Just a Thought

I saw today that People Magazine has once again voted George Clooney the sexiest man of the year.

Well...


Duh!

:)

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

Kate's Roman Holiday

Ok-- Not really a holiday-- more like a Roman flight of fancy.

Sure. Some people might accuse me of putting off writing my self-evaluation, which is part of my annual review at work... um...and they might be right.

It's not that I don't want to write it. I just haven't figured out if "tired of bending over and taking it" goes in the Teamwork and Interpersonal Skills section, or in the Areas for Improvement Section. Decisions. Decisions. At least that long-standing question of "does anyone ever read these things" will be answered.

Anyway...

My general work dissatisfaction, and end of the year reflection, has left me pondering a change more seriously. And then I had this fateful conversation with a friend.

Me: "ooooh, you have a Rome office. I don't suppose there are any openings there. Ha Ha"

Her: "There is. Our person there just announced he was leaving."

(insert sound effect of needle scratching across a record here)

Rome. Suddenly all things wrong with the world could be fixed with one word, "Rome".

Sigh. So, instead of rationally assessing the situation (work would be the same, I'd have to move, I don't speak Italian, etc.), my thoughts went something like this:

*Rome-- where a few extra pounds probably don't matter... in fact, I'm sure I heard they were celebrated... mandated... a requirement for your resident visa.

*Rome-- where all the men look like the ones in this picture that El sent to me (shhh... my fantasy, work with me)

*Rome-- where I'm sure I'll be paid to eat yummy food, drink wine and soak up the atmosphere (see paragraph above for atmosphere appropriate for soaking)

*Rome-- where my fabulous Italian shoes will never scuff because I'll be carried on a chaise by Romans (again, see above) through the crowded streets where I'd be admired and adored (and in no way robbed like T on the train the last time I was in Rome).

*Rome-- where my charm is so obvious that I am instantly understood and lauded for my eloquence despite not speaking a word of Italian.

Yep. It was good, but in reality I'd be fired in the first week, my roman conveyance would end up being dropped, and I'd land in a fountain with a pack of wild dogs. So, I settled for seeing "The Light in the Piazza" (which was wonderful) and appreciated the fine talents of the cast... including the very fine Fabrizio.

Ah, Rome. :)

Kate, who is rethinking the whole "I don't watch soccer" thing, in LA

Kate Talks to a Boy

This weekend Kate talked to a boy.

That's right-- you heard me. I talked to a boy. Please begin preparing-- the end is clearly near.

Picture me wearing something flowing that made me look deceptively tall (um... ok, taller... fine... not quite as short). My bizarro world hair was perfectly cascading down my back. Even had that heaving bosom thing going on. Everything I said was witty and charming. I left the man completely besotted. I expect lavish gifts any day now.

Sheyah-- or this story involves an electronic device and peril was certain.

I was helping a friend on his indie movie project (because this is LA, and that's what we do here on the weekends ;p ), and I was in charge of wrangling actors who came in for their ADR work. These actors included a fine specimen of a man who had worked on the shoot for about 2 days the previous fall. And even though he only had 2 lines, I asked him to come in. Hey, I'm single, not stupid.

So, the whole group of us are hanging outside, and I'm chatting and trying to figure out how to covertly take a photo of fine figure of man (here on known as "FFM") with my camera phone.

But for some reason, the universe decided to once again have its way with me. It refused to take the picture. No matter how many times I tried to press the little button on the little screen-- nothing. Camera phone=male. Obviously.

Let's face it-- you can only really try to take a photo covertly so many times before
a) the subject becomes aware that he's under scrutiny, and/or
b) everyone in the area wonders what's wrong with the girl who keeps mumbling, lifting up her phone, hitting it and then cursing.

I bet it was a camera phone that brought down Mata Hari, too.

