The Past Returns

Someone from my past has found my blog, and I've been expecting this to happen for some time now.

This post is the cause of all the hub-bub. I used the person's full name in the hopes they'd sometime run across it. Dontcha just love Google? Dontcha?

Anyway.

I've had lots of hits lately apparently from people who have recently heard through the grapevine about my little blog.

I deleted the post a few days ago, but I decided to return the original text after much encouragement (kisses to GOP Big Wig and D-Money) to keep my initial post. I also suppose people who are googling intentionally for the post want to see what was said in the first place.

I don't really mean to open a can of worms.

But really.

You can't just crap on someone and actually think you're going to get away with it.

Back In Porkopolis

I am home. Bushed, but home.

I had no idea I'd miss my car as much as I did.

I'll post more when the dust settles and I have some more time.

Cheers.

Mistletoe and Mimosas

Dateline: Connecticut

Kisses and cheers from the mecca of a Quaint Christmas.

Santa apparently thinks Kate has been quite the good girl this year.

Much love to all of you.

I'll report back after my whirlwind trip to the Big Apple (probably around Wednesday or so).

XOXO

Christmas Wish

Me. Sitting with my legs crossed -just so- in a stunning pair of black velvet pants and a v neck wrap top. Hair in an up-do and the most fabulous leopard slingbacks (very pointed toe) on my tootsies.

Sitting at the bar and casually sipping on my dirty martini. Sipping, sipping, sipping.

Hiccup.

The snowflakes flutter by the window as the streetlamps twinkle outside. An old Karen Carpenter Christmas song plays on the background and I sit, staring empty at the tv showing some NBA game I could care less about. I'm just about to dive into one of the olives left on the tooth pick (Stuffed with blue cheese. Score!) when he pulls out the stool two seats away, sliding into the spot at a nondescript, casual speed.

Being that I'm the only other person at the bar, he looks my way and gives me a Hey with one of those little chin lift/nod things that guys do to be cool. I say hello back without much thought and do a double -no- triple take, then quickly bow my head down like in church, just so he doesn't notice that I noticed.

"Can we put it on ESPN? The Bearcats are playing right now," he asks as he sips the Miller Lite the bartender brought him without even asking. I guess he's a regular I start thinking. Why in this neighborhood? Well. I guess people wouldn't care here, would they.

He looks around the place to see if he didn't notice anybody else sitting in a corner or in one of those booths with the high backs.

"You a Bearcats fan?"

I tell him I'm more of a Kentucky kind of girl but I'm always happy to support the hometown team. He nods and concedes he's had a lot going on lately and he hasn't really paid attention to UK's squad.

A lot going on. I'd say.

I don't know what to do. Do I ask him if he's liking California? Do I ask him if he's moving back to town? Do I ask him if it's true what they're saying in the rags?

What I really want to know is how Jessica lost all that weight for the movie, but I know better than to bring up her name. I mean, this is his personal time, in a tiny little corner of the world I happen to be inhabiting, too.

"Last call, guys." We order another round.

He asks me what I do for a living and I make something up because I don't want him to know I'm in the media. It's not like I'm going to run to the bathroom and write everything down on a notepad so I can relay it to People, but still, his finding out I'm in television would be a bad thing.

He tells me his mom lives in Connecticut when I mention I'm from there, and so we start talking about the East Coast versus Cincinnati. He likes home because it has all his old haunts and some of his good friends are still here (even the former boy band singer who ran for mayor).

"But I had a good time in New York too when I was doing some press stuff for The Show."

The Show. Ouch. Glad I wasn't the one to bring it up. He says he really loved Jessica and he was hoping their differences would make them a well rounded couple. I don't tell him that I knew the countdown was on when I saw him cleaning up the pool and fighting the hornet's nest when she was out shopping.

"Time to go guys, pack it up."

I put my coat on and he takes a last swig out of the bottle. We head for the door and for just one brief second we look at each other and I know I am not lonely at all. There's at least one other soul searching for his spot in this crazy world, working to make sure he doesn't mess up.

We walk to our cars and I see that big black Escalade drive away, wondering about what could have been.

Peter Pan Syndrome

I haven't explained this phenomenon, have I?

Sure, you might have read the book by psych author Dan Kiley, but you really have no idea how dangerous a condition this is until you're burned by it.

I've met a couple Peter Pans, boys in all-grown-up bodies with the thoughts and desires and aspirations of those who play with Matchbox cars and drink Capri Sun.

One severe case involves a man who has a great job. He's probably earning close to six figures in a very high profile profession. He wears nothing but the best suits to work and drives around in a fancy German car with two names.

On paper, it seems like he has it all together, but his personal life is quite the opposite. He has every Star Wars movie memorized. He's turned his dining room into his own personal pool hall and he always has a stash of smoky treats on hand.

Patient A likes to wear a baseball cap backwards on his head. His music tastes have yet to evolve from his college selections of Dave Matthews and the Smiths. His food tastes lean towards the frozen pizzas on standby, chips and salsa, or those taquitos you can buy in bulk at Sam's Club.

This man is a lot of fun to be around. He throws caution to the wind, ignores all sense of responsibility and even commits federal crimes (and other crimes that are illegal in several states) from time to time. The trouble is he fails to make the jump to reality when a situation warrants it.

Patient A likes girlfriends. He likes going on dates and hanging around inside. He likes all the entrapments that lead up to a serious relationship (sleepovers, trips to Vegas, fun presents), but his ailment prohibits him from actually cementing any sort of responsible, emotional bond with a woman. He has left several victims in his path, all believing they were going to be able to cure him of his affliction.

I've met a few other victims of this virus. They all have similar symptoms: Dave Matthews, hat on backwards, stockpile of junk food. Usually you can find a Sega or an X Box or something similar in an apartment that has remmants of the Fraternity House.

Steer clear of Peter Pan. He's terminal.

May I have your attention, please?

There are few things in life better than getting a little lovin'.

I'm not necessarily talking about coitus here, more like just a little attention from someone, whether they be family, friend or fiery paramour.

Earlier this week I got some unexpected attention from a nice man I know. Nothing that was tawdry (this guy is married and doesn't seem the trashy, despicable cheating type), just a few compliments and a little innuendo.

And it made me feel pretty good, and I don't know why.

One thing's for certain: I've been stuck in a stagnant kind of doldrum where romance is concerned (except for that lightning night, there's been pretty much nothin'), and I've lately been considering the possibility that the rest of my existence on this globe could be an asexual one.

That's not really okay with me, but hey, a girl's got to make do with the life she's handed.

Thanks to God for double A batteries.

My good, dear friend Bling has said time and again that there's nothing better than a compliment to give someone. It's free, it's pretty simple, and it can do wonders for their disposition.

I was telling D-Money last night that I realize now that I am quite stingy with my compliments. Sometimes I see someone with a pretty bracelet, or I notice someone doing something kind, and I miss my opportunity to toot the horn in someone else's direction.

This is a situation that needs to be rectified. In the mean time, men everywhere: feel free to flirt with me. As long as it's not overtly dirty or suggestive, I'm happy to oblige.

Cheers.

Is Gwen Stefani Having A Baby?

The girls at Go Fug Yourself posted this picture with a little write up suspecting there's a baby on board.

I did a little Google search and couldn't find anything about a special delivery, but I DID find these articles saying she won't put out a second solo album soon.

A connection, perhaps?

Is This The Way To Amarillo?

So soldiers in Iraq can have fun, after all.

This video was all over CBS' morning show this morning (I should know, shouldn't I?)

It's a music video with a bunch of British soldiers dancing around in various stages of dress.

I thought it was pretty funny.

29 and I'm Falling Apart

So. The actual day of my birthday was a blast. Great dinner with a great friend and lots of attention from the good people in my life.

The day after was horrible, but it wasn't my fault, nor was it the Sake Bomb's.

I had a 24 hour flu bug and had to miss out a night of post birthday celebratory drinking with some fun people. Instead I was chained to a bucket (we used to call it the chuck bucket when I was a little girl) and writhed in vain as I battled the shakes and the cold chills/hot flashes.

Yeah, it wasn't fun.

Saturday I ran up to C-bus with D-Money and hung out with her family and our friend Micah. Good time, though my stomach was having a tough time with dinner.

And that's where the problems started.

Five days later, I am still battling a bad stomach ache and have a host of other symptoms I will spare you the description of, but it all boils down to a rudimentary diagnosis that I may have an ulcer.

We'll find out Friday (unless this crippling snow storm is just that) when I have an appointment with the gastroenterologist.

Anyway.

