Thursday

Shiny and New

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

Silver Lake

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

Doodle Day

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

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

Cartoons

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

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

Must get remote…. Must get remote….

Kate

Something in the Water

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

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

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

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

Oh, universe, I've missed you.

Kate

National Doodle Day

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

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

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




4TH ANNUAL CELEBRITY DOODLE AUCTION

National Doodle Day Is Thursday, May 13



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

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

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

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

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

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

Reader Mail

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

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

Kate

Dear Body

Dear Body,

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

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

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

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

You have been warned.

Kate

Random Friday Thoughts

Random Thought #1

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

 

Random Thought #2

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

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

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

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

 

Random Thought #3

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

 

Random Thought #4

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

 

Random Thought #5

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

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

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

 

Random Thought #6

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

 

 

 

 

Bonding: Day 3 (Escape from New York)

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

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

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

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

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

I really should have known better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kate

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

 

Bonding: Day 1 Part B

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upside: Plane landed 20 minutes early.

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

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

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

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

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

Upside: I have a nifty nametag.

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

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

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

Upside: It's not snowing.

Downside: Sleet is not really better.

Upside: One more day of bonding.

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


Did I mention I really love the hotel?

Kate

Bonding: Day 1

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

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

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

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

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


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

Kate

Bets Can be Costly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kate

Fun Facts

In the run up to our team building exercises next week, we're supposed to come up with a "fun fact" that our co-workers might not know to help break the ice during our first set of meetings. I'm pretty sure this is after the office furniture tower and before the trust fall. I have no doubt that in person this will be interesting and a good ice breaker. Well, maybe some doubt.

Anyway, friends and I are trying to figure out what our fun facts should be. Naturally, instead of actually doing the assignment, we're trying to come up with the most outrageous things that we could share with the group to shock everyone into silence without actually getting fired. So far, we have:

1. Fun fact: I'm still working here because my parole officer says I need to be employed.
   
2. Fun fact from DM: They didn't want me to come to NYC because the judge thinks I'm a flight risk. Good thing I'm really good at removing the anklet.
   
3. Fun fact from JM: I'm only working here to support my all-consuming drug addiction.
   
4. Fun fact from Pen: (after shaking everyone's hand during the introductions) I have H1N1.
   
5. Fun fact: I'm quitting.
   
6. Fun fact from Pen: All romance leads to gut wrenching despair.
   
7. Fun fact: I miss my old boss.
   
8. Fun fact: The only reason I agreed to this trip to New York is that I'm hoping to run into David Duchovny.
   
9. Fun fact from JM: I would rather spend a night sleeping at Canal and Broadway than in a second day of meetings with you people.
   
10. Fun fact: No, seriously, I quit.
    

 

Those have made my list. Feel free to send your suggestions. You never know—depending on how my inbound flight goes, I might decide to use one of them. In fact, Pen has already pledged $20 if I use #6.

Kate

Now That's Team Building

This was simply too amusing not to share. From my friend D, we have a true representation of what next week will bring (only add snow and more bitterness):

A Picture a Day

I'm fascinated by this "picture a day" craze that seems to be sweeping my Facebook friends. It's a really simple concept: you take a photo every day for a year. It can be representational of your mood, a desire, fabulously artistic, or an actual picture of what you are doing that day. I can't imagine being able to keep up with it, but I think it's a cool idea.

For instance, I've been scheduled to return to NYC for a special team building session late next week. Sadly, I've come to the conclusion that there is absolutely no way to get out of it. For those of you who are X-Files fans, you should fill in your own tower of office furniture joke here. I'm not entirely clear on the purpose of me flying six thousand miles in two days (possibly three, as they aren't quite sure yet)—although we did have a 6:00am conference call for over an hour to discuss what we were going to discuss at our next meeting. So, that bodes well in a totally "Office Space" kind of a way. I just haven't figured out yet if I'm going to be the guy who finds the last straw centered around his stapler, or if I'm going to be saying things that end in, "Well, I wouldn't say I'm missing it, Bob". The best news to me was that after spending nearly six hours on a plane (no doubt in middle seat/coach hell), I have to go straight to the office for "vision" meetings. Oh, I'm having a vision alright. The topper? Tonight, I found out that the east coast is getting ready to get hit by another massive snowstorm. Sweet! Good thing that never causes difficulties.

My picture of the day is surprisingly clean. Let's say it is representational of how I'm going to get through the trip rather than literally what I am doing right now -- mostly because it is night, and assuming that I'm out doing something social at night is crazy talk.

 

Stay tuned for more exciting adventures in corporate bonding!

Kate, who thinks she has gloves somewhere around here…

 

Little Things

Little things inspire me to write. Big things inspire me to stop. Occasionally, big things also make me reflect, curse and start once more.

For instance, today I lost a fight with my laptop. I don't mean that metaphorically. I was struggling to get my laptop out of my bag. I pulled too hard at the exact moment the laptop decided to dislodge itself. Wham. Laptop met eye socket with surprising force for 6:30 in the morning. So, if my typing today seems a bit off, I'll blame the occasional one-handed pecking due to the ice compress the other is holding over my left eye. After I stopped yelling and trying to convince Pink Taco that breakfast margaritas will be the next big thing, I laughed. I laughed at Monday and my own carelessness. And then I thought, I should write about this. Little thing.

