Spit and Polish

I got the most unusual email today - it featured a stripper pole and a dancing girl.

I don't normally get that kind of schlock, but this was an email from one of my favorite websites, Daily Candy. It's a site that keeps tabs on fashion tips, good fashion sites and other great nuggets for a dapper dame.


Apparently peekaboopalace.com offers the Peekaboo Pole. It's removable stripper pole that takes only one minute to install or remove so you can get in on the latest workout moves or try some techniques to keep the homefront happy.

Being that I'm single and all, I really don't have much of a need for my own stripper pole, but in the interest of my audience (and I know who y'all are) I thought I'd pose this up. That way you can stay home, save your money and let the love flow in your own living room.
Daily Candy says the steel pole has three extendable spring-loaded sections that can accommodate most ceiling heights, so you don't need to worry about whether it will work in your home.

But if it does, I don't want to know about it.

Start Me Up? - The Rub On Internet Dating

It's no secret: I'm single.

I write about it, I talk about it, I bitch and complain about it. It's a situation I can only do so much to change, and so like so many 20 or 30 somethings, I've turned to internet dating.

Let me share with you my fiery enthusiam for the high-tech dating arena.

Yeah, that was with dead pan delivery.

I gotta say, logging on to find lovin' leaves me with anything but a revved motor and a hot heart. Maybe its the anonymity, maybe its the impersonal nature, either way I have a hard time developing any passion for someone who slaps a profile on the internet.

I have, however, gotten anxious about a guy across a crowded room. In the past, I've also developed a bit of interest in someone after a dose of clever repartee. I guess what gets me going is personal interaction.

The problem with internet dating (and I think maybe I've pontificated about this before) is that some people fail to make their relationship progress from the keyboard to the dart board, or movie theatre or dining room or any other dating activity spot.

Recently, I've had the good fortune of exchanging profiles with a man who's jumping at the chance to put an in-person face with my screen name. That I can get excited about. I have a hard time cultivating some interest for someone who sends me a "wink," a "shout out," a "you got some purdy teeth," or a "hey bitch, I wanna be yo' baby daddy." Okay, so maybe I'm stretching it a bit on those last two, but if you saw some of the profiles floating around out there, then you'd know what I'm talking about.

Chemistry, baby... that seems to be the easiest way to spark a romance, and I don't care how hardwired your motherboard is, I don't think chemistry is one thing you can send through the World Wide Web.

Monday Crumbs

-I'm rockin' hardcore to Orthodox Jew - reggae star Matisyahu (Yes, you read correctly. Admittedly a strange combination but somehow it works). I lifted his disk Youth (okay, I didn't steal it, at 10 bucks it was a real deal) and now I feel like I'm on a pemanent vacation. Matisyahu has a really interesting background, and I can hear influences in his music from back when he was Phish Phollowing.

-Looking forward to getting my sleeping schedule back on track. Details to come...

-I've got something of a blind date cooking for this weekend. Going to a museum and lunch with a guy who I enjoyed talking to on the p-hone last night. For you Nati Natives, any suggestions on a lunch spot? So far, I'm thinking maybe Arnolds (anti chain, charming and low key) but am interested in other possibilities...

-I've been totally ignoring my other blog. Sorry for that. I actually have some positive stuff to talk about over there so check it out if y'all feel moved.

Smackdown on Ol' Copper - Kill 'Em With Kindness

Hey.

I won my little court battle with Barney Fife.

I showed up Wednesday morning for my non-jury trial at the Hamilton County Courthouse, pertinent papers in hand, just waiting to prove myself not guilty of all charges.

I was a bit disappointed when the cop who gave me a ticket didn't even have the decency to look at me or say hello when he walked in the courtroom. No, the cop walked to the row of chairs for witnesses and sat down, obstructing his vision by leaning his head in his left hand.

He wasn't gonna look at me, and he wasn't gonna let me look at him.

