Fight

The EX and I never fought. Or rather, we fought all the time, but did it in such a refined and appropriate manner that even people in the same room would have been uncertain as to the nature of our interaction. We made passive-aggressive behavior our bitch, and I’m proud to say I can still pick up a fight (or as we liked to call it “discussion”) mid-thought 10 years after the fact. I am skilled. I am woman. Hear me roar.

But the closest thing to a real fight (you know, one other people would actually recognize) we ever had was over an address book. An address book. The entire thing left me convinced that civilization will doom itself not by succumbing to the coming plague (although I plan to use that as an excuse to have Fridays off this summer), but because a massive war will break out over the following exchange:

Ex: I’ve asked you not to do that.

Me: No you didn’t. Had you asked me not to do that before we would have had this fight then.

The scenario seems relatively harmless, doesn’t it? Doesn’t sound like something that would house seven years of resentment in it. Oh, but you aren’t as skilled at repressed disappointment and failed expectations as we were. Don’t fret. Few people are.

How did it start?

The EX and I were going about our business. It was a normal evening. We both had long days at work. I went into his office to call a mutual friend about seeing a movie that weekend. I couldn’t remember her phone number off the top of my head, so I opened his address book to find it. I called, left a message as she was not at home, and left the office to get ready for bed.

Upon entering the bedroom, The EX was pulling down covers and tossing pillows. It wasn’t that he was being particularly violent with the innocent bedding—he wasn’t. But gone was his usual flair for elegant movement. The short jerky motions were code for, “I’m displeased, but I will go to bed harboring this resentment rather than sullying a perfectly good snit with actual discourse.” Well, too bad. So, I pushed and was rewarded with, “I’ve asked you not to use my address book without my permission”. Which I followed quickly with the rejoinder outlined above. And then there was silence. And I left the room.

I know, those of you from more “yelling” and “throwing” backgrounds are thinking, “That’s it? That was the big fight?” It was huge for us because there was direct confrontation for at least 10 seconds. But in reality, the actual fight lasted for days. I couldn’t begin to understand this boundary of his. So, I did what any other sane woman would do in this situation—I beat the issue to death and then shot it.

Naturally, I started with suspicion. Though he had never given me reason to believe that he would cheat, I started wondering what it was in the address book that he didn’t want me to see because my brain could not even begin to believe that it was as simple as a personal space issue. Perhaps in reality he had stuck a receipt for a lovely future gift in the address book and didn’t want to spoil the surprise. I’ll tell you right now, at the time, that possibility didn’t even begin to cross my mind. So, confrontation number two occurred. He became defensive, which I immediately took as an admission of guilt—even though any rational person would actually become defensive when confronted with that sort of subtle questioning. And by subtle, I mean, “What was in there you didn’t want me to see?” Yeah, yeah. I’ve since looked up the definition of subtle, thanks.

He tried to explain to me that the address book was personal-- as though this completely reasonable yet totally inadequate explanation should have been the end of it. I suggested that we had experienced quite a number of very personal things in the previous seven years and that looking up the phone number of a mutual friend wasn’t one of them. Prompting the following:

Me: I let you into my body. I think you can let me into your address
book.
EX: But that’s just sex.

And then my head exploded with the force of global, thermo-nuclear war.

Gentleman, if any of you read this blog, please understand that the “But that’s just sex” statement presented to your girlfriend of seven years is potentially more lethal than plutonium. Try to realize that before you open your mouth and insert your size 13s.

On the upside, it was the end of the fight. On the downside, it was probably one of the biggest signals that while I was on the “soul mate” train (as opposed to Soul Train) headed north, the relationship itself was on an express south. Naturally, it took another three years for me to realize that I didn’t even have a ticket for the trip.

How had we gone from the forever exchanges to “frankly, we’re not close enough for you to get use my address book”? And maybe it was just me. Maybe I just didn’t understand that he needed a boundary with the person he lived with, and he had chosen that one. But, obviously, it still remains with me years after the fact. I suppose my brain is still trying to work it out so that if I do engage in interpersonal communications ever again, I’ll see the signs faster. Or maybe I’m just thinking about it because I haven’t transferred all my contact information into my new phone.

Kate, making grudge-holding an art form for the new millennium.

Sext

Half of you reading the title thought, “Wow, it’s been so long, she doesn’t even know how to spell it anymore”. To you people, I’m thinking something snarky.

Half of you reading this thought, “I do that”. It is you people who I need to understand.

The concept of “sexting” has just recently come into my consciousness. At first, I thought it just meant a bit of harmless, sexy flirting via informal messaging medium (ie the text message).
Then I read about some 18 year old being labeled a sex offender because he forwarded to his friends naked pictures of his 16 year old girlfriend after a fight with her. There are so many things wrong with that story, but let’s just focus on the actual concept.

Sexting is not just sexy talk—it is often the exchange of naked or semi-naked photos via text. Remember when you just had to worry about those silly polaroids (or in my case, daguerreotypes) getting misplaced? Now, in a blink of an eye, it’s not just the garbage man who gets an eyeful. No, now it is the entire eastern seaboard with one erroneous click of the send button—or malicious click.

Ever start sending an email or a text to someone, but send it to the wrong person accidentally? Yeah. I’ve done that at work. I sent a personal email, and it accidentally went to one of the partners instead. I only thank God to this day that it was relatively innocent about the joys of joining the group in LA. Now picture this happening with something naked. Can you imagine the horror?

I’m involved with a group that does charity work. Let’s think for a moment if one of our phones accidentally sent a naked text to one of our stored contacts. It’s difficult to argue your professionalism after that one.

Oh, and don’t forget drunk dialing. After a couple of shots of tequila (or in my case, a quarter of a glass of white wine spritzer), all sorts of very bad ideas suddenly sound brilliant and the invention of “send to all contacts” has just made this scenario all the more devastating.

And let’s not kid ourselves here, text messages aren’t private. Your communications provider can access these things, too. So, the next time you think to yourself, “I’m going to send my boyfriend, George Clooney, something sexy” try imagining half of AT&T looking at it, too.

