And She Did
http://www.nbcchicago.com/news/weird/Indiana-Woman-Said-I-Do-23-Times.html?yhp=1
The universe, in theory, seeks a balance. According to the link above, this woman has been married 23 times. Apparently, I am the balancing force in the universe. She gets 23 men to agree to a lifetime (or 2 days, whatever appeals the most) with her. I can’t get a guy to talk to me. Nice one, universe!
Bikini Brain
http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/02/19/women.bikinis.objects/index.html
According to more fabulous scientific research, the area of the brain in men that responds to handling tools also responds to images of women in bikinis. I’m fairly certain that any garage mechanic could have told them that for much less money than what was spent on this study. There’s bound to be a joke in here somewhere about power tools, drilling and the like. But I’m tired, so make the appropriate joke yourselves. I find it shocking (shocking, I say) that we now learn that men see bikini-clad women in magazine as objects. No way! I would have never…oh, wait. On the upside, does this mean if I need a guy to do repairs around the apartment, I can just lead him to his “tools” by showing him a bikini calendar?
Interesting Decorations
http://www.wpix.com/landing/?Boys-Find-Boa-inside-Living-Room-Sofa=1&blockID=217188&feedID=1404
I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me. I’ve thought… hmmmm is that change wiggling around in those cushions? No? What is that? OH! It’s a 4-1/2 foot, 5-pound boa constrictor in my leather couch… in New York City. Someone mark that down as reason 3,432 why I am not going back to New York—the couches will literally kill you. Good for them for having the presence of mind to get animal control on the case. I would still be standing on a table screaming, picturing my imminent demise—and naturally wishing I was wearing something cuter and had gotten my brows done for the inevitable leaked photos to the news organizations. Hey, even a girl taken out by her killer sofa has standards.
And Now For Something Serious
http://www.3angelsfund.org/events/beauty_and_soul.php
While IBG (the volunteer organization I work with) isn't directly involved in this, we are trying to spread the word about this fun event and this organization's very important work. This event is located in New York, and directly benefits research to raise awareness, diagnose and someday cure Alveolar Capillary Dysplasia (ACD). ACD is almost certainly a genetic disease of the lungs that kills infants, but much is still unknown.
For more information about the upcoming benefit in New York, as well as the organization itself, please visit: http://www.3angelsfund.org/events/beauty_and_soul.php
Also, if you could pass the link along to friends, we'd really appreciate it!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Encounter
It has been suggested to me by loyal readers and evil friends that I am not focusing enough on trying to make even the smallest connections with the male gender. While I recognize the criticism might have some small element of validity, I’d like to point out that men don’t talk to me. They didn’t before my new initiative, and they don’t talk to me now. In fact, I’m pretty sure I said something foolish to the universe on this very topic.
Never give the universe that kind of opening.
I was downstairs yesterday trolling for food because I’m both too lazy and too lazy to ever cook anything for myself these days. While I normally stand downstairs feeling every click of the second hand on the clock resonate in my body (I hate waiting in lines), I was relatively non-hurried.
And he walked into the diner.
He was (presumably still is) tall—around 6’4”. He was clean cut, business-preppy with a little boy haircut, but broad-shouldered and just slightly in need of a mid-afternoon shave. In other words, he was danger. He was my version of the front cover of a romance novel, and if he was in my office building there was better than even chance that he was employed.
You can feel the shiver that overtook me even now, can’t you?
In normal, every day, Kate world, I would have expected my lunch to be ready immediately giving us no chance to speak. But no—the universe was going to give me what I asked for. It was going to give me a conversation with Danger.
In my fantasy world, I’m sure my hair would have been curled and blowing behind me (and I would have suddenly grown several inches taller), as he slow-motion walked toward me. As it was, he just walked toward me.
At first he didn’t see me. Of course, being smaller than your average 12 year old, this is not an unfamiliar state. Add to that my invisibility to the men of Los Angeles, and I was prepared for him to walk right by me. Instead, he got closer.
I was turned slightly, and I could feel his approach. I’m sure some part of me was glistening and/or heaving, but I can’t swear to it. Fighting all instincts to cower from a stranger, I turned slightly into him and looked up.
I smiled.
He smiled.
Angels wept, while the music in my own personal soundtrack swelled.
And he spoke.
“Have you already ordered, Ma’am?”
Wha??? Ma’am????
Ma'am!!!
I’ve entered Ma’am territory. I’m no longer “miss” or indeterminate PC approved entity. I’m a ma’am now.
You don’t date a ma’am. You don’t think soul searing and not entirely chaste thoughts about a ma’am.
In a blink of an eye, people... in a blink of an eye, potential love affair transformed to “maybe he’ll offer to help with my groceries”.
That crashing sound you heard was what was left of my ego.
Kate (aka Ma’am) in Los Angeles
Never give the universe that kind of opening.
I was downstairs yesterday trolling for food because I’m both too lazy and too lazy to ever cook anything for myself these days. While I normally stand downstairs feeling every click of the second hand on the clock resonate in my body (I hate waiting in lines), I was relatively non-hurried.
And he walked into the diner.
He was (presumably still is) tall—around 6’4”. He was clean cut, business-preppy with a little boy haircut, but broad-shouldered and just slightly in need of a mid-afternoon shave. In other words, he was danger. He was my version of the front cover of a romance novel, and if he was in my office building there was better than even chance that he was employed.
You can feel the shiver that overtook me even now, can’t you?
In normal, every day, Kate world, I would have expected my lunch to be ready immediately giving us no chance to speak. But no—the universe was going to give me what I asked for. It was going to give me a conversation with Danger.
In my fantasy world, I’m sure my hair would have been curled and blowing behind me (and I would have suddenly grown several inches taller), as he slow-motion walked toward me. As it was, he just walked toward me.
At first he didn’t see me. Of course, being smaller than your average 12 year old, this is not an unfamiliar state. Add to that my invisibility to the men of Los Angeles, and I was prepared for him to walk right by me. Instead, he got closer.
I was turned slightly, and I could feel his approach. I’m sure some part of me was glistening and/or heaving, but I can’t swear to it. Fighting all instincts to cower from a stranger, I turned slightly into him and looked up.
I smiled.
He smiled.
Angels wept, while the music in my own personal soundtrack swelled.
And he spoke.
“Have you already ordered, Ma’am?”
Wha??? Ma’am????
Ma'am!!!
I’ve entered Ma’am territory. I’m no longer “miss” or indeterminate PC approved entity. I’m a ma’am now.
You don’t date a ma’am. You don’t think soul searing and not entirely chaste thoughts about a ma’am.
In a blink of an eye, people... in a blink of an eye, potential love affair transformed to “maybe he’ll offer to help with my groceries”.
That crashing sound you heard was what was left of my ego.
Kate (aka Ma’am) in Los Angeles
Friday, February 06, 2009
You Might be Kate If…
1. You hear the words “designer vagina” and your thoughts turn not to the mysteries of cosmetic science, but immediately to where they must put the label.
2. You notice that Pen’s Barbie Magic Wand has been the victim of fluid evaporation, and proclaim it as a sign of the apocalypse—which you then have trouble spelling.
3. You are working on a proposal for a charity event, and one of the target magazines threatens to nix the project because of your clearly erroneous choice of “fanbase” instead of “fan base”.
4. You are doing data analysis at 7am, and you need the soothing background emanations from your iPod….only to hear a strange grinding noise from said device followed by an ominous on-screen warning.
5. You don’t understand how a centimeter of rain can cause mass panic in Los Angeles (followed by the inevitable “Storm Watch 2009” television interruptions), but an earthquake outside of the standard news cycle barely gets a bottom of the screen crawl.
6. You actually take time away from a busy work day to consult Pen’s Magic 8 Ball about your fantasy life (or is that Magic Date Ball, I can’t remember, but it seems to be a remarkably positive little thing).
7. You think anything airing at 9pm should be considered late night television.
8. You are horrified by any friend’s story that begins with “she was running a dominatrix operation out of the room I was renting”.
9. You had to look up the spelling of dominatrix.
10. You have a terrible habit of spending more time dwelling on what has gone wrong rather than rejoicing in the memories of what has gone right… if you could remember that far back…which you can’t.
11. You can’t figure out how people find out about orgies. Are there invitations for that sort of thing—perhaps a special section on the e-vite website? Also, are they sticklers about plus ones there? I mean, that has to be murder on a hostess if the numbers aren’t even.
12. You are shocked that orgies happen because as far as you can tell, it isn’t 1973.
13. You have been nicknamed Moral Compass while trying to keep your friends off the pole (both literally and figuratively) though you understand the reasoning that it is good exercise.
14. You find the idea of a sexually “experienced” man terrifying rather than intriguing because you don’t want sex to be about tricks so much as love. Plus, you just aren’t that flexible anymore and your ass looks bad from that angle.
15. You realize that the old theory about great cooks making great lovers means you are in big trouble as you can not even navigate the grocery store… nor do you want to do so.
16. You think that a convent might be the place for you if that whole “poverty” bit could be waved. After all, you have the chastity part covered.
17. You’ve seriously thought about using the “I’m off to a convent” line as a conversation starter when faced with a man you know you can not handle (i.e. all of them).
18. You’re so disconnected from yourself that when someone asks you what you do for fun, you honestly don’t know, but assume it has something to do with The X-Files.
19. You want to find the first person to suggest anal bleaching as a viable component of the daily beauty regimen and ask him why he hates women (because you know it was a man).
20. No, seriously, where do they put the label?
2. You notice that Pen’s Barbie Magic Wand has been the victim of fluid evaporation, and proclaim it as a sign of the apocalypse—which you then have trouble spelling.
3. You are working on a proposal for a charity event, and one of the target magazines threatens to nix the project because of your clearly erroneous choice of “fanbase” instead of “fan base”.
4. You are doing data analysis at 7am, and you need the soothing background emanations from your iPod….only to hear a strange grinding noise from said device followed by an ominous on-screen warning.
5. You don’t understand how a centimeter of rain can cause mass panic in Los Angeles (followed by the inevitable “Storm Watch 2009” television interruptions), but an earthquake outside of the standard news cycle barely gets a bottom of the screen crawl.
6. You actually take time away from a busy work day to consult Pen’s Magic 8 Ball about your fantasy life (or is that Magic Date Ball, I can’t remember, but it seems to be a remarkably positive little thing).
7. You think anything airing at 9pm should be considered late night television.
8. You are horrified by any friend’s story that begins with “she was running a dominatrix operation out of the room I was renting”.
9. You had to look up the spelling of dominatrix.
10. You have a terrible habit of spending more time dwelling on what has gone wrong rather than rejoicing in the memories of what has gone right… if you could remember that far back…which you can’t.
11. You can’t figure out how people find out about orgies. Are there invitations for that sort of thing—perhaps a special section on the e-vite website? Also, are they sticklers about plus ones there? I mean, that has to be murder on a hostess if the numbers aren’t even.
12. You are shocked that orgies happen because as far as you can tell, it isn’t 1973.
13. You have been nicknamed Moral Compass while trying to keep your friends off the pole (both literally and figuratively) though you understand the reasoning that it is good exercise.
14. You find the idea of a sexually “experienced” man terrifying rather than intriguing because you don’t want sex to be about tricks so much as love. Plus, you just aren’t that flexible anymore and your ass looks bad from that angle.
15. You realize that the old theory about great cooks making great lovers means you are in big trouble as you can not even navigate the grocery store… nor do you want to do so.
16. You think that a convent might be the place for you if that whole “poverty” bit could be waved. After all, you have the chastity part covered.
17. You’ve seriously thought about using the “I’m off to a convent” line as a conversation starter when faced with a man you know you can not handle (i.e. all of them).
18. You’re so disconnected from yourself that when someone asks you what you do for fun, you honestly don’t know, but assume it has something to do with The X-Files.
19. You want to find the first person to suggest anal bleaching as a viable component of the daily beauty regimen and ask him why he hates women (because you know it was a man).
20. No, seriously, where do they put the label?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Blog Tagged Redux
I got tagged again, only this time it has something to do with answering a lot of emotionally scarring questions. Naturally, I figured this meant that I should create an entire blog out of it. No, it’s not cheating.
1. EVER BEEN GIVEN AN ENGAGEMENT RING?
Wow. So, we’re going there right away are we? We can’t warm up a little bit with a question that won’t send me into therapy? Fine. No. I have never been given an engagement ring. In fact, I’m fairly certain the concept has never crossed anyone’s mind in reference to me. Happy? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can get some couch time tomorrow.
2. LONGEST RELATIONSHIP?
Depends. Do you mean the decade with The Ex, or do you mean the subsequent years mourning The Ex?
3. LAST GIFT YOU RECEIVED?
Does a drink from a single man count? Yes, that’s right. I had a drink with a single man the other night. But that’s another blog.
4. EVER DROPPED A CELL PHONE?
Oh, yes. My phone dropping skills are legendary.
5. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?
Technically, it was an hour ago. Alas, my mental exercises tend to be more regular and rigorous.
6. THING(S) YOU SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON?
Well, Jimmy Choo and I are clearly in love. But I don’t shop there often, it’s just when I do, it tends to cost quite a bit of cash. However, if we’re talking about frequency of purchase, I’d have to say anything involving The X-Files universe.
7. LAST FOOD YOU ATE?
Bowtie pasta with organic marinara sauce (which was actually better than I thought it was going to be). Although I’m eyeing a piece of chocolate, so by the time I finish this tome, this answer could, in fact, be entirely different.
8. FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?
I notice a person’s “presence” more than anything else. I don’t know if it’s a person’s stature or just their overall bearing, but it’s definitely a quality that’s hard to pick out in a match.com profile photo.
9. ONE FAVORITE SONG?
That’s an impossible question. I have a favorite song for every real mood, and every transitional mood.
10. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
I live in Los Angeles where it will be 77 degrees tomorrow. Look at that—I have simultaneously explained where I live and why I live there.
11. HIGH SCHOOL YOU ATTENDED:
Andrews School for Girls was honored with my presence. That’s right, I went to an all girls school. And no, I do not recall any pillow fights, nor do I recall having any friends named Tootie who hung out on roller skates all day long. Then again, I didn’t live in the dorms, so maybe I just missed her. They were so devastated when I left that they ceased to exist. Ok, that’s not true, but it feels true.
12. CELL PHONE SERVICE PROVIDER:
My life is currently mortgaged to AT&T.
13. FAVORITE MALL STORE:
I don’t think I have a favorite mall store. Banana Republic and I are close. They keep sending me mail. Although I have a feeling Dior and I are about to become intimately acquainted.
14. LONGEST JOB YOU HAD:
I have spent the last 14 years as an analyst for an international firm. Why are you yawning? Oh, wait, that’s me.
15. DO YOU OWN A PAIR OF DICE?
I don’t actually know the answer to this. I think I do, but I couldn’t possibly locate them.
16. DO YOU PRANK CALL PEOPLE?
Good God, no. I don’t like people enough to talk to them when I have to, and talking to strangers might as well be renamed “waterboarding” in my world.
17. LAST WEDDING YOU ATTENDED:
I think the last wedding I went to was CH’s wedding in Virginia/DC.
18. FIRST FRIEND YOU'D CALL IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY:
David Duchovny would be my first call. Seriously, with that kind of cash giving me false confidence, why not call him?
19. LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BEST FRIEND:
“Best”? Hmmm, that sounds elitist and wrong. Yes, that’s me refusing to answer.
20. FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT:
Does Pink Taco count as Fast Food? They do occasionally bring the margaritas in under three minutes.
