While wandering over the ATM to play the lottery (come on big money!), I was momentarily distracted by a number of dresses at the Ron Herman store. In fact, one of them was very much like this one , although there was sort of a ruffle at the bottom.
I now bring to you my musings on this dress.
===
Right Kate: oooooh, pretty
Left Kate: You are way too old to wear that dress.
Right Kate: oooooh, pretty
Left Kate: Between your breasts and its lack of defined waistline, you’d look pregnant in this dress—pregnant and desperate because you are obviously too old to wear this dress.
Right Kate: oooo—that was mean—pretty. Besides, if I wear it with opaque stockings or leggings, I’d look adorable.
Left Kate: You’d look like 40 year old trying to look like a 16 year old. The mannequin in the display is standing next to school books. That should be a tip right there. If you don’t have the need for an Algebra 2 book, you don’t need this dress.
Right Kate: I’m not 40 yet. Plus, I’m sure I could buy an Algebra 2 book somewhere. Look how flirty, yet studious I would appear!
Left Kate: Just because your ex married a 10 year old, does not mean you should be marketing yourself to the nearest high school football team.
Right Kate: She wasn’t 10—12 maybe, but definitely not 10. You will not distract me. I’d look like Jessica Alba in this dress.
Left Kate: Yes, you would. If she were shorter, fatter and much older. No really, maybe Ron Herman makes a mu mu, or something with a nice cardigan more befitting your style and vintage. Oooh, how about something that covers the ass that ate Manhattan?
Right Kate: It’s not that short. As long as I don’t do anything dangerous in it, I should be fine.
Left Kate: Dangerous as in bending slightly forward? God forbid you try to sit down in that thing. You’d pull a Britney.
Right Kate: No, I wouldn’t. I wear underwear.
Left Kate: Oh, right. You’d be fine then. Have a go.
=======
But seriously—I’m too old, aren’t I? So sad.
Kate, Dating (well, shopping) in LA
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
More Stuff on a Saturday
George and that Darn Motorcycle
http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/Movies/09/21/clooney.motorcycle.ap/index.html
I’ve told him time and time again to get rid of that motorcycle. Also, I’ve said “don’t pass on the right”. In addition, I’ve said “don’t date other women and take them out on the motorcycle” and “Why don’t we just elope? You could wear that Armani tux, I could wear something flowing that would make me look deceptively tall and then we could just lounge at your villa for the next decade or so”. But would he listen? No. Thankfully, he is alright. I have, of course, magnanimously offered to help in his recovery process. I have been told that I have mad sponge bath skills.
Seriously, I hope he and his friend are ok.
That Rain Thing
Ok, when I said I’d like to see rain here in California, I meant that I’d like a day where I can read curled up with my blankie while listening to the dulcet tones of rain gently pitter pattering off the tin roof above my head. What I did not mean—anything so violent that I am woken up from a sound sleep, heart pounding and grabbing my spork and chair because I think we’re under attack. That is not what I meant. You really do have to be rather specific with the universe, otherwise it takes all sorts of liberties.
I Love Spies
I love spies. James Bond—love him even though he’s often a bit of a whore. Lee Stetson (aka Scarecrow)—love him because even though he wants to be a rogue, he’s really not. Michael Vaughn—love him. Michael Westin—clearly destined for greatness. Now I realize that I’ve just described characters, and that in real life they might not be all manly and manly and manly… but I love them anyway.
Even though all these characters are fine examples of “rugged-but-look-fine-in-a-tux”-ness, I think I love them because they are so darn capable. It is blazingly obvious that I need a capable man. He needs to be able to enjoy a night (or more realistically early afternoon) out watching musical theater, and then he needs to take me home and build me something out of wood. Wait, that sounds wrong… well, not entirely wrong… uh, you get the idea.