That's where I've been. Stuck to the chuck bucket and downing Maalox (the wild berry kind - tasty) like it's my job.

Birthday Horoscopes for 12/01

The December 1st person is outgoing mainly because of the ruling planet for the day , the Sun. they are individualistic and have the fire of their sun sign and the sun under their belt. Most are financially prudent. they spend a lot of time on their careers. As a mate, the December 1st person has one special love. The mate of this person has to realize that their mate loves to be admired by everyone.

A look ahead; Even a jet needs to land and refuel sooner or later.

Famous Birthdays; Bette Midler, Woody Allen, Richard Pryor, Lou Rawls, Treat Williams, John Densmore (drummer for The Doors), Eric Bloom (Blue Oyster Cult), Gilbert O'Sullivan.

This thing is spot on. Well, except for that financially prudent part.

Dear God, It's Me Kate

So, I am feeling some pressure to get married.

It started weeks, no probably months ago. Most of my friends are married, getting married. Have babies or are having babies. A few years back I could deal with being the honorary Party Girl in the group, but now that most (not all, folks) of the Party has been taken out of the Girl, I am anxious for the next stage I choose this is my choice, afterall to define my existence.

Anyway.

I spoke to a dear friend on Sunday whom I hadn't talked to since October. He's very spiritual and has several, several years on me, so I know I can always count on him for some good advice.

The good Catholic friend he is, he suggested I search online for a good novena. There are millions of patron saints out there, something for just about anything you might need help with. In the past I've found patron saints for mothers, wine, television writers, the State of Kentucky, so naturally I knew there would be at least one for single women.

Actually, I found five.

Saint Andrew. He's the patron saint for all kinds of people like fishermen, Scotland, Russia, single women and gout.

Saint Catherine

Saint Ursula

Saint Vivian is also the patron saint of hangovers (a garden from her grave grew herbs that were said to cure hangovers) and cross dressers. Her feast day is December 2nd. So my birthday is sandwiched in the middle of two patron saints for single women. What does that mean?

St. Anthony isn't really a patron saint for single women, but the ladies in South America have an interesting tradition involving him in the hopes they find a good husband.

In the end, I have decided to try out an epic 25 day novena in the hopes I get what I want. The novena is to St. Andrew. Don't know whether it will work, however, I thought it was especially eery that his feast day was November 30th (the day I started searching for a novena).

Tag, You're It

Micah tagged me. So now I've got to turn around and tag five of y'all.

Here are the rules.

1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Post the fifth sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same thing.

Here's said sentence:

I am so anxious for that period in my life when I get to have children.

It comes from this post quite a while back.

I must admit, it's a nice opportunity to go back and look through all the stuff I've written more than a year ago.

I'm tagging Michael, Michele, Cheers,

And funny: the sentence is still spot on.

Thank God patience is a virtue I was blessed with.

Starbucks, Red Bull and Memories

Right now my newscast is in the middle of a network break, so I'll steal away a few minutes to recap the weekend.

Went down to Hot Lanta to see the family after the Thanksgiving holiday (remember, I had to work on the actual day of. I've gotten used to it, but that doesn't mean I like it.)

What was a 6.25 hour drive down south snowballed into an 8 hour trip back across the Mason Dixon line. Sure, that 45 minute stop at the outlets in GA was all my fault, but I send out a very special thanks to the mad crazy drivers in Chattanooga and Knoxville for their own brand of hellraising, four-wheelin'-slammin'-on-the-brakes kind of driving.

People, let's keep the Nascar bad ass driving on the track.

I can't believe I made it home safely. Aside from all the road raging through the Volunteer State, I was just beat. I owe my safe arrival home to a nonfat vanilla latte and several sugar free Red Bulls.

Anyway.

SO. I missed out on my 10 year high school reunion this past weekend. I read a recap on a former classmate's blog and it made me think about how much I've changed since back in the day. Months ago I speculated as to whether were actually going to have a reunion. My best pal from high school and I met up in August to have our own celebration, but our early jump on the festivities left us to miss out on catching up with our other classmates.

I guess I'll just have to wait until the 15th reunion.

Time has been pretty good to me; I've become more confident, more established, and the pictures don't lie: I look a whole lot better than I used to.

It would be nice to see how well everyone else is doing.

Sheryl Crow Sez: Good Is Good

Who knew search engines made so much money?

This website is a search engine that lets you point and click your way to whatever you're looking for, all while making mad money for your favorite charity.

Right now I am alternately searching to benefit the University of Kentucky Alumni Association and my high school in Connecticut.

Ahead, I want to help out MADD and a few other personal interests.

Hoping to Stay Warm In Hot-lanta

Folks, I'll be leaving shortly for the much anticipated trip to see my family this weekend.

I just can't tell you how excited I am. Haven't seen my sister, Mary Bee, since June. Haven't seen her husband, 6'6", since last Christmas.

It's been months since I've seen my parents and youngest sister, as well.

Naturally you can understand why I am so anxious and excited...

Have a great weekend, y'all, and I'll report back on Monday.

Cheers.

Warhol Lives

I just came across this website this morning in the Cincinnati Enquirer.

Photowow can do just about anything with your favorite photo, including turning it into your own, colorful version of the classic Marilyn Monroe pop art poster.

I would love to have one of these of me, but I must admit that would be a bit narcissistic.

Oh well, maybe I'll reserve the idea for a time I have nieces and nephews.

Hollywood For Sale

You can buy the Hollywood sign.

All you need is 300 grand and some storage space.

The original letters are up for auction on Ebay, the perfect Christmas gift for that drama queen you know who has big dreams of making it in Hollywood.

RIP Newlyweds: 2002 - 2005

The AP is reporting that Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson have finally split.

As a longtime fan of the Newlyweds reality show, I am mourning this completly unexpected breaking news.

That said, I am happy to welcome this Cincinnati boy back to the Queen City and nurse him to better spirits.

Nick: I can cook, I can clean, and I will have your babies.

Oh, and I love Cincinnati Chili and Graeters.

1-2-3 Sake Bomb

This blog has a nice write up on Sake Bomb (plus some pretty pictures) , which is where I want to go to celebrate my birthday.

It's a hip sushi bar that prides itself on serving the Japanese version of an Irish Car Bomb. Which gets me wondering, is 29 an appropriate birthday to drink like you're 21?

-------
My long time readers (and those who are close to me) know I took a break from The Drink about two years ago and only picked it up last Christmas. Those 389 days gave me a lot to think about and realize where I checked in on the Scale of Maturity.

My stock in that department continues to rise, and I guess that's the way things should be.

I was talking to a friend of a friend a week ago about turning 29. She told me she spent a better part of the year between 29 and 30 in a drunken stupor, and though I can identify with that kind of lifestyle, I have to admit it doesn't sound all that fun at this age.

There's something about pissing away (literally) your money that doesn't jive with my new We Will Be Fiscally Responsible mantra. And all that alcohol can really take a toll on the bags under your eyes, your brain and your waistline. Believe me, I know.

That said, I am pretty hell bent on having a good time for my birthday. Scheduling conflicts aside (you know... that whole living life as a vampire thing), I am looking for at least a little bit of revelry next weekend. I am heading out of town Saturday, so that means all my partying is going to have to happen on Thursday (the actual day of said birthday) and Friday.

I can already hear the echos of my liver cursing me, reverberating from the future.

So, what does 29 mean, anyway? That question has been dancing in my brain over the past few days as I cruise around listening to some beautifully melancholy music (thank you, Micah). If 21 is getting over drunkenness and 24 is learning how to be financially responsible, I would have to say 29 is being comfortable in your own skin.

I've learned a lot over the past two years about who I really am. I'm a misunderstood, shy person who uses a veil of confidence and humor to confront situations I feel uneasy in. I am an introvert hiding in gregarious clothing. I like reading books but am often times too lazy (or engrossed) to turn off the tv. I rebel against years of hospital corners and neatly folded clothing by living like my bedroom is a walk in closet without shelves or hangers.

I think 29 means you know who your good friends are, and yet you are successful at playing nice with those who won't be on your Christmas Card list 10 years from now. 29 means only really caring about how those good friends percieve you, and not really putting too much stock into what others say about you when your back is turned. I am loyal to my best of friends (sometimes to a fault) and would walk through fire to be with or talk to my family. There's nothing I love more than my family.

29 means being content with the direction your life is traveling, appreciating the bumps and bruises you've weathered through the journey, and yet knowing there's still plenty of time to circle the wagons and head for greener pastures.

So far, I'm heading into 29 thinking life has been pretty damn good to me, and that every day is a gift from God.