21. BIGGEST LIE YOU HAVE EVER HEARD:
LMAO! Well, I suppose it’s possible that I’ve heard a couple of huge ones recently, but I have a 48% confidence level to date in the intel. And if I get pictures, two people are going to be $100 richer to make up for my lack of immediate faith.
(22 was not sent to me. The nerve!)
23. WHERE'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO EAT WITH FRIENDS?
Depends—have I been forced to leave my apartment? I’ve had quite a good time at Craft and Pink Taco. However, I think I’ll actually always prefer to eat in my apartment while trying to figure out why my friends keep trying to move in bunkbeds.
24. CAN YOU COOK?
The Fire Marshall has actually certified that I can not cook. Tsk… one little alarm goes off…
25. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE?:
I drive a Jeep Wrangler.
26. BEST KISSER:
Sadly, The Ex still ranks at the top of that list. Not that I’ve tested this theory much. I am willing to just say George Clooney because I’m sure it’s possible that he’s quite good at it.
27. LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:
I was quite upset about the passing of Kim Manners, as well as the state of a long-term friendship, on Monday night.
28. MOST DISLIKED FOODS:
I dislike most foods.
29. THING YOU LIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I must like my own company quite a bit given my adorable hermit-like qualities.
30. THING YOU DISLIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I dislike my inability to talk to strangers. I need to be fearless.
(31 is also awol)
32. LONGEST SHIFT YOU HAVE WORKED AT A JOB?:
It’s probably a tie between some long days early on at the current job and a 15 hour X-Files shooting day.
33. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Right now? “I Want to Believe” ranks pretty high on the list currently. I don’t really have a favorite overall because, like music, I seem to shift according to mood.
34. CAN YOU SING?
No, I can not sing. I have a voice teacher who can attest to this reality.
35. LAST CONCERT ATTENDED?
Um… I think my last concert was Paula Cole. It ended in disaster when I humiliated myself in order to protect The Ex from scorn and ridicule. Yeah, in retrospect, I should have let him fend for himself.
36. LAST KISS?
Never. I’m not married, so it is clearly wrong to kiss anyone. What? :)
37. LAST MOVIE RENTED:
The Duchess through Netflix.
38.ONE THING YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT:
My blackberry. This has got to change.
39. FAVORITE VACATION SPOT:
Rhodes, Greece. I’d love to go back to that balcony attached to our group house in Lindos on Rhodes.
(I swear to you, I don't know where 40, 41 and 42 are)
43. LAPTOP OR DESKTOP COMPUTER?:
Both. Neither works for what I currently need, so I’m shopping right now.
44. FAVORITE COMEDIAN?:
Jon Stewart, Tina Fey and Steve Martin, currently. I was a big George Carlin fan.
45. DO YOU SMOKE?
I’m deathly allergic to smoke. This is not an exaggeration. If I’m in a closed space with smoke I start to cough within minutes. In theory, I stop breathing if I don’t get into open air within a reasonable period of time. I’d prefer not to test that theory.
46. SLEEP WITH OR WITHOUT CLOTHES?
I sleep with clothing on because I live in the land of earthquakes. No need to traumatize the neighbors more than the sudden earth movement already has.
47. WHO SLEEPS WITH YOU EVERY NIGHT?:
Me, myself and I. It’s very crowded.
48. DO LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS WORK?:
Yes, I’ve made them work. Plus, bonus points in that the guy will be around occasionally, but not enough to think that he gets ownership of the remote.
49. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN PULLED OVER BY THE POLICE?
I think I’ve been pulled over as a driver once, but then I totally beat it in court, so it was expunged from my record.
50. PANCAKES OR FRENCH TOAST?Why make me choose? Oh, the humanity…
1. EVER BEEN GIVEN AN ENGAGEMENT RING?
Wow. So, we’re going there right away are we? We can’t warm up a little bit with a question that won’t send me into therapy? Fine. No. I have never been given an engagement ring. In fact, I’m fairly certain the concept has never crossed anyone’s mind in reference to me. Happy? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can get some couch time tomorrow.
2. LONGEST RELATIONSHIP?
Depends. Do you mean the decade with The Ex, or do you mean the subsequent years mourning The Ex?
3. LAST GIFT YOU RECEIVED?
Does a drink from a single man count? Yes, that’s right. I had a drink with a single man the other night. But that’s another blog.
4. EVER DROPPED A CELL PHONE?
Oh, yes. My phone dropping skills are legendary.
5. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?
Technically, it was an hour ago. Alas, my mental exercises tend to be more regular and rigorous.
6. THING(S) YOU SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON?
Well, Jimmy Choo and I are clearly in love. But I don’t shop there often, it’s just when I do, it tends to cost quite a bit of cash. However, if we’re talking about frequency of purchase, I’d have to say anything involving The X-Files universe.
7. LAST FOOD YOU ATE?
Bowtie pasta with organic marinara sauce (which was actually better than I thought it was going to be). Although I’m eyeing a piece of chocolate, so by the time I finish this tome, this answer could, in fact, be entirely different.
8. FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?
I notice a person’s “presence” more than anything else. I don’t know if it’s a person’s stature or just their overall bearing, but it’s definitely a quality that’s hard to pick out in a match.com profile photo.
9. ONE FAVORITE SONG?
That’s an impossible question. I have a favorite song for every real mood, and every transitional mood.
10. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
I live in Los Angeles where it will be 77 degrees tomorrow. Look at that—I have simultaneously explained where I live and why I live there.
11. HIGH SCHOOL YOU ATTENDED:
Andrews School for Girls was honored with my presence. That’s right, I went to an all girls school. And no, I do not recall any pillow fights, nor do I recall having any friends named Tootie who hung out on roller skates all day long. Then again, I didn’t live in the dorms, so maybe I just missed her. They were so devastated when I left that they ceased to exist. Ok, that’s not true, but it feels true.
12. CELL PHONE SERVICE PROVIDER:
My life is currently mortgaged to AT&T.
13. FAVORITE MALL STORE:
I don’t think I have a favorite mall store. Banana Republic and I are close. They keep sending me mail. Although I have a feeling Dior and I are about to become intimately acquainted.
14. LONGEST JOB YOU HAD:
I have spent the last 14 years as an analyst for an international firm. Why are you yawning? Oh, wait, that’s me.
15. DO YOU OWN A PAIR OF DICE?
I don’t actually know the answer to this. I think I do, but I couldn’t possibly locate them.
16. DO YOU PRANK CALL PEOPLE?
Good God, no. I don’t like people enough to talk to them when I have to, and talking to strangers might as well be renamed “waterboarding” in my world.
17. LAST WEDDING YOU ATTENDED:
I think the last wedding I went to was CH’s wedding in Virginia/DC.
18. FIRST FRIEND YOU'D CALL IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY:
David Duchovny would be my first call. Seriously, with that kind of cash giving me false confidence, why not call him?
19. LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BEST FRIEND:
“Best”? Hmmm, that sounds elitist and wrong. Yes, that’s me refusing to answer.
20. FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT:
Does Pink Taco count as Fast Food? They do occasionally bring the margaritas in under three minutes.
21. BIGGEST LIE YOU HAVE EVER HEARD:
LMAO! Well, I suppose it’s possible that I’ve heard a couple of huge ones recently, but I have a 48% confidence level to date in the intel. And if I get pictures, two people are going to be $100 richer to make up for my lack of immediate faith.
(22 was not sent to me. The nerve!)
23. WHERE'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO EAT WITH FRIENDS?
Depends—have I been forced to leave my apartment? I’ve had quite a good time at Craft and Pink Taco. However, I think I’ll actually always prefer to eat in my apartment while trying to figure out why my friends keep trying to move in bunkbeds.
24. CAN YOU COOK?
The Fire Marshall has actually certified that I can not cook. Tsk… one little alarm goes off…
25. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE?:
I drive a Jeep Wrangler.
26. BEST KISSER:
Sadly, The Ex still ranks at the top of that list. Not that I’ve tested this theory much. I am willing to just say George Clooney because I’m sure it’s possible that he’s quite good at it.
27. LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:
I was quite upset about the passing of Kim Manners, as well as the state of a long-term friendship, on Monday night.
28. MOST DISLIKED FOODS:
I dislike most foods.
29. THING YOU LIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I must like my own company quite a bit given my adorable hermit-like qualities.
30. THING YOU DISLIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I dislike my inability to talk to strangers. I need to be fearless.
(31 is also awol)
32. LONGEST SHIFT YOU HAVE WORKED AT A JOB?:
It’s probably a tie between some long days early on at the current job and a 15 hour X-Files shooting day.
33. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Right now? “I Want to Believe” ranks pretty high on the list currently. I don’t really have a favorite overall because, like music, I seem to shift according to mood.
34. CAN YOU SING?
No, I can not sing. I have a voice teacher who can attest to this reality.
35. LAST CONCERT ATTENDED?
Um… I think my last concert was Paula Cole. It ended in disaster when I humiliated myself in order to protect The Ex from scorn and ridicule. Yeah, in retrospect, I should have let him fend for himself.
36. LAST KISS?
Never. I’m not married, so it is clearly wrong to kiss anyone. What? :)
37. LAST MOVIE RENTED:
The Duchess through Netflix.
38.ONE THING YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT:
My blackberry. This has got to change.
39. FAVORITE VACATION SPOT:
Rhodes, Greece. I’d love to go back to that balcony attached to our group house in Lindos on Rhodes.
(I swear to you, I don't know where 40, 41 and 42 are)
43. LAPTOP OR DESKTOP COMPUTER?:
Both. Neither works for what I currently need, so I’m shopping right now.
44. FAVORITE COMEDIAN?:
Jon Stewart, Tina Fey and Steve Martin, currently. I was a big George Carlin fan.
45. DO YOU SMOKE?
I’m deathly allergic to smoke. This is not an exaggeration. If I’m in a closed space with smoke I start to cough within minutes. In theory, I stop breathing if I don’t get into open air within a reasonable period of time. I’d prefer not to test that theory.
46. SLEEP WITH OR WITHOUT CLOTHES?
I sleep with clothing on because I live in the land of earthquakes. No need to traumatize the neighbors more than the sudden earth movement already has.
47. WHO SLEEPS WITH YOU EVERY NIGHT?:
Me, myself and I. It’s very crowded.
48. DO LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS WORK?:
Yes, I’ve made them work. Plus, bonus points in that the guy will be around occasionally, but not enough to think that he gets ownership of the remote.
49. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN PULLED OVER BY THE POLICE?
I think I’ve been pulled over as a driver once, but then I totally beat it in court, so it was expunged from my record.
50. PANCAKES OR FRENCH TOAST?Why make me choose? Oh, the humanity…
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Kim Manners
It’s impossible to explain or relate the connections you feel to other people, particularly those who you don’t know well. You see their work, and you love it, and a connection grows. You have a random conversation on any given Tuesday, and for some reason it strikes a note. Maybe it’s part of a fandom’s illusion of relationships through shared experience.
Whatever it is, I can’t really explain the loss I felt when I heard that Kim Manners died of lung cancer on Sunday.
For those of you who didn’t know the man or his work, he was a prolific director on The X-Files and Supernatural (as well as an exec producer for both shows, as well as numerous other projects over a long career). Technically skilled and exacting, Kim’s sets were a fascinating experience—one I had all too rarely.
While I worked on a number of his X-Files episodes over the years, I’ll never forget the first time I actually spoke with him. I had accidentally (aka completely on purpose) crashed his 50th birthday party. It was the middle of the shooting day, but a party broke out, and as I was working as an extra, I got caught up in the moment (aka left holding area to find out what all the cheering was for). I remember the speech he gave about how much he loved his cast and crew—they were obviously family to him. He talked about how if it were up to him, the show would continue another 8 years because it meant that much to him.
As he was leaving the party to head back to work (we had another 9 hours in front of us), I wished him a happy birthday. He kissed me on the cheek, called me sweetheart, and stopped to talk to me. The conversation itself wasn’t earth shattering—mostly about if I had worked the show before, etc. The only thing that kept running through my head was, “Don’t you know who you are?” Directors don’t talk to extras. I didn’t do a lot of that kind of work, but that’s one thing I definitely knew. And yet there he was.
Eight hours later, I was standing on set with Kim, Gillian, my hot swat guy (damn, what was his name, and why didn’t I pay attention) and her manager, Connie. It was 1am. Everyone was exhausted, and we all knew that there was at least an hour or more to go. Despite all of that, Kim, who undoubtedly had a longer day than any of us, was on the move. The man’s energy was contagious, and with an entertainingly suggestive conversation with Gillian, we were off and running.
That’s how I’ll always remember Kim—a man of boundless energy, enthusiasm and colorful turn of phrase, always exhorting and inspiring people to be better.
The IBG Group has set up a donation page for people who are interested in honoring the man. All donations will be given to the American Lung Association in Kim’s honor:
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/
Whatever it is, I can’t really explain the loss I felt when I heard that Kim Manners died of lung cancer on Sunday.
For those of you who didn’t know the man or his work, he was a prolific director on The X-Files and Supernatural (as well as an exec producer for both shows, as well as numerous other projects over a long career). Technically skilled and exacting, Kim’s sets were a fascinating experience—one I had all too rarely.
While I worked on a number of his X-Files episodes over the years, I’ll never forget the first time I actually spoke with him. I had accidentally (aka completely on purpose) crashed his 50th birthday party. It was the middle of the shooting day, but a party broke out, and as I was working as an extra, I got caught up in the moment (aka left holding area to find out what all the cheering was for). I remember the speech he gave about how much he loved his cast and crew—they were obviously family to him. He talked about how if it were up to him, the show would continue another 8 years because it meant that much to him.
As he was leaving the party to head back to work (we had another 9 hours in front of us), I wished him a happy birthday. He kissed me on the cheek, called me sweetheart, and stopped to talk to me. The conversation itself wasn’t earth shattering—mostly about if I had worked the show before, etc. The only thing that kept running through my head was, “Don’t you know who you are?” Directors don’t talk to extras. I didn’t do a lot of that kind of work, but that’s one thing I definitely knew. And yet there he was.
Eight hours later, I was standing on set with Kim, Gillian, my hot swat guy (damn, what was his name, and why didn’t I pay attention) and her manager, Connie. It was 1am. Everyone was exhausted, and we all knew that there was at least an hour or more to go. Despite all of that, Kim, who undoubtedly had a longer day than any of us, was on the move. The man’s energy was contagious, and with an entertainingly suggestive conversation with Gillian, we were off and running.
That’s how I’ll always remember Kim—a man of boundless energy, enthusiasm and colorful turn of phrase, always exhorting and inspiring people to be better.
The IBG Group has set up a donation page for people who are interested in honoring the man. All donations will be given to the American Lung Association in Kim’s honor:
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/
Monday, January 19, 2009
Perception
Perception is a funny thing (and by funny, I mean evil and wrong). For instance, yesterday, I thought I was doing a gangbuster kind of workout. I pictured myself on the elliptical machine making magic happen. I pictured myself being athletic, svelte, prepossessing, or sweaty-chic.
Then I looked in the mirror.
I’m fairly sure your ass is not supposed to move that way. Seriously, the cellulite undulation was making me seasick. Like any rational person, it just inspired me to work out more.
Oh, wait… no.
It inspired me to stop every activity that could elicit jiggling of any kind. Because really… no one should see that, not even me.
A friend of mine told me a story about a recent trip to Blockbuster. She noticed several people looking at her. She knew she looked good. She was having a “that girl” moment (you know, the fantasy where people are looking at you and whispering “who’s that girl…over there… that charming creature”). At least, that was her perception.
