Paley Fest: The Recovery

Thank God I didn’t have to go to work today. I would have just spent all day online checking out fan reactions to the trailer, the montage, the panel, how incredibly hot Nick Lea is (please add him to my list of favorite distractions), and to see if Paley (paleycenter.org) had added their highlights video yet. Happily, I can do that at home, instead. J

Some things I probably forgot to mention in my delirium last night (did you notice I was up way past my bedtime?):

1. Mitch is really funny (and pretty darn attractive himself). There was one exchange early on that went something like this (not exact quotes, sorry, my note taking skills need work!)

Cynthia: Why now for the follow up feature?
Carter: Because Fox said now or never. So, we said now. And we’re really glad we did. We just finished filming 10 days ago, and that was a huge undertaking. We were running for our lives.
Mitch: You guys are doing another movie?
Carter: We only asked the popular characters (quite obviously kidding)
Bowman: Well, if I didn’t direct it, and David [Nutter] didn’t direct it, who directed it?

It was a pretty funny exchange all the way through, and it remained a running joke throughout the evening.

2. The love these writers, directors and actors have for the show was really something. It’s almost as though they had come through some sort of great battle together. I’ve certainly read theories by fans about the relationships of the behind-the-scenes people and Carter, but there seemed to be a genuine affection and bond based on what they created together. Also, Carter gave some serious shout-outs to the Morgan and Wong team, as well as some incredible production teams. He seemed absolutely sincere in his appreciation for everyone’s contribution over the years. Rob Bowman at one point said that “everyone up here was Chris’ biggest fan”.

3. I liked the moderator. She got in some pretty good one-liners during the evening. I mentioned the one about William last night. I think one of my favorites was during a conversation with Chris about where we are going to “be” in the movie.

Carter: You’re six years down the road, and we’re true to the passage of time. Mulder and Scully would have lived those six years since the show ended.
Cynthia: In a New Mexico hotel room?

It got a pretty big reaction because it seemed like the majority of the people there would be just fine if most of the movie took place in that hotel room.

4. I feel an irrational need to apologize to Glen Morgan. I wasn’t online back when the show started. In fact, I didn’t really discover the fandoms until long after the fact. And while I did loathe (with the rage of a thousand burning suns) the episode Never Again, I felt badly that the online fandom could, at times, be vicious. I hope at some point, he felt the love, too.

5. Pretty amusing exchange between Nick and Dean. Nick had been talking about how great the show was for giving him a chance to do things he’d never done before (and somewhat since).

Nick: (after describing his scene running from the exploding car) It’s not every day that you get to do that kind of stuff.
Dean: You don’t get to do that on Kyle KY?
Nick: (after much laughter) Yeah, I do porn now.

6. How much did you guys want to hug Paul Rabwin? He spoke a number of times about how everything came down to Mulder and Scully—that an episode worked, or didn’t work, based on the quality of their story within the episode.

7. Carter: “I’m not going to admit to my regrets.” LOL! Chris, it’s the same thing I say about my love life.

8. Me to Dee: “OMG, this is the real trailer” and then the screaming as the little piece of the theme music started to play. The trailer definitely leads you through a dark and scary story with some very intense Mulder and Scully action. Of course, it immediately sparked debate about the state of their particular union, but I’m absolutely still taking the day off on the 25th of July to find out more.

9. It was very cool to see Bill Roe in the audience. I’d love to be able to hire this guy one day. Let’s start a collection now!

10. As much as we can get caught up in whatever issues we may have had with the show, Paley and WonderCon events really do show that we love them. We are so incredibly grateful to them for creating the show and for continuing with the story of these two amazing characters.

More pictures once my brain un-fogs.

Kate

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That Worked

Random X-Files gushing interruption.

Remember that "idle hands lead to the devil's test messaging" incident? Yeah, I can now officially say he got the text message. I have an email from him that I think I'll save for a time when I've had more than 4 hours of sleep.

Kate

Paley Photos

I'm starting to upload. :)

All of these were taken with Dee's camera (which is very cool). There are a ton of pictures, so if you want to see more, just let me know who you'd like to see more of.

Paley 2

Just got back from the fest, and I had a great time. I met so many people, and I hope to put the fan video interviews up later tomorrow.

The highlights:

1. Got to see the full trailer. I'm sure it's up on the web by now which is key because it was very intense. I can't wait to see this movie!

2. The William question was addressed (God bless Cynthia). Chris Carter's answer to the question:

Cynthia: Baby William. Happy go lucky kid in Wisconsin, or is he setting cornfields on fire with his eyes? Give us a hint.

Chris: "It will not go unconsidered in the movie". To me, this means that the William issue wont be ignored.

3. You can't imagine our reaction seeing Mitch, Nick and Dean, again. In fact, I may have girlie screamed when I realized Nick was sitting behind us (across the aisle so when I turned my head, there he was). And I so do not girlie scream.

4. We got an amazing chance to see and hear about the process of creating the show which was a huge thrill for me.

5. They showed a montage of X-Files moments over the years, and the audience went absolutely mad for the more... um... personal moments between Mulder and Scully. You certainly couldn't tell where our minds were. ;)

I'll start pulling down pictures and post them just in case you guys are interested.

Paley Center

One of the more interesting things about living in Los Angeles is the amount of access you have to film and television cast/crews/productions. I was a big fan of knowing the “behind-the-scenes” type of information long before I headed out here to the land of the perky 22 year old blond. One of the best venues for this kind of thing has always been the Museum of Television and Radio/Paley Center. Each year, the Paley Fest brings on the cast and creators of television shows to talk to fans about how that show was created. In some cases, it is a chance to get fans and potential fans interested in upcoming story lines, guest stars, etc. Tonight, it’s a chance to relive the glory that was The X-Files.

I’d like to point out, that I did not know there was going to be this X-Files retrospective before I took my butt up to San Francisco—which I don’t regret at all because I got a chance to see David and Gillian, along with Chris and Frank, and I met some incredibly cool people. Tonight’s event is actually in Los Angeles. Naturally, that means that I’ve been uncertain about whether or not I’m going to go—I mean it’s so far. Sadly, I’ve been feeling like 6 different kinds of hell, but some things are more important than clutching my blankie and moaning “why me”.

Plus, I think we can all agree that idle hands lead to the devil’s text messages.

At this moment, I plan to be there. I might even reach out and meet some more very cool strangers if I go. No! Not like that. Gutter brains, all of you.

I can’t guarantee that there will be photos—most of the time you can’t take them during the panels. But if I go, I will try very hard to ask Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz something... I was going to say something interesting, but in reality, I’ll just try not to pass out. Or I promise to force my friend to do it, instead. Oooh, the second option, definitely.

If you are curious about the panel, check back tonight, and I’ll let you know if I made it, and whatever details I retain after the drive. Maybe I'll even learn to blog from my phone. :)

Kate

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Loser

Today’s topic for conversation: why is Kate such a loser? What compels me to do stupid, stupid things? I’m incapable of leaving things alone if I care at all about the individual in question. I can’t just embrace the status quo and move along my merry way. If a situation is tense, and I give a shit about the person, I have to reach out and try to make it better. And to top it off, I did something that only made things more complicated. Which is shocking, frankly, because I didn’t think that was possible.

What did I do? After 10 months of zero contact, I was compelled to send The Ex a birthday text message. We’ve had no contact at all for the first time in 17 years. He didn’t acknowledge Christmas. He didn’t acknowledge my birthday. To normal human beings, this means “I’m not really interested in maintaining this friendship any longer, love ya, bye”. To me, all I saw was “hey, today’s The Ex’s birthday, awwwww”.

