We apologize for a recent break in regular blog posting at My Random Musings. All circuits are currently busy while Kate struggles with a bout of Temporary Sensory Overload.
This latest technical difficulty has been brought on by the recent development of a real-life boyfriend.
Kate is truly sorry and will attempt to resume regular blogging (sometime later today!) after her internal system comes to terms with the magnitude of this recent development.
Thanks,
My Random Musings Technical Support
Not so random, but I'm still musing.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
Persistence Isn't Always A Good Thing
Kate Gets Hit On By Younger Man
After last night's revelry at McCarthy's
It was a strange thought, me dating a younger man, considering I've never done it and actually have a thing for older guys. Not wrinkly, gray and smelling like Aqua Velva, but more like salt and pepper, sipping on Dewars and remembering what life was like before PC was cool.
This guy was anything but that. At 24, he still had a little bit of baby face left around the jawline and an accent that sounded like a one-way audio trip to Eastern Kentucky. My #1 Gal Pal and I were sitting there, minding both our beers and our business when I spotted this guy staring me down. Baby Face was rather obvious about his interest, what with he and his compadre standing there in the middle of a very thinned out bar. The little gestures he made betrayed his efforts to be incognito... the little head nods in our direction, motioning to the two of us sitting there happily alone.
At first I thought he was pointing out the two of us to his friend, being that they were a pair and we were a pair... a foursome would have only been natural. But no, the friend disappeared, and so Baby Face made his way to our stools... positioning himself squarely between my #1 Gal Pal and me. His gaze immediately shifted my direction, then it washed over my entire being. He made his acquaintance as he soaked in my physique, my one bare shoulder and my freshly flat ironed hair. After our pleasantries were exchanged, Baby Face went on to tell me about how he was hoping to go to law school next fall and that he some day would be the governor of Kentucky.
I asked him about his political affiliation, to which he proudly responded Republican, rattling a long list of affiliations and connections. I have a little bit of Republican in my past, so I traded names and learned we had several people in common. I dropped the fact that some of those very people he holds near and dear to his heart would likely call me a Yankee Bitch if my name were brought up in conversation. Baby Face went on to say I was beautiful and full of integrity and honesty. It was all I could do to prevent from throwing up on his loafers, instead replying that I felt like he was campaigning for office and that I was unsure he'd get my vote.
Baby Face then said he had a whole life of campaigning where I was concerned.
Oh. My. God.
I told him I was a member of the media gasp and that I was older than him. Light years older where personal experience was concerned. He guessed 23. He guessed 24. My giggling started when he guessed 25. My thumbs up sign motioned for him to keep going up until he made it to the stark reality of my 28. I have come to terms with my being firmly planted in the upper 20s and am ready to get on to the 30s.
Baby Face went on to caress my bare shoulder, saying I didn't look my age (Well, thank you, I think?) and that the late Governor Louie Nunn once told him that age really didn't matter in regards to love. I was kind of shocked by the forward nature of his interest, considering the other two men I'm dating right now seem to be big time fans of the tactics of Hard To Get.
If a girl could take a shower in compliments, then I would have gone home as fresh as a daisy last night. I was a bit irked that Baby Face could not maintain his composure, instead extolling my many virtues and beauty. I asked him, begged him to stop and made repeated attempts to steer the conversation to something a little less obsessive. Do you have any siblings? Are you close with your family? Where do you see yourself in 10 years? So, where do you hang out here in town? But the compliments continued, and that's when I reminded him I felt like he was running for office.
Then he started leaning into my face.
Like... leaning with whole body force.
Well, hello, I thought, as I noticed how much the bar had filled up, and how I noticed that everyone else was noticing us.
Baby Face puckered up his lips and went in and I cocked my head away. He tried to nuzzle in closer, and I bowed my head down to my chest. My whole body language was reeking "For the love of God, I don't want to be kissed."
Oh, if only this guy knew a thing or two. He was really kind and very smart, with just the right dash of cockiness, which is the perfect recipe for my perfect mate. However, his absolute disregard for my intentions was quite unbecoming.
But I kissed Baby Face anyway.
It was all I could to shut him up, what with probably a good 10 minutes of practically begging for a little lip attention. They were short and sweet, but I was none too pleased that I had to remedy the situation that way.
Baby Face started whining a little bit when my #1 Gal Pal (who had long ago vacated the vicinity and taken up dancing with a nice, Irish lad) came back and rescued me with an It's time to go look. Happy to comply, I told Baby Face no, I was not going to let him drive me home, but that this was the juncture in time where he could ask me for my phone number if he were so inclined.
It's so easy to decline a phone call by an unrecognized number.
Hopefully Baby Face finds a nice girl who wants to be the perfect politician's wife. I'm sure she'll feel much more comfortable with selling out than I did last night.
After last night's revelry at McCarthy's
It was a strange thought, me dating a younger man, considering I've never done it and actually have a thing for older guys. Not wrinkly, gray and smelling like Aqua Velva, but more like salt and pepper, sipping on Dewars and remembering what life was like before PC was cool.
This guy was anything but that. At 24, he still had a little bit of baby face left around the jawline and an accent that sounded like a one-way audio trip to Eastern Kentucky. My #1 Gal Pal and I were sitting there, minding both our beers and our business when I spotted this guy staring me down. Baby Face was rather obvious about his interest, what with he and his compadre standing there in the middle of a very thinned out bar. The little gestures he made betrayed his efforts to be incognito... the little head nods in our direction, motioning to the two of us sitting there happily alone.
At first I thought he was pointing out the two of us to his friend, being that they were a pair and we were a pair... a foursome would have only been natural. But no, the friend disappeared, and so Baby Face made his way to our stools... positioning himself squarely between my #1 Gal Pal and me. His gaze immediately shifted my direction, then it washed over my entire being. He made his acquaintance as he soaked in my physique, my one bare shoulder and my freshly flat ironed hair. After our pleasantries were exchanged, Baby Face went on to tell me about how he was hoping to go to law school next fall and that he some day would be the governor of Kentucky.
I asked him about his political affiliation, to which he proudly responded Republican, rattling a long list of affiliations and connections. I have a little bit of Republican in my past, so I traded names and learned we had several people in common. I dropped the fact that some of those very people he holds near and dear to his heart would likely call me a Yankee Bitch if my name were brought up in conversation. Baby Face went on to say I was beautiful and full of integrity and honesty. It was all I could do to prevent from throwing up on his loafers, instead replying that I felt like he was campaigning for office and that I was unsure he'd get my vote.
Baby Face then said he had a whole life of campaigning where I was concerned.
Oh. My. God.
I told him I was a member of the media gasp and that I was older than him. Light years older where personal experience was concerned. He guessed 23. He guessed 24. My giggling started when he guessed 25. My thumbs up sign motioned for him to keep going up until he made it to the stark reality of my 28. I have come to terms with my being firmly planted in the upper 20s and am ready to get on to the 30s.
Baby Face went on to caress my bare shoulder, saying I didn't look my age (Well, thank you, I think?) and that the late Governor Louie Nunn once told him that age really didn't matter in regards to love. I was kind of shocked by the forward nature of his interest, considering the other two men I'm dating right now seem to be big time fans of the tactics of Hard To Get.
If a girl could take a shower in compliments, then I would have gone home as fresh as a daisy last night. I was a bit irked that Baby Face could not maintain his composure, instead extolling my many virtues and beauty. I asked him, begged him to stop and made repeated attempts to steer the conversation to something a little less obsessive. Do you have any siblings? Are you close with your family? Where do you see yourself in 10 years? So, where do you hang out here in town? But the compliments continued, and that's when I reminded him I felt like he was running for office.
Then he started leaning into my face.
Like... leaning with whole body force.
Well, hello, I thought, as I noticed how much the bar had filled up, and how I noticed that everyone else was noticing us.
Baby Face puckered up his lips and went in and I cocked my head away. He tried to nuzzle in closer, and I bowed my head down to my chest. My whole body language was reeking "For the love of God, I don't want to be kissed."
Then he started whispering. "C'mon, kiss me."
Funny, because that's exactly what I was thinking when I left my apartment that evening: I want to kiss a strange boy in the middle of a now-crowded bar.Oh, if only this guy knew a thing or two. He was really kind and very smart, with just the right dash of cockiness, which is the perfect recipe for my perfect mate. However, his absolute disregard for my intentions was quite unbecoming.
But I kissed Baby Face anyway.
It was all I could to shut him up, what with probably a good 10 minutes of practically begging for a little lip attention. They were short and sweet, but I was none too pleased that I had to remedy the situation that way.
Baby Face started whining a little bit when my #1 Gal Pal (who had long ago vacated the vicinity and taken up dancing with a nice, Irish lad) came back and rescued me with an It's time to go look. Happy to comply, I told Baby Face no, I was not going to let him drive me home, but that this was the juncture in time where he could ask me for my phone number if he were so inclined.
It's so easy to decline a phone call by an unrecognized number.
Hopefully Baby Face finds a nice girl who wants to be the perfect politician's wife. I'm sure she'll feel much more comfortable with selling out than I did last night.
I am such a scmuck
Wow. I feel really bad right now.
The trouble with blogging is that sometimes you don't have the adequate time to devote to read the incredible writing out there in internet space. Sometimes you just point and click your way quickly through the vast litany of blogs listed on the Blog Rolls, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that makes you feel. The trouble is, if you do it quickly, you're probably not going to be caught by something, sometimes you've got to give a blog time to evoke something inside you.
Today I blog hopped on this post, only kind of skimming the pictures and the story. It was a stunning collection of photography with a great looking model. I started skimming the story, which unfortunately I didn't pay more attention to because of the distractions of work. I went on to post in my comment about how I had a bit of a headache and was trying to do some work stuff, apologizing for my brief post.
I went back and read the entry again and felt like such an asshole. Here this man wrote a truly touching story about his dying father, and I had to comment about my hangover. So shitty of me.
I hereby swear to pay more attention to the blogs I'm actually visiting. No more speed reading the fabulous material that you all are putting out there.
The trouble with blogging is that sometimes you don't have the adequate time to devote to read the incredible writing out there in internet space. Sometimes you just point and click your way quickly through the vast litany of blogs listed on the Blog Rolls, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that makes you feel. The trouble is, if you do it quickly, you're probably not going to be caught by something, sometimes you've got to give a blog time to evoke something inside you.
Today I blog hopped on this post, only kind of skimming the pictures and the story. It was a stunning collection of photography with a great looking model. I started skimming the story, which unfortunately I didn't pay more attention to because of the distractions of work. I went on to post in my comment about how I had a bit of a headache and was trying to do some work stuff, apologizing for my brief post.
I went back and read the entry again and felt like such an asshole. Here this man wrote a truly touching story about his dying father, and I had to comment about my hangover. So shitty of me.