I guess 29 also means you're allowed to drink like you're 21 on occasion, only at this age you are aware of the consequences and have no one to blame but yourself the next morning.

Cheers.

Secret Santa

It's Secret Santa time.

Click on that link to go to a website to get people you don't even know to buy you a present.

The catch is, you have to buy them something, too.

Basically, they hook someone else (a blogger or some other sprited folk) to your Amazon Wish List. You can't ask for that diamond solitare you've always wanted or a really cool Peavey electric guitar.

Your list has to be more like CDs, candles and other affordable things.

Here's mine, in case you're curious.

The Modern Day Cyrano de Bergerac

The following was the start of my email from Daily Candy:

Love letter:

Draft 1:Your lips are like roses; your eyes, stars. You taste like cheese, the kind you put on nachos. I want to devour you.

Draft 2:I love you like sunshine, draft beer, and breasts. Big breasts.

Draft 3:I feel so close to you. You remind me of my mother. Can we have sex soon?

I think Draft 2 would work best on me, if I had to pick one.

The email was actually plugging a website that will write a letter for any hard to express sentiment or occasion.

Jinkies.

Thanksgiving for 2

My best gal pal D Money and I are homeless for Thanksgiving. That's pretty much par for the course in our line of work, and we've both become accustomed to missing out on those monumental holidays with the family. This time though, things will be a little different.

We're trying our own hand at cooking dinner.

I think I might have to put the fire department on speed dial just in case, but should everything work out as planned (and why shouldn't it?), here's what's on the menu:

Turkey breast (I am not quite ready to try a whole bird)
Mashed potatoes
a green veggie of D's choosing
Cranberry sauce
Stuffing with oysters
Derby Pie

Oh, and the wine. How can I forget the wine. Mulled, chilled, or breathing: we're going to have it all.


This should be interesting.

Back To This Whole Death Thing...

I was sitting on my good friend D Money's couch last night knitting and pearling when I started telling her about how I have this feeling I'm going to die.

I guess that's not really breaking news as last time I checked I am an organic being and have a shelf life of 85 or 90 (I have really good genes, and the grandparents lasted quite (at least one is still kicking at 85. The other three were pretty destructive in regards to smoking or alcohol (or both) and all managed to make it to their 80s). That said, lately I've had this nagging feeling it's going to happen soon, and I don't know how I feel about that.

Okay, let me first say I really don't know where all this darkness came from, although a looming birthday and the recent discovery a high school classmate has passed (from colon cancer of all things) could be the seeds of this latest pondering.

I guess I was kind of weirded out when I realized that I was going to see all of my very best friends this past weekend. Kind of odd considering they're as far flung as Texas and all but one have jobs and children (read: very, very busy women). I was beginning to wonder whether God gave me this weekend as an opportunity to say goodbye. Gosh, I hope not... it was just all a little eery for my pretty run-of-the-mill life.

I was driving back to Cincinnati from Lexington when I started thinking about how blessed my life is. I've had a great time on this little planet, and I sure hope I get to see more than a few more rotations around the Sun. That said, if God tapped on my shoulder today, I know I can say with complete honesty and contentment that life has been pretty good to me.

Okay, sorry for all the deep talk on mortality. On to something more shallow like trolling the Coach website or something.

Friday Feast

From this good meme blog

Appetizer
When do you feel impatient?
I am a pretty laid back person. I've figured out there are few things in life to really get riled up about. That said, I get pretty impatient when I've spent a lot of time and energy making plans for a group of people and everyone ends up trampling all over them.

Salad
How many times in your life have you had a broken heart?
Four times. You can read about the worst time here.

Soup
Name a book you would like to see made into a movie.
The book I'm writing. Seriously, Garlic & Sapphires is hilarious and has great recipes. I don't do as much reading as I used to, and this book was a delicious way to spice up my free time.

Main Course
If you could thank one teacher for what they taught you, who would it be and what would you thank them for?
I'd have to thank Mr. Heifetz for showing me it's alright to be passionate about what you believe in... and also giving me a great appreciation for the written word.

Dessert
What is your favorite kind of pie?
Oh, this one's easy. Derby Pie. This recipe is pretty close to my own, though I use a homemade crust and am pretty heavy handed with the chocolate chips.

Sulking In My Living Room

I am getting really bummed about my birthday. Today I'm two weeks away from turning 29 (although I have already started lying to all the boys in the bars), and I really don't know how I feel about that.

Pluses:
My skin looks great despite my age
Making more money than I ever have
Living in a great neighborhood in a good city
I have WONDERFUL friends
I am single and get to do whatever I damn well want to do.

Minuses:
I have more than a couple pounds to lose and am worried about my metabolism
I am apprehensive about being a Grown Up and buying my own house
I really don't have as much time as I used to and can't dick around with my career
I am single. Single single single single single. The clock is ticking and I am worried.

At any rate. I am dragging my feet on celebrating this one.

D Money wants to have a conference today to talk about the pending fete, but more and more I am leaning towards a night in with a movie and my favorite threesome: Me hot and heavy in the middle of Ben and Jerry.

That wouldn't do much for my #1 minus, would it?

At any rate. I am pretty blue about the looming 29. I want to buy a crown for myself (I'm normally not the princess type, but I agree a birthday is a perfect occasion to revere yourself as royalty), but other than that I just don't want to crawl out from under the covers December 1st.
If you have any suggestions to perk up my disposition or ideas for a great birthday party (please, no Pin The Tail On The Donkey), I am all ears and boobs.

I do have four days to party though, as the weekend directly after is a four day break for me.

Oh the possibilities.

The Silent Patriot

WARNING: This is very political. I hope y'all will still like me now that I've come clean with some of my opinions. KTG

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't have any of those yellow ribbon magnets on my car.

I don't wear a flag pin on my coats and I usually don't engage people in political debates, but that doesn't make me any less of an American, or a patriot for that matter.

Yesterday was the first time I was overcome with patriotism in quite a while, and it was quite by accident.

***
My apartment has horrible cell reception. This summer I took up the habit of sitting on my front porch when I wanted to have long chats with friends and family, as well as any occasion considered important business. Yesterday was a fairly balmy day considering it was Mid November. Temps in the high 60s and only a mild wind. I had to talk to the bank about some issues regarding the deposit of my paycheck, and I decided to step outside to ensure the conversation wouldn't be dropped by one of those dreaded satellites overhead.

That's when I was reminded of what day it was.

Ohio has lost an unfortunate number of service men and women to fighting in Iraq. One such sacrifice was made by Captain Tyler Swisher of Mariemont. The 35 year old died last month when a roadside bomb exploded near his vehicle, tossing him into a nearby canal. My job has given me the opportunity to read and write about Captain Swisher and the life that was cut short overseas. He sounded like a great family man who had a deep dedication to America.

Anyway.

I was on the phone with the bank when I saw lights on the firetruck whirling around and the crowd gathering at the funeral home across the street. I had written about the memorial days earlier but somehow it escaped my memory until I saw the riderless horse and the Marines in their dress blues. I closed my cell phone and walked along the sidewalk until I could see the hearse. Suddenly my veins started pounding with a pride for this young man, a sadness that he'll never see the sun set again, and an anger tied to the questions surrounding the reasons for the war.

The memorial procession had a couple mile course until it made it to Captain Swisher's church. I decided to follow along the way for a while, sort of paying homage to this great American hero. Others were standing on the sidewalk, coming out of bars and shops to take off their hats and bow their heads. The police on motorcycles, the cops on horseback, the parade of cars with the little funeral flags waving made their way down Madison Road, it was all very somber and dramatic at the same time. Once they passed Saint Cecilia's church a bell rang out. That low, deliberate resonance sliced through the silence every five seconds or so, drawing the tears and determined anger out of my soul. Little school children stood outside the church, wearing their uniforms and waving American flags.

I walked back to my apartment thinking my problems pale in comparison to the family left behind by Captain Swisher. He leaves behind a wife and three children, having paid the ultimate price for a war I don't understand. I'm not completely convinced we're being told the full reason why we sent 20 thousand men to Iraq.

All I know is one silenced patriot has reminded another silent patriot of her pride for the sacrifices overseas. I am proud I live in a nation where I can question our government. I am proud I have a choice when it comes to electing our leaders. I am proud I have an opportunity to voice a need for change.

Thin, And Licensed To Kill

Props to this man who went on a MAJOR diet to serve our country.

And to think, I only want to go on a diet to keep my lumps in shape.

Who Knew I Was Such a Funny Girl

I wouldn't be able to type this guy's name without cutting and pasting.

T.J. H-O-U-S-H-M-A-N-D-Z-A-D-E-H is a wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals.

