Does anyone else here keep getting “freeze your eggs before it’s too late, which it practically is already, God, you’re old, seriously, time is not only ticking, but you’ve basically expired, your womb is heading toward arid and abandoned, I mean we’re talking about the Sahara down there” brochures in the mail?
Just me?
I swear, I get one of these brochures about once every month, or two, now. It always features an adorable baby and an older woman (which means the model is probably 22) looking happy and playful. You know there is some sort of virile, delighted male presence standing off in the shadows. Not doing any work, of course, but he’s lurking somewhere pretending to be helpful.
Here’s the funny thing—the fine print has an age limit remarkably close to my own age. In fact, I’ve already passed the optimal freezing age. So, this groundbreaking technology is almost as beyond me as the low tech options.
Excellent.
I never really thought about having kids. It was never a generic goal. When I was with The Ex, I thought about us as parents. When that ended, I didn’t think about it anymore.
It’s not upsetting exactly. It’s more like disconcerting. I just assumed that ultimately it would be my choice. Looks like life may end up making that choice for me instead.
The next brochure will probably be specifically for me—as in the type on the front will actually say “Kate, Congratulations on killing your prime reproductive years on Prince Waste-Your-Time and then compounding it by mourning his loss for years and choosing to spend next weekend with him and your mutual friends in the place where you met. For the low, low price of…”
Yeah. Got to love the junk mail that makes you question all of your life’s choices.
Kate
P.S. If you are thinking what I think you are thinking—I know, and it is Chloe’s fault.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Totally Worth It
Now this is a man who cares about his girlfriend’s needs:
http://www.tmz.com/2007/05/24/clooney-turns-tricks-in-cannes/
$350,000 for a kiss from George Clooney (oh, and a lovely vacation, I’m sure) … hmmm sounds perfectly reasonable, actually. I’m just a little short of that. I’m sure if I cut out life’s little luxuries like food and shelter, in a few years I could get maybe a touch on the arm.
Maybe we should have some sort of charitable fundraiser. I’m actually starting the foundation paperwork right now. I’m torn on the name of the foundation, though. Should it be called “Give Money to Kate for George Clooney Kisses Foundation”, or “$350,000 is a small price to pay for true love… or something a little to the left of love Foundation”, or “Yes, Kate Really Is that Desperate Foundation”? OR maybe it should be something more generic so that when we invariably raise far more than $350,000 for such a worthy cause, other deserving women can receive financial assistance. For instance, I am perfectly willing, after winning the fair George, of course, to assist my friend Chloe in her quest for Paul Walker. He might be even a little less expensive than George—we might be able to get Paul Walker kisses for closer to $200,000.
No, I don’t see the similarities between this and prostitution. Why? This is charity. And as I’ve noted many times, I’m all about the giving.
Kate, looking for loose change so she can start the bidding
http://www.tmz.com/2007/05/24/clooney-turns-tricks-in-cannes/
$350,000 for a kiss from George Clooney (oh, and a lovely vacation, I’m sure) … hmmm sounds perfectly reasonable, actually. I’m just a little short of that. I’m sure if I cut out life’s little luxuries like food and shelter, in a few years I could get maybe a touch on the arm.
Maybe we should have some sort of charitable fundraiser. I’m actually starting the foundation paperwork right now. I’m torn on the name of the foundation, though. Should it be called “Give Money to Kate for George Clooney Kisses Foundation”, or “$350,000 is a small price to pay for true love… or something a little to the left of love Foundation”, or “Yes, Kate Really Is that Desperate Foundation”? OR maybe it should be something more generic so that when we invariably raise far more than $350,000 for such a worthy cause, other deserving women can receive financial assistance. For instance, I am perfectly willing, after winning the fair George, of course, to assist my friend Chloe in her quest for Paul Walker. He might be even a little less expensive than George—we might be able to get Paul Walker kisses for closer to $200,000.
No, I don’t see the similarities between this and prostitution. Why? This is charity. And as I’ve noted many times, I’m all about the giving.
Kate, looking for loose change so she can start the bidding
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Just a Bit of Fun
I was reading my horoscope yesterday, and it explicitly said that “today was my day for major flirting”. Well, far be it for me to argue with the sage wisdom of the heavens. If flirting had to be done, I was ready to do it.
