Top 10 Reasons…

Top 10 Reasons Vajazzling has me concerned:

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

 

Kate

Revelation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here I am.

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

I’m certainly paying attention now.

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

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

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

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

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

What I would have missed…

Kate

Letters to NYC

Dear NYC,

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

Kate
5:22pm



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

Kate
10:12pm

The Bra

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

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

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

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

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

Kate

And the Devil Will…

I come to you for a little dream analysis.

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

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

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

And then I woke up.

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

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

Alrighty then.

Kate

 

 

 

Style Help!

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

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

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

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

I wait for your wisdom.

Kate

Opportunities You Can't Pass Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Results Show

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

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

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

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

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

Pen appeared shortly thereafter and rescued me.

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

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

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

Kate

Now There’s an Idea

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

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

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

Kate

The Great Experiment

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

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

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

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

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

Let the games begin!

Kate

iPod Attacks 2

After a long period of detente, my iPod has gone rogue.

Sure, I downloaded the standard audio clips for Sony Vegas Pro. I admit that those clips ended up in iTunes. But that does not give the iPod the right to shuffle to a blaring rendition of "The Wedding March" as I'm pulling up to the work gate at 6:30 am. It's just wrong.

Also, it scared the hell out of the guard who happened to be standing there. No doubt, he is single, and thought that I was trying to send a very specific message. I don't blame the guy for running. Well, I blame him a little bit—I mean, the speed with which he took off might have been excessive.

iPods=evil

Kate

Best Idea Ever!

The best idea ever came to me after a day filled with thoughts like, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me" and "I need to fake some sincere appreciation". I'm calling it the "Explanation Buddy".

It's a very simple concept. Essentially, we would create a service that would provide a person to join you throughout your day and offer explanations for some of the more baffling things you do.

This stroke of genius came to me after the following twitter exchange:

 

Me: "Just dumped water on the carpet. No reason. Just did not realize the cap wasn't on the bottle of water I had been drinking from. Go Me."

Brilliant friend who should have money thrown at her feet wherever she roams: "I'm sure there was a stain that you have now inadvertently cleaned. Win!"

 

Yes! She was totally right. Well, not "totally" in that there was actually a stain, but right in that perhaps deep, deep, way-down-there, in my disturbed subconscious, I did feel the need for cleansing. Plus, it's far more of an acceptable answer than my paying absolutely no attention to what I was doing when I decided to tip the bottle upside down and right side up again out of boredom. Her explanation makes me seem almost preternaturally aware of my surroundings. My explanation makes me sound like I'm easily distracted by shiny objects. Sanity, reason, even shades of psychic ability could be ascribed to you if you call upon the services of the "Explanation Buddy".

Not convinced? Send me the strangest (not illegal, or I'll have to have your IP address traced and have you arrested) thing that came out of your mouth today, and I bet we can come up with an excellent explanation for it.

It's review time at work, and there could not be a more critical time for me to have an "Explanation Buddy" by my side. For instance, when I said, "I'm sorry I missed that deadline—apparently my Psychic Friends Hotline subscription has run out, and I was unaware of the request" to my boss; rather than sitting through the protracted, dismayed silence, I could have pointed to my EB who would have said, "Kate strives to use all resources available to her to anticipate your needs and the needs of everyone who works here for the betterment of the company, the state, the country and all of humanity." BAM! I would have gone from belligerent to selfless humanitarian in mere seconds.

I can only imagine how helpful an EB would be in social situations.

Me: What the hell are you looking at?

EB: My lady has become aware of your frank, and hopefully admiring, perusal, and is intrigued to learn more about your intentions.

The EB takes me from socially awkward to having gentility and refinement dripping from my fingers. What man could resist? Also, EB doubles as a "wing man" should the situation warrant it.

This idea is gold. Who doesn't wish that post-stupidity spewing, that they could point to the person next to them who would swiftly step in to explain that your actions were actually well-reasoned, if not downright revolutionary?

All I need is the funding.

I accept checks.

Kate

 

 

 

Hurdles

When life throws hurdles in my way, rather than becoming despondent I just take a deep breath and think of all the things that have gone really well instead.

It is only when I realize that nothing has gone really well… close to well…. in the same city as well… that true creativity has to emerge.

And I'm going to sit here on this couch until it does.

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

 

Foot cramp….

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

Perhaps a more pro-active approach is in order.

 

I've recently made plans to go on an adventure (so recently, the "book it" window just closed). It is semi-work related and entirely out of character.

