Dating Profile

In my research into the mating habits of the average Angeleno, the subject of online dating is consistently broached. While I’m still hoping for miracles in the form of blind dates, I have acknowledged that this option does exist.  If I decide to go with a traditional online site (which already sounds like an oxymoron), I’ll need a killer dating profile picture in order to truly capture the attention of my would-be suitors. This has provided me endless hours of distress (ok, maybe it was only seconds before I dismissed it as being too difficult and moved on something easier like determining the meaning of life).

But at long last, I believe I’ve settled on a photo that really allows for my essence to shine. It’s the perfect combination of “don’t F with me,” and “sometimes I sing in the shower.”  It’s the kind of photo that will make men sit up and take notice.  It’s… it’s… it’s….

 

It’s Pride and Prejudice meets Mad Max. And I think this one is going to work for me.

The Emotional Pitfall

How do you know if you are in the midst of an emotional affair (or if your partner is)? How do you define it?


I've always had male friends and because I'm perpetually everyone's little sister, I've often been a sounding board for them. This has meant everything from listening to them vent about their on-again-off-again girlfriends to reading drafts of their books. Spending an hour on the phone with a man wouldn't raise any red flags for me. I've had real friendships with these men—but those relationships have never been sexual. In fact, there was never even a thought of it. And yet, there was at least one instance where a girlfriend of one of these men has been bothered by the relationship.


Did these situations constitute an emotional affair because I was giving them the support they needed? I never thought of it in those terms, but also I never inquired as to whether or not the men felt an attachment that would have caused concern for the girlfriends. I knew nothing was going to happen on a physical level, so I didn't worry about it. To me, they might as well have been girls, and I wouldn't think twice about supporting a female friend of mine.


Do men secretly get annoyed when their girlfriends share their feelings and thoughts with another girl? What if her best friend was male? Even then, I'm not sure men feel as threatened by it. They might posture a little until they start feeling secure again, but unless they actually see signs of physical threat, I'm not sure they take great exception to the issue.


What do you do if you are already close with a man, and he starts dating someone? I hate when women dump their friends when they start dating someone. Is this really any different? Is that first relationship necessarily disposable in order to avoid potential romantic relationship insecurities down the road for him?


I know what you're thinking: "Have you ever dated someone with strong ties to someone else?" Yes, indeed. One of the EX's closest friends since childhood was female. I would never have demanded that he stop his friendship with her because I was suddenly on the scene. I trusted him, and I never felt shortchanged by her presence in his life. Perhaps that is the key to a successful male/female friendship once the male is romantically involved with someone—making certain that he doesn't use you as a replacement for an emotional connection he should be having with his partner. Of course, the amount of control you have over someone else's perceptions of you is debatable, so how you would actually do that remains a mystery.

Blind Leading the Blind

Nothing like a traffic jam at 7:15pm on a Sunday evening to give a girl plenty of time to reflect on the fabulous possibilities that await her. And by fabulous, I mean annoying and potentially disastrous... is what the old me would have said. The new me only thinks positive thoughts. Which is why even though we have pretty much all agreed that blind dates are a bad idea, I am still willing to make this happen.

Quick question: is sexting first base or does it depend on exactly what is typed? I'm just trying to get a handle on exactly what I'm going to face since this technology didn't exist the last time I went on a first date.

I am sensing that some of my potential gentleman callers have expressed some degree of reluctance about being set up. Normally, I would assume this is because they've seen a picture of me (btw, "No, in real life she's sort of cute" is my current marketing campaign), but the new me assumes that this is just because they are nervous about how awkward set ups can be. This I understand. I too am experiencing a tad bit of trepidation about stepping from behind the curtain.

Being the crafty problem solver that I am, I'm encouraging a vetting process. I'm even seriously considering slipping a questionnaire to friends while they are vetting the potentials. It could save a lot of time. Beyond the normal status questions (single, straight, serial killer), I thought these would also be useful:

1. How do you feel about being mocked (if I promise to be gentle on the first date)?
2. How do you feel about spending long hours discussing Russian literature before I let you hold my hand (which still might be moving too fast)?
3. How do you feel about being second guessed about everything? No, I mean everything. No, really.
4. How do you deal with television sports conflicts? For instance, if your Yankees were on TV and my Indians were on TV, how would you feel about the fact that we'll be watching the Indians play?
5. Describe your favorite first date and use the words "classical music," "picnic in the park" and "reading you 19th century romantic poetry."
6. Describe in what ways you are most like Colin Firth.