Only one problem—there was no one already in my apartment to enjoy my efforts. I’ve been dieting, so I’ve been neglecting the pizza guy. I think he’s feeling hurt, so now it’s just awkward to call. He probably thinks I’m cheating with Pizza Hut (Where is the trust?). Also, ever since webvan went out of business, Brad, the delightful delivery boy hasn’t visited. He doesn’t write… or call…
I thought about trying my neighbors down by the pool, but let’s face it, flirting with neighbors could have unintended consequences. For instance, they know where you live. Flirting seems like an invitation. I flirt, and they might think they are welcome to stop by for a visit. I like to discourage everyone from stopping by. No, seriously, everyone—even people I actually like. So, you can see why flirting in my own apartment building could be very dangerous.
So, I took my show on the road. I headed toward Malibu. Malibu—the shining beacon of light and beach fantasy living. In reality, Malibu is really just a beach town. A beach town with some amazing real estate, sure, but the attitude is pure beach town. A beach town full of lovely sight seeing opportunities. And by sight seeing—you know I don’t mean museums.
Luck was with me. My horoscope was absolutely accurate. It said I would flirt, and I did. Twice. The object of my affections? Two lovely members of the Malibu Fire Department. Hmmmmm Firemen. These men were quite literally standing by the side of the road waiting for me. Of course, they were also looking for charitable donations, and I was inspired to great charity—once going up to the beach, and once coming back. I tossed my hair, and smiled, which then turned into something just slightly grotesque as my hair got sort of caught in my lipgloss and teeth. But I think men find spitting hair out of your mouth sexy, right?
I’m actually surprised they didn’t think I was stalking them because the up and back happened in fairly quick succession. The fog hadn’t burned off up there, so I basically drove up, stayed for a half an hour and drove back. But still, I considered the trip a success. After all, the view was spectacular. ;)
Let’s hope my next horoscope is as much fun!
Kate
Only one problem—there was no one already in my apartment to enjoy my efforts. I’ve been dieting, so I’ve been neglecting the pizza guy. I think he’s feeling hurt, so now it’s just awkward to call. He probably thinks I’m cheating with Pizza Hut (Where is the trust?). Also, ever since webvan went out of business, Brad, the delightful delivery boy hasn’t visited. He doesn’t write… or call…
I thought about trying my neighbors down by the pool, but let’s face it, flirting with neighbors could have unintended consequences. For instance, they know where you live. Flirting seems like an invitation. I flirt, and they might think they are welcome to stop by for a visit. I like to discourage everyone from stopping by. No, seriously, everyone—even people I actually like. So, you can see why flirting in my own apartment building could be very dangerous.
So, I took my show on the road. I headed toward Malibu. Malibu—the shining beacon of light and beach fantasy living. In reality, Malibu is really just a beach town. A beach town with some amazing real estate, sure, but the attitude is pure beach town. A beach town full of lovely sight seeing opportunities. And by sight seeing—you know I don’t mean museums.
Luck was with me. My horoscope was absolutely accurate. It said I would flirt, and I did. Twice. The object of my affections? Two lovely members of the Malibu Fire Department. Hmmmmm Firemen. These men were quite literally standing by the side of the road waiting for me. Of course, they were also looking for charitable donations, and I was inspired to great charity—once going up to the beach, and once coming back. I tossed my hair, and smiled, which then turned into something just slightly grotesque as my hair got sort of caught in my lipgloss and teeth. But I think men find spitting hair out of your mouth sexy, right?
I’m actually surprised they didn’t think I was stalking them because the up and back happened in fairly quick succession. The fog hadn’t burned off up there, so I basically drove up, stayed for a half an hour and drove back. But still, I considered the trip a success. After all, the view was spectacular. ;)
Let’s hope my next horoscope is as much fun!
Kate
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Do You Ever Notice?
Do you ever notice that when you learn a new word, or new concept, it suddenly turns up everywhere? You come across it in every new book you read, or the next tv show/movie you see deals with it. Most of the time, I find this coincidence to be entertaining. Well, it seems to work the same way with things you want to avoid. At the moment, I’m trying to avoid an old concept, and it just seems to be attacking me from all sides.
What concept?
Weddings.
Weddings are everywhere. Most of the season finales on TV right now are featuring weddings. Every magazine has “last minute details for your perfect wedding” taunting me. Most of my friends are getting ready to go to at least one friend’s wedding. I read this raunchy/funny blog written by a friend of mine, and I swear he’s gone to (and written about) a wedding every couple of weeks lately. Hell, even the guy who manages his website just got engaged.
It’s like I’m trapped inside a funhouse where the mirrors are tilting and demented clowns are jumping out at me while laughing hysterically.
Look, I get that it is almost June. I get that it’s the most popular wedding month. I get that I wasn’t going to be completely able to avoid the idea forever despite covering my ears with my hands and yelling “LA LA LA LA LA”.
