New Year's Resolutions

I ran across this article on cnn.com, and I had to share. Let's just say I have done (or am about to do) five items in the "DO NOT DO" list. Go me! How many have you racked up?

http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/12/29/tf.new.years.resolutions/index.html

What Would She Say

What were you like as a 10 year old? I was bossy—no big surprise. Being an only child meant that I had a certain belief that my opinions would be listened to and weighed with the gravity appropriate for the wisdom expressed. That people frequently noted that I was an adult stuffed into a child's body should not be a surprise either. When friends disappointed me, I would stand with my hands on my hips, shake my head and say things like, "I just don't know what I'm going to do with you."

I bet you can picture it.

I was shy, observant and occasionally fanciful (as the photos of me wearing pink curtains I had fashioned into a gown and cape would attest). I wanted to be a doctor, a spy, a detective and a writer—and all at once.

I still do.

At no point did 10 year old Kate think that she would take a temporary job that would last 16 years—and outlast her interest by a good 14. Passively allowing her ideas to be dismissed? No, I don't think so. 10Kate would never have put up with that. Why would she stay in that situation? Why would anyone?

Perhaps before making decisions, the 10 year old filter should always be applied.

Picture the 10 year old you—maybe you were already developing, maybe those things were still down the road. Pubic hair appearing equaled adulthood. Now tell her that she'll feel inordinate pressure the rest of her life to remove it. Oh, and imagine the shock when you tell 10 year old you that the removal will involve hot wax and someone forcibly ripping it at the roots…. and that she will pay someone to do this often.

Now breasts were power. You had already worked that out if you had siblings or older friends. I'm not sure how the knife and saline implants would have gone over, but I'm guessing it would have elicited some sort of response like, "weird."

Explain to 10 year old you why you got that thing pierced. No seriously. Go ahead.

Look 10 year old you in the eye and explain to her that she will be spending her married life with a man who will not respect her, will cheat on her, will give her STDs and will run off with his girlfriend to Mexico while using her credit cards to expense the trip—while her house is in foreclosure because he lied about paying the mortgage. And he won't understand why she will not be happy for him.

Look 10 year old you in the eye and explain that she will give up what she most wants in life in order to make a partner happy—only to be emotionally abused to the point of paralysis and end up alone anyway.

I bet the 10 year old you would love the idea of you sneaking into a party to meet David Tennant (though, she's unlikely to know who he is yet).

I bet she'd be dismayed to learn that she'll spend her adulthood in love with one man, but marry someone else anyway.

I'm not sure I'd try to explain anal bleaching.

 

Life Unexpected Event

I bring you this most important charity/fun-filled event announcement. :)

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IBG Welcomes "Life Unexpected"

IBG Inc looks forward to fun and informative Conversation With 'Life Unexpected' event this weekend in Los Angeles!

Can you believe it's less than a week away?? December 11th 2010 will mark the second official Conversation Series event for Los Angeles based non-profit organization, IBG Inc. Joining forces with series creator Liz Tigelaar and stars Shiri Appleby and Kristoffer Polaha, IBG is proud to present their "Conversation with Life Unexpected", returning to the Roxbury Auditorium in Beverly Hills.

The afternoon is designed to be an intimate and conversational gathering, with one portion of the hour-long Q&A moderated by E! Online's own Megan Masters, and one portion open floor discussion, taking questions directly from those in attendance. There are still a few tickets available on IBG's website: http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries and there is also an option for those who cannot get out to Los Angeles this week but still want to be a part of the event in spirit. Proceeds from all tiers of tickets will benefit Portland's Boys and Girls Aid.

IBG will also be filming the event for sale of a DVD, which is already available to pre-order on the website. Proceeds from the sale of the DVD will benefit Portland's Boys and Girls Aid, as well.

In donating the proceeds of the Conversation Series event to Boys and Girls Aid, IBG Inc is proud to join Give Me My Remote.com's previously announced efforts to shed light on, and encourage donations, to this very worthy cause.

Boys & Girls Aid is the oldest child welfare agency in the state. The agency has been working to impact the lives of children in need by providing safe housing, positive relationships with caring adults, and tools to learn and grow since 1885. In addition to foster care, the agency provides adoption services and temporary safe housing for youth in need. For more information, please visit boysandgirlsaid.org.

The “A Conversation With” series is designed to bring together fans and some of the most successful producers, directors, writers, and actors working today. The exclusive hour-long event will consist of both moderated discussion and open-floor questions in an intimate setting. Fans of 'Life Unexpected', and industry up-and-comers in general, won't want to miss what is sure to be an open and honest dialogue about working within Hollywood from both the writer/producer and actor perspective!


Prior to creating 'Life Unexpected', Liz Tigelaar was a writer and producer on a number of other series for TV and the web. She got her start working on 'Dawson's Creek' and began to climb her way up the Hollywood ladder in the writer's room with shows like 'American Dreams' and 'What About Brian'. More recently she has served as writer/producer on 'Brothers & Sisters' and last year's reboot of 'Melrose Place', also for The CW. She is also a young adult author.

Shiri Appleby stars as the beautiful and talented Cate Cassidy, a popular Portland, Oregon radio personality who is reunited with the 15-year-old daughter (Britt Robertson) she gave up for adoption back in high school, in The CW's drama ‘Life Unexpected’. Appleby is best known for her portrayal of Liz, a teenager who falls in love with an alien on the television series ‘Roswell’. Her additional television credits include ‘Six Degrees’ and the final season of ‘ER.’ Her film credits include ‘Swimfan’, ‘Undertow’, ‘Havoc’, and ‘Charlie Wilson's War,’ directed by Mike Nichols. Appleby splits her time between Los Angeles, California and New York City, New York. She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, during the filming of ‘Life Unexpected’. You can follow her on Twitter: @shiriappleby

Kristoffer Polaha stars as Nate "Baze" Bazile, a charming bachelor whose carefree world is turned upside down when the 15-year-old daughter (Britt Robertson) he never knew existed shows up on his doorstep, in ‘Life Unexpected’. Born in Reno, Nevada, Polaha is the fourth son of four boys belonging to Jerome and Esther Polaha. While studying at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts, he received rave reviews in the New York Times for his role as John Brown in Eugene O'Neill's ‘Bread and Butter’. His television credits include a role as John F. Kennedy, Jr. in the TBS movie ‘America's Prince’. He has also starred on the series ‘North Shore’ and ‘Miss Guided’ and guest starred on ‘Mad Men’, ‘Bones’, ‘House’ and ‘CSI: Miami’, among others. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife and children. Though he is not on Twitter, you can become a fan of his on Facebook!

# # #


Founded in late 2008, IBG Inc (http://www.ibginc.org) established a non-profit focusing on utilizing the power of philanthropy through the arts to benefit a broad range of charities worldwide. We act as a “fundraiser facilitator” for micro and start-up charities that would otherwise struggle with the logistics and costs associated with event fundraising. This work has taken on a critical importance as the economy has been slow to recover, and we find ourselves with increasingly frequent requests for assistance.




More information can be found online at http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries

Making My Mark

It isn't unusual for me, at this time of year, to look back and take stock of my life. Naturally, work is a huge part of this reflection. Have I made a mark? Am I valuable? Can I continue doing what I'm doing without slitting my wrists? You know--the basic questions everyone asks.

I won't lie. This year has been a difficult year. My work assignments have been doubled for no other reason than I didn't have "enough boxes" under my name in the organizational chart. Way to devalue everything I've done for the last 12 years!

But hey, everyone has bumps in the road, and it didn't stop me from smiling when I got the invitation to the company's annual Christmas party. It was lovely.

Until I read it.

My name was wrong—my first name.

I've been at the company 16 years, 12 of which have been spent in my current office. I've made such an impression that "Kate" and "Kevin" are interchangeable. I can't even blame autocorrect. The invitations were hand-written.

Now, I'm sure there are a million good reasons for this—1) someone new to the office had the task, 2) the person above me on the list might have been Kevin, and the writer just lost their place, or 3) person addressing was distracted by someone named Kevin. We've all made these mistakes. It's not tragic. But it did make me laugh, and I will use this as a constant argument with people who tell me that I'm not nearing total invisibility in Los Angeles.

I wonder if Kevin has been added to payroll. Will he get a bonus? Because I could use some extra cash.

Kate, Making My Mark in LA

Top 10 Reasons…

Top 10 Reasons Vajazzling has me concerned:

1. I originally heard about this process from an ER doc. One word: extraction.
   
   
2. I've heard women say that they do this to feel better about their vaginas. Far be it from me to take away something that makes you feel better about your body, but it didn't occur to me to feel bad about that specific part. Should I? Have I missed something? Was there a memo? All this time I've been obsessing about every other part of me, but I felt reasonably sure that this one was good on its own, and now I find out I should have been paying more attention to whether or not it sparkles in sunlight? And why exactly is it seeing sunlight?
   
   
3. Ever have cause to stand in front of colleagues in a business meeting? Picture yourself standing up there wearing a skirt. Perhaps public speaking, even in limited capacities, makes you nervous. You feel a little trickle when you shift your weight. You chalk it up to sweat. You turn to point out the alarming downward trend of business this quarter, when you begin to feel another alarming downward trend. Something hits your shoe, bounces up and not only arcs toward the conference table but lands in your boss's morning cup of coffee. And if that isn't bad enough, the rogue "jazzle" is followed closely by another ping… and another…and another. Before you know it, you are standing in a pool of sparkly appliqués and wondering how this won't end up on youtube.
   