This should go well!

Is Honesty Enough?

*This post includes spoilers for season 5 of Californication. Turn back now if you haven't seen it and don't want to be spoiled.

 

Does honesty absolve you of responsibility in relationships? Obviously, it doesn't in literal terms: you can't say, "I'm going to hit you now" and then hit the person without consequence using the "I warned you" defense. Can the same be said for emotional responses and consequences?

Because everything relates to fiction for me these days, look at the situation between Carrie and Hank in the fifth season of Californication (and I should preface this by saying I in no way favor the way Carrie chose to deal with her emotional issues). From what little we know of their actual relationship (which was mostly explored off-screen and presented after the fact at the beginning of the season), Hank and Carrie were together exclusively for nearly a year. They were regularly sexually involved, she had a key to his apartment, and he knew she wanted the white dress and all that comes with it. While he told her that he wanted to keep things simple, she became emotionally attached to a man who was not ever going to love her—something we, as an audience, believed, but sadly she did not until too late.

You could say that Hank acted honestly: he was always straightforward with her, and when he suspected that she was going to ask for more than he could give her, he ended it. But she accused him of "stealing" anyway. Yes, you could say her actions before and after those accusations indicate that she was unhinged, but her accusations did resonate with me (and for the sake of argument, let's pretend I am not similarly unhinged).

I would have rolled my eyes and dismissed her if they had been together only a couple of months. She was a big girl, no stranger to sexual relationships, and he told her that he didn't want anything serious. She has to take responsibility for listening to what he wanted and still thinking that she could change him. Intellectually, we all know that isn't going to happen in real life and it certainly wasn't going to happen in the case of Hank Moody. On a purely logical level, we know this.

But they were together a year. Was it really unreasonable for her to develop feelings for a man she had a relationship with and hope that he cared about her too? And make no mistake; spending a year in a relationship in your mid-30s is a bigger commitment than spending a year with someone in your 20s because if you want to have children, the clock is ticking. By her own admission, she didn't really "get it" until she saw him with someone he actually loved and realized that he was just killing time with her because he couldn't have what (or who) he really wanted. On an emotional level, was it unreasonable for her to be angry that he wasted her time?

I don't think this issue is uncommon (the issue itself, not the crazy way Carrie dealt with things). People stay in relationships that aren't going anywhere or aren't working for a multitude of reasons: love, access to sex, comfort, a desire to avoid confrontation, laziness and fear of being alone all come immediately to mind. But even if you aren't lying about what you want, are you being honorable in your dealings with another person if you know what they want is not something you can give?

From Zero to Sixty

Once a month I take part in probably the most fabulous wine club in the world—definitely the most fabulous in Los Angeles. Not only am I learning about wine (and thus expanding my brain and staving off my inevitable mental decline), but the group is comprised of great people (yes, I do like some people). Unfortunately, the flowing of good wine and entertaining conversation (and the occasional Meat Loaf sing-along) can lead to advanced jocularity and ill-advised decision-making.


Thus, I come to the following situation. After some lovely white Burgandy and a tiny bit of sparkling wine, I decided the best idea ever was to require all of my female friends to set me up on a blind date—at that exact moment. I had very few criteria: the man needs to be single, and he can't expect sex on the first date (or, let's face it, ever).


Two of my friends immediately sent off text messages that will no doubt alarm me greatly at a later date. But for the moment, I'm thinking positively. Sure, at best these attempts might only lead to chaste sexting using two intermediaries, but that will still count as the best date I've been on in years. Also, I've been assured that one date will be so bad, that my friend will want to tape it for YouTube. Hello, income! Finally—I mean, I am still out of work, so how can I refuse that offer?


Perhaps my calm acceptance stems for the fact that I don't actually believe any dates will result from this folly because I feel like there was mass penile shrinkage occurring simultaneously throughout the city when those texts went out creating real cases of "date avoidance." Or at least the contacted men will take every possible opportunity to avoid me for the foreseeable future. For instance, we'll see a sudden spike in the number of men in Los Angeles volunteering for immediate Peace Corps placement or long term live-in drug trials.