I decided to head to New York for an upcoming weekend. I know, the shock throws a lot of people at first. But it's true. I'm flying to New York for the weekend to see a play, do a little charity work, and do some unauthorized drinking (of course, I have no tolerance, so that's going to be about a quarter of a glass of a wine). I've already warned my New York friends that they should be prepared to take Monday off because we could be out making merry until 5:30pm Sunday. That's how reckless I'm feeling. I'd offer to talk to a boy just to really show how "throw caution to the wind I'm being", but that sounds like just asking for problems. We'll leave that as a "maybe" for now.

Why did I make this decision?

Well, the play sounds intriguing. And the lead actor sounds intriguing. But really I think this is just an outgrowth of a growing orb of restlessness wrapped in frustration that is threatening to force some fairly big life changes out of me. While I'm not a fan of change, I'm also not a fan of most the main elements of my life right now: job, hobbies, job-like-hobbies, social life, financial situation, housing situation, cellulite situation—really, you name it, and I'm frustrated with it.

Sitting on the couch and complaining about it hasn't done me much good. Rude, I think, for the universe to not just hand me some creative solutions. So maybe the tiny seed of rebelliousness is growing into something—or I'll get back and wonder, "What the hell was I thinking? Next time I'm going to Santa Barbara."

Stay tuned.

Kate

Internal Dialogue on a Thursday

Me: I suddenly have motivation to work out. Right now. I must work out right now before I lose this intense desire to be fit.

Other Me: Sadly, Bones starts in 7 minutes. Remember the last time you missed the beginning? You were desperately confused because it turns out that you were in the midst of the dude's coma dream.

Me: True. That made no sense. Of course, it would probably have helped if I watched the show more often than once every few months, or when Duchovny directs.

Other Me: You can't risk that again. 6 minutes.

Me: Then again, when in the history of time have I worked out for more than 6 minutes?

Other Me: Good point. You totally have time to spare.

 

 

It Sounded Like a Good Idea

I am an excellent planner. I even add in a dash of relentless worry for free. So, you know I'm good. Apparently, what I'm not good at is making the plan actually result in something positive.

Problematic.

I decided that if I just had half an hour extra every morning, many of my problems would be solved. Vaguely remembering the bright, over-achiever I used to be, I decided that getting up half an hour earlier would be far better than being organized. Please keep in mind that before the plan, I was getting up at 5:00am.

No matter.

Clearly, with this extra half hour I would: 1) write this blog every day, 2) straighten up the apartment, 3) exercise, 4) actually dry my hair instead of hanging my head out the window on the way to work and 5) be more than 2 ½ seconds early for work. Also, I was fairly certain I could become the world's best fundraiser, solve the world hunger crisis and be voted "World's sexiest" something-or-another.

I set the alarm for 4:30am and was enormously proud of my desire to take action.

I did this two weeks ago.

Yep. You can already tell that it hasn't resulted in witty morning banter flowing through this blog. In fact, I have not managed to do any of things that I thought I would suddenly be able to do.

What I have done:

1. Watched the Castle episode that aired the night before that I couldn't stay awake for because I was getting up so damn early
   
2. Watched Chilean miner rescue (totally worth it, go team miners!)
   
3. Stayed in bed listening to awesome 80s mix on the radio
   
4. Stayed in bed wondering what Clooney was doing
   
5. Stayed in bed wondering what Duchovny was doing
   
6. Stayed in bed with head under covers realizing that no matter what was happening for #4 and #5 at that moment, it was going to be way better than my day at work
   
7. Fell asleep in shower
   
8. Threw apartment into even greater disarray looking for my mysteriously disappearing cell phone which stayed hidden for the full 30 minutes despite the fact that I could hear it ringing because I kept calling it from my house phone
   
9. Spent 30 minutes going over the greatest moments of my "why God why" rant from 1999 (classics)
   
10. Stared at television in the living room in confusion when it wouldn't turn on. Stared at television in the living room in profound consternation when I realized it was unplugged—which is tricky because it's hard to reach that plug. And I didn't do it. And I live alone.
    

 

So… mixed results?

On the upside, I did definitively prove that it would be easier for me to build a time machine than try to get the abs of those Glee kids through exercise at my current stage of decay. So, that's something.

Kate

Overheard Fun

I may have just heard the following response to a cell phone conversation in the parking lot:

Man (yelling): "Because I don't want my wife to know I'm f**king you, alright!!!!"

He's a keeper.

 

Kate

I was tempted to run him over, but he was walking a dog, and I was afraid the dog would get hurt.

But That Makes No Sense At All

I like to tell people that I am my own best contradiction. Nowhere is this more evident than in my taste of entertainment. I simply love some things that I shouldn't love.

Don't believe me?

