Sometimes it feels good to get rid of life's clutter.
You know - tossing out email addresses belonging to people who used to send you those crappy forwards, like, four years ago. Getting rid of ex boyfriends' phone numbers. Their work phone, their cell phone, their work cell phone.
All that simplicity can help a girl keep her head on straight so she doesn't combust when pouring over something like 200 email addresses to find the one that matters. It sucks when your virtual address book is cluttered with the names of people you used to have bowls of soup with, people who used to make you cry, people who used to pump you for information. People who haven't spoken, written, whispered a word to you in two years.
Those people don't really matter in the present.
Sometimes, they didn't really matter in the past.
Now if I could just work on the clutter in my kitchen...
Not so random, but I'm still musing.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Where Is Principal Belding?
So, I find all kinds of weird stories to consider for my newscast.
This most recent one is just gross.
Dustin Diamond, "Screech" of Saved by the Bell fame, is trying to make a buck by starring in an internet porn flick. The 40 minute feature shows Screech and two women goin' at it.
And the title is proving to be a play on the past. The distributor has decided to call it -wait for it- Saved by the Smell.
Like I said, that's just gross.
Apparently Diamond has fallen on hard times and is resorting to the lowest form of entertainment to pay his bills.
This most recent one is just gross.
Dustin Diamond, "Screech" of Saved by the Bell fame, is trying to make a buck by starring in an internet porn flick. The 40 minute feature shows Screech and two women goin' at it.
And the title is proving to be a play on the past. The distributor has decided to call it -wait for it- Saved by the Smell.
Like I said, that's just gross.
Apparently Diamond has fallen on hard times and is resorting to the lowest form of entertainment to pay his bills.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Two Sisters
The phone rings. Caller ID. What? She never calls. Crying. Muffled words I can barely understand. Oh. Heartbreak. Anger. Rage. A grown woman devastated by the painful uprooting of all her child memories. Goodbye to the little girl she was when swinging like a monkey in the trees out front. Goodbye to her bedroom. Goodbye to the window she would look out while in bed, smiling at the big Christmas tree on the town green. Goodbye to the only world, the only people, the only streets... really the only way of life she's ever known.
Deep pain because she thinks no one cares about how she feels. Mom and Dad are excited to move on and leave our home she says. I tell her change hurts and I know how she feels, really I do, because I had to leave my childhood home. And in the middle of high school, to boot. She tells me she feels like Mom and Dad brush off her heartbreak like it's a childhood tantrum. I tell her Mom and Dad are too busy, too focused on the future, too focused on ignoring their own heartbreak to justify or acknowledge her pain.
A little sister. Dialing up, hoping to tap in to some wisdom that comes with ten more years of life experience. Her little world is just a speck in the great big universe, but to her, it's all she has. And her world is topsy turvy, tearing apart her heart, her stability, literally ripping from her the very place that she feels defines her existence.
It doesn't. But that's the way she feels. And I understand.
I listen to her rant. I try to console my sister the best I can because this is the same kid whose diapers I changed. The same baby girl who used to sneak out of her crib and snuggle with me on Saturday mornings. The same sister who drew pictures for me telling me to drive carefully.
She gets the crying out, starts making sounds that can be strung together into words I understand, and then I do what any good big sister would do. I start joking with her. She was reluctant at first, lingering on her angst but I conspire - plotting plans to hang out with her as she discovers her family's new city. Telling her about cool shopping spots and fun restaurants. Talking about future roadtrips together to the homespun town of our past. Thinking up scenarios involving movies and margaritas at my apartment. And she suddenly feels grown up.
Grown up and included and ready to handle the biggest change her life has ever faced.
Deep pain because she thinks no one cares about how she feels. Mom and Dad are excited to move on and leave our home she says. I tell her change hurts and I know how she feels, really I do, because I had to leave my childhood home. And in the middle of high school, to boot. She tells me she feels like Mom and Dad brush off her heartbreak like it's a childhood tantrum. I tell her Mom and Dad are too busy, too focused on the future, too focused on ignoring their own heartbreak to justify or acknowledge her pain.
A little sister. Dialing up, hoping to tap in to some wisdom that comes with ten more years of life experience. Her little world is just a speck in the great big universe, but to her, it's all she has. And her world is topsy turvy, tearing apart her heart, her stability, literally ripping from her the very place that she feels defines her existence.
It doesn't. But that's the way she feels. And I understand.
I listen to her rant. I try to console my sister the best I can because this is the same kid whose diapers I changed. The same baby girl who used to sneak out of her crib and snuggle with me on Saturday mornings. The same sister who drew pictures for me telling me to drive carefully.
She gets the crying out, starts making sounds that can be strung together into words I understand, and then I do what any good big sister would do. I start joking with her. She was reluctant at first, lingering on her angst but I conspire - plotting plans to hang out with her as she discovers her family's new city. Telling her about cool shopping spots and fun restaurants. Talking about future roadtrips together to the homespun town of our past. Thinking up scenarios involving movies and margaritas at my apartment. And she suddenly feels grown up.
Grown up and included and ready to handle the biggest change her life has ever faced.
Does Danny Ocean Need A Campaign Manager?
There is a push to get George Clooney to run for president in 2008.
This article from the San Francisco Chronicle sheds a little more light on the interesting possibility.
I'd be happy to help out the ol' Kentucky boy.
This article from the San Francisco Chronicle sheds a little more light on the interesting possibility.
I'd be happy to help out the ol' Kentucky boy.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Breaking Bengals News
LOCAL 12 HAS DETAILS IN A STORY WE FIRST BROKE THIS MORNING: LINEBACKER ODELL THURMAN IS FACING NEW CHARGES.
CINCINNATI POLICE SAY THEY TOOK THURMAN INTO CUSTODY DURING A D-U-I CHECKPOINT OVERNIGHT IN THE EAST END.
LOCAL 12 HAS EXCLUSIVE VIDEO OF THURMAN AT THE ARREST SCENE.
THURMAN IS ALREADY SERVING A FOUR GAME SUSPENSION FOR VIOLATING THE LEAGUE'S SUBSTANCE ABUSE POLICY.
HE WAS REPORTEDLY DRIVING A VEHICLE WITH SEVERAL OTHER BENGALS INSIDE.
STAY TUNED TO YOUR LOCAL NEWS FOR THE LATEST DETAILS.
One bengal (who will remain nameless) threw up on the car when police pulled over the crew.
Yeah, we have video of the puke.
I'm happy to celebrate a major win by my Morning Show crew...
CINCINNATI POLICE SAY THEY TOOK THURMAN INTO CUSTODY DURING A D-U-I CHECKPOINT OVERNIGHT IN THE EAST END.
LOCAL 12 HAS EXCLUSIVE VIDEO OF THURMAN AT THE ARREST SCENE.
THURMAN IS ALREADY SERVING A FOUR GAME SUSPENSION FOR VIOLATING THE LEAGUE'S SUBSTANCE ABUSE POLICY.
HE WAS REPORTEDLY DRIVING A VEHICLE WITH SEVERAL OTHER BENGALS INSIDE.
STAY TUNED TO YOUR LOCAL NEWS FOR THE LATEST DETAILS.
One bengal (who will remain nameless) threw up on the car when police pulled over the crew.
Yeah, we have video of the puke.
I'm happy to celebrate a major win by my Morning Show crew...
Friday, September 22, 2006
With a Chaser, Please
It started out young.
I was always the girl who chased boys on the playground. I remember running around the blacktop, on the playground that had a map of the contiguous US on it, sprinting after a little boy named Whitney. Yes, he was a real live boy named after some family in the South (hence the name), and he had the most beautiful blue eyes and blond hair I have ever seen on a child.
And, oh, how I loved him.
Every time I heard Whitney Houston sing "How Will I Know?" I would think about Playground Whitney. How will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer with every heartbeat... Running through my head as I ran on the pavement in my brown Girl Scout uniform, hoping to catch him. But I never would.
Things haven't changed that much.
These days I exercise more conservative decision making when it comes to who and whether I will actually hit the playground full speed ahead. I've learned what rejection tastes like and I've decided I much prefer the flavor of the savory tater tots they served in the cafeteria in grade school. Analogy time: Sometimes when you chase - you get your knees skinned. It goes with the territory if you're going to be balls out about a risky situation. Other times you get tater tots: something that tastes good for a while but doesn't really have much substance, and doesn't really keep you satisfied.
Anyway.
I recently had my moment of closure with someone whom I didn't chase. John and I had dinner this week since he is moving to Columbus and our chance to visit will be greatly diminishing. After dinner, we kind of deduced the evening was our Big Goodbye. There was one point (and I may be completely wrong here) where I felt like maybe John was trying to open up the chapters of the past, but I told him I was pretty much sold on the idea of Over. Once someone tells a girl he just doesn't like her in that way, he pretty much can't go back on that - 'cause she won't let him. At least if she's smart.
I guess you could say I'm a "one strike - yer out" kind of girl.
