Are You There God? It's Me, Kate

Hey G, It's me.

I just wanted to check in with you and let you know I'm doing well. I've really worked hard to develop an attitude that appreciates and enjoys the station my life is currently experiencing. It's easy to embrace the great job and the busy (and fun) social life, and I am really glad you've helped me fold in some meaning (like the volunteer work, etc.) into these chapters I call Life.

I just wanted to let you know that some people are trying to bring me down about my being single, and I'm trying to be strong through all that negativity.

I can take seeing my friends prosper with expanding families. My Christmas cards reflect a veritable menagerie of beautiful children you've blessed my life with knowing. I enjoy hearing those stories about how Baby X is growing and thinking and learning about this wonderful adventure on Earth.

Those moments are really rad.

I'm just not so down with the tough times like when my kid sister calls me a loser for being 30 and single.

Now, I know the amazing Mickdizzle is brilliant and omniscient and the epitome of wisdom. I just think her aim might be a little off on this latest opinion.

It's these lovely exchanges that truly grate on my strength and determination.

God. I can already hear you. But Kate. She's 20 years old. She doesn't know her ass from her elbow. Why do you give her the time of day? Oy vey.

Well, G. It's not so much that I give credence to what she says (because yes, she is still learning the difference between her posterior and her anterior ligaments), it's just that her kind remarks are akin a mosquito biting away at a brown, bloody scab, trying to peel away my confidence.

And I guess that's when I second guess myself.

Am I alright?
Am I a freak for not being married yet?
Why am I still single, anyway?

The questions start swirling in my noggin and then I begin to doubt my independence and circumstance.

So, God:

Maybe you could do something like put a force field around me blocking all negativity regarding my lack of plus 1 status. Maybe you could whisper little nuggets of positivity in my ear when I'm sleeping.

Or maybe you could just give a swift kick to my sister's ass or elbow.

Whichever one hurts more.

Love, Kate

California Dreamin'

I've got a laundry list of things to fantasize about right now:

1) The new trip on my horizon. Rome in September. Maybe a stop somewhere (Switzerland/Portugal/Ireland? The world is my oyster) on the way to/from the Colisseum etc.

2) A skinnier me. At least 10 pounds skinnier. I've gained about seven pounds since my dad carved our Thanksgiving turkey. I think major plans are in order once the calendar sweeps its way to 2007.

3) A boyfriend. I imagine this will be perpetually on the list until Cupid decides to have his way with me. The holiday break did give me a bit to be positive about...

4) More time. I cannot wait to shout a big Be gone with you! to the holidays. I mean, spending time with friends and family is a blast, and I haven't enjoyed so much good food in a very long time (see #2) but it's time for me to get a chance to hang out in my apartment and be all by my lonesome. I really thrive on alone time - it helps me power down and renergize so I can return to my crazy ass self.

5) A nice pair of winter heels. I loves me some shoes. My dad repeatedly teases me about my affection for a well cobbled heel and sleek construction of leather. I am in need of a nice pair of heels that are big on style and made with more than a few strappy strands of leather. This one will probably be the easiest dream for me to make a reality...

Holiday Glut

Do you think it's okay for my routine 3-meals-a-day diet to go on hiatus?

I think maybe I need to let my stomach eat itself a little bit.

My waist would greatly appreciate it.

Redneck Erotica and Other Moments

So. The whole fam damily is in glorious Cincinnati to celebrate Christmas.

We've been passing the time together doing many holiday cliches like catching the Nutcracker at Music Hall and Festival Lights at the zoo.

We've also been hitting the area's culinary highlights - Dee Felice Cafe in Covington, the original Montgomery Inn near my parents' home and our favorite joint for a Cincinnati tradition - Blue Ash Chili (get a six-way. They add deep fried jalapenos to the top of your mound of noodles/chili/beans/onions/cheese).

Saturday night my sister, brother-in-law and I went to the Hofbrauhaus in Newport and the Wine Cellar in Mt. Adams.

Over the course of these lovely experiences, we've had several entertaining conversations - many of these interesting moments involve my mother hearing something completely different from what was uttered.

So, I guess my whole partially deaf thing runs in the family.

Anyway.

There we were, taking the back roads from Montgomery through Indian Hill, destination Symmes Township, when my mom blurted out "What? Redneck erotica?"

I honestly cannot recall what was said. We were likely talking about Christmas gifts or perhaps my BIL was discussing his thesis project for his last semester in grad school at Georgia Tech.

I don't know whether there's a market for Redneck Erotica, or whether that unusual concept even exists. It's almost like that Google game some computer freaks play - pairing unusual words together to find something with no search results.