Then she caught her reflection in the window.
Note to self, when you get your brows waxed make sure that all the wax and the bright red marks, from where the technician ripped off your skin, have faded before renting ‘I Want to Believe” at your local video store.
Every day I get up at 5 am for work. Yea. I suppose I could blame the darkness for the ensembles I put together, but that would be a lie. I think I look good when I leave my apartment. I mean, no one is going to mistake me for Gillian Anderson, but people won’t hide their children from me to avoid the horror.
So, why is it that the look that works so well at home before I leave is suddenly ill-fitting and somewhat south of chic when I see my reflection at work?
Perception is deeply misleading.
Then again, maybe reality is really the problem.
Kate
Then I looked in the mirror.
I’m fairly sure your ass is not supposed to move that way. Seriously, the cellulite undulation was making me seasick. Like any rational person, it just inspired me to work out more.
Oh, wait… no.
It inspired me to stop every activity that could elicit jiggling of any kind. Because really… no one should see that, not even me.
A friend of mine told me a story about a recent trip to Blockbuster. She noticed several people looking at her. She knew she looked good. She was having a “that girl” moment (you know, the fantasy where people are looking at you and whispering “who’s that girl…over there… that charming creature”). At least, that was her perception.
Then she caught her reflection in the window.
Note to self, when you get your brows waxed make sure that all the wax and the bright red marks, from where the technician ripped off your skin, have faded before renting ‘I Want to Believe” at your local video store.
Every day I get up at 5 am for work. Yea. I suppose I could blame the darkness for the ensembles I put together, but that would be a lie. I think I look good when I leave my apartment. I mean, no one is going to mistake me for Gillian Anderson, but people won’t hide their children from me to avoid the horror.
So, why is it that the look that works so well at home before I leave is suddenly ill-fitting and somewhat south of chic when I see my reflection at work?
Perception is deeply misleading.
Then again, maybe reality is really the problem.
Kate
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Dream Job
http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20090113/od_afp/lifestyleaustraliatourismoffbeat_20090113032028
Let me get this straight. They will pay me a little over $100,000 in order to play on their island? Hmmmm. Clearly the strenuous duties of sunbathing and frolicking are worth that, but I’m missing the catch. As it stands, I do believe I’ve found one of my two or three personal fantasy jobs, so I believe I’ll be getting a plane very soon.
At last a chance to truthfully yell, “You! Off my island”.
The thought of it alone makes me all tingly. It can not be a truly primitive island because you are supposed to do on camera work and web blogging—hello, internet! I already blog, and usually that’s from a place far less glorious than the one pictured there.
Frankly, I giggle at the downside—relatively few people.
Do typhoons hit this island? Is that it? Is there some sort of bomb testing going on next door? Because otherwise, I can’t figure out how there is anything bad about this. Oooooh, unless they don’t have satellite TV, then I can see how that would be a struggle. Also, Dominoes probably doesn’t deliver quite that far. While that’s a shame, it’s not really a deal breaker.
So, it’s been real. I’ll send you a postcard.
What do you mean they might not pick me? How could they not pick me? I mean, I promise not to wear a bikini on camera.
Off to buy more sunscreen.
Kate
Uh… you don’t think there is a smoke monster on this island like there is on “Lost”, do you?
Let me get this straight. They will pay me a little over $100,000 in order to play on their island? Hmmmm. Clearly the strenuous duties of sunbathing and frolicking are worth that, but I’m missing the catch. As it stands, I do believe I’ve found one of my two or three personal fantasy jobs, so I believe I’ll be getting a plane very soon.
At last a chance to truthfully yell, “You! Off my island”.
The thought of it alone makes me all tingly. It can not be a truly primitive island because you are supposed to do on camera work and web blogging—hello, internet! I already blog, and usually that’s from a place far less glorious than the one pictured there.
Frankly, I giggle at the downside—relatively few people.
Do typhoons hit this island? Is that it? Is there some sort of bomb testing going on next door? Because otherwise, I can’t figure out how there is anything bad about this. Oooooh, unless they don’t have satellite TV, then I can see how that would be a struggle. Also, Dominoes probably doesn’t deliver quite that far. While that’s a shame, it’s not really a deal breaker.
So, it’s been real. I’ll send you a postcard.
What do you mean they might not pick me? How could they not pick me? I mean, I promise not to wear a bikini on camera.
Off to buy more sunscreen.
Kate
Uh… you don’t think there is a smoke monster on this island like there is on “Lost”, do you?
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Nicknames
I had a nickname. It was perky. I am not perky.
I had a nickname. It ended in an “I”, although most people who hear the nickname spell it wrong.
I had a nickname that brings to mind cheerleaders, school spirit leaders and the possibility of a role as a Stepford Wife.
I had a nickname that took years to get rid of. My parents still use it, but they are allowed because they named me, so they get a pass.
Shortly after meeting The Ex, I asked him not to use it. Most of my friends were still using it. Most of my professors still used it. But in a conversation in the library, I told him that if he wanted me to answer him, he wouldn’t use it. His response, “I wondered why someone with such a beautiful name would choose to use the nickname”. He never used the moniker again. Maybe that’s the moment I knew that he was going to be a tough one to shake off—not that I didn’t try.
I had a nickname. And now it’s back. It started slowly—a few old friends used it on Facebook. Since I never use it, I didn’t think anything of it. Then a few new friends on other forums spontaneously started to implement it. I thought it was odd, but figured if I kept signing everything with the name I use, they’d get the hint. But now it’s spreading… like a rash.
Grant it, when faced with the drama in the world—disease, famine, flood, struggling economies, the potential re-emergence of parachute pants—this seems like a small thing. It’s just so unexpected. I felt certain that my otherwise taciturn nature would stem the rising threat of perky.
Why is it then that I feel the need to start doing the “Bring It On” cheer?
I’m sexy, I’m cute
I’m popular to boot.
I’m bitchin’, Great Hair
The boys all love to stare
I’m wanted, I’m hot
I’m everything you’re not
I’m pretty, I’m cool
I dominate this school!
Ahem...Evil
Kate
Back, back perkiness!
I had a nickname. It ended in an “I”, although most people who hear the nickname spell it wrong.
I had a nickname that brings to mind cheerleaders, school spirit leaders and the possibility of a role as a Stepford Wife.
I had a nickname that took years to get rid of. My parents still use it, but they are allowed because they named me, so they get a pass.
Shortly after meeting The Ex, I asked him not to use it. Most of my friends were still using it. Most of my professors still used it. But in a conversation in the library, I told him that if he wanted me to answer him, he wouldn’t use it. His response, “I wondered why someone with such a beautiful name would choose to use the nickname”. He never used the moniker again. Maybe that’s the moment I knew that he was going to be a tough one to shake off—not that I didn’t try.
I had a nickname. And now it’s back. It started slowly—a few old friends used it on Facebook. Since I never use it, I didn’t think anything of it. Then a few new friends on other forums spontaneously started to implement it. I thought it was odd, but figured if I kept signing everything with the name I use, they’d get the hint. But now it’s spreading… like a rash.
Grant it, when faced with the drama in the world—disease, famine, flood, struggling economies, the potential re-emergence of parachute pants—this seems like a small thing. It’s just so unexpected. I felt certain that my otherwise taciturn nature would stem the rising threat of perky.
Why is it then that I feel the need to start doing the “Bring It On” cheer?
I’m sexy, I’m cute
I’m popular to boot.
I’m bitchin’, Great Hair
The boys all love to stare
I’m wanted, I’m hot
I’m everything you’re not
I’m pretty, I’m cool
I dominate this school!
Ahem...Evil
Kate
Back, back perkiness!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Shy
I am an incredibly shy person. I know that this can not be a shock to many of you. It sort of fits with the whole “so, I’m a hermit, yeah, yeah” thing I have going on. It’s not so debilitating that I won’t interact at all with other human beings, but it is definitely one of the reasons that I’m not big on making approaches to strangers.
Shyness is a killer for networking. You remember that charity event that I was assisting with in December? Logically, if I saw the guest of honor on the street, I should feel comfortable enough to exchange a greeting with him—particularly since Frank Spotnitz may be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. But I know me. I’d hide from him. I’d assume that I was imposing by approaching him, or that he wouldn’t remember me (well, he does meet a lot of people). How on earth would I go about meeting strangers if I seriously thought about changing careers (and not just becoming a beach bum after I win my many, many millions through the lottery)?
But you know what else gets shut down from shyness? Dating. Thank goodness the people at Yahoo!Personals have provided me with this handy article: Dating 101: Four Ways to Overcome Dating Shyness (http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/87492/dating-101-four-ways-to-overcome-dating-shyness).
According to this article, by admitting that I’m shy, I’m accepting a negative thing about my mindset. They suggest that I say out loud that I am no longer a shy person and that eventually I will grow to believe it if I say it often enough. Yeah, because that works. Much like, “I am a millionaire” becomes accurate if I say it often enough, and David Tennant is heading to the States to sweep a certain friend of mine off her feet if I chant that in a mirror. As an aside, yes, I will definitely start chanting that in a mirror, Pen, just in case I’m wrong.
Item number three in the article tells you to realize that you are not being judged. Really? That’s ridiculous. Of course, you’re being judged. You have the power to not care about an anonymous person’s judgment, but telling yourself that a person, particularly a first date, hasn’t made immediate decisions about you, is delusional. A guy has at least judged whether or not you’re “fun” or a “3rd-dater” (or, as is my case, a “don’t bother”).
The final piece of advice is to just accept who I am—that I am shy because I’m harshly judging myself. Sound, reasoned advice, this one.
But I have a question.
What happens if accepting who I am means accepting that I’m shy?
Kate, pondering the eternal conundrum
P.S. I want you all to know that if I ever do manage to get myself on a proper date, I’ll log into twitter and bring you all along as moral support. That couldn’t possibly go wrong.
Shyness is a killer for networking. You remember that charity event that I was assisting with in December? Logically, if I saw the guest of honor on the street, I should feel comfortable enough to exchange a greeting with him—particularly since Frank Spotnitz may be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. But I know me. I’d hide from him. I’d assume that I was imposing by approaching him, or that he wouldn’t remember me (well, he does meet a lot of people). How on earth would I go about meeting strangers if I seriously thought about changing careers (and not just becoming a beach bum after I win my many, many millions through the lottery)?
But you know what else gets shut down from shyness? Dating. Thank goodness the people at Yahoo!Personals have provided me with this handy article: Dating 101: Four Ways to Overcome Dating Shyness (http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/87492/dating-101-four-ways-to-overcome-dating-shyness).
According to this article, by admitting that I’m shy, I’m accepting a negative thing about my mindset. They suggest that I say out loud that I am no longer a shy person and that eventually I will grow to believe it if I say it often enough. Yeah, because that works. Much like, “I am a millionaire” becomes accurate if I say it often enough, and David Tennant is heading to the States to sweep a certain friend of mine off her feet if I chant that in a mirror. As an aside, yes, I will definitely start chanting that in a mirror, Pen, just in case I’m wrong.
Item number three in the article tells you to realize that you are not being judged. Really? That’s ridiculous. Of course, you’re being judged. You have the power to not care about an anonymous person’s judgment, but telling yourself that a person, particularly a first date, hasn’t made immediate decisions about you, is delusional. A guy has at least judged whether or not you’re “fun” or a “3rd-dater” (or, as is my case, a “don’t bother”).
The final piece of advice is to just accept who I am—that I am shy because I’m harshly judging myself. Sound, reasoned advice, this one.
But I have a question.
What happens if accepting who I am means accepting that I’m shy?
Kate, pondering the eternal conundrum
P.S. I want you all to know that if I ever do manage to get myself on a proper date, I’ll log into twitter and bring you all along as moral support. That couldn’t possibly go wrong.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Special Glow
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,475905,00.html
True love last forever—or at least that’s the case being made by a group of scientists in the latest love study. Romance novels (chick lit and harlequin varieties), all those movies and teenage dreams got themselves a bit of validation this week. Although I don’t remember brain scans being involved in any of those Judy Blume books. Perhaps I missed a couple along the way.
They have posited that brain scans indicate that essentially the intensity of the first blush of love can remain in couples decades later. What I need is for scientists to figure out how to get rid of that. Clearly, I’m all for forever love. I’ve had forever love (it just turns out that forever is just slightly shorter than it used to be). But what happens to one of these people if her brain is “oooh, Mr. Darcy” and his brain scan is “see ya”? Is true love only mutual? Does that make her love for him less “true” if both scans aren’t glowing in the dark?
And if she has this “true love” glow about her what the heck happens to her if she now finds herself alone? Does her glow for that long-departed person mean that she’s blocked and can’t glow for someone else—you know, barring radioactivity, of course? Does it only get triggered when she’s in the presence of the other person? So, she’s fine unless on the eve of her dating someone else, she runs into him in the dog food aisle at the grocery store—at which point you can see her from space?
These and a million other probing questions will undoubtedly be in the next study that I will personally fund. No reason. It’s just all about the science for me. Mostly.
Kate
True love last forever—or at least that’s the case being made by a group of scientists in the latest love study. Romance novels (chick lit and harlequin varieties), all those movies and teenage dreams got themselves a bit of validation this week. Although I don’t remember brain scans being involved in any of those Judy Blume books. Perhaps I missed a couple along the way.
They have posited that brain scans indicate that essentially the intensity of the first blush of love can remain in couples decades later. What I need is for scientists to figure out how to get rid of that. Clearly, I’m all for forever love. I’ve had forever love (it just turns out that forever is just slightly shorter than it used to be). But what happens to one of these people if her brain is “oooh, Mr. Darcy” and his brain scan is “see ya”? Is true love only mutual? Does that make her love for him less “true” if both scans aren’t glowing in the dark?
And if she has this “true love” glow about her what the heck happens to her if she now finds herself alone? Does her glow for that long-departed person mean that she’s blocked and can’t glow for someone else—you know, barring radioactivity, of course? Does it only get triggered when she’s in the presence of the other person? So, she’s fine unless on the eve of her dating someone else, she runs into him in the dog food aisle at the grocery store—at which point you can see her from space?
These and a million other probing questions will undoubtedly be in the next study that I will personally fund. No reason. It’s just all about the science for me. Mostly.
Kate
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Seduced!
I was seduced, I tell you! No, not in the romantic sense of candles, flowery talk and promises of an investment portfolio miraculously unscathed by the recent economic turndown; I mean in the sense that I foolishly believed that I was safe. Safe from the ghosts of Christmas past. Safe from the evils of the world (ie many of the people I knew in high school). Safe from the lack of drama in a town known as ex-boyfriend-ville. Safe.
Informal messaging medium (ie Facebook) seduced me into believing that only the most fun people in my life would find me. It was blissful. People befriended me (and those of you who haven’t, please do… provided I like you)—most of whom I actually knew, which is rarely the case on myspace anymore. For many, many months, I believed that it would all just remain an entertaining, sharing place.
I’m here to tell you, Facebook is not safe.
It began with friend requests from people that sparked distant, and yet distinctly uncomfortable, memories. I’m pretty sure people who didn’t like me in high school are now my “friends” on Facebook. Ok. Fine. We all grow, mature. Oh, what the hell am I saying? No, we don’t. I have no idea why they are my friends on Facebook, since I’m pretty sure we haven’t thought of each other in any sort of warm and/or fuzzy way in about 25 years. But there they are—all calling me a nickname I haven’t used since I was 20. Swell.