The prosecutor walked in and asked the officer who he was in the courtroom for. Then the prosecutor asked me why I was contesting the ticket for expired tags. I whipped out my paperwork, first a piece of paper from the state showing my tags were renewed the day before the date of the ticket and second, my proof of insurance.

The prosecutor looked at the cop, "Yeah. You're not gonna win this one. She's got all the proof here that she was good on those tags. How about we just throw this one out?"

I could just tell the cop was pissed.

He kind of squirmed a bit, then he smiled and said "Well, fine. She already paid out... I already ticketed her on February 15th for an improper parking spot and she waited until March second to renew those tags."

What an ass.

The prosecutor basically said, That may be the case, but you stopped her on the third, and she got her tags on the second.

The prosecutor and judge dismissed all charges, and the cop and I both walked out of the courtroom.

Once I made it to the hallway, I turned to the cop and in a move a la Bree Van De Camp (The Perfect Desperate Housewife) and said "You have a nice day," all while grinning ear to ear.

Yeah. I'm guessing he's pretty much out to get me now.

Sudafed and Vicks Vapo Rub

I am really struggling this week.

I think it all started Sunday morning when I went outside with wet hair. I was out of town, visiting my friend Bling when I went outside to play with her little boy. I had just taken a shower and hastily gotten dressed, and Bling's son was chomping at the bit to show me his trampoline.

I threw on my coat and hesitantly went out, knowing full well it was too cool to spend more than a few minutes in the breeze with my damp mess of a mop.

A couple days later I was boiling hot water, trying to fuel up on a enough tea to make my "cold" go away.

It's funny, now that I look back on that morning in question with the wet hair. The whole time I could hear my mother's voice in my head "Don't go outside with your wet hair, Kate. Put a hat on!"

Anyway.

Yesterday was the height of my physical battle with the germs that had infested my system. I woke up to go to work early Thursday morning with a temperature of 101. I couldn't even pay attention to the fleeting thought I had about calling in sick. I was scheduled for double duty: my 7 am newscast and a hit on the noon show, so calling in sick wasn't an option.

It took me about 45 minutes just to change my close as I got ready for work. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, hearing sounds like as if my head were under water. Congested, achy, sweaty and raw all at once, I think I was what you would call The Walking Wounded. If you could call it walking. I think I did more staggering around my airport, cracking my mouth open to brush my teeth. The cold water felt so good in my mouth, since the rest of me was just boiling with some kind of fever.

Now, I'm pretty old school when it comes to drugs. It's something that comes from my mom. I don't like to really take meds, even the over-the-counter type, even when I know full well those little pills could do me a world of good. Reluctantly, I've been juicing up with a combo of Day-Quil and Ni-Quil, with a few ibuprofin pills thrown in for good measure. Yesterday though, I was too exhausted to even make it out of bed to go to the bathroom for a round of drugs.

Oh. That's another thing I hate about being sick: When you spend hours upon hours in bed because you're too damn tired or exhausted to do anything else, and yet you can't even get a wink of sleep.

Being forced to lay in bed all day and watch Judge Judy surely must be one of Dante's rings of hell.

Anyway. That's why I've been MIA. Working a lot and too exhausted to chronicle anything mildly interesting in my life. Fortunately, I think things are on the upswing... just in time for the weekend.

I'll Beat You With My Walker, B*tch

I don't normally like to post about where I work.

That's because I have very few complaints about where I work. Plus, I know I have a bit of a readership at the office, so I make a conscious decision to keep work out of the blog. It's just better that way.

But not today.

I was inspired to comment after seeing tonight's security officer at work.

Normally we have a security guard who kicks ass. Kelvina is cheery and enthusiastic, despite the exhausting graveyard shift hours. She even sings us the "Happy Friday" song in the newsroom... about 15 minutes before we go to air. Sometimes it's a pretty straight forward version of a Stevie Wonder song, other times she doctors it up with trills and bellows straight out of a Sunday Meetin' At The Gospel Church.

Kelvina has a way of putting a smile on your face, and I'm pretty sure she could kick some serious ass if any riff-raff tried to make it past the lobby.

