Well That’s Just Wrong

Angles

Do you ever pass a mirror and catch a glimpse of yourself that is so frightening that you actual stop to marvel at how ugly you look at that particular angle? Yeah. That just happened. I was actually frightened. And then I started imagining that this is why men don't speak to me. It's not because I'm "untouchable" or "off-putting" or "have fuck you stamped on my forehead in invisible ink that only boys can see". None of that is true. It's that they see me in that angle at all times and are actually using me as the inspiration for the next series of horror films involving gargoyles. On the bright side, at least I don't have to wonder anymore.

 

Reviews

I'm now curled up in my sweats with a glass of wine and my computer. In my fantasy world, I'd be settling down to write another best-selling dramatic novel or even better selling romance novel. Instead, the wine is fortifying me as I once again ponder how to best describe my most fantastic attributes on my annual performance review.

Good times.

Since I don't really drink, this should add thrilling and evocative elements to this review. In fact, I'm very seriously considering answering these questions in character. I tested the theory one year that they don't actually read my self-assessments anyway by including a reference to "needing a subscription to the psychic friends hotline" in it. It was never mentioned again, although it was missing from the final submitted form. Perhaps it was noted and dismissed for my own good—intervention by an employment guardian angel.

Sadly, I am stumped at which characterization to include. I must admit a Sue Sylvester approach sounds sort of appealing right now. My review of my performance and the department as a whole would be must more straightforward than usual. Or maybe each question should be answered by a different character! For instance, drunken Kate could answer the section on "execution", while romance novelist Kate could respond to "interpersonal relations"! I'm just trying to figure out how best to add the phrases, "his touch released a slow burn made my body flush" and "my breath caught as my gaze found his…my pulse quickened…there was no turning back now" into "teamwork".

This could take a while.

 

Charity

If you haven't heard me talk about the "Celebration of The X-Files" charity event, you must not know me in real life. It really does seem like it's going to be a lot of fun. Gillian Anderson (Dana Scully), Mitch Pileggi (AD Walter Skinner), executive producer/writer Frank Spotnitz and executive producer/director Rob Bowman will all be there. And even better, if you want to be there, but can't swing the tickets, my friend Danielle's site is giving away two general seating tickets to a lucky winner! It's true, they don't include the autograph session, but nothing would stop you from buying a ton of raffle tickets for a chance at a "Meet & Greet" with the panel before the event—and I did mention that getting into the event would be free, right? In this economy, free is a beautiful thing. So, check out here site if you'd like to give that a go: http://danielletbd.blogspot.com/2009/10/win-tickets-to-believe-again.html

 

Dating

Most frequent email question: "So, how's the dating coming". To this I reply, "Have you met me?"

Charity Event: Celebration of The X-Files

Some readers have inquired as to whether or not I'll definitely be at "The Celebration of The X-Files" event on November 14, 2009 at the Beverly Wilshire. Um... does this answer the question? :)



Not into clicking on widgets?

Here are the details:

Please join IBG Inc. on Saturday, 14 November 2009 at the Beverly Wilshire hotel in Beverly Hills, CA, for an afternoon to celebrate “The X-Files” series and films, while raising funds for a number of worthy charities. The event will feature a moderated Q&A panel with in person appearances by Frank Spotnitz, Gillian Anderson and other TBA members of “The X-Files” team*.

A limited number of VIP tickets, available for $125, can be purchased here: http://www.ibginc.org/tickets. VIP tickets to the event grant the holder front section seating, in-person autograph with participating panelists (to date: Frank Spotnitz and Gillian Anderson) and admission to the VIP party (please note that panelists are invited, but not expected to attend the VIP party).

Preferred ($75) and general seating ($50) tickets for the Q&A are also now available at http://www.ibginc.org/tickets.

Have you always wanted to meet actress Gillian Anderson, or talk writing and producing with Frank Spotnitz? “Meet and Greets” with Gillian Anderson and Frank Spotnitz (which will be held directly prior to the event) will be auctioned on eBay throughout October. Check the tickets page for the latest bidding links: http://www.ibginc.org/tickets.

The IBG website has all your information on ticket availability, event schedule, participating charities and venue details: http://www.ibginc.org/events

Founded in late 2008, IBG established an official non-profit campaign focusing on utilizing the power of philanthropy through the arts to benefit a wide range of charities worldwide. IBG acts as a “fundraiser facilitator” for underfunded and start-up charities that would otherwise struggle with the logistics and costs associated with event fundraising.


*Event talent subject to change due to availability.

Cost
VIP Ticket: $125; Preferred Seating: $75; General Seating: $50; Email admin@ibginc.org for information on student ticket discounts.

Romance Novelist

When I was about 15 I started writing romantic fiction. It was somewhat unexpected since I don't think I had really even kissed a boy at that point, but my heart was pure and my pen was willing.

It started slowly enough with me writing using characters for my favorite television show at the time, Remington Steele. Since Laura wasn't putting out in that show, I didn't have to stress myself with trying to come up with lurid details. Essentially, I was writing "Hollywood Movie Sex" full of longing, glances filled with something potent, yet indefinable, heartbreak and love—always love, never lust.

As I began to explore the mysteries of the hidden romantic world of my imagination, my friends were forced to come along for the ride. I learned to pay attention to structure (which I've since abandoned) and try for useful spelling tips (remember—no spell check back in the day). I found spelling to be almost as important as a solid story at one point. After all "striking a chord within her" and "striking a cord within her" are actually two very different things—and one is much harder to explain.

At some point, my friends wanted me to start writing for them and particularly men. Movie starts, the guy at the mall, the person they were actually dating—it really didn't matter. And since I was still in the "wayward crest of rippling undulations" stage, it never landed in the "too much information" side of the experience.

I'm not sure why I stopped writing. Perhaps the novelty had worn off, or perhaps I was too busy to focus anymore (a trend that has remained with me), but the entire exercise lasted mere months.

Well, it took a couple of decades, but I think "rippling undulations" is making a comeback.

It started as a joke. A friend wrote to me and said, "Tell me about that time we met ____". Rather than just laughing and saying, "That was a great day", I started writing a story. I think it amounted to no more than 2 or 3 sentences. She was amused, and has now challenged me to add a sentence every morning. I have no doubt the people at work monitoring our emails will be enthralled.

I think I missed my calling. It may be time to just go with all my worst tendencies and best inclinations. My fictional encounters with men are bound to be more entertaining than my real life ones, right? Right? Anyone? Ahem.

So, look out world—purple prose through a soft focus lens may be headed your way very soon.

Mitch Pileggi Fundraiser Follow-Up

For those of you wondering about Judi's situation and about the event last weekend, writer Danielle Turchiano has posted up her interview here

Mitch Pileggi Fundraiser

I am a horrible, horrible slacker. I haven't written for weeks. Basically, I've been ranting to myself rather than ranting to the world at large. It's fairly comical actually. If you watch closely enough, you can see me arguing with myself. So, I anticipate being locked up any time now.

But before that happens, I feel the need to share some info with the Mitch Pileggi fans who might be in the greater Los Angeles area this weekend (specifically, October 3 at 2:00pm).

You're intrigued now, aren't you? If not, I promise to start publicly complaining again really soon. If so, keep reading.

===


Join Actor Mitch Pileggi for Simi Valley Fundraiser

Join actor Mitch Pileggi (The X-Files, Supernatural, Sons of Anarchy) on Saturday, October 3, 2009 at PC’s Bar & Grill for a gathering of family, friends and supporters for a fundraiser to benefit Judi Ward in her battle against Leiomyosarcoma.


PC’s Bar & Grill in Simi Valley plays host to a gathering of family, friends and supporters to benefit Judi Ward in her battle against Leiomyosarcoma (“LMS”). Judi has been diagnosed with this very rare form of cancer – LMS affects 4 out of a million people. Last year, she was laid off from her job and no longer has health insurance. Event organizers hope the afternoon’s celebrations will help defray the costs of treating this aggressive disease.

While the cause is serious, the event will be a fun, relaxed affair complete with prizes, gifts and a raffle of memorabilia from Mitch Pileggi’s (The X-Files, Supernatural, Sons of Anarchy) television work. Come on down and meet Mitch, have some fun, raise awareness of this disease and help support this fabulous woman.