He's really hot. Trust me, this picture doesn't do him justice.

Anyway. My filthy filter was broken at work today.

I said:

"He can score a touchdown in my end zone anyday."

I think I surprised my co-workers, considering I'm a pretty "down to business" kind of gal at work.

All Dressed Up and No Place To Go But Hell

So, I was having a morbid thought the other day.

Forgive me, but sometimes I dwell on my own mortality. I don't know if that makes me in tune with my humanity or just very morose. At any rate, I decided I don't have anything to wear to my own funeral.

Should I die today, my mom would be left in quite a predicament.

I have a great black dress, but it's sleeveless, and I operate on the rule of thumb that less is more when it comes to exposing the flesh of a dead body.

I could go with the casual look (my jeans, a nice Banana Republic, black wool sweater and some boots) but I don't know that I want to spend all eternity looking like I'm gearing up for a round at the neighborhood watering hole.

The dress I wore in my sister's wedding is stunning. Navy blue silk with a darling blue and white gingham sash, but again, that whole showing skin thing comes into play. I have another bridesmaid dress that could be pulled in to the equation, but I have to say it's just hideous. Though that would be punishment enough for my worldly sins, I'm going to have to neg that choice.

Perhaps I could go with my Halloween costume. Blue Saran Wrap is the best way to preserve chicken breast, how about dead breast?

I can't believe I spent a good 20 minutes on my couch thinking about this dilemma. I guess I just can't die any time soon.

Excuse me, I have a question...

Actually a few. Feel free to answer the ones you want to.

Would you rather be (or be with, for the boys) the the girl with the pretty face and the curvy body, or the girl with the rockin' bod and the fugly face?

Would you rather have the worst house on the best street or the best house on the worst street?

What's on your top five list of things to do this lifetime?

Do you already know what your future childrens' (those that haven't been concieved) names are?

What is in your fridge right now?

Has God ever shown you a sign? What was it?

I could keep cranking these out all day long...

These Boots Are Made For Walking

And running and dancing and skipping and biking and twisting and scuffing and trudging.

I heart these boots.

Macy's has these boots on sale for $62 (as opposed to Coach's original 90 bucks), but there's a pair I want even more (the Coach multi-colored Scribble pattern) that's up for full price.

Maybe they'll be an early birthday present.

My Life As Bridget Jones

So. I've often revered myself as the American version of Bridget Jones, the professional woman struggling with being a singleton and the antics of dating.

Saturday Night I had a complete Bridget moment.

I went to a smashing (from here on in, read this post with a British accent, love) party with a bunch of blokes I didn't even know. My chum D Money has a flat in the same building as the chap who was throwing the soire, and she was invited after meeting him in the lift. Most of the guests worked in the Cincinnati branch of a company based in Merry Old London, so lots of the people there had ace British accents.

The party was a sort of gathering for a bunch of bloody drunkards. Everyone downing shots of vodka, lots of beer and all sorts of fab drinks. No real wankers there, but I did meet one great chap while puffing on a couple fags.

His name was Ben and he was the closest thing I'd ever seen to Hugh Grant. He had these wicked blue eyes and great, thick hair. Ben dressed in that hip Euro style you see in all the mags. Lots of black clothes and a great smile (I was surprised about the nice teeth).

Ben and I went out for another smoke around 4 am, just the two of us. My buzz was wearing off, and I could tell Ben was far from blotto, so I was a bit gobsmacked when he planted a big kiss on my lips.

We went back up to the host's flat and noticed everyone had cleared out of there, so I offered to drive Ben back to his place.

And what a place he had.

The cushy diggs are on a hill overlooking the Ohio River. After I got the nickel tour, Ben showed me the door to the patio overlooking the scenic spot. I was handed a gin and tonic and Ben and I sunk into the chairs and talked about our families, our passions and our respective life histories. Every once in a while he'd lean over and kiss me. It was just smashing, I tell you, especially when the storm started rolling in and the rain was pouring down, complete with thunder and lightning bolts.

I remember thinking My gosh. I'm never going to forget this night for as long as I live. The whole time my mind was racing Am I wearing good underwear? How long was it until I shaved my legs? Do I smell too much like smoke? Oh my gosh I have to go to the bathroom. Does he really fancy me?

It was a true Bridget Jones moment, indeed.

Then we moved in to his living room to nestle in on his big, L shaped, black leather couch. Ben started playing a game of truth or dare (we both stuck to the truths) and snogged a little bit (okay, a lot) while Michael Jackson's greatest hits spun in Ben's DVD player. It turns out even British guys love to beat it.

I don't think we went to sleep until around 7 or so. My clothes stayed on, love, so I don't have anything too juicy to report. I must say though, I was ready to shed it all each time he looked into my eyes and said, complete with that sexy British accent "God, you're stunning."

Like I've said before, there's nothing better than giving or getting a compliment. They're free to give and can make a person feel amazing.

We finally settled in on sleeping around 9 I think, finally waking up around noon. I was completely knackered all day Sunday.

Ben and I exchanged cards and we made loose plans to perhaps see Jarhead. I'll keep you all posted on most of the details.

Cheers.

For All You Men Who Have Ever Had A Crush On A Cheerleader...

It turns out you might have some competition from inside the squad.

Long story short: two brute Carolina Panther cheerleaders are facing charges for getting into a bathroom brawl at a Tampa bar. Apparently witnesses say the two women wouldn't leave a bathroom stall because they were having sex with each other.

Here's another story link with pictures of the accused.

I know women have a reputation for going to the bathroom in pairs, but I have to say, at least for me, it's just for the conversation.

Another thanks to Curly Girl for the heads up on this story.

The Men I've Loved: Thomas

Love leaves us with deep marks on our hearts.

They're like little well warn paths of memories that sometimes become exposed again by a familiar scent, a well known tune or another unforgettable experience.

For me, Better Than Ezra, Garbage and U2 sends memories of Thomas rushing through my veins.

My heart used to beat faster at the thought of seeing him. Oh, how I remember laying on my bed, going through my mental catalogue of clothing, hoping the night's selection would be the style to send him rushing into my arms.

It sounds silly, I know. But when you love someone as much as I loved Thomas, pretty much every waking, conscious thought has a Kevin-Bacon-six-degrees-of-separation connection to that person.

I'm surprised some people didn't call in the doctors to have us surgically removed. For a long while, wherever Thomas went - I went. Whenever I needed a date, Thomas was the obvious choice. He was hilarious, uber-intelligent and a lot of fun.

We met when I was interning at my first TV station. He was a tape editor showing me the ropes, getting me ready for my own jump at slicing and dicing beta tape. Thomas was an unlikely crush for me: I like my guys manly, masculine and towering, and Thomas was kind of on the shrimpy side. I don't mean to say he was a shrinking violet, but at about 5'10" and maybe 140 pounds, he wasn't exactly the kind of guy I could see suiting up to be on O Line. That's the way I like my guys. But I digress.

Thomas was so damn funny. From great jokes and impressions, he always made me laugh. I felt like I could totally be myself around him, which was a refreshing change from so many other crushes I'd had in my life.

I spent the night over at Thomas' place a million times, sometimes in the same bed, and nothing happened. There were times I was piss poor drunk at his house and nothing happened. This speaks volumes about two possibilities, one I know for certain: Thomas is a man of impeccable character.

I remember New Years Eve 2000. I was so drunk that I planted a massive smack on his lips while fireworks blasted overhead in Lexington's Cox Street Parking Lot. The kiss got a luke-warm reception but I was pretty much too crocked to either notice or care.

But I started caring later.

The trouble with love is it has a way of becoming overgrown and out of control if left unattended, and that was exactly the problem Thomas and I had. He knew I loved him, I knew I loved him, but neither of us wanted to confront the fatty, white elephant in the corner. It was just too uncomfortable a conversation for us to broach.

I can admit it now. I became borderline obsessive. I was jealous. It drove me crazy when Thomas showed even the slightest bit interest other girls. He eventually left the tv station and went to law school, taking on a whole new bunch of friends I had no connection to, no knowledge of, no relationship with. It hurt me to be filled with so much love for a person and have it completely left by the wayside for the unfamiliar.

After a dozen crying episodes (mostly precipitated by alcohol, mind you) and half as many heart-to-hearts, Thomas and I had an unspoken agreement to essentially part ways.

In an interesting twist, about six months ago I moved to the city Thomas now calls home. In fact, his home is almost smack-dab behind my apartment.

We've seen each other (because of a mutual friend) a half dozen times in the two and a half years we "separated," but we had our first, great reacquainting a couple weeks ago. The possibility of lunch was even floated out there.