Remember when Chick Lit was brand new and started a firestorm of talk? Perhaps my mom has invented a literary market just waiting to be tapped.

So, Redneck Erotica. That's the big joke in the family right now. Go figure.

My sister, Bridge, and my BIL are teasing me quite a bit right now. They met at Clemson U. in South Carolina a million years ago for college.

Take one guess as to which school is playing my Kentucky Wildcats in the Music City Bowl next Friday... one guess.

Yes. A family rivalry is always wonderful this time of year.

Anyway.

Here's to wishing you find lots of Redneck Erotica under your Christmas tree and that your family can take (and carry on with) a joke as well as mine can.

Merry Christmas,
Kate the Great

Couple Holding Hands

One in a million...

Special thanks to t2ed for the heads up on this one

Calling All Men

Hey fellas.

While you all were watching football, my kind decided to have an annual Global Sisterhood of Femininity meeting in the shoe section at Macy's. We held a vote and it was determined that someone had to tell y'all what to buy us girls for Christmas.

I was assigned that heavy duty, so here goes.

1) We want something special under the Christmas tree. No blenders. No vacuums. We do not want anything boring or necessary like tires for Christmas. No. No. No.

It is quite likely World War III will erupt (or at the very least, we will break up with you) if you give us those kinds of presents.

2) We especially invite you to buy us gifts that we really really want but would never buy ourselves. Things that are sparkly and shiny or good smelling. Things that make us wanna sing Man, I feel like a woman just like Shania Twain when she wears that top hat and corset.

3) No matter how much we reluctantly say we would love to have a stripper pole installed in the basement, we really hate that idea. Really. We realize that's probably the kind of gift that would keep on giving for you, and so that's why we say we'd agree to a gift like that. Also included in this rule: gifts from Hustler or Fredericks of Hollywood. The Victoria's Secret Clause is an exception (but only by a narrow margin).

4) Every chick is impressed by something that's really nice. Tiffany. Chanel. Prada. These are good places to start - there are lots of options to consider. Most luxury brands offer a variety of goods including jewelry, fragrances, scarves, leather goods. Maybe your gal is a Smell Good type. Maybe she'd prefer a great day planner. Just pick a big name and go from there.

These are some simple suggestions you all should consider when buying members of the Sisterhood a gift for the holidays.

Follow this advice and Peace on Earth is sure to spread for weeks to come.

Ode to George Bailey

My dear, sweet George:

You embody so many wonderful characteristics of the Perfect Man.

You are, above all else, a Family Man.

You are kind, talented, ambitious and modest.

You are loyal to friends and your sacrifices know no bounds where loved ones are concerned.

George, you are the example I compare every man to.

I love you, George Bailey.

Your movie is my most favorite ever, and every Christmas I anticipate watching you develop into an amazing man who struggles with challenges and personal anguish, only to discover the beauty of human generosity.

George, I think you're amazing. I love how you pine over Mary for years and years and years and I love how you make a joke of yourself when you fall into the pool at the high school dance.

I love how you carry Zuzu's petals in your pocket.

Every Christmas I watch It's A Wonderful Life and I realize just how wonderful my own life is.

And how someday I'll find my own George Bailey.

Highly Inappropriate

And yet so funny.

If you appreciate high-brow humor, then perhaps you should move on to another blog.

If you do not like dirty words or saucy topics, then the following video clip is not for you.

If you prefer the kind of humor found in sewing circles and bingo halls (as opposed to the kind of jokes told on elementary school playgrounds) then you should definitely avoid clicking the link below.

The rest of you dirty birds - y'all will really like this one.





ps- I hope Justin Timberlake does not stick with this fashion style.

Double PS - Thanks to Double Platinum for the heads up on this on Monday... (you finally get a shout out...)

T-Minus Three Days And Counting...

... until D-Money is on the right side of the ocean.

Drinking Indian beer in London. Go figure.

So, my Soul Sister moved away to Columbus in June. Then she picked up and hauled ass to London in September to get all ejumacated or something.

Well, folks. She's coming back.

And for a brief moment the planets will be aligned and there will be peace around the globe.

Wait a minute. Haven't I seen you on tee vee before?

I just had to share the sheer glory and happiness getting ready to infect the United States.

The Divine Comedy

I am almost certain that if Dante were alive and experiencing the holidays the way us modern mortals do, he would say this season perfectly defines his nine circles of Hell.

First Circle: One of the most infuriating experiences of the season is the wretched traffic you encounter anywhere within a five mile radius of the area shopping centers. At this juncture, be prepared to exchange impolite hand gestures and cursing with your fellow drivers. The stop and go traffic and spontaneous braking of indecisive drivers is enough for you to swear like a sailor and pray for the very destruction of these peoples' lives.