Well, she must have been sick tonight, because we had another woman working the front desk, and my immediate thought was whether this lady was going to need any physical assistance when walking the property for her nightly checks.

The guard is very heavyset, and I think she's pushing more than 60, so I firmly believe if we had some whackjob trying to make it past the newsroom door to take over our airwaves (anyone ever seen Airheads?), we'd all be left to fend for ourselves.

Good thing I know how to make a great Knuckle Sandwich.

Green Beer and Soda Bread

Thank you, Friday's Feast, for the meme.

Appetizer
What job would you definitely not want to have?
True story: I remember a million years ago the Cincinnati Enquirer ran a pic of people working for local (and global) Procter and Gamble. The job was to smell armpits to compare smelly vs. not so smelly armpits. Yuck.

Soup
Oprah calls and wants you to appear on her show. What would that day's show be about?
Single women who are fabulous and reasonably comfortable with their solo status. I'd show Oprah my battery boyfriend and invite her on the annual "There's No Telling What Happens In Vegas" trip.

Salad
Name 3 vegetables that you eat on a regular basis.
Tomatoes. green beans. onions.

Main Course
If you were commissioned to rename your hometown, what would you call it?
Hyperconservativille.

Dessert
If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have them to do?
They would have to enjoy domestic duties. I'd need someone to do my laundry, clean out my car, wash and dry my dishes (since I don't have a dishwasher). I'd also ask them to keep track of my hair appointments, doctor visits and court appearances.*

*Yes. Court appearances. I am fighting my Expired Tags ticket since I have evidence from the state that proves they were renewed the DAY BEFORE the ticket.

I went to court Wednesday and sat in the wrong courtroom for an hour and 45 minutes because the cop wrote the wrong room number on the ticket (the computer to verify hearings was broken). I made it to the right courtroom really late, and apparently put a warrant out on me (for 200 bucks) when I didn't show up at roll call. A bailiff took pity on me (since I was dressed up and looked a bit more "professional" than my counterparts) and asked the clerk where my case file was.

Anyway. The judge heard my case, I pleaded not guilty, and now my bench trial (yes, trial) is scheduled for next Wednesday.

All for expired tags.

Much ado about nothing, I say. Oh well, I'm a taxpayer and I'm gonna use the system.

Getting Back To Cincinnati

My parents are so anxious to get back to Cincinnati.

I think by the time they eventually move here, they'll have tried 40 different ways to prepare ramen noodles.

Let me start back at the beginning. No. Probably more in the middle.

We were a cute little family with a Volvo in the garage and a stay-at-home mom and three happy girls anxious for their Daddy to come home from work. He had a great job. Travel. Big paycheck. Prestige. My dad was the head of marketing for the largest lock company in the world. Not bragging, really, just telling the truth. As you'll read on, the glamour had a way of waning. But for a good, long run we were living really well. I was well traveled, well cultured and well educated. I went to the best public high school in the state of Connecticut, a district where the kids drove European cars (second hand, of course) and looked liked they stepped out of a J Crew catalog.

I guess you could say we were running with the big dogs.

When we moved there 14 years ago, Mom and Dad bought the worst house on the best street, and that proved to be the best business decision my parents ever made, as you'll learn later. It's a street that starts at the center of town and runs perpendicular, right to the Connecticut shoreline. We live about two blocks away from the water, which was pretty surreal for a family with Midwestern roots. We instantly loved the water. When my dad was home (which wasn't often) we'd go on walks at the nearby seaside state park and out to dinner at the local seafood spots.

Life was good. Really good.

Then he got the brain tumor. It was the week after my Senior year spring break in college, when my dad's secretary called me up with flight information. "You're coming home." What? I was just home three days ago. Mom was strong on the line, telling me that something happened... Emergency surgery... Ambulance ride... Brain hemorrhaging.

What the f*ck.

I instantly collapsed like a deflated balloon. My dad was the man who made my world. The man who held me up when I was sad or frustrated, the one who dusted me off and made me feel like a new, shiny penny when I was disheartened. He was the one who would sing goofy songs off the mix tapes I'd made him so I'd crack a smile.