Music: Escape

I love the song, "Escape" (aka the Pina Colada song). Love it! I should hate it—and no, not just because it's awesomely cheesetastic in the way that only a 70s pop song about a personal ad (or tube tops with terry cloth shorts) could ever be. No, I should hate it because I'm not a big fan of infidelity. I'm not a fan of it in real life. I'm not a fan of it on television. I'm not a fan, period. I should hate this song because essentially, it's a couple (married, I assume as he refers to her as his "old lady") who decides that they are bored so they take out a personal ad to find more interesting partners. You know how they react when they find out that the other has tried to play extramarital hook-up? They laugh and say, "Aw, it's you". Yeah, no bloodshed whatsoever—that's as unlikely as someone asking me out. Also, they have clearly never spoken to each other because they were unaware of some basic facts like affection for champagne and getting caught in the rain.

As an aside, I should also hate this song because they expound on the virtues of making love in the sand on the dunes of the cape at midnight. Perhaps they were under the influence because a) midnight is way too late to muster any kind of real energy, b) midnight at the beach is freaking cold in LA and c) you'll be removing sand from unmentionable places for years. Also, if you are even semi-famous, TMZ is recording you.

I should hate this song. And yet, I don't. It is on my gloriously deranged iPod. In fact, I was singing it in the car today. Loudly. I might put it back on now.

How am I still single?

 

Television: Breaking Bad

Anyone who has ever met me knows how incredibly anti-drug I am. I've never seen good come from it (other than for genuine medical reasons, obviously). I hate what the "recreational" money goes to support. I don't want to be anywhere near people doing it. I've heard the "addicts give recreational users a bad name" from too many people—usually right before they damaged something or someone permanently.

I love "Breaking Bad". I think it's one of the best television programs on air right now—writing, acting, technicals, everything is done so incredibly well. Now, you could argue that the reason I love it is because, given the events of the show, anyone who has come into contact with Walt (and meth) has seen their lives go spectacularly to shit. I'll admit that works for me. I like that I don't have to be cheering for the protagonist because what he is doing is horrific. But I was in from the beginning. I was in during the early justifications. I was in the first time I yelled, "No!!!!!!" at the television (because I erroneously believe that television is interactive and will listen to me). And I think I'll be there no matter where they take it.

With that in mind, I'm going to be hurling some questions at the creator of "Breaking Bad" on September 18. Vince Gilligan will be front and center at a charity Q&A to be moderated by director Michelle MacLaren. All the proceeds will be going to help those afflicted by lung cancer. No RVs required. Details on tickets are here: http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries

 

Television: Californication

Hmmmm infidelity and drugs (awww, Lew) abound. Yet, there is no denying its appeal. Sure, some of you are saying, "You love everything David Duchovny does". Ha! Well, that's clearly not true, but I do love him in this part. I love that in the midst of a binge, Hank is surrounded by literary imagery. I loved the Gatsby-infused story of the second season. I loved the sirens circling Hank at the end of season three. I find it interesting that so many people claim that Hank is just David. To me, that just proves that Duchovny is actually a pretty skilled actor—how else would so many people who have never met the man be convinced that he and a character are essentially living the same life? You have to be doing something right to make that look so effortless. But most of all I love the premise—a man had everything he wanted in life and lost it. I want to know what he does after realizing that self-loathing and self-destruction is never self-contained. Sure, a tiny part of me would like someone to point out to Karen that if she hadn't cheated on Hank to begin with (and left him to marry another man), the current chain of events would not have occurred (her own behavior has taken her pretty far away from victim), but I'm also fine to just go where the story takes them. And I'm hoping that I get to do that for many years to come.

 

I think it is clear; my contradictions are awesome! No, if you will excuse me… "So, I wrote to the paper… took out a personal ad…"

Kate

 

 

 

Hollywood Conversation

Kate: Why aren't you taking Michael to the premiere?

Sadie: We aren't believable as a couple.

Kate: But you are a couple.

Sadie: Yes, but the public doesn't like us as a couple. They haven't bought into our love story.

Kate: We're still talking about your real life, and not the show, right?

Sadie: Of course.

Kate: I see. So, how does Daniel fit into this?

Sadie: He's going to be my premiere and events boyfriend.

Kate: As opposed to your actual boyfriend?

Sadie: Right. People are really into us as a couple.

Kate: But you aren't a couple.

Sadie: True. But our believability rating is much higher.

Kate: Believability rating?

Sadie: It's a "must consult". If you don't look sincere, you have nothing.

Kate: (…)

 

There is a very small pool of single, straight, employed men who shower in Los Angeles. Getting two of them to cover your public and private bases (euphemism both intended and not) does not seem particularly fair.