Of course, it is not only the fear of someone unintended seeing these photos that keeps me from doing some salacious posing. No one needs to see me naked. I try to see that as little as possible. I’m at least partially convinced that there is a very real possibility of creating a massive communications black out if tried this. Seriously. I’m just trying to save you people from the retinal scarring.

You can thank me by sending your stories of where you have already accidentally sent something embarrassing astray so I can kick back with some popcorn and properly enjoy the evening.

Kate, who will always fear the errant click, in LA

I Do That

Men don’t date their little sisters. Now, for the most part, this is a very, very good thing. In fact, in all but one particular situation, it is the response you want. Unfortunately, this sane and appropriate response, may actually keep me single forever. Confused? Let me explain.

I am every man’s little sister. Obviously, no blood relation to any of these men—I am, in fact, an only child. Nevertheless…. It’s not just because I’m short or occasionally youthful looking (if you forget the unfortunate jowl situation). It’s something that I didn’t even realize I was doing.

I make myself into the little sister.

I think because I am constantly unnerved by interactions with strangers, I go out of my way to make strangers feel more comfortable when I am forced to deal with them (unless, of course, I’m ignoring them entirely—but that’s another story). For me, comfortable means presenting a non-threatening demeanor; so non-threatening that a man never sees me as anyone even remotely intriguing.

But it doesn’t stop there. It isn’t just strangers. It appears to be all men. And I’ve started wondering if the goal is to try to make the men comfortable, or to keep them at arm’s length.

Take the following situations into consideration.

Scenario #1
There was a boy who was interested in my friend and me. Apparently, as I found out much later, he was in the middle of contemplating which one of us he would pursue (lucky us). We were getting together in a group for an event. I showed up looking casual (inspired by Laura Ashley) and talking about my personal assessment of which team had a better quarterback. My friend showed up in a mini-skirt, black stockings and tossing her hair. Yeah. I’m betting you can work out how that scenario turned out.

Scenario #2
A guy says something borderline obnoxious, but with a rakish smile. Most of my friends would do something coquettish. I am 100% more likely to stick out my tongue and/or smack him in the arm than anyone else I know.

Scenario #3
A man, who I know somewhat, offered to take me out for drinks. He’s not unattractive. Naturally, I respond with an adorably wrinkled nose and “fine, but there need to be televisions because the playoffs have started”.

So, let’s put this into a potential future context. Let’s picture me trying to have a conversation with a lovely specimen of the male gender. Who should we pick today? David Duchovny, it is. Now, despite the fact that he and I have encountered each other (purely platonic, naturally) on numerous occasions, I am colossally bad at having a conversation with him (as I believe I’ve pointed out before). If I were to encounter him at any point in the next 3 months he is in town filming, which of the following is most likely to occur:

1. We will engage in a heated exchange about how Lebron should never even consider leaving the Cavs for the Knicks, and that Dave is a tool for even suggesting it.
2. He’ll say something enchantingly wry, and I’ll yell, “I’m telling Frank!”
3. He’ll say something enchanting and just the slightest bit suggestive, and I’ll respond with “Ewwwww” and smack him on the arm.
4. Our conversation will be entirely mundane, but the highlight will be my attire—sweats and pigtails after not showering for two days, eyebrows that have taken on a life of their own and a maniacal need to keep my arms down because I’ve just realized that I forgot to shave, and I’m wearing a tank top.

Please begin voting. Not fair choosing “all of the above”.

Charity

For my readers who are X-Files fans, this one is for you. For those of you who aren’t X-Files fans— how do I know you? Kidding. Kidding. Just look away for a moment.

I Want to Believe (aka X-Files 2)
Want to own an authentic, signed piece of X-Files memorabilia? IBG is running auctions now and 100% of the proceeds will go to benefit Neurofibromatosis!

IBG is very excited to announce that a signed theatrical poster for “I Want to Believe”, donated by Fox Studios, is now available on eBay to benefit NF.

The poster is the international "snow" version and approximately 27" wide x 40" long. It is gorgeous, in great condition and autographed by Gillian Anderson (signed during her recent visit), David Duchovny (the first to sign when he was in town for the SAG awards), Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz specifically to benefit NF. Gillian Anderson's signature is in black. Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz and David Duchovny signed in silver.

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=170317538731&ssPageName=ADME:L:LCA:US:1123

Neurofibromatosis (NF) is a genetic disorder of the nervous system which causes tumors to form on the nerves anywhere in the body at any time. This progressive disorder affects all races, all ethnic groups and both sexes equally. NF is one of the most common genetic disorders in the United States (one in every 3,000 to 4,000 births).


The Complete X-Files at Book Soup (aka How to spend an evening with Gillian Anderson, Frank Spotnitz and Matt Hurwitz Without Really Trying)

The DVD of the uncut footage of the Book Soup event to promote the release of “The Complete X-Files”, which featured a Q&A with Gillian Anderson, Frank Spotnitz and Matt Hurwitz, is now available. The DVD is available through IBG (http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/store) for $10 plus shipping -- 100% of the proceeds from the sale of this DVD will go to support Off The Street Kids (http://offthestreetkids.org). Your donation gives you an opportunity to be one of the initial contributors supporting the development of this vitally necessary program.

Off The Street Kids (OTSK), a start-up charity supported by Gillian Anderson, seeks to respond to the needs of marginalized youth who are forced to leave care in South Africa at the age of 18 when state funding ceases. Many of these young people return to the streets because they have neither the skills to support themselves nor a home to return to. OTSK aims to help the youth find training, further education and long term employment to prevent them from having to return to the streets.

DVD includes the complete footage (including seven additional minutes of footage not clipped on Big Light). Alison Groves has edited the DVD. In doing so, she was able to boost the sound, and add captions for the questions that were harder to hear. Alison also included a selection of photographs from the event taken by fans.

