train in Venice. Watching the sun rise over the waters and feeling the not all together unpleasant breeze, we knew we had made the best decision possible. The day before we had been in Vienna—it was beautiful, but, as anyone can tell you, there are few places colder than Vienna in December, and we were in need of some rejuvenation. It didn't hurt that we also needed a night train. Light on cash and unable to return to our friend's apartment while her boyfriend "visited," it was an adventure too timely to reject.

As Venice woke up around us, we wandered over to the Grand Canal partaking in only the finest of breakfasts: fresh baked rolls and … Pepsi. What can I say; it's ubiquitous and easy to obtain no matter what language you are working in (and my Italian is so poor that I asked the train porter if he spoke English in what turned out to be junior high school Spanish without noticing the slip until he rolled his eyes). While probably only in the mid-50's, the rising sun gave off a welcome heat, as we took in the new city. We museum hopped much in the same way we had pub crawled not two weeks earlier—slowly, with reverence and with just a taste at each location (though I will admit to trying to absorb The Madonna and The Tempest into my brain so the memory would be vivid enough to revisit years later).

Late afternoon and the water began its siren call. We gleefully brought pizza to the dock and watched the flow from the Adriatic lap against the planks. I was at peace; something that seemed antithetical to the vagabond life I was experiencing, but there it was. Perhaps the openness of my countenance is what attracted him first, or maybe I radiated a kind of innocence that some men find appealing. It certainly wasn't my stylish attire—I was dressed for travel and warmth, not seduction. Still, when he approached with his friend, my confusion was tempered with amusement, and I found myself flattered.

He was an artist. His friend was a professor (though he didn't teach). I'd estimated he was in his early 50s. Dapper in the way of very successful Italian men, his gallery tales told in halting English were charming. Apparently, he was moved by me; so much so that he grabbed the empty pizza box from between us, in order to begin his creation immediately. My visage had inspired him to take pen to pizza box and craft a portrait of a traveler. Much to my increasing amusement, he used J's head as a table. I'm not certain she found it as entertaining. Then again, she was used to being the center of male attention more than I (she was willowy with flame red hair—quite striking even in travel gear). Perhaps he sensed this as he kept telling her not be jealous of his attentions as he continued to draw. He kept telling me to sit up.

I'll have to say, as encounters go, it was unique. He used the two grease spots to form my eyes, so I was beginning to look a bit cross-eyed in the portrait, but I could tell he was moving swiftly to flesh out the version of me he wanted the world to see. It was a natural evolution for him to invite us back to the gallery. It only momentarily startled his friend, but I'm sure the professor was used to having the artist offer to bring women back to his gallery to see his work. Other than his interest in me, there really hadn't been anything untoward, and yet I began to second guess the plan.

He asked if I was Italian, and if I had family or friends in the area. It could have been idle curiosity, but I started to get the feeling that he was checking to see if anyone would miss us if we didn't make our train. He looked deep into my eyes and told me that he was taken with me. He told me he was Italian and didn't need me because he could have any woman he wanted, but that he was honoring me, and I shouldn't be frightened. I looked into his eyes—a bit dazed by it all as he began to speak the words every woman longs to hear: "You aren't beautiful. You have no figure. You are nothing, and no one has made you more famous than I have just made you."

Much to his dismay, and growing irritation, I cut off the discussion of what wine (and other things) he would introduce me to with a quickly invented train schedule conflict (and a silent vow to avoid that particular canal area if I was to ever return). Our departure was… swift.

And that's what happens when I meet a man on vacation.

One of Those Internet Surveys

2012-01-03T20:36:00.001-08:00

I haven't sat down with one of these random internet surveys in a while. Lucky you! Now, let's see…

Do you do anything in private that would shock your friends?
LOL! Oh yeah, but probably not what this question had in mind. It's Broadway up in here. Seriously, the door closes, and I'm singing, dancing and graciously accepting the roses thrown at my feet. I'm really a dynamic performer and have quite a career in my mind.
First thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Them running away.
Strangest thing you've seen on Twitter?
That's difficult because I see a lot of strange things on Twitter. For instance, I think it's incredibly strange when porn stars follow me (and also, could you please stop putting your vagina in your profile icon—ick). I will say that I just ran across a twitter profile called @duchovnysdick (it showed up in one of those helpful "people you might want to follow" kind of twitter suggestions). After I stopped laughing from pure shock, I will admit that I clicked on it. I had this perverse idea that someone had created a twitter profile that would tweet as though his penis was actually chatting (sort of a variation on the dogs chatting with each other). Sadly, it was not what I thought it was.
Ever been given an engagement ring?
Screw you.
First friend you'd call if you won the lottery?
I would have to say Pen because I feel like she would take an immediate sick day to drive to Sacramento with me (and protect the ticket from poachers). Secretly, my second call would be to Colin Firth's agent. With that kind of money, I could cast him something and actually pay his quote. It might end up being the most expensive web series ever, but damn it, it would be worth a shot.
Best kisser?
On the planet? I'm not sure. If I were friskier, I'd take a survey. As it is, I'm going to go with Clooney. He's had some practice, and he looks like he knows what he's doing by now.
One thing you never leave the house without?
Underwear. Apparently, this puts me in the minority here in Los Angeles.
Do long distance relationships work?
Yes. The less I see of the guy, the greater the chances are of it lasting.
Who sleeps with you every night?
The ghost of opportunities past seems to be joining me more and more.
Sleep with or without clothes?
With. Nobody needs to see me naked, including me.
Have you ever internet stalked anyone?
My lawyer would not characterize my activities that way, no.

Your turn.

2012

2011-12-31T14:15:00.001-08:00

As befitting any situation where I make great plans, the end of 2011 saw me not being uber-productive in anticipation of 2012, but rather vomiting for several days. Unlike Bridget Jones who could claim hangover status as her reasoning, I ended up with the stomach flu (I blame every single person on my flight back to Los Angeles, including that baby—reasonable or not). Joy. BUT I am determined to find the bright side of the situation. For instance:

I wanted to lose all that extra holiday weight (mission accomplished)
I wanted to be able to fit into my new clothes (mission accomplished)
I wanted to be well-rested going into the new year (nothing like not being able to move for three days to accomplish that one)
I wanted to catch up on all the season finales stored in my DVR (check—do you know how hard it was not to be spoiled?!)
The X-Files: Fight the Future was on Cinemax this morning, and normally I'd be compelled to be productive or festive instead (thankfully, I got to kick back and hear "you made me a whole person" once again—swoon)

See! Not a total loss. I am a tiny bit concerned that my body was reacting to the consideration of joining www.itsjustlunch.com dating service right before the vomiting began, but I'm going to stick with plane cooties.

In an effort to stop focusing on the tumultuous stomach, I've started reviewing my annual New Year's Resolutions. Last year my resolutions were pretty short and were headlined by one item: "Quit job." Well, I got to check that one off the list. Oddly enough "get job" isn't on this year's list, though my year of wandering and pondering will be over at the end of April. That's not to say that my list isn't career oriented—it is. In fact, this year is one of the few years that the list does not include a single body, dating or lottery winning goal (not that those things aren't still swirling around my mind). Instead, this year focuses on specific elements of what I want to do: projects I want to pursue, people with whom I want to work and writing opportunities I wish to pursue.

My success rate with these things is mixed, but in an effort to guarantee success, I succumbed to the vision board encouragements of a friend. In fact, she led a vision boarding activity just before the holidays. My board is a bit sparse. That's either because my vision is limited, or my goals are focused (let's go with that last one). What did make me laugh was the section of the board dedicated to projecting how people see you. My board has words like "smart," "fascinating," "genius," and "powerful," instead of words/images like "sexy" or "desirable" in any possible connotation. We may have narrowed down why I never date.

As you all dive headlong into 2012, did you make any resolutions? What is your normal success rate?

Happy New Year!

As An Aside

2011-12-17T10:43:00.000-08:00

You know the "must do skin allergy test 48 hours before coloring hair" warning that shows up here and there on the packaging (and by here and there, I mean on the front and back of the box, on both of the top flaps and in the instructions)? Well, I didn't have 48 hours, so I quite reasonably thought, "Probably not that important."

Totally. Important.

Yep, Just Like the Picture

2011-12-15T18:41:00.001-08:00

I'm going to color my hair right now. I'm feeling confident. I can read directions. How hard can it be?

Step 1: Smile calmly and think benevolent thoughts while staring into mirror just like woman in picture.

No problem. I'm smiling. I'm in a zen place. I've also removed the bathroom rug and my shirt just in case there is a tiny drip during this "oh so easy, anyone can do it" process.

Step 2: Twist cap, pierce other cap and mix the dye together by shaking.

Alrighty. Just a little overzealous in the cap removal process, but it didn't really spill, and now I've squeezed the daylights out of some type of hair color into the mixing bottle. Feel a little bit like the girl on the "Shake Weight" commercial. Must check directions to find out how long I'm supposed to shake this thing. "Shake well." Hmmm. My arm is getting really tired, and I'm pretty sure the tip of the bottle just pierced my plastic glove. Must not give up.

Step 3: Evenly part your hair with bottle tip and apply color from root through ends of hair.

In the picture, the thick color streaks are zig zagging down this woman's hair as though her head was some sort of blue diamond ski run. And yes, she's still smiling—a symbol of ease and comfort to all. In the meantime, I can't really see the dye because when I part the hair with the tip of the bottle, the dye goes under the hair, but I'm trying to use my left hand to sort of pat the color down into the hair while squeezing the color out with my right. All of this would be much more successful if my hair wasn't quite this long because all this "gentle layering" of color is starting to turn my shoulders and arms purple. Not entirely purple—just gigantic slashes of purple, really. Also, should I be alarmed that it's purple? Is praline normally purple? I don't think so.

Step 3: Make sure that your hair is completely saturated with even amounts of color.

I can't see the back of my head. Why didn't I realize that I can't see the back of my head? How important is it that the color in the front isn't on 20 minutes longer than the color in the back? I'm twisting and turning trying to get a glimpse of my hair in the back—which naturally means that the slices of color are now on the walls and mirror as the strands go along for the ride. What if I found another mirror? I could put up another mirror so I could see the back. If only the hand mirror wasn't in the back of the cupboard in the hallway. Clearly, not worth the risk, I continue to pat copious amounts of strangely congealing purple goo in hopes of reaching the elusive saturation point.

Step 4: Wait 10 minutes—15 minutes for stubborn gray hair.

Ten minutes from when I started or from when I gave up adding color? Just in case, I'm going to leave it on an extra five or ten…

Step 5: Cup a small amount of warm water onto your hair and massage.

I got this one. I have a hair washing attachment in my shower. Also, I turned it on before I started this process. HA! Take that for forward thinking. Unfortunately, as I open the shower door (which I had to close because the spray was getting everything wet), I notice that I'm leaving more purple hand-prints everywhere. Also, I sort of forgot about the small amount of water part. That's probably the only real explanation for the rivulets of color running over the tile (though it's beginning to look like I stabbed Barney). Now what was I supposed to do? Oh, right massage. Got it.

Step 6: Rinse until water runs clear.

This might have worked better if I had been in the shower at the start. I'm standing here in soaking sweats watching the attachment swing wildly. Clearly, all is not lost. I can just get into the shower right now. Anyone ever try removing soaked clothes and underthings without using your hands (which are… wait for it… still covered in dye gloves)? Not easy. Also, quick question, how do you know if the water is running clear if your eyes are closed to keep from getting blinded by the dye? I guess you don't. I guess you just sort of stand here for a very long time and hope for the best.

Step 7: Something

Yeah. Just realized that I left the directions with the next step on the sink.

Step 8: I think it involves adding super conditioner for a length of time.

I'm not really sure what it says. I stepped out to grab the conditioner pack and the directions, which are written on paper, and things sort of went soggy because naturally I brought them into the shower with me. What? It's not like they were going to do me any good on the counter, and apparently my short-term memory is gone because I haven't retained any information on the future steps.

Just realizing that there is no clock in the shower so actually knowing the duration of the conditioning phase would not be all that useful anyway. Probably.

Step 9: Dry hair and style normally

If only there hadn't been so much standing water on the floor…

New Year's Resolution: Never again fail to make hair appointment with skilled professional.

Mad Procrastinating Skills

2011-11-29T13:00:00.000-08:00

Some people procrastinate by cleaning the house, rearranging furniture (I do that one), or staring blankly at the television.

I had one task for the day: grocery shopping. Now, I loathe grocery shopping, but I understand it is a relatively necessary evil-- unless Brad from WebVan re-emerges. Oh, Brad. Anyway, when I roused myself this morning, I glared at the world and resigned myself to my fate. But then the devil on my shoulder (who looks remarkably like my friend Pen) whispered, "Or you could go to Santa Barbara for breakfast."

Hmmm five minute drive to get a necessary chore accomplished, or spend an hour and a half winging my way north-- which would win out? Soooo difficult.

And as I sit outside on the sidewalk at Cafe Shell listening to Christmas music and basking in the warm late November air, I do try to feel some remorse for my lack of productivity. I'll fail, of course, but I'll keep trying...just as soon as I finish my pancakes.

Vista for a Friday

2011-11-18T14:30:00.000-08:00

I stood on this vista point near Solvang yesterday, and I thought to myself:

This is amazing.

This is beautiful.

I feel so incredibly free.

I'm alone here on this outlook communing with nature.

I'm just going to stand here alone and breathe this in.

Alone... and it's a really severe drop off this breathtaking cliff.

In fact, no one would hear me scream if I fell, or if I was pushed by someone lurking in the lush and glorious foliage.

Which is why I'm going to walk back to my car quickly under this extraordinarily blue sky.

Ahem. Look, I said I left my problems at home as I drove north, not my personality.

A Step Behind

2011-11-16T16:19:00.001-08:00

I think that the most successful people are not always the most innovative so much as the people best able to communicate why people need this new product, service or concept that has likely existed in other forms. Sadly, I'm always a step behind. For instance, the other night I mentioned to Pen that someone needed to create a dating service for finding single doctors. Naturally, as I planned my new venture and ultimate world domination, my quick Google search landed me on singledoctors.com. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thought it would be a good idea, and someone else clearly got there first.

Today, while loitering outside of Pink Taco waiting for my cohorts in chips and salsa diving, I stood mesmerized at the doors of The Container Store. I love the idea of this place. My brain shuts down if I have too many days of disorganization so every time I look at this store, I think that the key to my success is quite clearly more bins. How can I continue to function as a human being without the benefit of a panty box? And not just one—how will I know if I have black panties without having a box that is clearly labeled black panties? Sure, I could look, but that is such a time waster. You can't have undergarments mingling all willy-nilly. That's madness!

My writing would obviously flow much more smoothly if I could only have each and every one of the desk/contact/paraphernalia office organizers. It's the only thing holding me back! Well, perhaps not, but when I'm standing in that store, I'm absolutely convinced of it—enamored by the mere thought of it. Apparently the promise of order is the most powerful aphrodisiac you can offer me. Gentlemen of Los Angeles, you might want to keep this in mind.

Beyond my potential seduction by a Don Juan promising a neat closet for all eternity, the most fascinating thing about this is the enormous success of an entire industry based on expensive boxes and clothing hangars. There are organizational experts who have been working steadily for more than a decade. There are shows on HGTV (and similar type networks) to explain how to do this (I know this because I'm unemployed and watching them). Oprah had specials on it (and then there were spin-offs of those shows and spin-offs of those shows).

In the face of all of this, I just keep thinking, "Why on earth didn't I think of this first?" and "How do I become one of these experts?" I'm uncertain of my next step, but I have a feeling it's going to involve the purchase of a Stockholm Paper Drawer (ooh, those are pretty, and useful, and Merry Christmas to me!).

Assertiveness and the Lady Syndrome

2011-11-15T14:58:00.001-08:00

As will be a surprise to absolutely no one, I have difficulty being assertive in certain situations. At work, I had no problem expressing my opinion in relation to work matters. I had confidence in my abilities. Unfortunately, in social or personal situations, I am often unable to express myself. While I did go to an all girls school for six years, it wasn't a charm school (either in the etiquette sense, or the spy sense), so I really don't think that I suffer from the "ladies don't…" syndrome (though I do think that I have a propriety veil in social situations that would seem staid and reserved to others).

It's not just that I am invisible (or make myself invisible) in social situations; it's that I often don't stand up for myself. I don't make demands. I don't tell people what I want, and I certainly don't take it. Rather than risk the confrontation, I remove myself from the situation… most of the time. While this approach has always made sense to me in the past, I'm finding that it's less practical in a city like Los Angeles which is filled with people who will step up and ask for what they want and damn the consequences. These people make the connections, take the meetings, and are forward enough to offer their skills. In a sea of people, I can't picture myself ever saying, "No, look at me!" I stand in a corner and hope that someone notices how intriguingly gifted I must be (funny how this approach works poorly in both dating and future employment situations).

Having recognized this tendency, I started scouring the web for assertiveness training seminars. Most I found were part of management training. This was not wildly helpful—again, I'm assertive when it comes to work, just not when it comes to being my own advocate. I'm convinced that this is one of the reasons that many writers have agents: we're great in a room alone with a keyboard, but take us out into the world where we have to sell ourselves (or at least our ideas), and our more internal natures become hindrances rather than assets.

I even checked out actual charm schools (see this fascinating post about the Sears Discovery Charm school: http://www.missabigail.com/advice/beauty-and-charm/2011/01/sears-discovery-charm-school-introduction-to-the-1972-edition/) to see if enhancing my ability to carry on inane conversation with strangers might be the key. When that didn't pan out, I literally Googled "talking to strangers" and landed here: http://www.pickthebrain.com/blog/the-shy-persons-guide-to-talking-to-strangers/ Interesting, but it turns out I don't fear strangers, so much as I often find them frustrating and tiring (though I did like the idea that everyone is a learning experience, and do believe that many people are actually out to pillage my village).

I decided to start slowly rather than immediately trying for round two of the networking follies. I've started to be more social with people I actually know (and like). Through them I've started to acclimate myself to meeting one or two new people through clubs, or other events. One or two people I can handle—50 people make me shut down (to be honest, 5 new people make me shut down). And as silly as it sounds, I've taken one of the charm school ideas to heart—I have to start dressing like someone who is a capable adult worthy of notice. This is difficult in a city like Los Angeles where t-shirts and jeans are normal even in offices (well, not the one I used to work in, but in many others). I don't want to show up to casual events in a semi-formal, but I have started focusing on the image I present to the world. Pen and I jokingly refer to this as my social experiment: make-up on, hair done, something with style on the body when I'm out in public (and no, I don't mean George Clooney draped over me, although…). Only time will tell if this moves me forward into the "force to be reckoned with" category. It's a start.