But the important thing to remember is that I am totally open to the idea of dating—completely open and looking forward to it. So very much. And I am in no way using Kayak.com right now to find the fastest, cheapest flight away from this city. Because that would be wrong. Probably.

Rare Specimen Spotted

I must preface this blog with the admission that I have only heard about this specimen sighting and was not an actual witness to these statements or sentiments (and possible rending of cloth).

My friend L has met two men who were lamenting over the fact that they can never find women to date because the women they meet just want to have sex and then move on. LAMENTING! I don't know if there were actual tears, but there may have been.

Now before you make any snap judgments about these men, you should know that they are both successful men (actors) under 45 (one is actually in his late 20s), seemingly intelligent and attractive. What I found most interesting is that they felt like women didn't take them seriously as real partners, only hook-up buddies at the end of the night. I'm not saying that they haven't taken women up on these offers, but I am saying that they appear to be looking for something different-- and they aren't finding it.

There could be many reasons for this.

1. They are looking in the wrong places. It is truly rare when a loving relationship based on shared intellectual passions and respect is born from a meeting at a club. Everyone there makes the assumption that everyone else is a player. And being actors they have both perception and fame-whores working against them. So, if these guys are searching the clubs for the future Mrs, they are probably going to be finding drunk 23 year old girls rolling the dice at STD roulette instead.

2. If they are staying home because they hate "the scene" then they aren't meeting anybody. OR they do what I do and go to places that aren't conducive to extended conversation with strangers (like movies, theater, etc).

3. Women in LA decided at some point to behave like men. They saw the only women engaging with men at all were women who adapted to the casual sex environment. The problem is, I don't know a ton of women who actually respected that "come and go" behavior when men were the only ones doing it. It can't come as a shock that many men don't either. Oh, they still have sex with those girls, but now no one seems particularly fulfilled with the choice. Don't get me wrong-- a lot of people are having sex, but I just don't see a lot of people who are happy.

4. L has not yet given them the names of the 40 awesome single women she knows not looking for players or casual anything.

I wish I had the answer. I'd like to say that if both genders valued real connection over one hour stands, then the shift would occur out of necessity. But I can't see that happening as long as people think that "keeping it simple" actually keeps anything simple or creates anything real (except for those STDs, of course-- those you get to keep).

Five to One

I received an email from Natasha Chesler (writer, producer, director and choreographer) about a live show coming to the Roxy at the end of April (April 28-May 1), and I had to share with you because material that explores the lunacy of the LA dating world always grabs me. This live show was created around the claimed statistic that in Los Angeles there are five women to every guy. I have no idea if this statistic is true, but it feels true. Plus, if you look at that one guy—the odds of him also being single, straight and regularly showering are even worse (so it's more like five women to every 1/3 of a guy).

Not only does the show tell the stories of these five women, but the key art evokes All That Jazz. You know me. I'm not capable of walking away from that. It boasts an excellent creative team and outstanding cast. All this means you should buy tickets to see Five to One here: http://www.fivetoonethemusical.com/tickets.html

And I promise not to jump up on stage and join the act (though I'm already digging the embedded song on the home page, so maybe I shouldn't guarantee that).

 

It All Started With…

This

Which led to this:

Which led to this:

In public.

Here's how.

A kind friend has taken me in hand and is trying to help me put together some "taking a meeting" outfits in attempt to at least make me feel comfortable enough in my own skin (and wardrobe) to project a totally false sense of confidence. To this end, we went shopping, and found some accessories that I liked and that would work with our theme (picture #1). I liken my bracelets to Wonder Woman's bracelets which deflected bullets, only mine were designed to deflect disdain and my own self-doubts—practically the same thing. Also, they were purchased at Forever 21 which makes me giggle because apparently, I'm taking that "forever" thing quite literally.

Clad in my new bracelets and other perfectly acceptable casual clothing, I went back to the mall to exchange something and the clerk at a different store commented on how much he liked my bracelets. All of a sudden, I realized that these magical bracelets may have disabled my cloaking device and that I was secretly (very secretly) a super model with impeccable fashion sense (or at least borrowed fashion sense from M who suggested that I buy them).