Additional DVD Details:

Matt, Gillian and Frank footage runs roughly 20 minutes (and includes about 6 minutes of footage with Gillian that was not previously posted on Big Light)

1. What was it like for you to hear from new fans (Matt to Frank)?
2. Did you have any memorable fan experiences during the ramp up to the last movie (to Gillian)?
3. How were you able to balance work and life (to Gillian)?
4. Why are you here (to Gillian)?
5. Are you going to have any more auctions (to Gillian)?
6. Were there any pictures or stories in the book that you’ve forgotten (to Gillian and Frank)?
7. What was the most challenging episode to film (to Gillian and Frank)?
8. Any guest actors that you enjoyed working with or learned from (Matt to Gillian and Frank)?
9. What was the biggest difference between filming in Vancouver and Los Angeles (to Gillian and Frank)?
10. Any word about X-Files 3 (to Frank)?
11. Question regarding the artwork in “all things” (to Gillian)?
12. Do you plan on directing more (to Gillian)?
13. What are you working on right now (to Gillian)?
14. How is the baby (to Gillian)?
15. When did you realize how big X-Files was (to Gillian and Frank)?
16. Did you guys have fans showing up in Vancouver to catch you filming (Matt to Gillian)?

Matt and Frank additional Q&A runs additional 6:30 minutes (filmed off-tripod).
1. Question about the missing end of the sentence on pg. 68 (to Matt)?
2. Any cool stories about behind the scenes things (to Frank)?
3. When does Part 2 of the book come out and what was your process (to Frank and Matt)?
4. Who did the inserts and how were they chosen (to Matt)?

And a brief cameo by Mat Beck.

* Based on our experience with the NF XF DVD, we feel confident that even fans outside the U.S. will be able to view the DVD on your computer systems. Orders will be sent out starting the week of March 30.

Victimless

I freely admit that I don’t really know how the fancy interweb works. I have some basic skills. I can type. On occasion, I’ve been aware enough to check email. However, I’m a bit fuzzy on the ramifications of certain things that should be innocuous.

For instance…

Let’s say that, perhaps, one evening you are feeling a little blue. Just for argument’s sake, pretend it was your birthday. Pretend there was some wine involved. Imagine that your computer was running and google was whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

What’s a single girl to do?

Should you be punished merely because you might have, perhaps, possibly, under the influence of a mid-life crisis and pinot noir, googled an ex-boyfriend? It’s not like it’s really wrong. I mean, Facebook is all about tracking down and spying on people you know, so it’s practically socially acceptable to google every now and again and again and again. It’s not backtracking on all your fabulous personal growth. They won’t take your chip away. It’s just… um… a tiny bit of succumbing to temptation.

So, it’s completely wrong that it can come back to haunt you. Whatever happened to the theory behind victimless crime? Live and let google!

I just found a service that allows you to find out all the people (presumably through their computer IDs) that have searched for your name—every, single person. This could be bad. This could be very bad. And not even because I have something to hide—because I don’t… you know, mostly. But a little harmless stalking of an ex is the right of every person who has ever been dumped. They should never be able to find out that you put in his name, his wife’s name and divorce in a search engine… a couple of times. Just to use a completely theoretical example, of course.

Also, what if you pay for the service and find out that no one has looked for your name—ever. I mean, I can see huge therapy bills for legions of people who consider themselves to be web famous. It’s completely disheartening to go from “legend in your own time” to “legend in your own mind”.

Sigh. I’ve learned my lesson. I guess the next time temptation strikes, I’ll just have to do the responsible, mature, adult thing.

Use someone else’s computer.

Kate

Garbage

Do you ever notice things that you don't recognize in your garbage? It just happened to me, and I was completely stumped. I must have looked it with furrowed brow for at least a minute. What was this strange empty container doing in my garbage, and how did it get there? Did it have friends? Did it have a party when I was at work? It would explain the odd looks I get from my plants when I return home at the end of the day.

Did I mention the garbage bag I was staring at was my kitchen garbage bag... still in my kitchen? It can only mean one thing: my apartment is possessed. It's the most logical conclusion.

Handprints

Just as an aside before I regale you with my latest not-so-profound observation. Today on Facebook, The Ex turned up under the always helpful for stalkers section “People You Might Know”. And, as luck would have it, today is also his birthday. That universe…what a kidder.

And onward…

I actually had a second today where I wanted to focus on cleaning the apartment. This doesn’t happen very often, so I jumped on it when the motivation hit. I opened the blinds in the bedroom, which had to be a shock for the neighbors. Don’t worry, I was fully clothed (I don’t want to be sued for inflicting that kind of trauma on people), but the room doesn’t see natural light all that frequently. I was so annoyed because despite the fact that I rarely open the blinds, there were handprints on the window. So, being in an industrious mood, I set about cleaning the window. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t clean off the handprints… because they were on the outside of the window.

Did I mention that I live on the top floor?

Yeah.

I’m just going to assume that one of the painters or tree trimmers who has been in the complex over the last few weeks had to touch the windows for a completely innocuous and non-creepy reason.

But this was not the first odd handprint moment of my day. The first one actually occurred in the elevator at work. It started innocently enough. There were a number of people in the elevator with me. Naturally, none of us were talking to each other, and we were all avoiding anything that might resemble eye contact.

Now, I’m creative with my avoidance techniques. Some people go straight for the floor numbers. It’s safe and somewhat useful. But it’s also completely predictable. Some people try to mix it up a little bit by staring at the floor.

I decided to throw them all by staring up at the mirrored ceiling. Just as I was enjoying my walk on the wild side, I noticed that it’s entirely possible that someone else had been enjoying a much wilder ride. Again, I’m sure there is a completely innocuous reason while two female (or at least feminine) handprints were on the mirrored ceiling of the elevator. Perhaps a very tall girl was stretching? Perhaps someone decided to get out in between floors by popping open the ceiling and climbing up the cables. Or…. Eh, only the security guard at the monitor knows for sure.

Handprints—one of today’s great mysteries.

Kate

Aging

Anybody miss me? I’ve actually aged a year since I’ve written for this blog. No, seriously, I’m an entire year older even though I’ve only been gone for about 2 weeks. I’m not sure how that happened. My friend Pen posited that it had something to do with me going to a karaoke bar with a group of people on a Saturday night. She personally lost time (an entire hour from what I understand). I tried to point out that it had more to do with that DST thing, but she stands firm. We tested the theory out again the following Saturday when I attended a charity event—also at night. No lost time reported, but there was some earth shifting, so that fit.

Regardless of the whole “lost time” issue, this aging thing is confusing me. I don’t feel like an adult. I still feel about 24 only with substantially less stamina and no love life to speak of. Also, I do have somewhat less grasp on the socially acceptable uses for avocadoes, but I think that’s a California thing.