I'm torn from time to time: Do I chase, or do I be chased? Do I sack up and play the fool when my chasing isn't so reciprocated? Or do I sit dormant and just wait for the fleeting moments when I want to chase back someone who is chasing me?
God, is this making any sense?
Blogging friend t2ed is a wealth of dating knowledge. He sometimes rattles off the most amazing posts to help people (girls/guys clueless/intheknow) figure out how to maneuver through the Sea of Singlehood.
I guess I should just keep listening to the people who know what they're talking about, because I have no effin' clue.
And I hate getting skinned knees.
I was always the girl who chased boys on the playground. I remember running around the blacktop, on the playground that had a map of the contiguous US on it, sprinting after a little boy named Whitney. Yes, he was a real live boy named after some family in the South (hence the name), and he had the most beautiful blue eyes and blond hair I have ever seen on a child.
And, oh, how I loved him.
Every time I heard Whitney Houston sing "How Will I Know?" I would think about Playground Whitney. How will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer with every heartbeat... Running through my head as I ran on the pavement in my brown Girl Scout uniform, hoping to catch him. But I never would.
Things haven't changed that much.
These days I exercise more conservative decision making when it comes to who and whether I will actually hit the playground full speed ahead. I've learned what rejection tastes like and I've decided I much prefer the flavor of the savory tater tots they served in the cafeteria in grade school. Analogy time: Sometimes when you chase - you get your knees skinned. It goes with the territory if you're going to be balls out about a risky situation. Other times you get tater tots: something that tastes good for a while but doesn't really have much substance, and doesn't really keep you satisfied.
Anyway.
I recently had my moment of closure with someone whom I didn't chase. John and I had dinner this week since he is moving to Columbus and our chance to visit will be greatly diminishing. After dinner, we kind of deduced the evening was our Big Goodbye. There was one point (and I may be completely wrong here) where I felt like maybe John was trying to open up the chapters of the past, but I told him I was pretty much sold on the idea of Over. Once someone tells a girl he just doesn't like her in that way, he pretty much can't go back on that - 'cause she won't let him. At least if she's smart.
I guess you could say I'm a "one strike - yer out" kind of girl.
I'm torn from time to time: Do I chase, or do I be chased? Do I sack up and play the fool when my chasing isn't so reciprocated? Or do I sit dormant and just wait for the fleeting moments when I want to chase back someone who is chasing me?
God, is this making any sense?
Blogging friend t2ed is a wealth of dating knowledge. He sometimes rattles off the most amazing posts to help people (girls/guys clueless/intheknow) figure out how to maneuver through the Sea of Singlehood.
I guess I should just keep listening to the people who know what they're talking about, because I have no effin' clue.
And I hate getting skinned knees.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Team Rosie
Daytime television gets a lot of facetime thanks to my temporary schedule.
If I'm not watching the Netflix du jour (right now, Gangs of New York), then I'm usually watching some kind of talk show.
And I gotta say - I'm liking this whole new View on ABC.
From the start: let me say, I've always been a Rosie O fan. Her being gay doesn't bother me at all, and I'm over the whole Tom Cruise obsession fascination. I guess I like Rosie because she's an outspoken broad who has a big heart and is passionate about the issues that interest her.
Kind of like me.
There are reports that Rosie is making Elisabeth Hasselbeck cry, perhaps because of the underlying political tensions there.
I don't really know whether this is true or not. One thing I know is Rosie and Elisabeth sit at two completely different ends of the political spectrum. While I'm not as liberal as Rosie leans, I'm certainly not a member of the Right Wing Conspiracy. I'm definitely a Moderate. I call myself a Liberal Republican but sometimes I feel like I'm less an Elephant and more a RINO.
Nevertheless, I just can't get behind Elisabeth's knee jerk conservativism that sometimes bubbles over the rim of polite daytime television discourse.
I don't care that Elisabeth is a die hard conservative. I don't care which way she votes. I just wish she would be a little less vocal about her opinions on a forum that is decidedly non-partisan.
I like Meet the Press. I love Tucker Carlson. That's where I go when I want a dash of political vim and vinegar.
Not The View.
Soapbox clear.
If I'm not watching the Netflix du jour (right now, Gangs of New York), then I'm usually watching some kind of talk show.
And I gotta say - I'm liking this whole new View on ABC.
From the start: let me say, I've always been a Rosie O fan. Her being gay doesn't bother me at all, and I'm over the whole Tom Cruise obsession fascination. I guess I like Rosie because she's an outspoken broad who has a big heart and is passionate about the issues that interest her.
Kind of like me.
There are reports that Rosie is making Elisabeth Hasselbeck cry, perhaps because of the underlying political tensions there.
I don't really know whether this is true or not. One thing I know is Rosie and Elisabeth sit at two completely different ends of the political spectrum. While I'm not as liberal as Rosie leans, I'm certainly not a member of the Right Wing Conspiracy. I'm definitely a Moderate. I call myself a Liberal Republican but sometimes I feel like I'm less an Elephant and more a RINO.
Nevertheless, I just can't get behind Elisabeth's knee jerk conservativism that sometimes bubbles over the rim of polite daytime television discourse.
I don't care that Elisabeth is a die hard conservative. I don't care which way she votes. I just wish she would be a little less vocal about her opinions on a forum that is decidedly non-partisan.
I like Meet the Press. I love Tucker Carlson. That's where I go when I want a dash of political vim and vinegar.
Not The View.
Soapbox clear.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
One Liners
Don't you ever have a work moment where you feel like punching your own personal Dwight Schrute?
Damn, why did I bite my nails off?
I really don't know how I feel about putting away the strappy sandals and sexy stilettos for the chunky shoes of Autumn.
Why is it that every time I see the new-and-improved Anna Nicole Smith, I think of Denise Brown, circa OJ Simpson trial?
What is the probability that my social life can subsist on Three Buck Chuck and netflix movies for the next four weeks until my London trip?
Maybe if I just stop eating, I can lose five pounds and look smokin' hot in my bridesmaid dress for the 30th.
I wish Blogger offered a feature so I could have a tune up on my page to reflect my mood.
Boy, an oil change can really do wonders for a car's disposition. Note to self: don't wait another five thousand miles to get one.
Should I be alarmed that I think a man from my past looks like Dwight Schrute?
Kate is now accepting volunteers who are interested in cleaning up her apartment. Grape peeling and fanning with banana leaves are optional.
And finally, something for the file labeled This is so wrong.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Lady Bountiful
I so wish I could be a philanthropist and just hand out money like the old guy running through the streets in Cocoon, but my financial situation has pretty much relegated me to looking after only my own financial responsibilities.
So dropping $128 on somebody else's utility bill isn't really all that good in my 'hood.
I went by the neighborhood loan shark check cashing store to pay the good people at the utility company named after that very bad school with that very bad basketball team.
Sorry. I just had a UK moment.
Anyway.
I walked in to drop a wad of cash Mafia style so the lights wouldn't go out in my little hovel, and I got back to my car to make a notation on said bill when I realized WHAT? the bill was in somebody elses name.
No Kate the Great on the bill. Instead, it was made out to a Suzy Q. Monroe. As in the same Suzy Q. who got evicted from the upstairs apartment a month and a half ago. Yeah, and her bill was like 350 bucks to my paltry $128.
Fu*k.
I was crushed. How do I explain to the good people at the very bad utility company that Oh Gee. I paid you all this money on the wrong account and I really want all that cash credited to Miss Kate the Great's account? I mean, wouldn't these people think I'm a shyster scamming for some free electricity?
Nope.
Brian in Customer Service was totally cool about the whole fiasco and made sure that it would all be good and I'd be able to use my gas range for many many more days to come.
Crisis averted.
*** *** *** *** ***
I don't know why but I bit off all my nails while watching Spanglish yesterday (good flick despite all the naysayers' complaints). The nailbiting isn't so good, but it's a habit I grapple yeah, I said grapple with from time to time. I don't really know whether it has a latent connection to my nerves, but there's really nothing on my radar to be nervous about anyway...
*** *** *** *** ***
Somebody who likes it when I have long nails: John. He and I are meeting up for dinner tomorrow night. I haven't seen him since we decided to part as friends in June. That's the one thing I like about Johnny G: he and I are still able to be good friends even though we decided our relationship wasn't working the way we wanted it to. I don't know if that speaks volumes about the kind of guy John is (and I suppose, by proxy, the kind of person I am) or whether it has to do with maturity.
I especially think it's cool that John says "Oh, Katy-Kate. You'll always be spectacular to me."
A guy who can compliment an ex-girlfriend is a real gem.
*** *** *** *** ***
And now to the thing I'm most excited about:
The countdown has officially started.
I leave for London, England one month from today. Oh yeah... Southern Son is coming along, too.
Should be an awesome trip.
So dropping $128 on somebody else's utility bill isn't really all that good in my 'hood.
I went by the neighborhood loan shark check cashing store to pay the good people at the utility company named after that very bad school with that very bad basketball team.
