And She Did
http://www.nbcchicago.com/news/weird/Indiana-Woman-Said-I-Do-23-Times.html?yhp=1
The universe, in theory, seeks a balance. According to the link above, this woman has been married 23 times. Apparently, I am the balancing force in the universe. She gets 23 men to agree to a lifetime (or 2 days, whatever appeals the most) with her. I can’t get a guy to talk to me. Nice one, universe!
Bikini Brain
http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/02/19/women.bikinis.objects/index.html
According to more fabulous scientific research, the area of the brain in men that responds to handling tools also responds to images of women in bikinis. I’m fairly certain that any garage mechanic could have told them that for much less money than what was spent on this study. There’s bound to be a joke in here somewhere about power tools, drilling and the like. But I’m tired, so make the appropriate joke yourselves. I find it shocking (shocking, I say) that we now learn that men see bikini-clad women in magazine as objects. No way! I would have never…oh, wait. On the upside, does this mean if I need a guy to do repairs around the apartment, I can just lead him to his “tools” by showing him a bikini calendar?
Interesting Decorations
http://www.wpix.com/landing/?Boys-Find-Boa-inside-Living-Room-Sofa=1&blockID=217188&feedID=1404
I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me. I’ve thought… hmmmm is that change wiggling around in those cushions? No? What is that? OH! It’s a 4-1/2 foot, 5-pound boa constrictor in my leather couch… in New York City. Someone mark that down as reason 3,432 why I am not going back to New York—the couches will literally kill you. Good for them for having the presence of mind to get animal control on the case. I would still be standing on a table screaming, picturing my imminent demise—and naturally wishing I was wearing something cuter and had gotten my brows done for the inevitable leaked photos to the news organizations. Hey, even a girl taken out by her killer sofa has standards.
And Now For Something Serious
http://www.3angelsfund.org/events/beauty_and_soul.php
While IBG (the volunteer organization I work with) isn't directly involved in this, we are trying to spread the word about this fun event and this organization's very important work. This event is located in New York, and directly benefits research to raise awareness, diagnose and someday cure Alveolar Capillary Dysplasia (ACD). ACD is almost certainly a genetic disease of the lungs that kills infants, but much is still unknown.
For more information about the upcoming benefit in New York, as well as the organization itself, please visit: http://www.3angelsfund.org/events/beauty_and_soul.php
Also, if you could pass the link along to friends, we'd really appreciate it!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Encounter
It has been suggested to me by loyal readers and evil friends that I am not focusing enough on trying to make even the smallest connections with the male gender. While I recognize the criticism might have some small element of validity, I’d like to point out that men don’t talk to me. They didn’t before my new initiative, and they don’t talk to me now. In fact, I’m pretty sure I said something foolish to the universe on this very topic.
Never give the universe that kind of opening.
I was downstairs yesterday trolling for food because I’m both too lazy and too lazy to ever cook anything for myself these days. While I normally stand downstairs feeling every click of the second hand on the clock resonate in my body (I hate waiting in lines), I was relatively non-hurried.
And he walked into the diner.
He was (presumably still is) tall—around 6’4”. He was clean cut, business-preppy with a little boy haircut, but broad-shouldered and just slightly in need of a mid-afternoon shave. In other words, he was danger. He was my version of the front cover of a romance novel, and if he was in my office building there was better than even chance that he was employed.
You can feel the shiver that overtook me even now, can’t you?
In normal, every day, Kate world, I would have expected my lunch to be ready immediately giving us no chance to speak. But no—the universe was going to give me what I asked for. It was going to give me a conversation with Danger.
In my fantasy world, I’m sure my hair would have been curled and blowing behind me (and I would have suddenly grown several inches taller), as he slow-motion walked toward me. As it was, he just walked toward me.
At first he didn’t see me. Of course, being smaller than your average 12 year old, this is not an unfamiliar state. Add to that my invisibility to the men of Los Angeles, and I was prepared for him to walk right by me. Instead, he got closer.
I was turned slightly, and I could feel his approach. I’m sure some part of me was glistening and/or heaving, but I can’t swear to it. Fighting all instincts to cower from a stranger, I turned slightly into him and looked up.