My dad is my buddy. The one person in my family who gets me.

Flash forward a couple years and my dad was finally put together as good as new. After a couple months on the neuro-ICU ward and then a few months after that of rehab (he had to relearn how to feed himself, shave, go to the bathroom. My dad even had to re-train his eye to tolerate car rides without vomiting) he was physically put together. It took a few months later until he was mentally all there (anger and disillusionment can really do a number on your sanity) but eventually he was as good as new.

To this day, the only thing left over from the little brain tumor episode is my father's inability to taste (we think doctors overdid the steroids when he was on the operating table). I thank God for that probably once a week. I really can't say thank you enough, though.

Well. Corporate America isn't really the way it used to be, that's no secret. It's a shame, when you discover the friendships and alliances you've made, when the reputation you've spent years to solidify can come crumbling down because of a few schmucks. Somebody got caught with his secretary and pants down. Another somebody sold his soul to the devil himself to fill in for my father during his time out. And yet another schmuck somebody had a vindictive, hurtful streak to take my family, with it's foreign Midwestern values, out for the count.

It all added up to a bad situation calling for a scapegoat. And the finger was pointing at my amazing father.

My dad was only off the clock for about six months thanks to the brain tumor episode. He spent a lot of effort and time to get back to health, and we were very grateful his employer picked up the tab of his rehabilitation, all while sending a paycheck home. That was wonderful, and yet I firmly believe the right thing to do.

He finally got let go a year and a half after he went back to work. The company basically gave him the heave ho... passing on a nice little severance and some paper that basically said "If you take this cash, you promise not to sue the pants off us 'cause we know we did wrong... But we're the biggest lock company in the world and have attorneys in every berg so if you DO sue us, you'll be sorry."

So there.

Well. The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world, isn't it, and our cradle was definitely rocked.

Fast forward a few years, and for all his trying, my dad just could not cut a break. His name was blackballed in the industry. Those same vindictive bastards would whisper to the competitors "Oh, he's crazy. You know... brain tumor?" and my dad was pretty much forced into early retirement like so many other baby boomers.

Big Business wanting to put the fat cats out to pasture so they could hire workerbees right out of Acme University at half the price.

Fortunately my dad was a saver. He had quite a little stockpile of cash socked away (a habit I regretfully do not have) and so my family was alright. Since then, they've been able to nickel and dime their way through the past five years without having to move or change much of their life.

Sure, my parents haven't been to Europe in the past five years, which is quite a change from the way things used to be. We're quite appreciative of the good times and realize we were dealt a great set of cards back in the day. Mom and Dad don't eat at fancy restaurants anymore. It breaks my heart when I call home and I hear about how my dad had soup and popcorn for dinner "Because I wasn't that hungry."

It makes me feel like such a schmuck when I blow 40 dollars in a bar or a bunch of money at the shoe store. Or on bounced checks.

Anyway.

That old house I told you about? The worst house on the best street? It was pretty much as close to ramshackle as you could get. They bought at the bottom of a recession in 1992 and started putting the house together, room by room.

Today they're working on the last renovation project. It's a part of the house we use as storage, but they're turning it into an in-law's space. The house has almost quadrupled in value, so my parents are kind of chomping at the bit to get their equity back. Right now they're what you call "House Poor," hence the ramen noodles.

Mom and Dad are anxious to get back to Cincinnati so they can live in a more affordable part of the country, live in a smaller home, and yet anxious to Live Larger.

No more ramen noodles once Mom and Dad move back, I'll make sure of that.

And I'm picking up the bar tab, because we have lots to celebrate.

Love: Resume' or Passion?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about love. Okay, so maybe it's not such a lately kind of thought, but a new situation has made me consider a few things about the dynamics of love.

Here's the question: Are you looking for someone who fits the resume' of what you're looking for, or would you happily cross all those expectations off your list if you found someone who showered you with limitless love, someone who completed you.