Sorry. I just had a UK moment.
Anyway.
I walked in to drop a wad of cash Mafia style so the lights wouldn't go out in my little hovel, and I got back to my car to make a notation on said bill when I realized WHAT? the bill was in somebody elses name.
No Kate the Great on the bill. Instead, it was made out to a Suzy Q. Monroe. As in the same Suzy Q. who got evicted from the upstairs apartment a month and a half ago. Yeah, and her bill was like 350 bucks to my paltry $128.
Fu*k.
I was crushed. How do I explain to the good people at the very bad utility company that Oh Gee. I paid you all this money on the wrong account and I really want all that cash credited to Miss Kate the Great's account? I mean, wouldn't these people think I'm a shyster scamming for some free electricity?
Nope.
Brian in Customer Service was totally cool about the whole fiasco and made sure that it would all be good and I'd be able to use my gas range for many many more days to come.
Crisis averted.
*** *** *** *** ***
I don't know why but I bit off all my nails while watching Spanglish yesterday (good flick despite all the naysayers' complaints). The nailbiting isn't so good, but it's a habit I grapple yeah, I said grapple with from time to time. I don't really know whether it has a latent connection to my nerves, but there's really nothing on my radar to be nervous about anyway...
*** *** *** *** ***
Somebody who likes it when I have long nails: John. He and I are meeting up for dinner tomorrow night. I haven't seen him since we decided to part as friends in June. That's the one thing I like about Johnny G: he and I are still able to be good friends even though we decided our relationship wasn't working the way we wanted it to. I don't know if that speaks volumes about the kind of guy John is (and I suppose, by proxy, the kind of person I am) or whether it has to do with maturity.
I especially think it's cool that John says "Oh, Katy-Kate. You'll always be spectacular to me."
A guy who can compliment an ex-girlfriend is a real gem.
*** *** *** *** ***
And now to the thing I'm most excited about:
The countdown has officially started.
I leave for London, England one month from today. Oh yeah... Southern Son is coming along, too.
Should be an awesome trip.
Monday, September 18, 2006
F*cked Up Grill And Other Notes
Southern Son suggested I blog about this next topic:
I am kind of worried for the future of D-Money's children. I say this with utmost kindness and love for my Soul Sister, even as my concern for D-Money's babies grows stronger every day.
I worry, knowing that every day that passes is another day D may meet and fall in love with an Englishman. An Englishman with a f*cked up grill.
Well, fee-fi-fo-fum.
The Brits have never been known for their stellar dental care. Every British movie has poked fun, subtle or otherwise, in regards to the likes of teeth that look like an oral traffic jam. Where Americans strive for shades of platinum, egg shell and snow white, our brothers and sisters in the UK pride themselves on teeth the color of those Harvest Gold appliances popular in kitchens circa 1968. Americans are also obsessed with straight teeth. I, myself, was subject to four years of the grinding, shredding pain that comes with having steel brackets glued to your teeth, creating the most excruciating pain when persistently rubbing and scraping against the tender, soft skin of the inner mouth.
Can you tell I'm a bit bitter about all those years of orthodontia?
Anyway.
D-Money has pretty teeth. Nice pearly white choppers typical of those people who make a living being on TV. I hope she fights tooth and nail that any British babies she gives birth to have good teeth, too.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Have you ever slept in a park? Struggled with moment of exhausted homelessness that forces you to take refuge in a strip of urban greenspace?
I can now count myself as someone who briefly lived a little bit like the street walkers and hobos of Lexington (shout out here to my favorite homeless dude, Henry Earl, a.k.a. James Brown).
I went down to The Athens of the West for a bridal shower yesterday. I had been up really late the night before, but still managed to get seven hours of sleep so I thought I was good to go. I brought one of those infamous Barbie cakes with me (white, to be - um- like a wedding dress) and other stuff for the ladies' only event.
So, we're sitting there - 15 ladies gabbing about things to pack on a honeymoon (note to self: underwear is apparently optional during those circumstances) and whether men have any style when it comes to domestic decorating. All of a sudden, I felt the sudden urge to go to sleep on the couch, and I knew that would have been exceptionally weird and rude of me. I could just hear all the whispering that would be going on about me as I walked down the aisle in my cranberry bridesmaid dress in two weeks. "She's the hooker who fell asleep during the bridal shower."
So I soldiered on, fighting the urge to just collapse there. Instead, I sat there for minutes, grinding out a plan to sleep for a few minutes before I hit I-75 for the drive back to Lexington.
But where o' where can a girl get some sleep in public?
I wasn't so down with the whole let's-catch-some-zzz's-in-the-reststop idea. I mean, really. I think there was a Lifetime movie starring Meredith Baxter Birney (or was it Tracey Gold?) where the female character got sliced and diced by the guy who wanted to invent 6 minute abs.
Then I thought about the mall parking lot, but again - I wasn't too keen on going to battle with the Barney Fifes of Fayette Mall.
So I settled on The Arboretum.
This is the same place where I'd lay out in the summer when I lived in Lex-Vegas. The same place where I essentially lost 30 pounds and discovered my skinny self (oh, how I miss you) in 2000. The same place where I once fantasized about wedding receptions amidst the rose garden.
I am sure I was quite a sight, dressed to the nines in my white chinos and black stilettos, dragging my beach towel behind me as I searched for a strip of shaded grass. But there I was, desperate to sleep and not wanting to call up any of my ex-boyfriends or old drinking buddies to ask for a few minutes of quality time on the couch.
The one hour power nap did wonders for me. I completely fought off any chance of drifting to sleep on the rumble strip somewhere between Georgetown and Walton, and I got to enjoy once again a little piece of a place I used to call home.
Cheers.
I am kind of worried for the future of D-Money's children. I say this with utmost kindness and love for my Soul Sister, even as my concern for D-Money's babies grows stronger every day.
I worry, knowing that every day that passes is another day D may meet and fall in love with an Englishman. An Englishman with a f*cked up grill.
Well, fee-fi-fo-fum.
The Brits have never been known for their stellar dental care. Every British movie has poked fun, subtle or otherwise, in regards to the likes of teeth that look like an oral traffic jam. Where Americans strive for shades of platinum, egg shell and snow white, our brothers and sisters in the UK pride themselves on teeth the color of those Harvest Gold appliances popular in kitchens circa 1968. Americans are also obsessed with straight teeth. I, myself, was subject to four years of the grinding, shredding pain that comes with having steel brackets glued to your teeth, creating the most excruciating pain when persistently rubbing and scraping against the tender, soft skin of the inner mouth.
Can you tell I'm a bit bitter about all those years of orthodontia?
Anyway.
D-Money has pretty teeth. Nice pearly white choppers typical of those people who make a living being on TV. I hope she fights tooth and nail that any British babies she gives birth to have good teeth, too.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Have you ever slept in a park? Struggled with moment of exhausted homelessness that forces you to take refuge in a strip of urban greenspace?
I can now count myself as someone who briefly lived a little bit like the street walkers and hobos of Lexington (shout out here to my favorite homeless dude, Henry Earl, a.k.a. James Brown).
I went down to The Athens of the West for a bridal shower yesterday. I had been up really late the night before, but still managed to get seven hours of sleep so I thought I was good to go. I brought one of those infamous Barbie cakes with me (white, to be - um- like a wedding dress) and other stuff for the ladies' only event.
So, we're sitting there - 15 ladies gabbing about things to pack on a honeymoon (note to self: underwear is apparently optional during those circumstances) and whether men have any style when it comes to domestic decorating. All of a sudden, I felt the sudden urge to go to sleep on the couch, and I knew that would have been exceptionally weird and rude of me. I could just hear all the whispering that would be going on about me as I walked down the aisle in my cranberry bridesmaid dress in two weeks. "She's the hooker who fell asleep during the bridal shower."
So I soldiered on, fighting the urge to just collapse there. Instead, I sat there for minutes, grinding out a plan to sleep for a few minutes before I hit I-75 for the drive back to Lexington.
But where o' where can a girl get some sleep in public?
I wasn't so down with the whole let's-catch-some-zzz's-in-the-reststop idea. I mean, really. I think there was a Lifetime movie starring Meredith Baxter Birney (or was it Tracey Gold?) where the female character got sliced and diced by the guy who wanted to invent 6 minute abs.
Then I thought about the mall parking lot, but again - I wasn't too keen on going to battle with the Barney Fifes of Fayette Mall.
So I settled on The Arboretum.
This is the same place where I'd lay out in the summer when I lived in Lex-Vegas. The same place where I essentially lost 30 pounds and discovered my skinny self (oh, how I miss you) in 2000. The same place where I once fantasized about wedding receptions amidst the rose garden.
I am sure I was quite a sight, dressed to the nines in my white chinos and black stilettos, dragging my beach towel behind me as I searched for a strip of shaded grass. But there I was, desperate to sleep and not wanting to call up any of my ex-boyfriends or old drinking buddies to ask for a few minutes of quality time on the couch.