Next came the ex-boyfriends of friends. Now, I liked the friends, but I’m pretty sure I had absolutely no difficulty ignoring the existence of their ex’s (as any good friend would) once they firmly moved them out of the picture. Why are we all pretending to be friends now? In addition, I’m getting friend requests from the “hangers on”. You know—the guys who came with the ex’s of friends. But not only are those people reaching out beyond the high school memory graveyard, but they also want to send me things and add me to their birthday calendars. Huh? I don’t want to remember my own birthday this year—I certainly don’t want the distant hanger on friend of friend’s ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago bringing it up.
I know what you are thinking—just reject their friend request. But I can’t. That seems rude, in a way that bitching about it all here on blogspot does not. I know, I have a confusing ethical guide. Love me.
But today… the very nearly final blow occurred. My happy, drama free social networking came to a jarring halt, when I saw his name. The Ex. He commented on a photo I commented on—hell, he commented on a photo I took. But he wasn’t commenting to me.
And I froze. We haven’t “spoken” since the great text message fiasco of March ’08. I’ve been way too busy to moon about and think of him… often…as much… whatever. Still, I’ve been really good. He had his busy new, happy husband life, and I had my… um… you know… um… whatever it is that I’m doing.
But time stopped today. I’m sure you noticed it. That grinding, screeching sound was me seeing the Facebook message “________ also commented on ______’s photo”. That name. Can’t mistake it. It’s unusual. And all of a sudden, these many, many months later, there it was in front of me again.
I didn’t look him up. I didn’t do a search for him. I’m pretty sure he’s new to Facebook because he’s never had the time for this sort of thing. I’ll probably not see his name appear ever again.
And yet….
What will my reaction be when a “friend request” notice comes my way? And more likely, how will I feel when it doesn’t?
Seduced, I tell you – lulled into a belief that this particular button was done being pushed.
How ridiculous of me.
Kate
Informal messaging medium (ie Facebook) seduced me into believing that only the most fun people in my life would find me. It was blissful. People befriended me (and those of you who haven’t, please do… provided I like you)—most of whom I actually knew, which is rarely the case on myspace anymore. For many, many months, I believed that it would all just remain an entertaining, sharing place.
I’m here to tell you, Facebook is not safe.
It began with friend requests from people that sparked distant, and yet distinctly uncomfortable, memories. I’m pretty sure people who didn’t like me in high school are now my “friends” on Facebook. Ok. Fine. We all grow, mature. Oh, what the hell am I saying? No, we don’t. I have no idea why they are my friends on Facebook, since I’m pretty sure we haven’t thought of each other in any sort of warm and/or fuzzy way in about 25 years. But there they are—all calling me a nickname I haven’t used since I was 20. Swell.
Next came the ex-boyfriends of friends. Now, I liked the friends, but I’m pretty sure I had absolutely no difficulty ignoring the existence of their ex’s (as any good friend would) once they firmly moved them out of the picture. Why are we all pretending to be friends now? In addition, I’m getting friend requests from the “hangers on”. You know—the guys who came with the ex’s of friends. But not only are those people reaching out beyond the high school memory graveyard, but they also want to send me things and add me to their birthday calendars. Huh? I don’t want to remember my own birthday this year—I certainly don’t want the distant hanger on friend of friend’s ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago bringing it up.
I know what you are thinking—just reject their friend request. But I can’t. That seems rude, in a way that bitching about it all here on blogspot does not. I know, I have a confusing ethical guide. Love me.
But today… the very nearly final blow occurred. My happy, drama free social networking came to a jarring halt, when I saw his name. The Ex. He commented on a photo I commented on—hell, he commented on a photo I took. But he wasn’t commenting to me.
And I froze. We haven’t “spoken” since the great text message fiasco of March ’08. I’ve been way too busy to moon about and think of him… often…as much… whatever. Still, I’ve been really good. He had his busy new, happy husband life, and I had my… um… you know… um… whatever it is that I’m doing.
But time stopped today. I’m sure you noticed it. That grinding, screeching sound was me seeing the Facebook message “________ also commented on ______’s photo”. That name. Can’t mistake it. It’s unusual. And all of a sudden, these many, many months later, there it was in front of me again.
I didn’t look him up. I didn’t do a search for him. I’m pretty sure he’s new to Facebook because he’s never had the time for this sort of thing. I’ll probably not see his name appear ever again.
And yet….
What will my reaction be when a “friend request” notice comes my way? And more likely, how will I feel when it doesn’t?
Seduced, I tell you – lulled into a belief that this particular button was done being pushed.
How ridiculous of me.
Kate
Monday, December 29, 2008
A Muddle
I’m writing this from a great distance… straight up. I’m flying home from visiting my parents in Ohio (where it was 6 degrees (!) at the start of the week and 66 when I flew out), and I began pondering the many things today that don’t make sense to me—in addition to that whole weather thing, of course, because that’s just crazy.
VIP Tickets to Parties
I don’t understand having levels of “special” at parties. This behavior would be unconscionably rude if you were throwing a party in your home, but throw a party in a club, and it’s considered de rigeur. You have the normal people, aka the people there to actually enjoy the party and occasionally gaze wistfully at the VIP section convinced that some distant day they will also be important enough to get past the rope. Then there is the VIP section. From my, admittedly limited, experience the VIP section is full of people who paid extra money to avoid the people who actually want to be there. This section is also highlighted by the dawning realization that there is a level of Really VIP that they still can’t buy into no matter what the ticket said. It is my fondest hope that one of these days someone throws a party and says “none of you are really all that important” and K-Fed has to buy his own bottle.
But that’s just me.
I will, however, begin separating my friends at any party I throw in my tiny apartment. I’m just kidding. You know I’d never have a party in my apartment.
Carry-On Luggage
Here’s a tip: just because you can physically carry it, does not mean it is carry-on luggage. If you could actually float a family of 12 down a river on it, it is not a carry-on. Also, you swearing that “last time it fit” when it has clearly never fit into anything other than a semi isn’t fooling anyone. The good news is when you crush everything around you and shove with all your might to get it into the overhead compartment, you wont have to worry about it shifting during the flight. It won’t shift. Ever. Not even when you hold up all the other passengers when you have to pry it out during deplaning. Well done.
Turbulence
Turbulence. I don’t get it. I don’t like it. I want it to stop.
Book Boy
Why is the man I’ve now dubbed “book boy” sitting in the window seat? We should clearly be sharing intellectual discourse on the meaning of… um… well, anything really, as you know what happens to me when I am faced with a boy who reads. Sadly, it appears to be beyond my ability to chat with him when he is a) reading, and doesn’t really look like he wants to be disturbed and b) there is a sleeping person in between us. Fate is cruel.
Turbulence
Again, self-explanatory and seemingly unending.
Kate, hoping that everyone had (or is having) lovely holidays!
VIP Tickets to Parties
I don’t understand having levels of “special” at parties. This behavior would be unconscionably rude if you were throwing a party in your home, but throw a party in a club, and it’s considered de rigeur. You have the normal people, aka the people there to actually enjoy the party and occasionally gaze wistfully at the VIP section convinced that some distant day they will also be important enough to get past the rope. Then there is the VIP section. From my, admittedly limited, experience the VIP section is full of people who paid extra money to avoid the people who actually want to be there. This section is also highlighted by the dawning realization that there is a level of Really VIP that they still can’t buy into no matter what the ticket said. It is my fondest hope that one of these days someone throws a party and says “none of you are really all that important” and K-Fed has to buy his own bottle.
But that’s just me.
I will, however, begin separating my friends at any party I throw in my tiny apartment. I’m just kidding. You know I’d never have a party in my apartment.
Carry-On Luggage
Here’s a tip: just because you can physically carry it, does not mean it is carry-on luggage. If you could actually float a family of 12 down a river on it, it is not a carry-on. Also, you swearing that “last time it fit” when it has clearly never fit into anything other than a semi isn’t fooling anyone. The good news is when you crush everything around you and shove with all your might to get it into the overhead compartment, you wont have to worry about it shifting during the flight. It won’t shift. Ever. Not even when you hold up all the other passengers when you have to pry it out during deplaning. Well done.
Turbulence
Turbulence. I don’t get it. I don’t like it. I want it to stop.
Book Boy
Why is the man I’ve now dubbed “book boy” sitting in the window seat? We should clearly be sharing intellectual discourse on the meaning of… um… well, anything really, as you know what happens to me when I am faced with a boy who reads. Sadly, it appears to be beyond my ability to chat with him when he is a) reading, and doesn’t really look like he wants to be disturbed and b) there is a sleeping person in between us. Fate is cruel.
Turbulence
Again, self-explanatory and seemingly unending.
Kate, hoping that everyone had (or is having) lovely holidays!
Friday, December 12, 2008
Health Tips... Or
As many of you have heard, either because I’ve been coughing down the hall or because you’ve emailed, I have been sick. We all got through the big charity event on Saturday (which turned out well, I think), and then promptly collapsed. I’ve been philosophical about it. I’m going home for the holidays next week, so I’m glad that it is not starting as I’m getting myself onto a plane. Last week would have been a disaster. So, all in all, I’ve accepted this with only slightly more complaint than a normal week—ok, that’s a little bit of a lie because I have been whining quite a bit.
I’m not good as a sick person. I’m not one of those people who really likes a lot of nurturing attention when I’m sick. In fact, I’m more like someone who needs to find an empty cave (aka my tiny, dark apartment) and lick my wounds.
I’m also impatient which makes me an even more delightful companion—unless you actually enjoy hearing how someone’s skin hurts and then you might actually find me quite charming. I have things to do, and I have no time for sick, so occasionally, I like to pretend that I have freakishly gotten over the illness in record time.
Yesterday was one of those special pretend days.
I had to go to the store. Despite the fact that I still had a fever and had just woken up from what turned out to be a 15 hour “nap”, I decided that I just had to convince myself that I was fine and get on with it.
So, I got in the car.
Dumb. Very dumb.
I got to the store without incident. I went in, got my stuff without major drama. Technically speaking, I realized that I didn’t have to go out at all because I remembered that I had already bought the thing I was looking for, but that’s not important. Now I have two.
And then I went out to my car—and noticed that it was still running. And that the keys were, obviously, still in the ignition. But the good news is, the doors were totally locked so no one could steal it.
I swear to you, I just stood there and looked at my running car completely perplexed; as though someone else had committed this act of colossal stupidity on my behalf. I looked around. No one else seemed to be stepping forward to take the blame. And I just stared at it.
Another piece of good news—I never replaced the hardtop on the jeep after it was stolen, so it is a soft top. The bad news is because the back was locked down and still full of stuff from the charity event, getting in the back was not going to happen easily. So, I very calmly, in what I am now calling a walking sleep coma, unzipped the side window.
All good right?
Yeah. Have you seen a jeep? Or better yet, have you seen me? I’m not quite 5’3” tall. The top of the tires are above my waist. So, here I was—apparently completely loopy, with a bag in my hand with stuff I didn’t need (because it would have made sense to put it down) essentially climbing my mountain of a car. The challenge doesn’t stop there because it was a back window and there is a support bar that runs across that window. Not a problem. Apparently, sleep coma girl was very flexible. I managed to angle my body above the bar, then twist and then pull my legs into the car where I very properly shut off the ignition, grabbed the keys, and unlocked the door (admittedly, there was about a minute there where I was hanging and wiggling both inside and outside the car). I continued in my “everything is fine, nothing to see here” fashion into the front seat, out the front door, so I could then re-secure the window…. still holding the bag.
Needless to say, I drove home very slowly, and did not try again until this morning. And yes, I checked, the car is off, and I have my keys.
I think we can officially declare me awesome in every possible way.
Hey, at least I didn’t text message the Ex this time.
Kate, still coughing, but on the mend, in LA
I’m not good as a sick person. I’m not one of those people who really likes a lot of nurturing attention when I’m sick. In fact, I’m more like someone who needs to find an empty cave (aka my tiny, dark apartment) and lick my wounds.
I’m also impatient which makes me an even more delightful companion—unless you actually enjoy hearing how someone’s skin hurts and then you might actually find me quite charming. I have things to do, and I have no time for sick, so occasionally, I like to pretend that I have freakishly gotten over the illness in record time.
Yesterday was one of those special pretend days.
I had to go to the store. Despite the fact that I still had a fever and had just woken up from what turned out to be a 15 hour “nap”, I decided that I just had to convince myself that I was fine and get on with it.
So, I got in the car.
Dumb. Very dumb.
I got to the store without incident. I went in, got my stuff without major drama. Technically speaking, I realized that I didn’t have to go out at all because I remembered that I had already bought the thing I was looking for, but that’s not important. Now I have two.
And then I went out to my car—and noticed that it was still running. And that the keys were, obviously, still in the ignition. But the good news is, the doors were totally locked so no one could steal it.
I swear to you, I just stood there and looked at my running car completely perplexed; as though someone else had committed this act of colossal stupidity on my behalf. I looked around. No one else seemed to be stepping forward to take the blame. And I just stared at it.
Another piece of good news—I never replaced the hardtop on the jeep after it was stolen, so it is a soft top. The bad news is because the back was locked down and still full of stuff from the charity event, getting in the back was not going to happen easily. So, I very calmly, in what I am now calling a walking sleep coma, unzipped the side window.
All good right?
Yeah. Have you seen a jeep? Or better yet, have you seen me? I’m not quite 5’3” tall. The top of the tires are above my waist. So, here I was—apparently completely loopy, with a bag in my hand with stuff I didn’t need (because it would have made sense to put it down) essentially climbing my mountain of a car. The challenge doesn’t stop there because it was a back window and there is a support bar that runs across that window. Not a problem. Apparently, sleep coma girl was very flexible. I managed to angle my body above the bar, then twist and then pull my legs into the car where I very properly shut off the ignition, grabbed the keys, and unlocked the door (admittedly, there was about a minute there where I was hanging and wiggling both inside and outside the car). I continued in my “everything is fine, nothing to see here” fashion into the front seat, out the front door, so I could then re-secure the window…. still holding the bag.
Needless to say, I drove home very slowly, and did not try again until this morning. And yes, I checked, the car is off, and I have my keys.
I think we can officially declare me awesome in every possible way.
Hey, at least I didn’t text message the Ex this time.
Kate, still coughing, but on the mend, in LA
Monday, December 08, 2008
Kizmeet
Periodically, I get asked to check out other bloggers, and I thought this site might intrigue you guys.
If you are interested in hearing from a number of different perspectives on the dating scene outside of Los Angeles, you should check out this blog: http://www.kizmeet.com/blog. The blog is an aggregate blog of sorts – it combines perspectives from different love, dating, sex, romance, etc., bloggers from around the U.S. These people actually date and are both entertaining and informative! Be sure to check them out.
If you are interested in hearing from a number of different perspectives on the dating scene outside of Los Angeles, you should check out this blog: http://www.kizmeet.com/blog. The blog is an aggregate blog of sorts – it combines perspectives from different love, dating, sex, romance, etc., bloggers from around the U.S. These people actually date and are both entertaining and informative! Be sure to check them out.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
The Event
And here's Elvis (aka Frank Spotnitz, writer and executive producer of The X-Files). I have to say, I've rarely been more impressed with someone. Frank is an amazingly classy guy, and it's easy to see why he is a fan favorite.
I love our volunteers. We've gone through the first part of tech and now we're working out the details of getting our beloved Elvis in the building. Here are some early pics.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Well, Sure...
http://www.wlwt.com/news/18196466/detail.html
I saw this headline, and I thought of you guys: "Man Says Wife Was Accidentally Shot During Sex".