I was doing so well! I didn’t buy a card. I didn’t send an e-card. I was full of righteous indignation at the “well-if-that’s-the-way-he-wants-to-be-about-it”-ness of it all. I was good to go. But instead of our weekly staff meeting this morning, we had an e-meeting. This freed up some time for me. Time on my hands is apparently a bad thing because my tiny, little, infinitesimal brain was allowed to recall that I still had his cell phone number. And before you can say “Wow, that Duchovny should be naked more” my fingers were flying over the keypad.

You want to know what’s worse than me actually doing this? The text disappeared out of the outbox. I don’t know what that means. I don’t even know if his phone is text enabled. Why didn’t I just send him an email? At least that way, I could be relatively sure he got it. But nooooooooo, I had to send the text. So, now I can’t send an email on top of that because that’s just a Swingers moment waiting to happen. Nothing says “more desperate than you already look” like sending a follow-up “casual” email to confirm that receipt of text message. So, I can’t email him. And unless he responds for some reason, I wont know if he got the text. Which I shouldn’t have sent. And I shouldn’t think about. Ever.

Ugh.

Kate, banging head on desk yelling “why?” over and over again

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Random Letter of Complaint to Hollywood

This is just a random letter of complaint to the Hollywood powers that be. Why doesn’t Bonnie Hunt write and direct more? I find it hard to believe that she’s out of ideas. I find it even harder to believe that Hollywood doesn’t have the money to send her way. So, what’s up?

I’m watching the movie ‘Return to Me” for the first time in a long while, and again, I am struck by how much I love this romantic comedy (comedy heavily mixed with drama, of course). It’s easily in my top 10 of all romantic comedies. One of the ones I would take if I were stranded on an island (which mysteriously has power, television and a DVD player).

It is not just because I want a Bob Rueland of my very own—although, who wouldn’t want Bob Rueland: smart, sexy, caring, dedicated and disease free? Our romantic comedies these days seem to be stuck permanently on the 20 somethings with minor forays into the early 30s if one of the actors accidentally ages while filming. Return to Me crosses generations with some excellent performances being given by the older characters—who are actually integral to the storyline, not just throwaways—including a brilliant final film performance by Carroll O'Connor. Plus, it accurately portrays how I would react if I thought a guy was looking down my shirt (THWAP!).

The movie made money. It’s charming and actually relatively appropriate across generations (minus some suggestion comments and language). And to top it off, it gave us one of the greatest dating tips of all time: “Hairy legs are your only link to reality”.

So, why doesn’t Bonnie work more? Give this woman a vehicle! Write her a check! Or write me a check, and I’ll hire her. Win-Win.

Kate, wondering why America's Prom Queen has a slot on prime time, but none of my ideas are out there, either-- for instance, the all naked George Clooney hour has real promise :)

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Sort of

I used to have this friend who primarily dated men who were married or otherwise attached. Needless to say, this friendship was not destined to last for long (she got mad at me for being judgmental, and I got mad at her for having no judgment at all). Her reasoning for pursuing only men with attachments was that it made her feel better—more desired, more appealing—because the men were risking something to be with her. I often thought her entire self-esteem was based on how much a man was willing to risk. Must have been a banner day when the father of a guy she was dating made his first pass.

She could never understand why women hated her. She felt like she was providing a kind of public service. If the guy got caught, she felt like the woman should thank her for exposing his tendencies—even when the guy she went after was dating a friend. On a scale from one to 10, how often do you think women thanked her for this act of generosity? Yeah, not often. I’m not saying that this girl was entirely at fault—clearly the men involved made the worst possible choices, and should be beaten with 2x4s. But there is something about the dedicated pursuit of the married/attached man to judge your own self-worth that sets my teeth on edge.

I find myself thinking about this more and more as I try to re-enter the dating world. I’m not sure why because I’m fairly certain that I wouldn’t pursue a married man (my fantasies regarding Mr. Duchovny aside). But after all these years of watching the Machiavellian machinations of daters, I do worry about what is out there.

For instance, is this very, very cute just-rolled-out-of-bed guy standing in Malibu Starbucks right now a player? Is he among the “sort of” married demographic—the guys who are technically married but seem to believe that there was a rider added to the vows along the lines of “I promise fidelity unless a really hot girl in a tight skirt wanders by me”? Did he leave his girlfriend sleeping at home thinking he’d surprise her with coffee, but in truth he’s willing to surprise her by not coming back for several hours while he romances a writer he’s just met? So many questions, so little time in between him ordering and him picking up his grande.

Dating is such a huge leap of faith—even bigger than that time when I bought the orange skirt thinking that this was the year that I’d introduce color into my wardrobe. And that was huge.

Kate, thinking that Malibu has some very attractive people, and that I need to spend more time up here

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Phase 2 and Casting

Phase 2

Does your personality change with your hair color? This is the first time I’ve actually done major alterations to my appearance. Now that I’m firmly in phase 2 (aka Holy Crap 2: The Reckoning), I’m beginning to wonder.

I’m queen of hiding my “light” under a bushel to the point of acknowledging my near invisibility—certainly to the men of Los Angeles. But since I’ve turned my hair into a glow stick, men have started to acknowledge me. Make no mistake—I have not suddenly turned from troll to starlet. I’m still me, just with much brighter hair. There hasn’t been any amazing makeover magic. Yesterday, a guy at a stop light actually smiled and waved to me. I waved back out of habit, assuming I knew the man. Nope, didn’t know him. He just decided to wave and smile at me. Actually, it was more like grin… a big grin… Alright, I suppose it’s possible that he was actually laughing at me. But at the time it seemed on the friendly side of the spectrum rather than a grin born of malice.

Perhaps it’s just that the human eye immediately goes to the lightest thing on the screen, on a painting or in the car next to you. Had there been a blond on the other side of him, she would have gotten the wave.

Anyway, I’m not quite sure what to do with this. I’m pretty sure the first step is to stop looking over my shoulder for the person the guy is really trying to attract. Although, admittedly, I do tend to assume that there is a clock over head.


Who Should Play You?

Friends of mine have suggested that this blog should become a book or webseries. I like the idea of the book quite a bit, but since I’m fairly bad at writing with any consistency—and I have no clear direction, it could take me several decades to get the accomplished. The web series would be more immediate, but it would cost money. But I’ve started thinking about who I would hire to play the main “characters”. So far, my friend Chloe thinks that Paul Walker should play her boyfriend. I’m not sure Paul is doing web work right now, but I’ve noted the suggestion.

If you were to be portrayed in a movie, TV show or webseries, who do you want to play you? The only thing I know for sure is that I’d like the person who plays me to have a better ass. Sounds reasonable, right? It’s a given that she’ll be taller.

Kate, trying decide who among the fab four will play my boyfriend--- oooh maybe a rotating cast to keep fans guessing

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Fire Sale

I’m completely fascinated by this guy who is selling his life on eBay. You heard me correctly—he is selling his life (minus his physical person and name) on eBay. He’s an Australian 44 year old man who has recently gone through a divorce. He wants to get rid of the old and start over, again. The most amazing thing: he’s not just selling his stuff. You don’t just get to buy his house, spa and big screen TV. No, you also get his friends and his job!