To this day, I love Thomas. I don't think there's enough rubber to erase the memories, the fondness, the past of such a deep relationship. But I'm not in love with him. I've learned through the grapevine there are some good reasons that make me feel better about my unrequited love. I guess it's a small consolation for the lump of rejection I carried around in my heart for years and years and years.

Thomas did leave me with something to be thankful for. I learned that humor is a key piece of enduring love. Thanks to Thomas, I know the one person I spend the rest of my life with is in for some pretty damn good times.

Do You Think The Flatscreen Will Fit In My Carry-on Bag?

I love a good trip.

The lights, the smells, the exciting sensations, it all sounds like heaven to me. Even the interesting conversation with strangers while on the plane.

Right now I'm entertaining sugarplum dreams of my next excursion out of dodge. I know I'll be making another sojourn to Vegas in August (you all are invited, especially you, Bad Mother F*cker). I'm also planning a trip somewhere in April. Italy has been put on the backburner until my traveling companion and I have more green in our pockets (or find a sugardaddy who would like to spend time with two beautiful blondes), but we've considered ideas as far flung as South Beach, Napa Valley and Madison, Connecticut (home, sweet home).

Anyway.

Before I decide where to go, there are all kinds of traveling tips to consider. The following suggestions are from a daily newsletter I get. Daily Candy has great tips, especially for chicks, on everything from beauty to travel to food. Three things me likes.

Enjoy the tips, and here's my own advice: Only take the shampoo/conditioner/lotion bottles. If you stash them in your bags daily, housekeeping will replenish. It's a major score if they have a fancy schmancy brand like Gilchrist and Soames (at Monte Carlo in Vegas).

Travel: Cheap Tricks

The most annoying thing about traveling? The bill. (And malaria. And avian flu.) Not that you should put a price tag on the experience. Because though you might stare at the unworn $700 Narciso pants in your closet, you’ll never regret that madcap weekend in Reykjavik.
But you can make it cheaper. We asked some savvy travelers (and Dad) for their money-saving secrets.

Here are the top ten:
1. Never change money at exchange counters. (Fees are outrageous.) Get cash from the ATM, but do it as infrequently as possible to avoid multiple international bank fees.
2. The $1.69 bottle of water at the corner store costs triple at the airport and quintuple at the hotel. Stock up at local markets.
3. Or pack ahead. Energy bars, trail mix, and Emergen-C packets to keep energy up and calories down. This prevents you from a) calling room service at 3 a.m. when your body wants dinner, b) stopping for overpriced lunch, c) ruining your miserable diet.
4. If the hotel offers free breakfast, eat up. (As Dad used to say, “This is it for today, kids!”) And slip some bread into your bag for later.
5. Never order room service, use the hotel’s laundry, or call out on the hotel phone. Unless you really hate your money.
6. Use your cell but beware roaming charges. It might be cheaper to rent a phone locally.
7. Take public transportation to and from the airport (plan ahead), use all-day public transportation passes (cheaper, and usually faster, than cabs), and walk (best way to see the town).
8. Use and abuse nice hotels. If you’re presentable, you can walk in, use the bathrooms, load up on beauty samples, and use their free Internet.
9. Really befriend a local so you won’t have to stay at a hotel the next night.
10. Pretend it’s your birthday. You just might get free dessert.

The following tips, on the other hand, are money-saving, sure, but also vaguely criminal and scummy. (Hey, it takes all kinds.)

“I buy the cheapest thing I can find at the best store before I go home. Once I’m back, I buy an exotic-looking trinket and put it in the bag from the store, giving the impression I bought a much nicer gift.”

“A fancy friend checks into nice hotels, stashes the robe in her bag, and calls the front desk to complain that there’s no robe so they bring up another one.”

“I consider anything that isn’t nailed down in my hotel room a ‘gift’ from the management for my patronage.”

“Find hair in your food or, even better, glass. Meal will be free. Guaranteed.”

Here’s hoping your wad is tighter, your shoestring shorter, your wallet heavier, and your trails happier. (You’re on your own for flu prevention.)

Num, num, num

A meme from Friday's Feast

Appetizer
What was the last game you purchased?
I bought the 90s version of Trivial Pursuit for my sister and brother-in-law. I challenge anyone to a duel of Trivial Pursuit...

Soup
Name something in which you don't believe.
Racism and hate

Salad
If you could choose a television personality to be your boss, who would you pick?
Oh wow.
So many choices, but maybe I would go with Lexington newsman Tom Kenny... one of my favorite co-workers of all time. Great news judgment, great delivery and great impressions. He has a very kind heart.

As for someone famous, I think I would pick Oprah. I mean, come on, that place has got to be a ball.

Main Course
What was a lesson you had to learn the hard way?
That showing dead bodies on television is never good.

Dessert
Describe your idea of the perfect relaxation room.
Sinatra playing, a few scented candles, dim lighting and a good glass of red wine.

Oh, and maybe a handsome man to talk to.

Home, But Not

This past weekend I had an unusual experience I had been dreaming about for months.

I crossed over the threshold of my home.

The lighting fixtures were the same, and the powder room (does your mom call it that, too?) was in the familiar spot, but there was hardwood where there had once been carpet and the wallpaper was unfamiliar.

I think I was secretly harboring a wish that the moment I entered 8757 Appleseed Drive I would be transported back to a time when I was more innocent, my parents were younger and we were all closer.

My childhood home is on the market in Cincinnati. It has been for several months now (from back in April? May?) and I have long wished for a chance to see the place where Kate began. My parents built the subdivision home (I think it was one of seven floorplans offered; ours was called the Evergreen) back in 1982 when I was six years old. We moved there from the arctic cool (both in respect to the weather and our nearby relatives) of Minneapolis for a job transfer and the dreams of a happy home.

And happy it was.

Sunday, I stepped across the threshold and half hoped the door swung wide open would reveal three little girls dancing around their father as he hung the highest of Christmas ornaments. Or a mom painstakingly seasoning (yes, painstakingly) the pumpkin seeds freshly scooped out of the family of gourds waiting eagerly for darkness on the front porch.

But no. My visions of the past came to a screeching halt when I was smacked in the face by the unfamiliar, less attractive (I suppose I'm biased) changes of today. Beautiful, antique looking bathroom mirrors were replaced by something you'd find in the halls at Wal-mart. My mom's special wainscoting in the dining room was still up, but her impeccable color choice of Wedgwood blue had been replaced by the most drab of institutional white.

To be honest, I'm pretty surprised I didn't cry when making it to my old bedroom.

The haven of my youth, the one spot I felt free and safe and hidden from the realities of growing up had been turned into a trashy jungle. My azure blue paint and beautiful Laura Ashley border (Simplicity on paper, I tell you. It featured blue and white ribbons with little olive branches here and there.) Had been replaced by what I like to call Simba In A Strip Bar. All over leopard print wallpaper with a border running about waist high with a big, pink flower print. Just hideous. It kind of hurt me to see the once shrine of my childhood, the spot where I used to hide under my covers with a flashlight and my Nancy Drews, turned into such an ugly spot.

And by the way, why the hell would someone take the two sliding closet doors off the track? Who wants their closet so out in the open?

I can't even do the description to my sister's room justice. It was something of a cross between a space ship landing and and acid trip. It even had metal tubing across the top of the window, to act as a kind of valance for the curtains. Hideous times two.

I can only guess two children slept in these respective rooms, and while I imagine they had pleasant times in their little creative havens, the unique decorating choices are going to have to be tamed down if they want to move that house (like I said, it's been on the market since Spring).

Looking back on it, I was glad I got to go back to the old house, even if for the chance to see some truly, uh, creative decorating techniques. Honestly though, it wasn't like going back to my old house. It was like checking out a house that had a similar floor plan.

Before I left, I looked one last, long look out the back window to a now overgrown hill that was once our sledding spot. I remember my Dad and my sister and I playing Train out there with our sleds, working up a good sweat before coming in to cocoa and homemade cookies.

I said goodbye to the foursquare of concrete in the driveway where I used to play ball, where I learned to ride my bike, where I used to collect lightning bugs, where I had my first kiss.

I glanced at the bush in the front yard I dented when I tried to sit on it after a snowstorm (the dent has somehow filled out), and the two trees I helped my dad plant when I was nine or ten, two trees that now tower over the front yard.

It was a very Grovers Corners moment in my life, no doubt. At least in my version I know I get to make more memories somewhere else.

What Ever Happened To Feathers and Chocolate Sauce?

I've had bad breakups.

I've had bad boyfriends.