Because I feel 24, I kept hoping that my parents would call and that the conversation would go something like this.

Parents: “We lied about your age to get you into school earlier”.
Me: “So, I’m really a year younger?”
Parents: “A tiny bit more, actually.”
Me: “I see. How much younger?”
Parents: “Ten years.”
Me: “Sweet.”

It isn’t important that 10 years is awfully hard to fake. I felt that this scenario was a strong possibility. Still waiting for that call.

Because I’ve been gone so long, I’m sending you a treat. Also, I think we can all agree that I should work for “The Onion”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jd4tugPM83c

And as a teaser, my next blog is definitely (probably) going to be about this guy:

http://news.aol.com/article/man-has-two-wives/391268?icid=mainmaindl1link4http%3A%2F%2Fnews.aol.com%2Farticle%2Fman-has-two-wives%2F391268

Kate, still waiting for that call, in Los Angeles

Those Fug Girls

http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/go_fug_yourself/2009/03/fugmanda_bynes.html
I have absolutely nothing to add of any merit to their brilliant posting. All I can say is that I would sell at least three, if not four, of my friends (sorry guys, but you understand) to be at this seminar-- you know, somewhere in the back with ice cream, wearing sweats and laughing my ass off.

As an aside, I'm fairly certain I should be friends with these girls. Plus, I have no idea how to dress myself, and I think they could be really very helpful on that front. They, in turn, would be relieved to know that someone in Hollywood does, in fact, keep it under wraps...so far under wraps that you would need someone who played a former Indian guide to find it, but I digress.

Happy weekend. :)

That was unexpected…

That was unexpected…

http://katedating.blogspot.com/2008/10/5-months-drawing.html

On October 19, 2008, I embarked upon an experiment. I left the five months that followed it up to the grab bag of fate, and hoped for the best. Admit it. You are curious how it all turned out, aren’t you? I will keep you in suspense no longer. While we still have approximately 20 days left to achieve greatness, let’s review.

1. Go Back to Dance Class.
Fate decided to get me moving again. It was a subtle nudge that simultaneously screamed “get off your fat ass”. Nice try. The ass is still firmly planted on the couch. I’ve started naming the dimples. I’ve not even dipped my toe back into the pilates pool. I’ve morphed into an actual sloth. Seriously, I hang from trees most of the time now.

Somewhat humorously, back in October I declared that this one was the easiest of the four tasks. My identity was so wrapped up in being a dancer for such a long time that it was just a given to me. I couldn’t begin to explain why it hasn’t happened. I like to point out that at heart, I’m a lazy person. Pen, my therapist friend, likes to say that I’m depressed. Well, ok, she doesn’t “like” to say it, she has just decided to diagnose me.

Points for achievement: 0. Points for effort: 0. Points for momentarily considering going back to dance class at some point in the next 20 days just to prove I can: 5.

2. Sell or Produce the Kate Dating Web-Series.
Interesting. I’ve written the first season of the web series, and now I’m re-writing it as a television series (or at least the pilot). And before March 19th, I will have submitted it somewhere. I can’t guarantee a sale, and the show will not be produced by then, but I think we’re definitely moving on this one.

Points for achievement: 0. Points for effort: 10. Champagne for everyone if this one is actually achieved in some measurable way before the end of the month.

3. At Least Once A Week, Open Mind to New Ideas (and say “yes”) and 4. Attend Charity Events and Actually Converse with Strangers at Event.
Wow. I can’t even tell you how many points I deserve for these last two. I thought these two were going to be impossibly difficult to achieve in any measurable way. I’m not a joiner by nature. I’m so narrowly focused on my life that the second I agree to something instead of excitement, I tend to feel the oppressive weight of obligation.

But I took a deep breath and said, “Yes”.

I became fully involved in IBG, a group that raises awareness and funds for start-up and underfunded charities (http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com). That mere act of saying yes to being part of the organization required me to start talking to strangers at events. I’ve met some fascinating people, and, knock wood, so far my interaction has been pleasant—and in some cases, hilarious!

There was this event with Frank Spotnitz in December: http://katedating.blogspot.com/2008/11/im-not-sure-thats-what-fate-meant.html. The event was a huge success raising much needed funds for Neurofibromatosis, Inc. While not everything went exactly according to plan, everyone seemed to have a great time, and meeting Frank was wonderful. Sure, I actually tried to hide from him during the photo call because a) he was a stranger and b) I was being forced to have a photo taken, but let’s not dwell on that battle over my more covert tendencies.

As a direct result of that event, last Saturday night at a book signing for “The Complete X-Files”, Frank introduced the IBG team to Gillian Anderson. I couldn’t begin to tell you what we said to her. Everyone in the shop was in shock. She lives in London. But there she was. Talking to us. Bizarre doesn’t even begin to cover it.


The group is a whirlwind of activity. I’ve even been forced to let some of these people into my apartment. Gasp! I know! I’m right there with you. I’ve even been known to be out at night for at least 20 or 30 minutes. We’ve got a whole host of upcoming events planned, including a concert, a movie/tv marathon (ha! You didn’t think I was going to say some sort of exercise, did you?) and more auctions. We have items from/signed by George Clooney (swoon), Jimmy Kimmel (amazingly tempting green room passes are among his items), the cast of Private Practice, Kate Walsh, Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz, David Duchovny and, of course, Gillian Anderson.

Points for achievement: 10. Points for effort: 50.

It’s hard to say at this point whether or not the grab bag of fate has been successful. The goal was to let a random pick of the draw force changes in my life. While I’m still very much in the same place I was before—small apartment, hermit-like aspirations, single, not a partier—in many ways my life has become increasingly connected with the outside world. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, I am committed (or will be, once my need for a straight jacket can no longer be ignored).

Kate, fighting the good fight, in LA

News That Caught My Attention Today

And She Did
http://www.nbcchicago.com/news/weird/Indiana-Woman-Said-I-Do-23-Times.html?yhp=1

The universe, in theory, seeks a balance. According to the link above, this woman has been married 23 times. Apparently, I am the balancing force in the universe. She gets 23 men to agree to a lifetime (or 2 days, whatever appeals the most) with her. I can’t get a guy to talk to me. Nice one, universe!