   
4. If you are tempted this holiday season to add a brightly colored bow to your box, take a moment to reflect on adhesive. I know you have a craft room, but the hot glue gun should not be pointed toward your previously unadorned nethers. Although, I will give you a pass if you choose to aim the glue gun at the guy who suggested the crystals might stay on longer that way.
   
   
5. I now have a vision of a man seeing me naked and seeing disappointment in his eyes—but for entirely different reasons than I'm used to.
   
   
6. Presumably, one of the reasons to adhere crystals to the southern zone is to inspire some sort of lusty response in your mate (or whomever you happen to be flashing crystals at in the subway). I have a vague memory that on occasion sex could involve some weight transfer. Yeah, nothing sounds more fun than having crystals digging into the pubic region while you are trying to put it to better use. However, I do believe that if we add spikes to the appliqués, we have just invented the modern equivalent of the chastity belt (strong).
   
   
7. Instead of crystals, can I cement on some fun house mirror tiles instead? Because I'm pretty sure the sexiest thing possible is to add real distortion into the mix.
   
   
8. The websites all indicate that this process usually follows complete hair removal. So, what you are telling me is that in order for a man to want to have sex with me, I have to rip out all my pubic hair with hot wax and then follow that up with gluing tiles in intricate, yet pleasing designs. Huh. Ok. What if I pick the wrong design? Say I go for a butterfly, and he was really hoping for something with an Andy Warhol effect? Also, if I choose an arrow, is that still a turn on, or have I found a way to make something that should be sexy, insulting instead?
   
   
9. What if he swallows one of them?
   
   
10. While I'm waxing, plucking, gluing and recreating his likeness across my pubis, he's doing what exactly? Yeah. Showing up. That's what I thought.
    

 

Kate

Revelation

I’m not even sure how to start this blog, and this might be a bit bumpy, but.. uh… here we go.

As you have probably guessed by my “Letters to NYC” earlier, I am in New York. If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you are probably thinking that something must be very, very wrong. And normally, I would agree with you.

It’s no secret that I didn’t love my time in New York. I spent 4 years working here, and during that time, my life fell spectacularly to shit. You can argue that it was my life here rather than the city that I hated. Well, it might be a tough argument. It’s not that I never enjoyed a moment when I was here—I did. I met my friend Mich here, and we did have an adventure or two (that resulted in zero convictions and only one court appearance). But even friends of mine who love the city will admit that it isn’t always the easiest place to be.

I have a stress-related illness. Ok, technically, two. They aren’t anything tragic—they do not impact my ability to work in most cases, and I just avoid situations where I can’t make an exit if I have to. In New York, both became worse. Naturally, I blame the job I was doing here and my rapidly declining love life—but the city gets it share of blame.

I used to travel—I used to travel a lot. I traveled all around Europe on less than a shoe-string budget (but I can tell you the absolutely best train station restaurants to wash your hair in). Twenty-one year old Kate never wanted to get married, never wanted a house and never wanted to settle in one place for long.

Lately, I’ve been wondering where that Kate went. Obviously, the illness impacted some of that. At twenty-one, I rarely thought about what would happen if I got sick while traveling. Now it’s always in the back of my mind—and not just traveling, but any time I’m in unfamiliar territory on any given day.

In June, I found out that Duchovny was doing “The Break of Noon” in New York. My immediate reaction was to curse him for not doing the play in LA instead. But once that passed, that whisper of the “Kate that Was” started to get louder. Afterall, the random flight of fancy up to San Francisco a couple of years ago ended well. This flight would just be slightly longer (OK,a hell of a lot longer).

The idea took hold. In August I got tickets. I still wasn’t completely convinced that I was going to do it, but I didn’t want to give up the idea that I could do this. Naturally, I couldn’t just let this be fun. I had to create a situation where there was at least some work element involved.

Unfortunately, that new element added to the stress. So, last night instead of gleeful anticipation, I was sick. Very sick. Sick to the point of the “why me” whining and planning on ways to not go and yet still get the work aspects handled.

But here I am.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “Damn, that Duchovny is a powerful draw”. And while I was intrigued to see how his work would translate in his new way, I think this was really more about me. I needed to do this. I’ve spent too much time lately feeling trapped in a life I wasn’t paying much attention to.

I’m certainly paying attention now.

I got off a plane a few hours ago. Two hours later I saw “The Break of Noon” (that’s right—at night, after flying). The play is a stark examination of life, death and salvation in a way that only Neil LaBute can really make work. It’s haunting. It’s disturbing. It’s funny. It’s human.

I left the theater thinking, “Thank God, I didn’t cancel the trip”.

My friend Pen was initially planning to come see the play with me. Work and life conspired to make that impossible, but I made a new friend tonight because of it. The show was sold out, but there was a line of people hoping for returns. I went back to the box office, and the guy told me that they couldn’t resell it that close to the show, but if I wanted to be a good samaritan… So, I was. I gave Pen’s ticket to the first guy in line who wanted a single ticket.

It turns out this guy was a theater buff. He had just seen “A Little Night Music”, and wanted to take a chance on this play because he had seen a lot of Neil LaBute’s work produced and was curious. When the play ended, we were both a little shell-shocked. We turned to each other and said “Wow”. Then I told him the truth—that I had only seen Duchovny on TV/films, and hadn’t known what to expect. His response, “I was completely dazzled by him. He was wonderful.”

David was a revelation (which is oddly fitting given the play). I don’t expect that my opinion (or my seat mate’s) will have much weight. Many will roll their eyes because they’ve formed an opinion of the man’s abilities without actually seeing the play. On a normal day, that would make me annoyed. But tonight, I think I’m just going to land on “your loss” because he’s terrific and the play, like it’s leading man, leaves the audience with much to ponder.

What I would have missed…

Kate

Letters to NYC

Dear NYC,

I sat next to a small child on the flight from LAX to JFK. That’s a long, long flight. You have much to make up for. I have a list of ways you can accomplish this, and most of it is PG-13. What? I said most.

Kate
5:22pm



Dear NYC,
Oh, well played, NYC. Well played, indeed.

Kate
10:12pm

The Bra

I just found out that I've been buying the wrong sized bra for the last 25 years. And not just a little wrong—WAY wrong.

Now don't worry, this isn't going to be a public service announcement telling you all to burn your bras and go out and get fitted—because really, I don't care that much about what you do. J

I honestly just assumed that because I'm old and gravity has been playing a cruel joke on me for a while that this is just the way things were meant to be. I joke about using a complicated pulley system to keep them north of the floor, but I've been at all out war with my bras for years.

Here I've been cursing the universe when really I should have been cursing my own stupidity. Also, I apparently have some sort of fun-house mirror concept of my back because I've been under the misapprehension that my back is HUGE.

I almost want to emulate the "I feel pretty" girls and show off my underwear to people because I am actually that excited about this new discovery. And by people, I mean my imaginary friends because I would never, ever subject anyone to me in my underwear no matter how awesomely functional it now is.

Kate

And the Devil Will…

I come to you for a little dream analysis.

I was backstage—felt like people were singing on stage (no idea what, I couldn't hear them), while we were hanging out in back waiting to perform. I was really wildly calm which is very unlike me because before performances, I am actually terrified. No one seemed to be particularly concerned that we didn't know the music, but instead I was painting my toenails. Well, you have to look good if you are a star, I guess.

Then a man I know in real life (not really KNOW, but recognize and have chatted with, etc) is on his cell phone wandering through backstage. I think he's attractive—at very least, interesting. I take notice.

Suddenly I hear an actual line of music, "And the devil will drag you under…" from the song "Sit Down You're Rockin' the Boat" from Guys and Dolls.

And then I woke up.

I can't stop hearing that one line – it just keeps circling my brain.

What the hell? Most women would insert a little Bolero or R&B-inspired musical interlude when they see a good looking man in a dream. Nope. Not me. I insert warnings with religious overtones from a musical I haven't seen in years (and a Glee episode I haven't seen since it aired).

Alrighty then.

Kate

 

 

 

Style Help!

I need help from my more stylish friends—or friends who have any knowledge at all about clothing. As you can well imagine after reading this blog for years, my knowledge extends to asking, "Is it clean?" So, I'm a bit out of my depth here.

This is what I need to know: what is the current thinking on pantyhose/stockings on the east coast if you are not Lady GaGa?

I've eschewed all things pantyhose since moving to SoCal. It's one of the best things about this place. When it gets down to a frigid 60, I wear black, opaque tights. Otherwise, my legs are gloriously unsheathed (or are protected in trousers when shaving or the weather is difficult). Most of my trips back east in the last 10 years have either been very, very casual, or during the summer when this was not an issue. Sadly, the luck has run out, and I will be in NY at some point in November. I will need to dress in a business-like manner, but pants don't quite cut it. So… what's the pantyhose rule? Are black stockings (rather than tights) going to peg me as hopelessly out of date? Do they need to have patterns on them—much like all the stockings I wore in the 1980s?

Also, is Carson correct—are red shoes only for whores? Because I have an incredible pair of red heels…which I also can't figure out how to wear unless I'm stockingless. Sigh.

I wait for your wisdom.