Fresh off this tiny victory, I swaggered myself to lunch at a local restaurant. Taking my customary table in the corner, I set about trying to come up with a strategic plan for my future. I had no sooner gotten to "1" when I noticed a very attractive man enter the restaurant. He looked at me, and actually saw me. I know this because when he smiled at me, I smiled back and surreptitiously looked over my shoulder to make certain that no one was actually behind me. Nope. Just me. When he sat down, he looked over again. So stunned at the magic of the bracelets, I smiled back slightly bigger—and by slightly bigger, I might mean picture #2.

Unfortunately, when you smile that enthusiastically at someone, they might get the impression that: a) they know you, but can't place you, or b) you are crazy. By the look of confusion on his face, I'm guessing both of those things were true. His response led to picture #3.

I was clearly overwhelmed—no, not just whelmed, but over. These bracelets are powerful, and as Spiderman's dad told him: with great power, comes the great responsibility of not confusing attractive men in restaurants (perhaps that is a paraphrase).

I can only imagine what is going to happen when I don the shoes.

Birthday

I come to you on this, the first day of my 43^rd year of being single, ready to impart all the wisdom I have accumulated on numerous topics. I am prepared to grant you access to the profound workings of my mind—which may or may not be clouded with a sugar rush that only a birthday cake and bubbly can bring.

Ready?

I have no idea what I am doing. And neither does anyone else.

If anyone knew for certain what to do in life, there would be only one self-help book on the shelf, and everyone would have adopted those guidelines because they worked for everyone. If there was only one way to find romance, there would be only one dating site. Also, you would not have, conservatively, 9,132 books about dating available on Amazon (there are actually more, but I didn't want to accidentally double count the hardcover and Kindle versions). There would be one book. Naturally, that book would be called "Dating according to Kate." Spoiler alert: it will include formal wear, as I recently rediscovered a couture dress in my closet that I'm dying to wear.

The best thing I can say is that after all of this time, I know me fairly well. It's not that I can't occasionally be surprising, but generally, I know me.

I seem to like asking questions more than either hearing (or giving) answers.
This is not just because I'm persnickety and argumentative, though undoubtedly both are true. For me, the journey tends to be more satisfying than the destination (unless we are discussing plane travel, and then… not so much). I like open-ended stories. I enjoy topical debate—which might seem odd since I often hold absolute opinions. But I do enjoy the questioning. Perhaps this is because the answers, thus far, have not lived up to their promise?

Chocolate is my favorite food group.
I used to think it was anything with salt, but chocolate has endured. It may be the true love of my life—which makes the very real possibility that I'm developing a chocolate allergy just a little disheartening. I plan to live in denial as long as possible. Certainly getting an actual allergy test is out of the question.

Someone needs to give me a $100 million entertainment development fund.
I think we can all agree that I would produce some incredibly entertaining work with $100 million. I'd also take $10 million…or $1 million. All of my incredibly talented friends (and I know many who just need that one break) would also benefit because the fund would finance their projects—provided they agree to cast a short list of actors I'd personally like to see work more… and if they would let me visit set…often… for, you know, script consulting purposes. Whatever. I think I would make a magnificent mogul. I'm adding the title to my business card right now.

As I get older, my inner monologue filter has started to become external.
And it's hysterical… although I would not be surprised in the least if it gets me punched at least once very soon.

I still believe I could wake up tomorrow and finally be 5'4".
Shhh. Let's not kill the fantasy.

Every year I call my parents on my birthday and hope that they have lied to me and that I'm actually 10 years younger.
They've started humoring me.

Even my fantasies are a disappointment.
The other night I had a fantasy where in the middle of an intellectual discourse, Clooney and I started to kiss. It was just "eh." He wasn't bad at it, and I think I held up my end with dignity. However, the spark just wasn't there. Typical.

A True Story

Earlier today a friend said, “Oh dating guru, Kate, could you please pass on a tiny nugget of your relationship wisdom?” Or, you know, something really close to that. Because I’m a benevolent soul with vast (read: singular) experience in the matters of the heart, I will now give you one of my top ten pieces of dating advice. Ready?

Do not let a man see your vagina before he has seen your face.

I mean this literally.