I got stood up by the nicest man on the planet. It wasn't even for a date; it was for an informational interview. That's right, I got stood up for a business call that he scheduled! Naturally, I reacted like a teenager slowly realizing that she's been ditched on prom night complete with double checking to make certain that my office phone still had a dial tone. But I laughed. I laughed through the entire thing because it seemed so oddly appropriate to be stood up by a man who indicated that he wanted to talk to me. And then when he rescheduled, and we connected, I laughed more. He's still the nicest guy on the planet. I am the world's biggest idiot, though. Because while he thought he was calling to give me advice on a specific issue, in reality I wanted him to solve my ongoing mid-life crisis. So when he quite reasonably asked, "What do you want?" I simply didn't have an answer. However, the nice man gave me advice that I hope many of my readers (probably former-readers at this point) will appreciate, "Write every day, even if it is crap". Seems odd to wish for crap, but I'm intrigued. Little thing.

After feeling chagrined at my complete inability to articulate my thoughts, hopes, fears or even a point to the nice man, I thought, "Let's avoid him for a while" because that's what I do. Well, fate has other plans. As the new year rolled around, the "grab bag of fate" once more emerged. As I had fairly good success the first go around, I decided to give it another shot. My friends, having witnessed my baby steps toward a new life, decided to throw in items of their own. While I will not give away the exact plans, I will say that my three pulls are all risk-centric—and I've been ordered by the cosmos to once again approach the nice man for advice (though, hopefully, I'll have an actual point this time). I keep hearing that with big risk comes the possibility of big reward. As I'm not known to exhibit a preternaturally sunny disposition, it will surprise no one that my take on this axiom is more like "with big risk comes big risk with a side-helping of homelessness, jail time and herpes". But I laughed as I pulled items such as risk to finance, risk to dignity and risk to pride out of the bag. And if I accomplish my destined tasks, I'll be laughing more. Little thing.

Many of my friends, old and new (as a measure of length of acquaintance not nearness of AARP), believe that I got hit on at a charity event by another nice man—or at least a man who was nice to me. I have rejected this completely and vocally, to which my friends have proclaimed, "Oh, he'd so hit that". My response? "Yeah, with his car". Much eye rolling and aborted attempts to teach me how to flirt ensued. And I laughed. While I still believe they drank some funny punch along the way, I must admit that I'm curious. I'm curious not so much about the man's intentions, which I still refute, but more about my own perception of my interactions with men. Honestly, I believe that I am invisible to them. I feel that I have polite and appropriate interactions, but I rarely see that spark of interest. And while my friends, again, are clearly delusional in this current situation (have I mentioned they are crazy?), I have to wonder if the force field I use to keep people out is also keeping me from really seeing when someone wants to get in. No pun intended. Little thing.

November was insane for me. I was basically working two jobs, and while on some level I enjoyed my latest hobby-turned-career, I was stressed. It's not that I didn't learn valuable lessons about people, the internet and the true value of alcohol, but it might have been better if I hadn't learned those lessons under a magnifying glass. Despite all that work, there was some fun and some good came from it. I started making plans—plans that might have involved boys, a new career and, because I wouldn't be me otherwise, new shoes.

Might have.

Didn't finish.

As all this frivolity was swirling through my brain, I found out a friend of mine was almost killed by her husband. Not almost killed as in "oh, that Brad, you know how fast he drives" or "Oh, that Brad, between those two schedules, he's going to kill her". No, I mean her husband tried to stab her to death in front of their small children.

Yeah. Big thing.

Needless to say, I didn't laugh. I didn't laugh then, and I didn't laugh when reading the comments to an article about the attack—comments that sided with her husband, disparaged her or tried to pretend that "I'm surprised this doesn't happen more" was an appropriate response. God bless the internet, and its uncanny knack for being wrong.

It was difficult to pick up the blog after hearing about her. I just couldn't care about more "me" at that point. I'd love to say this was an isolated incident, but a shocking number of my friends have been in emotionally or physically abusive relationships. The number was so surprising to me that I momentarily contemplated sending thank you letters to all the past men in my life—they may not have been perfect (or even able to find perfect on a map), but I never faced the emotional and physical tear-downs that so many others around me have (are). As horrific as the attack was, she fought back and survived. Not all of my friends have been so lucky. Lucky? Yeah, strange word to associate with the situation, I know, but she was lucky.

So, why am I back? Difficult to say. I suppose I've hit the "reflect, curse and start once more" stage. I can't promise that the cursing won't out pace the reflecting, but it appears as though I still have something to say.

Besides… you want to know how that grab bag turns out, don't you?

 

Kate, still not dating in LA

Well That’s Just Wrong

Angles

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

 

Reviews

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

Good times.

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

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

This could take a while.

 

Charity

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

 

Dating

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

Charity Event: Celebration of The X-Files

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



Not into clicking on widgets?

Here are the details:

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

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

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

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

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

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


*Event talent subject to change due to availability.

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

Romance Novelist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mitch Pileggi Fundraiser Follow-Up

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

Mitch Pileggi Fundraiser

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

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

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

===


Join Actor Mitch Pileggi for Simi Valley Fundraiser

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


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

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

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

Event Details:

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

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

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

Medium at Paley

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

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

Glee at Paley

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

Trick or Treat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Age of Stupid

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

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

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

The Best Made Plans…

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

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

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

So, my brain went to work.

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

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

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

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

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

Or…

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

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

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

Sigh.

And then there was one.

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

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

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

Fine.

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

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

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

Reality.

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

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

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

The Bra

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

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

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

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

Thus, the wrong bra can equal death.

Rejected by a Survey

Look, I don't ask for much.

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

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

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

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

Question 1.

Numero uno.

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

Awesome.

 

Hobbies

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

Don't believe me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Just Over a Month

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too Long

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

Sex Tape Cynicism

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

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

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

Odds Making

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

Non-Weather

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

Radar Love

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

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

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

Yeah. I haven't stopped laughing either.

Part 2

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

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

New Rules

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

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

Kate

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

http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/

 

Things to Do With Glue

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kate, who has a spinning moral compass these days

Killer Bikini Waxes From Outer Space

I thought that title might get your attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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