He is looking for people who want to step into a new life. It sounds amazingly tempting in theory. Sure, you would still have to solidify your relationship with his group of “amazing” friends, but what an incredible head start if you are new to the country. My friend PT loves at least one Australian (bring on Alex O’Loughlin), so she might actually consider this. I’d consider it, but his life seems to come with an adventure package, and my idea of adventure is eating after 4pm. So, maybe not a great fit for me. Plus, there is that lengthy plane ride to Perth. I’m not sure I have that many hours of distracting Clooney/Duchovny/O’Loughlin/Hamm goodness stashed on my iPod (not to mention the battery would die before I got even half way there). Other than that, a new life might be tempting right now.

The whole thing got me thinking about how I would go about selling off my life. Frankly, I’m not sure I could give it away. I quite like my friends, and I’m wondering how they would react to having a new person dropped on them. Come to think of it, they’d probably be fine, as long as the person was more social. Would I sell off each individual item and/or friend, or is it more of a collective sale? If x friend is a novelist, y friend is a producer and z friend is an actress, would they have to be willing to incorporate this new person into their work, too? Hmmmm. What about my friends who are really entertaining, but can't make this new person famous? Ok, friends, you need to start marketing yourself so I can sell you to the highest bidder. MWHAA HAAA HAAA. Sure, that sounds illegal, but apparently, you can sell the concept of friendship, just not the actual person in an auction.

I’m not sure I have anything else to sell. I don’t own a home. My car is 10 years old. I have those Jimmy Choos, but otherwise, I’m not sure the bitchin’ Banana Republic/JCrew wardrobe is going to be a big seller. Also, I’m fairly certain that my job might object if I just did a swap with someone—something to do with the confidentiality issues, I think.

I can’t wait to see how much someone is willing to bid for this person’s life. Would you ever consider this? And what would the auction reserve price be for your life?


Kate, I'm thinking I wont take less than $1.50 ;)


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Frustration

My life has been an exercise in frustration lately…more than lately… say, for the last decade. And I don’t mean sexual frustration—although if they could figure out how to harness that, I’d single-handedly eliminate the country’s dependence on foreign oil. It just seems as though very little is easy right now. Relationships, my job, my hair, even my television watching has all been absurd.

It’s obvious what I have to do.

What? Pursue my hobbies to a point where I could leave my job and potentially meet more people leading to a successful relationship? Well, yeah, alright, that’s one way to go—if you’re sane. I think we’ve established on which part of the whole “sane” spectrum I land.

Instead, I believe in taking solace in a little bit of fantasy. I don’t mean I’ll be wearing a French maid’s costume to work any time soon—although it would be very funny given how staid and reserved things are. No, I believe in indulging in some fantasy boy time.

If you’ve been reading this blog at all in the last few weeks, you know that I find David Duchovny to be a very pleasant distraction (very, very, very, very pleasant). For instance, I hate flying. If you add a rainstorm and turbulence so bad that the flight attendants stay belted in for the entire flight, and normally, I’d be having a rough time of it. That perfectly describes my flight back from WonderCon. Did I freak out? Nope. I just put my headphones on and listened to the recording of The X-Files panel on my iPod. The dulcet tones of the whole X-Files gang kept a grin on my face nearly the entire way.

Distraction is a good thing when frustration bombards me. It keeps me from trying to dye my hair red in stages so that I look like a mutant zebra. So, I propose distraction in the form of the fearsome foursome: Duchovny, Hamm, O’Loughlin and Clooney. Technically speaking, the Duchovster has already done his job. We can check him off the list (although if he feels the need to pop up any time soon and offer me a position on Californication, he should feel free to do that). That leaves three potentially entertaining distractions to be experienced. The situation has to be live action (no movie watching will count). I don't have to talk to them, just encounter. Also, I tend to like to avoid illegal things, so I'm invoking happenstance (just in case that's actually possible)!

It doesn’t matter that I’ve never seen these three men walking down my street. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never been on set with them (as opposed to Duchovny). The only thing that matters is that I am determined to have a little fun. Instead of dwelling on aging and what gravity is doing to my breasts, bring on the boys!

Kate, hoping that this means these three will be wandering through my living room because I hadn’t banked on actually leaving the apartment for this adventure.

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What Would You Call That?

Different is nice, but it sure isn’t pretty.
Pretty is what it’s about.
I never met anyone who was different.
Who couldn’t figure that out?

“At The Ballet”, A Chorus Line


I’ve learned a couple of things so far in life, but one of the most important is: when the hair dresser says “well, it will certainly be different” that’s not necessarily a good thing. When she says it after looking at the sample photos and then looking at your face, it’s time to rethink. You’ll be proud of me for my intent to evolve. But I’m not stupid. So, rather than stripping the hair, we’re taking this magical butterfly-like metamorphosis in stages. My hair is (was) really dark, so we’re somewhere in Stage 1now: the launch.

When she said she was going to add highlights to start lightening process, I figured you wouldn’t be able to see much difference. Ha! Shows you I never made it to beauty school. Before my hair was dark brown with a roan base, now it is many, many different colors. Part of it is a light copper color, and I think that’s how the red will start showing up. It’s sort of Monet-like at the moment. When you get too close, it’s this weird jumble of all these different colors. But if you step back (a mile, or two) it isn’t too bad. Stage 2 comes next month, I think-- right before Alex O'Loughlin night. Frankly, the only thing keeping me from freaking out entirely (you know besides the “holy crap” exclamation when I first saw it) is that I can always dye it darker all at once.

Progress. Slow, but steady progress.

Kate, who jumps every time she looks in a mirror

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Mid-Life Crisis Day 3

Mid-Life Crisis Day 3

I just took a test, and it is official: I am entering an official mid-life crisis. No, seriously, it was a test called “Are You Headed for a Mid-life Crisis” by Mary Kearl. I scored a nine out of 10. The only one I missed was the suicide question. Apparently, I’m too apathetic for suicide. Which I guess is a good thing? Sort of sounds like a backhanded compliment to me, but whatever…

The test results didn’t really give a clear answer on what to do to get out of this particular situation if you aren’t a guy (ie have affair with 25 year old blond and buy sports car). So, I’m sticking with my current plan: somewhat frequent flights of fancy. Tomorrow, I will become a redhead. No worries—several of you expressed concerns about me going strawberry blond. That will not happen. Also as gorgeous as Gillian looks, I will not be going Scully red. Sadly, I could never pull that off. But never fear, change is coming, and I’m sure people at work will be entertained. Maybe I need to change my hair color every couple of months just to keep them guessing. Perhaps I’ll find red to be too sedate and show up at the office rocking some electric blue.


An Awkward Thing About LA

If you are in Ohio and jamming along to Bree Sharp’s “David Duchovny” song, the people around you might think you are strange (well, ok, definitely), but for the most part, you’ll be fine. If you are singing it at the top of your lungs in Malibu, you might want to think twice. I was tooling up the coast line yesterday (reveling in my birthday vacation days). It was in the mid-70’s, so the windows were open, and I was singing along (badly), and then I thought… the person driving next to me might actually know this guy. And God help me, if he had pulled up next to me at a stop light. Can you imagine how strange that would be—to have total strangers singing about you not loving them on the way to Starbucks? Yeah, it was just an odd feeling. I quickly turned to the far hipper “Love Will Keep Us Together”. It’s just much less embarrassing to be caught singing along to Captain & Tennille.

Kate, we who are about to dye salute you!