But I've never had (what could be) such ruthless revenge as this woman in Pittsburgh. Watch the video if your computer lets you.

Superglue and satin sheets do not good bedfellows make.

And boys, you might cringe a little bit when you hear about the only solution the nurses at the hospital had to help the guy out.

*Special thanks to Curly Girl for the heads up on this great story.

Martha, Martha, Martha

From Yahoo! News:

After serving five months in jail for lying about a 2001 stock sale, which was followed by nearly six months of house arrest, the lifestyle guru Martha Stewart says she feels resilient.

"I have learned that I really cannot be destroyed."

Kate sez: Hubris what?

Read the rest of the article here, including how she thought she was going to fire The Donald off his Apprentice hit.

Thanks to A Socialite's Life for the heads up.

ps: Truth be told, Kate's turned a corner on Martha. Something about the prison sweats... it seems like it softened her up. I cringe while admiting I actually TiVo both her shows.

Today's Horoscope

Sagittarius:

Financial problems are masking other problems.
Look beyond the money, and see what you gain
from the financial excuse. If you're afraid to try,
now is the time to admit it.

Hmm. That's some food for thought in my hungry world...

Three People Away From Scooter Libby

I just learned that if I were playing the Washington version of The Kevin Bacon Game, I'm only three people away from Scooter Libby. Well, three people away from Scooter, Karl, Dick and the whole gang 'o cronies.

Apparently the senior FBI agent in the whole Plamegate investgation lives in my hometown.

Jack Eckenrode is Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald's right hand man in the drama. Several years ago he was the head of the FBI in New Haven, and he's quickly climbed up the ladder of agent prominence and is now overseeing the whole fiasco inside the beltway.

My dad called me up Friday and was like "Hey. That Eckenrode guy standing next to Fitzgerald. I had a long talk with him at a graduation party we went to for your sister and some of her friends."

Apparently the guy has a son who graduated with my youngest sister.

Kind of trips my trigger.

Bwwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!

Shopping List

Temporary fangs $7.00
Window pane hose (like fishnets but bigger holes) $14.00
A roll of blue saran wrap $5.00
A few body sequins $9.00
Fake nose piercing $4.00


Seeing Kate on Halloween: Priceless

...Oh, And One Of Those Schwinns With The Cool Streamers

Dear Birthday Fairy,

Hi, it's been a while since we've talked... but seeing as you're going to be visiting me soon, I figure I'll drop you a little ditty giving you a heads up on what I'd like.

I really liked the moose flannel PJs you sent my way a few years ago, but I don't think anything with cartoon figures is really appropriate for any woman kissing the final moments of her 20s, don't you?

I heart the above sweater. I found it on a website... It's called a "swancho" and it can be worn, like, a gazillion different ways. The boys (as in lefty Woodward and righty Bernstein) and I size up to be a large. Just an idea.

Other things on my birthday list:

A box of condoms. Nope, I really don't have many uses for 'em, but there's nothing like being prepared should I hit the motherload of lovin'.

A subscription to Esquire or GQ. I'd like a glimmer of some insight into what men are looking for. I've done it all, I've been it all. The only thing I haven't been is attached to someone wanting a real commitment.

A bag of 20s. This one comes highly recommended by my Honorary Big Sis. After years asking for it, she finally got one for Christmas. I figure, there's no time like the present to ask for some cold, hard cash.

Lip collagen. I've been using that special lip gloss (Pump 'Em Up by Sugar, if you must know) that gives my kisser a "stung by a bee" look. It works alright for about 15 minutes... then my lips look their usual self (my bottom lip is naturally a bit pouty, but the top could use a boost.) I hear guys go for the DSL look, so maybe a shot in lips is in order. Note to self: Tell doctor to stop before we get to the Goldie Hawn stage. Courtesy letterman.iscool.com

I think I'd also like a live-in maid. I don't really have a spot for them to live, really, but I do generate enough of a mess to warrant the frequent attention. I've got a comfortable pull-out couch said maid could sleep on in between giving his or her (but preferably his) undivided attention to the dishes in my kitchen sink and the walk in closet that my bedroom has become. I really think I'm on to a new decorating style, what with all the clothing that covers my carpet like, well, a carpet. This live-in maid would have to survive on the scraps of food in my refrigerator and pantry and would never expect some kind of weekly, living wage. Oh, and any other "relations" would be considered a fringe benefit.

So, Birthday Fairy. These are just a few of my ideas. You've got plenty of time to round it all up before December 1st.

In the meantime, I'll be waiting, lips perfectly puckered in anticipation of their shot.

re: Pumpkinville

Hi Kate,
Mom reminded me that I used to call you "pumpkin" when we lived in Charlotte and you were very young. The people at S*********, the company I worked for at the time, remarked that I referred to my daughter as my pumpkin too. The secretaries thought that was pretty cute because they had not heard anyone refer to their kids as pumpkins before. One Sunday we were on a ride down near Greenville, SC, and we drove by a sign on a two lane road that said "Pumpkinville." I had a camera with me and I stopped the car and Mom took a picture of me standing next to the sign of "Pumpkinville." I think I was holding you in my arms and I sent a copy of the picture to S*********. They loved it. So, if you really like autumn, there may be a good reason for that. You and I were really good buddies when you were little and I always took you with me when I ran my errands and you loved going with me.
Happy Halloween......................pumpkin!
Love,
Dad

Sidney Bristow or Lucy Liu

I need to look like someone else, and fast.

Let me explain. I'm not in the witness protection program, nor do I have a wife beater boyfriend (though you might jump to some different conclusions if you saw the massive, soda can sized bruise on the back side of my upper arm. However, that's just a casualty of being a fun girl in high heeled shoes).

I am going to a Halloween costume party this weekend and I need a good costume. I am considering bringing out my old standard Pink Wig (you know what pink wig I'm talking about) and the classic blue saran wrap. I'm thinking EuroTrash Club Kid.

My other idea is a poker straight (ha ha... Kate said poker), jet black wig with fish nets and lots of eye make-up. Very Dominatrix.

Any other ideas out there?

PS... Kate and her cronies are going to a Halloween party this Saturday night. It will cost ya 40 clams, but that's for all you can eat and drink. Plus, the party is a stone's throw away from Kate's apartment, so we'll be doing some pre and post partying Chez Moi. You all are welcome to crash on my newly vacuumed carpet if you know how to get there.

So, I didn't go on vacation or anything

I've just been incredibly busy. No time to spin by the library or steal a few minutes at work (eek!) to update the blog.

Here's this week's Friday's Feast.

Appetizer
Do you button shirts top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top?
Bottom to top. I dunno, I guess it's so I can consider leaving things breezy once I hit the button that's below my bosoms. Seriously, I have no idea why I'm a bottom-to-top kind of girl. Ew, that sounds kind of gross.

Soup
What is your favorite sandwich?
I love Club sandwiches, grilled cheese, BLT's and burgers. I pretty much haven't met a sandwich I didn't like.

Salad
What was a family project you helped work on as a child?
I was big on helping with seasonal raking of the leaves and the also seasonal shoveling. I also loved helping my mom make sugar cookies at Christmas. I loved putting the colored sprinkles and the silver dragees on them.

Main Course
When have you acted phony?
I act phony when I am around people with whom I don't feel comfortable. Rich snobs or ghetto gangstas, I guess I try to put on a false air of confidence so they can't "smell" my insecurity. Other than that, I'm pretty genuine. I might take the polite approach (as opposed to the more direct route), but that doesn't neccessarily mean it's phony.

Dessert
Do you write letters or postcards? If so, to whom?
I used to be a big letter person. I have quite an arsenal of stationary in this silver, kind of pirate- chest-looking box. Now I barely have the time to shoot an email. I'd much rather pick up the phone and catch up that way, as I just love hearing the lilts and giggles and outbursts in my dear friends' voices.

Wow. You Look Exactly The Same As Your Yearbook Picture...

So I recently got invited to my high school reunion. The 10 year reunion. The reunion where people showing up are actually supposed to have some kind of legitimate livelihood, something to be proud of and likely a family on the way.

Well. Two out of three ain't bad, right?

I can't make it because I'll be working through the Thanksgiving holiday. I'm kind of bummed that I won't be able to go because I sometimes fantasize about the opportunity to catch up with all those people who wouldn't sit with me at lunch and find out if their lives are still really as great as I romanticized them to be. Very Romy And Michelle, right?

The reunion made a few questions percolate to the surface. A) Would people change enough to forget about the cliques and catch up with people they wouldn't even rub elbows with in the hallways? B) Would old classmates be overly critical ("So-and-so is only a paralegal!" "Poor what's-his-name. He's been through three divorces, and he's only 28.") about another's particular station in life?