Well, who hasn't that happened to? I mean, if I had a dime for every time a gun went off when I was having an intimate moment, I'd...um...yeah, I'd still be broke because this doesn't ever happen.
I had to click on the link just to be sure that he wasn't being euphemistic about a "gun going off".
Nope. He meant it. He "accidentally" shot his estranged wife in the chest when he reached for something on the nightstand.
That's just bad luck, that's what that is. There is nothing worse than reaching over for a condom and shooting your date instead. Obviously, there needs to be a warning label somewhere--maybe on the gun, maybe on the condom. Oh, yes, definitely on the condom: "warning: reaching for this when a loaded gun is in the vicinity of your estranged spouse who has a restraining order out against you, could result in you "accidentally" shooting her". Perfect. That should make the lawyers much happier. After all, he's probably very upset about this "accident" and is getting ready to sue somebody because of the lack of that very warning.
Yeah. Nothing suspect about this statement at all. I have absolutely no doubt that he should get over this mistake in about...oh...10 to 20.
Kate
I saw this headline, and I thought of you guys: "Man Says Wife Was Accidentally Shot During Sex".
Well, who hasn't that happened to? I mean, if I had a dime for every time a gun went off when I was having an intimate moment, I'd...um...yeah, I'd still be broke because this doesn't ever happen.
I had to click on the link just to be sure that he wasn't being euphemistic about a "gun going off".
Nope. He meant it. He "accidentally" shot his estranged wife in the chest when he reached for something on the nightstand.
That's just bad luck, that's what that is. There is nothing worse than reaching over for a condom and shooting your date instead. Obviously, there needs to be a warning label somewhere--maybe on the gun, maybe on the condom. Oh, yes, definitely on the condom: "warning: reaching for this when a loaded gun is in the vicinity of your estranged spouse who has a restraining order out against you, could result in you "accidentally" shooting her". Perfect. That should make the lawyers much happier. After all, he's probably very upset about this "accident" and is getting ready to sue somebody because of the lack of that very warning.
Yeah. Nothing suspect about this statement at all. I have absolutely no doubt that he should get over this mistake in about...oh...10 to 20.
Kate
Saturday, November 29, 2008
That Sounds Like Work
I was wandering through my usual set of AOL alerts, and somehow, I ended up on an article that claims that there are 12 kinds of sex that every couple should have. What can I tell you; you can’t put a headline like that in front of me without me clicking on it.
Plus, I was confused…which should be a surprise to no one. I couldn’t figure out what they meant by “kind of sex”. I mean there are only so many orifices, and I was deeply concerned by the number 12 in this scenario. I mean, if nostril sex is suddenly on the table, I’m out. Seriously. I draw the line at nostril sex.
Imagine my temporary relief when I found out it was more like a “typing” reference. They meant things like “make-up sex” and “quickie sex”. Ok. So, once I banished the disturbing imagery of someone trying to shove something up my nose, I was more open to reading what they had to say.
But my relief was short-lived because this sounds like an awful lot of work. I mean, could I combine some of these? Can “quickie sex” be combined with “all over the house” sex? And do I get credit for the fact that I live in a small one bedroom apartment, so “all over the house” isn’t really all that difficult. Sure, difficult for me because boys don’t speak to me, but in theory, if I was resigned to actually having sex again, we wouldn’t have all that much ground to cover.
My friend Pen thinks I need therapy. This might prove her theory because instead of being mildly intrigued by the possibility of all this sex all over the place, all I could think of was “ugh, sex outside just means dirt and stones in places that shouldn’t worry about dirt and stones… plus, it’s just infection city… where’s the bathroom in this scenario?” Maybe I’m just channeling my inner Liz Lemon, but frankly, I’d be pissed if my mate destroyed my favorite Armani shirt because he thinks it’s “animalistic sex” night when actually it’s “leave me the F alone night”.
It’s not that I don’t see the value in all of this supposed sex. In theory, I do. “Make-up sex” holds particularly lovely memories for me, I think… well, from what hazy recollection I have. But right now, I think the best make-up present from a guy would not involve my shaving, plucking, stretching, stuffing or bleaching. Right now, “make-up sex” would involve him offering to give me a back-rub and then doing all the rest of my weekend work for me. That’s the thing that would leave a satisfied smile on my face.
Kate
Plus, I was confused…which should be a surprise to no one. I couldn’t figure out what they meant by “kind of sex”. I mean there are only so many orifices, and I was deeply concerned by the number 12 in this scenario. I mean, if nostril sex is suddenly on the table, I’m out. Seriously. I draw the line at nostril sex.
Imagine my temporary relief when I found out it was more like a “typing” reference. They meant things like “make-up sex” and “quickie sex”. Ok. So, once I banished the disturbing imagery of someone trying to shove something up my nose, I was more open to reading what they had to say.
But my relief was short-lived because this sounds like an awful lot of work. I mean, could I combine some of these? Can “quickie sex” be combined with “all over the house” sex? And do I get credit for the fact that I live in a small one bedroom apartment, so “all over the house” isn’t really all that difficult. Sure, difficult for me because boys don’t speak to me, but in theory, if I was resigned to actually having sex again, we wouldn’t have all that much ground to cover.
My friend Pen thinks I need therapy. This might prove her theory because instead of being mildly intrigued by the possibility of all this sex all over the place, all I could think of was “ugh, sex outside just means dirt and stones in places that shouldn’t worry about dirt and stones… plus, it’s just infection city… where’s the bathroom in this scenario?” Maybe I’m just channeling my inner Liz Lemon, but frankly, I’d be pissed if my mate destroyed my favorite Armani shirt because he thinks it’s “animalistic sex” night when actually it’s “leave me the F alone night”.
It’s not that I don’t see the value in all of this supposed sex. In theory, I do. “Make-up sex” holds particularly lovely memories for me, I think… well, from what hazy recollection I have. But right now, I think the best make-up present from a guy would not involve my shaving, plucking, stretching, stuffing or bleaching. Right now, “make-up sex” would involve him offering to give me a back-rub and then doing all the rest of my weekend work for me. That’s the thing that would leave a satisfied smile on my face.
Kate
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Semen Spy
The holidays are clearly upon us. The halls are already decked—actually the winter holiday decorations have been up since October—and people have that festive glow that is probably panic because they’ve realized how little time they have before they can get everything finished. Or maybe that’s just me. But there is no doubt about it, people have their eyes on the prize (or 8 depending on your December inclinations).
Even though it is not yet Thanksgiving, I’ve had the question “what do you want for Christmas”. Frankly, I love this question. It’s so much better than “when are you going to get that damn thing finished” or “you realize your childbearing years are basically over”. The problem is not in the asking, but in the answering. How do I answer that question? I want a career that makes me feel passionately happy on occasion rather than chronically unfulfilled. I want to option this book and have the writer I want agree to do the adaptation for no reason other than he finds me personally intriguing. I want the charity event to be the most amazing thing ever (did I mention that director Rob Bowman is joining Frank Spotnitz for the Q&A), and raise a huge amount of money for NF (which is wildly under-funded for a disease this widespread). I’d like to find a relationship that is immediately comfortable with a man of honor who also finds the war on pubic hair disturbing. The problem is, none of these things fits well into a stocking.
There is one present; however, I really don’t want to receive. Also, don’t ask for it. Ok, maybe you can ask for it because it might be funny, right before it drives you insane. The present? The Semen Spy.
No, I’m not kidding this device actually exists. While it started out as a forensic tool for police departments and detectives, it has crossed over into the commercial world just in time for the holidays. Honestly, I can’t wait to see the ad campaigns. “Gentleman, think your woman is a cheating whore? Buy our product and see the glowing stains to prove it before you throw her skank ass out… also available in green.” Or “think the mailman looks a little too happy when he glances through your door? Before you set the dogs on him, turn out the lights and see the spray”.
I get how using this at the office would make sense. You might be reasonably sure that your husband and his frothy friend aren’t banging on the desk, so if the desk lights up like a Christmas tree for residue, you might have cause for confrontation. But otherwise, I don’t really understand how this is supposed to work for the average jealous mate. From what I can tell, it only shows you where the presence of semen has been. This isn’t television—there is no magical caption that pops that reads “Bob’s sperm—oh, wait, your name isn’t Bob. Burn.” So, guys, you better make darn sure you haven’t been spending some quality time on that couch before you hose it down for a little weekend forensics. Also, ladies, be careful. If you come home and find your man fondling your underwear, he may not have a panty fetish after all. No, he might just be waving a UV wand over Victoria’s Secret before swabbing them for a sample.
God bless relationships and the madness they bring. I mean, how could this possibly go wrong? Oh, and I’d like to point out that thus far, there is no female equivalent. No, ladies, if you are looking for trace vagina evidence on your man’s cigars, you’ll have to wait until next Christmas.
Ah, the holidays. You can just feel the good will flowing, can’t you?
Kate
P.S. I do, however, completely endorse the spy camera with the lens that looks like a dime. I’d like one of those, please.
Even though it is not yet Thanksgiving, I’ve had the question “what do you want for Christmas”. Frankly, I love this question. It’s so much better than “when are you going to get that damn thing finished” or “you realize your childbearing years are basically over”. The problem is not in the asking, but in the answering. How do I answer that question? I want a career that makes me feel passionately happy on occasion rather than chronically unfulfilled. I want to option this book and have the writer I want agree to do the adaptation for no reason other than he finds me personally intriguing. I want the charity event to be the most amazing thing ever (did I mention that director Rob Bowman is joining Frank Spotnitz for the Q&A), and raise a huge amount of money for NF (which is wildly under-funded for a disease this widespread). I’d like to find a relationship that is immediately comfortable with a man of honor who also finds the war on pubic hair disturbing. The problem is, none of these things fits well into a stocking.
There is one present; however, I really don’t want to receive. Also, don’t ask for it. Ok, maybe you can ask for it because it might be funny, right before it drives you insane. The present? The Semen Spy.
No, I’m not kidding this device actually exists. While it started out as a forensic tool for police departments and detectives, it has crossed over into the commercial world just in time for the holidays. Honestly, I can’t wait to see the ad campaigns. “Gentleman, think your woman is a cheating whore? Buy our product and see the glowing stains to prove it before you throw her skank ass out… also available in green.” Or “think the mailman looks a little too happy when he glances through your door? Before you set the dogs on him, turn out the lights and see the spray”.
I get how using this at the office would make sense. You might be reasonably sure that your husband and his frothy friend aren’t banging on the desk, so if the desk lights up like a Christmas tree for residue, you might have cause for confrontation. But otherwise, I don’t really understand how this is supposed to work for the average jealous mate. From what I can tell, it only shows you where the presence of semen has been. This isn’t television—there is no magical caption that pops that reads “Bob’s sperm—oh, wait, your name isn’t Bob. Burn.” So, guys, you better make darn sure you haven’t been spending some quality time on that couch before you hose it down for a little weekend forensics. Also, ladies, be careful. If you come home and find your man fondling your underwear, he may not have a panty fetish after all. No, he might just be waving a UV wand over Victoria’s Secret before swabbing them for a sample.
God bless relationships and the madness they bring. I mean, how could this possibly go wrong? Oh, and I’d like to point out that thus far, there is no female equivalent. No, ladies, if you are looking for trace vagina evidence on your man’s cigars, you’ll have to wait until next Christmas.
Ah, the holidays. You can just feel the good will flowing, can’t you?
Kate
P.S. I do, however, completely endorse the spy camera with the lens that looks like a dime. I’d like one of those, please.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
I’m Not Sure That’s What Fate Meant
That fate thing has a wicked sense of humor. When I pulled out items from the grab bag of fate, I was happy to have a mission, but expressed a bit of disappointment. I had planned for these to be huge, life-changing action plans, but what I got were things that I had probably planned on doing anyway. Little did I know that while not dramatically life-changing yet, the items have started to take on lives of their own.
Take this one: Attend Charity Events and Actually Converse with Strangers at Event. Sounds simple, right? I’m a giver. My one big skill in life is writing checks. I’m not a poet or a song writer, but give me a checkbook, and I can make it sing. I do also attend charity events, but I sit in the back, and if there are strangers around, I hide behind a well-placed plant.
But fate has a sense of humor, and I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to hide at this one.
I’ve gotten involved with a great group of ladies who are actual “doers”—and no, get your heads out of the gutter right now, that’s not what I mean! I mean, that when they have an idea, they make it happen. That’s a pretty rare skill. I meet a lot of people who have good ideas, and then never pursue them (including me). I meet a lot of people who say they are going to do something, and then they disappear. But these ladies—these ladies mean business. And there is no way I’m going to be able to hide from strangers.
What is the event?
Take this one: Attend Charity Events and Actually Converse with Strangers at Event. Sounds simple, right? I’m a giver. My one big skill in life is writing checks. I’m not a poet or a song writer, but give me a checkbook, and I can make it sing. I do also attend charity events, but I sit in the back, and if there are strangers around, I hide behind a well-placed plant.
But fate has a sense of humor, and I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to hide at this one.
I’ve gotten involved with a great group of ladies who are actual “doers”—and no, get your heads out of the gutter right now, that’s not what I mean! I mean, that when they have an idea, they make it happen. That’s a pretty rare skill. I meet a lot of people who have good ideas, and then never pursue them (including me). I meet a lot of people who say they are going to do something, and then they disappear. But these ladies—these ladies mean business. And there is no way I’m going to be able to hide from strangers.
What is the event?
THE "INSPIRED BY GILLIAN" TEAM PROUDLY ANNOUNCES SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCES BY THE X-FILES' EXEC. PROD. & WRITER FRANK SPOTNITZ AND DIRECTOR ROB BOWMAN!!
MR. SPOTNITZ AND MR. BOWMAN WILL ENGAGE ATTENDEES IN A 30 MIN. Q&A AT THE SCREENING EVENT, MODERATED BY TV GUIDE'S ERIN FOX!!
Please join the "Inspired By" Gillian" team, in association with 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment, for The X-Files double-feature charity screening extravaganza!! In order to celebrate the release of The X-Files: I Want To Believe and on DVD/Blu-Ray and to honour Gillian Anderson's talent and philanthropy, we will be holding a fundraiser screening of FIGHT THE FUTURE and I WANT TO BELIEVE back-to-back!!
This is a charity event being held to solely benefit the organisation Neurofibromatosis, Inc. 100% of the proceeds from the screening will be sent in Ms. Anderson's name on behalf of Philes worldwide.WHEN -&- WHERE
Time:
Saturday, December 6, 2008 from 2:30pm - 7:30pmLocation: Regency Fairfax Theatre
Street: 7907 Beverly Blvd.
City/Town: Los Angeles, CACONTACT
INFO.xfscreeningevent@inspiredbygillian.com
TICKETS: Tickets are on sale now at $50 per person and include:
*Q&A with Frank Spotnitz and Rob Bowman moderated by TV Guide’s Erin Fox
*screening of Fight The Future
*screening of I Want To Believe
*popcorn and soda
*commemorative programme
*a brief speech from a representative from Neurofibromatosis, Inc., who will also be on hand to distribute information and answer any questions.
*your name and brief note included in the letter and event scrapbook being sent to Ms. Anderson.
I can’t even begin to tell you how all of this happened. I’m not sure any of us anticipated how incredibly generous Gillian Anderson was going to be. I’m not sure any of us anticipated how available and generous Frank Spotnitz and Rob Bowman were going to be. I’m positive no one saw Fox Home Entertainment giving us a call.