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How to Start a Mid-Life Crisis

Today is my birthday, and I’m happy to report that my mid-life crisis has begun in earnest. I find the best way to get a head start on one of these things is some sort of explosion, or mechanical (swiftly followed by a mental) breakdown. So, naturally, my birthday began when the power went out at 3:30 this morning… and then I eagerly took a cold shower when the power still wasn’t on five hours later. Not to worry, though, the power absolutely came back on two minutes after I got out.

As you may recall, the last time power failed in my neck of the woods, it was the day I found out The Ex was getting married. I’m willing to concede that my level of psychosis that day may have blown out the grid. Apparently, the rising tide of unfounded feelings of betrayal somehow contributed to the blowing up of a local transformer.

Now, while I haven’t exactly embraced this birthday (please picture my nails scraping against the precipice as I claw against the gravity pulling me ever closer to the end of my 30s), I don’t think I can be held responsible for the power outage this morning. Unless, of course, it was one hell of a dream I was having. I have only a vague recollection of both Duchovny and Clooney fighting over me (boys… boys… don’t fight. I’ll just date both of you until we work it out).

It’s not that this birthday hasn’t had some upsides: lovely celebrations with friends and The X-Files gang very generously held a press conference for me today (really, guys, above and beyond giving me new footage to obsess over… what? Had something to do with the movie, and had nothing to do with my birthday? Why are you always so negative?).

There is really only one thing that nudged me closer to the cliff: for the first time in 17 years, I didn’t hear from him. It’s not exactly a surprise: he is married, and we haven’t had contact since we said goodbye at the reunion last year. I’m not suggesting that I was looking for some romanticized gesture, but despite the fact that we’ve stopped corresponding, I still believed he would reach out—some gesture that said “I’m still out here, and I give a shit”. It’s left me feeling bereft, wondering how I managed to be relegated to just someone he used to know.

Never fear, though. I will not backslide. I will not wallow (much) in self-pity and ice cream. I will not start singing from the Gloria Gaynor songbook. I will, instead, dye my hair mid-life crisis red. I have an appointment Saturday, and I think I’m going to do it. If you know me in real life, by Saturday afternoon, you won’t recognize me. In fact, I won’t recognize me. And I think that’s the point.

Kate, planning on looking like Amy Adams by Saturday (but will end up looking like Scooby Doo’s Thelma if she stole Daphne’s wig)

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Blog Tagged

Apparently, I’ve been blog tagged (http://danielletbd.blogspot.com/2008/03/blog-tag.html). I don’t exactly know if I’m doing this correctly, or not, but I figure I’m allowed to alter some of the rules because I’m adorable, and my mid-life crisis can’t take any more drama. As far as the rules go, I’m supposed to tell you seven odd or previously unknown things about me, and then I’m supposed to tag seven other bloggers. We’ll ignore the fact that I’m not sure I know seven other bloggers for the moment.

1. If George Clooney really is engaged to Ms. Larson (as reported by Perez Hilton), I’m actually happy for him. I know the first marriage didn’t work out, but I’m willing to bet he’s a bit more mature this time around. Good luck to them! And George, if you aren’t engaged, call me.

2. I look upon high school reunion news emails with more than a little trepidation. Actually, I look at them as though they are harbingers for doom. Right now the girls are exchanging “survey” emails about their 2.3 kids and their virile (yet sensitive) husbands. It’s not that I’m not thrilled to receive word from people I barely remember. I’m actually beside myself with joy. But the urge to screw with these people is almost overwhelming. I was valedictorian of my class, so it should be something good. Spreading a simple dot com billionaire gone bust story won’t cut it. I’m seriously contemplating a masterful work of fiction—or stabbing the next person who sends me a survey with the question, “when was the last time you were decently kissed”.

3. While disgusted by Mr. Spitzer’s possible “Client #9” status, I did take a moment to seriously contemplate the allegation that he paid for a “4 hour sex romp” with a call girl. Four hours? Sure, it’s probably not the truth and just one of the many rumors that will float, but I will admit that there was a second of admiration there. I can’t remember the last time I had a four hour sex romp. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I had sex. Have no fears though, the admiration lasted about a nanosecond before I went back to being disgusted on behalf of his wife and three teenage daughters. Thank you, “Mr. Clean”. Hope that ethics reform campaign works out for you.

4. I’ve been stood up more than once. I’ve learned that by hour three, you can officially stop justifying the missing date with “must have hit some rough traffic”. Only one of the dates had a good excuse: he was in jail. Not kidding.

5. I consider myself a pretty big X-Files fan (no, that’s neither the surprise, nor the thing about me you didn’t know). This factoid will only make sense to other X-Files fans. I loathe, loathe, loathe (with the raging fire of a thousand burning suns) the episode “Never Again”. It’s not the acting: Gillian Anderson is absolutely brilliant in it. It’s not the voice over: who doesn’t love Jodie Foster? It’s not that I don’t understand a story of rebellion and character development. It’s not that “Ed Jerse” isn’t hot: Hello! It’s that this episode’s intent was to destroy the Mulder/Scully relationship (not romance, relationship). The stated purpose of this (and another episode I loathe: The Field Where I Died) was to continue to create an atmosphere of betrayal (culminating in Mulder being institutionalized for his own good) which then would have led to a rebuilding year. What, in the midst of her cancer arc? Didn’t Morgan and Wong get the memo about the cancer arc? Do this in season 2, and I could have handled it. Doing it in season 4 after all the characters had been through—unacceptable. I will, however, still be friends with you even if you find redeemable qualities in this episode. Want to read more from the writers themselves? http://web.archive.org/web/20060327040940/http://www.morganandwongonline.com/paula14.htm

6. For years I kept pictures up in my apartment of people I couldn’t stand. They weren’t solo shots, or wanted posters, they were group photos that included people who were no longer in my life. I think I kept them as reminders, warnings of situations and personalities to avoid. Either that, or I was just really lazy.

7. I once went out on a date with a guy (no, that’s not the shocking part) who was gorgeous, smart and willing to spend a lot of time engaged in deep, meaningful conversation. I must admit, I was smitten despite my already unfortunate track record with men. He spent a significant portion of our time on this date convincing me that his mission was to restore my faith and ability to trust in men. As we were saying goodnight, I told him that I thought I might like this particular mission of his. He never asked me out, again.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

And now for my tags:
Because Life Is Short, ADD Theater, KissyBoots, Anna, Stephanie, Mel, We Are Not A Muse

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

An LA Story

I went to the movies today with friends to celebrate my impending mid-life crisis, and I noticed some things that seemed uniquely L.A. to me.

First, what does it say about the state of our society when “no weapons allowed” is a sign on every door at the local AMC? Sure, during the great “bee” incident during the first X-Files film, I might have been inclined to start shooting, but I refrained. I had self-control. How often do people think to themselves “ooh, I’m going to see a romantic comedy, better bring the Glock”? Do the concession people routinely find people trying to stab them when they realize that a small popcorn and drink cost more than the movie? How did we get to a point where we need the “no weapons allowed” warning at the front of a theater? I know everyone’s a critic, but I think bringing ammunition is a little extreme.

The second thing I noticed today: a woman with a leashed dog. Did I mention that she was in the theater? Look, I love dogs. I’m even mildly entertained by people who bring their dogs shopping with them. Most of the malls here have outdoor elements to them, so it’s not wildly unusual. As long as they aren’t lifting their legs in Bloomingdales, I’m good. But I’ve honestly never considered bringing a pet to the movies with me. Obviously, I don’t know the dog, so perhaps he really did have a thing for historical fantasy, and 10,000 BC was a treat.