The one hour power nap did wonders for me. I completely fought off any chance of drifting to sleep on the rumble strip somewhere between Georgetown and Walton, and I got to enjoy once again a little piece of a place I used to call home.
Cheers.
Friday, September 15, 2006
So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright
My family is going through some grieving right now.
We're not losing a loved one. We're not losing a good friend, but we're losing something very near and dear to our hearts - our family home in Madison, Connecticut.
This picture isn't all that great, but as you can see the house isn't really an architectural masterpiece.
But it's our home, and it's really special. At least to us.
You see, our home is one of a few thousand in a little gem of a Connecticut town. You drive through Main Street (aka Boston Post Road) and it appears as if time stopped somewhere in the 50s or 60s. People gather at an old time coffee shop (where my sister Mickdizzle put in her time as one of the cutest and most friendly waitresses) to talk about town politics and what the selectmen (New England towns have a different type of government that excludes mayors) are doing wrong at the town hall. There's a quaint little median running between the two sides of the street, always featuring beautiful flower boxes, Christmas trees or American flags, depending on the time of year.
The view at West Wharf
The other thing that makes Madison so special is the water. Truly stunning scenery.
The shoreline runs along the southern most border of town. Six miles of sweeping scapes of Long Island Sound. Easterners know it's not the ocean, but to my Midwestern family, it was just as good. Water as far as the eye could see, distinctive earthy sea smells and the most beautiful shells for the taking.
We fell in love, even though my parents had to essentially pile us kids in the car kicking and screaming for the move from Cincinnati to Connecticut.
When we moved to Connecticut, we set up shop in the worst house on the best street. Town was about half a mile away in one direction, the water a half a mile in the other, but that was pretty much all the house had going for it. The house was literally falling apart. The roof was on its last legs, the hardwood floors (everywhere) looked like somebody took a hatchet to them and the kitchen wasn't fit for even warming up a can of beans. Kind of rough for a bunch of kids who grew up in Subdivisionville, U.S.A..
Kate the Great and her prom date. Oh What A Night in '95.
My mom made it her mission to fix the house room by room. She started with the kids' bedrooms so we had someplace nice to escape to when struggling with the extra dose of angst that comes with moving in your teenage years.
Over time, my mom got acquainted with the crews in town, relying on Peter the Painter and Tony the Tile guy (yes, their real names and professions) and other contractors in town, who worked tirelessly until pretty much every stick of wood in that drafty house was replaced.
By the end, my mom was signing on as the general contractor for the projects - kind of crazy considering she is a woman who embodies the antithesis of hardball.
Lots of special memories were made in that house. Bad ones - Like the time The Bridge and I chased each other around the house, literally pulling chunks of hair out of our heads and leaving deep gouges on our arms. It was the biggest fight we ever had and it only happened because Mom and Dad were gone. Good memories - like our lobster boils on the back patio.
Mickdizzle and her best friend laying out in the baby pool. Mollie the Corgi Attack Dog watches over.
Celebrating Christmas with grandparents, birthdays (especially Mickdizzle's which were my favorite since she was always such a little kid compared to me, and since her birthday is two days before Halloween).
Tough memories - like when Dad was recuperating from his brain tumor. Like when I was home at Christmas break, hiding in the shadows after an exceptionally shitty report card was mailed home.
And good ol' Maureen, the family ghost. She's another story for another time, but essentially the comings and goings of Maureen have made me a believer in the paranormal.
And I guess that's what makes the house on Island Avenue so special. Memories. We've grieved there. We've celebrated weddings (that's me and The Bridge on her big day) there. We've had fights and hugs and heartaches and triumphs and just about every emotion in between.
The Bridge and I used to lay in our beds, talking to each other through the "Brady Bunch" bathroom that connected our spaces together. I remember when I helped The Bridge hide a bottle of rum in my bedroom because she knew Mom and Dad wouldn't suspect it was in there.
I remember when I was babysitting Mickdizzle (then five years old) and she knocked out her four front teeth while we were horseplaying.
That was 14 years ago.
Now my parents are getting ready to close up shop, pack up the house and settle back down in Cincinnati for the Winter of their lives. And even though we're all older and wiser (for the most part) change can still be tough. I know I'm not the only one in my nuclear family to be struck by a moment of crying over the bedroom I'll never see again, the kitchen I'll never laze around in again. The back patio I'll never smoke cigarettes and drink wine on again. Even though I moved out of that house years and years ago, I've always considered it home in my heart.
The wonderful thing to carry us though this new phase is that we'll all be able to make new memories in this next house my parents move into. We'll celebrate things like the birth of babies, marriages. We'll pull together in times of sickness. We'll rejoice in moments of triumph like Kentucky Wildcat basketball championships (I hope).
Thanks for the memories, Madison. Until we meet again...
We're not losing a loved one. We're not losing a good friend, but we're losing something very near and dear to our hearts - our family home in Madison, Connecticut.
This picture isn't all that great, but as you can see the house isn't really an architectural masterpiece.
But it's our home, and it's really special. At least to us.
You see, our home is one of a few thousand in a little gem of a Connecticut town. You drive through Main Street (aka Boston Post Road) and it appears as if time stopped somewhere in the 50s or 60s. People gather at an old time coffee shop (where my sister Mickdizzle put in her time as one of the cutest and most friendly waitresses) to talk about town politics and what the selectmen (New England towns have a different type of government that excludes mayors) are doing wrong at the town hall. There's a quaint little median running between the two sides of the street, always featuring beautiful flower boxes, Christmas trees or American flags, depending on the time of year.
The view at West Wharf
The other thing that makes Madison so special is the water. Truly stunning scenery.
The shoreline runs along the southern most border of town. Six miles of sweeping scapes of Long Island Sound. Easterners know it's not the ocean, but to my Midwestern family, it was just as good. Water as far as the eye could see, distinctive earthy sea smells and the most beautiful shells for the taking.
We fell in love, even though my parents had to essentially pile us kids in the car kicking and screaming for the move from Cincinnati to Connecticut.
When we moved to Connecticut, we set up shop in the worst house on the best street. Town was about half a mile away in one direction, the water a half a mile in the other, but that was pretty much all the house had going for it. The house was literally falling apart. The roof was on its last legs, the hardwood floors (everywhere) looked like somebody took a hatchet to them and the kitchen wasn't fit for even warming up a can of beans. Kind of rough for a bunch of kids who grew up in Subdivisionville, U.S.A..
Kate the Great and her prom date. Oh What A Night in '95.
My mom made it her mission to fix the house room by room. She started with the kids' bedrooms so we had someplace nice to escape to when struggling with the extra dose of angst that comes with moving in your teenage years.
Over time, my mom got acquainted with the crews in town, relying on Peter the Painter and Tony the Tile guy (yes, their real names and professions) and other contractors in town, who worked tirelessly until pretty much every stick of wood in that drafty house was replaced.
By the end, my mom was signing on as the general contractor for the projects - kind of crazy considering she is a woman who embodies the antithesis of hardball.
Lots of special memories were made in that house. Bad ones - Like the time The Bridge and I chased each other around the house, literally pulling chunks of hair out of our heads and leaving deep gouges on our arms. It was the biggest fight we ever had and it only happened because Mom and Dad were gone. Good memories - like our lobster boils on the back patio.
Mickdizzle and her best friend laying out in the baby pool. Mollie the Corgi Attack Dog watches over.
Celebrating Christmas with grandparents, birthdays (especially Mickdizzle's which were my favorite since she was always such a little kid compared to me, and since her birthday is two days before Halloween).
Tough memories - like when Dad was recuperating from his brain tumor. Like when I was home at Christmas break, hiding in the shadows after an exceptionally shitty report card was mailed home.
And good ol' Maureen, the family ghost. She's another story for another time, but essentially the comings and goings of Maureen have made me a believer in the paranormal.
And I guess that's what makes the house on Island Avenue so special. Memories. We've grieved there. We've celebrated weddings (that's me and The Bridge on her big day) there. We've had fights and hugs and heartaches and triumphs and just about every emotion in between.
The Bridge and I used to lay in our beds, talking to each other through the "Brady Bunch" bathroom that connected our spaces together. I remember when I helped The Bridge hide a bottle of rum in my bedroom because she knew Mom and Dad wouldn't suspect it was in there.
I remember when I was babysitting Mickdizzle (then five years old) and she knocked out her four front teeth while we were horseplaying.
That was 14 years ago.
Now my parents are getting ready to close up shop, pack up the house and settle back down in Cincinnati for the Winter of their lives. And even though we're all older and wiser (for the most part) change can still be tough. I know I'm not the only one in my nuclear family to be struck by a moment of crying over the bedroom I'll never see again, the kitchen I'll never laze around in again. The back patio I'll never smoke cigarettes and drink wine on again. Even though I moved out of that house years and years ago, I've always considered it home in my heart.