I am pretty happy with the way my life is turning out. No doubt I've had my share of ups and downs (and they're all written about here, so there! to all the people who think I've got something to be embarrassed about!) but by in large I am very happy with the way my heart is turning out, and that's what really matters, right?

A blossoming career in television news is nothing to scoff at, either.

Anyway, I guess some crowded bar isn't really the place I go to get a reality check on my value in the world (which is kind of funny because that's how so many people spend every weekend night, including myself circa 2002). I feel good about myself when I walk out of church, I feel loved when I'm in the arms of my parents and I feel blessed any time I have the chance to spend a few minutes with a child.

God has done a lot to let me know I'm loved, I'm special and needed on this Earth.

That's the only reunion I really need.

Jello Shots Before Curtain Call?

I've already told you all how I have season tickets to Cincinnati's Broadway Live series (in a roundabout kind of way through work. But it counts).

"Cats" hits the stage next week.

Anyone wanna go see men dressed up as pussies in spandex?

Sorry. I had to.

I was having a down moment and that totally cheap joke made for the faintest crinkle of a smile on my mug.

Wrappers Delight

So. That's what my sister Mary Bee called the kids in high school who looked a little, uh, homeboy.

I remember her talking about that clique, using this hand gesture with her wormy fingers... kind of like that wave thing you know you do when your windows are rolled down.

Anyway.
This purse got me thinking about those days.

It's made of recycled candy wrappers, soda labels and other recycled garbage born-again into this cool clutch.

The brand is called Ecoist and it reminds me of one of the best purses in my collection. I have this red and silver, small handbag that always draws a compliment every time it gets pulled out of the closet.

I think I may have to add one of these to my collection. I would be doing my part to save the Earth, right?

My Name Is, My Name Is, My Name Is... Slim Katy

I hate it when people use "Hey, girl," as a general salutation.

A) I am not a girl. I am a woman.
B) I am not your subordinate.
C) I know you are using this casual generalization to cover up the fact you don't know my name.
D) It sounds so Redneck. I am not a Redneck.

I know nice people use this greeting, and I don't judge people who do. I just hate it.

It's like nails on a chalkboard to me.

For The Days You Want To Put The "2 Buck Chuck" Away And Live Like a High Roller

My old/new hometown newspaper has a great article today for those of you who like a little wine with your dinner.

I, on the other hand, think any occasion is a great one for wine. I've become really interested in sharpening my tastebuds so I can sound like Miles in Sideways.

Miles Redmond: "A little citrus. Maybe some strawberry. Mmm. Passion fruit, mmm, and, oh, there's just like the faintest soupçon of like, uh, asparagus, and, there's a, just a flutter of, like a, like a nutty Edam cheese."

For you winos on a budget, take heed, the Cincinnati Enquirer breaks down how to find a good wine deal. If you're in a rush, here's a list of the ten best bottles under ten bucks.

Whites 1. Blue Fish Riesling 2004 ($9.99) 2. Basa Blanco 2004 ($9.99) 3. Las Brisas Blanco 2004 ($9.99) 4. J&F Lurton Pinot Gris 2004 ($7.99) 5. Veramonte Sauvignon Blanc 2004 ($8.99)

Reds 1. Santa Ema Carmenère 2003 ($8.99) 2. Pelican by Laurence Feraud 2003 ($8.99) 3. Leasingham Magnus Shiraz-Cabernet 2001 ($9.99) 4. Equis Viñas Viejas 2003 ($7.99) 5. Calina Carmenère 2002 ($8.99)

In vino, veritas!

Random Tests Kate Took Thursday

What Annoying B-List Celebrity is Kate?

Which Annoying B-list Celebrity Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey.

Which Evil Criminal is Kate?

Which Evil Criminal are You?
A Rum and Monkey crime.

What is Kate?
I'm an irredeemably eejitous, liberal, not-too-generous, not-too-selfish, relatively well adjusted human being!
What are you?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey


Is Kate damned?

Are You Damned?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

Which Office Moron is Kate?

Which Office Moron Are You?
Rum and Monkey: jamming your photocopier one tray at a time.

You Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

I'm on a new diet.

Okay, I know I've said that here and here and here. But I think I might have just found something to help ensure my ass gets in gear: A gym buddy. My friend D Money introduced me to another gal, 33, who's in really good shape.

She and I go to the same gym, only she really goes and I just pay my monthly fee and keep my tennis shoes in a locker there.

Well, 33 and I talked last Friday about getting into some kind of pattern in going to the gym. I know I was doing really well months ago when my old gym bunny and I were going regularly (shout out here to my Honorary Big Sis!)

Ever since I moved north of the Mason Dixon line though, it's been a different story. My sleeping schedule is all out of whack, and that's made me a permanent growth on my couch when I'm not running mandatory errands or at work.

Hopefully the gym buddy thing will help. My birthday's in about two months and I'd really like to do a physical renovation before I hit 29.

Goldilocks Goes Carshopping: Once You Go European, You Can't Go Back

Oh, how I've missed air conditioning.

I really had no idea how much I've missed the comforts of climate control until I started cruising in my new wheels yesterday. I was elated at the new experience of power windows and locks (Isn't it amazing that something as simple as door locks can make a girl happy?), thrilled by a fully operational moonroof and a slew of other creature comforts that Gretta Jetta failed to deliver (either because she was born without them, or they just tuckered out over time).

Buying a new car can be scary. Especially for a chick. It doesn't matter how much I swagger in a dealership, or how much I act like I could really give a shit about their cars, the fact is I know nothing about vehicles and must have the word SUCKER tattooed on my forehead.

I broke all the cardinal sins at the Dealership #1. I told them my price ($10K) and target car payment ($300). Yeah, I know. That was really stupid. The guy started showing me $15-18,000 cars saying I could definitely get myself in one of those rides with the right financing.

Riiiight.

Dealer #2 was crazy wacko. Okay, that's a bit of an overstatement. He was a really nice guy, but I don't really need a recovering alcoholic (isn't that too much information for a salesman to share with a customer?) to criticize me because I have my own storied past with alcohol and have opted for a plan of responsibility rather than sobriety? I also don't appreciate it when a salesman gets visibly hostile because I offer up a lowball number to counterbalance the inflated asking price.

Dealer #3 was just right. He didn't put the squeeze on me and he even let me take not one but two test drives all on my own. The sticker price was 2K less than the Kelley Blue Book estimate at a dealership, he cut $200 off the price because I asked him, and I even managed him to shave three percentage points off my interest rate.

You ask: "So what did you get, Kate?"

A 2001 Saab 9-3 turbo. 47,000 miles, Gunmetal Gray, five speed with moonroof, CD player, cruise control, seat warmers, power windows/locks, fog lamps, alloy wheels, audio controls on the steering wheel. It's basically got everything but a jar of Gray Poupon.

The previous owner was a woman. She leased it for four years before trading it in. Chicks are usually not as hard on cars (I suppose I exclude myself from that generalization).

The car was a great deal. I am so thrilled to have something reliable, sporty, sexy and I suppose a bit snooty.

Oh, how I've longed for my Sabina Saab.

Lookin' For A Whip

I checked out a few rides yesterday.

I saw a '99 black Audi convertible, an '01 VW Cabrio and a few Hondas/Camrys.

Me likes the Audi but its got a gazillion miles on it (okay, really only 108,000k). It's soo sexy. Shiny and black with a black top. We'll see.

I'm checking out a Saab today. It's a 2001 9-3. Stick shift, moonroof, CD player. They're asking $11,500 but I think I can get it for $9,500.

I'll keep you posted.

RIP Gretta Jetta 1995 - 2005

Why does this whole bumming for rides thing feel so damn familiar?

Our dearly departed Jetta left us for greener pastures Tuesday afternoon. The experts did all they could, installing a new radiator hose and thermostat. But alas, she fell ill with fever and could not quite get her temperature down like she used to.

I need some real advice on buying cars. I'm ponying up sometime this weekend.

Long and short of what I've heard: Buy a Honda or Toyota.

My hip factor kind of cringes at driving something so, well, bland but reliable.

But then, 30 is not that far off in the distance so maybe it's time to ditch my marching to the beat of a different drummer thing.

Dad says I should pay cash for a beater and limp along until I have cash to buy something else.

I don't know how down I am with that idea.

Hungry Morning

From Friday's Feast

Appetizer
Name something someone has done lately that impressed you.
I can't believe I am going to say this: President Bush is impressing me with his upcoming trip to Texas BEFORE Rita's arrival.