LA, Where Dating Comes to Die
Good news! The “LA, Where Dating Comes to Die” line of merchandise should be coming soon. I’m seriously in the process of trademarking and designing. My love life is ridiculous—I should at least profit from its insanity.
http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/Movies/09/21/clooney.motorcycle.ap/index.html
I’ve told him time and time again to get rid of that motorcycle. Also, I’ve said “don’t pass on the right”. In addition, I’ve said “don’t date other women and take them out on the motorcycle” and “Why don’t we just elope? You could wear that Armani tux, I could wear something flowing that would make me look deceptively tall and then we could just lounge at your villa for the next decade or so”. But would he listen? No. Thankfully, he is alright. I have, of course, magnanimously offered to help in his recovery process. I have been told that I have mad sponge bath skills.
Seriously, I hope he and his friend are ok.
That Rain Thing
Ok, when I said I’d like to see rain here in California, I meant that I’d like a day where I can read curled up with my blankie while listening to the dulcet tones of rain gently pitter pattering off the tin roof above my head. What I did not mean—anything so violent that I am woken up from a sound sleep, heart pounding and grabbing my spork and chair because I think we’re under attack. That is not what I meant. You really do have to be rather specific with the universe, otherwise it takes all sorts of liberties.
I Love Spies
I love spies. James Bond—love him even though he’s often a bit of a whore. Lee Stetson (aka Scarecrow)—love him because even though he wants to be a rogue, he’s really not. Michael Vaughn—love him. Michael Westin—clearly destined for greatness. Now I realize that I’ve just described characters, and that in real life they might not be all manly and manly and manly… but I love them anyway.
Even though all these characters are fine examples of “rugged-but-look-fine-in-a-tux”-ness, I think I love them because they are so darn capable. It is blazingly obvious that I need a capable man. He needs to be able to enjoy a night (or more realistically early afternoon) out watching musical theater, and then he needs to take me home and build me something out of wood. Wait, that sounds wrong… well, not entirely wrong… uh, you get the idea.
LA, Where Dating Comes to Die
Good news! The “LA, Where Dating Comes to Die” line of merchandise should be coming soon. I’m seriously in the process of trademarking and designing. My love life is ridiculous—I should at least profit from its insanity.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
America's Next...
When you think America’s next video vixen, you think “Kate”. I mean that’s just a given. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard—“Kate, why do they even do the search? You are it. You are the vixen-ist”. I agree. I am the vixen-ist.
Shockingly, not everyone agrees with my conclusion.
I was helping out on a casting session today, and I was at a casting complex putting up signs to direct the actors. It turns out that auditions for “America’s Next Video Vixen", or something like that, were going on next door. In order to get everyone in the mood, one of the hip hop stations was spinning some groovy tunes at the entrance.
I, in my most merry way, skipped over to their main room to post a notice that our actors should head next door rather than wander into the wrong room. I opened the door, and I could almost hear the needle scratching across a record somewhere. The entire room turned to look at me—yes, the entire room. And there was an audible sigh of relief when they realized I was just posting up signs.
What? The Laura Ingalls look alike can’t get down? I wasn’t wearing booty shorts, but I had a lovely country floral shirt that could be quite provocative in some countries. And I have been known to bust a funky move in ballet class from time to time.
Sigh. They had the grooviest chic since Marcia Brady in their midst, and they didn’t even know it.
Kate
Shockingly, not everyone agrees with my conclusion.
I was helping out on a casting session today, and I was at a casting complex putting up signs to direct the actors. It turns out that auditions for “America’s Next Video Vixen", or something like that, were going on next door. In order to get everyone in the mood, one of the hip hop stations was spinning some groovy tunes at the entrance.
I, in my most merry way, skipped over to their main room to post a notice that our actors should head next door rather than wander into the wrong room. I opened the door, and I could almost hear the needle scratching across a record somewhere. The entire room turned to look at me—yes, the entire room. And there was an audible sigh of relief when they realized I was just posting up signs.
What? The Laura Ingalls look alike can’t get down? I wasn’t wearing booty shorts, but I had a lovely country floral shirt that could be quite provocative in some countries. And I have been known to bust a funky move in ballet class from time to time.
Sigh. They had the grooviest chic since Marcia Brady in their midst, and they didn’t even know it.
Kate
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Observations on a Thursday
Plants
My plant committed suicide.