The Books Around Me

2011-11-14T08:46:00.001-08:00

At a recent wine club gathering (look at me being social!), the conversation turned to books we've read, ones we should have read and the "classics" that have disappointed. For instance, I can't figure out why Wuthering Heights, Portnoy's Complaint, Lady Chatterley's Lover, or The French Lieutenant's Woman are absolute musts, though I have sneaking suspicion that Meryl Streep has something to do with at least one of them. Innovation could be a culprit with Lady Chatterley's Lover—it was certainly shocking subject matter for the time. I think the novelty of style has a lot to do with Portnoy's Complaint, as it was probably quite unique when it was written. While critics at the time found it to be one of the funniest works of American fiction, with the passage of time and much duplication of style, it lost something for me. And yes, I realize that if I like Californication, I should enjoy one of its literary predecessors. All I can say is that watching the antics allows for the touching and human elements to shine through and bring balance to the absurdly lewd tone in a way that isn't always possible for me to experience as a reader. Now while I think my opinions are obviously correct, I do recognize that others may find my favorites somewhat less than inspiring, as well (fools).

What many of us did admit was that when faced with the choice between picking up one of the unread, older classics and pop literature (or chick lit, in my case) that we tended toward the latter. It left me wondering why that is the case. Is the ease of language the reason? Are the topics of modern novels more relatable? It isn't the happy ending—pop literature has its share of tragedy. What makes reading The Thing About Jane Spring (which I think is quite subversive, actually) less valued to the BBC than Jane Eyre (which I actually love)? I used to think it was the test of time, but as you can see from the list below, Harry Potter novels haven't been around for very long. Is it commercial success? There is no denying that an entire generation of kids (and, admit it, adults) have embraced them, and anything that brings people back to reading should be applauded (unless they involve sparkly vampires, and then I'm just too old to get it). What makes a novel a classic?

When the BBC began the debate on the top 100 books that everyone should read (http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/bigread/top100.shtml), they claimed that most had only read six of the top 100. I'm happy to say that from the sampling of the room, we had far surpassed that (go team), but there are still many I have not yet tackled. Conquering the list became a goal of mine two years ago, and with this year off, I've rededicated myself to exploring the "must reads." Last night I grabbed Brave New World. Aldous Huxley, you have been warned.

This is the most recent version of the list that I could find. I don't give myself points for films I've seen if I haven't also read the book (for instance, I've seen Dracula countless times, but never read the novel). Unlike the BBC, I give half points: I've read much of Shakespeare's work, but not every piece (and I thought it was interesting that Hamlet received a solo mention at the end). Full disclosure: I have only read 52 of these to date (and still can't believe they didn't choose On the Beach for Shute instead). How did you score?

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Berniere
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

If you don't like this list, try: http://www.jonkinsman.com/lists/list.php?id=55 This list is from Penguin Classics, and while you will see many books overlapping, it does give you a slightly different take. I have much more work to do with this list—I've only read 40.

While I'm not certain that I will manage all of the novels I have missed before the year is over (I could be swept off my feet by a handsome stranger any time now), I'm willing to give it a shot.

New Endeavor

2011-11-13T16:15:00.000-08:00

Part of the new life/get a life year plan involved a little bit of travel and a lot of exploration. To go along with that plan, I've started a second blog that will focus on those travel plans, sights and sounds. If you are curious, this is where it will be: http://openroadahead.wordpress.com/

Never fear, I will still be posting here! In fact, I have an event on the 18th that might just give my social skills a test. Stay tuned.

Destination: Anywhere

2011-10-28T17:50:00.001-07:00

Blue skies, The Commitments on the radio and open road in front of me...

Destination: Anywhere
East or West, I don't care

And I Got Here How?

2011-10-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

I'm in a bar in a hotel in San Diego. I'd like to be able to tell you why I'm here, but that part isn't quite so clear to me.

It started innocently enough, as these things often do. I was having lunch with Pen, and we were having a discussion about passion. I'm reading a host of books right now about new careers and finding the vocation that makes you jump out of bed with unrepressed joy most days (not period days, of course, because nothing is that good). Much to my continued dismay, I don't seem to have a passion for anything. I have lots of interests. I have vague intrigues, but nothing that drives me. Worse, I tend to fall into things that occupy my time because I'm good at them, rather than for the love of them-- and then stay doing them for 16 years.

Travel is one of those interests. Or rather destinations are of interest. Exploration of new places is an interest. The actual traveling I could do without-- planes, trains and automobiles all have their extreme downsides. If you could convince me that my molecules would all end up in the same place in the same and appropriate order, I might be on board with teleporting. But as it stands now, my options all seem limited and annoying. Still, there is a wanderlust in me that is hard to deny.

I've done my best to suppress it. I once hit 13 countries in one year. But then my passport was exhausted, and my brain and body stuck to moving households within the continental U.S. Even that skidded to a stop once I got to L.A. Despite the occasional foray, I've largely remained mired in my internal dialogue rather than my external wanderings.

Apparently, I've had enough navel gazing. I mentioned reading about the gaslamp district in San Diego to Pen. We agreed it sounded like fun. I'd like to say there was a well-thought out plan after that moment-- something premeditated, at least. Instead, I took my leftovers, and settled into my apartment for a rousing game of "what do I do now?"

Two and a half hours later I was settling myself into a hotel in San Diego. Just because I could, it was there and there was no reason not to do it. And now I'm reclining on the rooftop bar, writing this blog, sipping my Malbec and agreeing with my people (i.e. Strangers watching the baseball game in the bar) that St. Louis has made a lot of errors in this game.

I imagine I'll be home soon. Probably. Possibly. But I guess you never know.

Kate

Rain Delay

2011-10-05T08:28:00.001-07:00

On a normal day from my past life, I would be very unhappy right about now. It is raining in Los Angeles—this never bodes well. People can't drive in it. I don't park close to my apartment, and I really have lost my tolerance for being out in it. If this had happened a year ago, I'd be slogging my way to my car, bitter that I couldn't wear jeans to work, trying to keep my heels from being destroyed, lamenting the early hour and wishing that I could curl up on the couch with a book and a blankie.

This year… DOING IT.

Forgive me for taking a moment and thinking "well, alright!" thoughts. I'm absolutely certain I'll be struck down with the plague for being able to enjoy the sound of the rain outside and wearing sweats. But… DOING IT.

Lest you be concerned that your solid, recent advice has been ignored, fear not. I am slowly working my way around the plan. I even went to the grocery store yesterday (shockingly painful, though it was). And because I did not procrastinate, I now have this day where I do not have to venture out in order to find a way to feed myself (and the poor pizza delivery guy will also not have to brave the hazards to find me).

In addition to getting down to the serious business of exploring my options, I'm trying a new mental approach. Don't worry—it's not very "Secrety." It's gratitude. I know this sounds outrageously positive for me, but I'm going to give it a shot. I am incredibly lucky to have this opportunity (not just the staying home when it rain parts, but the year off, in general). So many people have told me that they wish they had the ability to take a year and just do something else—even people who are relatively happy with their lives. While at the end of this year, I'm really going to need to have landed somewhere with an income, for right now this is a chance I should be grateful for having.

So, I'm going to try this approach and see what happens.

I give it a week.

Kate

To Done

2011-10-03T16:50:00.001-07:00

I'm not going to lie. When I took the year off, I had a lot of vague notions about how the year would go. Clearly, twenty minutes after I quit, I would be offered my own television series, movie franchise or multi-book publishing deal. A month later, I was supposed to be voted most powerful producer in all the land. I still wouldn't be able to afford a house in Los Angeles, but I'd be getting close to it. A month after that, my husband (George Clooney) and I would start our new studio. I was willing to allow for some deviations in the length of time this would take, and the exact details of my success (perhaps I was voted "most powerful producer in my apartment"). However there was one thing I was absolutely certain of: I would have nothing on my "to do" list.

That assertion was completely false.

What I have found is that the "to do" list is a lot like a purse. The bigger the purse, the more crap you carry around. Seriously, I carry a hard drive around right now. No good reason for that other than the fact that it went in there once, and there is room for it. Likewise, the more time you have the more tasks occupy that time. I thought I would be bored. I was wildly incorrect. I'm as busy now as I was before I quit, I'm just focused on different things. Sadly, those things don't pay me right now, but that's a different issue for another day.

In reality, the "to do" list just grows—and not just in volume, but in complexity. For instance, in addition to "get groceries" I now have "write great American novel" along with the slightly more reachable goal of "post blog." I think the theory is that now that I have all of this time, I should be able to reach loftier goals. The list now resembles a combined daily tasks, New Year's resolutions and grab bag of fate manifesto. I can't decide if having "get oil change" and "find meaning of life" should be on the same list (bonus points to all of you who just yelled out "42"), but the moment they share space. Unfortunately, rather than rolling up my sleeves and really trying to get some of these tasks off my list (Chapter 1 would be nice), I'm gripped by inertia. I've fallen back into the same old pattern: if I have every option in the world, I choose nothing. If I have a million things I could be/should be doing, I only do the things I absolutely must do to survive (and even then grocery shopping will be a last resort).

I'm curious if any of you have ever faced a similar motivation problem. How did you kick start your progress? I've made the big gesture: I quit my job. I took charge: "I am woman, hear me roar." Except with me, it really has been more like a whisper.

Kate (watching House Hunters)

P.S. Fallacy #2: "If I didn't have a job, I'd be really fit because I'd work out every day." LMAO such a kidder.

A True Story

2011-09-28T08:12:00.000-07:00

Earlier today a friend said, “Oh dating guru, Kate, could you please pass on a tiny nugget of your relationship wisdom?” Or, you know, something really close to that. Because I’m a benevolent soul with vast (read: singular) experience in the matters of the heart, I will now give you one of my top ten pieces of dating advice. Ready?

Do not let a man see your vagina before he has seen your face.

I mean this literally.

I’m not putting a lot of restrictions on you. It’s not like I’m asking you to wait until he can tell you what color your eyes are. That’s impossible. Guys don’t know because they’ve been either looking down your shirt, or mentally calculating how long they have to pretend to listen to you until they can get you naked (and it only looked like they were staring deeply into your eyes). I get that. It would be unreasonable.

But ladies, you are killing me. How desperate are you that you are sending photos of your ruthlessly waxed and eroded southern selves to a man before your first date—or even your first phone call? Do you charge by the hour? Are you working on the “time is money” theory? Are you a porn star? Because if you are, this totally makes sense—he’s already seen it all. If neither is true, put the DAMN CELLPHONE CAMERA DOWN.

I know what you are thinking, “But Kate, I’m straightforward with my wants and needs. If I want a man, I’m going to tell him exactly what is on my mind.” Newsflash—it’s not your mind he’s thinking of and there are ways of doing this without showing him where the ingrown hairs were. Oh, he may still have sex with you (so mission accomplished), but he has no respect or regard for you at all (we won't get into my consternation over why anyone would have sex with someone they don't respect).

Out of curiosity, if you are someone who starts with VajCam, where the hell do you hope to go from there? Do you just keep a spare snatch snap and send it out to the AT&T phone directory in hopes of finding a way to kill 20 minutes every evening? Is this a reverse type move where you start with porn and then hope to move to deep conversation? I have bad news for you—if you think all you have to offer is a body part, it’s going to be tough for anyone else to see beyond that. I just don’t see him saying, “there’s a fine labia, I wonder what her thoughts are on deficit reduction?”

You’ve exchanged one email with the gadabout through a dating site. Try coffee first. Sure, it could be a waste of time, but think of the penicillin you’ll save.

Oh You Kidder

2011-09-04T09:05:00.000-07:00

I've always told my friends that the one thing I'd most want to do with David Duchovny is discuss Russian literature (and no, I don't mean that euphemistically). I understand that this makes me socially freakish, but a good conversation is far more intriguing to me than nearly anything (save winning the lottery, which I would quite like to do as well). So, naturally, this film rumor made me smile and then shake my head (plus, Helen Hunt and Larry Moss? dies):

Relative Insanity

Yep-- the rumor is that he's doing a modern adaptation of Chekhov's The Seagull. I very much hope this is true.

So close, universe. So close. Keep trying.

Also, David: try Gogol next.

Something You Don't Know

2011-09-01T17:43:00.000-07:00

Something you don't know about me and would never guess...

When I was in first grade, I got an S on my report card (S=Satisfactory). I missed out on the S+. Why? The teacher said that while I was bright, I had a tendency to socialize too much with my neighbors in class.

Apparently, I've spent the rest of my life making up for it.

Outside Myself

2011-08-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

(now with 100% more pictures)

Seeing your life through someone else’s eyes can be illuminating or depressing. When I look at the changes in my life over the last several years critically (because when aren’t I critical), I see someone who went from employed, living in a 3-bedroom house with the husband presumptive to unemployed, flying solo in a small 1-bedroom apartment. It doesn’t feel like a momentous transition into a delightful new world. It might seem like spectacular failure.

Enter my mother.

She came to visit. She loved it here. She marveled at everything and thinks my life is exciting and full of possibility. And the one thing she said over and over again (other than “it’s so clean here”) was “there is so much to do here all the time.”

She might not be wrong. OK, not about my life (I’m allergic to exciting); however, Los Angeles can be a fascinating place if you let it be. So this past weekend, I decided to let Los Angeles dazzle me—and it had nothing to do with celebrities.

Stop #1: The Annenberg Space for Photography: Beauty Culture Exhibit

I had stopped at Annenberg with friends last week, but I missed the beginning of the Beauty Culture exhibit companion film by Lauren Greenfield. I was intrigued enough to go back. It’s a very frank film about the beauty mega-industry and how that has impacted us all. Now I’m inspired to work on my own “beauty” project. If you live in Los Angeles and know me in real life, you should just assume I will beg you to be part of it. I can be relentless. Give in now.

Total cost to attend exhibit and film: $0
Parking: free elsewhere, but they also have validation for site parking

Stop #2: The Getty: Saturdays Off the 405

The Getty modern is a place I’m growing to love more every time I visit. When I went with my mom, we did the gardens tour: beautiful views, interesting information on how it was designed and entirely free—what could be better? Saturdays Off the 405 is a concert series that allows attendees to groove to tunes and take in the breathtaking sunset at the same time. On Saturday evening, I cruised up to the Getty to hear Charles Bradley & the Menahan Street Band (if you are into R&B/Soul head to iTunes).

While the band was a great new find for me, what I marveled at was the cross-section of Los Angeles that turned out for the concert. From the heavily pierced to the conservative Beverly Hills types, everyone was there—all colors, ages, shapes and sizes. Some were right up by the band (and wine/beer) in the museum courtyard, while others lounged by fountains or the lawns. I felt like I had discovered a new world. At last I know where Los Angeles goes on Saturday nights. Forget the clubs—the Getty Museum is the place to be!

Total cost to attend the concert: $0
Parking: Free at the Getty after 5:00pm

Stop #3: LACMA: Sundays Live (sundayslive.org)

“Sundays Live” is a weekly classical chamber music concert at the Bing Theater of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (it’s broadcast and you can pick it up on podcast). The program is “the longest-running live music broadcast in Los Angeles,” according to their website. It started in 1948. Despite that, and all the years I’ve lived here, Sunday night was my very first visit. I blame Breaking Bad for my normal reluctance to leave on a Sunday evening. That and the dread of going to a job the next day for many years pretty much shut my exploratory ways down on any given Sunday. And… sometimes football.

Anyway.

This concert featured Daniel Rothmuller (cello) and Bernadene Blaha (piano) performing Chopin: Sonata, Opus 65 and Brahms: Sonata in E minor, Opus 38. The music was sublime, as you would expect it to be as part of a long-running, well-regarded program. I listened to the first half within the theater and the second outside in the courtyard (what can I say, there is something dreamy and romantic about having the music swell around me as the breezes and fountains flow).

Here’s another thing that might surprise you: the event was packed. I now know where the people of Los Angeles go on Sunday nights. I certainly know where I’m going to be.

Total cost to attend the concert: $0
Parking: At the museum it is $10, but street parking is free

People, if you live in Los Angeles, don’t wait to see it until you play tour guide (or prepare to leave). It’s an amazing place and often the fabulousness can be had for free.

Gift Ideas

2011-08-28T16:20:00.000-07:00

As we get closer to major gift giving holidays like Labor Day and Columbus Day, you may be stumped as to what to get me as a gift. Allow me to point you in the right direction:

http://shop.ebay.com/ibg_inc/m.html

My Love Life in Brief

2011-08-27T11:53:00.000-07:00

Kate: You never know-- my Prince Charming could be at the concert tomorrow at the Getty.

Pen: Yeah, but you won't talk to him.

Kate: I can't argue with that.

fade to black.

Now What?

2011-08-25T16:39:00.000-07:00

And I’m back. Since we last chatted, I volunteered at an event and played tourist with my mother—both good things.

But now, here I sit. Mom has gone home. The next volunteer task is well in hand. My laundry is done. My dishes are clean.

Now what?

This is the first time since I quit 4 (?!) months ago that I haven’t had something all-consuming looming. I could do anything (finances being somewhat of an issue, of course). I should be writing. I should be pitching. I should be trying to get an agent or take meetings. Instead I am living proof of the idea that if you can make every choice in the world, you make no choice at all.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I chose to come to this restaurant for lunch with the intent of writing, but find myself trying not to check out the male television star seated across from me. I suppose that is progress—at least I’ve stopped obsessively watching The Weather Channel.

When I quit in April, I’m not sure I planned for this phase of inactivity and lack of direction. I always thought of myself as being driven, as a workaholic. Yet what I have discovered so far is that I could do absolutely nothing for the next eight months and not care—heck, I’m not sure the passage of time itself would really register.

There is a reality star sitting to the right of me. I have no idea what her name is, but I am vaguely annoyed that I recognize her at all. I could hope I recognize her because she’s accomplished something. I have a sinking feeling it’s from a headline involving a sex tape or scandal-ridden divorce. Still she seems motivated and goal-oriented. She will not be dodging the gaggle of paps stationed in the parking lot.

The people behind me either know Kathie Lee or spend a lot of time concerned with what she thinks. But they are driven, planners of morning television, and they have real purpose. Though, I’m not sure I would have observed them at all had it not been for the one woman who sounds exactly like a lawyer at my old firm (it’s a voice I still hear in my nightmares).

I keep seeing people approach the TV star. They know him vaguely. They want to know him better. The current visitor has a project—and he has made his move. I think it’s going to happen for him. He’s dropping the right names, saying the right things.