Can’t attend the event but still want to help? Judi’s family has set up a donation website just for this purpose: http://judiwardlmsfundraiser.yolasite.com/

Event Details:

Date: 10/3/2009
Time: 2:00pm
Where: PC’s Bar & Grill, 4250 Los Angeles Ave., Simi Valley, CA 93063

For additional details, please contact Jennifer Johnson at jenjohnson@onestopds.com

For more information on the disease, please visit: http://www.lmsdr.org/whatislms.php or http://www.leiomyosarcoma.info/

Medium at Paley

Pen and I went back to Paley tonight to see what was on tap for CBS. Truth be told, we went to see if Alex O'Loughlin would show up to sell his new show, "Three Rivers". Sadly, he did not, and the premiere wasn't ready, so they didn't screen it either. So, while we missed Alex in every possible way, we did happen upon the cast of Medium who seemed quite happy to be on CBS this year. Alas, I didn't get clear shots, but some "Friday night in LA" flavor follows.

Oh, and I should definitely get bonus points for going out two evenings this week. That's almost unheard of social activity for me. To show your appreciation of my newly adventurous ways, please send cash.

Glee at Paley

Pen and I wandered into the Paley Center's Fox panel tonight. And because I love you, and because I think many of you are secret Glee lovers, I bring you some shots from the reception.

Trick or Treat

When I was a little kid, I didn't know about the fight to stop child trafficking. I loved to read, so the idea that there were kids in my country who didn't have access to books or education generally, didn't occur to me as a possibility. When I was younger, I didn't know that there would be an appeal to save women and children from the fighting in Yemen—truth be told, I doubt I knew what Yemen was at 8. And I thank God that I didn't know what rape was, nor about an ongoing campaign to protect children from ever having to find out what it is.

I didn't know any of these things, but I did know that there was an organization out there that helped children all around the world—and that meant I wanted to help UNICEF, too. So, my painfully earnest self grabbed my little cardboard box and trick-or-treated for UNICEF. My collections never amounted to much; probably not more than $20 even in really industrious years. But $20 in change to a 7 year old, at least back then, looked like a fortune.

I'll admit, as I grew older, my focus changed, monies went elsewhere, and unless there was a natural disaster somewhere I wouldn't give UNICEF much of a thought. Imagine my surprise when I once again ran into UNICEF in the hands of my muse, David Duchovny. If that's not synergy, what is?

The IBG charity group has worked periodically with team Duchovny in support of their fundraising efforts. As is the custom, IBG asked if there was a particular charity David would like to be the focus of an awareness campaign as a thank you for his support. David chose UNICEF.

With that in mind, IBG is raising money for UNICEF during the month of September. You can donate via paypal here: http://www.ibginc.org/events

If you were once a supporter and fell off the bandwagon like I did, think about dropping in a donation for the campaign. If you've never donated a dime to the fund, but think that you'd like to help now, go for it! No amount is too small.

Want to know what the bonus is? If you are a fan of David Duchovny, IBG is giving donors an opportunity to send David a note. It doesn't have to be about UNICEF. If you love Californication, and want him to know it, send a note along with your donation. Always a big X-Files fan? Drop in your donation, and let him know. Notes can be included with your donation in the "notes" section on your paypal donation. Or you can send your note to: admin@ibginc.org with "Donation to UNICEF/Note" in the subject and attach your donation receipt. Please keep in mind that all notes will be reviewed, and he will not be told what your donation is (unless you include it in your note). Also, you aren't required to send him a note if you just want to submit a donation. Donations for US taxpayers are tax deductible.

And yes, I am making a small donation. I haven't dressed for Halloween in a very long time, and I'm pretty sure I never did it in September. But this year, I'll be channeling my inner child and sending a treat to UNICEF. The only question is whether or not my note will start with "Dear Mr. Duchovny", "Dear David", or "Dear Late Night Inspiration". Ok, fine. I'd never be that bold even in print. But I'll be thinking it.

Age of Stupid

Normally, with a title like this, the blog would be some sort of semi-scathing yet ultimately eye-rolling account of my life. Today, it's to let people know about a chance to win tickets to a screening of the film "Age of Stupid". Now I know many of my friends roll their eyes at climate change movies, etc. But I think it's important to know the issues behind the debate, and the film's approach sounds interesting to me.

So, if you are curious to know more and win free tickets to check it out, go over here:

http://danielletbd.blogspot.com/2009/09/win-tickets-to-age-of-stupid-la.html

The Best Made Plans…

… on a full moon Friday are bound to be thwarted at every turn. This is a story of one such set of plans.

Ever since a friend and I attended the BBC America party (and by attended, I mean crashed like the ninja you always suspected I was) and chatted with David Tennant (who turned out to be so lovely, I've given Doctor Who a shot), I've been feeling frisky. Both of us have been looking around for the next adventure bolstered by the confidence that an action plan and positive outlook would lead the way—ok, mostly the action plan.

I thought we'd found it: the Toronto International Film Festival. Why TIFF? I love films. I also love George Clooney (said to be attending), David Duchovny (said to be attending), Clive Owen (said to be attending), and Colin Firth (said to be attending). Plus, my new best friend David Tennant has a film opening there, and while he hasn't mentioned attending, throwing him in artistically would be fine with me. And of course, because the last adventure was such a rousing success, my brain immediately began to formulate all sorts of intricate scenarios. If I was able to chat with David Tennant over wine, surely the next adventure would top that?

So, my brain went to work.

Naturally, upon seeing "The Joneses" at TIFF, I would find myself debating film and literary themes with Duchovny as we hung out by the fire at a chalet (shhhhhhh, let's not ruin it with the whole "there probably aren't chalets in downtown Toronto" talk) while sipping a fine red wine (because even in the fantasy, I'm not eating). Of course, we would be interrupted from time to time when Mr. Clooney dropped by to inquire if I had any additional insight on Darfur, and to see if I'd ever consider returning to Think Tank work (of course, I think about returning to Brookings, George, but my place is here now). Needless to say, Clive and Colin would also wander by, chat and leave thinking, "If only we were single." Essentially I began to fantasize that our intellect and charm would be nearly as lauded as the films on display.

My positive outlook was working. All those pesky problems that could be noted as being inherent with the New Adventure Plan (NAP) just seemed to melt away.

For instance, NAP would take place in Toronto. I am not in Toronto. Toronto is deceptively far away, and I hate to fly. No matter! New Ninja Kate was willing to white-knuckle it for six hours to put NAP in play. Plus, I just watched a terrifying, yet really very helpful show on surviving a hijacking called "Surviving Disaster", and now that I know how to deal with a sucking chest wound, I feel much better about the whole thing.

The hotels are a little pricey, and my partner in crime is broke, but these are the emergencies that credit cards were made for.

We would not be stopped. Toronto was the next frontier. We would be delightful, alluring and ready to take on the world.

Or…

The festival is scheduled to run from September 10 through September 19. Not knowing what the film schedule was, I set about giving work a heads up that I'd be gone a few days during that time. At which point, they gave me the heads up that I was likely to be needed for "team building" in New York during the main week of the festival… possibly…and suggested that I should be prepared to leave the festival so that I could bond (and most assuredly play games like, "if your practice area is a color, what color would it be"). I suggested that if someone thought I would be skipping lazing about with George Clooney to build a tower out of office furniture, they could think again. Plus, I've seen that episode of "The X-Files", and unless they can guarantee that I'd be rocking Mulder in the woods, I was out.

But I was saved. Work delayed our bonding session. Our adventure was back on! Of course, by the time I knew we were saved, the advanced package tickets were sold out, and we'd have to wait to buy individual tickets, but no matter. It would be fine. I began to assess my wardrobe, and contemplate how I would juggle having multiple careers as documentary filmmaker, writer and analyst.

Obviously, between finances and work, we never planned on being there the entire time. So, we prayed to the film gods to put all the films we really wanted to see into 3 days. Hurray! The bulk of our "must see" films, no doubt to be followed by "must do" evenings, were covered in three days when the schedule was released. But we forgot to be specific. One of us, not the one with the first name starting in "K", has meetings all weekend on the 12^th and 13^th and couldn't possibly leave (without perhaps heavy bribery) before the night of the 13^th on red eye. Not a problem! The fest is long! What are the odds of the premieres being…

Sigh.