I hereby swear to pay more attention to the blogs I'm actually visiting. No more speed reading the fabulous material that you all are putting out there.
Short Order Breakfast
Appetizer - If you could have a free subscription to any magazine, which one would you like to have?
For the Single Girl, only one mag will do: Cosmopolitan
Soup - If you were to suddenly become famous, what would you choose as your stage name?
What kind of famous? Are we talking porn star famous? Then it would be something like Tracy Diamond.
If we're talking famous writer, then I'd pick K.C. Allen. KC as a homage to my real initials, and Allen was my favorite grandmother's maiden name.
If we're talking movie star famous, I'd keep my real name., because when you're that famous, you want all the ass holes from high school to know it's really you.
Salad - What ingredients make an awesome salad? Dressing? Croutons?
Iceburg lettuce NEVER makes a good salad. I prefer some red leaf and green leaf, throw in some arugula and maybe some herbs like dill or basil. Toss in some dried cranberries, nuts of your choice (pecans, walnuts or pine nuts would be mine) crumble blue cheese over top. Then make a simple vinaigrette and drizzle over. Fab, I tell ye, just fab.
Main Course - What do you like most about your current job?
That I won't be working at this establishment at the end of February. After six years (and lots of turmoil) I am leaving a company and a career that I've learned a lot at. Lots of changes have made it a place of business with which I just don't fit, and so I am looking for greener pastures in this fine Lexington KY.
Dessert - Who is your favorite instrumental musician (not a singer)?
Hmm. I have some great acoustic Bluegrass CDs that cover U2 and Dave Matthews. Don't know who the band is (or are, perhaps) but they're pretty darn good.
For the Single Girl, only one mag will do: Cosmopolitan
Soup - If you were to suddenly become famous, what would you choose as your stage name?
What kind of famous? Are we talking porn star famous? Then it would be something like Tracy Diamond.
If we're talking famous writer, then I'd pick K.C. Allen. KC as a homage to my real initials, and Allen was my favorite grandmother's maiden name.
If we're talking movie star famous, I'd keep my real name., because when you're that famous, you want all the ass holes from high school to know it's really you.
Salad - What ingredients make an awesome salad? Dressing? Croutons?
Iceburg lettuce NEVER makes a good salad. I prefer some red leaf and green leaf, throw in some arugula and maybe some herbs like dill or basil. Toss in some dried cranberries, nuts of your choice (pecans, walnuts or pine nuts would be mine) crumble blue cheese over top. Then make a simple vinaigrette and drizzle over. Fab, I tell ye, just fab.
Main Course - What do you like most about your current job?
That I won't be working at this establishment at the end of February. After six years (and lots of turmoil) I am leaving a company and a career that I've learned a lot at. Lots of changes have made it a place of business with which I just don't fit, and so I am looking for greener pastures in this fine Lexington KY.
Dessert - Who is your favorite instrumental musician (not a singer)?
Hmm. I have some great acoustic Bluegrass CDs that cover U2 and Dave Matthews. Don't know who the band is (or are, perhaps) but they're pretty darn good.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Three Cheers for Vera
A man in Indiana made my day today.
Andy with the fine Vera Bradley handbag company was so kind to send me this beautiful handbag:
The Vera Bradley Toggle Tote in Vibrant Black
Andy happened to notice a post of mine from a ways back talking about the virtues of Vera Bradley and just wanted to say thanks.
And so, Andy, thanks to you back ;)
The thing about these bags is, they're just so darn cute, and the fact that they're machine washable is just icing on the top.
My mother, sisters and I have been big time fans of Vera Bradley for quite a while. The quilted cotton bags are pretty popular in parts of the Midwest and South, so imagine our happy surprise when we noticed them turning up in darling, little boutique shops in our New England hometown.
Vera has all different color combinations and sizes: everything from a gorgeous pink and orange paisley look:
The Petite Villager in Sherbet
To even luggage:
The Garment Bag in Apple Green
For folks with more of a streamlined and monochromatic look, you might be more interested in Vera's quilted Microfiber Collection:
The Laura Bag in Black Microfiber
In these parts of the Bluegrass, it's not uncommon to see a gal with a whole set of Vera Bradley bags, like maybe a travel cosmetic bag, a large duffel bag, and an Amy bag all in the same pattern. The bags are very durable and maintain their shape very well. My mom is still carrying around an old Vera bag with a cute chicken and egg pattern that's since been retired.
Right now Vera Bradley offers bags in 25 different patterns and shades, so be sure to check them out and start your own collection :)
Andy with the fine Vera Bradley handbag company was so kind to send me this beautiful handbag:
The Vera Bradley Toggle Tote in Vibrant Black
Andy happened to notice a post of mine from a ways back talking about the virtues of Vera Bradley and just wanted to say thanks.
And so, Andy, thanks to you back ;)
The thing about these bags is, they're just so darn cute, and the fact that they're machine washable is just icing on the top.
My mother, sisters and I have been big time fans of Vera Bradley for quite a while. The quilted cotton bags are pretty popular in parts of the Midwest and South, so imagine our happy surprise when we noticed them turning up in darling, little boutique shops in our New England hometown.
Vera has all different color combinations and sizes: everything from a gorgeous pink and orange paisley look:
The Petite Villager in Sherbet
To even luggage:
The Garment Bag in Apple Green
For folks with more of a streamlined and monochromatic look, you might be more interested in Vera's quilted Microfiber Collection:
The Laura Bag in Black Microfiber
In these parts of the Bluegrass, it's not uncommon to see a gal with a whole set of Vera Bradley bags, like maybe a travel cosmetic bag, a large duffel bag, and an Amy bag all in the same pattern. The bags are very durable and maintain their shape very well. My mom is still carrying around an old Vera bag with a cute chicken and egg pattern that's since been retired.
Right now Vera Bradley offers bags in 25 different patterns and shades, so be sure to check them out and start your own collection :)
Ten Dollar Drunk
My blog friend Micah inspired an interesting conversation with his most recent post.
It got me thinking about a good question once posed on a message board I used to read eons ago: What's the best bottle of wine you can buy for 10 bucks or less?
I've always been a fan of the Aussie Yellow Tail. I've had a few others, but right now their names escape me.
So. Now I turn the floor over to you. Oh, and by the way, please don't mention Boones, Mad Dog 20/20 or Franzia. I'm looking for suggestions that may impart a little class!
It got me thinking about a good question once posed on a message board I used to read eons ago: What's the best bottle of wine you can buy for 10 bucks or less?
I've always been a fan of the Aussie Yellow Tail. I've had a few others, but right now their names escape me.
So. Now I turn the floor over to you. Oh, and by the way, please don't mention Boones, Mad Dog 20/20 or Franzia. I'm looking for suggestions that may impart a little class!
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
My Twin, President Bush, And My Net Worth Of Over $6M
I just found out today that I'm worth over six million dollars.
More about that later.
But first, I want to talk about The Oscars. Oh, if there's one man you can count on for entertainment, glamour and an all-out bash, it's that little guy made of gold.
Nominations were announced today for the 77th Academy Awards (February 27th on ABC @ 8:00 PM).
So far, The Aviator racked up the most nods... with a hefty eleven including one for best picture. Million Dollar Baby and Finding Neverland each faired well, with five nominations a piece.
I, for one, am pulling for my twin Kate Winslet, who was nominated for best actress.
K.W. in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Photo courstesy of oscar.com)
My mother insists she sees a resemblance
President Bush has a nomination of his own to cheer on.
The Commander In Chief was nominated for a Razzie award. He goes up against Ben Affleck in the Worst Actor category, for Jersey Girl and Fahrenheit 9-11, respectively.
I'm pulling for Bush on this one.
Now, about the money.
Well. I've long told people that I am in fact an heir to the Folger coffee fortune. As nice as that sounds, unfortunately it's not true (though I'd be happy to marry in to the family, so any single Folger men, please feel free to drop me an email at katesrandommusings@yahoo.com).
I am however, very, very rich in the HSX world.
"HSX?", you ask? "Is that some kind of fancy railroad company?" No. I haven't seen that one on any of the Monopoly properties.
HSX is short for the Hollywood Stock Exchange. It's a veritable fantasy football, Hollywood style, where you buy and sell your favorite stars and movie projects. They set you up with two million dollars in HSX money and let you run buck wild (and naked if you want to) while picking shares, stocks and options.
I started, oh, about a year ago and have amassed a nice little fortune (at last check $6,031,541.44), thanks to some good speculating on Shrek 2, Fahrenheit 9-11 and The Passion of the Christ. It's a fun little game to estimate which flicks/stars you think are going to do well or which ones are going to bomb. You can also pick up Movie Funds, which group like movies together like a Mutual Fund, The Disney Studio Fund or The Comeback Fund, for example.
Right now my holdings include 11,005 shares of the upcoming Charlie & The Chocolate Factory remake (the original is one of my all time favorites). I bought the shares at just over $124 and they're running right now at around $128. I'm betting this one will skyrocket by July, though.
Image courtesy of HSX.com
For those of you looking for a sugar mama, sorry to burst your bubble. I haven't quite yet figured out a way to cash out my HSX stocks, so the sweetest thing about me is probably my KY Derby Pie recipe ;)
More about that later.
But first, I want to talk about The Oscars. Oh, if there's one man you can count on for entertainment, glamour and an all-out bash, it's that little guy made of gold.
Nominations were announced today for the 77th Academy Awards (February 27th on ABC @ 8:00 PM).
So far, The Aviator racked up the most nods... with a hefty eleven including one for best picture. Million Dollar Baby and Finding Neverland each faired well, with five nominations a piece.
I, for one, am pulling for my twin Kate Winslet, who was nominated for best actress.
K.W. in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Photo courstesy of oscar.com)
My mother insists she sees a resemblance
President Bush has a nomination of his own to cheer on.
The Commander In Chief was nominated for a Razzie award. He goes up against Ben Affleck in the Worst Actor category, for Jersey Girl and Fahrenheit 9-11, respectively.
I'm pulling for Bush on this one.
Now, about the money.
Well. I've long told people that I am in fact an heir to the Folger coffee fortune. As nice as that sounds, unfortunately it's not true (though I'd be happy to marry in to the family, so any single Folger men, please feel free to drop me an email at katesrandommusings@yahoo.com).
I am however, very, very rich in the HSX world.
"HSX?", you ask? "Is that some kind of fancy railroad company?" No. I haven't seen that one on any of the Monopoly properties.
HSX is short for the Hollywood Stock Exchange. It's a veritable fantasy football, Hollywood style, where you buy and sell your favorite stars and movie projects. They set you up with two million dollars in HSX money and let you run buck wild (and naked if you want to) while picking shares, stocks and options.