I smiled.
He smiled.
Angels wept, while the music in my own personal soundtrack swelled.
And he spoke.
“Have you already ordered, Ma’am?”
Wha??? Ma’am????
Ma'am!!!
I’ve entered Ma’am territory. I’m no longer “miss” or indeterminate PC approved entity. I’m a ma’am now.
You don’t date a ma’am. You don’t think soul searing and not entirely chaste thoughts about a ma’am.
In a blink of an eye, people... in a blink of an eye, potential love affair transformed to “maybe he’ll offer to help with my groceries”.
That crashing sound you heard was what was left of my ego.
Kate (aka Ma’am) in Los Angeles
Never give the universe that kind of opening.
I was downstairs yesterday trolling for food because I’m both too lazy and too lazy to ever cook anything for myself these days. While I normally stand downstairs feeling every click of the second hand on the clock resonate in my body (I hate waiting in lines), I was relatively non-hurried.
And he walked into the diner.
He was (presumably still is) tall—around 6’4”. He was clean cut, business-preppy with a little boy haircut, but broad-shouldered and just slightly in need of a mid-afternoon shave. In other words, he was danger. He was my version of the front cover of a romance novel, and if he was in my office building there was better than even chance that he was employed.
You can feel the shiver that overtook me even now, can’t you?
In normal, every day, Kate world, I would have expected my lunch to be ready immediately giving us no chance to speak. But no—the universe was going to give me what I asked for. It was going to give me a conversation with Danger.
In my fantasy world, I’m sure my hair would have been curled and blowing behind me (and I would have suddenly grown several inches taller), as he slow-motion walked toward me. As it was, he just walked toward me.
At first he didn’t see me. Of course, being smaller than your average 12 year old, this is not an unfamiliar state. Add to that my invisibility to the men of Los Angeles, and I was prepared for him to walk right by me. Instead, he got closer.
I was turned slightly, and I could feel his approach. I’m sure some part of me was glistening and/or heaving, but I can’t swear to it. Fighting all instincts to cower from a stranger, I turned slightly into him and looked up.
I smiled.
He smiled.
Angels wept, while the music in my own personal soundtrack swelled.
And he spoke.
“Have you already ordered, Ma’am?”
Wha??? Ma’am????
Ma'am!!!
I’ve entered Ma’am territory. I’m no longer “miss” or indeterminate PC approved entity. I’m a ma’am now.
You don’t date a ma’am. You don’t think soul searing and not entirely chaste thoughts about a ma’am.
In a blink of an eye, people... in a blink of an eye, potential love affair transformed to “maybe he’ll offer to help with my groceries”.
That crashing sound you heard was what was left of my ego.
Kate (aka Ma’am) in Los Angeles
Friday, February 06, 2009
You Might be Kate If…
1. You hear the words “designer vagina” and your thoughts turn not to the mysteries of cosmetic science, but immediately to where they must put the label.
2. You notice that Pen’s Barbie Magic Wand has been the victim of fluid evaporation, and proclaim it as a sign of the apocalypse—which you then have trouble spelling.
3. You are working on a proposal for a charity event, and one of the target magazines threatens to nix the project because of your clearly erroneous choice of “fanbase” instead of “fan base”.
4. You are doing data analysis at 7am, and you need the soothing background emanations from your iPod….only to hear a strange grinding noise from said device followed by an ominous on-screen warning.
5. You don’t understand how a centimeter of rain can cause mass panic in Los Angeles (followed by the inevitable “Storm Watch 2009” television interruptions), but an earthquake outside of the standard news cycle barely gets a bottom of the screen crawl.
6. You actually take time away from a busy work day to consult Pen’s Magic 8 Ball about your fantasy life (or is that Magic Date Ball, I can’t remember, but it seems to be a remarkably positive little thing).
7. You think anything airing at 9pm should be considered late night television.
8. You are horrified by any friend’s story that begins with “she was running a dominatrix operation out of the room I was renting”.