Hollywood tends to get a bad rap. The image is of a place that is pretty selfish or at least entirely self-serving, and not particularly interested in the “nobody”. But, knock on wood, all we’ve encountered so far are extremely helpful, interested people—and that’s all the way down the line from assistants to managers to business partners to the studio to the “creatives” themselves.
I think you should all come out for the event!! But if you can’t come out to see me potentially pass out when forced to speak to strangers (an event, in and of itself that should not be missed), but you are interested in helping out the charity, there are a couple of ways you can do that, too:
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/xfmoviesscreening
And if that’s not your thing, how about an auction of memorabilia?MILES ADRIFT, INCHES APART
Can't make it to the event? Purchase the
long-distance package for $20 which includes:
*information from Neurofibromatosis, Inc.
*one commemorative event programme
*your name and brief note included in the letter and event scrapbook being sent to Ms. Anderson.
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/auction
I hope to see you guys at the event. And if not at the event, I hope to see you jumping into the bidding fray.All proceeds will go to NF, Inc. in tandem with the screening event, on behalf of Philes worldwide in honour of Gillian Anderson.
We are very excited to have nine signed photos from Gillian Anderson available for auction. The first wave will commence on Friday, November 14th, 2008. The photos will be available for bidding three at a time, along with beautiful I Want To Believe trading card sets donated by the lovely Jacqueline Lopez, a friend and fellow Phile.
We will be adding more items each week.Please keep checking back frequently for auction news and updates!!
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currently available for this wave of biddingGillian Anderson signed editorial shot: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=170279341153
Gillian Anderson signed promo photo for The X-Files: Fight the Future:
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=170279340431Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny dual-autographed promo photo from The
X-Files: I Want to Believe:
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=170279338877
Also, if you could pray that I don’t have a complete panic attack between now and then, that would be great, too.
Deep breath in… deep breath out…deep breath in… deep breath out…
Kate
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wrong!
Well, that’s just wrong! Sark-A-Like and I have been divided by cruel fate. He has been taken away to Department 1A—which sounds vaguely sinister and akin to being drafted into some type of clandestine service to plan for world domination. Of course, he’ll hear none of those plans because of that earphone fetish he seems to be sporting. But no matter! Sure, I can hope that they reject him in a way that I never would, and send him back to the assembly room. But what if they don’t? Tragedy.
Jury Duty
Are there two words that make you groan more often than “jury duty”? It’s not that I don’t understand my civic obligations. I do. But I appear to be the State of California’s favorite juror. This is my fifth summons in seven years. I think we can all agree that this is a tad excessive. For the first time ever, I nearly contemplated shredding it when it came. None of my friends get called as often as I do.
Then you know what everyone said to me? Don’t worry, they’ll never pick you. They never pick smart or outspoken people to be on juries. It’s bad for the defense.
Well, on the one hand, that’s very sweet that they think I’m smart and outspoken. On the other hand, I’ve been placed on a jury twice. So, um… yeah.
I’d like to say that among my highlights of jury service has been the meeting of wonderful men, full of dating potential. Not so much. I do remember a particularly lovely person a couple of years ago—juror #8. I never knew his name, and he was not placed on the jury. I watched him walk out of the room with a deep sadness. I spent the next two weeks wishing that both his intellect and his lovely eyes were still around.
Today had some promise. As usual, I walked through the hall in my own world. I sat down on a bench waiting for the doors to the assembly room to open. Much to my delight when I did clue in, I noticed that I was sitting next to a man who looked suspiciously like the man who played Sark on Alias.
Things were looking up.
True to form, Sark-A-Like has shown absolutely no interest. I’ve smiled, and he’s looked down. I’ve said things like “thank you” and “excuse me”, and he’s nodded. He’s talked to the guy on the other side of him. He’s talked to the woman in front of him. He has not looked at me.
He has no ring. He’s a little young, but I’m revising my age restrictions in both directions anyway—at this point, I can’t afford to be too specific. He’s clean and presentable, but not metro. He appears to have an unhealthy obsession with his iPod, though.
Short of hitting Sark-A-Like on the back of the head, I’m out of ideas. Plus, I understand that California’s jury system frowns upon anything that resembles actual acts of violence in the jury room. I know—picky, picky, picky. I mean, they drag us down here, and then they severely limit the entertainment factor.
Any words of wisdom from the peanut gallery on this pressing matter of national, strategic importance?
Kate, hoping to be in this jury room all day
Then you know what everyone said to me? Don’t worry, they’ll never pick you. They never pick smart or outspoken people to be on juries. It’s bad for the defense.
Well, on the one hand, that’s very sweet that they think I’m smart and outspoken. On the other hand, I’ve been placed on a jury twice. So, um… yeah.
I’d like to say that among my highlights of jury service has been the meeting of wonderful men, full of dating potential. Not so much. I do remember a particularly lovely person a couple of years ago—juror #8. I never knew his name, and he was not placed on the jury. I watched him walk out of the room with a deep sadness. I spent the next two weeks wishing that both his intellect and his lovely eyes were still around.
Today had some promise. As usual, I walked through the hall in my own world. I sat down on a bench waiting for the doors to the assembly room to open. Much to my delight when I did clue in, I noticed that I was sitting next to a man who looked suspiciously like the man who played Sark on Alias.
Things were looking up.
True to form, Sark-A-Like has shown absolutely no interest. I’ve smiled, and he’s looked down. I’ve said things like “thank you” and “excuse me”, and he’s nodded. He’s talked to the guy on the other side of him. He’s talked to the woman in front of him. He has not looked at me.
He has no ring. He’s a little young, but I’m revising my age restrictions in both directions anyway—at this point, I can’t afford to be too specific. He’s clean and presentable, but not metro. He appears to have an unhealthy obsession with his iPod, though.
Short of hitting Sark-A-Like on the back of the head, I’m out of ideas. Plus, I understand that California’s jury system frowns upon anything that resembles actual acts of violence in the jury room. I know—picky, picky, picky. I mean, they drag us down here, and then they severely limit the entertainment factor.
Any words of wisdom from the peanut gallery on this pressing matter of national, strategic importance?
Kate, hoping to be in this jury room all day
Thursday, November 06, 2008
It Sounded Like A Good Idea At The Time
I’m confident when I say that none of us are perfect beings. I’m relatively sure that most of us can say that there have been incidents in our lives that we look back upon with chagrin. Some of us have probably had close calls, and somehow the whims of the universe managed not to slap us down—we may have even learned something in the process.
But this guy… well, it probably sounded like a good idea at the time. In the off chance that you also have homes with some debris that needs clearing, please keep this one salient fact in mind: never, ever use a blowtorch to get rid of cobwebs.
http://www.cbs46.com/news/17919628/detail.html
Confess—how many times have you done something ridiculous and had the moment of realization after the fact? What is your “it sounded like a good idea at the time” moment?
For me, I remember hitchhiking in the Soviet Union with a group of people after getting stranded on an adventure that we shouldn’t have been on in the first place. While an effective way to get back to the hotel before the bridges were raised—it was probably not the safest means of transport. When we finally got back the hotel, I do remember thinking “wow, that was incredibly stupid”. Youth. It’s my only excuse.
Kate
But this guy… well, it probably sounded like a good idea at the time. In the off chance that you also have homes with some debris that needs clearing, please keep this one salient fact in mind: never, ever use a blowtorch to get rid of cobwebs.
http://www.cbs46.com/news/17919628/detail.html
Confess—how many times have you done something ridiculous and had the moment of realization after the fact? What is your “it sounded like a good idea at the time” moment?
For me, I remember hitchhiking in the Soviet Union with a group of people after getting stranded on an adventure that we shouldn’t have been on in the first place. While an effective way to get back to the hotel before the bridges were raised—it was probably not the safest means of transport. When we finally got back the hotel, I do remember thinking “wow, that was incredibly stupid”. Youth. It’s my only excuse.
Kate
I Kid You Not
Little did I know that I had stumbled on to the new hot topic in dating: the affair. Check out this TMZ article:
http://www.tmz.com/2008/11/06/dating-site-for-cheaters-scores/
That’s right; the tag line is “Life is Short. Have an Affair.” That lovely ad, complete with sentiment, will be running in Super Bowl programs – I guess we can at least be glad that they don’t have air time yet. Thank goodness the Super Bowl is never a family event…. oh, wait. On the upside, it could signal a valuable lesson for the kids about betrayal and how people have the morals of muskrats (side note, apologies to muskrats as you may actually have deeply profound morals, unlike the people who frequent those cheating websites, and I am just unaware of them.)
Well, thank goodness all of us heterosexuals are busy supporting the sanctity of marriage. If you just lost your marriage to the ridiculousness of Prop 8 here in California, you must really love seeing this.
What the hell is wrong with people?
http://www.tmz.com/2008/11/06/dating-site-for-cheaters-scores/
That’s right; the tag line is “Life is Short. Have an Affair.” That lovely ad, complete with sentiment, will be running in Super Bowl programs – I guess we can at least be glad that they don’t have air time yet. Thank goodness the Super Bowl is never a family event…. oh, wait. On the upside, it could signal a valuable lesson for the kids about betrayal and how people have the morals of muskrats (side note, apologies to muskrats as you may actually have deeply profound morals, unlike the people who frequent those cheating websites, and I am just unaware of them.)
Well, thank goodness all of us heterosexuals are busy supporting the sanctity of marriage. If you just lost your marriage to the ridiculousness of Prop 8 here in California, you must really love seeing this.
What the hell is wrong with people?
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Should I Take That Personally?
What is it with the ads that adorn my pages these days? Check out the one I found on my Myspace page the other day:
"We Delete Members Unfit to Date".
Wow. Because my self-esteem in the dating arena isn’t shaky enough, now I have to worry about being rejected as “unfit to date”.
How the hell do they determine whether or not someone is unfit to date? I mean are they using criteria like criminal records? If a person has been convicted on multiple counts of rape, the liability issues alone might make that person look like a bad candidate. That would make sense to me. Maybe this particular service is just really looking out for its customers. Maybe you have to submit blood tests and social security numbers so they can screen out for STDs and nefarious deeds (and existing marriage licenses). All those things would be helpful. I might even be tempted (might, I said might!) to consider giving them a shot.
However…
Why do I get a feeling that in actuality the dating service is more like the modern day version of the junior high school slam book? I have this image of a bunch of bitchy high school girls sitting around saying things like:
How the hell do they determine whether or not someone is unfit to date? I mean are they using criteria like criminal records? If a person has been convicted on multiple counts of rape, the liability issues alone might make that person look like a bad candidate. That would make sense to me. Maybe this particular service is just really looking out for its customers. Maybe you have to submit blood tests and social security numbers so they can screen out for STDs and nefarious deeds (and existing marriage licenses). All those things would be helpful. I might even be tempted (might, I said might!) to consider giving them a shot.
However…
Why do I get a feeling that in actuality the dating service is more like the modern day version of the junior high school slam book? I have this image of a bunch of bitchy high school girls sitting around saying things like:
“OH EM GEE, did you see her profile picture? That shirt was totally last season. She’s going to drag our numbers down.”
Or
“I can’t believe this girl didn’t think to get her teeth capped before taking that profile photo. Next!”
Or
“I heard from Stacey’s mom’s brother’s ex-boyfriend’s assistant gardener that she might still have pubic hair, and she’s never bleached her anus. What the F? She’s totally unfit to live, let alone date.”
No, I’m not just looking for excuses not to try online dating. Why would you say that?
Kate
Kate
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
That Ad Says What?
I’m not a big fan of adultery. Don’t believe me?
My friend Pen was having a bit of a sleep, and the dream that filtered through was of Pen having (no doubt) deep and meaningful conversation with a certain married actor. Apparently, this moment of great intellectual discourse with the man who once played someone tall, dark and spooky became… um… romantic. But just as she was moving from osculating to something a bit more horizontal, she stopped. And she told him “no, I can’t.” Why? She claims to have heard a little voice in her head saying “this is wrong—he’s married”. That’s right. She heard me. From that day on, she has referred to me as “Kate, the Fantasy Killer”. It’s a moniker I take great pride in, mostly because I like to be difficult (t-shirts will be available in the lobby). For some reason, she was slightly less amused that I’m moralizing in her dreams, but hey… we’ve all got a calling.
Anyway, with certain exceptions (and I’m betting some of you can figure out what those are), I’m not someone who is going to enable that kind of extracurricular activity. So, imagine my shock when I saw this ad running on my blog about the lovely and talented Bonnie Hunt, courtesy of Google:
My friend Pen was having a bit of a sleep, and the dream that filtered through was of Pen having (no doubt) deep and meaningful conversation with a certain married actor. Apparently, this moment of great intellectual discourse with the man who once played someone tall, dark and spooky became… um… romantic. But just as she was moving from osculating to something a bit more horizontal, she stopped. And she told him “no, I can’t.” Why? She claims to have heard a little voice in her head saying “this is wrong—he’s married”. That’s right. She heard me. From that day on, she has referred to me as “Kate, the Fantasy Killer”. It’s a moniker I take great pride in, mostly because I like to be difficult (t-shirts will be available in the lobby). For some reason, she was slightly less amused that I’m moralizing in her dreams, but hey… we’ve all got a calling.
Anyway, with certain exceptions (and I’m betting some of you can figure out what those are), I’m not someone who is going to enable that kind of extracurricular activity. So, imagine my shock when I saw this ad running on my blog about the lovely and talented Bonnie Hunt, courtesy of Google:
Nice. How about an ad that says:
- “Married, but feel unfulfilled—talk to your spouse”
- “Married, but feel unfulfilled because you are a selfish bastard”
- “Married, but think the world is yours to screw with because you’re completely entitled to be the center of the universe”
- “Married, but you don’t think the rules apply to you”
- “Married, but took those vows to be more like helpful suggestions than anything truly binding”
- “Married, but because she’s working, taking care of the kids and the house, she didn’t spend enough time oooh and ahhhhing over your stupid court case-- so you think it’s ok to hook up with someone who will be more suitably impressed with you?”
- “Married, but like the idea of splitting everything you own because you live in a community property state”
- “Married, but miss the possibility of catching an STD that makes your dick shrivel”
- “Married, but your picture of your life always involved someone much younger and blonde, and what the heck, you’ve earned her”
- “Married, but getting a promotion, and your current wife doesn’t match your new office”
Kate, The Fantasy Killer (and just slightly disgusted)
Monday, October 27, 2008
Bonnie Hunt Show
Bonnie did a recent segment on her new talk show where she was reunited with an old crush. Apparently, she had been talking on the show about a man she used to see in the old neighborhood. Her producers were let loose (those rapscallions!), and they end up reuniting her not just with the old crush, but all the guys in that crew on the show.
The experience was so great for her, that she has decided that she wants to do it for viewers. If you have an old crush, old flame, old casual object of daydreaming desire, she would like you to write in to her show at bonniehunt.com and give her the details.
Wow. Hands up if you think I could really get myself into trouble with this. I mean, what if I said I had a crush as a younger woman on … um… George Clooney. ;) She never specified that it had to be a person with whom I spent significant time. It’s not like he and I haven’t had some interaction. I spent some long shooting days on the same set as the delightful Mr. Duchovny. Does that count? I took Pen to see Alex O’Loughlin at Paley, so technically I spent several hours with him, too. Also, I have spent countless hours watching the work of these fine men. It just seems wrong to discount all of those positive memories in favor of a technicality.