And then there was one.

Seeing no way to escape work commitments, partner in crime was to become long-distance cheerleader. For a week, I pondered the sense of me attending alone, knowing that under the best of circumstances I avoid interaction and that left to me, I'd just be paying a lot of money to see movies I'll eventually see when they are released to theaters. Plus, it looked like the hotels in the area were largely sold out. And I probably wouldn't be able to get tickets when they went on sale the morning of the 4^th.

But there was still a whisper of hope that there was an adventure to be had, and I don't usually hesitate to do things solo. So, I did some checking. The online schedule didn't indicate that any of the films were sold out. I found a hotel quite close to the theater where most of my chosen screenings would be held. And fortune was smiling because I happened to find a completely affordable (as in, I have shoes more expensive than that) flight to Toronto. It appeared that fate was smiling on me. I was giddy for at least 20 minutes. While not entirely settled on going, there was that tiny spark of mischief igniting.

Tickets went on sale at 7am Toronto time this morning. I woke up at 4am, VISA in hand, ready to deal. I took the constant error message at the online box office as only a minor annoyance. I thought, with only mild dismay, that my work computer had an out of date browser. So, I switched computers. Twice. I couldn't get the system to work. With a determination usually reserved for getting out of going somewhere at night, I picked up that phone and got ready to make it happen. Imagine my consternation when I got an "all circuits are busy" error recording in my attempt to reach Canada. Repeatedly.

Fine.

I showered. I contemplated. I waged war internally. I drove to the office. Same thing happened. No access. I told myself that I would try one more time, and if I couldn't get in, it was a sign that I was not meant to go.

You can guess what happened—I got into the system.

Joy. Rapture. Funny stomach feeling people tell me is happiness.

Reality.

I got into the system to find out that 2 of the movies I wanted to see were sold out, one was moved to later in the week, and one other kept giving me a "not available" error when I clicked on "buy".

Perseverance is one thing. But rejecting all the signs along the way is quite another.

For those of you lucky enough to attend the festival, take many photos and think of me. I will be eagerly watching coverage on the TIFF website and wishing that Toronto wasn't quite so far away. You know… until my internet access goes down and my computer crashes. But, boy, those first 20 seconds are going to be gold.

The Bra

The wrong bra can equal death. Don't believe me? Of course you believe me, most of you reading this are girls. You know it's true.

There are few things on this planet that are likely to be annoy me faster than when I'm wearing the wrong bra. It can be a perfectly lovely bra when it's sitting in the drawer, but for whatever reason, when it's on, it's all wrong. It can be the wrong cut, the wrong color (as in, it's showing through your white shirt and while TV characters flaunt this look, most of us can't get away with it at work without being embarrassed), the wrong support level, the damn underwire could be carving the maker's initials on your left one—you name it.

Today I am wearing a ninja bra. It snuck up on me. Under normal circumstances, it doesn't show through my clothes, keeps the breasts relatively high and dry, and doesn't try too hard to shove the girls up and out of my shirt. Today—sneak attack. I kept pulling the back down, shoving the boobs over, pulling the shirt so it's looser… In your mind's eye, you can see the struggle as it escalated, can't you? I mean, an educated, professional woman should never be yelling, "Oh, yeah! I'll show you" because she swears the straps are conspiring to act as some sort of garrote resulting in her early demise. I was literally waging war and losing to the demi-cup I accidentally wore today.

It is entirely possible that this bra will make me so insane that the next person who steps foot into my office will be killed instantly because they will have said something incendiary like, "Hello". Or I'll be institutionalized for having a fight with my (under normal circumstances) unmentionables.

Thus, the wrong bra can equal death.

Rejected by a Survey

Look, I don't ask for much.

Ok, that's not true. I ask for a lot, but I don't get it, and then I pretend that I'm fine with that. But still, I'm not asking George Clooney to stop dating models for me. I'm just maybe thinking that at some point, I'd like to meet a man with whom I can have semi-interesting conversation. It doesn't even have to be often. I'm an independent woman—I'm not looking for a caregiver, a father figure or a bank roll. But there is a romantic streak deeply hidden inside me (deeply, deeply, deeply hidden). So, when I got a pop-up from another friend on Facebook that had the magic words "soulmate" and "survey" during a long morning at work, I thought, "Why not?"

So, I took the survey called "When will you meet your soulmate?"

I thought it was a valid question since I feel like I've been alive a while now, and that soulmate should be popping up any day now. Also, a girl has to be ready, and I've been putting off getting my roots done, have some upcoming charity events and work keeps threatening to bring me back to New York. I thought for planning purposes alone, I should check to see what soulmate's schedule looks like.

Naturally, I opened the survey and began at the beginning.

Question 1.

Numero uno.

It was just staring me in the face: "When do you want to get married?" Simple enough question—clearly designed by children who still have hope that they have any control over that sort of thing, but a simple enough question. Unfortunately, it was also a question I couldn't answer. You see, the survey had a multiple choice option with a set of age spans. The problem? The oldest age span on the survey was 5 years YOUNGER than I already am. In essence, it was telling me that someone as aged as I am, should have either met the man, or I never actually had shot at meeting him. Either way, I am out of luck. Thanks for playing.

Awesome.

 

Hobbies

Apparently, I'm incapable of having hobbies. If I enjoy something, I tend to pursue it, put my protestant work ethic to the test (despite not being protestant), and suddenly it's a wildly consuming semi-profession.

Don't believe me?

In college, I decided to take a class in dance in order to fulfill my fine arts credit requirement because I always did it during my work in theater, but never really trained. When given the chance to pursue it for a single class my freshman year, it should have taken up exactly 3 periods plus lab. Instead, after the first semester, I was dancing 6 hours a day and became part of the company. And no, I wasn't a dance major. I just spent as much time in rehearsals as I did in my Econ classes.

I tried to pick up dancing again when I was working in New York to get back into shape. I changed my hours in the city, so that I could make classes that I had—nearly every night. Before I left, I was dancing through auditions for everything from commercials to Broadway (which didn't go well, but was still awesome!).

I started dancing in LA, again to stay in shape, and started performing here despite having rehearsals that meant me not getting home until after 11pm—not late for normal people, but I'm up at 5am, so it wasn't the brightest move.

A friend asked me to help out on his film project—I became a producer (while still maintaining my normal day job).

You might have noticed that I enjoy a little show known as "The X-Files". For most people when they enjoy a TV show, I think that means kicking back and watching it regularly. For me it meant doing extra work on the show. For me it meant when the new movie was pending release, I went out to interview fans, editing videos and blog posting. It means I won't go to an event without a camera now because I know I'll want to "report" on the event. It means wanting to work with the people involved—and increasingly finding ways to do that.

I'm into charity work. Now what time I have left on weekends and evenings is spent on upcoming events, auctions, fundraisers, etc. Oh, and we're in the midst of incorporating. So, add another company to my list of "hobbies".

I started writing a blog to quickly deal with an emotional experience so I could process and move on. Three years later, I'm still writing with the very real possibility of turning it into a series and a book.

Maybe it's the control freak in me—I can't just enjoy an experience without it becoming another profession.

All I can say is-- it's a good thing I'm not having sex.

In Just Over a Month

In just over a month (ok, a month and a week), Californication returns. Finally. So, naturally, when I'm faced with a blank blog, no inspiration and a delightful email from a new reader who was also at the panel (small world!), I thought to myself, "Self, you should post more stuff from that Californication panel that the Los Angeles Times hosted for The Envelope Series".

The first clip features Pamela Adlon hilariously recounting her take on her sex scenes in Showtime's Californication. Also, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've heard a panel discussion involving the words, "Horse's penis". So, there's that.

Pamela Adlon Discusses Sex Scenes on Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

In the second video, David Duchovny discusses his approach to playing Hank Moody, and his concerns about keeping Hank a sympathetic character.

David Duchovny Talks About Keeping Hank Moody Sympathetic from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

Enjoy! Also, as you've noticed, emails inspire me to write (or post videos). So, if you want to inspire a blog, feel free to write to me at katedating@yahoo.com.

Too Long

It is possible that I've been in LA for too long.