I started, oh, about a year ago and have amassed a nice little fortune (at last check $6,031,541.44), thanks to some good speculating on Shrek 2, Fahrenheit 9-11 and The Passion of the Christ. It's a fun little game to estimate which flicks/stars you think are going to do well or which ones are going to bomb. You can also pick up Movie Funds, which group like movies together like a Mutual Fund, The Disney Studio Fund or The Comeback Fund, for example.
Right now my holdings include 11,005 shares of the upcoming Charlie & The Chocolate Factory remake (the original is one of my all time favorites). I bought the shares at just over $124 and they're running right now at around $128. I'm betting this one will skyrocket by July, though.
Image courtesy of HSX.com
For those of you looking for a sugar mama, sorry to burst your bubble. I haven't quite yet figured out a way to cash out my HSX stocks, so the sweetest thing about me is probably my KY Derby Pie recipe ;)
Breaking Snooze
Here's a look inside the former NewsChannel (our branding has changed several times over my six years here).
Less than nine minutes to newstime. What I live and die by: The Network Clock.
Me and my compadres (my director in center, my chyron operator at far right) in Studio Control just minutes before we put on The Big Show.
The mess of monitors I look at while sitting in that seat. As you can tell by the analog clock at center... we're about 15 minutes in to Broadcasting Excellence.
Less than nine minutes to newstime. What I live and die by: The Network Clock.
Me and my compadres (my director in center, my chyron operator at far right) in Studio Control just minutes before we put on The Big Show.
The mess of monitors I look at while sitting in that seat. As you can tell by the analog clock at center... we're about 15 minutes in to Broadcasting Excellence.
Monday, January 24, 2005
The Last Shampoo
Warning: this is long bit of "faction," loosely based on the truth.
Darlene wiped a tear away from her cheek before she turned the faucet. So many emotions racing through her brain, her heart pounding and her throat all choked up. She knew this moment would be coming for months now, but somehow she had avoided coming to terms with all the painful, swirling feelings until that very second in the timeline of her until-now, fairly serene life.
Callie sat there, quieter than she had in years, peace awash over her face. Her hair was a thin spun silver with little tufts of white here and there. The two women had been doing this routine for years, Darlene making the trip from the big city to the little village about an hour away. In fact, Callie was the first person to let Darlene near a live head of hair with a pair of scissors. It was a daring move for Callie at the time, but she had confidence in the girl, and knew this little hobby of hers could take root and turn into something magnificent. Darlene saw cutting hair as an opportunity to get out of the dusty, missed-on-the-map kind of village and have some fun. Callie always thought of it as a chance for Darlene to make something of her life, to do something better than all the other girls in the one stoplight town.
Darlene ran her hands under the water, making sure the temperature was nice and warm. She was always thinking about the comfort of her clients; whether the water was too cold, whether the chair was reclined at the right angle for them. Comfort was her top priority for Callie, her very first client in a long list that had multiplied and developed into a very successful salon business.
Callie never liked making the long trip to the salon. She always hated the drive there. The traffic started getting a little hairy for her about 20 miles out of the center of town, which is exactly where Darlene's sleek shop sat, merely blocks away from the intersection of Broadway and Main Street. No, Callie hated making that trip, insisting Darlene would have to pile all her tools and lotions and potions in the back of her car instead.
Years ago the trip was never a problem for Darlene. At first little was holding her back in the city, what with no children and an independent, successful husband and a thriving business of his own to take care of. Darlene would pack up her special bottles and hair dyes, a little gold pair of scissors she got at the supply shop for about five hundred dollars, and all her clips and bobby pins in a tackle box for the trip to Callie's. Usually she'd throw a special body scrub in, one that smelled of lavender and sage, as a little gift for the older woman.
Darlene would pull up to the house, a home where inside Callie was bubbling with anticipation. A chair would already be pulled up next to the kitchen sink, and some freshly fluffed and folded hand towels beside it, just waiting for the expert to take the helm. Callie'd have a pot of water on to boil for a cup of tea later (she'd hope Darlene would stay for two) and a loaf of homemade banana bread just about done in the oven. The two women would talk about anything under the sun, exchanging recipes and little snippets of life. Callie'd get Darlene up to speed on all the gossip in the town while Darlene would confide and question the wiser woman. Sometimes their talks came to a screeching halt, usually after heated words that Darlene either never wanted to hear or never wanted to say, nevertheless, the snipping and shaping of the hair would go on, talking or not. As those little bits of salt and pepper hair fell to the ground, time marched on, just as the pace of life did, and with it a baby. A baby that was a gift from God.
After years of trying, Darlene had long forgotten the notion of having children. Instead she plunked down cold, hard cash for a little convertible sports car, zipping down those country roads to see Callie, carefree and without another place to be for dinner or any other occasion. But low and behold, one of the many trials had taken, and before she knew it a beautiful little girl came into the world, breathing and beating with life inside her.
Darlene rubbed a bit of fancy shampoo in her damp hands, bringing the fragrant gel to a lather before touching Callie's hair. Gently she pulled the bangs away from the forehead, working all of Callie's hair into a soapy bundle. The two sat there quietly, both doing what God meant them to do, both letting this last shampoo wash over them.
Callie became the namesake for Darlene's little girl. Right behind baby Callie came another gift, an even bigger surprise, little baby Ava. Darlene figured God had gotten everything up and running for baby Callie so well that everything was just set in motion for the blessing that Ava came to be. The little girls were Darlene's world, and they had a way of putting a kink in her trips an hour out of town to see the old woman. Sometimes she'd pile the girls in the back of the minivan, filled with a portacrib and all kinds of dollies and diapers. Right beside her in the front seat sat that old tackle box, just waiting to be cracked open for her visit with Callie. The girls would get antsy though, one would be too tired or the other would be too sick, and so Darlene's visits with Callie would get cut short.
Over time, Darlene began again making solo trips to see Callie. Alone the two women would be, sharing hopes and tales over treatments with the blue-gray creme and a cup of chamomile tea. But the meter was always running, so to speak, and Darlene had to get back to her two girls, anxious to spend some time with their beautiful mother.
Callie sat there this last time, patiently, with all the time in the world for Darlene. Callie didn't flinch a muscle as Darlene gently tugged on the gray and white tufts, running her fingers through the hair while the blowdryer was going. Darlene pursed her lips, desperate to keep bottled in what she wanted to say to Callie, just knowing that giving life to the words would bring with them rage and fear and sadness.
Darlene's upper lip quivered as she ran a fine comb through Callie's freshly washed and dried hair. The dryer gave the silver spun strands a bit of a lift, and Darlene carefully sprayed some hairspray on the tendrils, all while putting a hand over Callie's eyes to shield the older woman from the mist. That little lip was like a dam, a great big monument of strength and grace, holding back everything just brewing beneath the surface.
Sometimes, nature has a way of handing us great challenges and personal tragedies, raging flood waters that rush and bound over even the most carefully engineered dams. Cement structures that just give way to the sheer force of God's power.
And that's exactly what happened to Darlene.
That little lip wavered and quivered as she snipped away at a few of Callie's stray hairs until she gave out a huge wail that had been compressed inside her far too long. Darlene's chest heaved, gasping for air as the tears streamed out of her like the water that had just poured out of the faucet at the start of their little meeting. Mascara running, Darlene's left hand grabbed her forehead as her right hand dropped the fancy gold scissors to the floor.
Darlene had no idea what she was going to do without her mother. For over forty years, she trusted and confided in Callie, a woman who knew no bounds where love, forgiveness and understanding were concerned. Callie loved her daughter Darlene, and always wanted the big city girl to know she always had a place in the country.
Now Darlene wondered just how often she would make it back home to that one stoplight town. Now Darlene wondered how her little girls would ever know her wonderful, loving mother. Now Darlene wondered why, despite all of God's greatness, He had invented cancer.
Darlene let out a huge moan before she took in another breath, wiping away the tears and kissing Callie's cheek. It was the last time she'd do that, too, she realized, as she bent down to pick up the small pair of scissors from the floor. Darlene walked away from Callie, knowing this was their last moment alone together, then placed the scissors back inside the tackle box and went upstairs.
This little bit of faction is dedicated to my dear friend Darlene, who buried her mother today. Her little girls are the "little monkeys" that I love spending my Saturdays with. May Grandma Callie find her way in Heaven, and leave the light on for all the rest of us.
Darlene wiped a tear away from her cheek before she turned the faucet. So many emotions racing through her brain, her heart pounding and her throat all choked up. She knew this moment would be coming for months now, but somehow she had avoided coming to terms with all the painful, swirling feelings until that very second in the timeline of her until-now, fairly serene life.
Callie sat there, quieter than she had in years, peace awash over her face. Her hair was a thin spun silver with little tufts of white here and there. The two women had been doing this routine for years, Darlene making the trip from the big city to the little village about an hour away. In fact, Callie was the first person to let Darlene near a live head of hair with a pair of scissors. It was a daring move for Callie at the time, but she had confidence in the girl, and knew this little hobby of hers could take root and turn into something magnificent. Darlene saw cutting hair as an opportunity to get out of the dusty, missed-on-the-map kind of village and have some fun. Callie always thought of it as a chance for Darlene to make something of her life, to do something better than all the other girls in the one stoplight town.
Darlene ran her hands under the water, making sure the temperature was nice and warm. She was always thinking about the comfort of her clients; whether the water was too cold, whether the chair was reclined at the right angle for them. Comfort was her top priority for Callie, her very first client in a long list that had multiplied and developed into a very successful salon business.
Callie never liked making the long trip to the salon. She always hated the drive there. The traffic started getting a little hairy for her about 20 miles out of the center of town, which is exactly where Darlene's sleek shop sat, merely blocks away from the intersection of Broadway and Main Street. No, Callie hated making that trip, insisting Darlene would have to pile all her tools and lotions and potions in the back of her car instead.
Years ago the trip was never a problem for Darlene. At first little was holding her back in the city, what with no children and an independent, successful husband and a thriving business of his own to take care of. Darlene would pack up her special bottles and hair dyes, a little gold pair of scissors she got at the supply shop for about five hundred dollars, and all her clips and bobby pins in a tackle box for the trip to Callie's. Usually she'd throw a special body scrub in, one that smelled of lavender and sage, as a little gift for the older woman.
Darlene would pull up to the house, a home where inside Callie was bubbling with anticipation. A chair would already be pulled up next to the kitchen sink, and some freshly fluffed and folded hand towels beside it, just waiting for the expert to take the helm. Callie'd have a pot of water on to boil for a cup of tea later (she'd hope Darlene would stay for two) and a loaf of homemade banana bread just about done in the oven. The two women would talk about anything under the sun, exchanging recipes and little snippets of life. Callie'd get Darlene up to speed on all the gossip in the town while Darlene would confide and question the wiser woman. Sometimes their talks came to a screeching halt, usually after heated words that Darlene either never wanted to hear or never wanted to say, nevertheless, the snipping and shaping of the hair would go on, talking or not. As those little bits of salt and pepper hair fell to the ground, time marched on, just as the pace of life did, and with it a baby. A baby that was a gift from God.