We’ve embraced small, adorable dogs. What about bigger, adorable dogs? If I want to bring a bullmastiff in, is that all good? Have we fully drawn the line at farm animals? Ponies are fine, but the cow needs to remain outside?

So, two very important tips for those of you considering trips to Los Angeles that involve local movie theaters: 1) leave the weapons at home and 2) feel free to bring your pony.


Kate, just a tiny bit giddy after seeing the Indiana Jones trailer

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Now What Does That Say?

I’m having lunch tomorrow with a man. Yeah, don’t get excited—he’s married, we’re buds, and it’s a college alumni thing. But I think I should still get points for being social with a guy, right? Fine.

I’ve mentioned before that with the exception of a radically uncharacteristic boot purchase in December, I’m not really a fashion girl...or a make-up girl…or a hair brush girl… or…. Actually, I’m the kind of girl who frequently forgets to look in the mirror. Sure, I glance in the mirror as an incidental thing, but I don’t really spend much time there. This could possibly explain why I’m periodically surprised to see random things growing out of my face. It can actually be quite scary because I will suddenly notice a random eyebrow hair that looks like it’s about to eat a major metropolitan area, and then I have to wonder how long it has been there.

What does this fascinating ride through my toilette have to do with lunch? I’ve now spent more time trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow than I have in the last 3 months combined. Since I shun all forms of actual self-analysis, I hesitate to really examine my motivations here (but since I’m temporarily out of new X-Files videos to download, I will).

What I can tell you is the state of my fashion distress probably has nothing to do with the fact that the guy I’m meeting is friends with The Ex and knows The Ex’s new wife. Yeah, that’s just silly. Why would I care? I so don’t care. That’s just… uh, crazy talk. Seriously, that hasn’t even crossed my mind more than once or twice or…. What are you people smoking? I can’t believe you even suggested it.

Ok, it might in a tiny, minute, absolutely infinitesimal way have something to do with it. It’s not like I’d come up in conversation. They probably haven’t even spoken all that often since the wedding. But there is a dark, unappealing part of me that wants to be even more fabulous than I already am. You know, in that special way that will result in him saying to The Ex (if they talk again at any point in the next 10 years), “How did you let that one go? Damn, she’s so spectacular—mysterious, chic with a dash of Laura Ingalls. I think even George Clooney has been calling. Plus, I’m absolutely buying my wife boots just like the ones she wore”.

How wrong is that? After all this time, why on earth would I care? And yet, those thoughts are swimming around in me as vicarious revenge fantasies. I can’t win the guy, so I want to “win” the post-break-up perception.

Brilliant.

Well, at least the Jimmy Choos will make it out of my closet.

Kate, standing in front of my closet singing along with Bree Sharp’s “David Duchovny, Why Won’t You Love Me” song

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Maybe It's Me

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/02/29/ricin.hotel/index.html

Like most 20 somethings I had a lot of hobbies, but only a few stuck with me into my 30s: dance, theater, The X-Files, my love of chick lit and all things Ben and/or Jerry – and my complete fascination with epidemiology and written accounts of biological and chemical warfare. You know, typical girlie stuff. Obviously, I’m not a scientist. I don’t work for the FBI and not a single living person can prove that I’ve ever been a spy. But the linked story seems awfully strange to me.

Sure, maybe Mulder and Scully would happen upon a tourist carrying some ricin with him, but ordinarily it’s not really on the list of Vegas activities. For instance, you rarely hear “oh, hey, honey, don’t forget to pack our bag-o-ricin for the trip”. I can personally guarantee you that my packing checklist never reads: Toothbrush? Check. Ipod? Check. Vial of Ricin? Got it!

I don’t mean to be a nudge, but can anyone explain to me why it isn’t illegal for random people to have ricin on them? I mean, I can’t buy more than 5 boxes of Sudafed at a time, but someone can carry a substance so lethal that even an amount the size of the head of a pin can kill an adult? Well, sure, I can see why that would be true. And by the way, the reports indicate that a random person happened upon a suspicious substance—which means there was far more than the size of the head of a pin in that room. How excited would you be to know that your room shared a ventilation duct with that one?

As for the terror angle, I’m sure I’m more paranoid than most (Plague Wars is bedstand reading for me), but unless one of the occupants of that room was a castor bean salesperson, or growing castor beans in his hotel room (for medicinal purposes like on the spot bone marrow transplants, or just for fun), I’m missing what the perfectly innocuous reason for having ricin would be. The reports say that it might have been left in the room by the previous occupants. Because if you are going to travel with your baggie of death, it’s perfectly plausible that you’d accidentally leave it behind along with that extra pair of socks.

I’m sure it’s fine. Nothing to worry about. But just in case, I think we should all hope that what happens in Vegas really does stay in Vegas.

Kate, who has an overwhelming urge to yell “Mulder!”

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Welcome, A Plug and Why

Welcome
First off, I have to give a big welcome to the more than 6,000 people who have stopped by the blogspot site since Saturday. Please picture me waving to you all. That’s about um… 5,980 more than normally visit. Ok, that’s a slight exaggeration, but still it was a quite a pleasant surprise. Generally, this blog is about starting over in Los Angeles—you know, the dating failures, the dating non-starters, the dating disasters… all the things that make finding a mate in Los Angeles about as likely as understanding The X-Files mytharc. It’s possible, but it is going to take a lot of work.

So, while you probably wont find this blog as exciting as Mulder and Scully—hell, I don’t find it more exciting than Mulder and Scully — I hope you check back from time to time.

Plug
Now for my plug: the book Stars in Their Eyes is a really fun read, particularly if you enjoy “Hollywood” stories. It’s funny; it’s poignant and really gives you an interesting look behind the curtain. I enjoyed the characters generally, but I must admit a certain extra special affinity for Leah (my sister in Jimmy Choo). That girl is determined! It’s written by Danielle Turchiano, and it’s available through Amazon.com. Definitely check it out if you are looking for a new read.

Why
Shortly before embarking on my flight of fancy to San Francisco, I finished reading another book called “Insider Dating” by Jennifer O’Connell. It covers quite a bit of ground, but essentially it focuses on a now single woman (post-divorce) who sets up a confidential database of men in the Boston area. The database isn’t just name, address, etc. This database logs the good, the bad and the ugly. Would you like to know if your blind date has a mommy complex, or is a habitual cheater? Save yourself some time and log into her database.

Clearly, there are huge pitfalls in this idea if it were applied to real life. For instance, any bitter person could set up an account and make all sorts of unfounded accusations about why their relationship ended. But in her universe, the information is generally sound and based on referrals, etc. I know there is a part of me that should be appalled by this, and yet a much bigger part of me thinks: “I wonder if this really exists, and if so, how do I get a password?”

You see, the main character is just slightly obsessed with “why”. Why did her marriage end? If she had known x, y, z before getting involved, would it have made a difference?

In most of my earlier relationships I know why the end came. When a guy you are dating sleeps with three women—none of whom are you—it’s not that hard to figure out that the relationship is not destined for the long haul. Also, I find a guy not showing up for a date ever again to be a clear indication that he might be slightly ambivalent and lacking in the true devotion department. When you float down the steps in your gown (looking every bit the princess) to meet your prom date, his "how are you going to dance in that" does give you pause.

But what about a relationship that just ends? You both still love each other. Neither one of you did anything egregiously wrong. There is no other party involved. It’s just over.

Why?