9. You had to look up the spelling of dominatrix.
10. You have a terrible habit of spending more time dwelling on what has gone wrong rather than rejoicing in the memories of what has gone right… if you could remember that far back…which you can’t.
11. You can’t figure out how people find out about orgies. Are there invitations for that sort of thing—perhaps a special section on the e-vite website? Also, are they sticklers about plus ones there? I mean, that has to be murder on a hostess if the numbers aren’t even.
12. You are shocked that orgies happen because as far as you can tell, it isn’t 1973.
13. You have been nicknamed Moral Compass while trying to keep your friends off the pole (both literally and figuratively) though you understand the reasoning that it is good exercise.
14. You find the idea of a sexually “experienced” man terrifying rather than intriguing because you don’t want sex to be about tricks so much as love. Plus, you just aren’t that flexible anymore and your ass looks bad from that angle.
15. You realize that the old theory about great cooks making great lovers means you are in big trouble as you can not even navigate the grocery store… nor do you want to do so.
16. You think that a convent might be the place for you if that whole “poverty” bit could be waved. After all, you have the chastity part covered.
17. You’ve seriously thought about using the “I’m off to a convent” line as a conversation starter when faced with a man you know you can not handle (i.e. all of them).
18. You’re so disconnected from yourself that when someone asks you what you do for fun, you honestly don’t know, but assume it has something to do with The X-Files.
19. You want to find the first person to suggest anal bleaching as a viable component of the daily beauty regimen and ask him why he hates women (because you know it was a man).
20. No, seriously, where do they put the label?
2. You notice that Pen’s Barbie Magic Wand has been the victim of fluid evaporation, and proclaim it as a sign of the apocalypse—which you then have trouble spelling.
3. You are working on a proposal for a charity event, and one of the target magazines threatens to nix the project because of your clearly erroneous choice of “fanbase” instead of “fan base”.
4. You are doing data analysis at 7am, and you need the soothing background emanations from your iPod….only to hear a strange grinding noise from said device followed by an ominous on-screen warning.
5. You don’t understand how a centimeter of rain can cause mass panic in Los Angeles (followed by the inevitable “Storm Watch 2009” television interruptions), but an earthquake outside of the standard news cycle barely gets a bottom of the screen crawl.
6. You actually take time away from a busy work day to consult Pen’s Magic 8 Ball about your fantasy life (or is that Magic Date Ball, I can’t remember, but it seems to be a remarkably positive little thing).
7. You think anything airing at 9pm should be considered late night television.
8. You are horrified by any friend’s story that begins with “she was running a dominatrix operation out of the room I was renting”.
9. You had to look up the spelling of dominatrix.
10. You have a terrible habit of spending more time dwelling on what has gone wrong rather than rejoicing in the memories of what has gone right… if you could remember that far back…which you can’t.
11. You can’t figure out how people find out about orgies. Are there invitations for that sort of thing—perhaps a special section on the e-vite website? Also, are they sticklers about plus ones there? I mean, that has to be murder on a hostess if the numbers aren’t even.
12. You are shocked that orgies happen because as far as you can tell, it isn’t 1973.
13. You have been nicknamed Moral Compass while trying to keep your friends off the pole (both literally and figuratively) though you understand the reasoning that it is good exercise.
14. You find the idea of a sexually “experienced” man terrifying rather than intriguing because you don’t want sex to be about tricks so much as love. Plus, you just aren’t that flexible anymore and your ass looks bad from that angle.
15. You realize that the old theory about great cooks making great lovers means you are in big trouble as you can not even navigate the grocery store… nor do you want to do so.
16. You think that a convent might be the place for you if that whole “poverty” bit could be waved. After all, you have the chastity part covered.
17. You’ve seriously thought about using the “I’m off to a convent” line as a conversation starter when faced with a man you know you can not handle (i.e. all of them).
18. You’re so disconnected from yourself that when someone asks you what you do for fun, you honestly don’t know, but assume it has something to do with The X-Files.
19. You want to find the first person to suggest anal bleaching as a viable component of the daily beauty regimen and ask him why he hates women (because you know it was a man).
20. No, seriously, where do they put the label?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