After years of trying, Darlene had long forgotten the notion of having children. Instead she plunked down cold, hard cash for a little convertible sports car, zipping down those country roads to see Callie, carefree and without another place to be for dinner or any other occasion. But low and behold, one of the many trials had taken, and before she knew it a beautiful little girl came into the world, breathing and beating with life inside her.
Darlene rubbed a bit of fancy shampoo in her damp hands, bringing the fragrant gel to a lather before touching Callie's hair. Gently she pulled the bangs away from the forehead, working all of Callie's hair into a soapy bundle. The two sat there quietly, both doing what God meant them to do, both letting this last shampoo wash over them.
Callie became the namesake for Darlene's little girl. Right behind baby Callie came another gift, an even bigger surprise, little baby Ava. Darlene figured God had gotten everything up and running for baby Callie so well that everything was just set in motion for the blessing that Ava came to be. The little girls were Darlene's world, and they had a way of putting a kink in her trips an hour out of town to see the old woman. Sometimes she'd pile the girls in the back of the minivan, filled with a portacrib and all kinds of dollies and diapers. Right beside her in the front seat sat that old tackle box, just waiting to be cracked open for her visit with Callie. The girls would get antsy though, one would be too tired or the other would be too sick, and so Darlene's visits with Callie would get cut short.
Over time, Darlene began again making solo trips to see Callie. Alone the two women would be, sharing hopes and tales over treatments with the blue-gray creme and a cup of chamomile tea. But the meter was always running, so to speak, and Darlene had to get back to her two girls, anxious to spend some time with their beautiful mother.
Callie sat there this last time, patiently, with all the time in the world for Darlene. Callie didn't flinch a muscle as Darlene gently tugged on the gray and white tufts, running her fingers through the hair while the blowdryer was going. Darlene pursed her lips, desperate to keep bottled in what she wanted to say to Callie, just knowing that giving life to the words would bring with them rage and fear and sadness.
Darlene's upper lip quivered as she ran a fine comb through Callie's freshly washed and dried hair. The dryer gave the silver spun strands a bit of a lift, and Darlene carefully sprayed some hairspray on the tendrils, all while putting a hand over Callie's eyes to shield the older woman from the mist. That little lip was like a dam, a great big monument of strength and grace, holding back everything just brewing beneath the surface.
Sometimes, nature has a way of handing us great challenges and personal tragedies, raging flood waters that rush and bound over even the most carefully engineered dams. Cement structures that just give way to the sheer force of God's power.
And that's exactly what happened to Darlene.
That little lip wavered and quivered as she snipped away at a few of Callie's stray hairs until she gave out a huge wail that had been compressed inside her far too long. Darlene's chest heaved, gasping for air as the tears streamed out of her like the water that had just poured out of the faucet at the start of their little meeting. Mascara running, Darlene's left hand grabbed her forehead as her right hand dropped the fancy gold scissors to the floor.
Darlene had no idea what she was going to do without her mother. For over forty years, she trusted and confided in Callie, a woman who knew no bounds where love, forgiveness and understanding were concerned. Callie loved her daughter Darlene, and always wanted the big city girl to know she always had a place in the country.
Now Darlene wondered just how often she would make it back home to that one stoplight town. Now Darlene wondered how her little girls would ever know her wonderful, loving mother. Now Darlene wondered why, despite all of God's greatness, He had invented cancer.
Darlene let out a huge moan before she took in another breath, wiping away the tears and kissing Callie's cheek. It was the last time she'd do that, too, she realized, as she bent down to pick up the small pair of scissors from the floor. Darlene walked away from Callie, knowing this was their last moment alone together, then placed the scissors back inside the tackle box and went upstairs.
This little bit of faction is dedicated to my dear friend Darlene, who buried her mother today. Her little girls are the "little monkeys" that I love spending my Saturdays with. May Grandma Callie find her way in Heaven, and leave the light on for all the rest of us.
Tell It To Me Straight, Guys
So. What's up with this "3-day-wait" I keep hearing about?
As in... the waiting until at least three days to call a girl after you take her out.
Prospect #1 took me out Wednesday. A good time was had by all, but I've yet to hear from him.
Prospect A (as opposed to #2... which implies he's in second place, which he's not) took me out Thursday. An absolutely fabulous time was had by all, but I've yet to hear from him, either.
I actually have a big time crush on Prospect A and am really hoping to hear from him. We have great chemistry and great conversation.
I'll debrief later, but for now... I'm really curious to hear what y'all have to say.
As in... the waiting until at least three days to call a girl after you take her out.
Prospect #1 took me out Wednesday. A good time was had by all, but I've yet to hear from him.
Prospect A (as opposed to #2... which implies he's in second place, which he's not) took me out Thursday. An absolutely fabulous time was had by all, but I've yet to hear from him, either.
I actually have a big time crush on Prospect A and am really hoping to hear from him. We have great chemistry and great conversation.
I'll debrief later, but for now... I'm really curious to hear what y'all have to say.
The Dry, Dog Days of Winter
I don't know about you, but my face has a way of flaking just about as much as puff pastry this time of year.
It kind of reminds me of that scene in The Breakfast Club when Ally Sheedy draws a nice, pastoral scene in pencil... and then proceeds to massage her scalp so all her dandruff falls like little snow flakes on the page.
SO GROSS.
Almost as gross are the little peels of skin coming off the end of my nose and between my not-as-tweezed-as-they-used-to-be eyebrows.
I'm not as much of a Girly Girl as some folks would lead you to believe. If there's one thing I am more than high maintenance, it's lazy. Not as in so lazy I'd rather lay in bed than do something fun with a friend... more like so lazy I'd rather lay in bed than scrub the bathroom floor.
Ditto for scrubbing my face.
Lately though, I've really taken a liking (as have my pours) to Pond's Cold Cream. I know this creamy creation has been around since the dawn of time, but it's easy for a gal to be distracted by the plethora of scrubs, cleansers, tonics, soaps and foams out there in the grocery store. Same goes for the cosmetics counters at the department store.
I've been using PCC for about three months now, and it's really stood up to the challenge. Makeup, waterproof mascara and very resistant lipstick are rendered powerless by the Pond's. And it gets a gold star for working without the use of water, which can add commotion to a process you'd like to streamline when very, very tired after a night of barhopping.
PCC has helped me come up with a nice 'lil facewashing routine like all the other girls. The dryness of the season requires me to top it off with some Oil of Olay for daytime... Dove's Night Cream at... night.
Now I don't feel like as much of a slacker, though I probably don't paint my toenails nearly as often as my female counterparts.
Such a slave to beauty, am I.
Tell me, I'm dying to hear of any sure-bet, secret, primping ritual you may have.
Go ahead, we're listening ;)
It kind of reminds me of that scene in The Breakfast Club when Ally Sheedy draws a nice, pastoral scene in pencil... and then proceeds to massage her scalp so all her dandruff falls like little snow flakes on the page.
SO GROSS.
Almost as gross are the little peels of skin coming off the end of my nose and between my not-as-tweezed-as-they-used-to-be eyebrows.
I'm not as much of a Girly Girl as some folks would lead you to believe. If there's one thing I am more than high maintenance, it's lazy. Not as in so lazy I'd rather lay in bed than do something fun with a friend... more like so lazy I'd rather lay in bed than scrub the bathroom floor.
Ditto for scrubbing my face.
Lately though, I've really taken a liking (as have my pours) to Pond's Cold Cream. I know this creamy creation has been around since the dawn of time, but it's easy for a gal to be distracted by the plethora of scrubs, cleansers, tonics, soaps and foams out there in the grocery store. Same goes for the cosmetics counters at the department store.
I've been using PCC for about three months now, and it's really stood up to the challenge. Makeup, waterproof mascara and very resistant lipstick are rendered powerless by the Pond's. And it gets a gold star for working without the use of water, which can add commotion to a process you'd like to streamline when very, very tired after a night of barhopping.
PCC has helped me come up with a nice 'lil facewashing routine like all the other girls. The dryness of the season requires me to top it off with some Oil of Olay for daytime... Dove's Night Cream at... night.
Now I don't feel like as much of a slacker, though I probably don't paint my toenails nearly as often as my female counterparts.
Such a slave to beauty, am I.
Tell me, I'm dying to hear of any sure-bet, secret, primping ritual you may have.
Go ahead, we're listening ;)
Sunday, January 23, 2005
So, You Wanna Take Some Pictures?
This is my "You Caught Me Off Guard In A Pensive State" Expression
The thing about a camera (or, in this case, a camera phone) and living alone is, you really don't have many subjects to work with.
I decided this week to caugh up the cash for a new cell phone, seeing as my old one was practically archaic at three years old, complete with the battle scars of a cracked, black and white, low-def screen (and tons of super glue holding together the right hinge).
Queen-of-bells-and-whistles, I'm not. But I reconciled that, if I was going to drop the cha-ching equal to half the rent on the phone, it was gonna come tricked out.
The gal at the Sprint store saw my old, little ghetto phone and the new one I had picked out, and was like, "Kate, welcome to the 21st century."
I can now keep a schedule, play games, send text messages and, for the amusement of all, take pictures.
Over the past two days I've stockpiled a nice little collection of images of yours truly, all in various stages of life and fashion (though nothing racy, so don't even ask!) I feel kind of vain taking all these little snapshots of myself, but I feel even more vain deleting the ones that make me look bad, "Well, THAT one shows off my double chin, and that one caught the pimple on my cheek... and that one... OH! it makes me look like a hag."
I am rather fond of the one at the top. The nice sepia setting has a way of concealing the fact I hadn't washed my hair in, oh, about three days (a hot date, a grueling day of work, and 10 hours of babysitting two little monkeys all got in the way).
Here's one of me in the infamous Pink Wig.
Call Me Lola
Gosh, there's something about that wig that makes me feel like an international spy gal. And, no, I don't normally pout my lips like that, it's just something that comes along with the Pink Wig territory.
Anyway. Enough about me. Now it's all about you.
Now that I have this technological capability, I'm opening the floor to requests (Lord, have mercy). If there's something in particular you're curious about in regards to my corner of the world, drop me a shout out and I'll try to snap it.
Don't know if I can get an up-close-and-personal picture of Tubby Smith or any of the fine ladies at Solid Platinum, but other than that, I'm pretty game.
Let the melee begin.