Grant it, a normal person might stop trying to take this photo after... oh... the 10th no go. Not I. With extraordinary perseverance of someone truly idiotic, I kept trying. My friend had never seen FFM, and I had to send her a text message with his lovely photo. It was my mission (because in reality, text messaging has become the "passing a note in gym class" of my 30's).

I tried to play it off with the old "oh, it's so great to see everyone, I just want to grab some photos of all of you". And so moved by my sincere (uh.. yeah) efforts at capturing some would-be hallmark moments, out of the darkness (fine, afternoon sunshine) came the voice:

"maybe I can help"

uh.... help me? uh....

(ok, frantic weighing of options ensued. If he hits the wrong button, which is right next to the camera button, he will reveal all of my "he's so cute" text message ramblings. Tremendous potential for embarrassment. If I said no, it would have looked odd, after all my fussing and fuming about it not working. Plus, if he gets it working, I can get a photo).

So, after weighing my options (and hearing the imaginary cries from people who read this blog), I let him fondle my camera phone. That's right-- the man I was trying to covertly photograph ended up helping me to fix the camera so that I could take his picture.

Did he ever know he was the object of my frantic machinations? Hard to tell, but just to be certain, I set him up with my friend. That should throw him off ;)

Yeah, alright, so it all didn't go according to plan. But I did talk to a boy, so it goes into the success column. It's practically a date in my world.

And if my friend ends up marrying him, I have an amusing story to tell at the reception.

Kate, clueless with a fondled camera phone, in LA.
katedating@yahoo.com

Hit? Or No Hit?

Because I've been sidelined for so long in the dating game, I'm not always good at gauging whether or not someone is actually hitting on me. So, since I've got several hours of sitting here at the DMV, I thought we should all play a game I like to call "hit, or no hit".

It's either this, or killing the woman sitting next to me testing ALL of her freakin' ring tones at full blast. So, play along, you are saving a life ;)

Situations--
1. A guy sitting next to me and a friend at lunch, wandered into our conversation. As he was leaving, he handed me his card and said if I ever needed financial planning, to give him a call.

Hit, or no hit?

I said no, Julie said yes. My reasoning-- he's probably always selling because he's on commission, plus since when is "financial planning" euphemistic for "want to date"?

2. There is a guy standing near me right now who keeps looking at my flipflops. Really intently looking. Kinda creepy, actually.

Hit, or no hit?

I say no. I think he's contemplating stealing them. Come to think of it, he'd probably look better in them than I do. Either that, or he has a toe fetish. That's right, buddy, I'm writing about you.


3. A male friend said "we should see a movie some time".

Hit, or no hit?

I think this one has to be situational. I was so thrown, I blurted out "you mean like a date?" Which then threw him into saying "uh, well, I guess if you wan..." to which I yelled out "NO!!!!!" Yep, smooth, that's me.

4. You want to go for a walk?

Hit, or no hit?

Again, situational for me. Most of the time I would assume not a hit. Could be that he's just trying to take you somewhere secluded to kill you. I try to approach these invitations with caution.

5. A guy grabs your ass and yells "want to F***???", but is completely wasted. Hmmm still ambiguous for me.


6. And finally, my favorite from today-- "Hells, yeah, yur worth smacking to. buuuu yaaaaaa." Um... ok, not only do I not know if that's a hit or not, but I don't actually know what it means. It is, however, leaving me with a slightly icky feeling.


I think it is clear that I actually need some sort of formal courting system set up. There used to be a whole set of manners for this type of thing. I say, we need to go back to the day where a man declared his intentions formally--preferably on lovely parchment and ending with "my dearest, loveliest Kate". Then after 6 weeks of notes (and one background check later), I would be better prepared to answer the "is he interested" question.

In the meantime, shoe fetish guy is lingering again.

Send me your own questionable hits, and we'll let the group decide if someone was trying some romantic moves or not.

Kate, who needs a guy to girl dictionary before she is dating in LA
Katedating@yahoo.com

Miss Ann Thropic

I may have found my true calling in life. It came to me while watching one of my hundreds of weekly news programs.