Kate

Opportunities You Can't Pass Up

Because I am fantabulous in every possible way (shhhh, go with it), I bring you the following intel (pay special attention to the fact that registration ends today for the live auction items and that the eBay auction ends on Saturday).

Just as a side note, I was over on the Castle set last year. That gang could not have been nicer (or more attractive-- mercy that's a good looking bunch!).

What do "Life Unexpected", "Castle", "The X-Files", "The Soup" and "Two and a Half Men" Have in Common?

Last chance to get your bidder registration forms in for IBG Inc’s first-ever Live Auction event.

IBG Inc has extended their registration through Thursday October 28th 2010 for their first-ever Live Auction event. The auction itself will take place on Saturday, October 30th and feature both live and silent auction lots, as well as a select eBay component.

The auction contains some fantastic, one-of-a-kind item donations! The latest items to arrive include a cast-signed copy of the "Life Unexpected" pilot script and a Discovery Bay Games package (that is a must for "Saturday Night Live" and Grateful Dead fans). These two new additions join the already popular auction lots of "Castle" set visits, VIP TV Taping tickets to "Two and A Half Men", as well as "The Soup", a private cooking lesson with Chef Gavin Mills from Bastide, a limited edition lithograph from the upcoming Disney animated film "Tangled", a ModCloth Outback handbag, and Los Angeles Dodgers ticket vouchers.

Interested parties can take a look at the complete auction catalog and event details on IBG Inc’s website: http://www.ibginc.org/octauctions

Those interested in bidding on any or all of these lots must register on the IBG Inc website anytime before Thursday, October 28th 2010. Bidder forms must be returned by 5pm PT on the 28th for the auction, which takes place on Saturday, October 30th in Los Angeles. IBG will not be allowing on-site or same-day registration; however phone and absentee bidding are available for convenience.

"The X-Files" fans will want to take special notice of these as both stars of the hit 1990s genre series have donated special fan experiences. IBG Inc is happy to announce two unique items available on eBay in conjunction with this auction event: tickets to "The Break of Noon" along with a meet-and-greet with star David Duchovny in NYC, as well as set visits to "Johnny English Reborn" with a meet-and-greet with Gillian Anderson in the UK. The items available on eBay are live right now and do not require special registration through the non-profit’s website. The eBay item lots will end on Saturday, October 30th just after the live auction event ends. Links to the eBay auctions are available on IBG’s website at http://www.ibginc.org/octauctions, or bidders can visit the IBG store on eBay at http://myworld.ebay.com/ibg_inc/

IBG is a 501(c)(3) public charity focusing on utilizing the power of philanthropy through the arts to benefit a wide range of charities worldwide. We act as a "fundraiser facilitator" for micro-funded and start-up charities that would otherwise struggle with the logistics and costs associated with event fundraising. For these charities, every dollar is crucial. Since we began fundraising in December 2008, IBG has disbursed nearly $50,000.00 to participating non-profits.

Proceeds from this live auction event will have significant impact on IBG’s ability to support partner organizations which include non-profits on the front lines dealing with catastrophic illness, education, arts and culture and social services.

The Results Show

As most of you recall, Thursday marked the first of a series of experiments meant to elucidate my "approachability factor". Now, some have called into question the parameters of the experiment (coughDancough), but I feel like we have made real progress. I'm also pretty sure I won this round, but Pen insists that at most it was a draw.

The evening did not start off quite as smoothly as I had hoped. For instance, a drive that is normally 15 minutes took 50. At first blush you would assume that this put the "sitting alone at the bar waiting for Pen" portion of the experiment in jeopardy. Not so! When I got to the hotel, I told her to hide. Let us all take a moment to appreciate what a good sport Pen is. Just when you think your days of hide-and-seek are over, a friend needs you to hide in a bathroom while she tries to get noticed.

So, I arrived, albeit a bit frazzled, and I sauntered into the bar. I smiled at people. Seriously, I smiled at people. Yes, it was a genuine smile. Stop, it Chloe, it was too a genuine smile. There was nothing maniacal or plotting about it. During the entire circuit through the room (hey, those heels are high, it takes a while to navigate in them), I thought to myself, "I am open and welcoming—wait, does the concierge think I'm a hooker? He does. He totally thinks I'm a hooker. These aren't hooker boots. Jimmy Choo does not make hooker boots. Do you know … uh… right. I am open to new experiences and welcoming."

When I finally made it to the end of the bar, I glided into place. Maybe not so much glided as tried to sit. Then I realized I still had my coat on, so I hopped down from the stool, wrestled the coat off and hung it over the back of the chair. This was followed by a halting walk around the bar stool to figure out if the bar had hooks for my purse-- nope. I saw no hooks, so I was forced to drop the purse on the bar and then awkwardly hop up on the bar stool because even in 4-5 inch heels, I'm too short to just drape myself in any sort of elegant fashion. Yes, my grace still awes me, too. On the upside, no one can accuse me of being inconspicuous.

I was placed in perfect position—close to two television sets so I could watch the game, but also in the eye line of the gentlemen also watching the game. You can imagine how much attention that got me. Yep, none at all. They were watching the game. But the bartender did smile at me… when I ordered a drink. He was so captivated by my every utterance that he brought me the wrong drink (well, I held his attention through the first word—I ordered a Pinot Noir and he brought Pinot Grigio). It was at this point that the magic happened. The man next to me recommended one of the bar food items. Pen has decided that this is proof positive that I do not appear to be invisible to everyone. I will now state for the record that the bartender began the conversation by asking my new neighbor if he needed the menu—which I then took. So, she is correct; I am not actually invisible. When I take something from someone, they notice it. However, I was hoping to save the actual turn to larceny for my golden years.

Pen appeared shortly thereafter and rescued me.

I'd love to tell you that David Tennant wandered into the bar, bought us a round of drinks and then asked us to work on his next project. Sadly, this did not occur, though Pen and I managed to entertain ourselves in a surprisingly festive fashion given the lateness of the hour (6:30pm).

And just so I couldn't be accused of failing to properly push the boundaries of the experiment, I did take another turn about the room (hoping Darcy was waiting in the wings to admire me, of course). Sadly, no Darcy was present, and the two men I did smile at promptly looked away. Perhaps they were with dates and did not want to be inappropriate in their presence. In fact, I'm certain of it (ok, not really certain at all actually).

So, dear readers, what do you think? What is your approachability factor?

Kate

Now There’s an Idea

"A Taiwanese woman left uninspired by the standard of men on offer in her city will finally tie the knot -- with herself, Shanghai Daily reported early Saturday." (source: http://www.myfoxorlando.com/dpp/news/offbeat/102210-taiwanese-bride-marries-herself-ncx)

Bonus points to the first person who can tell me what I'm thinking right now.

Hint: I may or may not be registering at Pottery Barn as I type.

Kate

The Great Experiment

I have always thought of myself as a welcoming and friendly soul. Ok, that's actually a lie, but I don't think of myself as being particularly mean. I'm just disinterested. I'm not someone who tends to seek attention or companionship most of the time. I covet Kate time.

I have friends, but I far prefer to have a few people who I am very interested in around me on occasion than a lot of always there acquaintances. Sadly, this means the people I do consider friends have to be allowed to express opinions. Whatever. I never saw that in the NDA, but I'm told it's true.

Two of these friends have, on more than one instance, claimed that the reason men do not approach me to show interest is that there is a gigantic "F*ck You!" sign on my forehead. Well, actually, Pen said I had that sign. Chloe said I give off "this energy". I'm not from California, so I don't know what that means, but it sounds good. I, on the other hand, think I'm invisible—that no matter how I look, what I wear or how big my smile is, in a town full of people trying to get attention, I will remain delightfully below the radar.

However, in the interest of fair play (and having the chance to show everyone that I'm right), I have agreed to an experiment. Tonight, Pen and I will be going to a lovely, upscale bar/lounge/something-or-another. I will be wearing the Jimmy Choo boots (it better not rain, those boots do not see weather), and I was assured upon purchase that people would definitely talk to me if I was wearing them (they have never had that affect so far). I will smile. I will engage. I will sit there for at least 5 minutes alone so that no one is threatened by the "female pack".

Pen thinks magic is definitely a possibility. I think someone will try to sit on my bar stool because they will not realize that I'm sitting there.

Let the games begin!

Kate

iPod Attacks 2

After a long period of detente, my iPod has gone rogue.

Sure, I downloaded the standard audio clips for Sony Vegas Pro. I admit that those clips ended up in iTunes. But that does not give the iPod the right to shuffle to a blaring rendition of "The Wedding March" as I'm pulling up to the work gate at 6:30 am. It's just wrong.

Also, it scared the hell out of the guard who happened to be standing there. No doubt, he is single, and thought that I was trying to send a very specific message. I don't blame the guy for running. Well, I blame him a little bit—I mean, the speed with which he took off might have been excessive.

iPods=evil

Kate

Best Idea Ever!

The best idea ever came to me after a day filled with thoughts like, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me" and "I need to fake some sincere appreciation". I'm calling it the "Explanation Buddy".

It's a very simple concept. Essentially, we would create a service that would provide a person to join you throughout your day and offer explanations for some of the more baffling things you do.

This stroke of genius came to me after the following twitter exchange:

 

Me: "Just dumped water on the carpet. No reason. Just did not realize the cap wasn't on the bottle of water I had been drinking from. Go Me."