Friday, January 21, 2005
For The Valentines Who Just Can't Bear Cold Hands
Being that I'm eternally single, I had no idea there was a need for a product like this:
image courtesy of smitten.com
It's a two handed mitten for folks who just luuuuv to hold hands.
My history so far excludes any kind of extensive hand holding, so I've never considered the trouble of holding a loved one's digits in the freezing cold.
I guess I can see how that could be a problem.
Now all we need is an invention to keep, ahem, a lady's top warm and subdued.
image courtesy of smitten.com
It's a two handed mitten for folks who just luuuuv to hold hands.
My history so far excludes any kind of extensive hand holding, so I've never considered the trouble of holding a loved one's digits in the freezing cold.
I guess I can see how that could be a problem.
Now all we need is an invention to keep, ahem, a lady's top warm and subdued.
When It Rains, It Pours
After years of dating desolation, Kate the Great has two great dates.
In one week.
With two different men.
Well, sakes alive!
I feel like Jen Scheft on the Bachelorette, getting to pick between two great guys. It's a very strange place for me to be in, as I've had more than my share of empty entries on my dance card.
I'm torn in some respects between these two guys, so I'm making sure I behave the way a lady should, ensuring our respective relationships stay, uh, appropriately friendly. I'm really not much of a player. Really.
I'll expand a little later on the whole scenario... but I am beginning to wonder if there's some truth to my perfume theory.
Click here to buy the scent Kate The Great wears.
In one week.
With two different men.
Well, sakes alive!
I feel like Jen Scheft on the Bachelorette, getting to pick between two great guys. It's a very strange place for me to be in, as I've had more than my share of empty entries on my dance card.
I'm torn in some respects between these two guys, so I'm making sure I behave the way a lady should, ensuring our respective relationships stay, uh, appropriately friendly. I'm really not much of a player. Really.
I'll expand a little later on the whole scenario... but I am beginning to wonder if there's some truth to my perfume theory.
Click here to buy the scent Kate The Great wears.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Boys, We Got Him (For Four More Years)
Image courtesy of jibjab.com
Our friends at Jib Jab have been busy working on something special to commemoriatate the significance of this monumentorial occasion.
I know it's made the rounds, but I wanted to make sure you had a chance to catch it if you haven't yet.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Happy Birthday, Edgar
In honor of one of the greatest, darkest writers of all time
(sidebar: I love how the article is written by Kasey Jones. Drivin' that train... )
Image courtesy of the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore
(sidebar: I love how the article is written by Kasey Jones. Drivin' that train... )
Image courtesy of the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore
Thank You, Spain, For Taking A Stand
It's about time someone in the church stands up against the spread of AIDS.
I just wrote a story for my newscast (yes, I do squeeze in some work from time to time) on how Spain's top Catholic leaders are endorsing the use of condoms for the purpose of protecting against HIV. You can click here for a breakdown.
As a proud, card carrying member of the Roman Catholic church (Actually, we don't have cards. But baptismal certificates and rosary beads have got to count for something), I've often been frustrated with some of the practices of the faith. Ultra conservatives (and some of my very good friends in my bible study) may point their fingers at me for being a Cafeteria Catholic.
Nay, I say. I love the religion and intend to be a practicing Catholic for a long time. My frustrations lie, however, with how the church does not appear to have evolved with the struggles of Man in modern times. AIDS and HIV are lethal killers, and despite the omnipresent threat of Catholic guilt, they're a harsh reality for sexually active people.
The Catholic church has an obligation to take into consideration the real struggles and seductions of humanity. Rather than condemn a believer for using some kind of birth control (which The Church deems as a sin), Catholic leaders have an obligation to their followers to endorse any methods that may preserve and protect the frailty of human life.
I just wrote a story for my newscast (yes, I do squeeze in some work from time to time) on how Spain's top Catholic leaders are endorsing the use of condoms for the purpose of protecting against HIV. You can click here for a breakdown.
As a proud, card carrying member of the Roman Catholic church (Actually, we don't have cards. But baptismal certificates and rosary beads have got to count for something), I've often been frustrated with some of the practices of the faith. Ultra conservatives (and some of my very good friends in my bible study) may point their fingers at me for being a Cafeteria Catholic.
Nay, I say. I love the religion and intend to be a practicing Catholic for a long time. My frustrations lie, however, with how the church does not appear to have evolved with the struggles of Man in modern times. AIDS and HIV are lethal killers, and despite the omnipresent threat of Catholic guilt, they're a harsh reality for sexually active people.
The Catholic church has an obligation to take into consideration the real struggles and seductions of humanity. Rather than condemn a believer for using some kind of birth control (which The Church deems as a sin), Catholic leaders have an obligation to their followers to endorse any methods that may preserve and protect the frailty of human life.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
A Kiss Is Just A Kiss. Or Is It?
Every girl's got to kiss a lot of frogs before she finds her prince.
For the past 12 years or so... I've been doing my share of lipping up to toad, after toad, after toad in search of that one great knight masquerading as an amphibious creature.
So far, no such luck.
Years ago I wouldn't have given a passing thought when puckering up to someone. Heck, I look back fondly on a night long ago when I racked up over 20 kisses (For good reason too. It was the night of UK's national championship win in '98). But as of late, I've become a bit more discriminating about whom I kiss, and I even feel a little guilty for locking lips.
A quick spin through the World Wide Web, and you'll find some sites that define kissing as a physical representation of generosity and affection. Check. Another place defines it as affectionate play (or foreplay without contact with the genital organs). Check. One dating website says there are actually different types of kisses: a friendship kiss, a passionate kiss and a deep kiss (which apparently differ from the previous example).
Virtualkiss.com says kissing triggers special chemicals inside, including one such hormone that gives us that tingly-good-all-over feeling.
Now, what's so bad about that?
I'm all about feeling good, especially when there's so much in this world that can make a person feel down in the dumps. For some reason though, I keep getting more prude the older I get.
What? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?
It seems like my life is operating on some kind of Bell Curve where my promiscuity peaked around 25 or so. Over time I've started leaning towards more conservative clothing that covers me up (well, except for that September trip to Vegas) and have scaled down my more amorous attitude. I'm happy to be called The Good Girl and stand firm by my discerning tastes, but now I practically start picking out wedding china when I kiss a guy.
Image courtesy of China Etc.
I suppose there's a part of me that wants to reserve that kind of intimate contact for a special person. The wild side of me retorts "C'mon, Kate. It's only kissing. Even that doesn't warrant a confession at church."
So, my friends. Am I crazy? Is this whole demure, virginesque thing that's come over me TOTALLY bonkers? Should I love and let love, kissing madly with reckless abandon? Should I throw caution to the wind and keep the Chap Stick near by, or should I stick with my timidity and apprehension where my expressions of affection are concerned?
For the past 12 years or so... I've been doing my share of lipping up to toad, after toad, after toad in search of that one great knight masquerading as an amphibious creature.
So far, no such luck.
Years ago I wouldn't have given a passing thought when puckering up to someone. Heck, I look back fondly on a night long ago when I racked up over 20 kisses (For good reason too. It was the night of UK's national championship win in '98). But as of late, I've become a bit more discriminating about whom I kiss, and I even feel a little guilty for locking lips.
A quick spin through the World Wide Web, and you'll find some sites that define kissing as a physical representation of generosity and affection. Check. Another place defines it as affectionate play (or foreplay without contact with the genital organs). Check. One dating website says there are actually different types of kisses: a friendship kiss, a passionate kiss and a deep kiss (which apparently differ from the previous example).
Virtualkiss.com says kissing triggers special chemicals inside, including one such hormone that gives us that tingly-good-all-over feeling.
Now, what's so bad about that?
I'm all about feeling good, especially when there's so much in this world that can make a person feel down in the dumps. For some reason though, I keep getting more prude the older I get.
What? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?
It seems like my life is operating on some kind of Bell Curve where my promiscuity peaked around 25 or so. Over time I've started leaning towards more conservative clothing that covers me up (well, except for that September trip to Vegas) and have scaled down my more amorous attitude. I'm happy to be called The Good Girl and stand firm by my discerning tastes, but now I practically start picking out wedding china when I kiss a guy.
Image courtesy of China Etc.
I suppose there's a part of me that wants to reserve that kind of intimate contact for a special person. The wild side of me retorts "C'mon, Kate. It's only kissing. Even that doesn't warrant a confession at church."
So, my friends. Am I crazy? Is this whole demure, virginesque thing that's come over me TOTALLY bonkers? Should I love and let love, kissing madly with reckless abandon? Should I throw caution to the wind and keep the Chap Stick near by, or should I stick with my timidity and apprehension where my expressions of affection are concerned?
Monday, January 17, 2005
Random Memos From The Cerebrum
-After meeting him at the company Holiday party:
Bachelorette contestant Chris from Campton, Kentucky is actually a nice guy. The folks at ABC were schmucks for setting him up to be the joke of the show.
-In regards to my diet this weekend:
There's nothing wrong with eating homemade chicken soup and homemade chocolate cake for three days straight. Especially when you're eating them in bed.
-On picking up men:
What's up with guys wanting to just sleep (read: actually catch forty winks) in my bed with me? It's really nice to play the good girl, I am just so surprised that the men I meet as of late are so eager to follow my Virgin Vault laws.
-After a weekend of being "off" the wagon:
So I started drinking again over Christmas. Haven't really done a whole lot of it since then (or over the past year, for that matter) but I had to imbibe a little bit to tolerate some co-workers in my off time (believe me, you'd be drinking too if you had to hang out with the likes of them). It felt really great to not be so self conscious about what I was sipping on (instead of the paranoia of days past, "Do you think everyone will know this is only Diet Coke?") and to actually loosen up a bit. And yes, you can take the party girl out of the party, but you can't take the party out of the girl (no matter what I'm drinking, I contest that I'm always fun.)
-When comparing me to my ex's pregnant wife:
I am way hotter. This is an undisputed fact (after taking an informal survey among some of my co-workers and friends. Am I a bitch for that? Hmmm.) And it made me feel good to see the woman who ended up taking the place in my fantasy that turned into my ex's reality. Thank God those pregnancy tests came out negative two years ago.
-In anticipation of good things:
It's so much fun to be looking forward to a dinner date on the calendar this week. The outing's with a guy with whom I really enjoy talking to... and I have lots of hopes our little night out will be a great time.
-Talking to ghosts of the past:
My freshman year roommate randomly called me up last night. I am SO glad she did. LM was my favorite roommate of all those years at UK, and we pick up instantly where we leave off whenever we talk. LM was the bestest roommate in the world, because she tolerated so many of my wild antics.