Any guesses?

Sure, you're going with the most logical options:

1) marriage counselor
2) sex therapist
3) supermodel
4) spy (aka international woman of mystery)

But who isn't doing those things? I'm not disparaging these options-- all good and clearly back-up plans if the new one doesn't work out.

Ready?

Queen of the Roller Derby.

I know. It left me speechless when I first considered it, as well.

They ran this story on a group of women called the "Orange County Demolition Divas"-- strong, highly motivated women. My new hero is a woman with the nickname "Miss Ann Thropic". She told the reporter that she found the group after her relationship of 15 years ended, and she was looking for a legal way to get out her aggressions.

Rock on sister! (or is that roll on? No, that sounds too much like I'm yelling for deodorant).
Anyway, I too would like to find a way to legally beat the crap out of people while precariously perched on a set of wheels.

I'm telling you-- this is it. I have found my calling.

(although that whole supermodel thing could be good, too)

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

Strut Interrupted

How do you know for certain that the universe is sending you a message?

Sure, the universe actually sending me that invitation to spend the evening toasting to George Clooney could be considered a sign-- but who can blame me for missing something that subtle... for three weeks.

Besides (warning, wild justification to follow) if the universe really wanted me to be with George on Friday then it would have made him motor his little electric car to my apartment and picked me up for a proper date. I'm a lady, damnit.

(No, I've never been hospitalized for delusions. Why do you ask?)

The last few days have been busy between work, side projects and the need to read every single line in every piece of junk mail that comes to the apartment. But I was feeling adventurous this afternoon. I did have the malicious iPod with me, but it was behaving. It was time to head out and flirt.

I was looking good, well.. my sweatshirt was clean, and I was rockin the messy ponytail.

Having not yet learned the lessons of my other Starbuck encounters (yes, the knee has healed, thanks!) I decided to find the man who would love me "just the way I am". And I found several-- all construction workers, because...

(wait for it)

They gutted the Starbucks.

Huh... Given my track record, I probably should have seen this coming.

I can't decide if the universe is saving me from myself, or clearing out all the bad vibes with fire and table saws. I suppose we'll find out when they re-open (MWHAA HAA HAAA).

Kate
(katedating@yahoo.com)

(p.s. random thought-- is it wrong that I think the Ex's fiance already has the something borrowed covered? yeah, I thought so.)

Always Read Your Junk Mail

Ladies-- this is a public service announcement. Always read your junk mail. In fact, read your junk mail thoroughly and before you look at your bills.

Sure, it might look like just another advertisement listing a bunch of information you have no interest in-- and sometimes.... yeah.

I received what looked like junk mail about 3 weeks ago from American Cinematheque. They have a whole host of screenings, including showings of old movies which are often quite fun. Each year they do an award ceremony. If you are a subscriber at a certain level, you get two tickets to the event. The event typically honors an artist (actor, director or writer) in the entertainment industry committed to making asignificant contribution to the art of the motion picture (or so the ad says). Sounds great, but I never pay attention because it would involve going out, finding a date (or dragging one of my friends), a long evening full of boring speeches, blah blah blah.

3 weeks, people. This junk mail remained untouched on my desk because it couldn't possibly have been anything of interest to me. Plus, the ceremony was Friday night. Who goes out on a Friday night? I'm pretty sure I was doing something vital like watching a showing of Clue on cable.

On Sunday, I decided to clean, and I leafed through the junk mail. I saw the invitation of support and the offer of tickets.

This year's honored artist?

George Clooney.

That's right-- An evening with George Clooney.

Yeah....

Always read your junk mail.

Kate, wondering if she's done anything else stupid like not check winning lottery numbers more than a year old.
katedating@yahoo.com

The Purge

Ever contemplate just how aerodynamic your couch is? Burning questions like:

• Will it actually hit the pool if hurtled from my balcony?
• Will it clear the hedges?
• Should I warn people below?