Bikini Brain
http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/02/19/women.bikinis.objects/index.html

According to more fabulous scientific research, the area of the brain in men that responds to handling tools also responds to images of women in bikinis. I’m fairly certain that any garage mechanic could have told them that for much less money than what was spent on this study. There’s bound to be a joke in here somewhere about power tools, drilling and the like. But I’m tired, so make the appropriate joke yourselves. I find it shocking (shocking, I say) that we now learn that men see bikini-clad women in magazine as objects. No way! I would have never…oh, wait. On the upside, does this mean if I need a guy to do repairs around the apartment, I can just lead him to his “tools” by showing him a bikini calendar?


Interesting Decorations
http://www.wpix.com/landing/?Boys-Find-Boa-inside-Living-Room-Sofa=1&blockID=217188&feedID=1404

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me. I’ve thought… hmmmm is that change wiggling around in those cushions? No? What is that? OH! It’s a 4-1/2 foot, 5-pound boa constrictor in my leather couch… in New York City. Someone mark that down as reason 3,432 why I am not going back to New York—the couches will literally kill you. Good for them for having the presence of mind to get animal control on the case. I would still be standing on a table screaming, picturing my imminent demise—and naturally wishing I was wearing something cuter and had gotten my brows done for the inevitable leaked photos to the news organizations. Hey, even a girl taken out by her killer sofa has standards.


And Now For Something Serious
http://www.3angelsfund.org/events/beauty_and_soul.php

While IBG (the volunteer organization I work with) isn't directly involved in this, we are trying to spread the word about this fun event and this organization's very important work. This event is located in New York, and directly benefits research to raise awareness, diagnose and someday cure Alveolar Capillary Dysplasia (ACD). ACD is almost certainly a genetic disease of the lungs that kills infants, but much is still unknown.

For more information about the upcoming benefit in New York, as well as the organization itself, please visit: http://www.3angelsfund.org/events/beauty_and_soul.php

Also, if you could pass the link along to friends, we'd really appreciate it!

The Encounter

It has been suggested to me by loyal readers and evil friends that I am not focusing enough on trying to make even the smallest connections with the male gender. While I recognize the criticism might have some small element of validity, I’d like to point out that men don’t talk to me. They didn’t before my new initiative, and they don’t talk to me now. In fact, I’m pretty sure I said something foolish to the universe on this very topic.

Never give the universe that kind of opening.

I was downstairs yesterday trolling for food because I’m both too lazy and too lazy to ever cook anything for myself these days. While I normally stand downstairs feeling every click of the second hand on the clock resonate in my body (I hate waiting in lines), I was relatively non-hurried.

And he walked into the diner.

He was (presumably still is) tall—around 6’4”. He was clean cut, business-preppy with a little boy haircut, but broad-shouldered and just slightly in need of a mid-afternoon shave. In other words, he was danger. He was my version of the front cover of a romance novel, and if he was in my office building there was better than even chance that he was employed.

You can feel the shiver that overtook me even now, can’t you?

In normal, every day, Kate world, I would have expected my lunch to be ready immediately giving us no chance to speak. But no—the universe was going to give me what I asked for. It was going to give me a conversation with Danger.

In my fantasy world, I’m sure my hair would have been curled and blowing behind me (and I would have suddenly grown several inches taller), as he slow-motion walked toward me. As it was, he just walked toward me.

At first he didn’t see me. Of course, being smaller than your average 12 year old, this is not an unfamiliar state. Add to that my invisibility to the men of Los Angeles, and I was prepared for him to walk right by me. Instead, he got closer.

I was turned slightly, and I could feel his approach. I’m sure some part of me was glistening and/or heaving, but I can’t swear to it. Fighting all instincts to cower from a stranger, I turned slightly into him and looked up.

I smiled.

He smiled.

Angels wept, while the music in my own personal soundtrack swelled.

And he spoke.

“Have you already ordered, Ma’am?”

Wha??? Ma’am????

Ma'am!!!

I’ve entered Ma’am territory. I’m no longer “miss” or indeterminate PC approved entity. I’m a ma’am now.

You don’t date a ma’am. You don’t think soul searing and not entirely chaste thoughts about a ma’am.

In a blink of an eye, people... in a blink of an eye, potential love affair transformed to “maybe he’ll offer to help with my groceries”.

That crashing sound you heard was what was left of my ego.


Kate (aka Ma’am) in Los Angeles

You Might be Kate If…

1. You hear the words “designer vagina” and your thoughts turn not to the mysteries of cosmetic science, but immediately to where they must put the label.

2. You notice that Pen’s Barbie Magic Wand has been the victim of fluid evaporation, and proclaim it as a sign of the apocalypse—which you then have trouble spelling.

3. You are working on a proposal for a charity event, and one of the target magazines threatens to nix the project because of your clearly erroneous choice of “fanbase” instead of “fan base”.

4. You are doing data analysis at 7am, and you need the soothing background emanations from your iPod….only to hear a strange grinding noise from said device followed by an ominous on-screen warning.

5. You don’t understand how a centimeter of rain can cause mass panic in Los Angeles (followed by the inevitable “Storm Watch 2009” television interruptions), but an earthquake outside of the standard news cycle barely gets a bottom of the screen crawl.

6. You actually take time away from a busy work day to consult Pen’s Magic 8 Ball about your fantasy life (or is that Magic Date Ball, I can’t remember, but it seems to be a remarkably positive little thing).

7. You think anything airing at 9pm should be considered late night television.

8. You are horrified by any friend’s story that begins with “she was running a dominatrix operation out of the room I was renting”.

9. You had to look up the spelling of dominatrix.

10. You have a terrible habit of spending more time dwelling on what has gone wrong rather than rejoicing in the memories of what has gone right… if you could remember that far back…which you can’t.

11. You can’t figure out how people find out about orgies. Are there invitations for that sort of thing—perhaps a special section on the e-vite website? Also, are they sticklers about plus ones there? I mean, that has to be murder on a hostess if the numbers aren’t even.

12. You are shocked that orgies happen because as far as you can tell, it isn’t 1973.

13. You have been nicknamed Moral Compass while trying to keep your friends off the pole (both literally and figuratively) though you understand the reasoning that it is good exercise.