Brilliant friend who should have money thrown at her feet wherever she roams: "I'm sure there was a stain that you have now inadvertently cleaned. Win!"

 

Yes! She was totally right. Well, not "totally" in that there was actually a stain, but right in that perhaps deep, deep, way-down-there, in my disturbed subconscious, I did feel the need for cleansing. Plus, it's far more of an acceptable answer than my paying absolutely no attention to what I was doing when I decided to tip the bottle upside down and right side up again out of boredom. Her explanation makes me seem almost preternaturally aware of my surroundings. My explanation makes me sound like I'm easily distracted by shiny objects. Sanity, reason, even shades of psychic ability could be ascribed to you if you call upon the services of the "Explanation Buddy".

Not convinced? Send me the strangest (not illegal, or I'll have to have your IP address traced and have you arrested) thing that came out of your mouth today, and I bet we can come up with an excellent explanation for it.

It's review time at work, and there could not be a more critical time for me to have an "Explanation Buddy" by my side. For instance, when I said, "I'm sorry I missed that deadline—apparently my Psychic Friends Hotline subscription has run out, and I was unaware of the request" to my boss; rather than sitting through the protracted, dismayed silence, I could have pointed to my EB who would have said, "Kate strives to use all resources available to her to anticipate your needs and the needs of everyone who works here for the betterment of the company, the state, the country and all of humanity." BAM! I would have gone from belligerent to selfless humanitarian in mere seconds.

I can only imagine how helpful an EB would be in social situations.

Me: What the hell are you looking at?

EB: My lady has become aware of your frank, and hopefully admiring, perusal, and is intrigued to learn more about your intentions.

The EB takes me from socially awkward to having gentility and refinement dripping from my fingers. What man could resist? Also, EB doubles as a "wing man" should the situation warrant it.

This idea is gold. Who doesn't wish that post-stupidity spewing, that they could point to the person next to them who would swiftly step in to explain that your actions were actually well-reasoned, if not downright revolutionary?

All I need is the funding.

I accept checks.

Kate

 

 

 

Hurdles

When life throws hurdles in my way, rather than becoming despondent I just take a deep breath and think of all the things that have gone really well instead.

It is only when I realize that nothing has gone really well… close to well…. in the same city as well… that true creativity has to emerge.

And I'm going to sit here on this couch until it does.

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

 

Foot cramp….

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

 

 

Sitting….

 

 

Perhaps a more pro-active approach is in order.

 

I've recently made plans to go on an adventure (so recently, the "book it" window just closed). It is semi-work related and entirely out of character.

I decided to head to New York for an upcoming weekend. I know, the shock throws a lot of people at first. But it's true. I'm flying to New York for the weekend to see a play, do a little charity work, and do some unauthorized drinking (of course, I have no tolerance, so that's going to be about a quarter of a glass of a wine). I've already warned my New York friends that they should be prepared to take Monday off because we could be out making merry until 5:30pm Sunday. That's how reckless I'm feeling. I'd offer to talk to a boy just to really show how "throw caution to the wind I'm being", but that sounds like just asking for problems. We'll leave that as a "maybe" for now.

Why did I make this decision?

Well, the play sounds intriguing. And the lead actor sounds intriguing. But really I think this is just an outgrowth of a growing orb of restlessness wrapped in frustration that is threatening to force some fairly big life changes out of me. While I'm not a fan of change, I'm also not a fan of most the main elements of my life right now: job, hobbies, job-like-hobbies, social life, financial situation, housing situation, cellulite situation—really, you name it, and I'm frustrated with it.

Sitting on the couch and complaining about it hasn't done me much good. Rude, I think, for the universe to not just hand me some creative solutions. So maybe the tiny seed of rebelliousness is growing into something—or I'll get back and wonder, "What the hell was I thinking? Next time I'm going to Santa Barbara."

Stay tuned.

Kate

Internal Dialogue on a Thursday

Me: I suddenly have motivation to work out. Right now. I must work out right now before I lose this intense desire to be fit.

Other Me: Sadly, Bones starts in 7 minutes. Remember the last time you missed the beginning? You were desperately confused because it turns out that you were in the midst of the dude's coma dream.

Me: True. That made no sense. Of course, it would probably have helped if I watched the show more often than once every few months, or when Duchovny directs.

Other Me: You can't risk that again. 6 minutes.

Me: Then again, when in the history of time have I worked out for more than 6 minutes?

Other Me: Good point. You totally have time to spare.

 

 

It Sounded Like a Good Idea

I am an excellent planner. I even add in a dash of relentless worry for free. So, you know I'm good. Apparently, what I'm not good at is making the plan actually result in something positive.

Problematic.

I decided that if I just had half an hour extra every morning, many of my problems would be solved. Vaguely remembering the bright, over-achiever I used to be, I decided that getting up half an hour earlier would be far better than being organized. Please keep in mind that before the plan, I was getting up at 5:00am.

No matter.

Clearly, with this extra half hour I would: 1) write this blog every day, 2) straighten up the apartment, 3) exercise, 4) actually dry my hair instead of hanging my head out the window on the way to work and 5) be more than 2 ½ seconds early for work. Also, I was fairly certain I could become the world's best fundraiser, solve the world hunger crisis and be voted "World's sexiest" something-or-another.

I set the alarm for 4:30am and was enormously proud of my desire to take action.

I did this two weeks ago.

Yep. You can already tell that it hasn't resulted in witty morning banter flowing through this blog. In fact, I have not managed to do any of things that I thought I would suddenly be able to do.

What I have done:

1. Watched the Castle episode that aired the night before that I couldn't stay awake for because I was getting up so damn early
   
2. Watched Chilean miner rescue (totally worth it, go team miners!)
   
3. Stayed in bed listening to awesome 80s mix on the radio
   
4. Stayed in bed wondering what Clooney was doing
   
5. Stayed in bed wondering what Duchovny was doing
   
6. Stayed in bed with head under covers realizing that no matter what was happening for #4 and #5 at that moment, it was going to be way better than my day at work
   
7. Fell asleep in shower
   
8. Threw apartment into even greater disarray looking for my mysteriously disappearing cell phone which stayed hidden for the full 30 minutes despite the fact that I could hear it ringing because I kept calling it from my house phone
   
9. Spent 30 minutes going over the greatest moments of my "why God why" rant from 1999 (classics)
   
10. Stared at television in the living room in confusion when it wouldn't turn on. Stared at television in the living room in profound consternation when I realized it was unplugged—which is tricky because it's hard to reach that plug. And I didn't do it. And I live alone.
    

 

So… mixed results?

On the upside, I did definitively prove that it would be easier for me to build a time machine than try to get the abs of those Glee kids through exercise at my current stage of decay. So, that's something.

Kate

Overheard Fun

I may have just heard the following response to a cell phone conversation in the parking lot:

Man (yelling): "Because I don't want my wife to know I'm f**king you, alright!!!!"

He's a keeper.

 

Kate

I was tempted to run him over, but he was walking a dog, and I was afraid the dog would get hurt.

But That Makes No Sense At All

I like to tell people that I am my own best contradiction. Nowhere is this more evident than in my taste of entertainment. I simply love some things that I shouldn't love.

Don't believe me?

Music: Escape

I love the song, "Escape" (aka the Pina Colada song). Love it! I should hate it—and no, not just because it's awesomely cheesetastic in the way that only a 70s pop song about a personal ad (or tube tops with terry cloth shorts) could ever be. No, I should hate it because I'm not a big fan of infidelity. I'm not a fan of it in real life. I'm not a fan of it on television. I'm not a fan, period. I should hate this song because essentially, it's a couple (married, I assume as he refers to her as his "old lady") who decides that they are bored so they take out a personal ad to find more interesting partners. You know how they react when they find out that the other has tried to play extramarital hook-up? They laugh and say, "Aw, it's you". Yeah, no bloodshed whatsoever—that's as unlikely as someone asking me out. Also, they have clearly never spoken to each other because they were unaware of some basic facts like affection for champagne and getting caught in the rain.

As an aside, I should also hate this song because they expound on the virtues of making love in the sand on the dunes of the cape at midnight. Perhaps they were under the influence because a) midnight is way too late to muster any kind of real energy, b) midnight at the beach is freaking cold in LA and c) you'll be removing sand from unmentionable places for years. Also, if you are even semi-famous, TMZ is recording you.

I should hate this song. And yet, I don't. It is on my gloriously deranged iPod. In fact, I was singing it in the car today. Loudly. I might put it back on now.

How am I still single?

 

Television: Breaking Bad

Anyone who has ever met me knows how incredibly anti-drug I am. I've never seen good come from it (other than for genuine medical reasons, obviously). I hate what the "recreational" money goes to support. I don't want to be anywhere near people doing it. I've heard the "addicts give recreational users a bad name" from too many people—usually right before they damaged something or someone permanently.

I love "Breaking Bad". I think it's one of the best television programs on air right now—writing, acting, technicals, everything is done so incredibly well. Now, you could argue that the reason I love it is because, given the events of the show, anyone who has come into contact with Walt (and meth) has seen their lives go spectacularly to shit. I'll admit that works for me. I like that I don't have to be cheering for the protagonist because what he is doing is horrific. But I was in from the beginning. I was in during the early justifications. I was in the first time I yelled, "No!!!!!!" at the television (because I erroneously believe that television is interactive and will listen to me). And I think I'll be there no matter where they take it.