I even understand that my sensitivity might be related to the fact that The Ex will be getting married in about a month. Maybe. Possibly. But come on!! I was doing well. I didn’t even break down and buy him a wedding present to prove how much I’ve grown. Nor have I spent much time at all dwelling at all on what he’s going to look like standing at the end of that aisle waiting for someone who isn’t me… well, I wasn’t until right now. Now, I might be dwelling just a bit, but it isn’t anything a little rocking back and forth wont take care of.
I’m not asking for a lot. I’m just asking for the universe to back off a tiny bit for just a few hours.
This has been a public service request—because the public will be served by me not having a bigger mental break.
Thank you.
Kate
What concept?
Weddings.
Weddings are everywhere. Most of the season finales on TV right now are featuring weddings. Every magazine has “last minute details for your perfect wedding” taunting me. Most of my friends are getting ready to go to at least one friend’s wedding. I read this raunchy/funny blog written by a friend of mine, and I swear he’s gone to (and written about) a wedding every couple of weeks lately. Hell, even the guy who manages his website just got engaged.
It’s like I’m trapped inside a funhouse where the mirrors are tilting and demented clowns are jumping out at me while laughing hysterically.
Look, I get that it is almost June. I get that it’s the most popular wedding month. I get that I wasn’t going to be completely able to avoid the idea forever despite covering my ears with my hands and yelling “LA LA LA LA LA”.
I even understand that my sensitivity might be related to the fact that The Ex will be getting married in about a month. Maybe. Possibly. But come on!! I was doing well. I didn’t even break down and buy him a wedding present to prove how much I’ve grown. Nor have I spent much time at all dwelling at all on what he’s going to look like standing at the end of that aisle waiting for someone who isn’t me… well, I wasn’t until right now. Now, I might be dwelling just a bit, but it isn’t anything a little rocking back and forth wont take care of.
I’m not asking for a lot. I’m just asking for the universe to back off a tiny bit for just a few hours.
This has been a public service request—because the public will be served by me not having a bigger mental break.
Thank you.
Kate
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Possibilities are just… um…
Since romanticized belief in “the one” got me pretty much nowhere, I’ve decided to take a practical approach. I’m making a list—I’m very big on “to do” lists, so I’m comfortable with this concept (nothing I like better than being able to check something off!). What is this particular list of? Professions that would yield a suitable mate.
It’s not as crazy as it sounds. I have a very specific life right now. I’m up by 5am at the latest during the week. It’s incredibly hard for me to sleep beyond 7am even on the weekends. Many people make the mistake of suggesting that this makes me a morning person. Um… no. It’s a very good thing that I don’t have to have pleasant interaction with people at those hours. I tend to be very internal on my most social day, and 5am is not a social hour for me.
When I was living with my ex, he had a very different schedule, which ultimately didn’t work for us as a couple. For instance, he liked to eat dinner later than 4:30. Whatever. He’d want to stay up late on weekends and sleep-in to like… oh… 10:00am on weekends. Nuts! Clearly, he had narcoleptic tendencies. And apparently, he wanted a woman who might be awake past 9pm. He was so unreasonable.
My schedule is actual crazier now than it was when I was with him (although significantly less time is spent commuting), but it is a real issue. If someone wanted to meet me for a date at 7pm, I’d probably have a panic attack. Ok, I would definitely have a panic attack because I’d be going on a date. But beside that, I’d have a panic attack because the last thing I want to do at the end of a long day is have to be up and bubbly—actually, just up really is too much for me.
I realize this makes me sound like a 90 year old, but this is my reality. Sure, if there is something really special going on, I’ll concede to later hours, but that’s not a lifestyle option for me. I’d never make it through work.
So, I’m working on a list. What kind of career would mould a man who would understand and even appreciate my lifestyle?
1. Morning news anchor. They get up earlier than I do. I’m not picky—local LA news, CNN, MSNBC, whatever. Plus, I love current events and politics.
2. Morning radio DJ. They also tend to get up earlier than I do. I’m constantly listening to music, but I’m not really into the music scene, so I might not know what they are talking about. Still, a real possibility, I think.
3. Milkman. Do they have milkmen still?
4. Paperboy. Could be potentially tricky to meet a 40 year old paperboy, but it could happen.
5. Senior Center Assistant. He’d be good with people, and he’d understand the whole eating at 4pm thing.
6. um…yeah, I’m out.
Look, if this is the current love of my life we’re talking about, I’d be willing to make concessions periodically. But starting a new relationship with someone who thinks I’m going to change, the work is going to change, or someone I have to pretend with, is not good idea.
So, options? Let me hear them!
Kate, already in her jammies at 6:30, in LA.
