Hit? Or No Hit?

Because I've been sidelined for so long in the dating game, I'm not always good at gauging whether or not someone is actually hitting on me. So, since I've got several hours of sitting here at the DMV, I thought we should all play a game I like to call "hit, or no hit".

It's either this, or killing the woman sitting next to me testing ALL of her freakin' ring tones at full blast. So, play along, you are saving a life ;)

Situations--
1. A guy sitting next to me and a friend at lunch, wandered into our conversation. As he was leaving, he handed me his card and said if I ever needed financial planning, to give him a call.

Hit, or no hit?

I said no, Julie said yes. My reasoning-- he's probably always selling because he's on commission, plus since when is "financial planning" euphemistic for "want to date"?

2. There is a guy standing near me right now who keeps looking at my flipflops. Really intently looking. Kinda creepy, actually.

Hit, or no hit?

I say no. I think he's contemplating stealing them. Come to think of it, he'd probably look better in them than I do. Either that, or he has a toe fetish. That's right, buddy, I'm writing about you.


3. A male friend said "we should see a movie some time".

Hit, or no hit?

I think this one has to be situational. I was so thrown, I blurted out "you mean like a date?" Which then threw him into saying "uh, well, I guess if you wan..." to which I yelled out "NO!!!!!" Yep, smooth, that's me.

4. You want to go for a walk?

Hit, or no hit?

Again, situational for me. Most of the time I would assume not a hit. Could be that he's just trying to take you somewhere secluded to kill you. I try to approach these invitations with caution.

5. A guy grabs your ass and yells "want to F***???", but is completely wasted. Hmmm still ambiguous for me.


6. And finally, my favorite from today-- "Hells, yeah, yur worth smacking to. buuuu yaaaaaa." Um... ok, not only do I not know if that's a hit or not, but I don't actually know what it means. It is, however, leaving me with a slightly icky feeling.


I think it is clear that I actually need some sort of formal courting system set up. There used to be a whole set of manners for this type of thing. I say, we need to go back to the day where a man declared his intentions formally--preferably on lovely parchment and ending with "my dearest, loveliest Kate". Then after 6 weeks of notes (and one background check later), I would be better prepared to answer the "is he interested" question.

In the meantime, shoe fetish guy is lingering again.

Send me your own questionable hits, and we'll let the group decide if someone was trying some romantic moves or not.

Kate, who needs a guy to girl dictionary before she is dating in LA
Katedating@yahoo.com

Miss Ann Thropic

I may have found my true calling in life. It came to me while watching one of my hundreds of weekly news programs.

Any guesses?

Sure, you're going with the most logical options:

1) marriage counselor
2) sex therapist
3) supermodel
4) spy (aka international woman of mystery)

But who isn't doing those things? I'm not disparaging these options-- all good and clearly back-up plans if the new one doesn't work out.

Ready?

Queen of the Roller Derby.

I know. It left me speechless when I first considered it, as well.

They ran this story on a group of women called the "Orange County Demolition Divas"-- strong, highly motivated women. My new hero is a woman with the nickname "Miss Ann Thropic". She told the reporter that she found the group after her relationship of 15 years ended, and she was looking for a legal way to get out her aggressions.

Rock on sister! (or is that roll on? No, that sounds too much like I'm yelling for deodorant).
Anyway, I too would like to find a way to legally beat the crap out of people while precariously perched on a set of wheels.

I'm telling you-- this is it. I have found my calling.

(although that whole supermodel thing could be good, too)

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

Strut Interrupted

How do you know for certain that the universe is sending you a message?

Sure, the universe actually sending me that invitation to spend the evening toasting to George Clooney could be considered a sign-- but who can blame me for missing something that subtle... for three weeks.

Besides (warning, wild justification to follow) if the universe really wanted me to be with George on Friday then it would have made him motor his little electric car to my apartment and picked me up for a proper date. I'm a lady, damnit.

(No, I've never been hospitalized for delusions. Why do you ask?)

The last few days have been busy between work, side projects and the need to read every single line in every piece of junk mail that comes to the apartment. But I was feeling adventurous this afternoon. I did have the malicious iPod with me, but it was behaving. It was time to head out and flirt.

I was looking good, well.. my sweatshirt was clean, and I was rockin the messy ponytail.

Having not yet learned the lessons of my other Starbuck encounters (yes, the knee has healed, thanks!) I decided to find the man who would love me "just the way I am". And I found several-- all construction workers, because...