I marvel at him. I could have a screenplay dubbed “the next Oscar sure thing,” and I would never make that move. I shudder at the idea of it. I don’t want to be rude. I don’t want to seem aggressive. Actually pursuing something for me is rarely conceivable—and frankly, every time I’ve even tried, I’ve been slapped by fate for it.

Visitor has left now. They have a meeting set. Mission, at least partially, accomplished by the assertive guy in khaki shorts. Well done, sir.

The TV star just yelled out jokingly, “give me a good story—we need good stories.”

Naturally, I continue to sit here quietly hoping someone will notice me.

Shockingly, they never do.

Ruffles Across the Butt

2011-07-27T15:52:00.001-07:00

I know. It's crazy, but I DO want my ass entirely covered.

You know what I don't want? Ruffles. When did ruffles across the butt on a bathing suit become normal for any female over three? I get the draping. I get more coverage. But ruffles? What exactly do you think the ruffle is hiding? Also, when there is decoration, people tend to look at it more. My butt does not need additional attention. If I could paint my body the color of the sand and match the suit, I would. My goal is to pretend it is not there. Frankly, it's the goal of anyone who sees me in a bathing suit, too. No one needs a ruffle acting as a neon arrow to no man's land.

I understand bathing suit designers are under a lot of pressure. They constantly get harangued by women who have honed their enormous number of body issues into award-winning angst (for instance, medical science cannot explain my thighs… seriously, the finest minds have failed). But must we make it more challenging?

I know you guys are bored, but having a ladder of fabric up the back, while looking interesting, means the tan lines are going to be murder. Do you want the people wearing your bathing suits to look like they were whipped by Dom 47? No? Because they will if they burn in that thing.

Also, who decided that adding metal is a good idea? Metal fasteners in the front, big shiny metal things on the hips, or the big "nautical" looking chain design might be eye catching, but the sun is actually hot. I know. I know. No one ever tells you these things. It is true. The sun is hot. When left in the sun, metal things get hotter. Why would I want metal burning things anywhere near my breasts? And, God forbid, if you are actually wearing the metal (or faux metal/plastic) into the ocean or swimming pool: Nothing says sexy like corrosion.

And another thing—maximum support should mean straps that hold the top up. What it should not mean is that you've added so much padding to the top that when you get out of the water, you'll be leaking for the rest of the day. I'm not saying you should stop providing padded bra tops. The theory is a good one. But when a girl looks for swim top with support, she tends to be looking for… oh… what's the word… support. The tiny little strings and three tons of sponge work, isn't quite what she has in mind.

If you are designing for 6ft model types with perfectly buoyant bodies, well done. Those poor fools need swimwear, too. Life is hard enough for those folks without making them cover their lights under bushels. But for the rest of us, could you please take a moment to reflect on what it was like in the olden days when breasts were real and a woman might not have the metabolism of a racehorse?

Your kind attention this matter is greatly appreciated.

Kate

In My Mind

2011-07-25T15:24:00.001-07:00

In my mind, I am taller.

My mental pictures owe a lot to Photoshop, apparently. I'm svelte, sophisticated and statuesque inside. The fact that no one in the history of time has ever thought the word "statuesque" in relation to someone like me is probably not shocking to those of you on the outside. To me, I'm left with confusion. Whenever I picture myself in hard-nosed negotiations, or accidentally coming upon an ex, I'm also much, much taller. I'm sure this isn't unusual. I probably just associate tall people with authority, and when I want to seem authoritative, I picture myself as taller. I'm just trying to figure out why I'm so surprised to find out that I'm still 5'3". No seriously, at least once a week I have a "that can't be right" moment.

It doesn't stop there. You should see me shop. I shop like a tall person. Imagine my consternation after buying the dress I saw on the six foot model (sporting a size zero no doubt) when my picture and her picture don't vaguely resemble one another. Maybe it's just because she had red hair?

In my mirror, I am fatter.

My mirror and I don't understand each other. It's not just that I see every flaw. It's that the flaws seem to come as a shock to me from time to time. For instance, just now I walked past the mirrored hall closet (devilish invention) and exclaimed, "Holy Hell!" Not because I was having a religious vision, but because I just noticed exactly how lumpy I looked and that I had actually gone out wearing these clothes.

In my fantasies, I am desired.

I just heard a collective "Duh" from you people. I don't mean those kinds of fantasies. I mean the kind of fantasies that involve people offering me jobs because they happened upon my blog, heard good things about me from someone respected, or just met me but were completely charmed. And… perhaps… in moments of weakness, I might want Clooney to approach me and say something along the lines of, "I've been trying to meet you for years, and speaking to you now has surpassed all of my wildest dreams." But that's really only when I've run out of chocolate. And Tuesdays.

In my real life, I have never pulled off jaunty.

As a teenager I envied Laura Holt and her seemingly endless supply of jaunty chapeaux. Naturally, I too wanted to exude the confidence that said, "That's right—my hat is jaunty. Not only that, but I'm rockin' this inimitable style that tells the world I am a force to be reckoned with." Instead, dear friends, I envy you your "hatness" and continue to fall far short of perky.

In my delusions, I never have to get a 9 to 5 job again.

We'll see.

When Dating Becomes a Business Transaction

2011-07-20T09:30:00.001-07:00

I'll admit that I'm oddly fascinated with the concept of this website: http://www.whatsyourprice.com/

I'd like to say that I have my finger on the pulse of the dating scene, but my dating scene is more corpse-like than vivacious and thriving. Luckily, I have friends like Pen to introduce me to the newly terrifying ways of meeting someone else who will waste my time (and apparently cost me money).

I can't decide how I feel about the option of bidding on someone's time. I don't kid myself; I'd have to fall into the "generous" category, not the "For the Attractive" category. On the one hand, I suppose it is practical: someone wants an attractive date and here they can buy someone (or at least rent them). I'm a little fuzzy on how this system guards against being prostitution—I mean if a guy pays $500 for an evening with you, you can't convince me that he wouldn't expect something other than your dynamic personality. But let's go along with the supposition that everyone on this site would be playing by the stated rules. I could finally get a date! I have a little savings for "entertainment" during this year of adventure, so it's within the realm of possibility. And yet…there's something that feels vaguely sad about me buying a date (sorry, bidding for a date that I might lose because my enterprising, would-be partner might be looking for someone with a bit more cash and a lot less ass).

And then there is the other part of my reaction to this: at last a chance for successful men to finally date the gold-digging prom queen who normally wouldn't give them the time of day. Contrary to the press around the launch of the site—this isn't like a fun-filled bachelor charity auction. You are for rent. Now if you are broke and pretty, you might be entirely fine with guys paying you for your time (you get dinner and a little spending money). But how does this inspire relationships (as seems to be the stated intention on the site)? What is to keep you from going out on a lot of first dates through the site? You might have no intention of getting involved, but need some quick cash.

I suppose that takes us back to the practical—you are going to date a lot of people while looking for Mr. First Marriage, why shouldn't you get paid for your time?

The theme that is repeated over and over again on the site is that everyone has a price. I'm not so certain that is true. Did Mother Theresa have a price? I'm not saying that there aren't some tempting offers: $1 million would certainly get my attention. But I'm not sure I could get away from the idea that I'm letting someone buy me, and I don't feel like I'm for purchase. And if I could get past the fact that bidding process, do I really want a relationship with someone who buys women? My relationships have been a lot of things (some good, some bad, some "what the hell?"), but I've never treated anyone or been treated like a commodity. Is this really the way of the future?

It just seems like we're getting further and further away from engraved calling cards, heated glances across a crowded room and arousing debate. And I'm hesitant to call that progress.

Sigh.

Magical Mystery Tour

2011-07-19T16:32:00.001-07:00

My magical mystery tour of Los Angeles has continued. Today's tour stop: Compartes Chocolatier in Brentwood. If you are a chocolate fan, this place is your nirvana. Not only is the chocolate amazing, but you can actually watch it being made right there at the facility. Also, an incredibly nice man brought me chocolate to sample. I'm not sure it gets better than that. In fact, I'm positive it doesn't. Now I'm not saying that Gene Wilder comes out singing about "pure imagination," but it does feel inspiring (and the dark chocolate truffles could inspire many a fantasy, I'm sure).

You'll be incredibly impressed: I limited myself to the five sample box. This was not easy. My one true love is chocolate, and I almost asked about submitting an application now that I'm looking for a new career of adventure and intrigue. Then I got the image of myself being arrested after I ate through the shop's inventory, and I realized that it might not be the best possible plan. I will content myself with the knowledge that I can visit whenever the mood strikes me. And no, my looking for an apartment in the area is not related at all. Why do you ask (she says, wiping chocolate from her face)?

The other reason you should check this place out is they have a really interesting charitable giving program going. Essentially, the proceeds from the handmade beaded bracelet and percentage of the proceeds from the chocolate go to support malnourished children and the only women's center in Darfur through Relief International. Normally, I have to work hard to find outrageous justifications for my chocoholic tendencies. Not so here: a little bit of chocolate goodness can actually do some good elsewhere.

Stay tuned for the next stop on the "how have I lived here so many years and not known this existed before" tour.

Body Blow

2011-07-08T15:43:00.001-07:00

I innocently wandered into a store today and admired a pair of jean shorts. They were longer than the typical shorts, which I can appreciate since I've never had the assets of a Blake Lively or Cameron Diaz. I justified the purchase with the fact that they were on massive sale. I grabbed a couple of sizes and hit the dressing room.

Alright, the first pair didn't fit—could barely squeeze them over my knees. Ok. I shook it off. Things happen. Bodies morph. It might just be time to actually work out rather than thinking about it.

The second, larger pair also didn't fit. And it's not just that they didn't fit, it was as though they were spanx meant for outside wear. My legs looked like sausage cases and the jean shorts were losing the battle to contain me. Is it possible to have fat knees? Because I swear to you, it looked like the muffin top and also become mini muffins on the bottom.

In despair, I peeled them back off, sat on the bench and entertained some suicidal thoughts (along with some inappropriate thoughts involving chips and cheese dip). I checked the label just to be certain I hadn't accidentally wandered into the children's section. Nope. They were made for adults—adults who hate themselves.

There on the label explained at least part of my distress: jean leggings.

That's right ladies (and the occasional gentleman who wanders onto this blog in error) I mistakenly tried on CUT OFF JEGGINGS. I didn't even know these existed—and not just because I don't know anything about fashion, but because their existence is just wrong. How do you sit down in these things? Are you just supposed to pose standing in them while holding your breath (provided you get greased up enough to get them on)? Are they actually supposed to act as a new form of birth control? Because no one is getting anything on, off or over in these things.

I'm going to go call my therapist now. It could take years to erase the memory of me trying to stuff my bits and pieces into the jean equivalent of saran wrap. YEARS, people. YEARS.

If I can save one person from this fate, my life will be a success (ok, not really, but you'll still thank me).

An Afternoon with David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson

2011-07-07T08:26:00.001-07:00

I'm going to be spending the afternoon (and early evening) with David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson (and special guest Chris Carter). And no, smart-asses, it's not because I'll be spending another Saturday night fervently clutching my DVD player remote (though, I love doing that and will do that again). Nope, this is one of those in-person, not in a massive convention hall, charity events that sounds like fun. You should be there, too!

Details:

http://www.prnewschannel.com/2011/06/28/david-duchovny-and-gillian-anderson-welcome-special-guest-chris-carter-as-they-sa-yes-for-charity/

Actors David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are reuniting for IBG's summer charity event on July 30 in Los Angeles to benefit SA-YES, a South African charity focusing on the empowerment of marginalized youth in the country.

Foregoing an outside moderator, fans will be treated to the actors taking turns as they pose questions to one another about their entire careers, process and future plans. Have any burning questions for the actors? Ask them! Audience members will be allowed to pose work-related questions to Duchovny and Anderson as part of the event. Dying to know what is in store for Hank Moody in the fifth season of Californication, or about Duchovny's role in Goats? Want to know more about Anderson's work in the upcoming Moby Dick or Johnny English Reborn? The opportunity is here! And, of course, the truth is still out there about the possibilities of a third X-Files film.

As a special treat, the man who created the two characters that Entertainment Weekly named among the 100 greatest characters in pop culture, will be joining in the fun. Chris Carter will take the stage with Duchovny and Anderson during the latter portion of the audience Q&A to field questions from fans and, perhaps, pose a couple of his own to the duo. In addition, Carter will be joining Anderson for the photo/autograph signing following the Q&A.

VIP tickets are available through the IBG website: http://www.ibginc.org/specialseries

Act fast! General seating tickets for the event have already sold out. Fans do not want to miss this truly unique, live event.

Euphemisms on a Tuesday

2011-07-05T15:06:00.000-07:00

Many of these euphemisms made me laugh, and I figured some of you needed the laugh today, too. Returning to work after long weekends can be hard. I am here to help.

Also, I had no idea #5 was from Othello. I’m not sure it’s going to make me cringe less if I hear it suggested to me, but I do feel more informed now.

Enjoy!

http://www.topdatingsites.com/blog/2011/10-slang-terms-for-hooking-up-and-their-origins/

After Two Months

2011-07-03T10:19:00.001-07:00

Wishful Thinking: An hour after I quit my job, my future path will be clear.

Reality: Oh, it's clear alright. It's clear I have no idea what I am doing.

Wishful Thinking: When I quit my job my apartment will be immaculate.

Reality: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. Seriously, I keep losing stuff. The Apartment is not that big. I spent 10 minutes searching for free weights this morning. How do you lose free weights in a one bedroom apartment? It might have something to do with the fact that I keep moving the furniture around every 2-3 weeks.

Wishful Thinking: Once I leave this all-consuming job, I will write every day.

Reality: To be fair, I do use a pen every day. So, that probably counts. I should have been more specific.

Wishful Thinking: Once I leave this all-consuming job, my laundry will never pile up.

Reality: Hello, laundry, I promise to turn to you again at some point.

Wishful Thinking: Once I leave this crazy "all time zones" job, I'll be able to sleep in every day (until I start work again).

Reality: Well, I don't get up at 4:30 5 days a week anymore—4:45am is really so much more respectable. Go me.

Wishful Thinking: Because I wasn't open to the other opportunities in the universe while I was working, those opportunities didn't come to me. This will all change.

Reality: Perhaps the opportunities got lost, only had my work address and are even now trying to track me down?

Wishful Thinking: I will have time to read.

Reality: I've definitely started a book since I quit. I have every intention of finishing it someday.

Wishful Thinking: I will travel constantly.

Reality: I constantly watch shows about other people traveling. I'm currently pretending that I'm doing my due diligence just in case I ever need a home in Argentina. You never know.

Wishful Thinking: Every day I will wake up and choose another exciting thing to do.

Reality: Every day, I wake up. So far. Knock on wood.

This transition into my new and exciting life has not exactly gone to the wishful thinking plan I had. It's not that I thought it would be easy—nothing ever is for me—but I did think I would be more focused in one particular direction. I thought at least one pursuit would jump out and scream "give this a shot." Instead, I'm going to have to start clubbing opportunities over the head and dragging them back to the apartment. If only I knew where to find them—though I suppose it would take an act of God for me to approach them once identified anyway.

Hmmm.

Alone in a Crowded Room

2011-06-24T07:02:00.001-07:00

Anyone else would have embraced the opportunity presented: a room full of industry people actively hoping to form a network of writers, directors, producers, actors and more. Lovely setting. Early enough to not be confused with clubbing.

Anyone would have taken the opportunity to put out a hand and make some introductions. Anyone except me. Instead I stood in that crowded room full of well-meaning, connected people and fought back tears of frustration.

I simply lack the capacity to approach someone and make small talk. I lack the imagination (which bodes poorly for a writing career) to make my answer to, "What are you doing now?" sound interesting.

"I want to…"

"I'm hoping to…"

"I'm thinking about…"

All of these seemed to be conversation killers the few times I actually engaged.

I knew about this event when I quit my job in April. Not so secretly, I thought networking might finally be possible for me—out of necessity, if nothing else. I allowed myself to hope that the leap I took was a leap into this pond – that I'd feel less like a total outsider. This event would prove that the chance I took was based on the belief that real opportunity was right around the corner. Foolish.

Instead, that panicked, "Oh God, what am I doing here?" feeling was followed immediately by its twin sisters: "You are never going to make it in this industry if you can't talk to decision-makers" and "these people want to be interested in you, and you can't make it happen—good luck getting the people who don't care to listen."

I walked in telling myself to be confident and bold. I internally nattered to myself that smiling would invite people into my orbit. Last time I read a freakin' self-help guide.

Apparently the "F**k you" on my forehead is not limited to single, dateable men. It extends to all people because no amount of joker-like smiling was going to tempt someone into anything even vaguely resembling my orbit. In fact, I'm fairly certain I actually repelled people.

I tried the Bridget Jones approach, though stopped short of actually bringing up Chechnya. I suppose on the mortification scale I did rather better than Bridget as I did not make an embarrassingly bad speech, nor did I go home with a womanizing man named Daniel. Also, I did avoid asking any important writer types for the loo by standing in the corner hiding behind my smartphone. God bless Twitter.

I might have oozed intellect if it weren't for my pathetic attempts to discuss new media and … the weather.

Perhaps, in the end, I am far better suited for solo manifesto writing in a cabin than I'll ever be as a screenwriter in Hollywood (though let's substitute beach for mountains, please). Can you picture me in a writers' room? Disaster. I'd have to set my chair up behind the white board.

I live and want to work in a town entirely based on relationships—the one thing I do not seek.

Maybe I should have mentioned Chechnya?

Kate

Step Up to Center Stage

2011-06-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

It’s 3:00pm. I’m drinking a glass of red wine and watching the sequel to Center Stage. I’m not finished with the credits yet, but it feels remarkably like the Step It Up movies, and I’m left wondering who is going to utter the immortal words: “I am the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy. Who the hell are you? Nobody.”

Spoiler alert: Bad news, kids. Cooper’s dance company went under due to lack of funds, so he’s back being snarky about ballerinas and technique (though now I’m only about 2 minutes into the movie—things could change).

Clearly, this is why I quit my job. I could have been left without ever knowing this movie existed. God bless Netflix.

Also, pointe shoes on carpet…never a good idea.

Not that I just found that out. Because I didn’t. And that would have been silly. So, I didn’t.

Recognition

2011-05-27T19:33:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in a dance studio-- not any studio; the studio. I can't begin to count the hours I spent in here-- required hours, stolen hours, all hours. Sense memory took over as I walked across the floor. Same creaks. Same smell. Same sense of wonder even if age has made some of those possibilities dim.