Maybe relationships tend to have shelf lives, but “why” is starting to become important to me. When you start dating, people seem to exchange a degree of information (at least these are the rumors I’m hearing). “Have you been married?” Yep, that seems to be a standard, although it immediately leads to consternation for me. If I say “no” and move on, am I lying? Obviously, in the literal sense, I’ve never been married. But skipping over a relationship that has informed the better part of my life over the last 15 years (if you count the dating and the aftermath) seems like a fairly big omission. But admitting it, will lead to “what happened”. Admitting it leads to “why”.

I have no idea why. It seemed like the relationship timeline went something like this us: first date-together forever-lifetime-lifetime-lifetime-lifetime-over. It was a million little things that probably wouldn’t ever create red flags in the lead character’s database. It was a million little things and in retrospect, nothing important. Nothing.

Why?

And if I can’t figure out what happened, how do I keep it from happening again?

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com
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Kate's Moment of X-Files Zen

I know I said I was done posting shaky video of the X-Files panel, but this one made me laugh. Turn down the volume. Frank Spotnitz is answering a question very seriously, and David and Gillian were talking amongst themselves. It's just a cute moment. Since they had been up shooting all night long, I'm guessing a certain amount of punchiness had made its appearance. So, turn the sound down and enjoy my version of a moment of Zen.




Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

Caprice Crane and Final Thoughts on the Weekend

As I’m sure was the case for many of the people who attended the festivities over the weekend, coming back to real life proved fairly difficult. I was completely unmotivated to come back to work—actually, I was completely unmotivated to get out of bed. Maybe it is a sign I need to do more unexpected and adventurous things. Nah, that can’t be it.

If you are still looking for videos of the event, a great one is here: http://weeklycomicbookreview.com/2008/02/24/x-files-2-wondercon-08-panel/

Also, if you don’t mind spoilers, you check out these:
http://www.iesb.net/index.php?option=com_seyret&Itemid=227&task=videodirectlink&id=737
http://www.iesb.net/index.php?option=com_seyret&Itemid=227&task=videodirectlink&id=739
http://www.iesb.net/index.php?option=com_seyret&Itemid=227&task=videodirectlink&id=738


The flight back to Los Angeles (which had Jason Kyson Lee from Heroes and Rachael Taylor from the Transformers on it—both coming back from the same convention that I was at) allowed me to finish a book by Caprice Crane called “Forget About It”. Essentially, the book was about a girl who has seen life take so many turns for the bad (boss steals her ideas, lousy relationship with her mother, boyfriend is cheating, etc) that when she gets in an accident, she decides to fake having amnesia so she can start fresh.

It’s not just that she pretends to not know people, she seizes on this singular opportunity to change how she relates to everyone around her. She was always the girl who never stuck up for herself. She never made waves. She never wanted to cause trouble. The “amnesia” allowed her to lose her constant filter.

I’m not saying that I need a case of faux amnesia, but it made me really consider what having that kind of momentary freedom would feel like. I don’t have her relationship issues (thank goodness!), but I find myself in that “Oh, no, don’t want a fuss” position. Don’t believe me?

Have you ever gotten stuck in a stairwell of a high rise in New York? My friend M and I were working on the 35th floor of a building in New York (pre-9/11 safety situation). She and I took the stairs up to the 36th floor for something—the elevator wouldn’t go up that high because that floor was under partial construction. We had pass cards that should have opened the doors. The key card didn’t work. No big deal. We’ll just walk back down to the 35th floor. Yeah. That would have been a good plan… if the key card had worked there.

So, we’re stuck on the stairwell 35 floors up, and we’re a tiny bit flummoxed as to our next move. We decide to head down the stairs. Reasonable, right? Sure. We try all the key card stations several floors down. Still nothing. Well, we were already fairly far along, so we realize that we’ll just have to go all the way to the bottom, and take the elevator back to our floor. It was a good plan. Solid reasoning involved there. Would have worked too, if it hadn’t have been for the cage.

For some reason, the lower floors had a steel cage-like door blocking them. And it was closed. And locked.

Huh.

Ok, things at this point were not looking good. We had one more fairly reasonable option—the emergency phones. There were phones being put in every 5 floors or so for just this type of situation. We were sheepish. We were contrite.

We were also screwed because the phones didn’t work. No cell phones, either. Just M and I standing on the landing back on the 35th floor stairwell. We had only been gone for maybe 10 minutes. No one was missing us—or looking for us.

It was at this moment that I learned a very valuable lesson: calm demeanor and problem solving acumen are not character traits that get you rescued. M (God bless her) started screaming and pounding on the door. There were people working down the hall, so it was reasonable that eventually one of them would begrudgingly get off their butt and open the door (which someone finally did—looking way put out that we’d interrupted her very important game of solitaire to do it). See, M had already envisioned our rotting corpses in the stairwell about a two or three seconds after the door shut behind us. I’m pretty sure in her mind, we’d already been eaten by dogs—never mind that if dogs could get in, we could get out. She had seen our untimely end almost immediately, and was not going down without a fight.

You know what I did? I sat down on the stairs. My brain was trapped between two things: 1) I wonder if I can figure out a way to rewire the phone so it sets off an alarm and 2) we’re going to get into trouble. Forget about the fact that we hadn’t done anything wrong. Forget about the fact that when we finally did get out, we were able to alert the building managers that there was a safety problem with the non-operable key pads. My overriding thought as I was trying to MacGyver my way out was “we’re going to get into trouble”.

I’m that person. I’m the don’t-make-waves girl. I’m the one who obsessively checks her blackberry because I don’t want anyone else to be inconvenienced at work. I’m the girl who covers for colleagues constantly because I don’t want the hassle and don’t want them to get into trouble. I’m the girl who spends years not asking for what she wants in a relationship because she’s afraid of the consequences. I’m the girl who would never fly off to San Francisco for an X-Files event because it’s frivolous and would mean other people at work would be covering for her.

And yet I did it anyway.

Maybe this weekend was my own little form of amnesiac rebellion.

Kate, who thinks if this rebellion continues, the men of Los Angeles need to beware

katedating@yahoo.com

Better Than Sex 3

Just remember that I warned you. The video is awful! Sorry! It's cute, but it looks like I was having a fit when I taped it. It's because I was holding it above me, and my arm was shaking :)

But here it is. By the way, I think you should hit youtube to see the better shots of this stuff. There are some great videos out there.

People have asked about the Teaser. I did not record the teaser. They asked us not to, so I didn't. I know, I know, that whole "following the rules" thing. If you just cannot live without seeing it, I'm sure it's still on youtube (someone captured it from the big screens and uploaded it), although I'm also willing to bet that Fox will want that removed at some point.

One thing about the Teaser version that someone captured-- it is missing the very beginning. It's not much in terms of number of frames, and you don't lose anything except the one thing that made it sort of funny. We had been entertained by videos in between the panels periodically (sort of keep us from creating havoc theory, I think). The Fox guy came out and said, "ok, take a look at this". So, we weren't really sure what we were seeing. And then the footage began with what I can only describe as "thumping". As the camera comes up, we could see the row of men, and it was an immediate recognition in the audience that we were seeing movie footage. The roar that was the reaction from the people watching was incredible. Frank, Chris, Gillian and David were still backstage somewhere. I don't know if they realized how crazy people went. People yelled and cheered when David and Gillian appeared in the frames, but the crowd was absolutely beside themselves when it the footage first started. It was wild.

Better Than Sex 2

Better Than

That was better than sex.