With that in mind, I'm going to be hurling some questions at the creator of "Breaking Bad" on September 18. Vince Gilligan will be front and center at a charity Q&A to be moderated by director Michelle MacLaren. All the proceeds will be going to help those afflicted by lung cancer. No RVs required. Details on tickets are here: http://www.ibginc.org/conversationseries

 

Television: Californication

Hmmmm infidelity and drugs (awww, Lew) abound. Yet, there is no denying its appeal. Sure, some of you are saying, "You love everything David Duchovny does". Ha! Well, that's clearly not true, but I do love him in this part. I love that in the midst of a binge, Hank is surrounded by literary imagery. I loved the Gatsby-infused story of the second season. I loved the sirens circling Hank at the end of season three. I find it interesting that so many people claim that Hank is just David. To me, that just proves that Duchovny is actually a pretty skilled actor—how else would so many people who have never met the man be convinced that he and a character are essentially living the same life? You have to be doing something right to make that look so effortless. But most of all I love the premise—a man had everything he wanted in life and lost it. I want to know what he does after realizing that self-loathing and self-destruction is never self-contained. Sure, a tiny part of me would like someone to point out to Karen that if she hadn't cheated on Hank to begin with (and left him to marry another man), the current chain of events would not have occurred (her own behavior has taken her pretty far away from victim), but I'm also fine to just go where the story takes them. And I'm hoping that I get to do that for many years to come.

 

I think it is clear; my contradictions are awesome! No, if you will excuse me… "So, I wrote to the paper… took out a personal ad…"

Kate

 

 

 

Hollywood Conversation

Kate: Why aren't you taking Michael to the premiere?

Sadie: We aren't believable as a couple.

Kate: But you are a couple.

Sadie: Yes, but the public doesn't like us as a couple. They haven't bought into our love story.

Kate: We're still talking about your real life, and not the show, right?

Sadie: Of course.

Kate: I see. So, how does Daniel fit into this?

Sadie: He's going to be my premiere and events boyfriend.

Kate: As opposed to your actual boyfriend?

Sadie: Right. People are really into us as a couple.

Kate: But you aren't a couple.

Sadie: True. But our believability rating is much higher.

Kate: Believability rating?

Sadie: It's a "must consult". If you don't look sincere, you have nothing.

Kate: (…)

 

There is a very small pool of single, straight, employed men who shower in Los Angeles. Getting two of them to cover your public and private bases (euphemism both intended and not) does not seem particularly fair.

Plus, I'm suspicious when a man answers, "Sort of" to the "Are you single?" question. Are you telling me that "some days" is now a completely legitimate response? Or are these men automatically off limits not just because they are dodgy, but also because somewhere there will be a publicist ready to cut me if I somehow disrupt someone's believability index?

As an aside, "I'm just there to work her carpet" sounds obscene and very nearly slap-with-a-hint-of-flounce worthy.

"Truthiness": it's not just for Washington anymore.

Kate

Facebook Can Be Your Best Friend

Facebook can often be a curse. There is no doubt about that. When you wake up on your way-over-25th birthday to see a friend recommendation of your ex's new wife, you curse it. When you are approached by junior high school people who tell you that they never really liked you, you will at least consider deleting your account. When you realize that you can't curse your job, boss, friends or hobbies on it without compromising all those things, you might wonder what the point of it all is.

Apparently, the point is: pay attention to photos of your current husband marrying another woman at Disney that her friend helpfully posted on Facebook.

I'm not kidding. Check out this article from lemondrop.com, and you'll see the usefulness of this social detecting tool: http://www.lemondrop.com/2010/08/03/she-found-out-her-husband-had-another-wife-via-facebook/?sms_ss=facebook

I feel for this woman. I really do. It's bad enough that he cheated on her, but to find out that he has married again and that your original marriage might not be entirely legal (leaving you no easy legal recourse) has got to be agonizing. That he then comes back to take the kids—unforgiveable. He is the bad guy. No doubt about it. I do believe there are circles in hell specifically designed for this waste of space (and not just Circle 2 wussy wind thing—I'm thinking Circle 8 has demons lining up for this guy).

But she also made a classic error—she listened to his ridiculous tale of woe and took him back after he supposedly left the second wife.

Ladies, let her horrible situation be a very important lesson to you.

I understand you had a life and children together that you cannot just ignore.

I understand that you loved him and trusted him at one point.

I understand that you want to be the bigger person.

I understand that he promised to change and take your needs into consideration.

I understand that you may have believed him when he made the other, theoretically ex, woman into the bad guy (let me guess—he called her "crazy", "unstable", "demanding", "still in Disney therefore I'm not getting enough attention"…).

I understand that you want to believe him.

I also understand that he is playing you. He is always playing you. You are not the exception. You are the rule.

It's not that I don't understand someone making a mistake and repenting. Mistakes happen. That's why diamonds were invented. Another life with a second woman in another city is not a mistake; it is a character flaw that you will never fix.

Please learn from this poor woman—do not go back.

And always, always check for pictures!

Kate

(finding being single far preferable to lying liars who lie!)

Doors and Windows

My stomach dropped. It's the only way I can explain it. I read the email, and my stomach plummeted; not because it was bad news, but because an invitation had been issued by a very kind person, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be avoiding it this time.

Pen: "You have to go with her."

Kate: "I can't."

Pen: "You're an idiot."

Kate: "I know."

Pen: "This collision has been coming for a while, and eventually the Universe is going to stop giving you these chances."

Kate: "I know."

Pen: "Are you going?"

Kate: "No."

Pen: "Pathetic."

Kate: "Is that a clinical term?"

Pen: "Yes. Now either say you are going, or get out of my office."

Kate: "No."

(Pen bangs head on desk)

That exchange was more or less what took place immediately following the receipt of the invitation. You see, apparently people react with excitement when opportunity knocks. When opportunity knocks on my door, I dive out the window… run down the block… get on a boat… find an isolated island and pretend like I never knew the opportunity existed. Avoidance, thy name is Kate.

It's not that it wasn't something I wanted. Deep down, I had wanted this chance for years. But I wanted to control it. I wanted to be seen as a professional. I wanted to at least seem like a calm, collected peer. I wanted to appear not like some cloying sycophant, but as a reasoned individual with something to offer. And I was convinced that all other opportunities would come crashing to a halt if I pursued an avenue that wasn't the "perfect" meeting, "perfect" scenario, "perfect" conversation, "perfect" opening line, "perfect"… "perfect"… "perfect"…

Not surprisingly, "perfect" never came. I passed up opportunity after opportunity because my immediate inclination was to choose fear instead. Fear, I understand. Fear, I can plan for. Fear, I can worry about until every angle is covered. Fear is infinitely more familiar. Worry has become comfortable.

Possibility, on the other hand, almost made me sick.

And then for no reason I can explain, I was suddenly getting the day off from work. I was saying, "yes".

Before I knew it, I was standing there looking out at the ocean and wondering what the hell I had done—and was there any way to undo it. Had I been alone, I probably would have run.

Deep breath.

Waves crashing.

Head turning.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hi. I'm David."

That's a Maybe

I’m on a quest to find a dress for my friend L’s wedding. The wedding is Saturday. I may be in trouble.

It’s not that I procrastinated. I’ve gone shopping. However, in the back of my mind I felt secure in the knowledge that I had the perfect fallback option already in my closet. It’s a lovely blue silk dress that has worked the wedding circuit a couple of times before. Also, a friend assured me that adding a little jewelry would mean that something semi-formal could work with whatever “black tie optional” means in Los Angeles (I secretly think it means that jeans that aren’t distressed are ok). So, my shopping wasn’t as dedicated as it might have been had I not had this fabulous reserve (and credit card free) option at home.

Probably should have tried the dress on before blithely embracing the wine and cheese.

I don’t know if you guys know this, but apparently, just because a dress used to fit you, it does not necessarily follow that it will still fit you after a steady diet of glorious red velvet cupcakes and maple cheese. I feel betrayed by fallback dress, and refuse to take any responsibility in this travesty of justice.

Fine.

How hard can it be for me to find an appropriate dress in a city this large during the month that is famous for weddings?

Well, if L could please change her wedding theme to disco night, I’d be set! For instance, this little number screams wedding to me:

Oddly enough, it seems to match my hair color right now. It was pointed out to me by CB that it might be a bit too "matchy-matchy" for me, and she could be on to something. Otherwise, this would clearly be perfect... for New Year's.

Nautical could be good. I'm pretty sure the stripes would make me look enormous, but I could rock the hell out of those epaulets.



Also, they are very pointy which means I could defend myself with my lethal shoulders in case one of the groomsmen tries to get fresh!

How about this one? I know people who can make a dress like this work. They are 6'2" model types, and would look fabulous in this. Also, Joan Collins could make this sing (because, really, it says Dynasty sweeps episode all over it).



Sadly, I am neither Joan, nor a 6'2" model... or a 5'2" model. When the mannequin wearing it is taller than you are and wearing a size zero with fabric brushing the floor, you know it's a losing battle.

It appears as though dresses that harken back to either "the oldest profession" or the Ice Capades are very popular right now. And really, brides should take this into consideration and just add the words "on ice" to their wedding planning.