My body remembers this place. It remembers the calluses, the hamstring pulls and the exhaustion. And it remembers joy.

I had a life here. I knew a boy here. I was challenged, frustrated and just shy of brilliant here-- at least once or twice.

Every five years or so I make this pilgrimage. I see old friends, and we talk about the years gone by. But this place I come to alone. Even though we had rehearsals and class here, each of us had our own experience-- our own blessings and curses. Explaining it to spouses and kids seems unthinkable.

Impossible to recapture youth, I know, and yet it feels so near here. If I close my eyes and take a deep breath I'll be who I was here.

I'm sitting in a dance studio. And I'm me here.

Red

2011-05-24T10:06:00.001-07:00

I have three red shirts in my closet. For most people, this is probably not a stunning development. For me, it is practically as revolutionary as the color associations have been. I have black clothes, and when I want to spice it up, I move to gray or tan. Seriously. I've flirted with blues, but unless they are navy, even they feel a bit daring to me. And now I've gone red.

When I was a dancer, I had a choreographer who related a theory told to him by his favorite choreographer: "If you wear red, you must dance red."

Naturally, I thought he was a pretentious git, and I did my signature move of eye-roll and dismissal. Well, I definitely did the eye-roll. Apparently, the dismissal didn't happen quite as easily. I think somehow the idea that if I wore red, I'd have to dance red (or be red in non-performance life) took permanent hold.

I can't be red. I'm not a red person. Red means "look at me." It means "passion." It means "pay attention to me, or you will wish you would have."

"On Girls" wear red. I wear the daily equivalent of camouflage.

It's not that I haven't given it consideration. There is a pair of red stilettos in my closet that I have never worn. One of the fashion gurus said something about them being too provocative unless you are streetwalker, and I hid them in my closet.

But apparently, you can only keep red inside for so long.

This weekend I took the red out for a spin.

I liked it.

Look out Los Angeles.

Kate

The Wonderful World of Kate

2011-05-18T19:18:00.001-07:00

The Wonderful World of Kate

If I'm faced with the option of doing anything in the world, I sit down and watch television because having all the options are almost as paralyzing as having none.
When trying to decide between cleaning and reading a book, I will always choose reading a book (even if people are coming over to my apartment). In fact, I seem to be choosing "reading a book" constantly these days. And it's kind of awesome.
If Judgment Day really is Saturday, I think my V (original mini-series and final battle) viewing event is oddly appropriate. However, I have a date with Mitch Pileggi the next day that I'd rather not miss—and by "date", I mean attending a charity event where he is the guest of honor.
I spend a fortune on local phone, long distance and cell and 99% of the time I would prefer to send an email rather than call someone… even people I know. In fact, I think I'm developing a phone phobia. The idea of calling a stranger for any reason makes my heart start to race. I'm not sure why. I guess I feel like I might be bothering them. I think we can safely rule out telemarketer as my next job.
A friend suggested that without a structure and set plan for my year off, I will fall into a perpetual vacation mode that will go by very quickly. He is definitely correct. Alas, this has not yet prompted me to make that plan. Frankly, I'm not sure my brain has adjusted to the idea that I'm not going back to my old job, to my old life. Part of me is ready to heave that sigh of resignation and find my security card for the trip back to the office.
With all the time in the world, I still avoid going to the grocery store. I do love being able to do laundry whenever the mood strikes me.
I keep wondering how I can make a living wage by sitting at home and opining. I know there are people who do it, but thus far, no one has sent me a check. Rude!
New shows are staffing with writers at this exact moment. Hands up if you think I should be one of them. Hands up if you think I'm better suited to solitary manifesto writing. Yeah, that's what I thought.
I spent a terrific afternoon at the beach with friends (I do so have them) to celebrate a birthday (thankfully, not mine). The day was splendiferous. The sunburn I have right now is slightly less so given that only one side of my face is red, as though only part of my personality is chagrined about something. I'm not sure I want quite this obvious of a manifestation of my dual nature. Best to keep that bit a secret.
I feel a deep, personal attachment to the animated Lemon in the new McD's ads. He seems so bummed out that lemons have become synonymous with a whole slew of negative things. That's right—I want to give an animated lemon a hug. Go me. I haven't lost my mind at all.
My apartment has no sense of style. It barely has a sense of functionality. How do I get those HGTV people to come and suddenly make this place look like a comfortable showroom? And if that's not possible, how do I get someone to come over and help me move the TV? What about that charming Emily girl? She seems like fun, and really unlikely to make fun of me.
Oh, Castle. You need to air all year. I know it would probably kill your actors, writers, directors, producers and crew, but let's think about me for a minute.

And those are the fascinating musings of Kate on an average Wednesday night.

Charming

2011-05-16T16:32:00.001-07:00

(A Play in One Act)

L: You can be charming!

Kate: Name one time where I have been charming?

L: Well, I'm not around you all the time.

Kate: You can't do it, can you? You can't think of one situation.

L: Yes, I can! At the wine tasting, you were um… talking to people?

Kate: And I was charming?

L: Well, you were talking to them.

Kate: Not what I asked.

L: I'm not around you that often!

Kate: If we were around each other anymore often, you'd be living here.

L: Whatever, Holt. You're charming.

Kate: Lies.

Planning and Dating

2011-05-10T08:32:00.001-07:00

I'm finding that event planning and dating in Los Angeles are remarkably similar. In both situations, there is so much going on in the city that it's difficult to get anyone's attention in a positive way. Of course, it's still easy to get attention in a negative way, but that's rarely what you really want (unless you are a reality star, of course).

In the dating world, we keep getting sent to the internet. Everyone suggests that you try online dating. For event planning, everyone suggests Twitter or Facebook. But when you have a thousand followers, are they really paying attention to you, or are they just trying to get their numbers up? It's the same with dating, really. Do people head online to find people serious about relationships, or are they looking to get their "score" numbers over 100 (oh, Charlie Runkle…)?

Picture yourself as a young entrepreneur or philanthropist in Los Angeles. You have an event. What do you do? Where do you go? In a city of millions of distractions, how do you get noticed?

Picture yourself as a single, shy female over a certain age in Los Angeles. What do you do? Where do you go?

And if they end up being the same answer, I think I should get my own dating column or advice show on OWN.

Well, technically, I think we can all agree that this should happen anyway.

Walk on the Wild Side

2011-05-09T13:34:00.001-07:00

This weekend I went to a club in Santa Ana to hear a rock band called Three Thirteen.

Half of you reading that sentence are thinking, "Yeah, so?"

Half of you reading this are saying, "Bullshit, you would never go to a club and certainly not all the way out in Santa Ana—prove it." Ok… maybe more than half of you. I texted Pen, and she assumed my phone had been stolen. Danielle insisted that I tweet pictures immediately. I'm pretty sure the earth shifted on its axis. So, if you felt that, I probably caused it.

The easy explanation is that my friend B's husband Randy is the lead singer and plays guitar in the band. It was the first time this particular band had ever played, and despite knowing them for years, I had never managed to get out and see him play when he was with other bands. Apparently, the key to getting me to do anything is to send me an invite text at the exact moment I'm feeling slightly adventurous. Also, I didn't really know where Santa Ana was.

What can I say? I like to keep you people guessing.

Believe it or not, I had a lot of fun. I did hang out in the pit taking pictures (in order to dissuade strangers from talking to me, naturally) and stood in the section informally designated as "for older people who aren't dressed for this club, and don't know what to do." This was opposed to the front portion by the stage where people were rocking out and appropriately eye-linered.

Is this a new club-going phase for me? Oh, sure. That's a given. I plan on being out every night. I've hired a stylist, and I'm now ready for every occasion.

Most of the time, I'll still be asleep by 9:00pm.

But the next time you see me tweeting: "I can't hear you--I'm tweeting from a mosh pit" you should probably go with it.

Kate

Eagerly awaiting our foray into Club 1984 and roller disco!

Mitch Pileggi Q&A Charity Event

2011-05-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

If you guys are going to be in the LA area, you have to come out and see this guy! He has been in everything-- from the legendary Skinner role in The X-Files to a much debated recurring role on Supernatural to a guest star on Castle this year (that had a twist that was hilarious). Of special interest to me is that he appears to have radically changed careers to become an actor. I'm always fascinated to hear how other people have come to the decision to take that leap.

So come out to the event and see Mitch (and me!).

Tickets: http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries

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IBG Welcomes Actor Mitch Pileggi

Summary: Actor Mitch Pileggi (Supernatural, The X-Files, Stargate Atlantis and Sons of Anarchy) answers fan questions about process, performance and his vibrant career on May 22nd in Beverly Hills.

IBG Inc is proud to announce that television favorite, Mitch Pileggi, has signed on to be the guest speaker in the new “A Conversation With” series thrown by the Los Angeles 501c3. The hour-long conversation with Pileggi will take place in Beverly Hills in the afternoon of May 22nd.

The “A Conversation With” series is designed to bring together fans and some of the most successful producers, directors, writers, and actors working today. The exclusive event will consist of both moderated discussion and open-floor questions in an intimate setting.

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Television audiences know Mitch Pileggi best for his performances as FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner on the long-running hit series The X-Files. He parlayed a guest-starring appearance in its first season into a recurring role and finally a series regular position in the show's third year. Pileggi earned three Screen Actors Guild Award nominations in a row as part of the acclaimed ensemble. Pileggi also played the character in the 1998 X-Files film and, six years after the show's end, reprised the character in the film The X-Files: I Want to Believe.

Pileggi’s recent work includes playing Sam and Dean Winchester's maternal grandfather, Samuel Campbell in the TV series Supernatural, the recurring role of Larry Jennings in Grey's Anatomy and Ernest Darby, the head of the Nordics Motorcycle Club in the Sons of Anarchy, as well as Dan Burroughs in Medium. He also played the recurring role of character Colonel Steven Caldwell, Commander of the Earth Battlecruiser, Daedalus, in the second and subsequent seasons of the television series Stargate Atlantis.

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1:40AM

2011-05-05T02:39:00.001-07:00

It's 1:40AM, and I am awake. No, awake doesn't quite cover it. There is none of that sleepy quality where I hug the pillow tight, burrow further into the covers and know that additional slumber is not out of my reach.

This is more of a jarring awareness that my body has decided enough is enough. I have a sneaking suspicion that my mind never shut down—too many plans to make, details to settle… a life to get.

You'll be pleased to know that I didn't give in to this stress-induced insomnia lightly. Never! I fought it. Fan on. Fan off. Right side. Left side. Drowsing on my back. When that failed, I gave myself a very stern lecture: "Go to sleep! You have work in the morning." You know, three weeks ago that would have done the trick.

Instead, here I sit: Zone bar in hand, water and a laptop at the ready. No doubt brilliance is about to sweep forth to dazzle each and every one of you. Once that is finished, I will be offered my own television show, book deal, film gig and the deed to a small island to finally call my own. Naturally, once I am firmly ensconced in my new state-of-the-art abode, you might have some trouble finding me as the island will move [though I will leave a key map for the wine tasting club and the 80s mini-series watchers (everybody dies, Meggie)]. But no matter—I will have left my positive mark on the world, and will occasionally send off additional material when the changing tide inspires me.

This is my current plan.

Yep. That's what is going to happen.

Any minute now.

Any time at all.

Any…

That Didn’t Take Long

2011-05-03T08:12:00.001-07:00

It takes precisely 15 days to lose all track of what day it is and to stop registering the passage of time. I know this because this morning, it took me nearly 10 minutes to suss out what day it is… and I don't mean the date. Without my daily, highly regimented schedule, I've fallen into an "every day is Saturday" mode. Tricky because, of course, other people work on weekdays, and if I need to get something done, I should probably do it when they are around. Still, law of averages should be on my side.

This is not to suggest that the crazy panic of needing to do something has left the back of my brain. No, that is still popping up at moments. It's that insidious feeling that I've forgotten something, or that something is looming. Both could be true, but I'm hoping they aren't. Perhaps it's just the consternation that happens when after a very long time, I don't have a paycheck being direct deposited anymore. Clearly, it throws off the balance of even sane people—of which, I might be less and less of one every day.

Luckily, my focus was on when Sunday rolled around because I finally got to see the long-awaited God of Carnage downtown at the Ahmanson. I wasn't going to go because there were big May Day rallies/protests planned for that area, and that sounded far from appealing. I had nearly given up on the idea of going entirely, when I decided to check sigalert.com just to be safe (God bless the people who put traffic indicators up on a website). Much to my surprise, the freeways looked empty—hardly a normal phenomenon in LA. So, despite having less than 20 minutes to get ready, I dashed off.

If you are thinking about going to see God of Carnage, do it! It's very funny… in all the wrong ways (making it hilarious and brutal at the same time). It is not for children. The entire cast (Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, Marcia Gay Harden and James Gandolfini) were really "on" for the Sunday performance, and the audience went crazy for it. Here's my tip: you don't need front orchestra seats for this show, so if you don't have the money for the close seats, don't worry about it. This plays to the back rows. I can't tell you my last thought when leaving the theater (spoilers), but if you email me, I'll share.

Awkward Moment

2011-04-28T11:59:00.001-07:00

As you all know, I am delightfully oblivious to the people around me most of the time. Absent professors have nothing on me. However, from time to time, I will hear something during the course of running an errand (or saving the world) that just sets me off.

I thought today was one of those days.

I was waiting for the elevator this morning, when I heard a young mother calling her toddler daughter away from the display case to join her. Nothing outrageous thus far, right? Well, it would have remained that way except I heard the mother calling, "Come here, Creepy. Creepy, come here." That… seemed a little off to me. I don't know if slightly negative nicknames actually damage a child's self-esteem or not, but it felt a tad jarring. I thought it might be accurate—I celebrate honesty. But not knowing if the child was indeed creepy did leave me with the temptation to give the mom a little stink eye.

And just as I was getting ready to do that, I heard her calling to the little girl, again: "Come on, Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea, we've got to go."

In my defense, they sound really similar.

::: whistling through my unwarranted outrage:::

Who Am I Anyway?

2011-04-27T16:46:00.001-07:00

Who am I anyway?
Am I my resume?
That is a picture of a person I don't know.

A Chorus Line

As I've mentioned, the process of willingly separating yourself from a job of 16+ years is a long one, and it involves an extraordinary amount of paperwork. While that is a nuisance, there is only one box on all of these forms that keeps tripping me up: Occupation.

Health insurance, life insurance, rollovers and any other form you can think of all ask for my occupation. It's a reasonable question, I suppose. Health insurance professionals certainly want to know if I'm working in coal mines rather than an office building, but for the first time in so many years, I have nothing to enter into that field. I'm not a student. I'm not an analyst. Unemployed is technically accurate, but doesn't seem right—surely that can't be me. I did this willfully, and in my mind, that seems reserved for people who have dealt with downsizing and other economic woes.

Am I my resume? I don't think I even know that person.

So, after spending a day or two in panic mode (apparently, undefined is something I'm not quite used to), I decided to look at this as a creative writing assignment. People keep telling me I should put my goals "out there," so I'm going to. The very next form will say "Writer," "Producer," "Fashion Model," "Host," "George Clooney's Wardrobe Assistant," or "Deep Sea Diver" (I know, no one will believe I'm a writer). My friend E came up with a great one today at lunch, "Celebrity liaison." Provided that isn't actually code for "stalker", I'm in! Though, naturally, I will refuse to do anything that involves sneaking someone drugs, a mistress or getting them coffee (no joke, I can't make coffee, and since I don't drink it, most drink orders still sound like gibberish).

How about "Celebrity Pillow fluffer?" And yes, the word "Pillow" needs to be in there, because as I've recently been told, people can seriously misunderstand your intentions if it's missing from that title. Sheesh. One little mistake…

House Hunters

2011-04-26T08:05:00.001-07:00

Well, it has finally happened: my brain has stopped trying to process what I've done by leaving my job and just embraced Property Virgins, House Hunters and House Hunters International. I may have watched (on and off) about 7 hours of those shows on Monday.

I'm no closer to figuring out what I want to do with my life. I'm no closer to writing the great American novel, script or short-story. I have yet to executive produce a television show. I am, however, an expert at the ridiculous requirements first time home buyers have and where cheap real estate exists in the United States (note: nowhere near Los Angeles).

Here is my public service announcement for the day: You do not need stainless steel appliances in order to have a working refrigerator, stove or dishwasher—particularly if you only have $100,000 to spend on the house and you want four bedrooms, a finished basement, a backyard and a pool. The perfectly functioning white appliances do not NEED to be replaced. If I hear you say it one more time, I will slap you.

And We Want Him Why?

2011-04-25T11:12:00.001-07:00

I received a lot of emails and some comments posted on the blog about my post regarding "The Rule of the First." What really stood out for me was how many people mentioned using the rule as a way to…um…reconnect with a man who had cheated on them. I'm wonderfully uptight, and do not generally supporting cheating (so stop emailing me Ashley Madison), but I am willing to give a little bit of leeway to the girl who is hooking up with her ex who is now cheating on the girl who he cheated with (if that makes sense). It's not good. It's not right. But I'm not sure I have a ton of sympathy.

The thing I do not understand is why is there a compulsion to pursue the man again? Why do you want someone back in your life who clearly had very little respect for you when you were together? Is it just an ego thing? Is there some sort of special validation for you if you can get a man back (however temporarily)? Is it all about winning?

Please keep in mind that I'm not talking about situations where you were both young and someone made a mistake. While I don't know if I could ever really forgive the mistake, I think people can learn from them in certain cases and move on. Also, I'm fully cognizant that women also cheat and generally behave badly. If a woman cheats on a man and leaves, does a man also pursue?

Obviously, love does not go away just because things go awry. Maybe there is a healthy mix of habit in that longing? Maybe after that kind of hurt, the one left behind just desperately wants to return to normal, and the pursuit is the only way that makes sense at the time?

Pen has had these moments. She heard a lot of encouragement on the other end: "She's not you." This, by the way, is catnip to women. She thought she would finally win when the other relationship ended, and he didn't want to be alone. But ultimately, she walked away. Why? Because the only thing she would have won was a man she would never be able to trust.

Breaking In Meets Dr. Drew

2011-04-22T09:02:00.001-07:00

Ah, proximity—you seem to be the key to all things dating… which is tricky given how much I like to spend time alone.

This week's Breaking In featured the theory that "love is a numbers game" and that the way for one of the leads to finally get the girl of his dreams is to spend as much time with her as possible. He actually had the day broken down into "quality time spent" components, and spending the day at work with this girl meant he would be "winning" (not in the Charlie Sheen sense, but with actual positive outcome in the mix) the battle for her heart (which he might want along with her other parts).