(wait for it)

They gutted the Starbucks.

Huh... Given my track record, I probably should have seen this coming.

I can't decide if the universe is saving me from myself, or clearing out all the bad vibes with fire and table saws. I suppose we'll find out when they re-open (MWHAA HAA HAAA).

Kate
(katedating@yahoo.com)

(p.s. random thought-- is it wrong that I think the Ex's fiance already has the something borrowed covered? yeah, I thought so.)

Always Read Your Junk Mail

Ladies-- this is a public service announcement. Always read your junk mail. In fact, read your junk mail thoroughly and before you look at your bills.

Sure, it might look like just another advertisement listing a bunch of information you have no interest in-- and sometimes.... yeah.

I received what looked like junk mail about 3 weeks ago from American Cinematheque. They have a whole host of screenings, including showings of old movies which are often quite fun. Each year they do an award ceremony. If you are a subscriber at a certain level, you get two tickets to the event. The event typically honors an artist (actor, director or writer) in the entertainment industry committed to making asignificant contribution to the art of the motion picture (or so the ad says). Sounds great, but I never pay attention because it would involve going out, finding a date (or dragging one of my friends), a long evening full of boring speeches, blah blah blah.

3 weeks, people. This junk mail remained untouched on my desk because it couldn't possibly have been anything of interest to me. Plus, the ceremony was Friday night. Who goes out on a Friday night? I'm pretty sure I was doing something vital like watching a showing of Clue on cable.

On Sunday, I decided to clean, and I leafed through the junk mail. I saw the invitation of support and the offer of tickets.

This year's honored artist?

George Clooney.

That's right-- An evening with George Clooney.

Yeah....

Always read your junk mail.

Kate, wondering if she's done anything else stupid like not check winning lottery numbers more than a year old.
katedating@yahoo.com

The Purge

Ever contemplate just how aerodynamic your couch is? Burning questions like:

• Will it actually hit the pool if hurtled from my balcony?
• Will it clear the hedges?
• Should I warn people below?

If so, you too may have been taking part in the time honored tradition known as "The Purge" (recently memorialized on Gilmore Girls).

In the moments before I came to terms with the whole "he's getting married" thing and after I'd caused that little multi-city blackout, I realized that everything in my apartment reminded me of The Ex. And while the years of separation meant I had blessedly little that was actually his, I was still able to create overflowing mountains of "He Gave Me" and "Reminds Me of Him".

This, my dear friends, is why on the 8th day God created garage sales and good will. It's good to donate while the torrent of emotions is threatening to make you into the next Pol Pot because you tend to be at your most ruthless. As you cool down and let sanity wash back over you, you tend to get gooey.

You see the couch isn't just my couch. It was our couch, which was originally his couch. Which technically means it's now my ex couch. Thus, the contemplation of "couch in flight".

So, did I toss the couch from the balcony? No.

Was it saved because I calmed down and realized that, in fact, couches are expensive and not embodiments of hurt feelings and disappointment? um... sure. Ok. Well... you know.. that and the fact that it got stuck, and I couldn't get it through the sliding glass door.

What?

Kate

Warm and Tingly

Inventors have conceived of a wedding ring that heats up the day before an anniversary. The person gets a series of increasingly warm signals from the ring. The last reminder burn would be over 100 degrees. All this in an effort to help make sure a man actually remembers to buy some flowers (or whatever) on the big day.

It's not that I object to this idea, I just think the inventors are thinking too small.

I also propose a ring. I call it the "fidelity" ring. Instead of gradual warming, I see more of an electro-shock kind of thing. And it might not be all that gradual of an increase.

And it might not go on his finger.

I'm just saying....

Kate, Inventing in LA
katedating@yahoo.comm

Six Degrees

Some people in our lives are never meant to leave us... Which is too bad really because some people should just stay gone, damn it. ;)

I received an email today from a lovely woman in another state, who I have never met, thanking me for my "in memoriam" donation to her fine arts organization (in honor of a woman, who sadly did pass on too early, but after a full life). The organization was one that most of my friends and I were involved in way back when. It was a pleasant, lovely email from someone with a last name that made a light bulb go off. Nah... couldn't be....

You see once upon a time Kate dated a guy who, like many men, turned out to be a jerk, and it ended. I was in my late teens, and I didn't spend a whole lot of time being bummed out (unlike my current practically Guinness record holding round of mourning for THE all time ex). Years later I heard from a mutual friend that he had gotten married and then divorced to someone from back home who he had met while doing theater productions. blah blah blah. The name of his ex-wife? Let's call her "Diane Barnes".