I’m not putting a lot of restrictions on you. It’s not like I’m asking you to wait until he can tell you what color your eyes are. That’s impossible. Guys don’t know because they’ve been either looking down your shirt, or mentally calculating how long they have to pretend to listen to you until they can get you naked (and it only looked like they were staring deeply into your eyes). I get that. It would be unreasonable.

But ladies, you are killing me. How desperate are you that you are sending photos of your ruthlessly waxed and eroded southern selves to a man before your first date—or even your first phone call? Do you charge by the hour? Are you working on the “time is money” theory? Are you a porn star? Because if you are, this totally makes sense—he’s already seen it all. If neither is true, put the DAMN CELLPHONE CAMERA DOWN.

I know what you are thinking, “But Kate, I’m straightforward with my wants and needs. If I want a man, I’m going to tell him exactly what is on my mind.” Newsflash—it’s not your mind he’s thinking of and there are ways of doing this without showing him where the ingrown hairs were. Oh, he may still have sex with you (so mission accomplished), but he has no respect or regard for you at all (we won't get into my consternation over why anyone would have sex with someone they don't respect).

Out of curiosity, if you are someone who starts with VajCam, where the hell do you hope to go from there? Do you just keep a spare snatch snap and send it out to the AT&T phone directory in hopes of finding a way to kill 20 minutes every evening? Is this a reverse type move where you start with porn and then hope to move to deep conversation? I have bad news for you—if you think all you have to offer is a body part, it’s going to be tough for anyone else to see beyond that. I just don’t see him saying, “there’s a fine labia, I wonder what her thoughts are on deficit reduction?”

You’ve exchanged one email with the gadabout through a dating site. Try coffee first. Sure, it could be a waste of time, but think of the penicillin you’ll save.

My Love Life in Brief

Kate: You never know-- my Prince Charming could be at the concert tomorrow at the Getty.

Pen: Yeah, but you won't talk to him.

Kate: I can't argue with that.



fade to black.

Breaking In Meets Dr. Drew

Ah, proximity—you seem to be the key to all things dating… which is tricky given how much I like to spend time alone.

This week's Breaking In featured the theory that "love is a numbers game" and that the way for one of the leads to finally get the girl of his dreams is to spend as much time with her as possible. He actually had the day broken down into "quality time spent" components, and spending the day at work with this girl meant he would be "winning" (not in the Charlie Sheen sense, but with actual positive outcome in the mix) the battle for her heart (which he might want along with her other parts).

Then much to my surprise, when I finally got through my katedating@yahoo.com email, I saw that Kelly at HLN had sent over another clip from Dr. Drew's show. Now, the piece was supposed to explore what it is that men really want from women. This scared me because I assumed it was somehow pornographic. Kidding. Kidding. Not really, but let's pretend.

Naturally, the conversation turned toward the different approaches of the sexes in meeting a potential partner. The panel and Dr. Drew came to the conclusion that Cam did in Breaking In (only they backed-it up with actual data) that proximity plays an enormous role in finding a potential romance.

I worked many, many, many years in a largely-male environment. Love did not blossom for me. No seeds were even planted. Clearly, I need to work at a place where there is a plethora of options before I can give this theory a try. But otherwise his advice did leave me a little bit stuck. He said, "Go put yourself in environments where you're about to be near people that share the kind of interests that you do." That idea is all well and good, but look at my interests: ballet, theater, museums, movies, reading and watching TV. They either involve being alone, not interacting or involve places not exactly teeming with single, straight men who have also arrived alone. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a shy, retiring type to pry a guy away from his mother at the ballet? It's not going to happen.

Also, sitting next to the guy sitting alone in an empty movie theater is creepy. Not that I've tried that. Yet.

 

Everything Old Is Me Again

I was enjoying an inner rant this morning, and I remembered this older blog. As many of you are new readers, and possibly haven't wandered back this far, please enjoy this reposting of "Multitasking." And yes, I am playing that Berlin song right now.

Happy weekend!

http://katedating.blogspot.com/2006/08/multitasking.html

Fantasy Guy

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

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

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

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

To this I say, "Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

Attention Spam Emailers

Presumably the point of sending out emails regarding penis enlargement is to make the enlargement process (or at least the result) sound a) possible and b) appealing. That has always been my assumption. What you should not do is make it sound scary.