Then much to my surprise, when I finally got through my katedating@yahoo.com email, I saw that Kelly at HLN had sent over another clip from Dr. Drew's show. Now, the piece was supposed to explore what it is that men really want from women. This scared me because I assumed it was somehow pornographic. Kidding. Kidding. Not really, but let's pretend.

Naturally, the conversation turned toward the different approaches of the sexes in meeting a potential partner. The panel and Dr. Drew came to the conclusion that Cam did in Breaking In (only they backed-it up with actual data) that proximity plays an enormous role in finding a potential romance.

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I worked many, many, many years in a largely-male environment. Love did not blossom for me. No seeds were even planted. Clearly, I need to work at a place where there is a plethora of options before I can give this theory a try. But otherwise his advice did leave me a little bit stuck. He said, "Go put yourself in environments where you're about to be near people that share the kind of interests that you do." That idea is all well and good, but look at my interests: ballet, theater, museums, movies, reading and watching TV. They either involve being alone, not interacting or involve places not exactly teeming with single, straight men who have also arrived alone. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a shy, retiring type to pry a guy away from his mother at the ballet? It's not going to happen.

Also, sitting next to the guy sitting alone in an empty movie theater is creepy. Not that I've tried that. Yet.

Pink Pepper Thai and Other Thoughts on a Thursday

2011-04-21T08:19:00.001-07:00

Pink Pepper Thai

Yesterday, I discovered a terrific Thai food place called Pink Pepper Thai in Hollywood. I'd like to say that I am a visionary who has unearthed this yet to be discovered hot spot in Los Angeles – and if that gets me a job writing for Social LA-type blogs, I will say that. Now, if I want to go with honesty, the place has been there since about 1989, and I just don't get out much… and my friend suggested it as a good place to meet. But other than those things, I totally discovered it. Now it's your job to go try it. Also, as a side note, Thai lunch from the day before makes for an excellent breakfast the next day.

Pink Taco Disco

I have figured out where men go to congregate in Los Angeles! They go to Pink Taco (and now that I think about it, it would make sense that dudes were attracted to this place). Hordes of men were there last night (and by night, I mean just as the work bell sounded at 5:30) with ties askew and drinks in hand; no doubt chatting about the deals they brokered, or the white collar clients they kept out of jail for securities fraud. Go team! Naturally, I spoke to none of them because I was busy being enormously entertained by the disco music they were playing while Pen and I were delicately sipping our margaritas and in no way descending on the bucket of free chips like wild animals. Ahem. Anyway… this discovery has brought us to a new and exciting possibility: roller disco (Courtesy of C). Again, not a new concept, as I last did this when I was about 12, BUT a totally new experience as an adult. I can't wait. I'm possibly more excited about roller disco than I have been about anything other than quitting my job. I wonder if I can find my old sparkly, blue skate laces?

Trapped in Apartment

Presidential street closures are happening outside my apartment today and possibly tomorrow. I understand the need for security. I support this entirely. But that does mean I am trapped in my apartment since leaving suggests the need for returning, which I may or may not be able to do depending on when and if he wanders through this area. How about this as a deal: I will vote for him, if he promises to stop coming to Los Angeles? I knew we could work something out. Seriously, I saw the President less when I was living in D.C. But the new, intriguing, possibly-sexually-willing me (nah) is going to make the best of this by declaring it Reading by the Pool Day unless the fog doesn't lift, and it really stays 65; and then it will be more like Sitting Inside the Apartment Obsessing Over Why I Don't Have a Direction in Life Yet Despite it Being Day 4 Day (which has a slightly less entertaining ring to it, and the acronym just doesn't sing).

Day 3: Reality Check

2011-04-20T07:38:00.001-07:00

I may have expected too much from my new life—or at least I may have expected fabulousness to begin occurring with a rapidity that was unrealistic. I feel enormous pressure to find something amazing every day, for no other reason than I think I believed that to be so. I had this "look out world" moment, and so far, the world has yawned. Spielberg hasn't called. Clooney hasn't called. And I'll admit I'm still mired in paperwork.

This is what I've learned so far:

I am bad at being idle. I may get better with time, but I'm already looking around me wondering what I can fix, clean or organize.
I should remove the "employed" requirement from the dating wish list. Some of the most fabulous people I know don't have jobs at the moment.
I have very much enjoyed having lunch with friends and not having to worry about work waiting for me. Let's keep that one going. Though I'm unemployed, so you all will have to keep picking up the check. Sound good? I knew it would.
I'm going to be spending a lot of time in Venice over the next few months. When I'm not flustered about the problems with parking and needing to be back north at a specific time, it's a pretty groovy place with a ton of good, not always wildly expensive, restaurants. Though the person who tried to give me the pot license information was definitely suffering from some serious delusions about my being there.
Brownie bites are good for more than a week.
I'm writing more than I ever thought possible. I'm chalking that up to the fact that I don't have something else sucking every bit of energy I have out of brain through my ears. (Note: I didn't say that I was writing well, only that fingers are flying over keyboards)
I'm already having nightmares about money and ever finding a job. This is ridiculous. I've planned for this. I'm ready for this. And it just started. Clearly, my brain has not quite caught up with my new "go with the flow" attitude.
I've quite my job with relatively little waking fear, yet I'm too nervous to begin sign up for tennis lessons. Apparently, some new I can handle, and some new is just too much.
For the first time in years, I want to dance.

Penguin Joy

2011-04-19T18:37:00.000-07:00

At some point, I would like to be as happy as this penguin. New goal!

<br/><a href="http://www.bing.com/videos/watch/video/penguin-loves-to-get-scratched/20o232tg?q=Penguin&rel=msn&from=en-us_msnhp&form=msnrll&gt1=42010&src=v5:embed:&fg=sharenoembed" target="_new"title="Penguin Loves To Get Scratched">Video: Penguin Loves To Get Scratched</a>

Review

2011-04-19T06:09:00.001-07:00

Clearly, in order to become a wildly famous author with Pulitzer committee calls and film conversion offers waiting in the wings, I should tell you about the brilliance that was my first day in my new life. That brilliance should include a sly mention of my embarking on a torrid affair with a well-known leading man who only stays in his "Hollywood" marriage for the sake of his adorable children and to avoid a career-debilitating scandal. These pages should be full of the joy of re-discovering sexual desire and colorful descriptions of the whole new world of tabloid dodging that immediately wrapped me in its seducing tentacles. I should be at least hinting at purple prose waiting in the wings (that I will obviously try to sell as empowerment involving the shedding of moral shackles).

As I type, I'm thinking of sentences like "and so he took her, as only a man can take a woman, who yearns…"**

Instead…

I did laundry.

So close.

Well, I was seduced by a brownie. Does that count?

Maybe later today…

Kate

**(bonus points if you can name the origin of that sentence).

Day 1: But I am My Blackberry

2011-04-18T08:10:00.001-07:00

It turns out that the first thing to throw me about my new found "adventure" was not the relatively late wake-up time (slept in until almost 6am, thank you very much!), and it wasn't the lack of frantic emails on a Sunday night about the work week. It was my missing Blackberry.

I have perfected the roll and check. Typically, the alarm would sound at around 4:30am (technically, 4:33am because I'm weird that way). After the customary round of "why God why" was completed, I would roll over and check my Blackberry to see what the day would hold. But that sounds too banal. It really was a thing of beauty. Clearly, my advanced dance background has something to do with the grace and extension involved in plucking the device from the nightstand.

Today, I woke at 5:55am without panic. Intellectually, I knew that I had nowhere to be. Instinctually, however, I executed my roll, extend, hold and… got nothing. There was a moment of genuine consternation.

I sat up.

My Blackberry was gone.

Oh, right. New Life. New world. New adventure.

But… um… who am I without my Blackberry?

Sure, I hated the incessant buzzing and flashing red lights. It interrupted everything and all the time—vacation time, sleep time, Californication set time (unacceptable!)… But I realize that it was also shorthand with people: that's right, I'm employed and "important" because only someone truly vital to their organization would be this constantly in demand and/or connected to a small, annoying electronic device. It became part of my identity. I was always checking it.

And now I'm… uh…not sure exactly…

But it's only Day 1 of the new life. One step at a time. There is bound to be some separation anxiety in this transition, right? Eventually, my hands will stop shaking, and I will find a new device to bolster my ego and hide behind—I mean, a new and better purpose…obviously.

Just out of curiosity, though, is there therapy for this sort of thing?

End of the Road

2011-04-15T05:20:00.001-07:00

Remember this blog: http://katedating.blogspot.com/2011/04/1-year.html ? Well, the question posed there might not have been a rhetorical one.

I've found myself at the end of one particular career path. While I won't go into details, I began to wonder why I was doing the things I was doing. And while no one loves to complain more than I do (hello, I have a blog), even I couldn't listen to my complaints anymore. Deep down I knew that the only person who could make me happy was me—so I'm taking a leap.

I'm taking the next year off from my normal life.

I'm leaving my job of 16+ years. I'm leaving stability and consistency for something completely unknown.

I started pre-school at 2 ½ years old. I worked in the interim year between college and graduate school, and I've never been without a plan. But at this moment, I literally have no idea what I'm going to do. I want to travel. I want to write. I think "Executive Producer and Writer" sound like excellent titles when paired with my name. I want to take random classes on art history at the Getty in the middle of the day on a Tuesday—just because. I want to take internships to see another side of the world around me and not worry about the fact that they don't pay, or don't pay much. I want to learn to play tennis. I want to finish a book in less than two months (reading one or writing one). I want to go to an airport, stand in front of the departures board and pick a flight. I want to be invested in whatever I'm doing, and eventually, I would like to feel like I count again.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't had a moment or twenty of panic in the last two weeks. The paperwork alone has been stunning. I'm absolutely certain in the coming weeks I will have at least one all consuming desire to beg for my job back while rocking back and forth asking myself, "What the hell was I thinking?"

Ok, that's likely to happen more than once.

No one is suddenly going to knock on my door and offer me a better life (and let's face it, when someone knocks on my door, I don't answer it), so this is my attempt at taking it. If this experiment ends with me broke and begging for my old life back, I'm going to seem stupid. If this experiment is successful, I'm going to seem brave and insightful.

Today is my last day.

It's the end of the road. Or at least that road.

Stay tuned…

The Rule of the First

2011-04-11T19:17:00.001-07:00

We all agree that cheating is bad. It shouldn't be done. It should be avoided at all costs. You never want to be the other woman (unless you were one of my friends in college who thought that a guy cheating with you meant you were special because he was risking something). And so on. I can see you all nodding and smiling from behind your computer screens right now.

We are all in agreement. We are all entirely virtuous. Almost entirely. Mostly. In theory.

But there is a secret—a little discussed, but much adhered to axiom, referred to as "The Rule of the First."

And now some of you are starting to shift uncomfortably.

You know what I'm talking about.

Under normal circumstances, you would never bed a married man—unless you had been with him first… before her… before the current wife. You had him first, and there is a little part of you that will always feel like you have a prior claim… a greater claim.

I think about my own situations—one in particular. While I have zero interest in rekindling a relationship with The Ex anymore, I recognize that he would be my greatest temptation. There is simply too much history for me to say with 100% honesty that there wouldn't be at least a moment where I would consider it. And that's crazy because I'm the most law abiding, inflexible, uptight person you are going to meet. But late at night at a friend's wedding with wine and memories flowing… danger.

I'd like to believe I wouldn't give into it. I'd like to believe he wouldn't give in to it. But that whisper of "mine" and "first" would always be there.

I've seen the normally morally sound fall to it.

"He realizes he never should have married her."
"We never should have ended it."
"They are only still together because of the kids."
"He's never been able to forget us."
"We know it's wrong, but we've never felt as connected to other people as we do one another."
"It's our second chance."
"I was there first."

There is no doubt that "The Rule of the First" leads down a path of tears and frustration—and the possible burning of his gifts on a front lawn (I may have meant that euphemistically). So why is it so powerful? Why do the generally sane fall victim to the delusion? Is it all ego? Is it winning (and not in the Charlie Sheen sense)? Will you end up feeling triumph in addition to the connection because he's choosing you (however temporarily)? Or is there really just a sense that you were there first and that the next girlfriend/wife is only an interloper who can't possibly understand the depth of what you shared?

Danger.

No Strings Attached

2011-04-08T07:48:00.001-07:00

Kelly at HLN sent this video clip over from Dr. Drew (Dr. Drew airs weeknights on HLN at 9pm ET/PT), and I felt like I had to share because it's long been a topic of debate among my friends and I.

If you've been reading this blog for more than 20 seconds, you know where I'm going to fall in this debate: I'm not capable of having "no strings attached" sex. But honestly, I don't know why anyone would want it. All sex has risks: STDs, pregnancy, your one night stand turns out to be an axe murderer... If you think those things aren't life changing, I think you are crazy. I like to limit the number of people who might come within a vague proximity of me. I'm sure as heck going to limit the number of people wandering around inside of me.

Sure, "it's just sex" sounds like an easy approach to scratch a temporary itch. But try propositioning him this way: "It's just an act that can lead to the creation of another human being if the condom breaks—bring on the child support!" Still hot?

Why take those extraordinary risks if you don't care about someone? Literally, life and death are at issue—I'm going to need a little bit more than a wink and smile.

Now, let's pretend that the "no strings" guy isn't a stranger, but rather someone you know. If you are friendly enough with him (and attracted enough) to be able to suggest this, aren't there already feelings involved? Is this an ongoing thing? Are you honestly not going to be a little hurt if he finds someone he actually wants a relationship with and starts avoiding you at work (or at the apartment complex laundry room on Thursday nights)? I don't care how many rules are put in place—people are emotional creatures. Sex puts you in extremely vulnerable positions (so to speak). You have to trust the person you are with to some degree. Given that, I would argue that if you are even contemplating this, there is already an emotional response in play. And I know that the thinking is that you are both using each other, so it won't matter if someone wants to end it. But does anyone really cheer about being a user or being used? Is that the thing that makes you wistful on warm summer nights?

Not shockingly, I agree with Dr. Drew: "It sounds good on paper, [but] something I like to point out to my viewers -- communism looks good on paper too, it just doesn't work so good in real life when you're dealing with humans."

Kate

Blind Date

2011-04-07T08:03:00.001-07:00

I have agreed… wait for it… to be set up on a blind date… sort of.

I know. My life is all topsy-turvy and unexpected these days. Black is white. Cats are dogs. Structure and atrophy are swapping places regularly in my mind.

As all things do that are good and pure, this idea started on a bet between a friend and I. She claims that under the right circumstances, I would succumb to a particular gentleman's charms and agree to a date (or in the case that he ends up being the reluctant one—I would then be madly intrigued and pursue him). Being open-minded, I countered that this notion was nonsense because the right conditions would never be present (and both of us are way too passive to pursue anything, let alone each other).

She believes I win by losing. I believe I win by winning because I'd be perfectly happy just being buddies with this guy—also losing seems unlikely.

She has three months to make this magic happen.

Stay tuned.

Kate

P.S. Have any of you agreed to be set up by a friend? Has it ever been anything but a complete disaster (she says with her mind still completely open and accepting of the possibilities)?

1 Year

2011-04-01T09:58:00.001-07:00

Say that some force of nature, or your own insanity, allows you to have one year off from your normal life. In this scenario, there are no kids (probably), an easy mortgage/rent scenario and some money (not a fortune) in the bank. These are your parameters. BUT you cannot continue working at your present job (and you can't return). In other words, you are completely free for one year to try anything you want to try. What do you do?

I imagine that there are some of you reading this blog that love your jobs/careers so much that you would do them anyway—or find a way to pursue those same things, but in a different way. For some, the idea could be a bit paralyzing because there are so many things you want to do, and you aren't sure where to start. For others, the idea of not having more money coming in, even though you would be completely stable without it for that year, would mean you'd automatically seek out other paid work.

What is the thing that you would gravitate towards in this situation? I'm partial to Bewitched marathons on the couch, myself.

Could you spend your days going to museums and trying a class?

Would you stay at the beach for a year?

Would you head to Africa for a year to work with an NGO?

Would you try many different things and go from internship to internship?

Would you head to Greece and write that long-awaited novel?

What would you do?

More on Me

2011-03-31T09:22:00.001-07:00

Here is another one of these fun-filled questionnaires for you to ponder, copy, paste, circulate, fondle… whatever works for you.

Age or Ages You Would Like To Do Over? 24 or 29. These were both big decision-making years for me. I'd be curious to see what would happen if I had taken a different path—provided, of course, I could change everything back if the path led to something worse.
Worst Ages? For what? Clothing? 14 though 17 so far. Actually, that would probably be true regardless of issue. Those ages are just really tough for girls (and perhaps boys, but I wasn't one, so I can't speak to that). But really, nothing says drama like a 15 year old girl.
Respect or Money? Tough one. I assume this means in a job and not in a relationship because the money issue might lead me to think that illegal activities are going on. Otherwise, I'd like to say respect, but I have bills that need paying. Though it is shocking that "But my parents respect me" doesn't cover rent. I will say this, though: without respect, the money has to be a lot higher.
Ever Quit a Job? What time is it? Yes, I have, but not recently.
Ever Been Fired? From a job, no. From a relationship, yes.
Best quality? I'm ridiculously loyal even when that loyalty hasn't been earned, or is no longer warranted.
Worst quality? I'm really judgmental. Of course, I think being judgmental is a great quality because no one wonders where they stand with me. Ever.
Word or Words Used to Describe You? Short. Really short. Breathing.
Word or Words Never Used to Describe You? Urban. Hip. Cool. Trend-setting. Fun-loving.
Do you blog? LOL um…yes, but not nearly as often as Danielle would like.
Geekiest Thing Ever Done? Um… has to be a tie between flying up to Wondercon for The X-Files panel, and lining up for the I Want to Believe Premiere. I am still costume free; however, as I've never dressed up as Scully. Or Mulder, for that matter.
Favorite Sexual Position? Anything that allows me to continue to watch TV.
Piercings? One hole in each ear that was re-opened after about 5 years of pondering the decision.
Tattoos? Nope. There isn't an image that I'd want on me forever. Plus, I hate needles—why do you think it took me 5 years to get my ears re-pierced?
Career You Wanted Growing Up? I said doctor, but given my deep love for Nancy Drew, Charlie's Angels, Remington Steele and Scarecrow and Mrs. King, I think I wanted to be a detective (or spy… spy would have been good).
Buy or Read Tabloids? Do entertainment blogs count? Otherwise, no. This one is a bit of a battle for me. On the one side—if you do the crime, you do the time. If you don't want to get caught having an affair with your three co-stars, then don't have an affair with them. On the other hand, I reject the idea that anyone's personal issues be made into sport. Now, the celebrities who literally call for that kind of attention, they make me uncomfortable. You can't invite that attention in and then get to be dismayed when they feel like they have a right to you. To paraphrase the brilliant War Games: "The only way to win is to not play the game."
Ever Hooked Up With a Celebrity? Given that I still don't have a clear definition of the phrase "hook up" in its current incarnation, I'd have to say no. Unless it means "have a conversation with them about how you wish they would write more" and then, yes.
Favorite saying? Currently, it is one coined by Claire: "Everybody dies, Meggie! Everybody dies!" It's to ward off bad decision-making. I'll let you work out the context.
Starbucks or Coffee Bean? Ah, now we are getting into the deep philosophical questions. Neither. I don't drink coffee. That's right. I'm the one.
Guilty Pleasure TV? Has to be a tie between anything on HGTV (House Hunters, Income Properties, Property Virgins, etc) and Ghost Hunters. I don't feel even remotely guilty about my other television options. Come to think of it, I don't feel all that guilty about the ones listed, either.