Woman who signed my email this morning? "Diane Barnes".

Could be a coincidence, but better than even odds that my ex's ex-wife now works for this fine arts organization, and she just sent me an email. huh... small world. Very, very small...scary small, actually...

So, kids, as you shoot emails off into the world, keep in mind that the stranger you are conversing with may have been married to one of your ex-boyfriends. You could complete a transaction and discuss development goals with a stranger 3000 miles away, neither of you realizing just how much the two of you have in common.

Kate, hiding in LA
katedating@yahoo.com

Dating George Clooney

Ok, people. This is not a drill. The following story made the rounds this morning-- just to annoy the photogs, George Clooney will be dating someone different every night. Now I know in the past I have been reticent about dating actors (or... um... anyone), but I'm willing to make an exception for the delightful Mr. Clooney. You know... just to help him out with his plan. Because I'm a giver :)

One slight, very small problem, is that technically, he did say that he wanted to date a "famous" actress every night. Since I'm not actually a famous actress, there might be some difficulty getting me in this line. HOWEVER, I'm sure that we could spin me as the "reality that throws them all off" girl. Or we need to make me famous and very quickly. I mean, I can hold a suitcase like the last girl they photographed with him. I have a lot of practice holding suitcases. Sure, not a model, but I've got mad "holding suitcase" skills.

What do you think? Are you with me?

This doesn't mean I have to leave my apartment, does it? I mean, can't we just line the photogs up down by the pool and have them try to catch us on my balcony? What? Defeats the purpose you say? I'll work on it. You guys handle the other bit (getting me on his date list), and I'll seriously ponder leaving the house in the evening. Oh, the sacrifices I am willing to make for this man.

Kate, seriously thinking of dating George Clooney in LA.
katedating@yahoo.com


From TMZ.com

Clooney to Date New Starlet "Every Night"
Publicists of the world, line up your clients. The famously paparazzi-averse George Clooney has a plan to scuttle those pesky photogs: He says he's going to spend every single night for three months with a different famous actress. "You know, Halle Berry one night, Salma Hayek the next, and then walk on the beach holding hands with Leonardo DiCaprio," says Clooney in the November Vanity Fair.

The "Ocean's 13" star's thinking is that people would somehow buy fewer magazines if they weren't sure if they were being pranked or not by that serial jokester Clooney. Perhaps his appearance the other night at a Studio City sushi joint with a "Deal or No Deal" suitcase lass was the debut appearance in the series.

Mr. Corner Table

Given my tremendous near success with Mr. "Taylor, the latte boy" (ok, not really, but in my memoirs, it will be), I decided to saunter by Starbucks again today. I was looking good-- hair wild (which in fantasies is suddenly transformed into honey blond with cascading waves rather than brunette and wind-knotted), innocent, yet flirtatious top and butt-lifting jeans.

I had forgiven my iPod for being male and programmed in some attitude tunes.

I was practically strutting while going through my mental checklist:

1. Facade of confidence (check)
2. Friendly smile signaling acceptance and openness and in no way resembling the creepy smiling painting in The Black Dahlia (check)
3. Eyes up in order to invite communication (check)

Dr. Phil would be proud.

I see a lovely boy sitting in the corner by the window. It's a little nook right by the door. He's definitely alone, and he's reading the paper (wonder if he has a news obsession like I do). Frankly, the fact that he reads is all it takes for me to be interested these days.

Ok, two things that Dr. Phil may not have taken into consideration.

1. While looking down might be less inviting, it would seem to be more practical.
2. Wild hair might be amore alluring, but so is seeing that the sidewalk is uneven.

yeah.

While I was coyly looking through a curtain of out of control hair at Mr. Corner Table, my foot got caught mid strut on uneven sidewalk propelling me into the now open glass door.

No, no. Not kidding.

On the upside, neither the door, the older woman walking out of it, her dog, nor I were really damaged. On the downside, the mortification (not to mention the bruise on my knee) made it slightly more difficult to strut away convincingly. It really had more of a drunken sailor thing going for it.

Remind me to be more specific with fate. When I thought "golly, I hope he notices me", I may have left some dangerous room for interpretation. Once again, fate was laughing (or was that limited to just the patrons of Starbucks?)

Current score: Starbucks 2, Kate 0

Kate, limping in LA