(True story: I once peed on her side of the room in a drunken stupor. LM woke up in the middle of the night to seeing my bare, white ass sitting on her bed. She heard the water sloshing and thought I was pouring out the Evian bottle that I kept beside my bed. Noooo. I was peeing on two of her favorite VHS movies. As an actress, LM tells the story with the best delivery... including how I turned around in my sleep and was like, "Why are you bothering me, I'm going to the bathroom," as if to imply she was intruding on this very personal moment in my nocturnal life. I was in one of those sleepwalking states, so try as she might, LM was unable to wake me up before I had a chance to clear out my system. I love it when she delivers the whole punchline to the story... that I turned around and slapped her leg as if to flush the toilet. Really. To this day I am still looking for copies of Say Anything and Some Kind of Wonderful.)
Our conversation last night just -flew by-, and I was shocked when my cell phone informed me upon hanging up that it was an actually a three hour talk session. Those are absolutely the best. I am investigating visiting this dear friend of mine now, she lives in Asheville NC, which is only a few hour car ride from Central KY. I promise I won't drink too much liquid before I go to bed.
On thoughts I haven't pondered in a while:
Boy, I sure do miss my grandparents. I was walking through my shotgun apartment when I passed my Papa's old golfclubs. They're a nice, old set of Mars clubs, complete with woods made of real wood. How crazy is that? Anyway. My dad brought them to me so I can get them cut down and take them out to the driving range (Tangent: I really want to take up golf. I pity the poor suckers who actually play a few games with me before I get better than I am now!). I hadn't rifled through the dusty bag since my dad brought it here in November. I unzippered a few of the compartments and found hundreds of brightly colored tees and odd golf balls with oil company names and matchbooks from resorts I've never heard of. Ohhh... I just burst into tears. My grandpa was -such- a packrat... and seeing all this stuff he collected probably 20 years ago just sent me back to those days playing at Nana and Papa's house in Ohio. Wow, they really loved me... and I didn't realize just how much I loved them until they were already gone. I know this is a crazy thought, but do you think our loved ones can "see" us still alive on earth? My grandma passed on before I ever made it to college, and my grandpa died during my junior year in college. I sometimes wonder if they'd be proud of me, if they'd be excited to hear about my career and the things I do in this crazy life 'o mine. Hmm. Something to think about.
Bachelorette contestant Chris from Campton, Kentucky is actually a nice guy. The folks at ABC were schmucks for setting him up to be the joke of the show.
-In regards to my diet this weekend:
There's nothing wrong with eating homemade chicken soup and homemade chocolate cake for three days straight. Especially when you're eating them in bed.
-On picking up men:
What's up with guys wanting to just sleep (read: actually catch forty winks) in my bed with me? It's really nice to play the good girl, I am just so surprised that the men I meet as of late are so eager to follow my Virgin Vault laws.
-After a weekend of being "off" the wagon:
So I started drinking again over Christmas. Haven't really done a whole lot of it since then (or over the past year, for that matter) but I had to imbibe a little bit to tolerate some co-workers in my off time (believe me, you'd be drinking too if you had to hang out with the likes of them). It felt really great to not be so self conscious about what I was sipping on (instead of the paranoia of days past, "Do you think everyone will know this is only Diet Coke?") and to actually loosen up a bit. And yes, you can take the party girl out of the party, but you can't take the party out of the girl (no matter what I'm drinking, I contest that I'm always fun.)
-When comparing me to my ex's pregnant wife:
I am way hotter. This is an undisputed fact (after taking an informal survey among some of my co-workers and friends. Am I a bitch for that? Hmmm.) And it made me feel good to see the woman who ended up taking the place in my fantasy that turned into my ex's reality. Thank God those pregnancy tests came out negative two years ago.
-In anticipation of good things:
It's so much fun to be looking forward to a dinner date on the calendar this week. The outing's with a guy with whom I really enjoy talking to... and I have lots of hopes our little night out will be a great time.
-Talking to ghosts of the past:
My freshman year roommate randomly called me up last night. I am SO glad she did. LM was my favorite roommate of all those years at UK, and we pick up instantly where we leave off whenever we talk. LM was the bestest roommate in the world, because she tolerated so many of my wild antics.
(True story: I once peed on her side of the room in a drunken stupor. LM woke up in the middle of the night to seeing my bare, white ass sitting on her bed. She heard the water sloshing and thought I was pouring out the Evian bottle that I kept beside my bed. Noooo. I was peeing on two of her favorite VHS movies. As an actress, LM tells the story with the best delivery... including how I turned around in my sleep and was like, "Why are you bothering me, I'm going to the bathroom," as if to imply she was intruding on this very personal moment in my nocturnal life. I was in one of those sleepwalking states, so try as she might, LM was unable to wake me up before I had a chance to clear out my system. I love it when she delivers the whole punchline to the story... that I turned around and slapped her leg as if to flush the toilet. Really. To this day I am still looking for copies of Say Anything and Some Kind of Wonderful.)
Our conversation last night just -flew by-, and I was shocked when my cell phone informed me upon hanging up that it was an actually a three hour talk session. Those are absolutely the best. I am investigating visiting this dear friend of mine now, she lives in Asheville NC, which is only a few hour car ride from Central KY. I promise I won't drink too much liquid before I go to bed.
On thoughts I haven't pondered in a while:
Boy, I sure do miss my grandparents. I was walking through my shotgun apartment when I passed my Papa's old golfclubs. They're a nice, old set of Mars clubs, complete with woods made of real wood. How crazy is that? Anyway. My dad brought them to me so I can get them cut down and take them out to the driving range (Tangent: I really want to take up golf. I pity the poor suckers who actually play a few games with me before I get better than I am now!). I hadn't rifled through the dusty bag since my dad brought it here in November. I unzippered a few of the compartments and found hundreds of brightly colored tees and odd golf balls with oil company names and matchbooks from resorts I've never heard of. Ohhh... I just burst into tears. My grandpa was -such- a packrat... and seeing all this stuff he collected probably 20 years ago just sent me back to those days playing at Nana and Papa's house in Ohio. Wow, they really loved me... and I didn't realize just how much I loved them until they were already gone. I know this is a crazy thought, but do you think our loved ones can "see" us still alive on earth? My grandma passed on before I ever made it to college, and my grandpa died during my junior year in college. I sometimes wonder if they'd be proud of me, if they'd be excited to hear about my career and the things I do in this crazy life 'o mine. Hmm. Something to think about.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Lunch Buffet
From Friday's Feast
Appetizer
If you could have a free subscription to any online service, which would you like to have?
Hmm. Online service? I guess it would be a free subscription to a service that allows you to download music (providing I actually owned a computer at home)
Soup
Describe your bathroom (furnishings, colors, etc.).
The walls are your standard beige (save for one wall, which is painted a bright peach, with a kind of traditional, blue marbelized border. Neither are my choice.) My towels are blue, and I have really cute hand towels from Pottery Barn that say "wash" and "dry" on them.
Salad
What does the shape of a triangle make you think of?
Prior to the whole Pink Triangle gay rights thing, I guess I would have probably listed Triangle Park, in downtown Lexington.
Main Course
Name 3 things or activities that you consider to be luxuries.
-Massages/Pedicures/Manicures
-truly exquisite food (both in preparation and presentation)
-Spare time
Dessert
What was the last really great movie you watched?
Hmm. Great in a funny sense: Meet The Fockers
Great in a "Gee, that makes me think," sense: American Beauty. I could watch that one over and over.
Appetizer
If you could have a free subscription to any online service, which would you like to have?
Hmm. Online service? I guess it would be a free subscription to a service that allows you to download music (providing I actually owned a computer at home)
Soup
Describe your bathroom (furnishings, colors, etc.).
The walls are your standard beige (save for one wall, which is painted a bright peach, with a kind of traditional, blue marbelized border. Neither are my choice.) My towels are blue, and I have really cute hand towels from Pottery Barn that say "wash" and "dry" on them.
Salad
What does the shape of a triangle make you think of?
Prior to the whole Pink Triangle gay rights thing, I guess I would have probably listed Triangle Park, in downtown Lexington.
Main Course
Name 3 things or activities that you consider to be luxuries.
-Massages/Pedicures/Manicures
-truly exquisite food (both in preparation and presentation)
-Spare time
Dessert
What was the last really great movie you watched?
Hmm. Great in a funny sense: Meet The Fockers
Great in a "Gee, that makes me think," sense: American Beauty. I could watch that one over and over.
A Holiday Party? In January?
Call it the Christmas Party that's three weeks too late.
Our company decided to have its holiday party Saturday January 15th, meaning we get to prolong the festivities well into the new year.
Well, yippee skippy.
I had long considered boycotting the fete, since my days at the television station are numbered. Then the monthly company newsletter came out, mentioning there would be door prizes involved, including a HD compatible television. Not wanting to pass up a chance to win a free tee vee (and deciding I was going to take these mother effers for all they're worth) my desk partner and I decided we'd go together.
His girlfriend lives up the road in Cincy and won't be able to go to the party because of her work schedule. My boyfriend won't be able to come because of his... Oh yeah. I don't have a boyfriend.
Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to get all dolled up and eat some good food and have a fab time with the folks here. Besides, it's the "little people" around the station that I like. The big people with the big jobs and the big paychecks, they're another story.
My outfit is almost nailed down for the big event. Seeing as my co-worker ex-boyfriend (ugh.. thank goodness we're on opposite schedules) and his prego wife (read: shotgun wedding)will be there, I've got to make sure I look nice. I always strive to make an impression at these types of gatherings, but his attendance is an added incentive (is this normal behavior for an ex?)
I'm wavering between the infamous, always safe and fabulous looking blue velvet pants and a nice pair of gray slacks I have. I set out yesterday for the local mallopolis and found a really great top on sale at The Limited. 15 bucks for this sleek black shirt... it's kind of loose and drapey around the neckline, and is cut so it shows off my collarbones and the skin on my chest between my neck and breasts. I don't know if the description does it justice, but needless to say it's very dramatic yet not tacky.
My sister got me this great necklace for Christmas... it's a red beaded thing about choker length with a gorgeous red beaded flower hanging from the center. It's stunning, and it's from the big ATL so it's got to be cool, right? She also gave me a cute red clutch bag from Ann Taylor that I'll take along.
I'm kind of looking forward to the party. It'll be a nice little "last blast" before I part ways with a company I started working at 6 years ago.
(Oh by the way, did I mention a reporter with whom I work has asked none other than the Kentucky Bachelorette Contestant to be her date to our company party? She interviewed him for a piece to preview the show Monday, and proceeded to ask him out. Conflict of interest? Anyway, it should prove for an interesting time, and I'm sure I'll have some good stories Sunday.)
Our company decided to have its holiday party Saturday January 15th, meaning we get to prolong the festivities well into the new year.
Well, yippee skippy.