Worry

2011-03-30T06:11:00.001-07:00

Women worry about everything. And if we have a moment when we aren't worrying about something specific, we are unsettled and worried about our lack of worry.

Somebody has to do it.

My Ex and I had an ongoing debate about worry. He never saw the point in being worried because he thought it didn't solve anything.

Maddening!

Of course worrying solves something! If I didn't worry about it, the universe (which Pen now refers to as the Taco Supreme) will see its opportunity to screw with me. Worry allows me to hope that in some small way, the Taco Supreme will be thwarted.

Unfortunately, this "must worry about everything" aspect of my personality can sometimes be paralyzing. You should see my "Pros" and "Cons" lists—they go on for miles. While I make decisions every day at work, personal decisions seem to come to me more slowly with every passing year.

How do you know when it's time to make the big changes? In relationships, when it was up to me, my rule was, "If I'm more miserable with someone than I am alone, I'm out." (As an aside, when my Ex asked, "But how do you know" to that theory; I did begin to get just the tiniest bit concerned.) But what if the list of "Pros" and "Cons" are weighted differently?

Is it possible for a constant worrier to leap—and not end up with a broken ass for her troubles?

NSFW: Thoughts for March 28

2011-03-28T07:53:00.001-07:00

As I'm sure the case was for most of you, the weekend was far too short. I'm now faced with a Monday morning with the following thoughts racing through my brain:

Why God Why? This is a given. It's 7:00am on a Monday, and I am already in an office surrounded by work and the assorted debris of a life not quite reaching its potential.

How long does it take for toenail polish to wear off on its own? It's pretty self-explanatory. If I were a precise girl, my toenails would always be pristinely polished and buffed to a light sheen (as in glow, not Charlie). But I'm not a precise girl, so I am currently conducting a science experiment in which I refuse to remove the flaking polish and redo them. Ok, perhaps it isn't so much of an experiment, as it is a testament to how lazy I am. Also, who is looking at my feet? Nobody. Ergo, no need to contort myself in order to make "breakfast in bed" re-appear on my feet. Side question—who names nail polish? Can I do this job? I think I could do this job.

My birthday balloon is mocking me. I have a Mylar balloon in my office that was given to me to extol the virtues of my slow decline. There were two smaller, standard balloons with it. Those, much like hope for my love life, died a while ago, but the gigantic one is still proudly erect and swaying over my head. My reaction should be something akin to a warm glow at the lovely gesture meant to celebrate my life. Instead, I think I'm going to have to stab it.

Twatoo-ing. What the hell are you people doing to yourselves? My horror at the concept was only matched by the hilarity that ensued when someone over the weekend tried to explain this to me. I'm a literal person, so when someone said, "inside the vajayjay," I thought they meant inside the body cavity itself. I couldn't stop picturing some dude with a mining helmet and headlight going in with a tattoo needle. And how big is that cavern anyway? And who sees that? Is it a special message to your gynecologist? Thank goodness for T, who discreetly mouthed "labia" at me. Huh. Naturally, Sadie has a friend who has done it, and her tattoo reads "hope" in Chinese characters. Awww! That's sweet, but I think we can all agree that those Chinese characters probably actually say, "Free delivery with an order of more than $10." Also, when someone refers to a "tramp stamp" in the future, I will not be thinking about a lower back tattoo. Please tell me this is not another wave of the future. Because if I have to experience deforestation, anal bleaching, vajazzling and get "Promise Land" tattooed inside the zone (Sadie's twatoo of choice) in order to get a man interested in having sex with me, I'm out. I'm just done. I've already got one foot inside a convent, and I really think I'd rather take the veil than deal with this.

I wonder what kind of spam mail I'll get now that I've had to look up how to spell "twatoo."

P.S. For those wondering, mine would probably read:

Keep Out

By Invitation Only

Coat and Tie Required

Everything Old Is Me Again

2011-03-26T06:54:00.000-07:00

I was enjoying an inner rant this morning, and I remembered this older blog. As many of you are new readers, and possibly haven't wandered back this far, please enjoy this reposting of "Multitasking." And yes, I am playing that Berlin song right now.

Happy weekend!

http://katedating.blogspot.com/2006/08/multitasking.html

Scott

2011-03-25T16:12:00.001-07:00

Any idea if Scott on HGTV's Income Properties is single, straight and living in the lower 48? He's cute, capable and, apparently, honorable (I know this because he looked directly into the camera and said, "I'm not comfortable with that" when someone suggested he do something that isn't entirely legal).

Also, putting new shelving into my closet would be a terrific "I'm so glad to be dating you" gift. I'm just saying.

Kate

Dictionary

2011-03-25T08:37:00.001-07:00

The world is in desperate need of a Single to Dating Dictionary—and by "world" I mean "me." Clearly, I can't be the one to write it; largely because I don't understand modern dating language (also, most of the euphemisms used on Californication). But let's start simply. If you can help me with these three very basic ideas, I'll be one step closer to success (and let's not dwell on what "success" would actually mean).

Hook Up.
What does this currently mean? When I was in college, "hook up" for my friends meant kissing and perhaps a little bit more (aka "No, we just hooked up—it was nothing serious"). There was no sex involved (Clinton definition or otherwise). Alas, now it appears to mean something far more naked. At the rate we're going, in another three years "hooked up" will mean "married with three children."
Serious.
See above for an example. What does this mean in a dating setting? For me, any activity that could hasten my death, create life or increase my taxes equals serious. But I've actually heard someone say, "We're just living together; it's nothing serious." Wha? In that case, which dating/relationship stage does constitute serious? I mean, if I'm discussing Russian literature with a guy, and he says, "I'm married, but it's not serious" should I be fazed?
Later.
I continue to struggle with this one. Maybe my problem with the word "later" is more of a miscommunication between the sexes. When I hear the word "later" I think that means "later that day." Men appear to mean "any time after this point, but more than likely next week…possibly." Is there a set definition for "later" in the dating world? If not, let's make up one now—and force everyone on the planet to comply in order to get me one step closer to world domination (ahem).

Next week, we'll conquer the word "date". This one is very tricky and apparently should not be used to describe a meeting for a set time period between two people who find each other attractive and have some romantic intent toward one another. Because calling that a "date" is crazy talk.

If we were to actually create this Single to Dating Dictionary, what definitions would you need?

Kate

For LA Readers: Napa/Sonoma All-Star Wines

2011-03-24T13:23:00.001-07:00

I highly recommend hitting this event. It's a lot of fun and involves some great wineries. Hit up the link at the bottom to get more details and to buy tickets (at a big discount)!

Sunday, April 17th 2011, 1-4pm
Under the Big Top at Wally’s
Only $39.99 per person!
$50 at the door

A tasting of nearly 200 Napa/Sonoma All-Star Wines!

Baseball season will just be under way, but Wally’s will be prepared to play host to over 70 proven All-Star wineries, each of which will be fielding a pair of their finest offerings. The Wally’s Big Top will be teeming with nearly 200 Napa/Sonoma wines being poured by, in many instances, the winemaker or winery principal. In addition, All-Stars II event special pricing will be extended exclusively to those in attendance. Cheeses and bread from the Wally’s Cheese Box are included in the price of admission, highlighted by Cowgirl Creamery’s Peg Smith’s personally offering samples of her award-winning products. The popular duo of “Let’s Be Frank” and “Eduardo's Border Grill” will be on hand, so the very best hot dogs, burritos and tacos will also be available for purchase. Don’t delay, tell your friends and sign up today!

http://www.wallywine.com/p-73502-2011-all-stars-napasonoma-wine-tasting-at-wallys-sunday-april-17.aspx

10 For Thursday

2011-03-24T10:09:00.001-07:00

Over the last few days, Twitter has been buzzing with #100factsaboutme entries (the assumed ending being: "that you don't already know"). Though I'm clearly a fascinating creature, I'm not sure any of us is really ready for you to have 100 new pieces of information about moi. I do, however, think that divulging 10 new, and potentially embarrassing, factoids is something we can all survive.

Here are your 10 for Thursday.

I can't stop singing "Loser Like Me" from Glee.

There is just something so relentlessly upbeat about it. Even my hard-won cynicism is powerless in the face of that much hope. I'm seeking therapy.
I've already cried at the trailer for Fox's Mobbed.
Before you judge—have you seen it? The guy loves his intended so much, he takes over The Grove, gets hundreds of people together, and they all perform an intricate dance leading to the marriage proposal. I can't get a guy to hold the elevator for me when I'm carrying a month's worth of groceries.
I'm the person the article warns you about (http://www.topdatingsites.com/blog/2011/10-signs-you-are-dating-a-workaholic).
It's true. I confess. The first thing I do in the morning, regardless of how early the hour, is check my blackberry's email. I claim that it is because I want to know what the work day has in store for me. This is partially true. Doesn't really explain why I head to Twitter immediately following the email check, but let's pretend it's related.
I love The Broad Stage.
Not only does The Broad Stage have amazing artists coming in every month, but the facility is gorgeous. Things people don't mention about this place—the bathroom is sumptuous, the parking is at the facility (and free) and the receptions out in the courtyard are completely worth the extra on the ticket price. I'd like to take responsibility for the facility as DM and I attended one of the first fundraisers for the construction, but something tells me that it cost more than $100. You get bonus points if you can tell me exactly how David Duchovny, Jeff Goldblum and Blair Underwood are related to the place.
I'm envious of the person with a concert hall attached to her house.
No, seriously, I know someone who has a concert hall attached to her home. You'd never know it from the street, but it's there. They don't really advertise. The events are mostly word of mouth, but once you are on the list, it's magic. Right now there is a play reading series, featuring known actors, happening in someone's backyard addition. This is the secret Hollywood I can get behind.
The surest sign I will purchase/use something is if you hear me say incredulously, "Why would I need that?"
See iPad, iPhone, iPod, Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr. What can I say; I play almost as hard to get with technology as I do with men.
I'm obsessed with 80s mini-series watching.
Not that long ago, I allowed some friends into my apartment (shocking!) to watch The Thorn Birds. We watched all eight hours in one sitting—that's a lot of cheese, popcorn, cupcakes and wine. And I'm not likely to stop any time soon—after all, East of Eden has arrived.
I'm never spontaneous—until I am.
I moved to Los Angeles from New York without knowing anyone because of a vacation I took with a friend of mine. I flew to San Francisco for Wondercon one year without making any plans (including plane reservations) to be there.
I can't figure out why women want to look like porn stars.
Nothing against porn stars—I'm sure they are all fabulous, beautiful people. But there is a particular look, and it tended to be one that non-porn industry professionals tried to avoid. The longer I'm in LA, the more it seems as though that particular industry has informed everything from behavior to body hair. Have the women of Los Angeles decided that they need to duplicate the fantasy in order to connect with the 5.6 straight, single and employed men who shower currently living in this city?
The biggest compliment I can give someone is to tell them that they interest me.
Despite my self-professed hermit-tude, I come into contact with a lot of people. However, I'm much more likely to be perplexed or vexed than interested. It's just part of my charm.

Those are my 10 for Thursday. Now you play.

Kate

Quick Question

2011-03-23T09:40:00.001-07:00

If a man said to you, "You are all round and soft in a way few women in Los Angeles are" would you feel affronted or flattered? Peevish or preening? Dropped into a never-ending pit of despair followed by six consecutive months of Bar Method, or continued gentle glides around the neighborhood?

I honestly don't know.

Go.

The Serenade

2011-03-22T13:26:00.001-07:00

Dear Serenading Neighbor,

I understand that there are times when the music just takes you, and your soul demands that you sing "Love Will Keep Us Together" at the top of your lungs. Who doesn't love the Captain and his Tennille? There is many a drive to work that has included my stunning renditions of "Muskrat Love."

Was that a snicker? Sir, you are in no position to laugh.

Nina Simone was an amazing singer. I get that you would want to pay homage… for three or four hours…last night… when I was trying to sleep. And again at 3:25am. However, the neighbors screaming at you from below your window did not seem to feel the same degree of music appreciation that I was experiencing. Perhaps you had on headphones and couldn't hear the villagers gathering with their pitchforks? That might also explain the somewhat atonal quality of the vocal stylings.

I'd like to believe that you are preparing a serenade inspired by Lloyd Dobler himself. If that's the case, let me know. I will hold your boom box (not a euphemism).

If not, perhaps you should keep in mind that there is absolutely no sound-proofing in your apartment. And that "feeling good" becomes somewhat less thrilling the later the hour and the greater the number of times you decide to sing it.

I'm not saying that you should stop—sing on, good man; sing on. But perhaps the zeal could come on a little earlier in the evening?

Oh, and if you actually turn out to be John Cusack reminiscing, I am absolutely willing to forgive you (and I have an entire book of duets that could be perfect for us).

Kate

Invisibility Cloak

2011-03-21T12:05:00.001-07:00

Do you ever have one of those days where you just want to burst into tears for no discernable reason? Yeah, me neither.

(picture me kicking the dirt with my toe, head hanging down)

Ok, that might have happened to me once… on Thursday… when my invisibility cloak came out of retirement.

It was a typical day at work. I'd gone through the standard "why-God-why" mantra when forcing myself out of bed for work. I'd arrived at work thinking something along the lines of, "There has to be more than this." I braced for impact when a particularly abrasive colleague asked for something ASAP—which naturally meant drop everything you are doing to help me because I'm stomping my foot and I said so, rather than a reflection of any actual urgency. I dealt with it with my usual aplomb: completing the request while mentally re-writing my resignation letter to exchange "regretfully" to "gleefully."

It was an ordinary day.

At lunch, I escaped to a little café near work. It was early for normal humans to be eating lunch, so there was only one other customer waiting (she had already ordered). I walked up to the counter. The woman behind the counter was on the phone taking an order, so I waited. She finished the order call and turned away from me to submit the order. I remained at the counter patiently and contemplated my life. She turned back around and picked up her cell phone. She texted. She turned to talk to the other person in the room bagging up a delivery order. She turned back around towards me. She went back to texting. Just as I was about to say something to her, a man walked into the café. She immediately looked up and asked him if she could take his order.

I looked around. Did anyone else notice that I was being totally ignored? No.

No one noticed me at all.

Normally, I pride myself for being undetectable. I like being the "man behind the curtain," so to speak. But to my dismay, I started to feel my nose get red and my eyes well up. And I just turned around and walked out. I never said a word and no one ever acknowledged that I was there.

They never saw me. I didn't count.

It was an ordinary day.

I'm not loud. I'm not brash. I don't take what I want. I'm the consequence girl who works hard and thinks that slow and steady will be enough. I'm polite—even to people I can't stand. And I don't count.

It was an ordinary day.

Kate

Lovely LA Times Surprise

2011-03-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Look what the lovely Los Angeles Times provided the city with this morning.

Click on the image to make it bigger.

White Collar

2011-03-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

It has been a while since I've brought you a little touch of Hollywood. Tonight, I attended the "White Collar" panel as part of Paley Fest. I'm a casual viewer, but Pen is slowly turning me into a fan-- and it has made the DVR.

After tonight, I think it's going to make the DVR's consistent line-up! The cast and crew were terrific, and I loved having David E. Kelley moderate. It turned out to be a very entertaining way to welcome me back to LA after another trip to New York (more on that later).

And now... a couple of photos of the panel (alas, I couldn't get a good shot of the entire group, but my side was awfully pretty...)

Awkward

2011-02-25T09:43:00.001-08:00

Two Stories for Friday

A Real Beauty

I was at the beauty supply store trying not to commit suicide over the extraordinary cost of the shampoo and conditioner I "should" be using when I was approached by one of the women who work there.

Woman: Do you have a sister?

Kate: No.

Woman: But you are French, yes?

Kate: No.

Woman: Really? You don't have a sister in France?

At this point, I was thinking that maybe lying would actually be better because she seemed to really want me to be French and have a sister.

Kate: No, sorry.

Woman: You look like a girl who used to come in here. Such a beautiful face.

Kate: Aw, thank you! (picture beaming, thoroughly ego-boosted smile)

Woman: She really was very pretty. She was so lovely.

Kate: (awkward pause, faltering smile, followed by the quickest purchase of hair products in the history of female-hair-product-purchasing)

You have to love the awkward that comes with accepting a compliment that was not meant for you. Still, it is heartening to know that somewhere out there, I have a much prettier, French doppelganger.

What more can you ask for?

It's Not that Old

It has been suggested to me that I look younger than my actual age. For the most part, I take this as a compliment because I think it is often intended that way. And since I've never seen jowls on a 10 year old, it's not like the gap between the way I look and my age is all that profound—but then this is Hollywood.

There is a very nice, cute man who works at an establishment that friends and I frequent. We were standing around having a conversation about jobs vs careers vs what we'd really like to be doing with our lives (p.s. I came up with absolutely nothing for that one). We all agreed that it was time to make some different choices. Then he asked me how old I was. I told him.

His response?

"Wow! Congratulations!"

(Awkward laughing ensued)

Ok, I'm not that old. I mean, it's not like I told him I was Nefertiti, or that as queen of a pharaoh I was about to give world domination a real go. Other than being short, I haven't really achieved anything. Also, I'm a little concerned that if I actually looked my (apparently ancient) age, I would have failed in some way. I will stage many battles in my lifetime, but I'm fairly certain the only way to win the aging one is to be excited about not yet being dead. So, that's how I've decided to take his exclamation—"Congratulations! You aren't dead yet! We have not yet set you out on the ice floe!"