I came home from a particularly irritating day of work to discover that the plant’s leaves/stems/stalks tried to make a run for it. Seriously, they were draped over the pot and over the edge of the counter. So close! If they had only made it all the way down to the floor, I’m sure it would have been out of here.
All I could do is look at it, and say “yeah, I hear you”.
Starbucks
Who are those people in Starbucks all day long? No, I don’t mean the people working the counters (obviously, Taylor, the Latte Boy makes sense), I mean the people hanging out during the week. What do they do for a living, and how can I get that job?
My current dream is to kick back in one of those chairs, or toil relentlessly by one of the window-side tables. I’m not sure what I’m doing in this dream, other than waiting for George Clooney or Rob Marciano to meet me. Perhaps I’m suddenly the world’s next Tolstoy, or the political pundit version of TMZ. Perhaps I’m having a conversation with Reese Witherspoon—who I believe I actually saw today at Starbucks. So many options, and none of them involve returning to my office.
Rain
I finally miss rain. It took years and years, but I finally understand the desire to see rain in Los Angeles. Friends of mine would talk about getting all excited at the possibility of rain, and I thought they were nuts. I mean, I’m in Los Angeles, in part, for the lack of weather. But now I get it. The other day it was sort of cloudy, and the weather smelled like rain. Lies. No such thing.
How are we supposed to get the weather hotties out here without some actual weather? Why does Texas get all the fun? I’m sure they feel like they are soggy straight through to their skivvies at this point. I’m betting they would actually like to avoid the random storm that turns to hurricane in under 24 hours.
It comes down to this-- Rob will never be out here in his adorable red slicker and baseball cap without some actual precipitation. And no—I don’t mean snow. I don’t miss snow. Snow is still an abomination.
Burn Notice
I’m watching a Burn Notice marathon right now as I compose fantasy versions of my resignation notice (cattle prod is never hyphenated, right?). I love this show. One of the best summer shows ever, and I’d very much like to continue through the year. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Jeffrey Donovan gets better looking every episode, or that I have a thing for spies, or that I have an intellectual curiosity about whether or not cake icing can effectively substitute for C-4. Who doesn’t?
My plant committed suicide.
I came home from a particularly irritating day of work to discover that the plant’s leaves/stems/stalks tried to make a run for it. Seriously, they were draped over the pot and over the edge of the counter. So close! If they had only made it all the way down to the floor, I’m sure it would have been out of here.
All I could do is look at it, and say “yeah, I hear you”.
Starbucks
Who are those people in Starbucks all day long? No, I don’t mean the people working the counters (obviously, Taylor, the Latte Boy makes sense), I mean the people hanging out during the week. What do they do for a living, and how can I get that job?
My current dream is to kick back in one of those chairs, or toil relentlessly by one of the window-side tables. I’m not sure what I’m doing in this dream, other than waiting for George Clooney or Rob Marciano to meet me. Perhaps I’m suddenly the world’s next Tolstoy, or the political pundit version of TMZ. Perhaps I’m having a conversation with Reese Witherspoon—who I believe I actually saw today at Starbucks. So many options, and none of them involve returning to my office.
Rain
I finally miss rain. It took years and years, but I finally understand the desire to see rain in Los Angeles. Friends of mine would talk about getting all excited at the possibility of rain, and I thought they were nuts. I mean, I’m in Los Angeles, in part, for the lack of weather. But now I get it. The other day it was sort of cloudy, and the weather smelled like rain. Lies. No such thing.
How are we supposed to get the weather hotties out here without some actual weather? Why does Texas get all the fun? I’m sure they feel like they are soggy straight through to their skivvies at this point. I’m betting they would actually like to avoid the random storm that turns to hurricane in under 24 hours.
It comes down to this-- Rob will never be out here in his adorable red slicker and baseball cap without some actual precipitation. And no—I don’t mean snow. I don’t miss snow. Snow is still an abomination.