P.S. If you click on the photos they get larger except for the first one which was a screen grab off of a very shaky video. When someone else was answering a question, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson had this cute moment. Sadly, my video of it sucks. I'm betting one of the thousands of other people there caught it.

Sorry for the slow upload. I'm actually waiting to get on a plane back to LA right now. I'm hoping to get more up tonight when I get back to LA.

The Line

Suspense is killing you, isn’t it? I’ll give you a hint. I am now sitting in a line. Sitting because I’ve never met a floor I didn’t try to make my own. This is a new line and much warmer than the first one. The first one was outside the Moscone center, and it was just a little nippy up here in the wilds of northern California.

That’s right—I am at a convention. I have never been to a convention before, but I thought… ok, where do boys go. No football right now. No baseball. Comic books and science fiction conventions? AHA! And it doesn’t hurt that a matter of hours, Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz, Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny will be in front of me. Ok, that might have been the real draw. But the boys were a nice bonus. More men have talked to me in the last 2 hours than in the last 5 years in Los Angeles. Maybe it’s just the nature of a convention crowd, or maybe it’s just getting out of LA. It doesn’t matter.

This is a photo of the main line at 9:30am.

Thanks to my new best friend Susan and her mad seat finding skills, I am now in Hall A. These people know their convention shit. See, there was a line, and then everyone in the first line (which was actually 3 lines) got to run like their lives depended on it, while pretending to walk sedately, to get seats in the main hall. I was in that first crush, and I had mistakenly taken off my boots and jacket and strewn them around me. Entirely inappropriate, but I was a convention virgin, so… Thank goodness for the girl behind me who grabbed it for me. These people rule.

I am now in the 4th row on an aisle with my camera ready.

By the way, for people who have friends coming, everyone who was in line this morning got into the hall.

There Comes a Time

There comes a time in every young woman’s life (ok, relatively young… slightly still young… remembers what youth was like…vaguely) where she looks around and says “this is it?” I’ve come to this point on more than one occasion. In fact, I seem to come to it every 5 years.

Clearly, there is some level of romantic and employment frustration that feeds into the dissatisfaction. But there are genuine moments of “I’ve got to get moving” that tend to become an overwhelming motivator—not always for good, of course, but motivating none-the-less.

I moved to California without knowing anyone here. A friend and I came on vacation and nine months later I moved here. I was still with The Ex at the time, but he was moving for a job, and I had this consuming impression that I had to find something for myself before that imploded. Of course, I thought it would be a temporary implosion, but still, I moved.

I tend to spend a lot of my time trying to make things easier, better, stronger and/or faster for everyone else. Moving to California was something for me. Would I make the same choice again? Maybe. Would it be a good idea for me to start taking some chances “for me” more frequently? Definitely.

So, yesterday I got on a plane. I hate flying, and I got on a plane anyway. It was time for a little adventure in San Francisco. Today is going to either be an exercise in frustration, or an amazing experience.

Check back later for photos on http://katedating.blogspot.com (I can’t figure out how to upload to myspace with things hosted here). They’ll answer the following question—did Kate: a) elope with the Ex after his quickie annulment, b) spend the afternoon with David Duchovny, or c) get arrested when neither occurred.

Kate

P.S. James McAvoy was on my flight. I wasn’t sure it was him when I was standing next to him in the boarding area. Then I heard the accent. Then I heard his friend mention the name Keira. Pretty much had it sussed at that point. He’s adorable!

Time Magazine

God bless Time Magazine.

New Amsterdam

I could be in trouble. I might be adding a new television program to my line-up. New Amsterdam hasn’t aired yet, but I’m already a little enamored with the chiseled jawed leading man. The premise is tailor made for a hopeless romantic wrapped in a tight cynical shell—he is immortal until he finds “the one” and then he’ll be able to grow old with her.

Yep, just like that I’m in at least for the premiere. That’s all it takes.

Of course, if this were my reality, I’d meet “the one”, my immortality curse would be lifted and then I’d be hit by a truck. OR, I'd meet "the one", my immortality curse would be lifted, I'd age while my "one" started dating a 22 year old. So, as with most things, this plot point works best in fiction.

Kate, watching American Idol and thinking that some of the cuts were kind of abrupt tonight

To the Men of Los Angeles

I realize that I’ve indicated before that I would prefer to return to a more civilized time of dating—where a gentleman caller left his intention to speak to you with an engraved card on a silver tray rather than yelling outside your window “Yo, am I gonna hit dat or what?” I’m really not that rigid. For instance, the tray totally doesn’t have to be silver. Pewter is fine.

But most of all, I need to understand that a man is not mocking me, and that he is indeed asking me a leading question— a question leading to a potential date, that is. It’s hard enough to decipher the ever changing vernacular of the modern male without adding the filter of “Los Angeles” to it.

So, here is a tip: “you have a really interesting energy” accomplishes neither of these things in my world. I have no idea what that means. “Interesting” in this case could be anything from a positive affirmation to a “she really needs to be institutionalized”. “Interesting energy” is something I expect from a therapist (or an actor), not a date.

Please forgive me if once hit with that comment I don’t immediately jump at the chance to find some sort of soy product with you. I just don’t realize that this is your attempt at a pass. I’m not saying that you should start with “nice rack” (although, it totally is), but perhaps something a bit more direct so that my nonplussed look doesn’t hurt your feelings.

Kate, now carrying an English to Los Angeles Male dictionary at all times
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Watching the Detectives

I just heard a story on the Kevin and Bean radio show about an interview they are going to do with a detective agency. Apparently, Valentine’s Day is their busiest time of year.

I am now giggling, and I’m not sure I can stop.

Nothing says love like jealousy, photographic evidence and revenge.

I’m just saying.

Kate

P.S. head on over to pick up the perfect Valentine's day gift-- "LA, Where Dating Comes to Die" apparel!
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The Black Hole of Holidays

I know what you are expecting. You are expecting me to rage against the darkest, most evil of all holidays…

President’s Day.

Kidding. Clearly, I am referring to Valentine’s Day. You know—the one that is constantly inspiring insipid commercials about releasing your inner cupid.

Every year in my "single" history, I’ve battled the holiday by sending out kiddie valentines to my single friends (and some not single, but in the spirit). Snoopy, Barbie, Nemo, Scooby—the gang was all there. Alas, it didn’t happen this year. So, to the people who used to get them and don’t receive them this year, it’s not because I hate you. Well, I do, of course, but that’s not why you didn’t get a valentine. I just didn’t have it in me.

This year, I’m going to do something different. I am going to share a good Valentine’s Day memory. Hey, it’s not that shocking. There was bound to be at least one.

It started like any other Valentine’s Day: I was avoiding it. I had a boyfriend. I actually liked him. Those two things didn’t always go together. I told him right off the bat that he better not do anything for Valentine’s Day. I was having none of that sappy, over-commercialized, Hallmark-holidayness.

He took me at my word. Hmph. He didn’t mention it. I saw him in class, and we had dinner in the dining hall. Hmph. Well, he could have put a little effort into convincing me that it wasn’t Satan’s own holiday. But it was good. He respected me enough to honor my opinion. Sure. Fine. Whatever.

I went to bed completely satisfied that I had gotten what I wanted. Yep. Lucky, lucky me.

At 12:01 am on February 15th, he snuck into my room and woke me up. He had roses and a smile.

And I just knew I was in very big trouble.

Thinking about this now, I’m sorely tempted to leave my apartment door unlocked this year. LA is safe, right?