Put another way, would you rather marry someone you were reasonably happy with who could provide every earthly desire you ever dreamed, someone who had all the education and experience you expected out of a mate, someone who had a job you were proud of, -or- would you gladly trade in the hopes for the four bedroom, picket fence house and summers at Hilton Head for someone who was able to keep that fire burning at home. Someone whom you couldn't wait to see when you woke up, someone you were so glad to kiss goodnight.

I have long operated on the premise that if any of the following applied to you, I wasn't interested:
no college degree
non-Catholic
divorced or with kids
not well traveled
not interested in the arts
unemployed
not good at cooking

Yeah, I know. Tough crowd. Lately though, all my qualifications have got me thinking: maybe that's why I can't find someone. Perhaps I'm looking for a needle in a haystack. Maybe I've set the bar so high that I'm failing to notice anyone I make a connection with.

Because when it all boils down, I could really give a hill of beans whether I have the white picket fence and the Volvo station wagon in the years ahead. I'm not saying I don't care whether I have kids or not, or a happy family life for that matter. What I'm saying is this: I don't think that all the bells and whistles of life really make a difference where love's involved.

Sure, I could ix-nay my desires for true love to spend all eternity with someone attached to a fat cat checking account.

I could someday be the young wife for a 40 something re-tread who wants to try family life over again. I could give up a career I love to be a stay-at-home wife for a man who wants to pay the bills and have a loving family to come home to, waiting in the kitchen with dinner on the table. I could bat around town in some German car with a big rock on my left hand, checking out the boutique du jour, thanks to a man I would loathe kissing.

But would I really be happy?

Or, I could say goodbye to all those preconceived notions, all those trumped up expectations and just wait and see what my heart leads me to. Maybe it would be a teacher or an artist who would charm the pants off me. Maybe I would fall madly in love with someone who sorts Fed-Ex boxes for a living. Maybe I belong with someone who's never seen the inside of a Catholic church. Who knows. I'm starting to think maybe I shouldn't disregard a man just because he doesn't fit my cookie-cutter mold of the ideal mate.

That doesn't mean I'm opening up my dance card carte blanche for just anyone. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm going to pay more attention to the person rather than the resume', because what it boils down to is this: the flesh will always be there, whereas any charming quality could be vaporized off paper in a New York Minute.

I just want to find that person who makes my heart skip a beat... that man who I want to dedicate my life to making happy... the man who I want to sit in rocking chairs with when I'm in my 70s, staring into the sunset in South Carolina.

Who cares whether its a rental or a second home. As long as he's there, it'll be golden.

Snippets

My schedule's been kind of wacky these past few days and I haven't had time to update, so here's a rundown of my latest Snippets.

-I finally feel well rested. I was off work Monday (which was truly delicious) but the extra third day of living a daylight schedule like a real person kind of threw a kink in how I bounced back once I made it to work. Tuesday was an almost 12 hour day at work so I was really dragging ass by the end of things. I spent the rest of yesterday worshipping the mattress. Wednesday wasn't quite as long but just as hairy. I lived to tell about it, though, so it's all good.

For so long I took my body clock for granted. Now I totally appreciate the need for routine and schedules.

Anyway.

-I missed my bellydance class Tuesday night because I was tired. I've had two classes already and we're focusing on basic movements, like graceful hand gestures (the instructor says I do well with the snake) and hip movements. Some are figure 8 style, others are more like hip jerks. It's a fun little activity that makes for a great convo. topic. Next on my list of things to buy: one of those hip scarves that has all the coins on it that jingle when I shake my moneymaker. They supposedly make a great accessory for going out (wearing around the waist with jeans) but I don't know that I'm down with the snakecharmer look.

- I'm hopefully going to be networking a little bit more. I'm joining the Junior League (no jokes here, folks) Saturday and I'm really looking forward to it. My mother was really active in the Cincinnati chapter years ago and is still a sustainer in New Haven (basically she pays her dues without really doing much else). My middle sister is a new member in Atlanta (the mecca of pearls and finger sandwich luncheons). I think the opportunity will give me a chance to meet some new people I'd otherwise not get to know, as well as introduce me to a few places/experiences I haven't yet crossed in Cincinnati. Cheers to that.