Merry Christmas!

Second Circle: Almost as frustrating is the line at practically any checkout counter. It appears stores strategically calculate how many shoppers they have on the premises and then determine which employees should take an immediate break from ringing up customers at the register. Michael's Crafts is a perfect place to experience this sheer madness. You will literally question your existence and what moral indiscretions you may have made in a past life as you are forced to listen to Jose Feliciano's rousing rendition of "Feliz Navidad," all while waiting to buy some extra gift wrapping ribbon and double sided tape.

Third Circle: You could very well be inspired to pull out all your hair as you try to pen the most creative and catchy of Christmas Cards. Families have gone to war over this one. Someone always ends up sounding like the white-trash cousin when you type up a little ditty about who did what during 2006. And if your card isn't juicy, then it's likely your red or green photocopied note is used to wipe dirty bottoms at your grandma's Old Folks Home.

Season's Greetings!

Fourth Circle: I am surprised the media does not report more stranglings by Christmas lights. These little strands of light should come with a warning label. Some people may choose to kill themselves with their icicle lights, twinkle lights, white lights or flashing lights after encountering the most frustrating of challenges when hanging said lights. Other people may die at the hands of a loved one who is too critical about lights hung on the family tree, the outside bushes, or the home.

Long Live Clark Griswold.

Fifth Circle: Speaking of Clark, Dante would surely describe the seasonal excessive time spent with family as a hellish experience. There is no other masochistic experience like subjecting yourself to the familial rehashing of old arguments, sibling rivalry that refuses to die once everyone involved reaches 20 and the passive aggressive attitudes as prevalent as tinsel. It's just something you have to do, and once it's all said and done you'll come out of the moment a braver, more resilient person.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?

Sixth Circle: There is a special place in Hell for the person who invented the scale. Let's face it: you confront every holiday season with a brave face - You make vows to stay out of the work break room and steer your cart away from the obligatory Egg Nog section in the grocery store cooler. Nevertheless, every December you manage to gain a pound or two Okay, fine it's really eight pounds but I am an emotional eater. Back off! and remain powerless while attending a full schedule of parties.

Seventh Circle: Don't you just wish you could sometimes punch the lady wearing the crazy ass holiday sweater? Okay, it's not bad enough that she's got homemade earrings made out of little jingle bells. This is the lady in the office who manages to find any sweater made with a battery pack to include real light up lights. I think you know who I'm talking about. The very smear of Rudolph Red lipstick on her face (it actually covers a quarter inch ring beyond the border of her mouth) makes you want to gnaw the heart out of your chest cavity. This is the lady who is humming Jingle Bells while working in her cubicle. Here's what I wonder when I see this lady: Does she have no worries about how she'll pay for Christmas? Does this woman not experience the same frustrations I encounter?

Does this woman take drugs?

Eighth Circle: Happy Holidays Schmolidays. Doesn't the status of modern American culture just suck? I mean, where is the justice in the fact that the Politically Correct have totally dissolved any genuine Christmas spirit? I love all the many people and cultures around this globe, really I do, but I'd like to highlight a minor point. I do not celebrate Hanukkah or Kwanzaa. These events are super neat-o and I love love love what they symbolize, but I belong to a religious community that celebrates the holiday marking the birth of Christ. You know, the holiday where we're required to decorate pine trees and wrap gifts with brightly colored paper and sing carols while wearing scarves knit by Grandma. I'd like to continue calling that holiday Christmas if that's okay with you, ummkay?

Ninth Circle: One of the worst moments of the Holiday season is being trapped in Voice Mail Hell while calling Customer Service. Maybe you're calling to buy your honey a really hawt Blackberry, maybe you need help replacing the thingamajig for your Wii controller. Either way, it is assured you will be a) put on hold for all eternity or the duration of your life (which ever one comes first) or b) your call will be transferred to an individual who does not speak your language well and will likely not know the whereabouts of the city you live in, even if you live in a metropolis like Chicago.

God bless us everyone, indeed, Tiny Tim.

With Love, From Mickdizzle

Prologue
1.Where was your profile pic taken? Um, I actually think in a car??

2.What exactly are you wearing right now? Very minimalist. Black pants. Black sweater. Black glasses. I want to direct all of my creativity into my work.

3. What is your current problem? I have not even begun my Christmas shopping. I know that if
that's my only problem in life - then my life is super blessed.

4.What makes you most happy? Spending time with my family, friends and volunteering.

5. What’s the name of the song that you're listening TO? I am in love with Nelly Furtado and I have a confession, I am intrigued by the Gwen Stefani Sound of Music rip-off.