Sex Tape Cynicism

When I read on Starpulse (http://www.starpulse.com/news/index.php/2009/08/17/eric_dane_aamp_rebecca_gayheart_sex_tape_1) that a sex tape was leaked involving Eric Dane and his wife (and some random woman), my first thought was not, "How shocking!" or even, "He's hot!" Nope, my reaction was "which one of them has a movie coming out?" Seriously, I just don't think the new season of Gray's Anatomy is sex-tape-leak worthy, so one of them has got to a movie coming out. Because otherwise, this is just stupid—I mean how difficult is it to keep track of your sex tapes? They don't tend to wander off on their own. Are you bringing them to parties because someone said they were showing home movies of their vacation, and you wanted to share, too? Because otherwise, they shouldn't be leaving the house. Also, you probably shouldn't mark them "Sex Tape, Please Don't Steal This and Leak It To The Press". Not only does that take up way too much room on the DVD label (and you like to keep those things pithy and neat), but it sort of seems like taunting—particularly unwise if you gave your assistant a terrible Christmas bonus.

Update: I've heard now that it's just a "naked" tape and not a sex tape. Well, sure. Who hasn't done that? That's the first thing I do when friends come over-- the clothes come off, and I grab that camera. Or, no.

Update2: Now it appears that he's not even naked. It's just the, seemingly stoned, women in bathtub. The third party insists that her computer hard-drive was stolen by singer Mindy McCready during some celebrity rehab stint after a fight. Folks, I could not make this shit up.

Odds Making

Also on Starpulse today, I learned that Robin Wright Penn is once again just saying "no" to Sean (http://www.starpulse.com/news/index.php/2009/08/17/robin_wright_penn_rules_out_reconciliati). This is a sad thing, though not really surprising given the back and forth and back and forth and…. Still, yelling out, "Who had August in the divorce pool?" really isn't appropriate.

Non-Weather

The lack of actual weather in LA has solidified my love for weather porn. I should have gone into producing weather specials. I'm fascinated with weather. I see really only one problem: I don't really like to be in weather. So, I'd have to send other people out to do the filming because tornadoes terrify me. Also, hurricanes look like they are not quite so delightful to wander in, despite how engrossing they are on TV. Oooh, also, I hate snow unless I'm inside wrapped in a blankie with the heat flowing. Ok, so technically, I should be producing special weather programming from my couch featuring Rob Marciano. Or Reynolds Wolf. Or… well, any boy with a degree in meteorology who looks good wet while trying to hold onto his baseball cap, microphone and pants all at the same time. [Note: Chloe and I decided today that Reynolds Wolf sounds like a character's name on a soap opera or Harlequin romance. He is, in fact, a delightful and intelligent man with no signs of flowing, Fabio-like locks.] Or maybe I could just write weather related novels. @Toonses88 on twitter suggested, "The night was sultry" so I'm practically writing it already. No, I'm not desperately looking for ways to do something more interesting with my life. What makes you say that?

Radar Love

Maybe not so much radar love, but missives promising me astrologically sound love caught my attention. Clearly, my only problem has been that I've been gazing at men with the wrong astrological signs. It's not that I don't talk to them, they don't talk to me, or the hiding in the apartment thing. No, the universe has been trying to send me signs. Being appropriately beaten down by the Los Angeles "what-the-hell-is-dating-oh-you-mean-sex-after-more-than-the-first-hour-of-acquaintance-but-that's-so-1950" social scene, I took a gander. Yeah. This is also not about dating. This is about finding someone erotically compatible (a word I misspelled twice, by the way). Still, for all of you who are now curious:

http://www.aolhealth.com/healthy-living/relationships/sexually-compatible-astrology-signs?icid=mainmaindl2link3http%3A%2F%2Fwww.aolhealth.com%2Fhealthy-living%2Frelationships%2Fsexually-compatible-astrology-signs

According to this, I have an "enthusiasm for all things carnal".

Yeah. I haven't stopped laughing either.

Part 2

For those of you waiting on the 2nd part of the David Tennant story, here it is. :)

http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/2009/08/how-i-met-david-tennant-pt-2-get-in.html

New Rules

I realize this means I'm old, but if you call me, and don't leave a message, in my world that means that you didn't call me. Seriously, for like 15 days I won't know you called, until I'm scrolling through the call log looking for another number because I'm too lazy to go into contacts. It is only then, by the random chance of where your once-upon-a-time call landed, that I will know that you called. At that point, I might wonder why you called. Then I will dismiss it along the lines of "if it was important, he/she/it would have left a message", and I will keep scrolling. I will not call you back. Even if you are David Tennant (my new best friend), I will not call you back. Because as my new best friend, you should know that you must leave a message even though you kid me that the truly "with it" peeps don't leave messages. Clooney, you have been warned.

[Plus, if I found out that I missed George's call 10 days earlier, it would probably take another month just to figure out what to wear when I called him back. No, seriously—these things are important. What if he wanted to pop over to make sure that my ignoring him for weeks was just happenstance and not because I'm annoyed that he seemingly skipped over me in the dating rotation in favor of new girlfriend #1452? A girl has to be prepared.]

Kate

P.S. If you want to hear the David Tennant story, part I is up here with part 2 to follow soon (so I'm told):

http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/

 

Things to Do With Glue

I posted this link up on twitter the other day: http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/08/03/exes-3-way-smackdown-3-timing-man/

As I said on twitter, obviously this is wrong. This is not appropriate (:::chuckle::::) conflict resolution. So, before anyone tries to bring forth a lawsuit, I am in no way advocating this kind of perfectly executed retribution. It's just… ahem… wrong. No two ways about it. Krazy gluing a cheater's private bits together is not the answer. Well, actually it is an answer, just perhaps not the most mature one.

Regardless, as I was taking the article to be laminated, I re-read it. And then I stumbled on this little part: "The three women, who intricately planned the hotel beatdown, also physically attacked the three-timer and demanded to know which woman he loved most."

Ooooh. Ladies, you were so close. Here's a tip: if he's screwing all three of you, the answer is D) none of the above. The only person he loves in this equation is himself. But thanks for playing. And really, which one of you was still hoping that he'd pick you? Despite the overwhelming evidence of his ass-hattery, which one of you would still have believed him? Because you know he was weighing his odds. Maybe one of you is kind of bruiser, so if he picked you, he might have hoped that you would have turned on the other two?

Seriously, ladies, you can't embrace your inner Heather in one more-embarrassing-than-deadly-Drano moment and still somehow hope for a picket fence ending. So, pick up the damn red bow and walk out of the school… um… hotel room and face the reality (and perhaps some jail time because I'm pretty sure low-life is going to get you all locked up for assault—may you get an all female jury).

Moral of this story? It's just all bad.

Kate, who has a spinning moral compass these days

Killer Bikini Waxes From Outer Space

I thought that title might get your attention.

I've never been shy about expressing which side I'm on in the war of the pubic hairs. While I applaud some basic caretaking, I'm just not down with visually reducing me to a pre-pubescent girl. I'm a woman. If you can't get turned on by me unless I look like a 9 year old then I'm out (also, probably calling the police and leaving an anonymous tip, but that's another story).

I'm not going to lie—part of my reticence regarding the rip-it-all-out-by-the-root-and-smile approach is my naturally prudish demeanor… and the descriptions of what some of you have gone through in order to get that ready for XXX close-up. [By the way, congratulations for surviving the decision to have hot wax spackled all over the southern zone.] For instance, I've got to know you pretty darn well to be happy about a command to get on all fours and shove my ass in your face. I know. I know. I'm ridiculous. But that's just me.

On the upside, the person working the anal/pubic tweezers does possibly have a worse job than I have. In fact, when I'm at work complaining about how dissatisfied I am with my job, I think to myself, "Well, at least I'm not tweezing someone's ingrown pubic hair right now." The worst days, of course, are the days where this little mantra doesn't work.

However, regardless of my own natural reluctance in these matters, I never once seriously thought that a bikini wax could kill me—you know, unless the term "died of embarrassment" turned out to be literal. But this article is something for you all to keep in mind the next time you let someone drip hot wax south of the border.