It’s not as crazy as it sounds. I have a very specific life right now. I’m up by 5am at the latest during the week. It’s incredibly hard for me to sleep beyond 7am even on the weekends. Many people make the mistake of suggesting that this makes me a morning person. Um… no. It’s a very good thing that I don’t have to have pleasant interaction with people at those hours. I tend to be very internal on my most social day, and 5am is not a social hour for me.
When I was living with my ex, he had a very different schedule, which ultimately didn’t work for us as a couple. For instance, he liked to eat dinner later than 4:30. Whatever. He’d want to stay up late on weekends and sleep-in to like… oh… 10:00am on weekends. Nuts! Clearly, he had narcoleptic tendencies. And apparently, he wanted a woman who might be awake past 9pm. He was so unreasonable.
My schedule is actual crazier now than it was when I was with him (although significantly less time is spent commuting), but it is a real issue. If someone wanted to meet me for a date at 7pm, I’d probably have a panic attack. Ok, I would definitely have a panic attack because I’d be going on a date. But beside that, I’d have a panic attack because the last thing I want to do at the end of a long day is have to be up and bubbly—actually, just up really is too much for me.
I realize this makes me sound like a 90 year old, but this is my reality. Sure, if there is something really special going on, I’ll concede to later hours, but that’s not a lifestyle option for me. I’d never make it through work.
So, I’m working on a list. What kind of career would mould a man who would understand and even appreciate my lifestyle?
1. Morning news anchor. They get up earlier than I do. I’m not picky—local LA news, CNN, MSNBC, whatever. Plus, I love current events and politics.
2. Morning radio DJ. They also tend to get up earlier than I do. I’m constantly listening to music, but I’m not really into the music scene, so I might not know what they are talking about. Still, a real possibility, I think.
3. Milkman. Do they have milkmen still?
4. Paperboy. Could be potentially tricky to meet a 40 year old paperboy, but it could happen.
5. Senior Center Assistant. He’d be good with people, and he’d understand the whole eating at 4pm thing.
6. um…yeah, I’m out.
Look, if this is the current love of my life we’re talking about, I’d be willing to make concessions periodically. But starting a new relationship with someone who thinks I’m going to change, the work is going to change, or someone I have to pretend with, is not good idea.
So, options? Let me hear them!
Kate, already in her jammies at 6:30, in LA.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Shrek is Killing My Love Life
It’s not like I’m not trying at least a teensy bit to date. I am. For instance, periodically, I leave my apartment. And when I do so, at least 35% of the time, I have combed my hair. So, you can see that I’m really putting some effort into this whole “finding another love of a lifetime” thing.
But I’m not getting anywhere. And now not only am I am being thwarted by age, cellulite and antisocial tendencies, but now I am being thwarted by an animated green ogre.
Shrek is killing my love life.
Really, who hasn’t said that sentence before? I’m sure most people have, but this is a first for me. How is the green monster (for once, I’m not talking about envy) trashing my prospects?
I’ve been trying to put together this screening/party thing. I’ve mostly squashed my antisocial outlook, and I’ve tried to embrace this as an opportunity. So, I went out on a limb, and I issued a special invitation to a young gentleman caller (or emailer, really) with whom I’ve chatted on a number of occasions. This constitutes a bold move for me. Bold, people. Very, very bold. Sigh.
Well, the screening date and party plans that we put together have been killed by Shrek. Shrek is booked in for early screenings, so when our original date got pushed, we couldn’t go to the backup date. As of right now, we have no screening date. Which means have no party date. Which means I have no date.
Freakin’ Shrek.
Kate, who shouldn’t be planning parties to begin with, in LA
But I’m not getting anywhere. And now not only am I am being thwarted by age, cellulite and antisocial tendencies, but now I am being thwarted by an animated green ogre.
Shrek is killing my love life.
Really, who hasn’t said that sentence before? I’m sure most people have, but this is a first for me. How is the green monster (for once, I’m not talking about envy) trashing my prospects?
I’ve been trying to put together this screening/party thing. I’ve mostly squashed my antisocial outlook, and I’ve tried to embrace this as an opportunity. So, I went out on a limb, and I issued a special invitation to a young gentleman caller (or emailer, really) with whom I’ve chatted on a number of occasions. This constitutes a bold move for me. Bold, people. Very, very bold. Sigh.
Well, the screening date and party plans that we put together have been killed by Shrek. Shrek is booked in for early screenings, so when our original date got pushed, we couldn’t go to the backup date. As of right now, we have no screening date. Which means have no party date. Which means I have no date.
Freakin’ Shrek.
Kate, who shouldn’t be planning parties to begin with, in LA
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