- I need to get back on the diet wagon. I haven't really fallen off, per se, I've just taken a break from counting points, which is key when you're trying to lose weight via Weight Watchers. I'm still towing the line and eating my veggies/fruit and such, I just have lost the drive to track every point ingested. Maybe I can light a fire under myself after this evening's meeting.

- Heads up because I plan on writing something within the next few days on love. The heart racing, consoling, warm emotion comes to us through so many unexpected avenues, and it poses each of us with a myriad of choices and challenges. Does beauty make you fall in love, or the prospect of safety? Would you ever look outside the box for love? I've got a few questions swimming around in my head, and I'd be interested in your perspective.

- I am really looking forward to St. Patrick's Day. In Cincinnati, practically everyone has a sliver of Irish in them, including yours truly. I think it boils down to the fact I'm an eighth Irish, but half British Isles, so I kind of lump all of them together (besides, most people don't celebrate the Welsh holiday of St. David's Day, which is March 1st). Anyway. I am most proud of my Irish heritage (the story goes: we dropped the O' off the front of our last name when crossing the Atlantic) and wear my Claddagh ring daily. Anyway, the holiday should be a good one, especially since I might have found someone to oblige when I wear my Kiss Me I'm Irish pin...

Yeah, I'm a tease.

Find out why Kate's walking with a bounce in her step... a little later.

Bad Cop No Donut

SO that bastard cop tracked me down today and of course he gave me a ticket.

Which kind of irks me considering I renewed my tag online Wednesday morning.

I guess it doesn't go through instantly like so many other Visa transactions in the world.

I know I can contest the ticket, but what I'd really like to do is file a complaint against Barney Fife (R.I.P. Don Knotts). I mean seriously. This guy has some kind of vendetta against me and my Saab.

Oh well. I've stewed in my sour juices for about an hour now. That's enough time feeling sorry for myself and mad against the world.

It's Friday, I've got a three day weekend coming up, and everyone in my family is healthy and reasonably happy.

Life is pretty damn good.

So eff you, copper.

Oh Shit

Today's Horoscope

Sagittarius: Keep aware, in the back of your mind, that bad people exist in the world.

Why I Do It

Someone asked me recently why I speak so frankly about my personal life on this blog.

I talk about my deep thoughts, personal confessions and other reflections in a pretty forthcoming manner, and I really don't give a passing thought to what kind of judgment my reader will bestow on me.

I think this lil' ol' blog is more of a cathartic thing. I get out all my ya-yas in a place where, if someone feels so inclined, they can call me on the carpet (or give me a high five, depending on the topic.)

I think it's a bit voyeuristic too, having just random Joe Schmo out there reading things about my life. I guess I kind of like the thought that I've made my Grand Confession to the world via Blogger. I also am a bit amused with the idea that I could really meet people via My Random Musings. Anyone who stumbles across this blog gets the real me. There's nothing hidden, no secret agenda, so I guess there's a chance someday someone's gonna read this and like what they're learning about me.

Not necessarily in a romantic sense. Even if I meet a fun group of people to grab margaritas with, that would make me blissfully happy.

I also like that having a blog makes me disciplined about writing. Sometimes I do it every day, sometimes once a week. Sometimes it's admittedly pure drivel. Other times I think I crank out something amusing, soul baring or thought provoking.

Sometimes I write a really great sentence that I think deserves to see the light of day.

I guess for me, having a blog fulfills a greater need than just sitting in a Starbucks with my grande/nonfat/sugar free vanilla/latte with some kind of journal and a pen. Besides, I'm left handed, and this much writing would leave a whole bunch of yucky ink on the side of my hand.

That's why I do it.

I don't use this as a venue to write about how wonderful I am, or how clever, or how needy or how (fill in the blank here) I am.

I write about the good, the bad and the ugly, and I think I like every inch of it.