Soup
Do you have any relaxing rituals? If so, what are they?
I like long walks in the rain, painting landscapes and hookah pipes.
Seriously, I'd have to say a glass of wine and Oprah at 4 PM is my M.O. for winding down before bed.

Salad
If you could spend the winter season somewhere other than your current location, where would you choose to stay?
Anywhere my family is (as they are not here with me in Cincinnati). If I had to pick a third location, it would probably be Charleston/Savannah.

Main Course
When was the last time you had dinner out, and what was the name of the restaurant?
Well I don't normally eat dinner out because of my effed up schedule. I DID have lunch yesterday at Teller's in Hyde Park, though. I recommend the crab stuffed portabello mushroom salad. Just fab.

Dessert
If you had a boat, what would you name it?
Sister Golden Hair

International Night

My blog was quite the hot spot early this morning among foreign friends.

Norway 00:18, 02:05, 03:49, 06:29 am Thursday
Saudi Arabia 04:05
Iran 01:33
Singapore 01:32
United Kingdom 01:31
Belgium 01:30
Canada 23:51 pm Wednesday


Welcome, Bienvenue, Wilkommen, Bienvenidos, Konichiwa, As-Salaam Aleikum, Bineati venit, Benvenuti!

Out Of The Ashes: Rebirth

"Sometimes you've got to hit rock bottom before you can make some changes in your life."

A smart quote said by an even smarter woman. My good gal pal D Money and I were talking about life's philosophical moments over a bottle of wine and a couple smokes last week. I normally don't take to tobacco, but God had handed me a tough couple days to grapple with my current, tragic flaw (surely you remember the definition of a tragic hero from High School? I only hope my flaw won't be the root of my demise) and so I felt a smoke was a small way to smooth the rattled nerves inside me.

I've long said I've been cursed with the misfortune of learning well from my mistakes. It seems, and this is the misfortune part, that I only learn best when I make mistakes myself. Life would be so much easier if I could learn from books, urban legends and the follies of friends, but then life isn't supposed to be easy, is it? So I've come to tread lightly and accept the fact that things will happen to me that add a dash of crisis to my days. I only hope I can be positive and happy when those moments happen.

And this week handed me one of those moments. I don't want to go into the gory details because, well, it's a bit embarrassing as it exposes a truly stupid weakness of mine. All I'll say is it has to do with financial irresponsibility and the reality that you've always got to pay the piper.

Let me backtrack a bit.

At 28 years of age, I have learned that growing up in a privileged lifestyle isn't all it's cracked up to be. Horseback riding lessons and fancy meals at fancy restaurants at 14 doesn't do well to teach a person that money doesn't grow on trees. My hand was always filled with cash whenever I needed money to buy a yearbook, new soccer cleats (a brand new pair for every season, of course) and even when I wanted to go to the movies with friends. As a teen, the car and its insurance was always paid for, and when I made it to college I didn't have to worry once about the possibility of school loans.

I was a lucky little girl.

But the world is a cruel one, and only realized after the lights went out (a few times, actually) that I had to pay my bills myself to keep the juice flowing.

Along with those bills come the awful chore of balancing a checkbook. Honestly, I've never given this tedious task the college try. Instead, I've always relied on bank phone lines and ATMs for balance information.

Boy, how wrong those sources can be.

In fact (and here's part of the confession of my stupidity), I've paid more than 500 dollars in overdraft fee in this month alone. My fashionista inklings scream in anger over the concession that's enough cash to pay for a kick ass Coach bag -and- a pair of Prada shoes.

After a couple weeks of penny pinching (some of it voluntary, some of it not so much) I've already paid almost a thousand dollars in debt, and I have firm plans to pay off the remaining two grand by the end of this calendar year.

If 27 was my year of growing up and shedding the Party Girl lifestyle, then it looks like 28 is shaping up to be the dawning of my financial responsibilities.

I'm guessing since 29 is about two months away, that's going to be the year of my body.

I should be in great emotional/financial/physical shape at 30. Perfect marriage material, right?

Reflection

I'm working on a bang-up post about my latest challenge (and my latest accomplishment) in life. It has to do with money (Where's Gomer Pyle when you need someone to say "Surprise, surprise, surprise?") and I'm about half way through my entry when something happened that forced me to put that message on the back burner.

Today I'm focusing on marriage. My dedicated readers, some of you all are good friends and might be able to nose around and figure out what/whom I'm talking about. I ask y'all to resist all urges and just let time and space be what they are.

Tonight I got a voicemail that rattled my very perception of what a happy marriage is.

The minute I heard Bling's words on the voicemail I knew there was trouble. She struggled to get the words out between the tears she was crying. I won't paint the whole picture for you because there are some things that are better left unsaid, but basically Bling told me it just wasn't her day. And that's putting it lightly.

At about a quarter til midnight I left Bling a voicemail back, telling her I'd be there in any way I could. She can have my weekend if she needs it, whether that's so I can cook for her, take her out for a pedicure or to the movies, or even babysit if she just needs some space to think.

All the while, I was thinking about how lucky I am, in a way. Lucky my emotions aren't tied to another's wants and needs. Lucky the only crises in my life are my own - situations given birth out of only my mistakes, choices and opinions.

I don't think this post is very cohesive today. I haven't had a time to really chew on what I want to say and synthesize it into a pretty package with cute words. Sometimes you can't put a pretty spin on a topic, you just have to let it all out.

Arrrrh, Mateys!

It's Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Get yer eye patch on and make some scoundrel walk the plank.

Sorry To Disappoint You

Some of you all have gotten here by searching the Web for some racy stuff.

According to my counter, you're looking for:

Hot woman in overalls
Girl with bra off
crazy pictures mardi gras

And some of you are still coming here looking for pics of Gwen Stefani.

Sorry you tumbled into a blog about little ol' me ;)

Cheers.

Calling All Voyeurs

So, today I told someone I was an exhibitionist.

They weren't surprised.

As time has passed, I've put my clothes back on and stopped the urge to shed the layers.

But that doesn't mean I don't walk around the house naked anymore.

What do you do when nobody's looking?

Work In Progress

Things I'm working on (literally or figuratively):

-Some innovative ideas for The Boss. I'm making a run at a shift change and he's asked me for a few ideas. I've got a few up my sleeve but this isn't the time or place to be spilling company trade secrets, ya know?

-My eyebrows. I'm done with the skinny lines above my baby blues. Going for something a bit thicker. Not Brooke Shields thicker, just something that's a little bit more "framing."

-My living room. Make that my living room-bedroom-kitchen-bathroom-and anywhere else. The Atom Bomb went off again when I wasn't looking. Now I'm left to deal with the consequences.

-My debt. By the end of the month I will have paid off $500 of my two grand in debt. Pooh pooh you might say, but hey, to me that two thousand bucks is a massive albatross around my neck. I've run reckless with abandon for too long and not a single sugar daddy has come along to pick up the pieces, so it's time to pay the piper. Or those people calling me. I should be debt free by the end of the calendar year. Until then: No Tiffany, No Coach, No Sephora binges and no Banana. Okay, Banana if it's a good sale. PS I heart these shoes. Anyone wanna buy them for me? I'm already trying to decide what I'm going to buy when all my debt is shored up. How effed up is that?

-My diet. I say I'm working on it because I really can't decide whether I want to do the No sugar/bleached flour/potato/pasta/anything made by the Starch Satan diet. Well, that's not entirely true. I've decided I want to do it, I'm just struggling to stick with it. Damn that Jessica Simpson. Why did she have to lose even -more- weight to be Daisy?! Bitch.

-My aspiration for a relationship. I'm working on that one by not working on it. I've already posted that. I just wanted to take this opportunity to say Kate reserves the right to change her mind should some potential (ie: a good piece of ass) comes her way. There's no one really on the radar, but I just wanted to make sure y'all couldn't call me weak if I decided to change my mind. See, it pays to read the fine print.

Oh and I didn't really mean it about that piece of ass thing.

-My hair. I've got another one of those epic hair appointment Thursday. I think I'm growing it out for winter (easier to put up and such) but I am really toying with the color. Should I go brown? I've never been brown. I think I'd feel like I had a new identity. Plus, if I really hated it, I have another appointment in a month.

-Harry Potter. I am 3/4 of the way through the first one. I suppose that deserves a round of applause considering I am making strides to join the rest of the world on the pop culture front. A tentative sleepover is planned (oooh, boys will be there) once I'm done with Book Three so some of us from Channel XX can watch the movies. You all are invited to the party provided you bring your own sleeping bag.

Remember, I'm not dating, right?