Plus, I'm suspicious when a man answers, "Sort of" to the "Are you single?" question. Are you telling me that "some days" is now a completely legitimate response? Or are these men automatically off limits not just because they are dodgy, but also because somewhere there will be a publicist ready to cut me if I somehow disrupt someone's believability index?

As an aside, "I'm just there to work her carpet" sounds obscene and very nearly slap-with-a-hint-of-flounce worthy.

"Truthiness": it's not just for Washington anymore.

Kate

Facebook Can Be Your Best Friend

Facebook can often be a curse. There is no doubt about that. When you wake up on your way-over-25th birthday to see a friend recommendation of your ex's new wife, you curse it. When you are approached by junior high school people who tell you that they never really liked you, you will at least consider deleting your account. When you realize that you can't curse your job, boss, friends or hobbies on it without compromising all those things, you might wonder what the point of it all is.

Apparently, the point is: pay attention to photos of your current husband marrying another woman at Disney that her friend helpfully posted on Facebook.

I'm not kidding. Check out this article from lemondrop.com, and you'll see the usefulness of this social detecting tool: http://www.lemondrop.com/2010/08/03/she-found-out-her-husband-had-another-wife-via-facebook/?sms_ss=facebook

I feel for this woman. I really do. It's bad enough that he cheated on her, but to find out that he has married again and that your original marriage might not be entirely legal (leaving you no easy legal recourse) has got to be agonizing. That he then comes back to take the kids—unforgiveable. He is the bad guy. No doubt about it. I do believe there are circles in hell specifically designed for this waste of space (and not just Circle 2 wussy wind thing—I'm thinking Circle 8 has demons lining up for this guy).

But she also made a classic error—she listened to his ridiculous tale of woe and took him back after he supposedly left the second wife.

Ladies, let her horrible situation be a very important lesson to you.

I understand you had a life and children together that you cannot just ignore.

I understand that you loved him and trusted him at one point.

I understand that you want to be the bigger person.

I understand that he promised to change and take your needs into consideration.

I understand that you may have believed him when he made the other, theoretically ex, woman into the bad guy (let me guess—he called her "crazy", "unstable", "demanding", "still in Disney therefore I'm not getting enough attention"…).

I understand that you want to believe him.

I also understand that he is playing you. He is always playing you. You are not the exception. You are the rule.

It's not that I don't understand someone making a mistake and repenting. Mistakes happen. That's why diamonds were invented. Another life with a second woman in another city is not a mistake; it is a character flaw that you will never fix.

Please learn from this poor woman—do not go back.

And always, always check for pictures!

Kate

(finding being single far preferable to lying liars who lie!)

Doors and Windows

My stomach dropped. It's the only way I can explain it. I read the email, and my stomach plummeted; not because it was bad news, but because an invitation had been issued by a very kind person, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be avoiding it this time.

Pen: "You have to go with her."

Kate: "I can't."

Pen: "You're an idiot."

Kate: "I know."

Pen: "This collision has been coming for a while, and eventually the Universe is going to stop giving you these chances."

Kate: "I know."

Pen: "Are you going?"

Kate: "No."

Pen: "Pathetic."

Kate: "Is that a clinical term?"

Pen: "Yes. Now either say you are going, or get out of my office."

Kate: "No."

(Pen bangs head on desk)

That exchange was more or less what took place immediately following the receipt of the invitation. You see, apparently people react with excitement when opportunity knocks. When opportunity knocks on my door, I dive out the window… run down the block… get on a boat… find an isolated island and pretend like I never knew the opportunity existed. Avoidance, thy name is Kate.

It's not that it wasn't something I wanted. Deep down, I had wanted this chance for years. But I wanted to control it. I wanted to be seen as a professional. I wanted to at least seem like a calm, collected peer. I wanted to appear not like some cloying sycophant, but as a reasoned individual with something to offer. And I was convinced that all other opportunities would come crashing to a halt if I pursued an avenue that wasn't the "perfect" meeting, "perfect" scenario, "perfect" conversation, "perfect" opening line, "perfect"… "perfect"… "perfect"…

Not surprisingly, "perfect" never came. I passed up opportunity after opportunity because my immediate inclination was to choose fear instead. Fear, I understand. Fear, I can plan for. Fear, I can worry about until every angle is covered. Fear is infinitely more familiar. Worry has become comfortable.

Possibility, on the other hand, almost made me sick.

And then for no reason I can explain, I was suddenly getting the day off from work. I was saying, "yes".

Before I knew it, I was standing there looking out at the ocean and wondering what the hell I had done—and was there any way to undo it. Had I been alone, I probably would have run.

Deep breath.

Waves crashing.

Head turning.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hi. I'm David."