Kate
www.cafepress.com/katedating
katedating.blogspot.com

“Does Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat?”

“Does Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat?”

I’m not a frequent Oprah viewer, but today’s episode was too fascinating not to share. I was home nursing what appears to be my first cold of the new year (yehaw), and I caught the clutter tag line. Essentially, Peter Walsh posits that the clutter in your home makes it impossible for you to lose weight. The clutter of your home is reflected by the clutter of your body.

At first, I was skeptical. But as I sat on my ass feeling cranky and munching on chocolate, I took a look around the disaster that is currently my bedroom. And I had an epiphany.

I normally don’t have a big weight problem. I fluctuate here and there, but nothing really dramatic. I’m not as small as I was in college, but I’m probably not as smart anymore, either. ;) You know when I gain weight? When I start going for easy meals like… um… 3 Musketeers bars. But I have noticed that this urge for snack meals comes when I’ve taken the easy way out around me, as well. As the mess builds around me, everything else goes to hell, too.

According to Peter, cheap and easy is our downfall.

LOL! Well, I’ve always applied that axiom to men, so it makes sense that it would apply elsewhere.

Cheap and easy meals lead to weight gain. Taking the easy way out all the time and not cleaning, straightening or putting things away means that the apartment gains weight, too.

It was oddly inspiring to me. Now, I don’t see myself turning to the darkside of gourmets—largely because I hate cooking, prepping and shopping for food—but it has left me with the urge for soup tonight, rather than trying to make a dinner out of hot chocolate mix. So, that’s a start.

Since I’m someone who has never met an extreme I don’t find intriguing, I took this to the next logical level. If I throw all my shit out, will I be in bikini shape by April? Seriously, is each room worth about 10 pounds? 20? Anyone?

Kidding aside, it was a fascinating idea. I’m pretty sure Peter Walsh’s book is the same title, and you can see more about the show here: http://www2.oprah.com/index.jhtml

And just remember—cheap and easy is bad for food, bad for organization and bad for men.



Kate, who thinks she would totally clean if she wasn’t sneezing all the time

www.cafepress.com/katedating

A Prayer and Ponder

First, a short prayer—

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change

Like the fact that Mulder and Scully will probably not be doing anything naked together in the X-Files sequel.

the courage to change the things I can,

Put “get work visa for Canada” on list of things to do so I can get added to the cast and/or crew of the X-Files sequel. I’m thinking anything to do with rubbing Duchovny’s shoulders would be an important and worthwhile job.

and the wisdom to not look at the spoiler folder at the Haven

(http://community.idealistshaven.com/forums/index.php?s=b5211d5571a146b33b699628a05eb419)

I can’t explain the temptation to you, but I’m pretty sure this is what a crack addiction is like (well, you know, except for the fact that it isn’t illegal, doesn’t cost me money and probably wont kill me). All I really know is that I can’t even go over there anymore because if I see a hint of something like “set video” my hands start to shake with the temptation of it all. I must resist. I must…. Oooh, was that … no, no, no, I won't look.

Yep, pretty much proof that I need to get a life.


And now, a “ponder” on that “getting a life” topic.

The surest way to put fear in my heart is to tell me that you want to set me up with a guy who is just like me. It’s not that I’m not open to dating (open, open, open), but the “just like me” part is of grave concern.

Frankly, I wouldn’t want to date me. Seriously, I’ve been alone quite a while now. I’m used to doing what I want, when I want to do it. I’m a hermit. I avoid social interaction (and yet, I’m still totally open, open, open to dating—really open—people are in awe of my open-like qualities ;) ). I’m a workaholic. And let’s not forget that I resemble a weeble—an adorable weeble, but a weeble nonetheless.

So, I’m trying to picture a guy just like me. He’s hiding in his apartment. He’s getting ready to cry through another episode of American Idol (damn those heart warming stories) and then go to sleep because he’ll be up at dawn for work. Rinse. Repeat.

I would annoy me.

Honestly, guy-Kate and I will make the news because we’ll kill each other. I mean, we’ll wait until the commercials come on so as not to interrupt the show, but we’ll definitely kill each other.

Do you want that on your conscience?

You do?

Alrighty, bring him on. But if he tries to put on my Jimmy Choos, I’m out.

Kate
www.cafepress.com/katedating

The Magic Age Is…

44. That’s right – the magic age for the most depressed people experiencing a mid-life crisis is 44. At least that’s what I got from this article:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=510943&in_page_id=1770

Oh, good—something to look forward to, indeed.

Apparently, it is at this age where people have to admit that all of their aspirations for love and life aren’t going to come true, and that it’s time to readjust their expectations. Let’s face it—no one calls you precocious at 44. Remember when you were a teenager and you were absolutely sure you were meant for greatness? Oooh, so close.

According to this theory, it’s the time to figure out a way to accept where you are in life, while simultaneously raging at the heavens; demanding to know how you got there.

Well… that sounds like fun.

Maybe if I start to revise my expectations downward right now, 44 wont be so difficult. Of course, then I’m just likely to be even more depressed about my total lack of goals and aspirations.

Is there good news? Sure! The depression that hits at 44 lasts for years.

Excellent.

All I can say is, 43 better be a helluva good time.

Kate
www.cafepress.com/katedating

27 Dresses

*While I don’t think you can ever really spoil a romantic comedy, stop reading now if you don’t want to know the ending of the movie.

My friend LD and I went to go see “27 Dresses” not long ago. It was charming and Ed Burns proves the theory that men really can get better looking as they get older. Bastards. While I did enjoy the movie, it highlighted the romantic comedy axiom that I will now refer to as “#27”.

According to the rule of #27, Courtship lasts:

a) 1 year or less from the original meeting to the altar
b) 3 years from original meeting to the altar, but there was a period of separation
c) 5-8 years from original meeting, things look promising until he dumps you for someone else because he thinks you’re holding him back
d) 10 years from the original meeting and it never leads to the altar because prince waste-your-time decides he needs to find himself. In fact, you are so far from the altar that while you write a blog about your lousy love life years later, you will need to look up that word to figure out how to spell it.

Let’s just say I don’t know many people who fall into category “a”, and far too many who fall into categories “c” and “d”.


According to the rule of #27, finding the right man requires:

a) filling out a 27 page form and decades of coffee first dates
b) $100,000 in payments to a matchmaker
c) just being really open to it, and then he turns out to be James Marsden

Look, option “c” is a really nice, warm and fuzzy option in a very “The Secret” kind of world. But in my reality, more men approached me when I was in a relationship (and completely closed off to the idea) than during the single years. In my reality, James Marsden is never waiting with a shiny new blackberry and words of consolation and love. In my world, open means a whole lot of standing around and thinking “Where the hell is he?” If I took the leap onto that boat at the end of the movie—Mr. Right would have been standing on the dock and waving goodbye. Oh, and I would have broken my leg during the landing, obviously. It’s not that I’m bitter (which I am), but the “just be open to it” rule results in increased self-help book sales, not actual dates.

But just in case I’m wrong, I am throwing this out there to the universe:

I am open to exploring the concept and eventual practice of dating an employed man who showers. Thank you for your kind attention.

P.S. Universe, if he happens to look like David Duchovny (particularly during the Mulder years, please see me for specific episodes if you have any questions), George Clooney, Alex O’Loughlin or Jon Hamm, that would be fine, too.

Hey, it never hurts to ask.

Kate
www.cafepress.com/katedating