Case in point, the subject line of the last spam I received: “Get deeper in her entrails”.

Entrails?

ENTRAILS???

Does the word “entrails” sound in any way seductive to any of you? Because, frankly, it sounds more like helpful hints for serial killers than would-be Don Juans.

Maybe they are reaching out to soothsayers specializing on the reading of entrails to tell the future? Though, sadly, if they are reading your entrails, I’ve got a pretty good idea that your “future” is looking pretty damn finite.

The word brings to mind disembowelment. Grant it, I haven’t been on a date in a while, so maybe things have changed, but “Hey, baby, let me disembowel you” is not sexy. Also not sexy -- conversations like, “I just had a procedure that will allow me to pierce your colon”. Or am I wrong? Are you guys signing up for that? Because if you are, I am so not dating again.

Also, not to be picky, but your standard, every day guy/girl action doesn’t generally involve entrails being stimulated. So, is this supposed to be some sort clarion call to anal dwellers, or is this guy so damn big now that he’s tearing through everything in the way and going straight for your viscera? Again, I’m voting no. There is absolutely such a thing as “too big” and, ladies, we have found it.

We have got to put our collective foot down. We’ve allowed ourselves to be plucked, waxed, bleached and vaginally rejuvenated. I say, we draw the line in the sand at men who want to lance our intestines in order to feel more manly.

Who is with me?

5 Months: The Drawing

So, we left piece of the next five months of my life up to fate. I have to admit, I found the idea kind of exciting. I added many options ranging from the easy (“go back to dance class”) to the slightly more difficult (“become a ninja”).

It didn’t turn out like I thought it would.

I thought I’d be faced with huge life choices because let’s face it, becoming a ninja would probably take hard work and some training. Instead, fate had me grab some things that are going to be a challenge to quantify and all in line with things I probably would have done anyway.

What does that mean?

Check out the video for the drawing results:

So, there you have it:

1. Go Back to Dance Class. Physically and, probably, emotionally, this is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. I stopped dancing about a year and a half ago. Some of the hesitance to return is based on physical limitations, and some of it was just feeling overscheduled. I dropped the class and kept promising to go back once my life loosened up a bit. That never happened. I guess Fate has decided it’s time.

2. Sell or Produce the Kate Dating web-series. We’ve talked about this from time to time. I’ve started writing it. But I must admit that I keep second guessing it. Grant it, it’s a fictionalization, but it will require me to make some changes to my actual life. And if it’s successful, that will require some even bigger choices to be made. Clearly, Fate has spoken, though. Onward!

3. At Least Once A Week, Open Mind to New Ideas (and say “yes”). This one was added at the last moment by a friend of mine at work. I’m not sure how we’re going to quantify this exactly, but I suppose it means that once a week, I’ll have to do the opposite of my instinctual response (which is always “no”). We’ll see how this one goes.


Because the first one is reasonably easy to achieve, I did end up drawing a fourth.


4. Attend Charity Events and Actually Converse with Strangers at Event. This seems like an easy one, doesn’t it? Obviously, you’ve heard about me attending various charity events (like Clooney’s premiere) so you’d think this one would be a gimme. The trick here is that I have to once again countermand my natural instinct to avoid speaking to the people in attendance. Like Ricky Gervais’ character in Ghost Town says “it’s not that I hate crowds, it’s that I hate the people in them”. Kidding, I don’t hate all of them. I just tend to avoid awkward interactions, and I have no ability to strike up conversations with strangers (ok, unless it’s X-Files related, and then I’m practically Anderson Cooper).

So, these are the things that Fate decided for me. I have to say, part of me was really cheering for “be a ninja”, so I think in some ways I’m disappointed. Maybe I was hoping Fate would force me to make the huge alterations to my life that, in my more rational phases, I can’t decide to make on my own. Maybe the key is to take these initial options and really make them into big moments.

Stay tuned.

P.S. I'd like to point out that there were a number of "dating x,y,z" cards in the bag, and none of them came up. Even Fate thinks that my dating is too much to ask.