Please consider this my PSA of the month. Stay safe out there.

http://health.msn.com/health-topics/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100240299&gt1=31036

I Know There Was Something

Apparently, in planning for a new life (new career, new love, new shoes) you are supposed to figure out what you are good at. Determine your passion and make a career of it. Determine the kind of man/relationship you want and pursue it. Figure out why you need yet another pair of black heels and buy them. On the surface, this all sounds like an excellent plan. Plus, Jimmy Choo is having another sale. So, I got out my trusty pencil (yes, it must be a pencil) and a piece of paper. I'm excellent at creating lists, and I thought this would come naturally.

What am I good at? What am I good at? Well, there was that…. Um… Oh, and that one time…oh, no, that didn't work….

Yeah, that session pretty much ended with me doodling a pair of shoes. Well, at least I'm focused.

So, I tried again. So far, this is my list:

1. Good at observing how delectable David Duchovny looks in swimwear (past and present)
   Can I make a career out of being a perv? Hugh Hefner jokes aside, probably not. Although, perhaps I have an as yet undiscovered talent as a swimsuit designer? Of course, I also find him delightful in Hank Moody black t-shirt and Mulder suit, so men's fashion designer generally might also be a possibility. Or, maybe I am destined to become a sculptor, and could actually bill this time to research of the male form?
   
2. Good at always looking on the downside of life
   I don't give myself props for much, but I have mad skills with this one. Plus, any time I can bastardize a song from "The Life of Brian" (or really any Monty Python), I'm doing to do it. This might mean I have to cross off elementary school teacher from my list of possible new careers. Well, that and the fact that children and I tend to look upon each other with mutual suspicion. But I think news anchor, stock analyst, real estate advisor and loan officer, given the overall economic and social climate, are all areas where my gift for bleak could be rewarded.
   
3. Good at watching the same films or TV episodes repeatedly without tiring of them
   Maybe I can become an editor? You watch, re-watch, re-re-watch a lot with that job. Or some sort of CIA or FBI analyst where watching footage over and over again looking for clues is a key component. Or TV analyst? Or obsessed network executive?
   
4. Good at getting irrationally angry at Emmy voters for epic failure despite not being involved in the shows
   Yeah, this has producer all over it. Or crazy person. Whichever. I've been called both.
   
5. Good at shaking my fist at the universe
   Um… politician? Tele-Evangelist?
   

That's as far as I've gotten. So far, the only possible job I see that includes all of this is "unpaid blogger". Oh, wait… I've already got that job.

Success!! They were right. Put it down on paper, and your dreams really will come true.

This seems slightly less impressive than originally hoped.

Much like my love life.

Emmy Fail

Oh, Emmy voters how you continue to disappoint. Still, I will take my cue from the infinitely more mature David Duchovny and Natascha McElhone seen here in a clip from back in June (obviously, before they knew the outcome) at the Los Angeles Times Envelope Screening Series for Showtime's Californication.

David Duchovny and Natascha McElhone on Showtime and Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

FML

A Friday should be a beautiful thing. A Friday afternoon, in particular, holds such promise. On a Friday afternoon, you should be able to look over the horizon and feel like you have days and days to do with what you will. You can stay up late and not fear that upon waking, you'll have to go to work. In short, Friday should just be joy.

You know what things don't indicate a joyful Friday?

1. You should not find out that your pilot project got rejected thus trapping you forever in a job that no longer rings your bell (Hell, I can't find the bell. Was there a bell?)
   
2. You should not then get an assignment at bell-less job that you should never have and only got because everyone else had the good sense to be on vacation and entirely unreachable.
   
3. You should not then finally find a couple of minutes to check in with Facebook looking for solace only to be cruelly taunted by "People You Might Know" suggestions. Oh, and that suggestion shouldn't be The EX, but what it really shouldn't be is your Ex's new wife using a profile photo where she is holding their new baby.
   

 

FML

While We're Waiting

It's true that my portable, 2-dimensional visualization device (or vision board) is still blank. Although I do appreciate the many comments and emails with suggestions.

But I hate a blank page.

So, instead of staring at a blank page, I bring you another short clip from the Los Angeles Times Envelope Screening Series Panel for Californication which was held in June. Please enjoy watching Natascha McElhone and David Duchovny bantering about love on Californication.

Can't wait for Season 3 to start.

(as usual, you can pop it out to full size with the vimeo controls).

Natascha McElhone and David Duchovny Banter About Love on Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

The Board

Two of my friends are creating vision boards. Scratch that. One of my friends is creating a vision board, the other one, Pen, is creating a portable, 2-dimensional visualization tool. Pen rejects The Secret even though she recognizes the possible superficial overlap of her current theories—thus, the terminology becomes important.

For those of you who are now scratching your heads in confusion—you are not alone. From what I understand, the board includes pictures, notes, articles, etc that represent things you need and want for each aspect of your life. Apparently, for The Secret followers, this helps you articulate what you want, gives you an idea of the path to achieve it, and puts it out into the universe. I'm not exactly sure what the universe does with it. For me, the universe would crumple it up into a little ball, spit on it and then stomp on it. I sincerely hope my friend has better luck.

For the non-Secret devotees, the visualization board serves as not only a way to articulate what you want and need, but, recognizing that the universe is at best an indifferent bastard, it also acts as a reminder—it's a goal board… a motivational tool…some sort of slightly non-aggressive accountability tool.

In other words, I think they are supposed to do the same thing.

I have to tell you: I'm completely fascinated by the idea. Sure, I have a slight concern that my visualization tool will end up looking like some sort of deranged George Clooney altar, but if it looks like it might be working for either one of them in any way, I'm in. Beyond the success or failure rate of these boards, I think part of my fascination is focused on these practitioners of the dark arts of hopefulness and planning. These women couldn't be more different, and yet they are both whole-heartedly embracing this technique.

Oh, and one other thing they are embracing: the idea that I too should join their ranks and start cutting up some magazines.

Hmmmm.

I did read that article about a woman who visualized a particular number (I don't remember what it was. Let's say it was 127 million). She put it on paper and put the paper under her pillow. She meditated on it. She thought about it all the time. And then she won $127 million in the lottery. It's a good story. I like this story. But let's face it, if obsessing over something made it a reality, we all know my life would look a hell of a lot different right now.

My natural proclivity to disparage all signs of positivity is not my only issue… it's not even the biggest issue. No, my primary issue remains my inability to answer the simple question, "What do you want?"

There's a certain amusement factor inherent in my inability to answer this question. Why? I used to ask this question of The Ex all the time when we were faced with complicated relationship conundrums. Invariably, he'd respond with "Why does it rest with me?" To which I always replied, "Because I know what I want." How perverse is it that I can no longer even begin to answer this question? I'm now so divorced from myself that I have no idea.

My vision board is empty.

Pen, being a Life Coach, took a pragmatic approach and present me with some completely reasonable questions. It went something like this:

Pen: "Do you want a house? Everyone in LA wants a house."

Kate: "Eh"

Pen: "Eh, is not an answer. Eh, is more of an 'I'm secretly reading Twitter and not pay attention to you because I'm in avoidance mode."

Kate: "Completely untrue" [closing out of Twitter] "Fine. The theory of a house is fine. But I have neither the inclination nor the skill to actually care for one. I also do not appear to have unlimited funds to hire staff to do it for me. Also, I'd like to point out that, technically, the bank would own the house."

Pen: "What about travel? You used to travel."

Kate: "Has teleportation been invented yet?"

Pen: "Not to my knowledge."

Kate: "Probably going to nix travel then."

Pen (admittedly laughing at this point): "Fame?"

Kate: "Ha! Yes. But Fame costs. And right here is where you start paying. In sweat."

Pen: "A shocking no!"

Kate: "Yes, it's what every hermit secretly craves—to be followed around by people with cameras and access to the internet."

Pen: "Scratch that one off. How about a new job?"

Kate: "Now we're talking!"

Pen: "What would you like to do if you could have any job in the world?"

Kate: "No idea."

Pen: "Well, your portable 2-dimensional visualization tool can't just be full of photos of George Clooney."

Kate: "Why not?"

Pen: "Because dating him is a completely unrealistic goal."

Kate: "So is owning a house in LA, but that made the list."

And then she gave me what looked suspiciously like the stink eye last seen on my high school gym teacher.

Kate: "What?"