The wonderful thing to carry us though this new phase is that we'll all be able to make new memories in this next house my parents move into. We'll celebrate things like the birth of babies, marriages. We'll pull together in times of sickness. We'll rejoice in moments of triumph like Kentucky Wildcat basketball championships (I hope).
Thanks for the memories, Madison. Until we meet again...
Friday's Feast
Appetizer
What was the very last song you listened to?
I'm Bringin' Sexy Back - Justin Timberlake, and yes, I am.
Soup
What is one company/store/corporation you would recommend that people stay away from?
Assa Abloy
Salad
On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being highest, how much do you enjoy having your picture made?
Maybe a a 7?
Main Course
Besides a bookmark, what is something you've used to keep your place in a book?
An envelope.
Dessert
Name a food that you like that most people don't.
Maybe sushi? Peas? Spinach?
What was the very last song you listened to?
I'm Bringin' Sexy Back - Justin Timberlake, and yes, I am.
Soup
What is one company/store/corporation you would recommend that people stay away from?
Assa Abloy
Salad
On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being highest, how much do you enjoy having your picture made?
Maybe a a 7?
Main Course
Besides a bookmark, what is something you've used to keep your place in a book?
An envelope.
Dessert
Name a food that you like that most people don't.
Maybe sushi? Peas? Spinach?
Thursday, September 14, 2006
This Week's Numbers
Tommy Hilfiger big, Kentucky Blue suitcase with wheels $70.00
Wine for Bacchanalian Society event tonight $24.00
Book on London's Restaurants $6.00
Having $12.43 in my bank account and actually not being in the red the day before payday: priceless
Wine for Bacchanalian Society event tonight $24.00
Book on London's Restaurants $6.00
Having $12.43 in my bank account and actually not being in the red the day before payday: priceless
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Still Accepting Applications
Earlier today I was reading the latest post on Mama Likey's blog and it got me thinking about about a position I was hiring for back in January.
As I said on Mama Likey's blog, this year I found an almost and a not quite, but still no Spot On.
Just wanted to put that application out there again for public review.
God, patience is a virtue.
As I said on Mama Likey's blog, this year I found an almost and a not quite, but still no Spot On.
Just wanted to put that application out there again for public review.
God, patience is a virtue.
My Anthem
From We Live by Superchic[k]
The weather in life outside is storming
But what would it take for the clouds to break
For us to realize each day
Is a gift somehow, someway
And get our heads up out of this darkness
And spark this new mindset and start on with life cuz it ain't gone yet
And tragedy's a reminder to take off the blinders and wake up(to live the life)
We're supposed to take up(moving forward)
With all our heads up
Cuz life is worth living
We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love
We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
London Calling
I am sooo missing my Soul Sister.
At 3 am this morning I was thinking about my D-Money, the one best friend God gives you each lifetime. As I headed in to work, I thought about how she was probably standing in some neverending line at Gatwick, passport with the cute pink, leather cover (I love mine, D!) whipped out and at the ready for all the questions that come at Customs. What are you visiting for? Are you bringing in any valuables? Do you have any plants or organic matter?
D-Money jetted off for her maiden voyage across the pond last night, with her eyes set on the beautiful prize of London. D is studying abroad at the University of Westminster to get her masters in International Broadcasting. I was a big supporter of this adventure as I regard my failing to study abroad as one of the biggest regrets of my life.
My love of adventure started out at a young age. I was the kid who would swim away from dad in the hotel pool before I could walk. I dove head first off the high dive before I was ten. My parents call me a "doorbell ringer" and I guess that means I've got a dash of wanderlust and guts mixed in my genetic code. Unfortunately I never got up the cojones to take flight and spend a semester practicing my Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, c'est soir?. Just hearing my sis The Bridge talk about Amsterdam makes me jealous.
But D-Money has decided to ring some bells in her old age (yeah, um, I've got three years on her) to put work on hold for some learning (and maybe some loving?) in London.
I'm going to really miss seeing D.
Our separation started in March, when I was bumped to a dayside shift. We weren't able to take our afternoon walks (usually to the corner bar) and trips to the bookstore like we used to. Then D left Cincinnati for a brief respite in Columbus. Three months of hanging out in the Capital to bide time before the broad went abroad.
And so now she is.
D and I are quite a pair. I'm the positive one who's always good for an upbeat word or some self deprecating jokes. D is the ballsy one, my henchwoman, who sticks up for me and helps me realize that while yes, there are some assholes out there, there IS some great dude out there just waiting for me to come along. All the ones who don't like me are gay, right D?
D and I have conquered Vegas and Boston MA, and in about five weeks we'll be taking on Londontown. Southern Son is coming along so I'm sure that will bring on an added venture with its share of pub crawling.
I'm counting the days, D.
At 3 am this morning I was thinking about my D-Money, the one best friend God gives you each lifetime. As I headed in to work, I thought about how she was probably standing in some neverending line at Gatwick, passport with the cute pink, leather cover (I love mine, D!) whipped out and at the ready for all the questions that come at Customs. What are you visiting for? Are you bringing in any valuables? Do you have any plants or organic matter?
D-Money jetted off for her maiden voyage across the pond last night, with her eyes set on the beautiful prize of London. D is studying abroad at the University of Westminster to get her masters in International Broadcasting. I was a big supporter of this adventure as I regard my failing to study abroad as one of the biggest regrets of my life.
My love of adventure started out at a young age. I was the kid who would swim away from dad in the hotel pool before I could walk. I dove head first off the high dive before I was ten. My parents call me a "doorbell ringer" and I guess that means I've got a dash of wanderlust and guts mixed in my genetic code. Unfortunately I never got up the cojones to take flight and spend a semester practicing my Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, c'est soir?. Just hearing my sis The Bridge talk about Amsterdam makes me jealous.
But D-Money has decided to ring some bells in her old age (yeah, um, I've got three years on her) to put work on hold for some learning (and maybe some loving?) in London.
I'm going to really miss seeing D.
Our separation started in March, when I was bumped to a dayside shift. We weren't able to take our afternoon walks (usually to the corner bar) and trips to the bookstore like we used to. Then D left Cincinnati for a brief respite in Columbus. Three months of hanging out in the Capital to bide time before the broad went abroad.
And so now she is.
D and I are quite a pair. I'm the positive one who's always good for an upbeat word or some self deprecating jokes. D is the ballsy one, my henchwoman, who sticks up for me and helps me realize that while yes, there are some assholes out there, there IS some great dude out there just waiting for me to come along. All the ones who don't like me are gay, right D?
D and I have conquered Vegas and Boston MA, and in about five weeks we'll be taking on Londontown. Southern Son is coming along so I'm sure that will bring on an added venture with its share of pub crawling.
I'm counting the days, D.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Reflection
Calm. The first mile of a 900 trek. Radio reports. Gridlock. Tunnels shut down. Driving back to New Haven. More questions than answers. No cell service. Dead payphones in Greenwich. Regroup at lunch. Dad says to go. Upstate New York. Driving. All news on the radio. No songs. Flags at half staff in Poughkeepsie. Flags at half staff in Pennsylvania. Still haven't seen any pictures. The towers collapsed? Disbelief. Driving. ~And I'm proud to be an American~. West Virginia. Three AM. Gas is almost three dollars. Hotel near Morgantown. Red Roof. I'm safe, Mom. CNN. Pictures for the first time. First time crying. Ashes everywhere. Panic and confusion. Armani suits walking across the GW bridge. Walking anywhere that's away from tragedy. Feeling the pain that belongs to all those people in New York. That belongs to all those people in DC. That belongs to all those people in Pennsylvania. Belongs to all of us.
Drive to Lexington. Straight to Man O War. Security guard at the drive. Never had that before. New station employee ids? A lot has changed in my life in an instant. Airplane security. Post office security. Anthrax scares, too? Bits of local news. Jennings wall-to-wall. How do we localize this? Runyon at the airport. Greg on Frankfort angle. I've got to produce an hour of straight local coverage from 5 to 6? No commercial breaks? I need this, and this, and this, and this. I still can't believe it. We still can't believe it, and we report on murders and crimes and bad things happening every goddamn day. All I want to watch is news. Monte's dad died in the towers? People searching for loved ones. The pictures. The pictures. I cannot get enough.
The new continues. Localize this. Security at federal buildings. Magnets already on cars. Runyon at the airport. Again. And again. And again. Should she set up a bureau there? Flight restrictions. Unearthing stinky feet and holy socks. Collecting goods. Blood donations. Lines to give. No pocket knives. No tweezers? Is this what it's come to? A local serviceman dead at the Pentagon. Who do I make this check out to? ... Can I sign the book? Tragedy miles and miles away striking the very core of the Bluegrass. Rattling the very simplicity of our innocence. Complete & utter shock the cliched reality. 911 means something different now.
One year later. The same. Runyon still at the airport. We're really not that safe, after all, are we? Still taking the shoes off at the airport and we do it in the name of safety. Random checks. Possible profiling the story of the year. Pack your patience as you go to the airport. The American flag has a bullseye on it. Fear abroad for Joe Citizen. Just because of our beliefs. And I thought everyone wanted to live the way we do. Maybe their jealousy is fueling that hate.