Kate
http://katedating.blogspot.com
http://cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com

5 Months: The Plan

Five Month Plan

I’m sitting in the waiting room of the Jeep service station, waiting for my car after an oil change. Yes, that’s right. I know how to party on my vacation days. Because I have rare uninterrupted time to write (and I’m not seething because I’ve stupidly locked myself out of my apartment), I thought I’d share with you my new plan.

I have five months to make a new life for myself.

I know this sounds drastic, but I’m not happy, and things need to change. My friend Pen inspired me because she has roughly a 22 month plan for changing her life. I don’t think I have that kind of time. Let’s just say a birthday is coming up—a birthday I have dealt with by putting my hands over my ears and singing “LA LA LA LA LA LA”. Since that approach has not successfully kept time from moving forward, I’ve decided to do something more productive.

Now, I don’t mean that everything in my life will change. For instance, I have a close relationship with my parents. So, that stays. I have some friends I actually like (I know, this sort of violates the whole “I hate people” mantra I have, but go with it). But there is a lot of stuff in my life that I do not like, and this will change. I feel like I’ve been sleep-walking through my life, and I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t get that time back, and continuing to waste it seems like an unforgivable sin.

The only problem is, I’m not sure I have a plan. We jokingly decided on the “Dart Board of Fate”. Literally, I’d put cards up of my various options for the next five months, and then I’d throw three darts and see which ones will have to happen. I suppose I’d have to close my eyes to truly leave this up to fate, but that might be dangerous for anyone standing in the vicinity.

I know the things I don’t love, but I don’t know how to fix them. The job has seen better days, but it pays my rent well. In this economy, looking for a new job sounds like something fairly challenging. Investment banks are usually a good bet for people like me—but let’s face it, investment banks aren’t good bets for anyone right now. So, unless I make a huge move (personal assistant to Mr. Clooney kind of huge), I’m not sure how that one is going to shake out. And just for the record, I don’t have the temperament for personal assistant work. The first time someone asked me to get them a car/cab from Los Angeles while they are in Germany, I’d quit because working for someone that helpless
(or lazy) would annoy me.

I don’t have a house. This is not a shock in Los Angeles. People have cars here, not homes because the market is still way over valued here. This economy may take care of that, but so far, the three bedroom cape cod style house up the street is still over $2 million. In other words, the price is still just slightly more than I can afford at this time.

Of course, there is the love life. If I’ve proven one thing with this blog, it’s that LA is truly where dating comes to die. I’ve had a friend try to set me up with a friend of her boyfriend. Apparently, the threat of dating me was so strong and disturbing that not only did the date not happen, but they are no longer friends with the guy. Sweet. I said yes to a guy who said the always not helpful “we should get a drink sometime”. Yeah, as you might recall, he left the country two days later, and I’ve never heard from again. My hair-dresser was going to set me up with that guy who saw me getting my hair dyed and still thought I was cute (clearly deranged, but I agreed anyway). She never saw him again. There was the guy who was supposed to meet me at that movie premiere, and he… wait for it… never showed up, and I never heard from him again. So, I’m either the agent of dating death, or luck is really not on my side.

Despite all of this, I am still determined to make the next 5 months infinitely more interesting than it would be if I just continued to do what I do—hide in my apartment, watch the X-Files and work.

Feel free to send suggestions for the cards that will go up on the “Dart Board of Fate”. I’m hoping to start throwing darts at something by the end of next week. Of course, those darts might be heading at people rather than plans, but either way, things would definitely change.

Kate

Creating a Movement

Because work is making me slightly crazy right now, I’ve started even stranger imaginings than normal. Luckily, you guys get to share in the insanity. Yea!

Today’s mind wandering topic: how many people would it take?

For instance, at what point does someone become an “important” artist and could that be manufactured? Since art is always subjective, how does someone get elevated to a place among “the Greats”? Why is Picasso revered? Is he revered because something he did was fascinating, or was he revered because enough people said he might be?

Find an artist or a piece of artwork. Have a five year old throw paint around onto something. You don’t even have to like it. You just have to be willing to write about it. Now, find 10 other people willing to write about it in a positive or speculative way. Is that enough? It probably isn’t enough, unless half of the 10 people are respected art critics, and then you might get noticed. However, the odds that you’ll find 5 art critics to agree, and plunge ahead with the experiment are slim. So, we’re back to 10 ordinary people. Is that a movement?