6.Has anyone you've been really close with passed away? Grandparents and extended family

7.Do you ever watch MTV? Actually, no.

8. What’s something that really annoys you? The long line at Starbucks. The seventh ring of Dante's Inferno (also known as the checkout at Michael's Crafts.) Traffic jams. Immaturity.

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Chapter 1:
1.Middle name: Louise

2.Nickname(s): Kate, Peanut, Punkin, KC, Babe

3.Current place? The Tall 12.

4.Eye color: Blue

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Chapter 2:
1. Do you live with your parents? That would be a negative.

2. Do you get along with your parent(s)?Most of the time. Since we've all become adults, we get along fabulously.

3.Do you have any Siblings?2 sisters
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Chapter 3: Favorite...
1. Ice Cream: B & Js Phish Food or Graeter's Peppermint Stick

2. Season:fall

Chapter 4: Do You..
1. Write on your hand? Not unless I'm really desperate

2. Call people back: I am really bad about this one. I have a habit - I don't listen to voicemail.

3. Believe in love: Absolutely

4. Sleep on a certain side of the bed? Not really. Which ever side is closest to the exit and or the television.

5. Have any bad habits? I just fell off the wagon of the non-nail biters' club.

6. Any mental health issues: I think Alzheimer's has started to set in. I guess that's what happens when you hit 30.
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Chapter 5: Have You....
1.Broken a bone? Nope.

2. bought new stuff in the last two weeks? New stuff? How vague. I guess I bought a new travel coffee mug. Now, isn't that special?

3. Had physical therapy?:nope

4. Gotten stitches: No.

5.Taken painkillers? When I had my wisdom teeth out eight years ago.

6.Gone SCUBA diving or snorkeling:no.

7. Been stung by a bee? Yes, when I was six and I freaked out.

8. Thrown up at the dentist: Never.

9. Ever sworn in front of your parent? Yes. We are a family that likes to communicate and express our feelings.

10. Had detention: Once when I was a freshman at Ursuline - I got to class late one too many times.

11. Been sent to the principal's office: When I was in Fourth Grade because I was trying to be cool and I said the S word.

12. Been suspended: Never
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Chapter 6:

Who/What was the last...

1.Movie(s) you watched? Casino Royale 007.

2. Person to text you: I think that would be Johnny G in C-Bus.

3. Person you called?: My co-worker Allison P.

4.Person you hugged: Johnny Lo

5. Last person you talked to? Double Platinum

6. Thing you touched: My keyboard silly. It's super clean.

7. Thing you ate: A cookie left over from the consultants' meeting

8. Thing you drank: Diet Coke

9. Time you cried:hmmm.... the weekend before my birthday. Over two weeks ago.

10. Wished on a star: When I watching for some shooting stars this summer with friends.

Illicit Affair

Oh Dwight.

I have been cheating on you for quite some time, and I know it hurts deep inside.

No, not with Ugly Betty, though I think that girl looks cute and helpless in a Molly Ringwald Pretty in Pink kind of way.

And I haven't traded you in for the sweaty dirty people on Survivor: Cook Island.

I've just been too damn busy to check in with the folks in Scranton. Oh, how I miss your office guerrilla warfare. Your tiger like instincts that hone in on the inappropriate office hy-jinks.

And your manliness. Oh, the manliness.

Dwight, hopefully we'll be able to reunite after the holidays. After I'm done with my seasonal volunteer commitments, the many parties and perpetual baking obligations through the holidays.

Until then, my love.

Roll Call

Welcome.

Welcome to all the new and old friends reading my blog.

Welcome to all the people in Frankfort (yeah, I know about y'all).

Welcome to our friends at Delta (is that you, Honorary Big Sis?)

Welcome to Jeregano at UC and to Southern Son stealing his neighbor's WiFi.

Welcome to our friends in the United Arab Emirates and Canada and Germany and Israel and Egypt and Great Britain (cheerio, D-money!)

And Tennessee.

Welcome to the late night reader at Procter and Gamble and welcome to the friend getting to the blog from my MySpace page.

Welcome to the people searching Google for "peed my pantyhose," "my stomach was upset," "kate's eyelash salon" and pictures of Gwen Stefani.

And welcome to the people searching for my many odes to Dwight Schrute.

It feels so great to know y'all love me.

Kisses,
Kate

Let The Sun Shine

So, I'm a pretty emotional being.

I think we've pretty well established that.

Sometimes I get all morose and funky and super aware of my mortality. You know - realizing that some day when it's all said and done this curvy body of mine is going to end up in something that looks more like a pared down Buick than a pine box.