For nearly 30 minutes I thought about what I would really want (that was also something I could work towards and achieve) and the board is still empty. I do the job I do because I'm good at it, and it pays well. I have obligations. I have responsibilities and no desire to take on more. I have commitments. These things I understand. But "want"? "Want" I'm not good at. "Want" is a specimen I circle cautiously and with great suspicion.

Mason Tateman

Sigh. I can't win.

I was leaving work today, rejoicing in the bliss of being able to leave a breathtaking hour early, when I saw a man walking into the building who seemed to be attractive. I say "seemed" because I didn't really look at him directly. It was more a surreptitious scan—you know, the scan that women perfect and men can't get down to save their lives.

Anyway, scan completed, I registered a couple of things: 1) the man was attractive, 2) he was my type, and 3) I should try to get his attention. I know—that last one is surprising. But I've been working on that whole "life plan" thing with coach Pen, and apparently, my total and complete lack of progress on the dating front can be somewhat related to my lack of action plan. [I pointed out that it was also due to lack of proper motivation, an overwhelming workload and laziness, but she appears to be having none of that.]

The problem was that by the time I processed all of this, the man who was walking toward me was, in fact, right next to me and within seconds would pass me. So, I did a very subtle double take in the hopes that he would see my blinding smile out of his peripheral vision. Well, subtle in that I nearly turned my body entirely around in order to accomplish it, but boy did I smile.

I wasn't entirely certain why the guy suddenly looked like he was braced for impact. I mean, I didn't even get close to him. I made no sudden lunging movements, and unless the smile was completely maniacal (rather than entirely appropriately perky), I think I was projecting "inviting" rather than "crazy". In the split second I had to ponder his reaction, my eyes flicked up to his face again.

Yeah, he might have been a fairly well-known actor. His name might rhyme with Mason Tateman. My entirely subtle double take may have been taken for "crazed fan reaction" rather than "entirely out of whack female flirting technique".

What do you do in this situation? It's not like I could yell, "No, I'm not a fan!" I mean, that just sounds wrong. Plus, it's sort of a lie. I do like his work; I just wouldn't approach him for an autograph. Also, running back to catch up to him in order to explain that I didn't even recognize him could also be taken the wrong way. You never know which famous person is going to find that charming and which one will take that as binge-worthy blow to their self-esteem.

[As a side note, can we finally get that electronic celeb board tracker in place? Maybe next to the name, it could give you clues to each day's preferences like "wants to be recognized", "on the edge", "likes to date non-industry types", "approach with caution", "bring cocaine" and "pretend like you've never heard of him". Could really be helpful.]

So, I did what I always do: I kept walking while carrying on a highly entertaining inner dialogue about whether or not the guy I just passed was indeed Mason Tateman. Hilarious. Seriously, if only I could market my confusion, I'd make a fortune.

What would you have done?

Can’t Decide

I was at a lovely little neighborhood restaurant grabbing a quick lunch when I noticed that one of the men entering was, in fact, in his pajamas. I can't decide how I feel about this one.

On the one hand, noon can be very early for some people on a Sunday. It's a neighborhood hangout. He was clearly a regular. So, part of me thought it was cool that he was so comfortable in his environment that his tank top and jammie bottoms made sense. Don't we all wish we could go around comfy and relaxed?

On the other hand, he could just be pretentious. He seemed to have come from yoga because he, very loudly, announced that he had just come from a "fucking amazing" yoga class, and appeared to want everyone to see him—as in "look at my awesomeness, as I air kiss the waitress and wave to another yoga classmate".

So, you need to vote on this—pjs at a restaurant at noon is a) cool and I should date him, or b) a bit much?

 

Also, an update: I still don't know what a "Toe Job" is. But the upside is most of you who wrote in, also have no idea. It does not involve toe sucking. It does not involve him shoving his big toe where it does not belong. Other than that, I have not a clue. But yes, I am still obsessively looking at my toes trying to figure it out.

 

The Club

I've just returned from the first meeting of the "ass-lickers" club. My friend Pen came up with the idea after reading the blog I posted a while ago. Her theory was that as we had all clearly taken the wrong turn at some point, we should meet and try to come up with concrete ways to get headed in the right direction.

This sounds entirely logical, right?

Mostly, we got sidetracked on a discussion of the advantages of running a cult—financially, socially, sexually… you know, the usual banter. Then we had margaritas.

Shockingly, we haven't come up with a plan that won't someday involve an FBI investigation. But you should definitely stay tuned.

I'm not discouraged. I'm really good when I have an actual goal in front of me. I'm terrible when dealing with abstract things like, "I want things to be better." "Better" is a far too nebulous concept. I like lists. I liked spreadsheets. I like to be able to check things off when I get something finished. Seriously, checking things off a list makes me absurdly happy. Not going-out-for-a-delightful-conversation-with-George-Clooney happy, but absurdly happy none-the-less.

So, I have the club, paper, pencils and a general desire. Now, all I need is a plan. Any minute now it will come to me. Any minute. Any…

Ooooh shiny.

A Toe What???

By now, I’m sure you have heard that the young actress who plays Blair on Gossip Girl had a sex tape on the market. I have no idea what the actual details are—how it got out, if she knew she was being taped, what genius ex-boyfriend decided he hadn’t had his 15 minutes yet, or what publicist thought it was a good idea. [I do know that people keep saying that the tape is “several years old” – which should make you rethink the download because that girl just turned 23 year and “several” could make that little item illegal.]

Obviously, all those issues are very important, and will no doubt be handled by people more capable than I am. But let’s face it—the thing that got my attention was the headline advertising the news of the tape’s existence: “Toe Job”.

A toe what???

First, I dare you to read those words and not immediately look at your feet. Go on. I dare you.

Second, I’m confused in so many ways.

Here I thought I was only avoiding two kinds of jobs, and now I find out that there is a third? There’s a harsh reality. I feel like I should apologize to boyfriends past. I had no idea that toes were on the menu.

Because I refuse to watch the tape, I’m extraordinarily unclear as to how this works. I’m staring at my feet right now, and I’m spreading my toes as far as they can possibly go. Oh, go ahead, give it a shot—you know you are trying to figure it out, too. It’s entirely possible that my toes just don’t have her dexterity, but even between my big toe and the next toe (index toe?) there isn’t that much space. I don’t mean to cast aspersions on the young man’s endowments, but for his sake, I’m hoping that’s not how it’s done.

Are we talking two feet action? In which case, we might be able to market this as an excellent inner thigh work out routine. See—bonus points for men, and a good way to get that extra tone before August. Who says I’m not open minded? Oh, right, everyone.

Also, a side question—men, are you excited to see feet headed straight toward your balls? In my limited experience with men, I seem to remember a real reluctance to risk unnecessary collision between the feet and genitals. Maybe the men I’ve dated are just more squeamish than others.

Or perhaps I’ve made an erroneous assumption with regards to where that toe was headed. Hmmm. That’s got to put an interesting spin (so to speak) on any conversation you have with the person giving you a pedicure:

“No, no, Gigi. You better file that nail down more because I’m sticking it up some guy’s ass tonight. No, it’s Greg. Doug was the one who liked it pointed.”

Now, you have to know that I have often joked about wanting to stick my foot up some guy’s ass, but oddly enough, it was never sexual. And I’m pretty sure it was never literal. Ok, maybe that one time.

All I have to say is bravo for introducing me to yet another concept I don’t want to think about.

Kids, stay safe out there. And for goodness sake, take care of that athlete’s foot before trying this at home. You never know where that toe might end up.

Ouch.

Dating Douchebags

I got this email regarding a new show on MTV, and the title was entertaining enough for me to pass this on to you guys. Why do I have a sinking feeling that I will end up on this show?

===

I'm working to get the word out about MTV's new reality show, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?". Inspired by the popular website Hot Chicks with Douchebags, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?" is a funny docu-format show that explores the phenomenon behind beautiful and innocent young sweethearts who fall for self-absorbed, overly-tanned, tattoo covered douchebags.

"Is She Really Going Out With Him?" airs Mondays - Thursdays at 5pm/4c (Please note time change). For more info, please visit isshereally.mtv.com

Below, Adam and Jeff, take the word "douchebag" to the next level. Check out the video clips below, and please feel free to share them with your readers!