Much the same today. Nerves still raw and hurting five revolutions later. Tears come running at the sight of the people screaming. Towers burning. Firefighters running in to the unknown. Flying blind to save people. Still at Orange Alert. Families without their daddies and mommies and sisters and brothers. Whole offices wiped out. Neighborhoods plagued with single parents coping with tragedy. Children. Children trying to grasp the most complicated of concepts that even adults struggle with. Blind hate giving birth to fear. Should I pretend to be Canadian on my trip? Getting ready to take the shoes off once again. This time with new socks. No liquids. Threat du jour. It's a way of life we just struggle with. Prepare for. Pray for.
For the rest of time.
Drive to Lexington. Straight to Man O War. Security guard at the drive. Never had that before. New station employee ids? A lot has changed in my life in an instant. Airplane security. Post office security. Anthrax scares, too? Bits of local news. Jennings wall-to-wall. How do we localize this? Runyon at the airport. Greg on Frankfort angle. I've got to produce an hour of straight local coverage from 5 to 6? No commercial breaks? I need this, and this, and this, and this. I still can't believe it. We still can't believe it, and we report on murders and crimes and bad things happening every goddamn day. All I want to watch is news. Monte's dad died in the towers? People searching for loved ones. The pictures. The pictures. I cannot get enough.
The new continues. Localize this. Security at federal buildings. Magnets already on cars. Runyon at the airport. Again. And again. And again. Should she set up a bureau there? Flight restrictions. Unearthing stinky feet and holy socks. Collecting goods. Blood donations. Lines to give. No pocket knives. No tweezers? Is this what it's come to? A local serviceman dead at the Pentagon. Who do I make this check out to? ... Can I sign the book? Tragedy miles and miles away striking the very core of the Bluegrass. Rattling the very simplicity of our innocence. Complete & utter shock the cliched reality. 911 means something different now.
One year later. The same. Runyon still at the airport. We're really not that safe, after all, are we? Still taking the shoes off at the airport and we do it in the name of safety. Random checks. Possible profiling the story of the year. Pack your patience as you go to the airport. The American flag has a bullseye on it. Fear abroad for Joe Citizen. Just because of our beliefs. And I thought everyone wanted to live the way we do. Maybe their jealousy is fueling that hate.
Much the same today. Nerves still raw and hurting five revolutions later. Tears come running at the sight of the people screaming. Towers burning. Firefighters running in to the unknown. Flying blind to save people. Still at Orange Alert. Families without their daddies and mommies and sisters and brothers. Whole offices wiped out. Neighborhoods plagued with single parents coping with tragedy. Children. Children trying to grasp the most complicated of concepts that even adults struggle with. Blind hate giving birth to fear. Should I pretend to be Canadian on my trip? Getting ready to take the shoes off once again. This time with new socks. No liquids. Threat du jour. It's a way of life we just struggle with. Prepare for. Pray for.
For the rest of time.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Set List
Friday
11 am - Loverboy. Working For the Weekend
Finally. A brief respite after a week of work at the salt mine.
6 pm - Don Henley. Dirty Laundry
A bunch of work people doing what they do best - reminiscing about the wins of the week and talking about the Dwight Schrutes of the newsroom.
Assistant Regional Manager, er, Assistant to the Regional Manager at Dunder-Mifflin
You just can't beat a deal of 10 bucks for 10 beers and 2 mixed drinks... at a spot with one of the best views in the city. God Bless the Pavilion.
11 pm - Barenaked Ladies. Alcohol
And the drinks keep coming...
2 am - The Presidents of The United States of America - She's Lump
Saturday
10 am - Weezer. Headache
12 pm - The Beatles. I'm Only Sleeping
2 pm- Boy George. The Crying Game
Brokeback Mountain is a good flick. It gets a bad rap because of the not so subtle gay theme, but it was shot beautifully, and it will break your heart if you can put aside your judgment and just take it as a love story between two people who just can't be together.
4:30- James Taylor. You've Got A Friend
GOP Big Wig was in the 513, so we decided to meet at our shared favorite shopping destination for a latte and some convo. GBW was in a bit of a bummer mood but she ended up making me feel super good about myself with her generous compliments and abundant support. Hugs and kisses, GBW (PS. Do you notice how that's a messed up monogram for W?)
7 pm- Yardbirds. Hang On Sloopy
A meeting of the minds at the Willie's in Covington to watch OSU smack the collective ass of the Texas Longhorns. I was sandwiched at the bar between Big Blue Blood and Southern Son, both cheering for Matthew McConaughey's team (don't you think that he and Lance are getting just a little bit too close?) I decided to root for OSU since, well, I really have no ill will for my Buckeye brothers and sisters, and since I turned down The Ohio State University to go to The University of Kentucky (Hey... The-O-S-U implies it's THE university among the state schools. I say, The-U of K implies my school is THE school of Kentucky. Bar none. So there).
Anyway.
The game was a good one, despite some trash talking between Southern Son and a rabid Buckeye fan.
Sunday
9 am - Survivor. Eye of the Tiger
Race for the Cure in Mason was awesome. I felt a major sense of awe as I saw so many cancer survivors wearing their pink t-shirts and hats. I decided to break a sweat with a fast walk (though there are some plans to get back into my running pattern circa 2000 - stay tuned for that). With every step I saw people wearing cards honoring much missed loved ones and celebrating those who've beaten this awful disease. And yes, man with the purple t-shirt. I agree with the message splashed across your chest - Cancer Sucks. I thought about GBW's mother, my good friend The Bride (who beat three types of cancer before the age of 28) and Big Blue Blood's mother.
11:15 am - Madness. Our House
I cruised by a home in the Montgomery/Symmes Twp. area that my parents had mentioned they were considering buying. I was surprised when I saw the SOLD sign in the front yard and called home to find out that Yes, Indeed, Kate. Mom and Dad did buy the house. My little sister Mickdizzle has requested a blog expanding on that development so you'll have to stay tuned. I've already got posts planned for Monday and Tuesday of this week, so perhaps that one will come Wednesday.
1 pm - Kool & The Gang. Jungle Boogie
The Bengals rolled over the Kansas City Chiefs this afternoon despite the torrential downpours out that way. Chad Johnson's blond mohawk type hairstyle is fly... and for some reason I think his thug, yellow gold grill is kinda hot... Hot like Fitty Cent... and I think I've already expanded on that crush... but then, I have a crush on Tucker Carlson, too, so go figure. I suppose George P. Bush is the closest the GOP has to gangsta, and Georgie P. Is pretty fine, too.
Oh, I totally forgot. I'm supposed to be talking about the Bengals.
Anyway.
The game was awesome despite a major injury on the other side. I'm glad Chiefs QB Trent Green isn't paralyzed after that slammin' hit by Robert Geathers. Green doesn't have any recollection of the play that put him out of the game.
Carson, I've got my fingers crossed for ya, buddy.
11 am - Loverboy. Working For the Weekend
Finally. A brief respite after a week of work at the salt mine.
6 pm - Don Henley. Dirty Laundry
A bunch of work people doing what they do best - reminiscing about the wins of the week and talking about the Dwight Schrutes of the newsroom.
Assistant Regional Manager, er, Assistant to the Regional Manager at Dunder-Mifflin
You just can't beat a deal of 10 bucks for 10 beers and 2 mixed drinks... at a spot with one of the best views in the city. God Bless the Pavilion.
11 pm - Barenaked Ladies. Alcohol
And the drinks keep coming...
2 am - The Presidents of The United States of America - She's Lump
Saturday
10 am - Weezer. Headache
12 pm - The Beatles. I'm Only Sleeping
2 pm- Boy George. The Crying Game
Brokeback Mountain is a good flick. It gets a bad rap because of the not so subtle gay theme, but it was shot beautifully, and it will break your heart if you can put aside your judgment and just take it as a love story between two people who just can't be together.
4:30- James Taylor. You've Got A Friend
GOP Big Wig was in the 513, so we decided to meet at our shared favorite shopping destination for a latte and some convo. GBW was in a bit of a bummer mood but she ended up making me feel super good about myself with her generous compliments and abundant support. Hugs and kisses, GBW (PS. Do you notice how that's a messed up monogram for W?)
7 pm- Yardbirds. Hang On Sloopy
A meeting of the minds at the Willie's in Covington to watch OSU smack the collective ass of the Texas Longhorns. I was sandwiched at the bar between Big Blue Blood and Southern Son, both cheering for Matthew McConaughey's team (don't you think that he and Lance are getting just a little bit too close?) I decided to root for OSU since, well, I really have no ill will for my Buckeye brothers and sisters, and since I turned down The Ohio State University to go to The University of Kentucky (Hey... The-O-S-U implies it's THE university among the state schools. I say, The-U of K implies my school is THE school of Kentucky. Bar none. So there).