The good news is, the bride has assured me that looking like a whore will be fine as long as I don't wear white. Fair enough, though she has asked me to leave my skates at home. Whatever.

Despite the dress drama, I'm really looking forward to seeing Lauren and Brian tie the knot on Saturday. It has been a long, long, long, long time coming, and they give me hope. If they could also give me a table full of single, straight, employed men who shower, that would also be lovely.

Kate

A Kate Dating Fairy Tale

It was one of those late night conversations—you know the ones that start in the haze sometime after midnight, but before actual sleep. We were comfortable, talking close in hushed tones at the end of a long week. I remember snuggling in closer, his arms going tighter around me, as the night grew quieter and still.

Something I said, can't remember now what, drew a chuckle from him and a kiss to the forehead.

Kate (snuggling in more with a smile): You realize we can't ever break up. We'd never be able to separate out all of our stuff.*

So cozy. So warm. So perfect.

Ex (snuggling back): Actually, it wouldn't be that hard. You'd get the bed and the club chairs; I'd get the bed in the spare room. Most of the furniture in the living room is mine, but you can take the couch, and I'll keep the one in my study.

Kate: (silence)

Ex (kissing Kate's forehead again): mmmm g'night.

Kate: (silence)

 

He was right. I did get the bed. As I watched two men struggle to remove it from my apartment today, I remembered the conversation we had in that bed so long ago. And with a twinge of melancholy I thought…

 

"Damn, I still have to get rid of the couch and the chairs".

 

;)

Kate

*Gentlemen, this is called a "soft lob" of a question. The right answer in this situation is, in fact, "I don't even want to think about it." Not only is it true (it's not like you want to think about feelings, and you certainly don't want to talk about them), but it can also be misconstrued as romantic. If it is misconstrued as romantic, you could end up having sex right after you say it. Further, itemizing the ways it would be easy to separate your stuff, as though you've been keeping track for just that sort of situation, is unlikely to lead to anything naked… well, naked and pleasurable, at any rate. No need to thank me for these clarifications. I'm here to help… and to live as a warning to others.

 

Thursday

Shiny and New

I came home today and discovered I had a brand new kitchen faucet. It's lovely. It's shiny. And it made me wonder what other new stuff I should expect to find when I return home. For instance, will I come home and find a brand new boyfriend at some point? Because I might need a little bit of warning in order to properly enjoy that kind of gift… and not… you know… accidentally spork him to death when I mistake him for a random intruder who has decided to plant his ass on my couch and shoes on my hope chest.

Silver Lake

Apparently, Los Angeles is larger than the 5 mile radius around my apartment that I've thus far discovered. There is a magical place called "Silver Lake" and there appears to be an incredibly festive event going on this weekend. Details are here: http://silverlakejubilee.com/. Now, I'm not sure if the lakes on that side of the city are actually silver… or even if there is actually a lake (note to self: find out if I need passport to travel to other side of city). What I do know is that there is a ridiculously good bakery putting up a tent there named Mardy's Munchies (http://mardysmunchies.com/home). I have a deep and abiding love for their red velvet cupcakes and a special place in my heart for their bundts. I hear rumors of a red velvet bundt cake that my brain can't even comprehend. Sure, some people say that my love for the tasty treats is unnatural, but I'd like to point out that they only use natural ingredients, so clearly my critics are mistaken. The lure of these delectables is strong, and I will be crossing the oceans (or Sunset… whatever) to partake in the Mardy's joy and perhaps take in the bands, the lit and work on wandering silently through a crowd without making eye contact (which totally counts as being social in my world).

Doodle Day

Have you checked out the celebrity doodles submitted for National Doodle Day to support NF, Inc. yet? What are you waiting for? The auctions end this weekend, and there are still some doodles that are entirely affordable. Naturally, there are some that have gone through the roof—that adorable Cory from Glee said he couldn't draw, but his doodle is much loved! Check out all the fun from celebrities from Lost, Glee, X-Files, Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Life Unexpected, Private Practice, LA Law, Californication, Seinfeld, Home Improvement, Party Down, The Joneses, The Good Wife, The Carol Burnett Show, Borat, The Brady Bunch, NCIS, SpongeBob, Modern Family, Aaron Stone, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Harry Potter, 30 Rock, Breaking Bad, Weeds, American Idol and countless other films, Vegas shows, sports and the art world. Go forth and bid: http://shop.ebay.com/nfinccharity/m.html?_nkw=&_armrs=1&_dmd=2&_from=&_ipg=&_trksid=p289

Kate (Wandering around the apartment looking for other new toys that may have been left behind by the kitchen faucet fairies)

Cartoons

I turned on the TV this morning (hello, old friend!), and there is an animated morning show playing. I was intrigued by the very "girl power" dialogue that was being bandied about, so I'm sitting here watching for a minute. Also, the remote is all the way across the room, and the effort to get up has not yet taken hold. Now I'm mesmerized by the fact that each and every one of these female warriors, witches, fairies, high school students (whatever they are supposed to be) is wearing some sort of lingerie that also shows off their tiny midriffs. I suppose they might be warding off the evil menace by flexing their abs? Perhaps we are revisiting the ancient "boobs of badness" concept (though no Diana Fowley in sight)? It's possible that the super-collagen lips could bounce animated bullets.

I'm not saying that our own Saturday morning entertainment wasn't suggestive. And the Wonder Woman outfit that has been around forever has never been demure. I'm just saying that at 7:30am on a Saturday, I shouldn't already be depressed about needing to work out, dieting and finding enough layers to hide my non-magical gut. It's just too early.

Must get remote…. Must get remote….

Kate

Something in the Water

I'm not a strong conversationalist. As I've mentioned before, I'm particularly bad with strangers (by the way, I classify anyone who I have not known and spoken to every day for at least five years as a stranger). This leads to some fabulously awkward encounters, particularly when I'm a co-host of an event and trying to hide from the guests because I'm not-so-secretly terrified that I'll actually have to speak to them. I've thought about classes. I've thought about going out more so that I can practice encounters with strangers (obviously, I nixed that idea as ludicrous). I even tried that experiment where I interviewed people before certain events as a groundbreaker (and oddly enough, I met 3 of my business partners that way-- though that had more to do with them trapping me in a parking garage). Regardless, I remain in awe of people who mix and mingle with ease (or at least without nausea).

Given my own difficulties, I try to give other people some leeway when they deal with me because I know that they might be working hard to come up with conversation that will not make me step further behind a tree (or a tripod). Weather is a strong starter with me. I'm still a weather junkie (and yes, I get the irony of me living in an area without actual weather for most of the year). Also, men who appear on CNN weather or the weather channel are guaranteed to bring a smile to my face. Earthquakes make me nervous and raising the specter of an earthquake while standing with me in an elevator isn't the best idea; but even then I will usually play along. Everyone in Los Angeles complains about the traffic, so that seems to be a fairly safe topic as well.

Assuming that I have children based on my age and asking me whether or not "the little ones" did something nice for me for Mother's Day is not an approach I'd recommend. Also, "maybe next year" is not an appropriate follow-up to get out of the awkward silence as I'm now not sure if you wished unwed motherhood on me, or for someone else's divorce (complete with potential step-children). When this happens once in a day—eh, I can shake my head and move on to the next social torture. When it happens three times, I begin to wonder if they know something that I don't know.

When I get home and flip through the mail to discover that a charity has included a free notepad in their mailing that reads "From the Family of…" I throw in the towel, grab a shovel and embrace the ice cream.

Oh, universe, I've missed you.

Kate

National Doodle Day

I promise I will write again soon. In the meantime, you have to go to the National Doodle Day website and check out the gallery of celebrity doodles that have already been added for auction this year. Celebrities from the art world, tv, film, music and sports have lent their talents in support of NF, Inc.

http://www.doodledayusa.org/gallery/v/2010/?g2_page=1

Which is your favorite? I honestly can't decide, but I know I'll be bidding!




4TH ANNUAL CELEBRITY DOODLE AUCTION

National Doodle Day Is Thursday, May 13



CHICAGO, IL (May 5, 2010) – The list is like a “who’s who” of celebrities, and includes Gillian Anderson, Jason Alexander, Carol Channing, Tim Conway, Tim Daly, Phyllis Diller, George Foreman, Terry Fator, Charles Fazzino, Neil Gaiman, Paul Michael Glaser, Seth Green, Melissa Joan Hart, Florence Henderson, Stephen Hillenburg, Sugar Ray Leonard, Téa Leoni, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Joshua Malina, Howie Mandel, Frank Marino, Elizabeth Mitchell, Cory Monteith, Kevin Nealon, Amanda Palmer, Jodi Picoult, Amy Poehler, Alan Rachins, Doris Roberts, Eric Roberts, Mark Ryden, Ronnie Schell, Martin Sheen, Sarah Silverman, Roy Thinnes, Carrie Underwood, Sela Ward, plus many others. All have contributed a piece of their own creativity to help support NF, Inc. and their 4th annual Doodle Auction.

Beginning Thursday, May 13, the celebrity Doodles will be auctioned on eBay. Over the past three years, this fundraiser has generated over $45,000 to benefit NF, Inc., a national non-profit organization dedicated to serving families affected by Neurofibromatosis. One of our most popular doodles was drawn by then-Senator Barack Obama for our inaugural auction in 2007. It fetched $2,075!