14. You find the idea of a sexually “experienced” man terrifying rather than intriguing because you don’t want sex to be about tricks so much as love. Plus, you just aren’t that flexible anymore and your ass looks bad from that angle.

15. You realize that the old theory about great cooks making great lovers means you are in big trouble as you can not even navigate the grocery store… nor do you want to do so.

16. You think that a convent might be the place for you if that whole “poverty” bit could be waved. After all, you have the chastity part covered.

17. You’ve seriously thought about using the “I’m off to a convent” line as a conversation starter when faced with a man you know you can not handle (i.e. all of them).

18. You’re so disconnected from yourself that when someone asks you what you do for fun, you honestly don’t know, but assume it has something to do with The X-Files.

19. You want to find the first person to suggest anal bleaching as a viable component of the daily beauty regimen and ask him why he hates women (because you know it was a man).

20. No, seriously, where do they put the label?

Blog Tagged Redux

I got tagged again, only this time it has something to do with answering a lot of emotionally scarring questions. Naturally, I figured this meant that I should create an entire blog out of it. No, it’s not cheating.

1. EVER BEEN GIVEN AN ENGAGEMENT RING?
Wow. So, we’re going there right away are we? We can’t warm up a little bit with a question that won’t send me into therapy? Fine. No. I have never been given an engagement ring. In fact, I’m fairly certain the concept has never crossed anyone’s mind in reference to me. Happy? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can get some couch time tomorrow.

2. LONGEST RELATIONSHIP?
Depends. Do you mean the decade with The Ex, or do you mean the subsequent years mourning The Ex?

3. LAST GIFT YOU RECEIVED?
Does a drink from a single man count? Yes, that’s right. I had a drink with a single man the other night. But that’s another blog.

4. EVER DROPPED A CELL PHONE?
Oh, yes. My phone dropping skills are legendary.

5. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?
Technically, it was an hour ago. Alas, my mental exercises tend to be more regular and rigorous.

6. THING(S) YOU SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON?
Well, Jimmy Choo and I are clearly in love. But I don’t shop there often, it’s just when I do, it tends to cost quite a bit of cash. However, if we’re talking about frequency of purchase, I’d have to say anything involving The X-Files universe.

7. LAST FOOD YOU ATE?
Bowtie pasta with organic marinara sauce (which was actually better than I thought it was going to be). Although I’m eyeing a piece of chocolate, so by the time I finish this tome, this answer could, in fact, be entirely different.

8. FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?
I notice a person’s “presence” more than anything else. I don’t know if it’s a person’s stature or just their overall bearing, but it’s definitely a quality that’s hard to pick out in a match.com profile photo.

9. ONE FAVORITE SONG?
That’s an impossible question. I have a favorite song for every real mood, and every transitional mood.

10. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
I live in Los Angeles where it will be 77 degrees tomorrow. Look at that—I have simultaneously explained where I live and why I live there.

11. HIGH SCHOOL YOU ATTENDED:
Andrews School for Girls was honored with my presence. That’s right, I went to an all girls school. And no, I do not recall any pillow fights, nor do I recall having any friends named Tootie who hung out on roller skates all day long. Then again, I didn’t live in the dorms, so maybe I just missed her. They were so devastated when I left that they ceased to exist. Ok, that’s not true, but it feels true.

12. CELL PHONE SERVICE PROVIDER:
My life is currently mortgaged to AT&T.

13. FAVORITE MALL STORE:
I don’t think I have a favorite mall store. Banana Republic and I are close. They keep sending me mail. Although I have a feeling Dior and I are about to become intimately acquainted.

14. LONGEST JOB YOU HAD:
I have spent the last 14 years as an analyst for an international firm. Why are you yawning? Oh, wait, that’s me.

15. DO YOU OWN A PAIR OF DICE?
I don’t actually know the answer to this. I think I do, but I couldn’t possibly locate them.

16. DO YOU PRANK CALL PEOPLE?
Good God, no. I don’t like people enough to talk to them when I have to, and talking to strangers might as well be renamed “waterboarding” in my world.

17. LAST WEDDING YOU ATTENDED:
I think the last wedding I went to was CH’s wedding in Virginia/DC.

18. FIRST FRIEND YOU'D CALL IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY:
David Duchovny would be my first call. Seriously, with that kind of cash giving me false confidence, why not call him?

19. LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BEST FRIEND:
“Best”? Hmmm, that sounds elitist and wrong. Yes, that’s me refusing to answer.

20. FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT:
Does Pink Taco count as Fast Food? They do occasionally bring the margaritas in under three minutes.

21. BIGGEST LIE YOU HAVE EVER HEARD:
LMAO! Well, I suppose it’s possible that I’ve heard a couple of huge ones recently, but I have a 48% confidence level to date in the intel. And if I get pictures, two people are going to be $100 richer to make up for my lack of immediate faith.

(22 was not sent to me. The nerve!)

23. WHERE'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO EAT WITH FRIENDS?
Depends—have I been forced to leave my apartment? I’ve had quite a good time at Craft and Pink Taco. However, I think I’ll actually always prefer to eat in my apartment while trying to figure out why my friends keep trying to move in bunkbeds.

24. CAN YOU COOK?
The Fire Marshall has actually certified that I can not cook. Tsk… one little alarm goes off…

25. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE?:
I drive a Jeep Wrangler.

26. BEST KISSER:
Sadly, The Ex still ranks at the top of that list. Not that I’ve tested this theory much. I am willing to just say George Clooney because I’m sure it’s possible that he’s quite good at it.

27. LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:
I was quite upset about the passing of Kim Manners, as well as the state of a long-term friendship, on Monday night.

28. MOST DISLIKED FOODS:
I dislike most foods.

29. THING YOU LIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I must like my own company quite a bit given my adorable hermit-like qualities.

30. THING YOU DISLIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I dislike my inability to talk to strangers. I need to be fearless.

(31 is also awol)

32. LONGEST SHIFT YOU HAVE WORKED AT A JOB?:
It’s probably a tie between some long days early on at the current job and a 15 hour X-Files shooting day.

33. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Right now? “I Want to Believe” ranks pretty high on the list currently. I don’t really have a favorite overall because, like music, I seem to shift according to mood.

34. CAN YOU SING?
No, I can not sing. I have a voice teacher who can attest to this reality.

35. LAST CONCERT ATTENDED?
Um… I think my last concert was Paula Cole. It ended in disaster when I humiliated myself in order to protect The Ex from scorn and ridicule. Yeah, in retrospect, I should have let him fend for himself.

36. LAST KISS?
Never. I’m not married, so it is clearly wrong to kiss anyone. What? :)

37. LAST MOVIE RENTED:
The Duchess through Netflix.

38.ONE THING YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT:
My blackberry. This has got to change.

39. FAVORITE VACATION SPOT:
Rhodes, Greece. I’d love to go back to that balcony attached to our group house in Lindos on Rhodes.

(I swear to you, I don't know where 40, 41 and 42 are)

43. LAPTOP OR DESKTOP COMPUTER?:
Both. Neither works for what I currently need, so I’m shopping right now.

44. FAVORITE COMEDIAN?:
Jon Stewart, Tina Fey and Steve Martin, currently. I was a big George Carlin fan.

45. DO YOU SMOKE?
I’m deathly allergic to smoke. This is not an exaggeration. If I’m in a closed space with smoke I start to cough within minutes. In theory, I stop breathing if I don’t get into open air within a reasonable period of time. I’d prefer not to test that theory.

46. SLEEP WITH OR WITHOUT CLOTHES?
I sleep with clothing on because I live in the land of earthquakes. No need to traumatize the neighbors more than the sudden earth movement already has.

47. WHO SLEEPS WITH YOU EVERY NIGHT?:
Me, myself and I. It’s very crowded.

48. DO LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS WORK?:
Yes, I’ve made them work. Plus, bonus points in that the guy will be around occasionally, but not enough to think that he gets ownership of the remote.

49. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN PULLED OVER BY THE POLICE?
I think I’ve been pulled over as a driver once, but then I totally beat it in court, so it was expunged from my record.

50. PANCAKES OR FRENCH TOAST?Why make me choose? Oh, the humanity…

Kim Manners

It’s impossible to explain or relate the connections you feel to other people, particularly those who you don’t know well. You see their work, and you love it, and a connection grows. You have a random conversation on any given Tuesday, and for some reason it strikes a note. Maybe it’s part of a fandom’s illusion of relationships through shared experience.

Whatever it is, I can’t really explain the loss I felt when I heard that Kim Manners died of lung cancer on Sunday.

For those of you who didn’t know the man or his work, he was a prolific director on The X-Files and Supernatural (as well as an exec producer for both shows, as well as numerous other projects over a long career). Technically skilled and exacting, Kim’s sets were a fascinating experience—one I had all too rarely.

While I worked on a number of his X-Files episodes over the years, I’ll never forget the first time I actually spoke with him. I had accidentally (aka completely on purpose) crashed his 50th birthday party. It was the middle of the shooting day, but a party broke out, and as I was working as an extra, I got caught up in the moment (aka left holding area to find out what all the cheering was for). I remember the speech he gave about how much he loved his cast and crew—they were obviously family to him. He talked about how if it were up to him, the show would continue another 8 years because it meant that much to him.

As he was leaving the party to head back to work (we had another 9 hours in front of us), I wished him a happy birthday. He kissed me on the cheek, called me sweetheart, and stopped to talk to me. The conversation itself wasn’t earth shattering—mostly about if I had worked the show before, etc. The only thing that kept running through my head was, “Don’t you know who you are?” Directors don’t talk to extras. I didn’t do a lot of that kind of work, but that’s one thing I definitely knew. And yet there he was.

Eight hours later, I was standing on set with Kim, Gillian, my hot swat guy (damn, what was his name, and why didn’t I pay attention) and her manager, Connie. It was 1am. Everyone was exhausted, and we all knew that there was at least an hour or more to go. Despite all of that, Kim, who undoubtedly had a longer day than any of us, was on the move. The man’s energy was contagious, and with an entertainingly suggestive conversation with Gillian, we were off and running.

That’s how I’ll always remember Kim—a man of boundless energy, enthusiasm and colorful turn of phrase, always exhorting and inspiring people to be better.

The IBG Group has set up a donation page for people who are interested in honoring the man. All donations will be given to the American Lung Association in Kim’s honor:
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/

Perception

Perception is a funny thing (and by funny, I mean evil and wrong). For instance, yesterday, I thought I was doing a gangbuster kind of workout. I pictured myself on the elliptical machine making magic happen. I pictured myself being athletic, svelte, prepossessing, or sweaty-chic.

Then I looked in the mirror.

I’m fairly sure your ass is not supposed to move that way. Seriously, the cellulite undulation was making me seasick. Like any rational person, it just inspired me to work out more.

Oh, wait… no.

It inspired me to stop every activity that could elicit jiggling of any kind. Because really… no one should see that, not even me.


A friend of mine told me a story about a recent trip to Blockbuster. She noticed several people looking at her. She knew she looked good. She was having a “that girl” moment (you know, the fantasy where people are looking at you and whispering “who’s that girl…over there… that charming creature”). At least, that was her perception.

Then she caught her reflection in the window.

Note to self, when you get your brows waxed make sure that all the wax and the bright red marks, from where the technician ripped off your skin, have faded before renting ‘I Want to Believe” at your local video store.


Every day I get up at 5 am for work. Yea. I suppose I could blame the darkness for the ensembles I put together, but that would be a lie. I think I look good when I leave my apartment. I mean, no one is going to mistake me for Gillian Anderson, but people won’t hide their children from me to avoid the horror.

So, why is it that the look that works so well at home before I leave is suddenly ill-fitting and somewhat south of chic when I see my reflection at work?

Perception is deeply misleading.

Then again, maybe reality is really the problem.

Kate

Dream Job

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20090113/od_afp/lifestyleaustraliatourismoffbeat_20090113032028

Let me get this straight. They will pay me a little over $100,000 in order to play on their island? Hmmmm. Clearly the strenuous duties of sunbathing and frolicking are worth that, but I’m missing the catch. As it stands, I do believe I’ve found one of my two or three personal fantasy jobs, so I believe I’ll be getting a plane very soon.