If so, you too may have been taking part in the time honored tradition known as "The Purge" (recently memorialized on Gilmore Girls).

In the moments before I came to terms with the whole "he's getting married" thing and after I'd caused that little multi-city blackout, I realized that everything in my apartment reminded me of The Ex. And while the years of separation meant I had blessedly little that was actually his, I was still able to create overflowing mountains of "He Gave Me" and "Reminds Me of Him".

This, my dear friends, is why on the 8th day God created garage sales and good will. It's good to donate while the torrent of emotions is threatening to make you into the next Pol Pot because you tend to be at your most ruthless. As you cool down and let sanity wash back over you, you tend to get gooey.

You see the couch isn't just my couch. It was our couch, which was originally his couch. Which technically means it's now my ex couch. Thus, the contemplation of "couch in flight".

So, did I toss the couch from the balcony? No.

Was it saved because I calmed down and realized that, in fact, couches are expensive and not embodiments of hurt feelings and disappointment? um... sure. Ok. Well... you know.. that and the fact that it got stuck, and I couldn't get it through the sliding glass door.

What?

Kate

Warm and Tingly

Inventors have conceived of a wedding ring that heats up the day before an anniversary. The person gets a series of increasingly warm signals from the ring. The last reminder burn would be over 100 degrees. All this in an effort to help make sure a man actually remembers to buy some flowers (or whatever) on the big day.

It's not that I object to this idea, I just think the inventors are thinking too small.

I also propose a ring. I call it the "fidelity" ring. Instead of gradual warming, I see more of an electro-shock kind of thing. And it might not be all that gradual of an increase.

And it might not go on his finger.

I'm just saying....

Kate, Inventing in LA
katedating@yahoo.comm

Six Degrees

Some people in our lives are never meant to leave us... Which is too bad really because some people should just stay gone, damn it. ;)

I received an email today from a lovely woman in another state, who I have never met, thanking me for my "in memoriam" donation to her fine arts organization (in honor of a woman, who sadly did pass on too early, but after a full life). The organization was one that most of my friends and I were involved in way back when. It was a pleasant, lovely email from someone with a last name that made a light bulb go off. Nah... couldn't be....

You see once upon a time Kate dated a guy who, like many men, turned out to be a jerk, and it ended. I was in my late teens, and I didn't spend a whole lot of time being bummed out (unlike my current practically Guinness record holding round of mourning for THE all time ex). Years later I heard from a mutual friend that he had gotten married and then divorced to someone from back home who he had met while doing theater productions. blah blah blah. The name of his ex-wife? Let's call her "Diane Barnes".

Woman who signed my email this morning? "Diane Barnes".

Could be a coincidence, but better than even odds that my ex's ex-wife now works for this fine arts organization, and she just sent me an email. huh... small world. Very, very small...scary small, actually...

So, kids, as you shoot emails off into the world, keep in mind that the stranger you are conversing with may have been married to one of your ex-boyfriends. You could complete a transaction and discuss development goals with a stranger 3000 miles away, neither of you realizing just how much the two of you have in common.

Kate, hiding in LA
katedating@yahoo.com

Dating George Clooney

Ok, people. This is not a drill. The following story made the rounds this morning-- just to annoy the photogs, George Clooney will be dating someone different every night. Now I know in the past I have been reticent about dating actors (or... um... anyone), but I'm willing to make an exception for the delightful Mr. Clooney. You know... just to help him out with his plan. Because I'm a giver :)

One slight, very small problem, is that technically, he did say that he wanted to date a "famous" actress every night. Since I'm not actually a famous actress, there might be some difficulty getting me in this line. HOWEVER, I'm sure that we could spin me as the "reality that throws them all off" girl. Or we need to make me famous and very quickly. I mean, I can hold a suitcase like the last girl they photographed with him. I have a lot of practice holding suitcases. Sure, not a model, but I've got mad "holding suitcase" skills.