If you require additional assets, please let me know. Thanks!




This "Hustler Douche" gets surprised with a diamond engagement ring from his girlfriend at his birthday party and in return he completely embarrasses her in public.

Link: http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/401928/for-reals-bro-for-reals.jhtml#id=1614192

Embed:

Is She Really Going Out With Him? - MTV Shows

This douchebag takes his girlfriend, Chantelle, out for pizza, but needs to her to pick up the tab because his wallet is on empty till payday.

Link: http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/402263/check-my-steez.jhtml#id=1614288

Embed:

Is She Really Going Out With Him? - MTV Shows

The Experts

Ever feel like you are caught in a revolving door of advice? I feel like I’m caught there right now.

It’s been pointed out to me that I’m not making as much of a concerted effort to meet men as I have in the past. More than one email has inquired as to whether or not I’m actually under witness protection or have just given up to defeatism.

Yes and Yes—But only in my fantasies.

In reality, I’ve started pursuing various websites that provide professional dating assessments. Many of them pose many thoughtful questions (like is hooking up dangerous or liberating? Obviously, I come down on the side of lethal.). Some are just a bit on the left side of ridiculous and clearly meant for 22 year old guys with degrees in advanced alcoholism. I thought that what I was doing made sense. My methods were not working, so I thought I’d see what the experts had to say.

I’ve come to one obvious conclusion. No one has any idea.

I’ve gotten the time-honored advice: “when you stop looking, love will come to you”. I’ve also gotten: “dating is hard work so you have to prepare and pursue often in order to hit the mark” (in essence, for every 15 people you approach, maybe 1 will be a possibility). That advice was naturally followed by: “stop looking so much because you push too hard and come off desperate”. And last, “do you look hot enough for love to find you?” God bless Los Angeles.

So, I should…

Stop.

Do more.

Stop the doing more.

But I’d better look sexy no matter which path I choose, so I should have clicked on the sponsors who will chisel off that cellulite while I ponder love’s little mysteries.

Hmmm

Well, I think I can mark off the “when you stop looking” one. Seriously, no one has stopped looking more than I have. Also, the desperate one doesn’t seem to ring true because my friends are more likely to come off as desperate as they try to fix me up. I’m more likely to look alternately bored or frightened.

This only leaves the “hard work” option. It has been suggested that I need a work life balance (since currently all my energies are focused on work). So, if I’m willing to work very hard at my job then I should be prepared to work equally hard at dating—which is clearly ridiculous because I can’t get reduced hours based on the need to date, and I do need to sleep on occasion.

Also, I live in Los Angeles! It’s a land of extremes. People here hook up, have sex right away and then seem surprised when the other person doesn’t call again unless they are drunk (again). Can you hear that “how did you and grandma meet” story?

Well, kids, I bent her over a sink in the ladies bathroom about an hour after we
met at someone’s birthday party. Yep. We were wasted.

Aww. Tear.

No wonder it’s also the land of immediate marriage. If you do find someone who is willing to see you more than three times, Vegas is calling. And yes, someone is probably drunk (again).

I feel like an explorer. Not only do I have the burden (how is that for hopeful) of actually trying to date, but I also have the task of re-introducing the concept to the residents of this city. However, as intrepid as I am, I’m not quite sure how I’m going to respond to the question, “But if I can get sex any time I want, why should I date?” Because “human connection isn’t always about sex” doesn’t seem to get me anywhere.

Sigh.

June 16

One Wrong Move…

One of my favorite lines from Californication comes courtesy of Marcy who is providing sage and time-honored advice (and a bikini wax) to a porn star: "One wrong move, and you're the ass licker".

As much as it pains me, my friends, it is clear, I am the ass licker. Naturally, this isn't literal in my world because I can't lick my own ass, and I'm certainly not getting near anyone else's. But metaphorically, I have sadly embraced my new moniker.

For instance, I got into work this morning at 5:30am for a 6:00am conference call. Right away, that's bad. As part of this call, the tech people are revealing a new database in New York. But it's not up as a video conference—no, no, I'm listening to someone describe a database from 3,000 miles away, as I try to stay awake.

What are my friends doing? They are getting ready to fly to London today to enjoy a couple of weeks of travel, plays and film festivals.

Ass licker.

What was the wrong move I made? Pen, being a "Doctor Who" fan has indicated that I turned right instead of left. But when? And was there only one wrong turn? Or is it a history of not RSVPing to events that has resulted in me sitting here trying to figure out if bashing my head on the desk would do any good, or just require stitches.

Update: It's just been suggested in the meeting that I might like to fly to NYC for a day of training. Yeah. Because flying for 12 hours to get a single day of training sounds like the most fun ever.

That Seems Wrong

There are two things you should never do:

1. put me in charge of food
   
2. put me in charge of getting men to do something
   

Naturally, every film project, screening project, random side project I've ever assisted on included me dealing with catering. There is something perversely consistent about this type of thing.

And sadly, I'm currently in charge of recruiting men for a charity project.

Now I can see some of you jumping up and down and pointing at me. You're thinking, "Men! She's finally talking to men!" Calm the hell down. So far, I'm 0 for 5 on the invite list. And while the rejections have been lovely and thoughtful, and technically, in no way related to me, I'm going to take this personally. Who thinks making me get men to agree to something is a good idea? In order to do this, they'd have to agree to spend time with me. That's never going to work. That's never worked. It's been years since any guy thought that was even a vaguely good idea. It's as though they know I am kryptonite. Being in my mere presence will destroy them, so they stay as far away as possible. They'd like to wrap me in lead so that no part of my being contaminates them.

Is my island ready yet?

A Play in One Act

[Please enjoy the synopsis of my day today]

 

 

Kate: So, that's a "yes" then?

X: No.

Kate: So, the answer is "no"?

X: No.

[confused look]

Kate: So, that leaves…

X: Not a "no".

Kate: But if it's not a "no" then it's…

X: Not a "no".

[silence]

Kate: hmm.

X: Indeed.

Fantasy Guy

I'm certainly not the first person to sit around with her friends and wax poetic about the finer points of a handful of well-known handsome men. My friends and I might disagree about which "celebrity" guy floats our particular boat, but it's still not unusual for us to get girlie and giggle (even at this advanced age) just as I might have when Rick Springfield (guest starring on this season's Californication, by the way) first made me wish that I was Jessie's Girl.

It's been suggested that girls (and certain nearly middle age females we all know and love) spend time fixated on the joys of these fantasy men rather putting themselves "out there". After all, fantasy guy rarely disappoints. It's one of his most endearing qualities. I take this suggestion in stride, as it's very likely accurate. Wandering through an increasingly depressing bar scene pales even more when I can choose instead to stay home and watch "Solaris". The bar scene makes me lament the future of humanity, while certain scenes in "Solaris" makes me celebrate mankind—or at least one particular man.

But here's something that is somewhat unique to Los Angeles: fantasy guy could live down the street, be standing in your corner Starbucks, or driving by you as you wait to cross to the post office. In reality, fantasy guy is just another guy who lives in Los Angeles.

I can hear you thinking, "Yeah, but it's not like you are going to date Alex O'Loughlin or George Clooney or…".

To this I say, "Why not?"

Grant it, it's entirely likely that I'm not fantasy guy's type, but he's just another single man working in Los Angeles. There isn't a moat with a drawbridge (even in Malibu) that stops someone from introducing themselves and giving it the old college try. Now, I'm not blind to the fact that you are likely to have a heck of lot of competition for said fantasy guy, but in Los Angeles, there's a significant amount of competition for any straight, single man with a job. Plus, what are the odds of me actually introducing myself to any man and asking him out? Yeah, those odds are hovering dangerously close to zero regardless of the level of SAG dues he pays.

"But where would you meet one of these fantasy guys?" How the hell should I know? I can't meet any guys. Thus, technically my odds of meeting Clive Owen or Bob Jones are roughly the same.

I can hear your next thought, "But hot, famous actors are not going to be into faithful long-term relationships—they might hook up with you, but they'll definitely cheat".

To this I remind you that people keep telling me that most men cheat. So, if I'm going to be cheated on anyway, I'm not going to factor hot, successful men out of the equation merely by virtue of heightened probability. That's practically discrimination, and that's wrong. I'm an equal opportunity theoretical dater.