I had long considered boycotting the fete, since my days at the television station are numbered. Then the monthly company newsletter came out, mentioning there would be door prizes involved, including a HD compatible television. Not wanting to pass up a chance to win a free tee vee (and deciding I was going to take these mother effers for all they're worth) my desk partner and I decided we'd go together.
His girlfriend lives up the road in Cincy and won't be able to go to the party because of her work schedule. My boyfriend won't be able to come because of his... Oh yeah. I don't have a boyfriend.
Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to get all dolled up and eat some good food and have a fab time with the folks here. Besides, it's the "little people" around the station that I like. The big people with the big jobs and the big paychecks, they're another story.
My outfit is almost nailed down for the big event. Seeing as my co-worker ex-boyfriend (ugh.. thank goodness we're on opposite schedules) and his prego wife (read: shotgun wedding)will be there, I've got to make sure I look nice. I always strive to make an impression at these types of gatherings, but his attendance is an added incentive (is this normal behavior for an ex?)
I'm wavering between the infamous, always safe and fabulous looking blue velvet pants and a nice pair of gray slacks I have. I set out yesterday for the local mallopolis and found a really great top on sale at The Limited. 15 bucks for this sleek black shirt... it's kind of loose and drapey around the neckline, and is cut so it shows off my collarbones and the skin on my chest between my neck and breasts. I don't know if the description does it justice, but needless to say it's very dramatic yet not tacky.
My sister got me this great necklace for Christmas... it's a red beaded thing about choker length with a gorgeous red beaded flower hanging from the center. It's stunning, and it's from the big ATL so it's got to be cool, right? She also gave me a cute red clutch bag from Ann Taylor that I'll take along.
I'm kind of looking forward to the party. It'll be a nice little "last blast" before I part ways with a company I started working at 6 years ago.
(Oh by the way, did I mention a reporter with whom I work has asked none other than the Kentucky Bachelorette Contestant to be her date to our company party? She interviewed him for a piece to preview the show Monday, and proceeded to ask him out. Conflict of interest? Anyway, it should prove for an interesting time, and I'm sure I'll have some good stories Sunday.)
Thursday, January 13, 2005
I Think I Saw A Tumbleweed Blowing By...
"All of Central Kentucky: Take Cover. Armageddon is almost here."
Seriously, folks. The wind here is blowing pretty fiercely... it led to a power outage at our station half an hour before my show. Fortunately we have a back-up generator, and we were able to get our computers up and running (without too much commotion) so I could print my scripts and show rundown in time (In laymans terms, we had a bunch of crazy ass news people running around with their heads cut off until things were back to normal. I, of course, was perfectly calm).
Wind is whipping at around 40 miles an hour... and we have three counties under a thunderstorm warning. A tree has fallen on a house in Lexington, fortunately no fire or injuries. A tree is also blocking my street, so power's been cut off to all homes and businesses in the area (I hope my Ben and Jerry's doesn't melt).
The sky is a black ominous shade, and the horses beyond the fence next to our station are running around aimlessly, searching for higher ground.
And the best is yet to come. We're awaiting a drastic temperature change. Right now it's in the mid 60s... by bed time it will be in the 20s or teens.
Sorry about all the boring weather talk, but news people get a hard on for crazy ass weather events, and the above is just a little glimpse inside a tv station on a wild weather day.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
She's Got A Ticket To Ride...
Thank you, Delta.
The airline with the triangular widget logo has graciously given yours truly a $250 voucher for all my travel troubles this past Christmas.
How kind of them.
The wheels are already in motion: This gal's goin' to Vegas :)
The airline with the triangular widget logo has graciously given yours truly a $250 voucher for all my travel troubles this past Christmas.
How kind of them.
The wheels are already in motion: This gal's goin' to Vegas :)
So Much For The Kentucky Guy...
So... why did the hometown guy on this week's season premiere of The Bachelorette (ABC Mondays at 9 pm) have to be a total jackass?
I mean, really.
"Well, uh, we just got us a post office in the center a town, so that's the big hangout in these parts."
"Well, uh, my daddy owns us a liquor store, so I'm gonna have to prove I can drink everyone under the table."
Well, bless his heart (in these parts of KY that means "What an asshole.")
Chris from Campton did little to make The Bluegrass State look like a blue ribbon winner. He succeeded in drinking more Kentucky bourbon and beer than all the other contestants combined, even eliciting comments from Bachelorette Jen Scheft's undercover friends (who were masquerading as servers at the initial rose ceremony). The Kentucky hairdresser (with the sloppiest mop of hair I've ever seen on a supposedly clean-cut guy) proceeded to offer to help others, including the lovely Jen, with their respective stylings.
Please.
This guy did his darndest to preserve all those nasty stereotypes about Kentucky. With his corn pone vernacular and cavalier country-boy attitude, Chris from Wolfe County kept the national viewing audience wondering whether electricity has in fact reached his little burg in the Bluegrass.
This state is so full of charm. Kentucky is bursting with highly intelligent, cultured and well-spoken people who would have made a far better impression on Bachelorette fans and the fair Jen Scheft. From Pikeville to Paducah, there are plenty of successful, classic men who would have wooed and wowed the worthy Bachelorette, all while doing wonders for Kentucky's international image (which right now the Governor is working to change with a new state brand marketing campaign).
Perhaps next time ABC will refrain from selecting a Kentucky candidate who behaves as a living cliche.
I mean, really.
"Well, uh, we just got us a post office in the center a town, so that's the big hangout in these parts."
"Well, uh, my daddy owns us a liquor store, so I'm gonna have to prove I can drink everyone under the table."
Well, bless his heart (in these parts of KY that means "What an asshole.")
Chris from Campton did little to make The Bluegrass State look like a blue ribbon winner. He succeeded in drinking more Kentucky bourbon and beer than all the other contestants combined, even eliciting comments from Bachelorette Jen Scheft's undercover friends (who were masquerading as servers at the initial rose ceremony). The Kentucky hairdresser (with the sloppiest mop of hair I've ever seen on a supposedly clean-cut guy) proceeded to offer to help others, including the lovely Jen, with their respective stylings.
Please.
This guy did his darndest to preserve all those nasty stereotypes about Kentucky. With his corn pone vernacular and cavalier country-boy attitude, Chris from Wolfe County kept the national viewing audience wondering whether electricity has in fact reached his little burg in the Bluegrass.
This state is so full of charm. Kentucky is bursting with highly intelligent, cultured and well-spoken people who would have made a far better impression on Bachelorette fans and the fair Jen Scheft. From Pikeville to Paducah, there are plenty of successful, classic men who would have wooed and wowed the worthy Bachelorette, all while doing wonders for Kentucky's international image (which right now the Governor is working to change with a new state brand marketing campaign).
Perhaps next time ABC will refrain from selecting a Kentucky candidate who behaves as a living cliche.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Don't Waste "The Pretty"
A good girlfriend at work told me I needed to get this book.
She says it would help me wade through the crap girls go through with guys, and realize that sometimes... he's just not into you.
The book apparently has a section where it focuses on how a woman shouldn't waste "the pretty."
Which makes a lot of sense, if you think about it.
It's stupid to waste all those hours in the gym, all that time primping in the mirror with your flat iron and eyelash curler, all that money on your natural looking highlights, for a guy who wants to use your body like its a carnival ride. Women are always investing a lot of money and time to maintain a stunning appearance, unfortunately they end up attracting men who are interested in a night, instead of a life together.
I, for one, have wasted "the pretty" on guys who weren't worth it, the guys who can't appreciate or respect the person I am... the same guys who take notice of my 38 DDs before they notice my aptitude.
As hard as it is to be swayed by meaningless flattery and empty kisses, a girl needs to stand strong and remember what's at stake. If she holds out for the real thing, a real man who can appreciate everything she has to offer... then he'll be doubly rewarded... with "the pretty" as a secondary prize to her more priceless rewards, like integrity, intelligence and class.
She says it would help me wade through the crap girls go through with guys, and realize that sometimes... he's just not into you.
The book apparently has a section where it focuses on how a woman shouldn't waste "the pretty."
Which makes a lot of sense, if you think about it.
It's stupid to waste all those hours in the gym, all that time primping in the mirror with your flat iron and eyelash curler, all that money on your natural looking highlights, for a guy who wants to use your body like its a carnival ride. Women are always investing a lot of money and time to maintain a stunning appearance, unfortunately they end up attracting men who are interested in a night, instead of a life together.
I, for one, have wasted "the pretty" on guys who weren't worth it, the guys who can't appreciate or respect the person I am... the same guys who take notice of my 38 DDs before they notice my aptitude.
As hard as it is to be swayed by meaningless flattery and empty kisses, a girl needs to stand strong and remember what's at stake. If she holds out for the real thing, a real man who can appreciate everything she has to offer... then he'll be doubly rewarded... with "the pretty" as a secondary prize to her more priceless rewards, like integrity, intelligence and class.
Monday, January 10, 2005
The Blow That Lifts The Spirits
Sorry for the siesta on my blog.
I've been juggling too many damn plates, and I needed a breather to catch my breath (and squeeze in a wild night out). I apologize for the neglect and promise to be a better blogger in the days ahead. That may prove especially true with what I have to discuss with you today.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
You dirty birds are probably interested with this post's title.
"What the hell (or who the hell) did she do, now?"
Ah, the wonders of a dark and tawdry thought.
But it's not like that. Really.
The Blow refers to a little meeting I had with The Boss Friday. He pulled me in the fishbowl (as we fondly refer to his office, what with its walls being made of crystal clear glass. No blinds to obstruct the blood letting or ass kissings, instead giving the whole newsroom a peek inside this one room reality TV scenario.)
The Boss pulled me in (I always get pulled in, not invited in. Not "meandered in". Not strolled in. Always Pulled In) and said,
"Well. You know with your contract being up at the end of February, I wanted to give you a heads up we wouldn't be renewing you."
No shit, Sherlock.
For better or worse, I'm one of those chicks that can see the writing on the wall. I always know what the scenario is (even though sometimes I'd rather play dumb), just like I knew six months ago there was no way my little hell hole of a TV station was going to keep me around after my clock was up.
Even though I'd given so many sacrifices (like passing up good jobs in big, fun cities like Denver, Minneapolis, Cleveland, Cincinnati and Louisville) to stay at our little dog-and-pony-show to see it through to better days. Even though I'd renewed my contract (twice!) making barely over entry level pay ALL FIVE YEARS to toil my time, in the hopes I'd see this bad ratings wave ride out to a time we were Number One. Or at least a solid, respectable Number Two. Even though I'd put in five years of 50 hour work weeks at 40 hour pay, missing out on major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas with loved ones so I could prove my commitment and pay my dues like everyone else.