What do you think? Are you with me?

This doesn't mean I have to leave my apartment, does it? I mean, can't we just line the photogs up down by the pool and have them try to catch us on my balcony? What? Defeats the purpose you say? I'll work on it. You guys handle the other bit (getting me on his date list), and I'll seriously ponder leaving the house in the evening. Oh, the sacrifices I am willing to make for this man.

Kate, seriously thinking of dating George Clooney in LA.
katedating@yahoo.com


From TMZ.com

Clooney to Date New Starlet "Every Night"
Publicists of the world, line up your clients. The famously paparazzi-averse George Clooney has a plan to scuttle those pesky photogs: He says he's going to spend every single night for three months with a different famous actress. "You know, Halle Berry one night, Salma Hayek the next, and then walk on the beach holding hands with Leonardo DiCaprio," says Clooney in the November Vanity Fair.

The "Ocean's 13" star's thinking is that people would somehow buy fewer magazines if they weren't sure if they were being pranked or not by that serial jokester Clooney. Perhaps his appearance the other night at a Studio City sushi joint with a "Deal or No Deal" suitcase lass was the debut appearance in the series.

Mr. Corner Table

Given my tremendous near success with Mr. "Taylor, the latte boy" (ok, not really, but in my memoirs, it will be), I decided to saunter by Starbucks again today. I was looking good-- hair wild (which in fantasies is suddenly transformed into honey blond with cascading waves rather than brunette and wind-knotted), innocent, yet flirtatious top and butt-lifting jeans.

I had forgiven my iPod for being male and programmed in some attitude tunes.

I was practically strutting while going through my mental checklist:

1. Facade of confidence (check)
2. Friendly smile signaling acceptance and openness and in no way resembling the creepy smiling painting in The Black Dahlia (check)
3. Eyes up in order to invite communication (check)

Dr. Phil would be proud.

I see a lovely boy sitting in the corner by the window. It's a little nook right by the door. He's definitely alone, and he's reading the paper (wonder if he has a news obsession like I do). Frankly, the fact that he reads is all it takes for me to be interested these days.

Ok, two things that Dr. Phil may not have taken into consideration.

1. While looking down might be less inviting, it would seem to be more practical.
2. Wild hair might be amore alluring, but so is seeing that the sidewalk is uneven.

yeah.

While I was coyly looking through a curtain of out of control hair at Mr. Corner Table, my foot got caught mid strut on uneven sidewalk propelling me into the now open glass door.

No, no. Not kidding.

On the upside, neither the door, the older woman walking out of it, her dog, nor I were really damaged. On the downside, the mortification (not to mention the bruise on my knee) made it slightly more difficult to strut away convincingly. It really had more of a drunken sailor thing going for it.

Remind me to be more specific with fate. When I thought "golly, I hope he notices me", I may have left some dangerous room for interpretation. Once again, fate was laughing (or was that limited to just the patrons of Starbucks?)

Current score: Starbucks 2, Kate 0

Kate, limping in LA

Breaking News on Testosterone

CNN today reports that researchers claim that too much testosterone kills brain cells.

...

Well... duh ;)

Anyone ever see a guy jump off a club balcony into the waiting arms of the pit with flaming toilet paper in his ass? Right there, you say to yourself, I'm sensing something might be off here. We don't even have to look at more extreme behavior like not marrying the best thing that ever happened to you because you need to focus on your career, you little bas... um... I digress.

Had these researchers never seen men in their natural habitat before? Not even strip clubs, I mean the tool aisle at Sears, or trapped in their living rooms trying to have a conversation about "relationships".

How much did this study cost? Because I could have told them men surging with testosterone are almost always going to make the absolute wrong choice for free.

I'm just saying...

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

My iPod Led Me Astray

My iPod led me astray. From here on in, this will be known as the iPod defense. Can you perform an exorcism on an electronic music device? I know that there are people who cleanse homes… hmmmm yellow pages under…. Yeah, no.