Burn Notice
I’m watching a Burn Notice marathon right now as I compose fantasy versions of my resignation notice (cattle prod is never hyphenated, right?). I love this show. One of the best summer shows ever, and I’d very much like to continue through the year. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Jeffrey Donovan gets better looking every episode, or that I have a thing for spies, or that I have an intellectual curiosity about whether or not cake icing can effectively substitute for C-4. Who doesn’t?
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Avenue Q
Who could have been the inspiration for the musical “Avenue Q”?
1. One of the first songs is called “It Sucks to be Me”. One of the lead characters explains that the reason it sucks to be her is that she can’t find/keep a boyfriend. Did I mention that her character’s name is Kate? Yeah. Kate Monster can’t find a man. I hear ya, babe.
2. The main character is searching for a purpose in life, and can’t possibly commit to Kate until he finds and achieves his purpose. Puppet “Princeton” even looked like my ex, minus the glasses.
3. Kate Monster and Princeton have a tragic break-up, and she laments his loss in a song called “There’s a Fine, Fine Line… between love and wasting your time.” Ha! Sing it, sister. Amen. Hallelujah. (please picture me snapping my fingers in a hip kind of way).
So, I’m not saying that someone owes me royalties, but I am curious how I inspired such genius ;)
I’ll admit I was skeptical about seeing this show because it is an adult musical involving puppets. I’m not a big puppet person. I understand I was quite the Sesame Street fan as a child, and I’ve been likened in both looks and temperament to Oscar the Grouch, but since then—not so much. But I was immediately struck by how relatable the show was—you know, since it was basically about my life ;) Oh, except the puppet had more sex. Yeah, that was disturbing. Although the puppet is hotter than I am. So, there’s that.
Google Thoughts
As an aside, anyone out there with a website ever take a look at the search terms people use to land on your pages? I did this for the first time the other day for the blogspot site. Boy, the person who ran the search "my sweaty luv dating 2007" and ended up on this blog was definitely bummed out. Also, “brad pitt capri pants” was pretty interesting, too. Especially since I think if Brad were wearing capri pants, they would technically be called “manpris” pants, but I’m no expert on Brad’s wardrobe. But most of all, I’d like to meet the person who ran the search “sweatbands uncool”. You are so, so right, whoever you are.
Kate
Who is still tapping her toes to the now classic showtune “everyone’s a little bit racist”.
1. One of the first songs is called “It Sucks to be Me”. One of the lead characters explains that the reason it sucks to be her is that she can’t find/keep a boyfriend. Did I mention that her character’s name is Kate? Yeah. Kate Monster can’t find a man. I hear ya, babe.
2. The main character is searching for a purpose in life, and can’t possibly commit to Kate until he finds and achieves his purpose. Puppet “Princeton” even looked like my ex, minus the glasses.
3. Kate Monster and Princeton have a tragic break-up, and she laments his loss in a song called “There’s a Fine, Fine Line… between love and wasting your time.” Ha! Sing it, sister. Amen. Hallelujah. (please picture me snapping my fingers in a hip kind of way).
So, I’m not saying that someone owes me royalties, but I am curious how I inspired such genius ;)
I’ll admit I was skeptical about seeing this show because it is an adult musical involving puppets. I’m not a big puppet person. I understand I was quite the Sesame Street fan as a child, and I’ve been likened in both looks and temperament to Oscar the Grouch, but since then—not so much. But I was immediately struck by how relatable the show was—you know, since it was basically about my life ;) Oh, except the puppet had more sex. Yeah, that was disturbing. Although the puppet is hotter than I am. So, there’s that.
Google Thoughts
As an aside, anyone out there with a website ever take a look at the search terms people use to land on your pages? I did this for the first time the other day for the blogspot site. Boy, the person who ran the search "my sweaty luv dating 2007" and ended up on this blog was definitely bummed out. Also, “brad pitt capri pants” was pretty interesting, too. Especially since I think if Brad were wearing capri pants, they would technically be called “manpris” pants, but I’m no expert on Brad’s wardrobe. But most of all, I’d like to meet the person who ran the search “sweatbands uncool”. You are so, so right, whoever you are.
Kate
Who is still tapping her toes to the now classic showtune “everyone’s a little bit racist”.
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