How about 50 people writing about it? If they write on the internet and send in letters to editors of art magazines, does that constitute a movement? It might if the editor of one of the magazines then does a follow-up piece on the artist or artwork.

100 people? Now, 100 people talking about something to the right people could generate some interest.

What do we have? We have a piece of art and an artist who doesn’t like the limelight (because it is past her bedtime). We have 100 people talking about it in various forums; an art flash mob, if you will. How would you take it to the next level? Have a piece by the same artist put into an art auction. Have the 100 people call the auction house to show interest. Suddenly, words like “promising newcomer” are bandied about. Keep in mind that prior to this event no one of any standing has said anything about the work (and they don’t know it is a product of your five year old). But if there is enough buzz, suddenly people will start trying to explain why it appears to be promising. If 5 of your original 100 people competitively bid at the auction so that the sale price exceeds expectations, you will start generating ink. Of course, you run the risk of getting labeled populist or fad. That could kill the momentum. But if you’ve literally let your five year old swirl paint onto a canvas, do you really care? Not if this is just an experiment.

Want to take it to the next level? Steal it. Sure, police don’t really love being involved in scams like that, but as long as you aren’t defrauding an insurance company, and the owner is in on the experiment, you’ll probably be cleared eventually. Ok, fine, not a good idea. But a theft of a piece of artwork by a “promising newcomer” who just sold something for five times its valuation would start to lend credence to the idea of burgeoning greatness.

Take it out of the art context: would 100 people talking about something be enough to fuel even greater interest in a new gadget, a piece of clothing, a particular company, a movie, a book? Collusion is such an ugly word—I prefer organized response.

I know. This is why I’m an analyst. I spend a lot of time with “what ifs”.

For instance, what if women were tired of the dating situations they found themselves in, and as a group demanded a change? If 100 women decided that they would accept no dates without a week’s notice, and they lived in a small enough city, that would start to become the norm. If 100 women, in this small enough city, decided that one night stands would not happen, then this would go back to being the norm (again, given a small enough sample population). You see how this could be extrapolated.

We got to the miserable place we are in the dating world because women either actively decided to change their rules, or felt like they couldn’t fight against a changing tide. What if a community of women collectively decided to change things again? Of course, it would take a far greater number than 100 women in Los Angeles to change the dating culture—although 100 women at a time declaring that they are holding out for Mr. Darcy might be interesting.

I’m not suggesting that a Lysistrata moment is imminent. I’m just saying that if we want men to be more like Mr. Darcy, we can’t shrug and settle for Mr. Wickham instead.

How many people would it take?

Kate
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Well, That's Love For You

http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/asiapcf/07/05/nepal.sobhraj.ap/index.html

Huh. Let me just summarize this: a 64 year old man, currently spending life in prison for one murder, having admitted in the past to killing several western tourists, is engaged to be married to his lawyer’s 20 year old translator who he met 2 and a half months ago.

I see. An admitted murderer has seemingly very little difficulty in procuring his next vict… um… spouse, but I can’t get a guy to carry on a conversation with me?

Well, I suppose dragging out the relationship for 10 years before committing would seem a bit ridiculous since he could technically be in prison the rest of his life. I mean, what else does he have to do, really? “No, honey, we shouldn’t get serious, I have prison laundry to do” just sounds like a dodge. And since she’s obviously not put off by trifling details like the killing of people, she’s likely to be very flexible when he isn’t able to spend as much time with her as she would like.

It’s not that I’m bitter; I’m just curious what technique he uses. I’m confounded by the idea that an imprisoned serial killer has a more active social life than I do. Sure, he gets out more, clearly, but other than that, what am I doing wrong?

I guess I’ve been relying on things like the concepts of smiling and witty repartee should anyone ever show enough interest that those tools become necessary. Perhaps I should just let myself go, let the white hair come in, and start carrying around copies of “UnSub’s Weekly” to appear more attractive. Perhaps striking up some prison correspondence might do the trick?

Then again, my spirits should be bolstered – this truly proves the supposition that there really is someone for out there for everyone.

Kate

P.S. The story with the headline “thousands prepare for the apocalypse” is not related to me being asked out. Have no fear, that particular sign of the end times has not occurred.