Now if you want to be a stickler for the rules (whatever), I’m not sure who I would pick. I’m fairly certain it would be a bad idea to select any of my actual ex-boyfriends—either because there were excellent reasons to get the hell away from them, or because they have since married (and wives just don’t seem to embrace these reunions for some reason). I outgrew most of my teen crushes within days/weeks regardless of the circumstances. I’m sure there were some school girl crushes, but I can’t even remember those names.
How about you guys? If she continues to unfairly discriminate against uniting us with celebrity crushes, is there someone (or several someones—I don’t judge… ok, I totally do, but not in this case) who you’d submit? Because if there is, you need to go to bonniehunt.com right now and submit your story. I need to live vicariously through you.
Kate
The experience was so great for her, that she has decided that she wants to do it for viewers. If you have an old crush, old flame, old casual object of daydreaming desire, she would like you to write in to her show at bonniehunt.com and give her the details.
Wow. Hands up if you think I could really get myself into trouble with this. I mean, what if I said I had a crush as a younger woman on … um… George Clooney. ;) She never specified that it had to be a person with whom I spent significant time. It’s not like he and I haven’t had some interaction. I spent some long shooting days on the same set as the delightful Mr. Duchovny. Does that count? I took Pen to see Alex O’Loughlin at Paley, so technically I spent several hours with him, too. Also, I have spent countless hours watching the work of these fine men. It just seems wrong to discount all of those positive memories in favor of a technicality.
Now if you want to be a stickler for the rules (whatever), I’m not sure who I would pick. I’m fairly certain it would be a bad idea to select any of my actual ex-boyfriends—either because there were excellent reasons to get the hell away from them, or because they have since married (and wives just don’t seem to embrace these reunions for some reason). I outgrew most of my teen crushes within days/weeks regardless of the circumstances. I’m sure there were some school girl crushes, but I can’t even remember those names.
How about you guys? If she continues to unfairly discriminate against uniting us with celebrity crushes, is there someone (or several someones—I don’t judge… ok, I totally do, but not in this case) who you’d submit? Because if there is, you need to go to bonniehunt.com right now and submit your story. I need to live vicariously through you.
Kate
Sunday, October 19, 2008
5 Months: The Drawing
So, we left piece of the next five months of my life up to fate. I have to admit, I found the idea kind of exciting. I added many options ranging from the easy (“go back to dance class”) to the slightly more difficult (“become a ninja”).
It didn’t turn out like I thought it would.
I thought I’d be faced with huge life choices because let’s face it, becoming a ninja would probably take hard work and some training. Instead, fate had me grab some things that are going to be a challenge to quantify and all in line with things I probably would have done anyway.
What does that mean?
Check out the video for the drawing results:
So, there you have it:
1. Go Back to Dance Class. Physically and, probably, emotionally, this is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. I stopped dancing about a year and a half ago. Some of the hesitance to return is based on physical limitations, and some of it was just feeling overscheduled. I dropped the class and kept promising to go back once my life loosened up a bit. That never happened. I guess Fate has decided it’s time.
2. Sell or Produce the Kate Dating web-series. We’ve talked about this from time to time. I’ve started writing it. But I must admit that I keep second guessing it. Grant it, it’s a fictionalization, but it will require me to make some changes to my actual life. And if it’s successful, that will require some even bigger choices to be made. Clearly, Fate has spoken, though. Onward!
3. At Least Once A Week, Open Mind to New Ideas (and say “yes”). This one was added at the last moment by a friend of mine at work. I’m not sure how we’re going to quantify this exactly, but I suppose it means that once a week, I’ll have to do the opposite of my instinctual response (which is always “no”). We’ll see how this one goes.
Because the first one is reasonably easy to achieve, I did end up drawing a fourth.
4. Attend Charity Events and Actually Converse with Strangers at Event. This seems like an easy one, doesn’t it? Obviously, you’ve heard about me attending various charity events (like Clooney’s premiere) so you’d think this one would be a gimme. The trick here is that I have to once again countermand my natural instinct to avoid speaking to the people in attendance. Like Ricky Gervais’ character in Ghost Town says “it’s not that I hate crowds, it’s that I hate the people in them”. Kidding, I don’t hate all of them. I just tend to avoid awkward interactions, and I have no ability to strike up conversations with strangers (ok, unless it’s X-Files related, and then I’m practically Anderson Cooper).
So, these are the things that Fate decided for me. I have to say, part of me was really cheering for “be a ninja”, so I think in some ways I’m disappointed. Maybe I was hoping Fate would force me to make the huge alterations to my life that, in my more rational phases, I can’t decide to make on my own. Maybe the key is to take these initial options and really make them into big moments.
Stay tuned.
P.S. I'd like to point out that there were a number of "dating x,y,z" cards in the bag, and none of them came up. Even Fate thinks that my dating is too much to ask.
Kate
http://katedating.blogspot.com
http://cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com
Friday, October 17, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Last Minute Suggestions
Get your last minute suggestions in for my new life campaign before noon tomorrow! The dart board of fate goes live at that point. I have 12 possible options right now for changing the direction of certain elements of my life. I'll let you know the three winners this weekend.
And no-- I will not add Duchovny to my dart board of fate following his separation. But I like where your heads are at. Keep them coming!
And no-- I will not add Duchovny to my dart board of fate following his separation. But I like where your heads are at. Keep them coming!
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The XF3 Tease
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the waters... or in my case, back to the blog, The X-Files and another movie become a slightly bigger possibility. Sure, it's early days, and this could just be deflection.
But...
http://www.moviehole.net/200816094-another-x-files-movie
...
FOX chairman Tom Rothman told IESB today that, despite the lackluster performance of the latter, there's still the possibility of another - and he's leaving it up to the cast and crew as to whether they'd like to see that happen.
‘'It's really up to Chris [Carter], David [Duchovny] and Gillian [Anderson]", Rothman tells the site. ...
===
So, in addition to all the other suggestions you have sent for my dart board of fate (which should be ready on Friday), I'm adding "get cast in XF3". It is true that I wont be able to achieve that in the next 5 months, but I could start the process of making it possible. Yep, it's going on a card on that board!
Now, all I need to know is how to best go about groveling to make this happen...
But...
http://www.moviehole.net/200816094-another-x-files-movie
...
FOX chairman Tom Rothman told IESB today that, despite the lackluster performance of the latter, there's still the possibility of another - and he's leaving it up to the cast and crew as to whether they'd like to see that happen.
‘'It's really up to Chris [Carter], David [Duchovny] and Gillian [Anderson]", Rothman tells the site. ...
===
So, in addition to all the other suggestions you have sent for my dart board of fate (which should be ready on Friday), I'm adding "get cast in XF3". It is true that I wont be able to achieve that in the next 5 months, but I could start the process of making it possible. Yep, it's going on a card on that board!
Now, all I need to know is how to best go about groveling to make this happen...
Friday, October 10, 2008
Five Month Plan
I’m sitting in the waiting room of the Jeep service station, waiting for my car after an oil change. Yes, that’s right. I know how to party on my vacation days. Because I have rare uninterrupted time to write (and I’m not seething because I’ve stupidly locked myself out of my apartment), I thought I’d share with you my new plan.
I have five months to make a new life for myself.
I know this sounds drastic, but I’m not happy, and things need to change. My friend Pen inspired me because she has roughly a 22 month plan for changing her life. I don’t think I have that kind of time. Let’s just say a birthday is coming up—a birthday I have dealt with by putting my hands over my ears and singing “LA LA LA LA LA LA”. Since that approach has not successfully kept time from moving forward, I’ve decided to do something more productive.
Now, I don’t mean that everything in my life will change. For instance, I have a close relationship with my parents. So, that stays. I have some friends I actually like (I know, this sort of violates the whole “I hate people” mantra I have, but go with it). But there is a lot of stuff in my life that I do not like, and this will change. I feel like I’ve been sleep-walking through my life, and I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t get that time back, and continuing to waste it seems like an unforgivable sin.
The only problem is, I’m not sure I have a plan. We jokingly decided on the “Dart Board of Fate”. Literally, I’d put cards up of my various options for the next five months, and then I’d throw three darts and see which ones will have to happen. I suppose I’d have to close my eyes to truly leave this up to fate, but that might be dangerous for anyone standing in the vicinity.
I know the things I don’t love, but I don’t know how to fix them. The job has seen better days, but it pays my rent well. In this economy, looking for a new job sounds like something fairly challenging. Investment banks are usually a good bet for people like me—but let’s face it, investment banks aren’t good bets for anyone right now. So, unless I make a huge move (personal assistant to Mr. Clooney kind of huge), I’m not sure how that one is going to shake out. And just for the record, I don’t have the temperament for personal assistant work. The first time someone asked me to get them a car/cab from Los Angeles while they are in Germany, I’d quit because working for someone that helpless
(or lazy) would annoy me.
I don’t have a house. This is not a shock in Los Angeles. People have cars here, not homes because the market is still way over valued here. This economy may take care of that, but so far, the three bedroom cape cod style house up the street is still over $2 million. In other words, the price is still just slightly more than I can afford at this time.
Of course, there is the love life. If I’ve proven one thing with this blog, it’s that LA is truly where dating comes to die. I’ve had a friend try to set me up with a friend of her boyfriend. Apparently, the threat of dating me was so strong and disturbing that not only did the date not happen, but they are no longer friends with the guy. Sweet. I said yes to a guy who said the always not helpful “we should get a drink sometime”. Yeah, as you might recall, he left the country two days later, and I’ve never heard from again. My hair-dresser was going to set me up with that guy who saw me getting my hair dyed and still thought I was cute (clearly deranged, but I agreed anyway). She never saw him again. There was the guy who was supposed to meet me at that movie premiere, and he… wait for it… never showed up, and I never heard from him again. So, I’m either the agent of dating death, or luck is really not on my side.
Despite all of this, I am still determined to make the next 5 months infinitely more interesting than it would be if I just continued to do what I do—hide in my apartment, watch the X-Files and work.
Feel free to send suggestions for the cards that will go up on the “Dart Board of Fate”. I’m hoping to start throwing darts at something by the end of next week. Of course, those darts might be heading at people rather than plans, but either way, things would definitely change.
Kate
I have five months to make a new life for myself.
I know this sounds drastic, but I’m not happy, and things need to change. My friend Pen inspired me because she has roughly a 22 month plan for changing her life. I don’t think I have that kind of time. Let’s just say a birthday is coming up—a birthday I have dealt with by putting my hands over my ears and singing “LA LA LA LA LA LA”. Since that approach has not successfully kept time from moving forward, I’ve decided to do something more productive.
Now, I don’t mean that everything in my life will change. For instance, I have a close relationship with my parents. So, that stays. I have some friends I actually like (I know, this sort of violates the whole “I hate people” mantra I have, but go with it). But there is a lot of stuff in my life that I do not like, and this will change. I feel like I’ve been sleep-walking through my life, and I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t get that time back, and continuing to waste it seems like an unforgivable sin.
The only problem is, I’m not sure I have a plan. We jokingly decided on the “Dart Board of Fate”. Literally, I’d put cards up of my various options for the next five months, and then I’d throw three darts and see which ones will have to happen. I suppose I’d have to close my eyes to truly leave this up to fate, but that might be dangerous for anyone standing in the vicinity.
I know the things I don’t love, but I don’t know how to fix them. The job has seen better days, but it pays my rent well. In this economy, looking for a new job sounds like something fairly challenging. Investment banks are usually a good bet for people like me—but let’s face it, investment banks aren’t good bets for anyone right now. So, unless I make a huge move (personal assistant to Mr. Clooney kind of huge), I’m not sure how that one is going to shake out. And just for the record, I don’t have the temperament for personal assistant work. The first time someone asked me to get them a car/cab from Los Angeles while they are in Germany, I’d quit because working for someone that helpless
(or lazy) would annoy me.
I don’t have a house. This is not a shock in Los Angeles. People have cars here, not homes because the market is still way over valued here. This economy may take care of that, but so far, the three bedroom cape cod style house up the street is still over $2 million. In other words, the price is still just slightly more than I can afford at this time.
Of course, there is the love life. If I’ve proven one thing with this blog, it’s that LA is truly where dating comes to die. I’ve had a friend try to set me up with a friend of her boyfriend. Apparently, the threat of dating me was so strong and disturbing that not only did the date not happen, but they are no longer friends with the guy. Sweet. I said yes to a guy who said the always not helpful “we should get a drink sometime”. Yeah, as you might recall, he left the country two days later, and I’ve never heard from again. My hair-dresser was going to set me up with that guy who saw me getting my hair dyed and still thought I was cute (clearly deranged, but I agreed anyway). She never saw him again. There was the guy who was supposed to meet me at that movie premiere, and he… wait for it… never showed up, and I never heard from him again. So, I’m either the agent of dating death, or luck is really not on my side.
Despite all of this, I am still determined to make the next 5 months infinitely more interesting than it would be if I just continued to do what I do—hide in my apartment, watch the X-Files and work.
Feel free to send suggestions for the cards that will go up on the “Dart Board of Fate”. I’m hoping to start throwing darts at something by the end of next week. Of course, those darts might be heading at people rather than plans, but either way, things would definitely change.
Kate
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Valuable Advice
I very rarely give people financial advice. However, for people who are very concerned about the financial upheaval we are currently facing, I give you the following helpful guide (forwarded to me by the brilliant DM):
Monday, September 29, 2008
Weird
Do you ever lose things, and I mean really lose them, despite the fact that there is no real way they could have gone missing?
I lost a chocolate croissant. I’m serious. Now, I realize that for those of you who have seen my ass in motion lately this might seem like a good thing. But it’s not. It’s weird.
I live alone. I haven’t eaten it. It’s not where I left it. It’s in a bag. The last time I saw it, I think it was in the refrigerator, or on the counter, or on my desk. But no matter—the bag full of chocolaty goodness is nowhere to be found. It’s been missing for two days.
It’s possible that I ate it in my sleep. I do sleep walk on occasion, but as far as I know, this would be the first known case for sleep eating in my history. But then unless I also sleep-clean-up-the-crumbs-and-throw-away-the-bag-down-the-hall-because-even-the-bag-is-missing, well…. Yeah, I’ve got nothing.
Weird.
I lost a chocolate croissant. I’m serious. Now, I realize that for those of you who have seen my ass in motion lately this might seem like a good thing. But it’s not. It’s weird.
I live alone. I haven’t eaten it. It’s not where I left it. It’s in a bag. The last time I saw it, I think it was in the refrigerator, or on the counter, or on my desk. But no matter—the bag full of chocolaty goodness is nowhere to be found. It’s been missing for two days.
It’s possible that I ate it in my sleep. I do sleep walk on occasion, but as far as I know, this would be the first known case for sleep eating in my history. But then unless I also sleep-clean-up-the-crumbs-and-throw-away-the-bag-down-the-hall-because-even-the-bag-is-missing, well…. Yeah, I’ve got nothing.
Weird.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Solution
Apparently, the solution to all the world’s problems does not rest with governments, personal responsibility, or me winning the lottery (I know, that last one was a shock to me, too). No, the solution to the world’s problems rests on penis enlargement and the ability to make those elongated members harder for days.
Don’t believe me? Check my email. I have 3700 emails in a general account. That’s right—3700. It’s supposed to be a business account. Alas, unless I’ve suddenly gotten a job as Dr. Ruth’s assistant, this was not the kind of business correspondence I had in mind.
But I can’t help but be grateful for the sage guidance being provided by my new correspondence. For instance, Mohammed asks the age old question: “Are you ready for endless December nights full of endless pleasure?” I have to say, the answer to that is yes. I’d just like to know why I have to wait until December.