Anyway.
The game was a good one, despite some trash talking between Southern Son and a rabid Buckeye fan.
Sunday
9 am - Survivor. Eye of the Tiger
Race for the Cure in Mason was awesome. I felt a major sense of awe as I saw so many cancer survivors wearing their pink t-shirts and hats. I decided to break a sweat with a fast walk (though there are some plans to get back into my running pattern circa 2000 - stay tuned for that). With every step I saw people wearing cards honoring much missed loved ones and celebrating those who've beaten this awful disease. And yes, man with the purple t-shirt. I agree with the message splashed across your chest - Cancer Sucks. I thought about GBW's mother, my good friend The Bride (who beat three types of cancer before the age of 28) and Big Blue Blood's mother.
11:15 am - Madness. Our House
I cruised by a home in the Montgomery/Symmes Twp. area that my parents had mentioned they were considering buying. I was surprised when I saw the SOLD sign in the front yard and called home to find out that Yes, Indeed, Kate. Mom and Dad did buy the house. My little sister Mickdizzle has requested a blog expanding on that development so you'll have to stay tuned. I've already got posts planned for Monday and Tuesday of this week, so perhaps that one will come Wednesday.
1 pm - Kool & The Gang. Jungle Boogie
The Bengals rolled over the Kansas City Chiefs this afternoon despite the torrential downpours out that way. Chad Johnson's blond mohawk type hairstyle is fly... and for some reason I think his thug, yellow gold grill is kinda hot... Hot like Fitty Cent... and I think I've already expanded on that crush... but then, I have a crush on Tucker Carlson, too, so go figure. I suppose George P. Bush is the closest the GOP has to gangsta, and Georgie P. Is pretty fine, too.
Oh, I totally forgot. I'm supposed to be talking about the Bengals.
Anyway.
The game was awesome despite a major injury on the other side. I'm glad Chiefs QB Trent Green isn't paralyzed after that slammin' hit by Robert Geathers. Green doesn't have any recollection of the play that put him out of the game.
Carson, I've got my fingers crossed for ya, buddy.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Pastel Brunch
Friday's Feast
Appetizer
Name 3 things that you are wearing today.
These shoes
This bracelet
A long sleeve "tissue" T-shirt.
Soup
Who was the last person you hugged?
I think it was either the Bride, The Honorary Big Sis or somebody else from Monday's party.
Salad
What do you like to order from your favorite fast food place?
I hate fast food. I almost never eat "traditional" fast food. If I do, it's usually a foot long veggie with no cheese, all the veggies (and I do mean all), lite mayo and vinegar from Subway.
Main Course
What time of day do you usually feel most energized?
Probably around noon or so - after a good sized nap from my stint on the morning show. PS - there appears to be light at the end of that tunnel. Stay tuned for the 4-1-1 on my return to daylight hours.
Dessert
Using the letters in your first name, write a sentence. (Example: Sweet unusual spaniels are nice.)
Kids Are Trippin' Yo.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Back To The Drunkenness
Calling all beer/brat/fun lovers.
Cincinnati is gearing up for it's Oktoberfest the 16th/17th of this month.
Anyone up for going (including you Lex-Vegas types?)
I've got a hair appointment that Saturday morning but would be up for going in the afternoon either day.
There's nothing like having a hot piece of schnitzel in your mouth.
Cincinnati is gearing up for it's Oktoberfest the 16th/17th of this month.
Anyone up for going (including you Lex-Vegas types?)
I've got a hair appointment that Saturday morning but would be up for going in the afternoon either day.
There's nothing like having a hot piece of schnitzel in your mouth.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Heaven
Today I discovered what it's like to be in Heaven.
I guess I can't really be absolutely sure, because I didn't lose my consciousness and I was quite aware of my surroundings. Still, that's the only way to describe the sense of awareness and calm I felt.
I was driving on Interstate 71 of all places when I had this sudden sense of peace.
The wind was blowing my glistening, golden hair around and the little hairs on my arms were catching the breeze. The sun made everything sparkly and the sky was this most stunning shade of azure. Nothing too noticeable to detract from the moment. And the clouds! The clouds looked like little flying bits of cotton candy, and they appeared almost thick enough that I could reach out and grab a bit and swallow that sweetness deep inside me.
And that's when I realized I didn't have a worry in the world.
Every pulsating heartbeat belted out a tune of happiness from my body. And suddenly I became awash of thanks and gratefulness for every gift God has ever bestowed on me. Even the bad things have turned out to be gifts, I've realized.
In that moment, I felt like my life had a purpose. I felt like my life was going to make an imprint on the world, no matter how insignificant when compared to the cosmos and the universe and everything else living and breathing on this Earth. I felt like I was going to leave something behind here when it was all said and done, whether that be through flesh and blood or plant or idea.
I guess what I'm saying (and I'm sure some of you are reading this freaky deeky post and thinking Damn. Kate's finally fallen off her rocker) is that I don't feel like my life is in vain. I feel like something's developing with every inhale and exhale I make. I feel like the energy in my being is going to do something and make my little corner of the world better and different somehow, far outlasting the cells and blood of my body.
I know there are many greater men who have gone before me. And I know there are still so many moments of awe to follow far behind me. But today confirms for me the belief that I am here for a reason, and I must only trust and be patient to discover exactly what that is.
As I was having this awesome moment regarding the sense of my existance, I wondered whether everyone else has these moments of enlightenment, or should I feel so lucky to appreciate my place in life? To want what I've got, as Sherly Crow says.
Gosh, I am so thankful to be a part of this beautiful thing called life.
Will somebody remind me I said this when I get bummed someday?
I guess I can't really be absolutely sure, because I didn't lose my consciousness and I was quite aware of my surroundings. Still, that's the only way to describe the sense of awareness and calm I felt.
I was driving on Interstate 71 of all places when I had this sudden sense of peace.
The wind was blowing my glistening, golden hair around and the little hairs on my arms were catching the breeze. The sun made everything sparkly and the sky was this most stunning shade of azure. Nothing too noticeable to detract from the moment. And the clouds! The clouds looked like little flying bits of cotton candy, and they appeared almost thick enough that I could reach out and grab a bit and swallow that sweetness deep inside me.
And that's when I realized I didn't have a worry in the world.
Every pulsating heartbeat belted out a tune of happiness from my body. And suddenly I became awash of thanks and gratefulness for every gift God has ever bestowed on me. Even the bad things have turned out to be gifts, I've realized.
In that moment, I felt like my life had a purpose. I felt like my life was going to make an imprint on the world, no matter how insignificant when compared to the cosmos and the universe and everything else living and breathing on this Earth. I felt like I was going to leave something behind here when it was all said and done, whether that be through flesh and blood or plant or idea.
I guess what I'm saying (and I'm sure some of you are reading this freaky deeky post and thinking Damn. Kate's finally fallen off her rocker) is that I don't feel like my life is in vain. I feel like something's developing with every inhale and exhale I make. I feel like the energy in my being is going to do something and make my little corner of the world better and different somehow, far outlasting the cells and blood of my body.
I know there are many greater men who have gone before me. And I know there are still so many moments of awe to follow far behind me. But today confirms for me the belief that I am here for a reason, and I must only trust and be patient to discover exactly what that is.
As I was having this awesome moment regarding the sense of my existance, I wondered whether everyone else has these moments of enlightenment, or should I feel so lucky to appreciate my place in life? To want what I've got, as Sherly Crow says.
Gosh, I am so thankful to be a part of this beautiful thing called life.
Will somebody remind me I said this when I get bummed someday?
Kate's In Print
Check out the latest Cin Weekly and you'll see something that reads like it comes from the postings of my Random Musings.
My "Last Word" feature is online if you don't have access or don't want to walk to the corner to pick up your own copy.
Feel free to comment. I'm pretty thick skinned and stand firm in my convictions...
Cheers,
Kate the Great
My "Last Word" feature is online if you don't have access or don't want to walk to the corner to pick up your own copy.
Feel free to comment. I'm pretty thick skinned and stand firm in my convictions...
Cheers,
Kate the Great
Whirlwind
I've been to My Fair Lexington twice in the past five days.
Quite a comeback since the last time I visited was way back in April in Keeneland.
Friday was for a night out with Bling, fresh out of her first dating foray since the divorce. Her X had the little boy for the week so Bling wanted to wade in the baby pool of Lexington's bar scene.
We stopped through haunts that weren't really mine when I lived in Lex Vegas. Merrick Inn. Oscars. Harry's at Hamburg. I was surprised to see how dead quiet Lexington was on a Friday night, but I suppose things may have been different at my old favorites like McCarthy's, Lynaugh's and Gambino's.
I guess people in my age group don't go out anymore? What is this world coming to.
I caught up with GOP Big Wig at Lexington's most scenic Starbucks (the people are so pretty in Chevy Chase) before heading up I-75 to the Buckeye State.