I should start by telling you that I am obsessed with my iPod. I’m almost never without it. I resisted for years, and then went wild—got a 60GB video iPod that I adore. Any time Chloe or Veronica come into my office, I’ve got it going. Veronica pointed out that I might be trying to drown out the sound of my own despair over work, but I think I just dig having a soundtrack to my life… ok, she could be a little right.

Anyway, the day started promisingly enough. I clicked on “shuffle” and got down to business (email at 5am, no less). First thing that comes on is “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) by Abba. It’s groovy and retro and had me humming along. Who can’t appreciate the sentiment? Although with my schedule and lifestyle, I’d need to change that to “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! A man between the hours of 3pm and 6pm, while I’m still awake and it won’t interfere with any of my television shows”. But you’ve got the idea.

Then it moves on to another classic disco-y tune (who knew I had that many on here), "It’s Raining Men", by the Weather Girls. At this point, I’ve finally awakened my neighbors with my stirring rendition of “God Bless Mother Nature, She’s a Single Woman, Too”. I’ll admit it, I’m in a good mood. Sun isn’t up yet, but I have no wildly distressing emails, and it is a Friday. Plus, I’m having visions of fine young men desperately hoping that I’d pick them. Hell, yeah!

And then, the iPod decides to hit me with a reality check. For no reason at all, it shuffles to “I’ll be Okay” by Amanda Marshall. Slower, but that’s not it. It’s the line “I’ll always have the memories, she’ll always have you”. Right about this time, the sun should have been coming up. Anyone else notice that the sun never actually came out in LA today? Yep. Insidious, stealthy iPod attack.

I try to shake it off. I’m bobbing and weaving emotions, as I start to look for something to wear to work that doesn’t make me feel fat—which, as you all know, in this mood means I’m not really going to find it. I hit next in hopes of something that won’t put me in a mood that continues to blanket LA. So, I rebound into “Absolutely Nothing’s Changed” (aka I’m bruised, but I aint broken by Tina Turner). Better—at least I ‘m not moping. Now, I’m actually a little ticked off. And I realize that it has very little to do with the most recent ex and so much to do with work and just general drama in life.

The iPod decides (yes, it absolutely was deliberate) to just make me more ticked off. It’s clearly feeding off of me, and I’m just cycling back. Just as I’m about to march out the door, I get hit with “You Hurt Me, and I Hate You” by Eurythmics. I’m surprised there weren’t storm clouds over me as I was stalking to my car. At this point, getting me out of this mood was going to be harder than breaking into that Soviet architectural union back in ’90… um.. you know, metaphorically, speaking.

My iPod cycled me from “Gimme, a man” to “people suck” just because it could. My adoration has made it cocky and now it is toying with me. Wow… I think my iPod might be male. ;)

Sister Rain controls the weather in the east, and my powers are clear (It's snowing in Colorado). She and I just wondered what would happen to the middle of the country if we were both in a bad mood. Now, I understand that there was severe weather in the middle of the country. I suggest you check her iPod.

I’m just saying...

Her iPod may have led her astray. ;)

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

Another Power

People of Los Angeles-- take cover. I control the weather and some forms of electricity. I just thought you should know.

I sense skepticism.

June gloom started last year in January. You think that was weather patterns? Please. My boss resigned in January. My mood was bleak, therefore, the weather was bleak. Why else would a city known for 365 of sun be blanketed in gray every morning?

You know that blackout a couple of months ago? Me. That morning I received the engagement announcement from my ex. For some reason, I felt the need to take it out on the city around me. Apparently the raw build up of emotion took out the power grid all the way into Santa Monica-- for 12 hours. Sorry about that. Sure, it was one of the hottest days of the year, and the power levels were critical-- but no, it was me.

Still not convinced? Same night, electrical storm over the airport.