Sorry, this hot button makes me emotional. I can feel my blood pressure rising and racing through my icy veins. Okay, they're not that icy, because if they were, I wouldn't be so bothered by this whole thing.
The fact is, I knew my TV station had no intention of keeping me, I just wasn't anticipating having to talk about it Friday. I liken it to having a loved one who's battling cancer. You know the inevitable... you can logically think about where that fight is going, but the minute you have to actually talk about it you lose it like a little girl who gets her lollipop stolen.
So folks, that was The Blow. Nothing oral to report (but would I, anyway?). It was a sad little vignette in my life that, like a push pin on a travel map, marks a turning point in my life. I just don't exactly know the direction my life is heading, and that's scary.
That's okay, too.
I know God has a plan for me, I just have to keep faith his plan will reveal itself on His timeframe, not mine. God doesn't worry about contracts and piddly things like that, he's more concerned with what kind of person I'm turning out to be, and I know he'll give me a great career opportunity when I'm ready, and that's the Lifts The Spirits part. It is exciting to think I'm smack-dab in the middle of a huge life change. I have to just sit back and remind myself that this is God at work, not corporate career crap.
In the meantime, I've contented myself and fears about my bills with the thought that I'll just have to sign up for unemployment while I ride this wave of uncertainty. I'm not about to leave a five year career stint in broadcasting for a job selling shoes at Dillards. Really. With the one-two combo of unemployment and tax free babysitting, that should actually be enough to make up for my measly salary, so I'll be able to cover the rent, my cell phone and other nagging bills. I don't want to jump into the wrong opportunity because I'm hungry, and hopefully this plan will buy me enough time to find the right fit.
And that would give me all the more time in the world to blog, my lovelies.
OKAY, on to happier stuff.
Hmm. Let me run down the social synopsis of my life, as of late.
Saturday, had lunch with a good friend at The Mellow Mushroom. Good chain out of Atlanta (our pie had sun dried tomatoes, feta cheese, pesto and fresh tomatoes. Ahhh, can't ya just taste it?) After that, I layed in bed for a little bit like a lazy girl, then I decided I'd do my laundry so I had some clean Fun Clothes to wear that night.
Came home from el' Laundromat and got ready for a good night out with my #1 Gal Pal (picture me sipping on sparkling water mixed with Sugar Free Red Bull and OJ, dancing around in my underwear to Snoop and Usher. Drop It Like It's Hot... ...Yeah!!) I decided to wear the blue velvet pants because they're slung low on my hips and make me look like I got a butt (since I got the flattest white girl but you've ever seen.) Flat ironed my hair and smeared the pancake on, and I was ready for a night out.
I was actually hoping to run in to Richard. I don't know if I was up for some serious teasing (on my part) or if I wanted to get a read on how he felt about me, so I suggested one of the younger dance clubs in Lexington. It's very hip, always very crowded, the play the music that makes me wanna shake my ass, and I LOVE it. We stopped at a favorite watering hole on the way (where I had one beer)... then it was on to Dancing Queen City.
My #1 Gal Pal and I made our way to the bar as soon as we got there (drink #2: Absolut Mandarin with Red Bull and Cran), then we wiggled our stiletto boots towards a big booth on the dance floor where we could watch all the action (or, at the time of our arrival, the non-action).
After about an hour of watching the crowd grow like the smoke cloud in a bingo hall... we decided to hit the dance floor. The whole time, I was scanning the crowd, looking for a beautiful, black bald head like Richard's. No such luck. I was shakin' my moneymaker like nobody's business, my #1 Gal Pal was gettin' all sweaty on the dance floor with some 21 year old (which she took much delight in, she being 30) when we decided to bail. Earlier that night I had a look at myself in the mirror and kind of chuckled, thinking of myself as Patsy from Ab Fab. We were just two older chicks bustin' a move and hangin' with the kids Saturday night.
I got home and stripped town to the bare essentials before I got in bed. Couldn't get to sleep. Friday night I had picked up Billy Shakespeare's Taming Of The Shrew, so I turned a few pages of that before I started drifting off into that hazy time between being awake and asleep.
Then -beeep beeep- the phone rang.
Wouldn't you know it... it was Richard.
Stay tuned :)
I've been juggling too many damn plates, and I needed a breather to catch my breath (and squeeze in a wild night out). I apologize for the neglect and promise to be a better blogger in the days ahead. That may prove especially true with what I have to discuss with you today.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
You dirty birds are probably interested with this post's title.
"What the hell (or who the hell) did she do, now?"
Ah, the wonders of a dark and tawdry thought.
But it's not like that. Really.
The Blow refers to a little meeting I had with The Boss Friday. He pulled me in the fishbowl (as we fondly refer to his office, what with its walls being made of crystal clear glass. No blinds to obstruct the blood letting or ass kissings, instead giving the whole newsroom a peek inside this one room reality TV scenario.)
The Boss pulled me in (I always get pulled in, not invited in. Not "meandered in". Not strolled in. Always Pulled In) and said,
"Well. You know with your contract being up at the end of February, I wanted to give you a heads up we wouldn't be renewing you."
No shit, Sherlock.
For better or worse, I'm one of those chicks that can see the writing on the wall. I always know what the scenario is (even though sometimes I'd rather play dumb), just like I knew six months ago there was no way my little hell hole of a TV station was going to keep me around after my clock was up.
Even though I'd given so many sacrifices (like passing up good jobs in big, fun cities like Denver, Minneapolis, Cleveland, Cincinnati and Louisville) to stay at our little dog-and-pony-show to see it through to better days. Even though I'd renewed my contract (twice!) making barely over entry level pay ALL FIVE YEARS to toil my time, in the hopes I'd see this bad ratings wave ride out to a time we were Number One. Or at least a solid, respectable Number Two. Even though I'd put in five years of 50 hour work weeks at 40 hour pay, missing out on major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas with loved ones so I could prove my commitment and pay my dues like everyone else.
Sorry, this hot button makes me emotional. I can feel my blood pressure rising and racing through my icy veins. Okay, they're not that icy, because if they were, I wouldn't be so bothered by this whole thing.
The fact is, I knew my TV station had no intention of keeping me, I just wasn't anticipating having to talk about it Friday. I liken it to having a loved one who's battling cancer. You know the inevitable... you can logically think about where that fight is going, but the minute you have to actually talk about it you lose it like a little girl who gets her lollipop stolen.
So folks, that was The Blow. Nothing oral to report (but would I, anyway?). It was a sad little vignette in my life that, like a push pin on a travel map, marks a turning point in my life. I just don't exactly know the direction my life is heading, and that's scary.
That's okay, too.
I know God has a plan for me, I just have to keep faith his plan will reveal itself on His timeframe, not mine. God doesn't worry about contracts and piddly things like that, he's more concerned with what kind of person I'm turning out to be, and I know he'll give me a great career opportunity when I'm ready, and that's the Lifts The Spirits part. It is exciting to think I'm smack-dab in the middle of a huge life change. I have to just sit back and remind myself that this is God at work, not corporate career crap.
In the meantime, I've contented myself and fears about my bills with the thought that I'll just have to sign up for unemployment while I ride this wave of uncertainty. I'm not about to leave a five year career stint in broadcasting for a job selling shoes at Dillards. Really. With the one-two combo of unemployment and tax free babysitting, that should actually be enough to make up for my measly salary, so I'll be able to cover the rent, my cell phone and other nagging bills. I don't want to jump into the wrong opportunity because I'm hungry, and hopefully this plan will buy me enough time to find the right fit.
And that would give me all the more time in the world to blog, my lovelies.
OKAY, on to happier stuff.
Hmm. Let me run down the social synopsis of my life, as of late.
Saturday, had lunch with a good friend at The Mellow Mushroom. Good chain out of Atlanta (our pie had sun dried tomatoes, feta cheese, pesto and fresh tomatoes. Ahhh, can't ya just taste it?) After that, I layed in bed for a little bit like a lazy girl, then I decided I'd do my laundry so I had some clean Fun Clothes to wear that night.
Came home from el' Laundromat and got ready for a good night out with my #1 Gal Pal (picture me sipping on sparkling water mixed with Sugar Free Red Bull and OJ, dancing around in my underwear to Snoop and Usher. Drop It Like It's Hot... ...Yeah!!) I decided to wear the blue velvet pants because they're slung low on my hips and make me look like I got a butt (since I got the flattest white girl but you've ever seen.) Flat ironed my hair and smeared the pancake on, and I was ready for a night out.
I was actually hoping to run in to Richard. I don't know if I was up for some serious teasing (on my part) or if I wanted to get a read on how he felt about me, so I suggested one of the younger dance clubs in Lexington. It's very hip, always very crowded, the play the music that makes me wanna shake my ass, and I LOVE it. We stopped at a favorite watering hole on the way (where I had one beer)... then it was on to Dancing Queen City.
My #1 Gal Pal and I made our way to the bar as soon as we got there (drink #2: Absolut Mandarin with Red Bull and Cran), then we wiggled our stiletto boots towards a big booth on the dance floor where we could watch all the action (or, at the time of our arrival, the non-action).
After about an hour of watching the crowd grow like the smoke cloud in a bingo hall... we decided to hit the dance floor. The whole time, I was scanning the crowd, looking for a beautiful, black bald head like Richard's. No such luck. I was shakin' my moneymaker like nobody's business, my #1 Gal Pal was gettin' all sweaty on the dance floor with some 21 year old (which she took much delight in, she being 30) when we decided to bail. Earlier that night I had a look at myself in the mirror and kind of chuckled, thinking of myself as Patsy from Ab Fab. We were just two older chicks bustin' a move and hangin' with the kids Saturday night.
I got home and stripped town to the bare essentials before I got in bed. Couldn't get to sleep. Friday night I had picked up Billy Shakespeare's Taming Of The Shrew, so I turned a few pages of that before I started drifting off into that hazy time between being awake and asleep.
Then -beeep beeep- the phone rang.
Wouldn't you know it... it was Richard.
Stay tuned :)
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Something's Rotten In The Cabbage Patch
A little girl is pissed off because of what her doll's birth cirtificate says.
Photo courtesy of 10news.com
The doll's maker says it was a random choice by the computer.
You be the judge!
Photo courtesy of 10news.com
The doll's maker says it was a random choice by the computer.
You be the judge!
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Alive (Barely)
The Dr. says I have bronchitis.
I beg to differ.
Night sweats, chills, disorientation and a sore throat (along with congestion and a hacking cough) indicate to me the flu is afoot.
Anyway. I am finally at work today, but still suffering.
The past five days have been pure misery.
I beg to differ.
Night sweats, chills, disorientation and a sore throat (along with congestion and a hacking cough) indicate to me the flu is afoot.
Anyway. I am finally at work today, but still suffering.
The past five days have been pure misery.
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