Sweet.

Kate, awkward in LA

P.S. Colin Firth better win.

Precise Girls II

2011-02-15T15:30:00.001-08:00

Following my ladies of leisure lunch on Friday, Pen and I hit Abbot Kinney for a little wistful window shopping. Wistful not because we couldn't afford some of the offerings, but because we realized that everything required far more style than either of us had. Naturally, this led back to the "Precise Girls" post and the following question, "Is it too late for us to become Precise Girls?"

As I mentioned before, I've chased this dream through most of my youth before giving it up along with other frivolous things like lacey ankle socks and hope. So, I was reluctant to revisit an idea so riddled with teenage angst. But also intrigued. Could I walk away from the seductive tendrils of precision already trying to wrap themselves around my heart? I could practically hear the whisper, "This time, you could be good enough."

When Pen and I parted, the idea had taken hold. We were very nearly excited about something. We just haven't quite figured out the how to go about this yet. I'm guessing it's going to start with some cleaning.

Precise Girls Don't…

Go two years without painting over water stains from a leak on their ceiling
Have old paint cans in a box because they couldn't find the hazardous waste recycling center
Count chocolate as a legitimate food group
Count pizza delivery as cooking
Have to wonder what happened to their damn sunglasses! (ahem)
Have pants two inches too long because they are too lazy to get them tailored
Step over things strewn across the floor instead of putting things away
Seriously consider sending pictures of their toenails into Ripley's
Have piles of paper everywhere all the time
Leave their dry cleaning at the cleaners for so long that it goes up for auction
Keep broken electronics forever
Don't make panicked calls to eyebrow artists because everything is properly maintained at all times
Hyperventilate during bathing suit season because appropriate exercise takes place all year
Don't rock back and forth when confronted with specialized dress codes on invitations—they always have just the perfect thing
Live in a one bedroom apartment, unless it is their second home in a much traveled to city
Wonder if they'll ever date again—they married their college sweethearts after an appropriate waiting period post-graduate education
Worry about having children—they gestated a human when they designated it to be time

Yeah. This could be a challenge.

Kate

P.S. The name of my second book is now "Precise Girls Don't..."

A Card for You

2011-02-14T15:27:00.000-08:00

http://www.someecards.com/

Ladies of Leisure

2011-02-13T18:59:00.001-08:00

One of the best things about Los Angeles is the ability to find excellent restaurants with outside seating to take advantage of 74 degree February days. Now, I know that many of my readers located in the Midwest and East Coast have just moved on to a new page, but I did not mean this as a taunt. Well, I did, but not exclusively as a taunt.

I took Friday off of work, and spent two hours at lunch with Chloe and Pen at Gjelina (http://gjelina.com/) in Venice—good friends, good food, amazing weather and just enough wine to make us effusive with our compliments to our brilliance at arranging such an event.

On the off-chance that you are dying of curiosity, we went with:

Wood Roasted Parsnips with Pistachio Gremolata
Roasted Beet, Burrata, Arugula, Toasted Walnut & Walnut Oil
Salt & Pepper Kennebec Frites with Aioli & Romesco
Caramelized Fennel, Confit Tomato, Green Onion & Spicy Fennel Salami Pizza
Flourless Chocolate Cake with Crème Fraîche & Hazelnut
Butterscotch Pot de Crème with Salted Caramel & Crème Fraîche
Warm Pumpkin & Bitter Chocolate Bread Pudding
Roccolo Grassi, Garganega (Soave, Italy '07)

And yes, that is three desserts. Let's not judge—we were sharing so they barely counted as one. Also, yum, so get over it.

Naturally, when the three of us get together, the lore of dating in Los Angeles arises as a topic of conversation. Seriously, a person who dates in LA is a mythical creature to us—like Loch Ness only less believable and less wet (most of the time). Also, when someone does have a dating story, it generally involves indirect knowledge, aka "I know a guy, who has a friend, who has a cousin who dated once."

Not this time! Chloe knows someone personally who is actively dating in Los Angeles. He is meeting a lot of fascinating, accomplished women who are making him feel alive for the first time in years. Or at least that's what he told his wife.

Awesome. The only thing better would have been if he didn't understand why she wasn't happy for him, or blamed her for his liaisons. Oh, wait.

Relationships. Can't wait.

Kate

Precise Girls

2011-02-11T07:26:00.001-08:00

I had an ongoing fantasy as a kid that I would someday become one of the "Precise Girls". You've seen them: clothes are perfectly tailored and starched, jewelry is appropriate (and on), hair has never known a flyaway.

I tried. I really tried. I owned Lisa Birnbach's "The Official Preppy Handbook". I even read it. Hell, I practically committed it to memory. I should have been in!

Leader of the "Precise Girls" was Aimee. Sure, she was smart, but more than that she was precise. Two turtlenecks, an oxford under a pink or green sweater topped off with a blue blazer looked effortless and chic. Or as chic as any 15 year old really looks.

I always looked lumpy. Breasts came early for me. Yippee. I know that there were some girls who pined to move on from training bras, but I just spent a lot of time trying to find a way to make my breasts and short-waisted self look less like a pink and green troll. Good thing I was also branded with an izod.

Even Aimee's hair was precise. When it was long, it fell in waves down her back. When it was bobbed, it had a razor's edge. My hair? Um… not even spritz could get my hair to behave. It's as though each individual strand wanted to leave my head in a different direction. Frankly, it still does.

I haven't seen Aimee in 20+ years, but I bet even her home is precisely perfect. And mine? Let's just say it is as lumpy and unruly as its owner.

Well, at least I have consistency going for me.

Kate

Sad Story Guy

2011-02-10T09:50:00.001-08:00

As an award-winning blogger (shhhh—let's live with the delusion a bit longer), I feel like I should be imparting daily words of wisdom. Somehow "relationships suck" is not going to cut it anymore. Unfortunately, I have no profound wisdom. I don't even have vaguely logical wisdom. I do, however, continue to be mystified that anyone ever has a successful relationship. And I have a lot of questions.

Here is my question for today:

Why do women hook up with men after
listening to them talk about how much they love someone else?

A recent episode of Californication sparked a vague memory of college days. A friend of mine had spent the evening listening to this guy talk about how much he missed his ex-girlfriend. Seriously, every time I checked in with them, I heard snippets of what he would do to get the ex back. The last time I checked in with them, they were hooking up (1990s version of the term).

Huh? How do you go from "She's the only one I'll ever want" to "Oh, yeah, right there"?

It wasn't until much later that we discovered that the sad story was actually this guy's modus operandi. It worked for him so often that it was actually a part of his hook-up repertoire.

I'm not saying that every guy with a sad story is a manipulative bastard. But let's assume that they are. Why do women go for this? How is "I'll always love someone else" a turn on?

When I cornered my friend the next day, her response was basically, "he's cute, and he seemed so sad that I wanted to make him feel better."

Okay. Is that what is for most women? Is the rescuer in you coming out? Are you just far more generous than I would ever be? Or is there a part of you that loves the challenge so much that you'll go after someone in order to boost your own ego—thinking that if you get him (at least temporarily), you somehow win? I can appreciate all this theories, and lord only knows that I could use the ego boost, but if some guy tried this move on me, the outcome would probably be more like:

Sad guy: "and then she left me, and I
will always be in love with her"
Kate: Awww! That's so sweet. (pats sad
guy's hand) Ok, well, take care. (gets up, leaves).

Have you ever fallen for the sad story guy? Let me hear it!

Kate

They Like Me! They Really Like Me!

2011-02-07T14:47:00.000-08:00

I received an email letting me know that this blog has been named among the 50 Best Relationship Blogs (I'm #7 in the main list) by Guide to Online Schools.

Clearly, I do not deserve this... particularly since I haven't written consistently in ages. However, they have called me "witty" and I think we all know that I can be easily swayed by flattery. So, please be prepared to refer to me as "that awesome blogger", "winning blogger", "noted blogger" and "lucky #7" before bowing to me when we meet on the street (which we will obviously never do because I don't like leaving the house).

To check out their entire list, including the kind words they say about moi, head on over here: http://www.guidetoonlineschools.com/library/best-relationship-blogs

Now... who has a dating story to share?

Kate

New Invention

2011-01-11T20:33:00.000-08:00

I have a new invention. It's called "Shower Pilates", and I do believe this one will revolutionize the industry.

I love long showers, but feel fleeting guilt about wasting water.

I hate exercising, but not being able to fit into my clothes isn't the turn on you might think it would be. I also loathe not only having to find the time to exercise, but having to find the time to shower post feeble attempt at health.

"Shower Pilates" totally solves these problems. I can stay in the shower for 30 minutes without guilt, and I don't have to waste additional time exercising. When I'm done, I will already be clean. Genius! Genius, I say!

Sure, there is some threat of slipping, falling and dying while trying this, but that's a risk for me just walking across my living room.

Cant wait to hear the Patent Office's thoughts on this one.

My Ass is Lifting

2011-01-09T08:44:00.001-08:00

My ass is lifting.

Clearly believing that you hang on my every thought, word and action, I felt the need to bring this to you immediately. My ass is lifting. I do believe it is a result of these technologically advanced shoes from Skechers. I mean, I'd like to believe that I'm aging backwards for the next 20 years, but more a more likely cause of this miraculous occurrence is the wearing of the shoes designed to do just this.

Somewhat less miraculous, is the fact that while my backside is lifting, my front side is falling. I'm not sure if it is some sort of cosmic balance, but the stomach and breasts are heading further south—kind of like really big birds that just got the message about migrating to Florida for the winter. This I will blame on the cruelties of life, the lack of aging backwards technology and that I never got my wish of being Samantha on "Bewitched". I could blame the fact that I've been eating like I'm still two weeks pre-Christmas (complete with "what the hell—it's a holiday" attitude), but that really seems more like taking responsibility for my actions. I've already done that once this week after an unfortunate incident at work (perhaps having something to do with my review/compensation), so I've clearly met my quota for grown-up behavior.

Hank Moody would be proud. And then repulsed.

I wonder if Skechers makes girdles.

Kate

New Year's Resolutions

2010-12-30T09:53:00.000-08:00

I ran across this article on cnn.com, and I had to share. Let's just say I have done (or am about to do) five items in the "DO NOT DO" list. Go me! How many have you racked up?

http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/12/29/tf.new.years.resolutions/index.html

What Would She Say

2010-12-13T16:28:00.001-08:00

What were you like as a 10 year old? I was bossy—no big surprise. Being an only child meant that I had a certain belief that my opinions would be listened to and weighed with the gravity appropriate for the wisdom expressed. That people frequently noted that I was an adult stuffed into a child's body should not be a surprise either. When friends disappointed me, I would stand with my hands on my hips, shake my head and say things like, "I just don't know what I'm going to do with you."

I bet you can picture it.

I was shy, observant and occasionally fanciful (as the photos of me wearing pink curtains I had fashioned into a gown and cape would attest). I wanted to be a doctor, a spy, a detective and a writer—and all at once.

I still do.

At no point did 10 year old Kate think that she would take a temporary job that would last 16 years—and outlast her interest by a good 14. Passively allowing her ideas to be dismissed? No, I don't think so. 10Kate would never have put up with that. Why would she stay in that situation? Why would anyone?

Perhaps before making decisions, the 10 year old filter should always be applied.

Picture the 10 year old you—maybe you were already developing, maybe those things were still down the road. Pubic hair appearing equaled adulthood. Now tell her that she'll feel inordinate pressure the rest of her life to remove it. Oh, and imagine the shock when you tell 10 year old you that the removal will involve hot wax and someone forcibly ripping it at the roots…. and that she will pay someone to do this often.

Now breasts were power. You had already worked that out if you had siblings or older friends. I'm not sure how the knife and saline implants would have gone over, but I'm guessing it would have elicited some sort of response like, "weird."

Explain to 10 year old you why you got that thing pierced. No seriously. Go ahead.

Look 10 year old you in the eye and explain to her that she will be spending her married life with a man who will not respect her, will cheat on her, will give her STDs and will run off with his girlfriend to Mexico while using her credit cards to expense the trip—while her house is in foreclosure because he lied about paying the mortgage. And he won't understand why she will not be happy for him.

Look 10 year old you in the eye and explain that she will give up what she most wants in life in order to make a partner happy—only to be emotionally abused to the point of paralysis and end up alone anyway.

I bet the 10 year old you would love the idea of you sneaking into a party to meet David Tennant (though, she's unlikely to know who he is yet).

I bet she'd be dismayed to learn that she'll spend her adulthood in love with one man, but marry someone else anyway.

I'm not sure I'd try to explain anal bleaching.

Life Unexpected Event

2010-12-06T08:29:00.000-08:00

I bring you this most important charity/fun-filled event announcement. :)

----------------

IBG Welcomes "Life Unexpected"

IBG Inc looks forward to fun and informative Conversation With 'Life Unexpected' event this weekend in Los Angeles!

Can you believe it's less than a week away?? December 11th 2010 will mark the second official Conversation Series event for Los Angeles based non-profit organization, IBG Inc. Joining forces with series creator Liz Tigelaar and stars Shiri Appleby and Kristoffer Polaha, IBG is proud to present their "Conversation with Life Unexpected", returning to the Roxbury Auditorium in Beverly Hills.

The afternoon is designed to be an intimate and conversational gathering, with one portion of the hour-long Q&A moderated by E! Online's own Megan Masters, and one portion open floor discussion, taking questions directly from those in attendance. There are still a few tickets available on IBG's website: http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries and there is also an option for those who cannot get out to Los Angeles this week but still want to be a part of the event in spirit. Proceeds from all tiers of tickets will benefit Portland's Boys and Girls Aid.

IBG will also be filming the event for sale of a DVD, which is already available to pre-order on the website. Proceeds from the sale of the DVD will benefit Portland's Boys and Girls Aid, as well.

In donating the proceeds of the Conversation Series event to Boys and Girls Aid, IBG Inc is proud to join Give Me My Remote.com's previously announced efforts to shed light on, and encourage donations, to this very worthy cause.

Boys & Girls Aid is the oldest child welfare agency in the state. The agency has been working to impact the lives of children in need by providing safe housing, positive relationships with caring adults, and tools to learn and grow since 1885. In addition to foster care, the agency provides adoption services and temporary safe housing for youth in need. For more information, please visit boysandgirlsaid.org.

The “A Conversation With” series is designed to bring together fans and some of the most successful producers, directors, writers, and actors working today. The exclusive hour-long event will consist of both moderated discussion and open-floor questions in an intimate setting. Fans of 'Life Unexpected', and industry up-and-comers in general, won't want to miss what is sure to be an open and honest dialogue about working within Hollywood from both the writer/producer and actor perspective!

Prior to creating 'Life Unexpected', Liz Tigelaar was a writer and producer on a number of other series for TV and the web. She got her start working on 'Dawson's Creek' and began to climb her way up the Hollywood ladder in the writer's room with shows like 'American Dreams' and 'What About Brian'. More recently she has served as writer/producer on 'Brothers & Sisters' and last year's reboot of 'Melrose Place', also for The CW. She is also a young adult author.

Shiri Appleby stars as the beautiful and talented Cate Cassidy, a popular Portland, Oregon radio personality who is reunited with the 15-year-old daughter (Britt Robertson) she gave up for adoption back in high school, in The CW's drama ‘Life Unexpected’. Appleby is best known for her portrayal of Liz, a teenager who falls in love with an alien on the television series ‘Roswell’. Her additional television credits include ‘Six Degrees’ and the final season of ‘ER.’ Her film credits include ‘Swimfan’, ‘Undertow’, ‘Havoc’, and ‘Charlie Wilson's War,’ directed by Mike Nichols. Appleby splits her time between Los Angeles, California and New York City, New York. She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, during the filming of ‘Life Unexpected’. You can follow her on Twitter: @shiriappleby

Kristoffer Polaha stars as Nate "Baze" Bazile, a charming bachelor whose carefree world is turned upside down when the 15-year-old daughter (Britt Robertson) he never knew existed shows up on his doorstep, in ‘Life Unexpected’. Born in Reno, Nevada, Polaha is the fourth son of four boys belonging to Jerome and Esther Polaha. While studying at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts, he received rave reviews in the New York Times for his role as John Brown in Eugene O'Neill's ‘Bread and Butter’. His television credits include a role as John F. Kennedy, Jr. in the TBS movie ‘America's Prince’. He has also starred on the series ‘North Shore’ and ‘Miss Guided’ and guest starred on ‘Mad Men’, ‘Bones’, ‘House’ and ‘CSI: Miami’, among others. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife and children. Though he is not on Twitter, you can become a fan of his on Facebook!

# # #

Founded in late 2008, IBG Inc (http://www.ibginc.org) established a non-profit focusing on utilizing the power of philanthropy through the arts to benefit a broad range of charities worldwide. We act as a “fundraiser facilitator” for micro and start-up charities that would otherwise struggle with the logistics and costs associated with event fundraising. This work has taken on a critical importance as the economy has been slow to recover, and we find ourselves with increasingly frequent requests for assistance.

More information can be found online at http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries

Making My Mark

2010-12-04T10:13:00.001-08:00

It isn't unusual for me, at this time of year, to look back and take stock of my life. Naturally, work is a huge part of this reflection. Have I made a mark? Am I valuable? Can I continue doing what I'm doing without slitting my wrists? You know--the basic questions everyone asks.

I won't lie. This year has been a difficult year. My work assignments have been doubled for no other reason than I didn't have "enough boxes" under my name in the organizational chart. Way to devalue everything I've done for the last 12 years!

But hey, everyone has bumps in the road, and it didn't stop me from smiling when I got the invitation to the company's annual Christmas party. It was lovely.

Until I read it.

My name was wrong—my first name.

I've been at the company 16 years, 12 of which have been spent in my current office. I've made such an impression that "Kate" and "Kevin" are interchangeable. I can't even blame autocorrect. The invitations were hand-written.

Now, I'm sure there are a million good reasons for this—1) someone new to the office had the task, 2) the person above me on the list might have been Kevin, and the writer just lost their place, or 3) person addressing was distracted by someone named Kevin. We've all made these mistakes. It's not tragic. But it did make me laugh, and I will use this as a constant argument with people who tell me that I'm not nearing total invisibility in Los Angeles.

I wonder if Kevin has been added to payroll. Will he get a bonus? Because I could use some extra cash.