At last a chance to truthfully yell, “You! Off my island”.

The thought of it alone makes me all tingly. It can not be a truly primitive island because you are supposed to do on camera work and web blogging—hello, internet! I already blog, and usually that’s from a place far less glorious than the one pictured there.

Frankly, I giggle at the downside—relatively few people.

Do typhoons hit this island? Is that it? Is there some sort of bomb testing going on next door? Because otherwise, I can’t figure out how there is anything bad about this. Oooooh, unless they don’t have satellite TV, then I can see how that would be a struggle. Also, Dominoes probably doesn’t deliver quite that far. While that’s a shame, it’s not really a deal breaker.

So, it’s been real. I’ll send you a postcard.

What do you mean they might not pick me? How could they not pick me? I mean, I promise not to wear a bikini on camera.

Off to buy more sunscreen.

Kate
Uh… you don’t think there is a smoke monster on this island like there is on “Lost”, do you?

Nicknames

I had a nickname. It was perky. I am not perky.

I had a nickname. It ended in an “I”, although most people who hear the nickname spell it wrong.

I had a nickname that brings to mind cheerleaders, school spirit leaders and the possibility of a role as a Stepford Wife.

I had a nickname that took years to get rid of. My parents still use it, but they are allowed because they named me, so they get a pass.

Shortly after meeting The Ex, I asked him not to use it. Most of my friends were still using it. Most of my professors still used it. But in a conversation in the library, I told him that if he wanted me to answer him, he wouldn’t use it. His response, “I wondered why someone with such a beautiful name would choose to use the nickname”. He never used the moniker again. Maybe that’s the moment I knew that he was going to be a tough one to shake off—not that I didn’t try.

I had a nickname. And now it’s back. It started slowly—a few old friends used it on Facebook. Since I never use it, I didn’t think anything of it. Then a few new friends on other forums spontaneously started to implement it. I thought it was odd, but figured if I kept signing everything with the name I use, they’d get the hint. But now it’s spreading… like a rash.

Grant it, when faced with the drama in the world—disease, famine, flood, struggling economies, the potential re-emergence of parachute pants—this seems like a small thing. It’s just so unexpected. I felt certain that my otherwise taciturn nature would stem the rising threat of perky.

Why is it then that I feel the need to start doing the “Bring It On” cheer?

I’m sexy, I’m cute
I’m popular to boot.

I’m bitchin’, Great Hair
The boys all love to stare

I’m wanted, I’m hot
I’m everything you’re not

I’m pretty, I’m cool
I dominate this school!



Ahem...Evil

Kate
Back, back perkiness!

Shy

I am an incredibly shy person. I know that this can not be a shock to many of you. It sort of fits with the whole “so, I’m a hermit, yeah, yeah” thing I have going on. It’s not so debilitating that I won’t interact at all with other human beings, but it is definitely one of the reasons that I’m not big on making approaches to strangers.

Shyness is a killer for networking. You remember that charity event that I was assisting with in December? Logically, if I saw the guest of honor on the street, I should feel comfortable enough to exchange a greeting with him—particularly since Frank Spotnitz may be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. But I know me. I’d hide from him. I’d assume that I was imposing by approaching him, or that he wouldn’t remember me (well, he does meet a lot of people). How on earth would I go about meeting strangers if I seriously thought about changing careers (and not just becoming a beach bum after I win my many, many millions through the lottery)?

But you know what else gets shut down from shyness? Dating. Thank goodness the people at Yahoo!Personals have provided me with this handy article: Dating 101: Four Ways to Overcome Dating Shyness (http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/87492/dating-101-four-ways-to-overcome-dating-shyness).

According to this article, by admitting that I’m shy, I’m accepting a negative thing about my mindset. They suggest that I say out loud that I am no longer a shy person and that eventually I will grow to believe it if I say it often enough. Yeah, because that works. Much like, “I am a millionaire” becomes accurate if I say it often enough, and David Tennant is heading to the States to sweep a certain friend of mine off her feet if I chant that in a mirror. As an aside, yes, I will definitely start chanting that in a mirror, Pen, just in case I’m wrong.

Item number three in the article tells you to realize that you are not being judged. Really? That’s ridiculous. Of course, you’re being judged. You have the power to not care about an anonymous person’s judgment, but telling yourself that a person, particularly a first date, hasn’t made immediate decisions about you, is delusional. A guy has at least judged whether or not you’re “fun” or a “3rd-dater” (or, as is my case, a “don’t bother”).

The final piece of advice is to just accept who I am—that I am shy because I’m harshly judging myself. Sound, reasoned advice, this one.

But I have a question.

What happens if accepting who I am means accepting that I’m shy?

Kate, pondering the eternal conundrum

P.S. I want you all to know that if I ever do manage to get myself on a proper date, I’ll log into twitter and bring you all along as moral support. That couldn’t possibly go wrong.

The Special Glow

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,475905,00.html

True love last forever—or at least that’s the case being made by a group of scientists in the latest love study. Romance novels (chick lit and harlequin varieties), all those movies and teenage dreams got themselves a bit of validation this week. Although I don’t remember brain scans being involved in any of those Judy Blume books. Perhaps I missed a couple along the way.

They have posited that brain scans indicate that essentially the intensity of the first blush of love can remain in couples decades later. What I need is for scientists to figure out how to get rid of that. Clearly, I’m all for forever love. I’ve had forever love (it just turns out that forever is just slightly shorter than it used to be). But what happens to one of these people if her brain is “oooh, Mr. Darcy” and his brain scan is “see ya”? Is true love only mutual? Does that make her love for him less “true” if both scans aren’t glowing in the dark?

And if she has this “true love” glow about her what the heck happens to her if she now finds herself alone? Does her glow for that long-departed person mean that she’s blocked and can’t glow for someone else—you know, barring radioactivity, of course? Does it only get triggered when she’s in the presence of the other person? So, she’s fine unless on the eve of her dating someone else, she runs into him in the dog food aisle at the grocery store—at which point you can see her from space?

These and a million other probing questions will undoubtedly be in the next study that I will personally fund. No reason. It’s just all about the science for me. Mostly.

Kate