Another slight complication-- the power is contagious. At the very moment of the electrical storm, my innocent (yet slightly pervy) friend, Chloe, was driving her ex to the airport (from here on known as Jacob, the Haitian boy, although his name is neither Jacob, nor is he Haitian-- just go with it). She's not a confrontational sort, but she swears she was unknowingly feeding off of me.

What can I say-- she hit one for the team... over and over...

Chloe had the overwhelming urge to let Jacob know about every (kick) thing (kick) he'd ever (kick) done (kick) that was unacceptable (kick, kick) while they were dating (wham). And they've been apart for a while. And I would apologize to Jacob for the attack, but, eh... ;)

I think we can all be grateful that I don't live in the tropics where hurricanes are the order of the day.

People, please heed this warning. I'm becoming increasingly frustrated at work. Be prepared. Buy parkas and rain gear now.

Kate
(katedating@yahoo.com)

Nothing

I just ran across this quote, and it made me laugh. It had to be posted.

"The trouble with some women is they get all excited about nothing -- and then they marry him." -- Cher

tee hee

Kate
katedating@yahoo.com

Invisibility

I've decided that I need to pitch myself as a character for that new show "Heroes". No-- not for my amazing ability to make men disappear (Chloe, I heard that ). Instead, I will pitch myself as "Blend Girl"-- as in disappear into the background girl, practical invisibility.

Think I'm kidding? I have had people in elevators lean up against me thinking I was part of the wall. I've been in a check-out line at a deli back in NYC, and I had a girl flip her hair over MY shoulder.

It isn't a recent phenomenon-- my ex saw it happen. I was waiting for him at Home Depot and some woman pulled her cart up and actually backed up two inches in front of me to wait for someone.

Could it be the earthtones I wear? I'm very short, perhaps I am mistaken for a shrub or chair? I always thought that my being non-threatening was a positive attribute, but perhaps I've now taken that to an extreme. Remind me to wear a bright color if I plan on approaching a guy-- wouldn't want him to think that he's been stood up even after I've sat down at the table. ;)

If only I could use this power for good (and by good, I mean debauchery)... something involving George Clooney and naked time. MWHAA HAA HAAA

But in the meantime, writers of "Heroes"-- call me!

Kate...right here... no here... warmer... warmer....

Taylor Revisited

You're right. I should have done something when I passed by grande/laptop guy. In fact, as I was passing him, I thought to myself "a normal person would know what to do". There are people who will start chatting with strangers easily. My ex was one of those people. My friend Veronica is also a chatter. Me? Not so much.

Given the scenario, what would you have said? I came up with the riveting "Hi!" while smiling option. And there is also the cooler, hipper "hey" while looking bored. Of course, neither were used since I was more than a block away before I thought of anything at all. Yep-- they don't call me the great communicator for nothing.

So what are your suggestions? Anna had the suggestion of cards with my name and number coupled with the casual drop. I like it because it gets the info out there without obligation. It also harkens back to the days of a gentleman retrieving an "accidentally" discarded handkerchief. The only tricky part would be if someone other than the intended would-be-gentleman-caller picked up the card. But hey-- run and hide is a technique I'm good at!

Send your words of wisdom to katedating@yahoo.com

Social Skills

In preparation for the leap, or timid one toe approach, into dating, I’ve started reading a lot of material about “what men want”. Much to my consternation, it appears that men want women who have social skills. It was #3 or #4 on their list in a recent article I read.

The one guy interviewed said that staying home once in a while was fine, but one of the benefits of having a relationship is having someone at your side at events, functions and parties. I initially scoffed because to me that translates into “would really like a designated driver with me at all times so I can get wasted and not worry about it”. But maybe that’s just the cynic in me ;p

I sense trouble here.

I have never been considered a party girl. Hanging out with a couple of friends is about as wild as I get, and even that takes some convincing at times. I think a key problem is that I don’t really drink and being around drunk people tends to make me nervous. You see… they tend to pick me up. I don’t mean that they try to come on to me. I mean they literally try to pick me up. I’m very short, and for some reason drunk people tend to want to physically hoist me somewhere. You're thinking, "so don't go to frat parties". Sure, but how do you explain a barbecue with work colleagues? Very odd, but I do have witnesses to the phenomenon.