Kate, Making My Mark in LA

Top 10 Reasons…

2010-11-29T20:40:00.001-08:00

Top 10 Reasons Vajazzling has me concerned:

I originally heard about this process from an ER doc. One word: extraction.
I've heard women say that they do this to feel better about their vaginas. Far be it from me to take away something that makes you feel better about your body, but it didn't occur to me to feel bad about that specific part. Should I? Have I missed something? Was there a memo? All this time I've been obsessing about every other part of me, but I felt reasonably sure that this one was good on its own, and now I find out I should have been paying more attention to whether or not it sparkles in sunlight? And why exactly is it seeing sunlight?
Ever have cause to stand in front of colleagues in a business meeting? Picture yourself standing up there wearing a skirt. Perhaps public speaking, even in limited capacities, makes you nervous. You feel a little trickle when you shift your weight. You chalk it up to sweat. You turn to point out the alarming downward trend of business this quarter, when you begin to feel another alarming downward trend. Something hits your shoe, bounces up and not only arcs toward the conference table but lands in your boss's morning cup of coffee. And if that isn't bad enough, the rogue "jazzle" is followed closely by another ping… and another…and another. Before you know it, you are standing in a pool of sparkly appliqués and wondering how this won't end up on youtube.
If you are tempted this holiday season to add a brightly colored bow to your box, take a moment to reflect on adhesive. I know you have a craft room, but the hot glue gun should not be pointed toward your previously unadorned nethers. Although, I will give you a pass if you choose to aim the glue gun at the guy who suggested the crystals might stay on longer that way.
I now have a vision of a man seeing me naked and seeing disappointment in his eyes—but for entirely different reasons than I'm used to.
Presumably, one of the reasons to adhere crystals to the southern zone is to inspire some sort of lusty response in your mate (or whomever you happen to be flashing crystals at in the subway). I have a vague memory that on occasion sex could involve some weight transfer. Yeah, nothing sounds more fun than having crystals digging into the pubic region while you are trying to put it to better use. However, I do believe that if we add spikes to the appliqués, we have just invented the modern equivalent of the chastity belt (strong).
Instead of crystals, can I cement on some fun house mirror tiles instead? Because I'm pretty sure the sexiest thing possible is to add real distortion into the mix.
The websites all indicate that this process usually follows complete hair removal. So, what you are telling me is that in order for a man to want to have sex with me, I have to rip out all my pubic hair with hot wax and then follow that up with gluing tiles in intricate, yet pleasing designs. Huh. Ok. What if I pick the wrong design? Say I go for a butterfly, and he was really hoping for something with an Andy Warhol effect? Also, if I choose an arrow, is that still a turn on, or have I found a way to make something that should be sexy, insulting instead?
What if he swallows one of them?
While I'm waxing, plucking, gluing and recreating his likeness across my pubis, he's doing what exactly? Yeah. Showing up. That's what I thought.

Kate

Revelation

2010-11-13T20:34:00.001-08:00

I’m not even sure how to start this blog, and this might be a bit bumpy, but.. uh… here we go.

As you have probably guessed by my “Letters to NYC” earlier, I am in New York. If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you are probably thinking that something must be very, very wrong. And normally, I would agree with you.

It’s no secret that I didn’t love my time in New York. I spent 4 years working here, and during that time, my life fell spectacularly to shit. You can argue that it was my life here rather than the city that I hated. Well, it might be a tough argument. It’s not that I never enjoyed a moment when I was here—I did. I met my friend Mich here, and we did have an adventure or two (that resulted in zero convictions and only one court appearance). But even friends of mine who love the city will admit that it isn’t always the easiest place to be.

I have a stress-related illness. Ok, technically, two. They aren’t anything tragic—they do not impact my ability to work in most cases, and I just avoid situations where I can’t make an exit if I have to. In New York, both became worse. Naturally, I blame the job I was doing here and my rapidly declining love life—but the city gets it share of blame.

I used to travel—I used to travel a lot. I traveled all around Europe on less than a shoe-string budget (but I can tell you the absolutely best train station restaurants to wash your hair in). Twenty-one year old Kate never wanted to get married, never wanted a house and never wanted to settle in one place for long.

Lately, I’ve been wondering where that Kate went. Obviously, the illness impacted some of that. At twenty-one, I rarely thought about what would happen if I got sick while traveling. Now it’s always in the back of my mind—and not just traveling, but any time I’m in unfamiliar territory on any given day.

In June, I found out that Duchovny was doing “The Break of Noon” in New York. My immediate reaction was to curse him for not doing the play in LA instead. But once that passed, that whisper of the “Kate that Was” started to get louder. Afterall, the random flight of fancy up to San Francisco a couple of years ago ended well. This flight would just be slightly longer (OK,a hell of a lot longer).

The idea took hold. In August I got tickets. I still wasn’t completely convinced that I was going to do it, but I didn’t want to give up the idea that I could do this. Naturally, I couldn’t just let this be fun. I had to create a situation where there was at least some work element involved.

Unfortunately, that new element added to the stress. So, last night instead of gleeful anticipation, I was sick. Very sick. Sick to the point of the “why me” whining and planning on ways to not go and yet still get the work aspects handled.

But here I am.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “Damn, that Duchovny is a powerful draw”. And while I was intrigued to see how his work would translate in his new way, I think this was really more about me. I needed to do this. I’ve spent too much time lately feeling trapped in a life I wasn’t paying much attention to.

I’m certainly paying attention now.

I got off a plane a few hours ago. Two hours later I saw “The Break of Noon” (that’s right—at night, after flying). The play is a stark examination of life, death and salvation in a way that only Neil LaBute can really make work. It’s haunting. It’s disturbing. It’s funny. It’s human.

I left the theater thinking, “Thank God, I didn’t cancel the trip”.

My friend Pen was initially planning to come see the play with me. Work and life conspired to make that impossible, but I made a new friend tonight because of it. The show was sold out, but there was a line of people hoping for returns. I went back to the box office, and the guy told me that they couldn’t resell it that close to the show, but if I wanted to be a good samaritan… So, I was. I gave Pen’s ticket to the first guy in line who wanted a single ticket.

It turns out this guy was a theater buff. He had just seen “A Little Night Music”, and wanted to take a chance on this play because he had seen a lot of Neil LaBute’s work produced and was curious. When the play ended, we were both a little shell-shocked. We turned to each other and said “Wow”. Then I told him the truth—that I had only seen Duchovny on TV/films, and hadn’t known what to expect. His response, “I was completely dazzled by him. He was wonderful.”

David was a revelation (which is oddly fitting given the play). I don’t expect that my opinion (or my seat mate’s) will have much weight. Many will roll their eyes because they’ve formed an opinion of the man’s abilities without actually seeing the play. On a normal day, that would make me annoyed. But tonight, I think I’m just going to land on “your loss” because he’s terrific and the play, like it’s leading man, leaves the audience with much to ponder.

What I would have missed…

Kate

Letters to NYC

2010-11-13T14:22:00.000-08:00

Dear NYC,

I sat next to a small child on the flight from LAX to JFK. That’s a long, long flight. You have much to make up for. I have a list of ways you can accomplish this, and most of it is PG-13. What? I said most.

Kate
5:22pm

Dear NYC,
Oh, well played, NYC. Well played, indeed.

Kate
10:12pm

The Bra

2010-11-10T12:51:00.001-08:00

I just found out that I've been buying the wrong sized bra for the last 25 years. And not just a little wrong—WAY wrong.

Now don't worry, this isn't going to be a public service announcement telling you all to burn your bras and go out and get fitted—because really, I don't care that much about what you do. J

I honestly just assumed that because I'm old and gravity has been playing a cruel joke on me for a while that this is just the way things were meant to be. I joke about using a complicated pulley system to keep them north of the floor, but I've been at all out war with my bras for years.

Here I've been cursing the universe when really I should have been cursing my own stupidity. Also, I apparently have some sort of fun-house mirror concept of my back because I've been under the misapprehension that my back is HUGE.

I almost want to emulate the "I feel pretty" girls and show off my underwear to people because I am actually that excited about this new discovery. And by people, I mean my imaginary friends because I would never, ever subject anyone to me in my underwear no matter how awesomely functional it now is.

Kate

And the Devil Will…

2010-11-05T07:35:00.001-07:00

I come to you for a little dream analysis.

I was backstage—felt like people were singing on stage (no idea what, I couldn't hear them), while we were hanging out in back waiting to perform. I was really wildly calm which is very unlike me because before performances, I am actually terrified. No one seemed to be particularly concerned that we didn't know the music, but instead I was painting my toenails. Well, you have to look good if you are a star, I guess.

Then a man I know in real life (not really KNOW, but recognize and have chatted with, etc) is on his cell phone wandering through backstage. I think he's attractive—at very least, interesting. I take notice.

Suddenly I hear an actual line of music, "And the devil will drag you under…" from the song "Sit Down You're Rockin' the Boat" from Guys and Dolls.

And then I woke up.

I can't stop hearing that one line – it just keeps circling my brain.

What the hell? Most women would insert a little Bolero or R&B-inspired musical interlude when they see a good looking man in a dream. Nope. Not me. I insert warnings with religious overtones from a musical I haven't seen in years (and a Glee episode I haven't seen since it aired).

Alrighty then.

Kate

Style Help!

2010-10-29T11:39:00.001-07:00

I need help from my more stylish friends—or friends who have any knowledge at all about clothing. As you can well imagine after reading this blog for years, my knowledge extends to asking, "Is it clean?" So, I'm a bit out of my depth here.

This is what I need to know: what is the current thinking on pantyhose/stockings on the east coast if you are not Lady GaGa?

I've eschewed all things pantyhose since moving to SoCal. It's one of the best things about this place. When it gets down to a frigid 60, I wear black, opaque tights. Otherwise, my legs are gloriously unsheathed (or are protected in trousers when shaving or the weather is difficult). Most of my trips back east in the last 10 years have either been very, very casual, or during the summer when this was not an issue. Sadly, the luck has run out, and I will be in NY at some point in November. I will need to dress in a business-like manner, but pants don't quite cut it. So… what's the pantyhose rule? Are black stockings (rather than tights) going to peg me as hopelessly out of date? Do they need to have patterns on them—much like all the stockings I wore in the 1980s?

Also, is Carson correct—are red shoes only for whores? Because I have an incredible pair of red heels…which I also can't figure out how to wear unless I'm stockingless. Sigh.

I wait for your wisdom.

Kate

Opportunities You Can't Pass Up

2010-10-28T08:30:00.000-07:00

Because I am fantabulous in every possible way (shhhh, go with it), I bring you the following intel (pay special attention to the fact that registration ends today for the live auction items and that the eBay auction ends on Saturday).

Just as a side note, I was over on the Castle set last year. That gang could not have been nicer (or more attractive-- mercy that's a good looking bunch!).

What do "Life Unexpected", "Castle", "The X-Files", "The Soup" and "Two and a Half Men" Have in Common?

Last chance to get your bidder registration forms in for IBG Inc’s first-ever Live Auction event.

IBG Inc has extended their registration through Thursday October 28th 2010 for their first-ever Live Auction event. The auction itself will take place on Saturday, October 30th and feature both live and silent auction lots, as well as a select eBay component.

The auction contains some fantastic, one-of-a-kind item donations! The latest items to arrive include a cast-signed copy of the "Life Unexpected" pilot script and a Discovery Bay Games package (that is a must for "Saturday Night Live" and Grateful Dead fans). These two new additions join the already popular auction lots of "Castle" set visits, VIP TV Taping tickets to "Two and A Half Men", as well as "The Soup", a private cooking lesson with Chef Gavin Mills from Bastide, a limited edition lithograph from the upcoming Disney animated film "Tangled", a ModCloth Outback handbag, and Los Angeles Dodgers ticket vouchers.

Interested parties can take a look at the complete auction catalog and event details on IBG Inc’s website: http://www.ibginc.org/octauctions

Those interested in bidding on any or all of these lots must register on the IBG Inc website anytime before Thursday, October 28th 2010. Bidder forms must be returned by 5pm PT on the 28th for the auction, which takes place on Saturday, October 30th in Los Angeles. IBG will not be allowing on-site or same-day registration; however phone and absentee bidding are available for convenience.

"The X-Files" fans will want to take special notice of these as both stars of the hit 1990s genre series have donated special fan experiences. IBG Inc is happy to announce two unique items available on eBay in conjunction with this auction event: tickets to "The Break of Noon" along with a meet-and-greet with star David Duchovny in NYC, as well as set visits to "Johnny English Reborn" with a meet-and-greet with Gillian Anderson in the UK. The items available on eBay are live right now and do not require special registration through the non-profit’s website. The eBay item lots will end on Saturday, October 30th just after the live auction event ends. Links to the eBay auctions are available on IBG’s website at http://www.ibginc.org/octauctions, or bidders can visit the IBG store on eBay at http://myworld.ebay.com/ibg_inc/

IBG is a 501(c)(3) public charity focusing on utilizing the power of philanthropy through the arts to benefit a wide range of charities worldwide. We act as a "fundraiser facilitator" for micro-funded and start-up charities that would otherwise struggle with the logistics and costs associated with event fundraising. For these charities, every dollar is crucial. Since we began fundraising in December 2008, IBG has disbursed nearly $50,000.00 to participating non-profits.

Proceeds from this live auction event will have significant impact on IBG’s ability to support partner organizations which include non-profits on the front lines dealing with catastrophic illness, education, arts and culture and social services.

The Results Show

2010-10-26T21:46:00.001-07:00

As most of you recall, Thursday marked the first of a series of experiments meant to elucidate my "approachability factor". Now, some have called into question the parameters of the experiment (coughDancough), but I feel like we have made real progress. I'm also pretty sure I won this round, but Pen insists that at most it was a draw.

The evening did not start off quite as smoothly as I had hoped. For instance, a drive that is normally 15 minutes took 50. At first blush you would assume that this put the "sitting alone at the bar waiting for Pen" portion of the experiment in jeopardy. Not so! When I got to the hotel, I told her to hide. Let us all take a moment to appreciate what a good sport Pen is. Just when you think your days of hide-and-seek are over, a friend needs you to hide in a bathroom while she tries to get noticed.

So, I arrived, albeit a bit frazzled, and I sauntered into the bar. I smiled at people. Seriously, I smiled at people. Yes, it was a genuine smile. Stop, it Chloe, it was too a genuine smile. There was nothing maniacal or plotting about it. During the entire circuit through the room (hey, those heels are high, it takes a while to navigate in them), I thought to myself, "I am open and welcoming—wait, does the concierge think I'm a hooker? He does. He totally thinks I'm a hooker. These aren't hooker boots. Jimmy Choo does not make hooker boots. Do you know … uh… right. I am open to new experiences and welcoming."

When I finally made it to the end of the bar, I glided into place. Maybe not so much glided as tried to sit. Then I realized I still had my coat on, so I hopped down from the stool, wrestled the coat off and hung it over the back of the chair. This was followed by a halting walk around the bar stool to figure out if the bar had hooks for my purse-- nope. I saw no hooks, so I was forced to drop the purse on the bar and then awkwardly hop up on the bar stool because even in 4-5 inch heels, I'm too short to just drape myself in any sort of elegant fashion. Yes, my grace still awes me, too. On the upside, no one can accuse me of being inconspicuous.

I was placed in perfect position—close to two television sets so I could watch the game, but also in the eye line of the gentlemen also watching the game. You can imagine how much attention that got me. Yep, none at all. They were watching the game. But the bartender did smile at me… when I ordered a drink. He was so captivated by my every utterance that he brought me the wrong drink (well, I held his attention through the first word—I ordered a Pinot Noir and he brought Pinot Grigio). It was at this point that the magic happened. The man next to me recommended one of the bar food items. Pen has decided that this is proof positive that I do not appear to be invisible to everyone. I will now state for the record that the bartender began the conversation by asking my new neighbor if he needed the menu—which I then took. So, she is correct; I am not actually invisible. When I take something from someone, they notice it. However, I was hoping to save the actual turn to larceny for my golden years.

Pen appeared shortly thereafter and rescued me.

I'd love to tell you that David Tennant wandered into the bar, bought us a round of drinks and then asked us to work on his next project. Sadly, this did not occur, though Pen and I managed to entertain ourselves in a surprisingly festive fashion given the lateness of the hour (6:30pm).

And just so I couldn't be accused of failing to properly push the boundaries of the experiment, I did take another turn about the room (hoping Darcy was waiting in the wings to admire me, of course). Sadly, no Darcy was present, and the two men I did smile at promptly looked away. Perhaps they were with dates and did not want to be inappropriate in their presence. In fact, I'm certain of it (ok, not really certain at all actually).

So, dear readers, what do you think? What is your approachability factor?

Kate

Now There’s an Idea

2010-10-22T20:16:00.001-07:00

"A Taiwanese woman left uninspired by the standard of men on offer in her city will finally tie the knot -- with herself, Shanghai Daily reported early Saturday." (source: http://www.myfoxorlando.com/dpp/news/offbeat/102210-taiwanese-bride-marries-herself-ncx)

Bonus points to the first person who can tell me what I'm thinking right now.

Hint: I may or may not be registering at Pottery Barn as I type.

Kate

The Great Experiment

2010-10-21T16:45:00.001-07:00

I have always thought of myself as a welcoming and friendly soul. Ok, that's actually a lie, but I don't think of myself as being particularly mean. I'm just disinterested. I'm not someone who tends to seek attention or companionship most of the time. I covet Kate time.

I have friends, but I far prefer to have a few people who I am very interested in around me on occasion than a lot of always there acquaintances. Sadly, this means the people I do consider friends have to be allowed to express opinions. Whatever. I never saw that in the NDA, but I'm told it's true.

Two of these friends have, on more than one instance, claimed that the reason men do not approach me to show interest is that there is a gigantic "F*ck You!" sign on my forehead. Well, actually, Pen said I had that sign. Chloe said I give off "this energy". I'm not from California, so I don't know what that means, but it sounds good. I, on the other hand, think I'm invisible—that no matter how I look, what I wear or how big my smile is, in a town full of people trying to get attention, I will remain delightfully below the radar.

However, in the interest of fair play (and having the chance to show everyone that I'm right), I have agreed to an experiment. Tonight, Pen and I will be going to a lovely, upscale bar/lounge/something-or-another. I will be wearing the Jimmy Choo boots (it better not rain, those boots do not see weather), and I was assured upon purchase that people would definitely talk to me if I was wearing them (they have never had that affect so far). I will smile. I will engage. I will sit there for at least 5 minutes alone so that no one is threatened by the "female pack".

Pen thinks magic is definitely a possibility. I think someone will try to sit on my bar stool because they will not realize that I'm sitting there.

Let the games begin!

Kate