Fantasy guys—they're not just for fantasies anymore.

A Challenge

My friend Pen threw down the gauntlet today. I have been challenged to a battle of wills (because somehow a battle of apathy seems impossible). This is her contention: I will not find a date in the calendar year 2009. She thinks I've allowed myself to become distracted by work, more work and fantasy men in order to avoid (or sublimate) my natural instinct to "couple".

Now before any of you jump to my defense (no, really, you should have, but that's fine… I'm not hurt), she means well. She just knows that my propensity for alone outweighs any desire to socialize with other human beings (outside of a laminated list I keep on hand for emergencies). And the bet wasn't so much that I couldn't possibly find a guy in Los Angeles to go out with me (although that's a genuine concern), but that I would not be taking any remarkable steps to make that happen.

So, she has decided to speak in a language that I understand: the language of cash. She has bet me $100 that I will not go out on a date in 2009.

Naturally, my first instinct is to say, "Eh, whatever" and then grab another muffin from the cart. Also, I'm a little concerned that if she's technically paying me to date that somehow prostitution fits into this scenario. The old moral compass can't quite embrace that element. And the life of hermit doesn't really lend itself to bar hopping.

But I'm very competitive, and I like money.

What to do ….

Being highly analytical, I weighed my options and figured I could find a loophole. Surely a male friend could by me a drink (that I would nurse for a couple of hours without drinking, of course), and I could come away with a new shoe fund.

Sadly, Pen was ahead of me on this one. She had a list of criteria:

• Single, straight, male (although separated male is also acceptable);
  
• I must have some romantic interest in him, and (this is the tricky part) he has to have some romantic interest in me (unless this is a set-up and then how the heck would I know this);
  
• I have to find him attractive (although, again, if this is a set-up, it's not my fault if the spark isn't there);
  
• He has to take me out to an event (ie can't be fixing the plumbing in my apartment when I get home);
  
• We can't split the tab (I tried to argue this point, but we're on wait and see with this one);
  
• He must be over 18 (can't take the nephews bowling, apparently); and
  
• I must have an impure thought during the course of the date (thankfully, she didn't specify if the impure thought had to be about the date, or cursing her for getting me into this).
  

So, here we are. The bet has been made. Now the questions is will I win the bet, win the bet by getting around the rules, or fail miserably, thus allowing Pen to keep the money?

Did I mention that I really like winning even if I don't necessarily want the thing I've won?

This could get interesting.

====

My friend DM just jumped in with another of $100. That's $200 to me if I go out on a date following that criteria by Dec. 31, 2009. She's actually willing to extend it to Jan. 2. She's willing to throw in an extra $50 to kiss him on New Year's Eve.

===

And my friend Bonnie is in for another $10.

===

Mich just added $50. We're up to $260.

You realize I'm going to go out on a date just to spite you people, right. ;) Get those checkbooks out.

Happy Monday

Here are little known facts:

• If any part of your Sunday night is spent thinking, “I’m not a religious person, but if that Rapture thing happens right now, I won’t have to go to work tomorrow”, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• If you exchange texts with a friend [ahem, you know who you are] that say anything along the following lines, “Is it wrong that I don’t want to fall asleep because if I do when I wake up, it will be Monday, and I’ll have to be go to work”, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• If you start to think that winning the lottery is a more viable alternative to financial security than your actual job, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• When the power goes out forcing you to shower in the dim light of your emergency lamp, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• When the elevator in your building is also on strike because the power is still out, forcing you to walk down several flights of stairs, in heels, also by the dim light of a flashlight, on a Monday morning at 6:00am, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• When the straps on your tank bra give out, after you’ve already arrived at work at 6:30am on a Monday morning, forcing you to grab a safety pin and pray, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• When Monday morning’s next adventure involves an email telling you that you have missed a submission deadline, a deadline you were never informed of in the first place, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• When you tell yourself that it will be all ok if you can just grab a quick plain bagel and juice so you can start over, only to find that there are no plain bagels and the juice is making you sick, you know it’s going to be a rough week.
  
• If you spent any part of the weekend laughing with a friend and saying, “I swear the guy looked a lot like [fill in blank with favorite celebrity male], but there’s no way it was, so I didn’t even stress about going up to thank him for his help”, only to find out after all of this that [fill in blank with favorite celebrity male] was in fact in your neighborhood, you will start to think that alcohol on a Monday morning might be a good idea.
  

And I just got a paper cut.

It’s going to be a rough week.

Happy Monday all.

FAQ Redux

Because I've been fortunate to "meet" many new readers in the last few weeks, I thought I would repost this FAQ as sort of an introduction. Who is Kate? Read below to find out all you've ever wanted to know (or at least what I'm willing to tell you today) about Kate Dating.

*****

Periodically, I get questions about the blog and about me. Here is a small attempt to answer some of the most frequently asked questions (or statements). Well, the clean ones anyway.

1. Is the blog based on real life events, or is it all fiction?
The blog is based on real life events. Occasionally, I have altered the time frame to protect the not-so-innocent. Likewise, I’ve obscured the names of the people involved so that when their prospective employers google them, their names on this blog will not incriminate them in any way. Unless, of course, they piss me off, and then they are so busted.

2. Are you actually dating all the time and just not talking about it?
No. Trust me, if I was dating, you’d know. For instance, hell would have frozen over. Hell freezing over is actually an excellent indicator that romance is in the air for me. Sadly (or happily, I suppose) there is no need for you to run out and buy that parka just yet.

3. Do you hate men?
Absolutely not—I do not hate men. If I did, my life would probably be easier. I do, however, wish I had the manual that goes with men.

4. Do you hate The Ex?
No. I love him dearly, and I always will. He is a good man. He simply made a choice that was best for him. Someday I hope to see the wisdom of that choice.

5. Are you really doing a web series based on the blog?
It’s a real possibility. I don’t know if I’ll be playing me, though. It’s entirely possible that many different women will “play Kate” because I find the idea entertaining.

6. Do you work in the entertainment industry?
I work in the entertainment industry from time to time. It is not how I make my living. But I do live in Los Angeles, so I interact with a lot of filmmakers. I enjoy working behind the scenes. I’ve spent my life in the arts to some degree. I was a dancer in my less decrepit years. As you’ll soon find out, I’m better with a script than without one, but even then I think I’ll be producing the Oscars before I receive one.

7. How can you call yourself a hermit when I keep seeing pictures of celebrities on your blog?
I suppose I’m not technically a hermit because I do leave the apartment to work. I call myself a hermit because there is a part of me that would be entirely fine having very limited contact with other human beings—maybe not for long stretches, but definitely for shorter ones. Also, the celebrity events that I have attended have been pretty low key events meant to be more celebratory of the work than drunken, Hollywood bashes. It’s not my fault that Clooney is smitten with me. I told him I just didn’t think it would work out between us. I hope we can still be friends.

8. Ur 2 ugly 4 wrds?!
And yet you found some. Thankfully, I don’t get many of these.

9. Is your real name Kate Dating?
No, but it would certainly be ironic if it was.

Tuesday Wrap-Up

Just a few more words on the Californication event held on Tuesday. By and large the event was great fun, and I think people really did enjoy the screening of the episode and hearing a bit from the creatives/talent involved in this highly entertaining show. It was obvious that the cast has not only great chemistry, but a tremendous amount of respect for one another. Each one brings unique talent to the table, and I honestly believe that in less capable hands, the show wouldn’t work. As it is, I can’t wait for Season 3 to begin. Pamela Adlon said she thought it was going to be the best season yet, and I’m ready to kick back and enjoy a bit more of Hank Moody’s world.

If you have an opportunity to attend any of the panels/screenings that are being hosted as part of The Envelope series, you should definitely do it. Also, I think I mentioned this before, the Los Angeles Times recorded the entire event, and it should be online soon. Update: here's the link of where the clip will appear: http://www.latimes.com/extras/events/envelopescreeningseries/

Here are a few more pictures from the event. They were taken while Natascha was explaining that during the rehearsal period for the show, she thought that Karen should be French. David got quite a kick out of being called ‘ank, which was admittedly amusing, but I’m pretty glad that went the way they did.

(as usual, click on the pictures to get the bigger versions)