But beyond the wariness at being tossed over someone’s shoulder, I tend to be the observer at social events rather than the participant. And under “all work, no play” there is actually a photo of me. Clearly, given that socialization seems to be a priority in the dating world, I’m going to have to take a deep breath and adapt.

For this, I will look to my friends for valuable lessons in all areas—dating, girls night out, happy hour, even vacationing. Vacationing? Well, at least the packing part because these girls know how to pack. When I set out to make a packing list, it goes something like: clean underwear, jeans, t-shirts, allergy medication, eye drops, book, laptop (because I can’t actually remember the last vacation I took when I didn’t have a way to check in with the office), etc. My friends Chloe, Veronica and Grace got together to plan their packing list for a house-sitting stint in Vegas. It went something like this: vodka, olives, shaker, raspberry juice, inflatable pool float/raft and fix-a-flat. I can honestly say none of that would have ever occurred to me.

I have much to learn.

Unless, of course, that mocha grande guy is also a quiet tv watcher/book reader. In which case, I will lure him into the wonderful world of hermit-ville that I have come to call my own.

Kate, Dating in LA.. uh...eventually
katedating@yahoo.com

Taylor, the Latte Boy

I had no idea that “I'm going for coffee” was actually a euphemism for “I'm attending the fastest speed dating event on earth while wildly hopped up on caffeine.” But it does appear to be the case. Was this always true? I mean, back in the day when coffee meant black, or with milk, and cost a quarter, was it still a possible mating event?

You must admit, the drink orders alone sound like elaborate foreplay. I have a theory that the more convoluted the order, the more desirable you are. Why else would people go to so much trouble? While ordering a half caf, half decaf double latte extra foam probably wins you some appreciative looks (perhaps even a wink and a nod), will you actually get a phone number after ordering a half caf, half decaf venti nonfat extra hot latte with one shot of hazelnut and four shots of chocolate with extra foam? (I actually have no idea what that means, but I read a variation of that on Naked and Ashamed, and it sounded hot). Can't you practically hear the sighs? I used to think it was impatient people bothered by the intricate order, but in fact, those are sighs of desire. If you have the dexterity, try adding a hair flip and a giggle at the end—but stay clear of the swoon, or you might spill the drink you've just worked so hard to obtain.

On the other hand, you could risk becoming a social pariah if you order a small black coffee. Try it—the confusion mixed with disappointment resembles the look on a guy’s face the first time he encounters a wonder bra.

Does being a member of the Barista Guild automatically elevate you to playmate status for the caffeine obsessed? I was rethinking my current career anyway.

Doing some simple math, I came up with the following equation: single men drinking coffee + Starbucks/Coffee Bean on every corner = places Kate should visit. So, I combed my hair (yep, I go all out on the primping thing), and I decided to take a stroll. After all, according to my new theory, true love is literally just around the corner.

I did an initial oh-so-subtle “walk by” on my way to the shop to get the lay of the land (uh… so to speak). After picking up the requisite supplies (more Haagen-Dazs), I wandered back for a more thorough examination.

And there he was.

Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Business clothes.

He had a grande and a laptop.

Our eyes met. I smiled. The soundtrack in my mind swelled.

And…


I kept walking. Didn't even slow down.

What?

Not right? I missed a step somewhere, didn't I? Shit. Looks like I'll be spending quite a bit of time at Starbucks in the future.

If only I liked coffee.

Kate, Dating in LA (katedating@yahoo.com)

“So many years my heart has waited
Who'd have thought that love could be so caffeinated!
Taylor, the latte boy.
I love him. I love him. I love him.”
Taylor, the Latte Boy by Marcy Heisler and Zina Goldrich.