Spent Saturday night sitting solo at a bar and I survived. D Money has said she does it once in a while and so I thought I'd give it a try. The night wasn't supposed to be that way, but some plans fizzled out and all I really wanted to do was watch the Notre Dame Georgia Tech game. So to Mulligan's in Hyde Park I went, and I learned an important lesson - a pretty girl can survive just fine at a bar all by her lonesome.
I'm not afraid of going to movie theatres, museums and other spots by myself, but I've always been apprehensive of restaurants and bars. It's really not as bad as I thought. And suggestion: try the chicken chili. It really hit the spot.
Anyway.
If my feet could talk, they'd be yelling every dirty word in the book at me. I went on a three and a half hour long walk Sunday - in brand new shoes. I'm trying to break in a pair of those hip Merrell anti-tennis shoes for my trip overseas. I don't want to be one of those Americans with the modern day equiv. of puffy Reebok high-tops, so I'm opting for something a little subdued.
Well, my heels are all cut up and blistered now, and I really don't like it.
I guess it's better to hurt here than in the streets of London.
***
Sunday night/Monday morning was all about a cheesecake I made from scratch, complete with a brand new, homemade blueberry topping. Don't ask for the recipe because I made it up - but I could probably reproduce it if I had to.
I really had no idea Labor Day was such an eating holiday. I know about the dangers of Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and even Halloween. But Labor Day?
I went back to Lex Monday afternoon to see The Bride and my Honorary Big Sis for a bridal shower and I guess the rest of Ohio went with me. The 1.25 hour drive back to Cincinnati took me three hours only because every other Buckeye was traveling on the two lane stretch that goes between Sadieville and Williamstown. I got checked out by a couple truckers and amused my share of drivers by breakin' it down in my car to stay awake.
I can bust a move in the strangest of places. There was this one time when I was dancing in the melee that pours out of the Commonwealth Stadium parking lot... but that's another story for another time.
Hopefully all the Ohioans won't be coming to Lexington with me the three other times I'll be visiting town before October.
Anyway.
***
The ladies of the Junior League are alive and well. I swear - I still kind of feel like I'm infiltrating a secret club when I go to the meetings. When do we get to learn about the handshake? When will they find out I used to be wild? What if they find out I'm not rich?
I'm really getting excited about some good opportunities coming up to help several worthy outreach projects. I think I've spent enough time letting everybody else step up and do stuff for the community. It's time I take some responsibility and give back what I can.
***
Anyone want a free ticket to see a Broadway show? I'm going to see The Light in the Piazza tonight and my date isn't firm...
Oh, I can already hear the jokes for that one.
Quite a comeback since the last time I visited was way back in April in Keeneland.
Friday was for a night out with Bling, fresh out of her first dating foray since the divorce. Her X had the little boy for the week so Bling wanted to wade in the baby pool of Lexington's bar scene.
We stopped through haunts that weren't really mine when I lived in Lex Vegas. Merrick Inn. Oscars. Harry's at Hamburg. I was surprised to see how dead quiet Lexington was on a Friday night, but I suppose things may have been different at my old favorites like McCarthy's, Lynaugh's and Gambino's.
I guess people in my age group don't go out anymore? What is this world coming to.
I caught up with GOP Big Wig at Lexington's most scenic Starbucks (the people are so pretty in Chevy Chase) before heading up I-75 to the Buckeye State.
Spent Saturday night sitting solo at a bar and I survived. D Money has said she does it once in a while and so I thought I'd give it a try. The night wasn't supposed to be that way, but some plans fizzled out and all I really wanted to do was watch the Notre Dame Georgia Tech game. So to Mulligan's in Hyde Park I went, and I learned an important lesson - a pretty girl can survive just fine at a bar all by her lonesome.
I'm not afraid of going to movie theatres, museums and other spots by myself, but I've always been apprehensive of restaurants and bars. It's really not as bad as I thought. And suggestion: try the chicken chili. It really hit the spot.
Anyway.
If my feet could talk, they'd be yelling every dirty word in the book at me. I went on a three and a half hour long walk Sunday - in brand new shoes. I'm trying to break in a pair of those hip Merrell anti-tennis shoes for my trip overseas. I don't want to be one of those Americans with the modern day equiv. of puffy Reebok high-tops, so I'm opting for something a little subdued.
Well, my heels are all cut up and blistered now, and I really don't like it.
I guess it's better to hurt here than in the streets of London.
***
Sunday night/Monday morning was all about a cheesecake I made from scratch, complete with a brand new, homemade blueberry topping. Don't ask for the recipe because I made it up - but I could probably reproduce it if I had to.
I really had no idea Labor Day was such an eating holiday. I know about the dangers of Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and even Halloween. But Labor Day?
I went back to Lex Monday afternoon to see The Bride and my Honorary Big Sis for a bridal shower and I guess the rest of Ohio went with me. The 1.25 hour drive back to Cincinnati took me three hours only because every other Buckeye was traveling on the two lane stretch that goes between Sadieville and Williamstown. I got checked out by a couple truckers and amused my share of drivers by breakin' it down in my car to stay awake.
I can bust a move in the strangest of places. There was this one time when I was dancing in the melee that pours out of the Commonwealth Stadium parking lot... but that's another story for another time.
Hopefully all the Ohioans won't be coming to Lexington with me the three other times I'll be visiting town before October.
Anyway.
***
The ladies of the Junior League are alive and well. I swear - I still kind of feel like I'm infiltrating a secret club when I go to the meetings. When do we get to learn about the handshake? When will they find out I used to be wild? What if they find out I'm not rich?
I'm really getting excited about some good opportunities coming up to help several worthy outreach projects. I think I've spent enough time letting everybody else step up and do stuff for the community. It's time I take some responsibility and give back what I can.
***
Anyone want a free ticket to see a Broadway show? I'm going to see The Light in the Piazza tonight and my date isn't firm...
Oh, I can already hear the jokes for that one.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Laboring My Ass Off
I've got something in common with President Bush.
See, he's working hard. Coming in on Saturdays. Eating takeout (SNL parody by Will Forte).
Well, I'm working holidays, but in TV that's really not very unusual.
Have a good time avoiding the likes of Dwight Schrute.
Cheers,
Kate the Great
See, he's working hard. Coming in on Saturdays. Eating takeout (SNL parody by Will Forte).
Well, I'm working holidays, but in TV that's really not very unusual.
Have a good time avoiding the likes of Dwight Schrute.
Cheers,
Kate the Great
Friday, September 01, 2006
Brunch
From Friday's Feast
Appetizer
What are some lyrics you have misheard (such as, instead of "Gettin' Jiggy With It" you heard "Kick a chicken with it")?
I really can't recall anything off the top of my head, but I must say I always get caught up in that line from the Black Crowes Hard to Handle
Soup
What is the worst movie you have ever seen?
Showgirls was pretty bad.
Salad
Using the letters from your favorite number, write a sentence. Example: Tomorrow has really easy experiences.
True heartache is really tragic, emotionally eating nerves.
Main Course
What was the most interesting news story you have heard this week?
Interesting, I don't know. I've heard about all kinds of sad stories and trivial stories and complicated stories. Today this one takes the cake:
A bunch of strippers in Las Vegas bared it all to raise money for a local school.
Dessert
Which word(s) would you choose to describe your wardrobe?
Classic. Stylish. Understated. Sophisticated.
Appetizer
What are some lyrics you have misheard (such as, instead of "Gettin' Jiggy With It" you heard "Kick a chicken with it")?
I really can't recall anything off the top of my head, but I must say I always get caught up in that line from the Black Crowes Hard to Handle
Soup
What is the worst movie you have ever seen?
Showgirls was pretty bad.
Salad
Using the letters from your favorite number, write a sentence. Example: Tomorrow has really easy experiences.
True heartache is really tragic, emotionally eating nerves.
Main Course
What was the most interesting news story you have heard this week?
Interesting, I don't know. I've heard about all kinds of sad stories and trivial stories and complicated stories. Today this one takes the cake:
A bunch of strippers in Las Vegas bared it all to raise money for a local school.
Dessert
Which word(s) would you choose to describe your wardrobe?
Classic. Stylish. Understated. Sophisticated.
Drool
My closet just got a little fuller thanks to three gorgeous pairs of shoes: 
Odell 3 (Bronze Snake) by Enzo Angiolini
I thought this copper colored shoe would be perfect to wear when going out. I've got an awesome beaded handbag that will be perfect. Copper is such a great color to take a girl through Autumn...
I really don't care whether the cork heel is on the way out. The shoe is dynamite and there are still a few weeks left of Summer.
I can't find the third pair to show you. It's a silver mid-heel I'll be wearing in a wedding in four weeks
I just can't decide what to wear out when I tear up Lexington tonight.
My feet haven't looked this hot since I bought those Guess stillettos...
I can't find the third pair to show you. It's a silver mid-heel I'll be wearing in a wedding in four weeks
I just can't decide what to wear out when I tear up Lexington tonight.
My feet haven't looked this hot since I bought those Guess stillettos...
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