Dongjin has promised to “restore power to my groins”. Awesome. I had no idea power had been shut off to my groins. I must have missed that bill last month. Can’t have my groins going dark, and resorting to groin by candlelight. It sounds most dangerous.
I’m dismayed by dell’s assertion, “Youis measured by the siz of your love tool.” Mostly because I’m not entirely certain I have a love tool immediately available, and if “I is” measured by that, I sense trouble may be afoot!
And while I’m uncertain as to how Reagan’s proclamation that I can “make chix tremble with excitement” or Jayme’s declaration that I can, “make all the girls in the neighborhood long for you” does me a bit of good, I’m eager to chat more with Carrie Maloney who intoned, “Relax. Take a Deep Breath. We have the answers you seek.” Carrie is clearly an Oracle. All I need to do is give her my credit card number or bank routing number. Thank goodness these modern day Oracles have made it so convenient to make the necessary sacrifice for enlightenment!
But first, an email to Charrli who claims to know “how to solve your everyday male problems”. Well, I certainly have problems with men every day, so this should be most informative. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Kate
http://katedating.blogspot.com
http://cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com
Don’t believe me? Check my email. I have 3700 emails in a general account. That’s right—3700. It’s supposed to be a business account. Alas, unless I’ve suddenly gotten a job as Dr. Ruth’s assistant, this was not the kind of business correspondence I had in mind.
But I can’t help but be grateful for the sage guidance being provided by my new correspondence. For instance, Mohammed asks the age old question: “Are you ready for endless December nights full of endless pleasure?” I have to say, the answer to that is yes. I’d just like to know why I have to wait until December.
Dongjin has promised to “restore power to my groins”. Awesome. I had no idea power had been shut off to my groins. I must have missed that bill last month. Can’t have my groins going dark, and resorting to groin by candlelight. It sounds most dangerous.
I’m dismayed by dell’s assertion, “Youis measured by the siz of your love tool.” Mostly because I’m not entirely certain I have a love tool immediately available, and if “I is” measured by that, I sense trouble may be afoot!
And while I’m uncertain as to how Reagan’s proclamation that I can “make chix tremble with excitement” or Jayme’s declaration that I can, “make all the girls in the neighborhood long for you” does me a bit of good, I’m eager to chat more with Carrie Maloney who intoned, “Relax. Take a Deep Breath. We have the answers you seek.” Carrie is clearly an Oracle. All I need to do is give her my credit card number or bank routing number. Thank goodness these modern day Oracles have made it so convenient to make the necessary sacrifice for enlightenment!
But first, an email to Charrli who claims to know “how to solve your everyday male problems”. Well, I certainly have problems with men every day, so this should be most informative. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Kate
http://katedating.blogspot.com
http://cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
For The Win
5:00am
You know the day is going to be special when you start it by locking yourself out of your apartment at 5:00am. That's right. You heard me. 5:00am.
They are doing work on the pipes today, and water is going to be shut off intermittently throughout the day. Being the intrepid, enterprising soul that I am, I got up at my normal hour (despite working from home today) and set on a quest to do my mountains of laundry before they shut off the water.
Well… mission accomplished there. Unfortunately, in my haste to be very efficient and useful, I walked out without my keys. A fact I noticed at 5:10am.
6:00am
I have no idea what to do. I have no cell phone. No money. Until 20 minutes ago, I had no pen or paper (laundry room debris has assisted me with that much). My only two saving graces are:
You know the day is going to be special when you start it by locking yourself out of your apartment at 5:00am. That's right. You heard me. 5:00am.
They are doing work on the pipes today, and water is going to be shut off intermittently throughout the day. Being the intrepid, enterprising soul that I am, I got up at my normal hour (despite working from home today) and set on a quest to do my mountains of laundry before they shut off the water.
Well… mission accomplished there. Unfortunately, in my haste to be very efficient and useful, I walked out without my keys. A fact I noticed at 5:10am.
6:00am
I have no idea what to do. I have no cell phone. No money. Until 20 minutes ago, I had no pen or paper (laundry room debris has assisted me with that much). My only two saving graces are:
- I put a bra on before I went downstairs (something I contemplated not doing given the early hour), and
- There is a bathroom downstairs near the pool.
Thank you for small favors.
Isn’t there an office you ask? Yes. There is. It opens at 9:00am. I need to be working by 7:00am. Four hours has never seemed longer in my life.
Isn’t there an emergency number to call? Sure. No idea what that number is. And even if I did, I have no phone. I have no money for a pay phone even if one existed somewhere in the complex.
6:10
Can’t you just find another early riser to call? Tried that. My would be knight in shining armor came into the laundry room at 6:10am. I asked him if he knew the number, that I got locked out, etc. I was as winning as I could be given the fact that I haven’t brushed my teeth or showered yet. He mumbled something that sounded like “oh… uh, no”. Then he sort of laughed awkwardly, grabbed his clothes and left. Not exactly the fabled rescuer I had in mind.
6:30am
My next gallant assist did come from a gentleman who tried to help. He called the office number, but hung up when the message started to play. Only after he left did I think that maybe he should have listened to the message.
So, here I sit. Counting dryer revolutions is not nearly what it is cracked up to be. The pen I found in the laundry is now leaking ink all over my hands (no doubt about to get all over my newly cleaned clothing). I’m running out of left over old “water shut off” notices to use for my memoirs.
6:45am
I have never looked forward to folding my clothes so much. I better make that activity last because a great expanse of nothingness appears to wait on the other side. When I get back into my apartment, I will seriously consider surgically implanting a spare key.
One of the service managers lives in the complex. I don’t actually know where, but there are only 10 or so buildings here. How hard can that be? I figure just as the office is opening at 9:00, I’ll be half my through knocking on doors.
Did I mention the pen that was leaking is now nearly out of ink?
Oh, yeah, it’s Kate… for the win!
P.S.
Finally, a lovely young man came into the laundry at 7:00 with a cell phone in hand. We called the main number, waited through the message, and I was talking to the after hours service, one of the service managers walked through to start his day early. Of course, when he teased me about not getting back in until after 9:00, my reaction to the joke was somewhat muted (actually, I thought to myself: "I’m going to cut you. Seriously. I’m going to cut you right now, even though I’ll have to use the edge of my laundry card since that’s all I have on me"). God bless R for letting me in--- two and a half hours after I started the day. Awesome.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
9 to 5
Today I decided to combine my love of musical theater with my quest to spend more time around straight, single guys. Well, one out of two isn’t bad. I did see the new “9 to 5” musical, and enjoyed the hell out of a great “girl power” story.
This is a simple one. If you loved the movie, as I did, you will love the musical version of “9 to 5”. Dolly Parton wrote the music and lyrics, and there is a definite advantage to knowing the characters (and the experience) the way she does. While certain things are altered for time and staging, much of the original film and dialogue survives. It does take an adjustment to swing back to the mindset of the late 1970’s/early 1980’s with some of the concepts and songs feeling a little outdated, but once you make the adjustment the ride is pure enjoyment. The best alteration made to the original script is the addition of a love interest for Violet in the form of Joe (played charmingly by Andy Karl). Because it’s so strikingly similar to the film, it’s difficult not to compare the performances in the lead trio against their film counterparts. I’m happy to say that it did not take long for the leading ladies to make the parts their own. Based on the enthusiastic standing ovation at the end, I’m guessing I’m not the only one who responded that way.
I knew I was going to enjoy the cast. I saw Stephanie J. Block (who has show stopper moment in “Get Out and Stay Out”) and Megan Hilty (funny and vulnerable, particularly in her signature moment in “Backwoods Barbie”) in the lead roles in “Wicked”, so I knew that they were going to be top notch. I was pleasantly surprised by Allison Janney. While I loved her character on The West Wing, and have followed her work in films for years, I wasn’t quite convinced that this was going to work for her. While no one is ever going to cast her solely on the strength of her voice, she works her belting, character voice for all she’s worth. Luckily, the character of Violet requires a great comedic actress more than a “pretty” voice, and Allison is fearless and entirely successful.
My biggest surprise, in terms of the cast, was the outstanding work by Marc Kudisch in the part of Franklin Hart. He has an amazing voice, and works the sleaze to his advantage. The part is written as much more overtly despicable than the movie version, and Kudisch tackles it with seeming delight. Also winningly sycophantic is Kathy Fitzgerald’s Roz. Her skilled performance (and perfectly written songs) makes her sympathetic in a way that the film’s character never was.
The show is doing its try-outs here in Los Angeles through October 19th at the Ahmanson Theatre. From here, I believe it is going to New York, or is at least a good candidate to do so.
Too much fun to miss!
Kate
http://www.cafepress.com/katedating
http://katedating.blogspot.com
katedating@yahoo.com
This is a simple one. If you loved the movie, as I did, you will love the musical version of “9 to 5”. Dolly Parton wrote the music and lyrics, and there is a definite advantage to knowing the characters (and the experience) the way she does. While certain things are altered for time and staging, much of the original film and dialogue survives. It does take an adjustment to swing back to the mindset of the late 1970’s/early 1980’s with some of the concepts and songs feeling a little outdated, but once you make the adjustment the ride is pure enjoyment. The best alteration made to the original script is the addition of a love interest for Violet in the form of Joe (played charmingly by Andy Karl). Because it’s so strikingly similar to the film, it’s difficult not to compare the performances in the lead trio against their film counterparts. I’m happy to say that it did not take long for the leading ladies to make the parts their own. Based on the enthusiastic standing ovation at the end, I’m guessing I’m not the only one who responded that way.
I knew I was going to enjoy the cast. I saw Stephanie J. Block (who has show stopper moment in “Get Out and Stay Out”) and Megan Hilty (funny and vulnerable, particularly in her signature moment in “Backwoods Barbie”) in the lead roles in “Wicked”, so I knew that they were going to be top notch. I was pleasantly surprised by Allison Janney. While I loved her character on The West Wing, and have followed her work in films for years, I wasn’t quite convinced that this was going to work for her. While no one is ever going to cast her solely on the strength of her voice, she works her belting, character voice for all she’s worth. Luckily, the character of Violet requires a great comedic actress more than a “pretty” voice, and Allison is fearless and entirely successful.
My biggest surprise, in terms of the cast, was the outstanding work by Marc Kudisch in the part of Franklin Hart. He has an amazing voice, and works the sleaze to his advantage. The part is written as much more overtly despicable than the movie version, and Kudisch tackles it with seeming delight. Also winningly sycophantic is Kathy Fitzgerald’s Roz. Her skilled performance (and perfectly written songs) makes her sympathetic in a way that the film’s character never was.
The show is doing its try-outs here in Los Angeles through October 19th at the Ahmanson Theatre. From here, I believe it is going to New York, or is at least a good candidate to do so.
Too much fun to miss!
Kate
http://www.cafepress.com/katedating
http://katedating.blogspot.com
katedating@yahoo.com
Friday, September 12, 2008
Condom Ring Tones
Hey, I just deliver the news, I don't make create it.
http://news.aol.com/health/article/condom-ring-tone-is-a-hit-in-india/170688?icid=100214839x1209109714x1200558856
I'm picturing myself in a meeting. In this meeting, we're discussing the complexities of strategic planning and the difficulties of doing that in a shaky economy. And then suddenly, I realize that I haven't turned my phone off because my boss is now tapping her toes to my catchy "condom, condom, condom" ring tone that is echoing off the hallowed halls of the fine institution I call "work". Yeah, that wont come back to haunt me during bonus season.
On the other hand, if a guy is actually thinking about sex a zillion times a day anyway, perhaps sending the so subtle "condom, condom, condom" message is actually a good thing.
Well, at least you all know what I'm getting you for Christmas.
ETA: If you would like to listen, here is the ring tone: http://www.condomcondom.org/
Kate
http://www.cafepress.com/katedating
http://katedating.blogspot.com/
katedating@yahoo.com
http://news.aol.com/health/article/condom-ring-tone-is-a-hit-in-india/170688?icid=100214839x1209109714x1200558856
I'm picturing myself in a meeting. In this meeting, we're discussing the complexities of strategic planning and the difficulties of doing that in a shaky economy. And then suddenly, I realize that I haven't turned my phone off because my boss is now tapping her toes to my catchy "condom, condom, condom" ring tone that is echoing off the hallowed halls of the fine institution I call "work". Yeah, that wont come back to haunt me during bonus season.
On the other hand, if a guy is actually thinking about sex a zillion times a day anyway, perhaps sending the so subtle "condom, condom, condom" message is actually a good thing.
Well, at least you all know what I'm getting you for Christmas.
ETA: If you would like to listen, here is the ring tone: http://www.condomcondom.org/
Kate
http://www.cafepress.com/katedating
http://katedating.blogspot.com/
katedating@yahoo.com
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Confession
Buying a tabloid in Los Angeles is sort of like buying porn in Ohio. You know it happens, you’ve heard about it happening, but no one admits to doing it. And if they do admit to doing it, they are filled with shame and guilt.
That was me on Thursday (the tabloid, not the porn), and now I feel like I need some sort of public confession.
Hi. My name is Kate, and I bought… sigh… the National Enquirer. But it was only once—I swear.
I really do feel guilty. I hate these tabloids. I hate that paparazzi make life really complicated here. I hate the fact that these tabloids can say anything they want to say and that truth is rarely printed. I hate the fact that occasionally they get things right because then it lends credence to every other piece of garbage that they write. I hate the fact that someone standing next to me at the time could have been in that tabloid. I hate that I couldn’t stop myself from buying it.
Why did I buy it? Oh, I’m sure if you ponder my predilections and recent celebrity news you’ll be able to figure that out.
How did I buy it? Badly. The tabloids here are actually kept right next to the porn. I think I might have felt more comfortable buying something like “Naughty Sex Slaves and the Women Who Spank Them” than the trash I did buy. In fact, for a moment, I tried to pretend that I was actually checking out the porn instead. But then I quickly grabbed the tabloid and folded it just in case someone might see me do it. Then I also grabbed the fall preview special of the TV Guide to cover it. I had my cash in hand, and I kept looking around me when I went up to the cashier.
All I can say in my defense is, it just happened. It wasn’t planned—because if I had thought about it ahead of time, I would have worn dark sunglasses and a trench coat.
Kate
http://katedating.blogspot.com/
http://cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com
That was me on Thursday (the tabloid, not the porn), and now I feel like I need some sort of public confession.
Hi. My name is Kate, and I bought… sigh… the National Enquirer. But it was only once—I swear.
I really do feel guilty. I hate these tabloids. I hate that paparazzi make life really complicated here. I hate the fact that these tabloids can say anything they want to say and that truth is rarely printed. I hate the fact that occasionally they get things right because then it lends credence to every other piece of garbage that they write. I hate the fact that someone standing next to me at the time could have been in that tabloid. I hate that I couldn’t stop myself from buying it.
Why did I buy it? Oh, I’m sure if you ponder my predilections and recent celebrity news you’ll be able to figure that out.
How did I buy it? Badly. The tabloids here are actually kept right next to the porn. I think I might have felt more comfortable buying something like “Naughty Sex Slaves and the Women Who Spank Them” than the trash I did buy. In fact, for a moment, I tried to pretend that I was actually checking out the porn instead. But then I quickly grabbed the tabloid and folded it just in case someone might see me do it. Then I also grabbed the fall preview special of the TV Guide to cover it. I had my cash in hand, and I kept looking around me when I went up to the cashier.
All I can say in my defense is, it just happened. It wasn’t planned—because if I had thought about it ahead of time, I would have worn dark sunglasses and a trench coat.
Kate
http://katedating.blogspot.com/
http://cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com
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