Neurofibromatosis, or NF for short, is an unpredictable disease that causes tumors to form on the nerves of your body. Depending on their location, these tumors can cause disfigurement, dysfunction, deafness or blindness. In the wrong place they can be fatal. NF can also cause learning disabilities, seizures, bone deformity and cancer. Currently, 100,000 Americans have NF; worldwide, 115 babies are born each day with this same genetic disorder.

NF is more common than Cystic Fibrosis, Muscular Dystrophy and Huntington’s Disease combined. Half the children born with it have no family history of NF. Despite the many researchers studying this devastating condition, there is still no cure, and treatments are largely inadequate.

For more information about National Doodle Day, go to www.doodledayusa.org.

To learn more about NF, please visit www.nfinc.org.

Reader Mail

And now for some reader mail (and also questions randomly thrown at me by people I know, but who refuse to send these questions to my email).

1. Why don't you write more consistently?
   
   I'm lazy. Also, I'm not allowed to write about work (day job has a specific policy, and I choose not to write about my secondary work often). That pretty much eliminates 90% of my life right now. The other 10% is spent sleeping or wishing I was sleeping. For instance, right now I'm prepping for a conference call AND wishing I was sleeping (in fact, I might actually be sleeping, and this is just a waking nightmare). Please be amazed at my kick-ass multitasking skills.
   
   
2. Do you ever overhear conversations that make it into your writing?
   I'm shocked! Shocked that people would think I listen to other people's conversations. I never do that. But if I did do that, the answer would be, "Yes, if they irritate me." It would be tough to rank the ones that irritate me the most. Obviously, actually overhearing a plot to kill, maim or wax someone would leave me a bit disconcerted. Luckily, I really only hear things like that a couple of times a week, so I feel good about ignoring them. I only like hearing wild praise about myself, so I'd get a little bent if I overheard anything that bursts my little ego bubble—that would definitely inspire a diatribe or two. The only thing that will actually make me slap you is overhearing the "NY is so much more real than LA" conversation (with runner up being "San Francisco is so much more real than LA"—which I heard on Sunday). I like to point out whenever possible that planes fly to both destinations, and you should feel free to be on one of them as soon as possible (diatribe pending).
   
   
3. Why don't you just try online dating and be done with it?
   
   Did you just ask me out?
   
   
4. Didn't you say there was a plan to turn this blog into a movie? Where's the movie?
   
   There are no plans to turn the blog into a movie. Apparently, there are actually standards out there, and the anal bleaching scene was a deal breaker. Also, we couldn't convince a studio that my 5 ½ readers (don't ask) constituted a fan base.
   
   
5. You must see famous people all the time in LA. Why don't you write about them?
   
   I do see them. They have lawyers. Enough said.
   
   No seriously, I do encounter "the famous", and, on rare occasion, I actually recognize them. From time to time, I will tweet about seeing someone, but for the most part the grocery buying or shirt browsing isn't enough to get me inspired to run home and write about it—though I have strict orders to tell Pen the minute I run into Timothy Olyphant again.
   
   
6. Is your love for Clooney over? You don't mention him anymore.
   
   I don't mention my shoes anymore either, it doesn't mean I don't still have strong affection for them. Rest assured, my appreciation of "the Clooney" remains strong, though it's been quite a while since I've seen him, and I might need an in-person refresher on exactly why.
   
   
7. I don't get it. How hard is it to get a date?
   
   Let me guess—you are blonde and 24, right? Yeah, that's what I thought.
   
   
8. I was excited to see you start writing again. Then you stopped. Wtf?
   
   I was waiting for information on my soul mate kit to arrive. Now that it has, get ready to party. And by party, I mean get ready for endless rants on my part about how it doesn't, couldn't and won't work without me actually giving it a chance. That's how I roll.
   

Kate

Dear Body

Dear Body,

You and I have been at odds for a very long time, but I did feel as though we had reached an agreement in principal, if not in documentation: you don't mess with me, I won't mess with you. Might I remind you that a verbal agreement is binding in the State of California? And yes, talking to yourself does so count. Nevertheless, I overlooked the ways you violated this agreement throughout the years.

I don't like people, so the "no dinner" rule seemed like a good way to avoid social interaction, as well as food. I understand you don't handle stress very well (no one does), so I didn't let the doctors poke and prod you much when you waged a battle against my life. In retrospect, the thought of spending the weekend with The EX should have been a vomit inducing prospect, so I respected your choice in the matter. Also, who hasn't slipped into a semi-catatonic state when confronted with someone they admire—technically a violation, but probably some defense mechanism that kept me from doing something stupid like… speaking.

But now you've gone too far. This rubber, blubbery, middle thing you've got going on is unacceptable. It is true that I don't like belts, but there is no need for you to try to keep my pants up by having bits of you hang so far over the waistband that it looks like you are gripping the pants for dear life. I realize I'm slightly north of 25, but there is no reason for my thighs to take on the look of aged burrata – if the aging process involved leaving it out in the sun for several days. I'm dangerously close to resorting to flipping the breasts over your shoulder in order to put on my shoes in the morning. And that ass thing you've got going on? I really don't think it's supposed to do that.

Please consider this fair warning. If you don't shape up on your own, I will be forced to take drastic measures. Don't think I'm serious? Let's just say Freddy Krueger would be the one having nightmares at what I'm contemplating for you. That's right—it might involve a sit-up… possibly a piece of lettuce. I know you don't want that. I don't want to cut you off from the nacho cheesey goodness, the margaritas or what we are euphemistically referring to as "wine research". But I will do it. And you know when I'm determined, I will do whatever it takes… for like a good 40 minutes—possibly an hour.

You have been warned.

Kate

Random Friday Thoughts

Random Thought #1

Have you ever nearly taken out office-mates in a mad dash to see who could get the last ½ of a bagel that has been sitting in a box for 4 hours? There is something about free food, even leftovers, that makes individuals act like they've been stranded on an abandoned island without the luxury of doughy goodness. It's not like we can't all go downstairs and purchase food if we were really starving. But we don't—not that I'm saying I was one of these people today (but I might have been). And I might have won because being short means you are actually able to be stealth in ways that people who aren't invisible cannot imagine. [Please read that sentence over again with the Mission Impossible theme song running through your minds].

 

Random Thought #2

Ever spend the day listing to conversations which you then immediately insert into your nearly-google-like translator to get the subtext? If you haven't, you should try it.

Text: "I was confused at first because very few people have my cell phone number."

Subtext: "I had forgotten that I had given you my cell phone number that weekend. My wife was surprised, too."

Yes, it is loads of fun for the whole family.

 

Random Thought #3

Change comes slowly. Awareness of change comes with the force of a sledgehammer.

 

Random Thought #4

It has taken over a week to finish that blog on procrastination—and for entirely obvious reasons, this amuses me.

 

Random Thought #5

Why is it that every time and opportunity presents itself to me, the following conversation (with only slight variation) occurs?

1. Oh, that sounds like a lot of fun!
   
2. I didn't realize that it was at night.
   
3. All the way out there?
   
4. How long will it last?
   
5. If I can't go at the last minute, will you be able to get someone else to take the ticket?
   
6. What if I have to leave?
   
7. It's not like I won't get another chance to do it.
   
8. Maybe next time.
   

I can't decide if I'm talking myself out of risk, or if deep down I really don't want to do these things anyway. After all, most activities involve other people—and I don't like people.

 

Random Thought #6

Pen and Chloe added another piece of evidence to support their theory that I have a sign on my forehead that reads, "F**k off" and that only men can see it. On Sunday, to celebrate the illustrious birthday of Pen, therapist to the stars (if you count me as a star, of course), we attended a wine festival (not really a formal festival, but there was a tent, many winemakers and a lot of wine). In the process of taking in the sights, sounds and libations, we were greeted by an enthusiastic winemaker—who was very lovely, but a "kisser". He was a very exuberant man, and insisted on kissing all the ladies on the cheek upon arrival at his station. His wine was wonderful. He was delightful. He had a European flair. He also had the good sense to leave me alone. Seriously, he went from DM to Chloe to Pen, but took one look at me, and clearly thought, "I don't want to die here today". His girlfriend kissed us all—yep, only men can read the sign.

 

 

 

 

Bonding: Day 3 (Escape from New York)

My birthday is tomorrow. I will be "old as ass". So, on this night before I turn "old as ass", I've curled up in the darkness to reflect upon my life with the ferocity usually reserved for New Year's Eve. Naturally, my immediate thoughts return to my recent trip to New York—specifically, the final day.

It should have been a great day. I was leaving—what isn't great about that? It's not that I hate New York. It's that I hate being in New York. Perhaps "hate" is a little strong, but I'm feeling self-indulgent, so go with it. It's not that I can't appreciate that there are fine things available in the City, but I spent enough years there as an adult to fully appreciate "elsewhere". Also, I'm fairly certain the City was trying to kill me.

It started innocently enough. I was due to meet my friend E for breakfast. Because of the craziness of my "bonding" schedule, I didn't have time to meet up with her for a casual, no doubt wine related, evening of catching up, bitching and moaning about life. Instead, we had to settle for breakfast. Never fear though, we did manage to fit the bitching and moaning into the schedule. We're not heathens for goodness sake.

The hotel is actually a combination hotel and condo/residence building. When I came downstairs, I noticed E waiting for me in the lobby of the adjacent residence side. I ran over to the glass door to grab her so we could hit the hotel restaurant. This, of course, would have worked more effectively had it actually turned out to be a door. Instead, it turned out to be a solid wall of glass—a solid wall of glass that my entire body hit because my brain didn't register the lack of "give" in time to stop my momentum. My entire body hit it, but not at the same time of course. No, actually, my foot and hands hit the wall first, and the impact snapped my head forward so that my forehead and nose could solidly contact the wall. This was not a quiet little miscalculation. The collision was loud enough to not only alert E on the other side of the wall, but also the entire lobby on the hotel side. I played it off well—the red bruising around my nose was hardly noticeable with my hand covering it, and I kept moving as quickly as possible out the actual door. On the upside, my nose didn't bleed, and it wasn't broken. On the downside, I think I still have a headache.

I moved on to my last set of meetings confident that once I got to the airport I could upgrade my ticket back from NY to LA. Also, I was assured that mid-day, there would be very little traffic, and that I would soon be on my way. And I'm sure that would have been true had I been anyone else in any other city. Instead, as my driver so delightfully put it, "Every fuckin' Friday they close down a lane so they can stand around and get cash for scratchin' their asses". While I did not witness said "ass scratchin'", I did notice that we weren't going anywhere quickly. An hour and a half later, I was almost happy to see JFK airport.

I really should have known better.

I was pretty excited to see that my security line was really short despite my airline only having two available bays—just a couple of people in front of me. I was already stripping, all modesty thrown by the wayside, in order to get through the detectors. I'm not sure what prompted them to shut down the line I was in, but shut it down they did. Momentarily flummoxed, I looked around to see if anyone else noticed the absurdity of the sudden appearance of the "closed" sign. Nope, the travelers all had that permanently beaten down look people get when the winter has been too long and the City has been too ridiculous. Hey, but the good news is, there was absolutely no room for my line to join the other line, so that wasn't a problem at all.

I feel like George Clooney lied to me in Up in the Air. Business travel, provided a few minor precautions, seemed far more civilized in that film.

I soldiered on. My headache was now pounding, but I had my gate, and it couldn't possibly be that far away, in a make-shift terminal with temporary walls, no amenities and an absent gate attendant (or two). That couldn't possibly be true.

Yeah, all of that was true. But that was perfectly acceptable because when an airline employee did arrive, she promptly ignored the growing line long enough for us to understand who was boss. I'll give you one guess as to whether or not it was anyone in line.

Luckily, I was about to get my ticket upgraded for a marginal fee. And that totally would have happened had work not bought a non-upgradeable ticket. Naturally, I did what any desperate to be comfortable traveler would do—I got out my credit card and offered to buy a business class ticket and toss the existing ticket. And that would have totally worked had the entire flight not been sold out. Every seat. Also, since work had purchased the cheapest ticket possible, I wasn't able to specify the seat assignment prior to arrival at the airport. I understand I should be grateful that I was in a window seat rather than a middle seat in coach for six hours. Perhaps if I didn't hate flying, hate feeling trapped and panic when I can't get to a bathroom, I would have embraced that piece of luck. Instead, my head just started pounding more.

I took some deep breaths, and got in line to board the plane. Luckily, I had a lot of time to breathe deeply because I was in the last section called for boarding. I quickly stowed my bag under the seat in front of me (well, actually it was more like grunted and shoved it under the seat in front of me because the space was so tight, I couldn't really bend over to fit it properly), and took solace in the fact that the plane had WiFi even in the cheap seats. Whew.

And that would have been real consolation had the WiFi been functioning that day. Sadly, it was not.

Still, the flight was underway after a mere 45 minute delay due to a closed runway (which the pilot mentioned was very short, as they had built in the standard 1 hour and 30 minutes delay into the projected arrival time), the man next to me was lovely and not overly arm-rest hogging, and I thought I could amuse myself with my book or iPod until I calmed down.

And that would have been great, had I not been trying to pretzel myself so I could reach my bag at the exact moment the man in the seat in front of me had chosen to recline his seat… hitting me on the forehead…the forehead already swelling from losing the fight with the wall earlier in the day. And that was that. I think the swearing probably got my neighbor's attention before the tears did. Bless him, he did try to distract me with small talk—though that might have been to assure him that I was just pissed and not crazy.

The wave of "why can't anything just be easy for once" emotion passed and I lost myself in some Doctor Who. Oh, and I counted down the seconds before I was once again able to close the door of my apartment behind me and say that I had finally escaped from NY.

Kate

P.S. Anyone else think that "I just give up" should be an actual age? As in, "How old are you?" "I've just given up."

 

Bonding: Day 1 Part B

Lest you believe that all I ever do is complain, I will now create an upside/downside list of my experiences thus far to bring some balance to the equation:

Upside: TCA officer named Casey checked my boarding pass today. I should mention that Casey was very, very attractive. So if you are reading this Casey at LAX, you were the best thing about being at an airport at 5:30am.

Downside: Immediately after leaving Casey, they pulled my bag for searching because of a suspicious curling iron. I'd like to point out that it is an incident like this that solidifies my "grooming is over-rated" attitude.

Upside: Upgrading to business class from the company's economy ticket was very easy. If you are frequent flyer, it's only $50 and there were seats available.

Downside: Of course, upgrading only works if all of your frequent flyer miles hadn't expired at some point. grrrrrr

Upside: After biting the bullet and upgrading anyway, I was pretty psyched to be handed my very own video monitor.

Downside: Didn't have adapter to plug in the personal video monitor, so proved to be a bit of a tease more than anything else.

Upside: Plane landed 20 minutes early.

Downside: Those 20 minutes, plus about another 60 were spent on some freeway trying to get from JFK to downtown.

Upside: I made it to the first round of meetings on time.

Downside: May have gotten the up and down look with raised eyebrow from new boss because I failed to change out of my jeans to attend first round of meetings.

Upside: Finally came up with a fun fact to share with the group.

Downside: The fun fact didn't really spark any conversation because I think people just think I'm either odd, or that it's common to meet David Tennant in Los Angeles.

Upside: I have a nifty nametag.

Downside: My name is spelled incorrectly on the nametag. My first name. Sweet.

Upside: I'm staying at the Andaz hotel, and I'm loving it. I was upgraded by the nice Australian (I believe) boy who checked me in (very cute)-- possibly because I looked cranky. Decor is great. Work station is well integrated. Shower is an entire room, and I could swim in the bath.

Downside: I was cranky. Cranky and cold (35 fabulous degrees).

Upside: It's not snowing.

Downside: Sleet is not really better.

Upside: One more day of bonding.

Downside: It's an 8 hour day of bonding.


Did I mention I really love the hotel?

Kate

Bonding: Day 1

I am sitting in the departure lounge thinking profound thoughts like:

How often is the freeway closed at 4:30 in the morning?

Wondering why I brought along a curling iron, and why it seemed lethal this morning?

Upgrading my ticket might have been easier had all my ff miles not expired (probably yesterday).

Is wondering why I not only recognize all the Muzak versions of very old musicals, but also know all the words.


Yep. These are the things that roam through my brain at 5:46am while waiting for a plane. Stay tuned!

Kate

Bets Can be Costly

I lost a bet. No, not the one with God that has resulted in the life I'm currently leading. It started when I recklessly tried to employ irony, and ended when I foolishly agreed to go clubbing with LD.

No, I'm not kidding. I'm now contractually obligated to go clubbing. And no, "clubbing" is not a new euphemism for advanced book reading, followed by a bubble bath and the emergence of my fuzzy bunny slippers (though, I am trying to figure out a way to work that into the scenario).

I'll just give you a moment to let the laughter settle down.

Obviously, I'm still me. I made sure to place some minor, entirely reasonable restrictions on this enterprise. The current contract reads:

I, Kate Dating, hereby agree to go "clubbing" on a Thursday night, in Hollywood, from 9:00pm to 9:30pm with LD pending certain contractual obligations are met by LD prior to the event. "Clubbing" is herein defined as showing up to club, entering venue, observing wildlife in their natural habitat and swiftly exiting the building.

I think you can appreciate that while I did indicate "Thursday", I did not indicate in which year that Thursday would occur, giving me plenty of wiggle room. Vexingly, LD has ingeniously recruited other people who will not only witness this event, but also make my escape less likely. I need to start saving just in case they can be bought. Still, I am confident that I will prevail once my motion to include the wait in line outside the club as part of the half hour is passed.

Something I didn't cover? Myself. As in, how will I cover my actual person. Pen and LD came over to my apartment to go through my closet. Shockingly (gasp), it turns out there is nothing appropriate for the Los Angeles scene in there. Though, comfortingly, I will be the best dressed nun at the convent. So, I do have that going for me. Very delicate negotiations are now underway with regards to exactly what needs to be shown versus what should never ever be shown. For instance, thus far I've held strong that everything from my neck to my ankles should be covered in something woolen and forbidding. LD has started sending me links to dresses that Lady GaGa might find too risqué. Pen, my friend who is supposed to be my voice of reason, seems to be leaning in the daring décolletage direction, and Chloe doesn't care what I wear as long as she gets to see video evidence of the entire thing.

The logical thing to do in this situation is to admit defeat and figure out a way to make the saran wrap I will end up in look good – although I'm not really sure how to get industrial strength spanx or find an intricate pulley system to combat gravity that won't also leave unsightly lines and bulges.

Kate