Other days I'm all Pollyanna and sunshine and bursting with optimism. I am fully aware this overly positive outlook has a way of grating on people. Hell, I used to be one of those people back in the day.

Anyway.

Still, there are other days when I get into a funk because I care about something too much. Maybe it's something at work, maybe it's a person I'm attached to - either way - my brain festers on something unpleasant that makes me feel a bit down.

And I'm not so down with that, y'all.

I've decided - I am not going to let anyone steal my sunshine.

I hear by declare that I will do my best to treat people the way that I want to be treated. I will kill negativity with kindness and remain committed to brushing off bad attitudes.

I spent so many years in stuck in a cloud of frustration, anxiety and insecurity and realized life is too short to live that way.

Live and let live - just please let me live happy.

Trophy Shopper

I just added a new trophy to my collection.

By trophy I mean the glossy, firmly constructed bags dispensed at the most luxurious of shopping venues - each bag symbolic of a significant purchase in my shopping career.

Tiffany offers a bright, robin's-egg-blue bag to carry off your sparkly gems. I have three of those bags...

Coach was big into their crazy colorful Scribble C logo a couple years back, but more recently they returned to an understated white bag with red trim. I've got one of each in my special Trophy Shopping Bag collection.

Sephora. Victoria's Secret. These bags are wonderful items to recycle. You can drag your lunch to work in them (the smart design and sturdy material can last you weeks to and from work) and you can use them to bundle up things - like library books - that need to be toted to and from home.

The latest bag I've added to the collection is none other than the much coveted Prada.

Confession time: I did not shirk the rent to buy a fancy schmancy handbag. No, I bought something that was long overdue and far more reasonable - a new pair of eyeglasses. Simple, black and mostly covered by my vision insurance.

Mostly.

The Prada frames were a bit more than the $150 allotted (so were most of the other Gucci, Chanel, Oliver Peoples, Dolce Gabbana, etc. offered in the eyeglass shop. Note to self: if you're buying glasses on a budget, do not go to the neighborhood eye doctor's office in Oakley) but they were so beautiful. And. They. Were. Prada.

Fancy fancy fancy.

So the glasses came with a case, a firm cardboard box to hold the case, a special lens cleaner, and the much coveted Prada shopping bag. Almost as if you walked into a Prada boutique and decided to pick yourself up some 20/25 lenses perfect for astigmatism.

Here's the silly part.

I don't know why I save most of these bags. I will never ever ever recycle most of them.

I cannot tell you how pretentious and showy I would feel if I tossed my Dinty Moore beef stew and mandarin orange fruit cup in a Tiffany bag and brought it to work. The whole Dinty Moore lunch completely contradicts the aura, the essence de Tiffany. I would feel so gauche throwing my personal planner, my mittens and my makeup in the Scribble C Coach bag.

I mean, how showy would that be?

Now, the second tier bags like Victoria's Secret and Sephora - those are fine for re-use in my book. Almost everyone and their mother has discovered the secret of Victoria, so re-using that bag isn't any obnoxious, ostentatious statement of conspicuous consumption. That kind of recycling basically just tells the world you like nice underwear.

And that statement is a-o-k with me.

So. I've put the Prada bag with all the others - in a big messy pile on the floor of my pantry.

A trophy case of sorts that never sees the light of day. Bags just sitting there basking in their single use glory.

Will I ever have the heart to throw them away?

Never.

Christmas Past and Other Observations

You can never go back in time, no matter how hard you try.

It's a fact of life we all know to be firm and resolute, yet there are occasions that crop up and try to draw us back to yesteryear.

Last night I had the pleasure of catching the latest production of A Christmas Carol at Playhouse in the Park. I took my 20 year old sister, Mickdizzle, for a nice evening of sisterly bonding. She's home on break from her sophomore year at Ohio University, hanging around in a town she doesn't know very well with two people whom she sometimes wishes she didn't know very well.

So, I decided to give her a break from our parents. Or perhaps it was a break for them.

Anyway.

I love love love Mickdizzle. She's ten years younger than I am and I've really enjoyed watching her grow up.

Kate the Great's High School graduation many moons ago. The expressions are priceless. Bridge (left) is saying "Dad, ohmygod I so don't want to be here stop taking my picture or I'm gonna die." Mickdizzle (middle) is thrilled to be mugging for the camera at such an important event for the family. Mom (right, with the pilgrim collar dress on) is just glad nobody is wrestling or pulling hair in public.

I remember Mickdizzle when she was the stinky kid with the messy curly hair, hanging in the trees in her hole-y leggings and untied tennis shoes. Those were the days when she worshiped her big sister, Kate the Great. To this day I have a picture on my refrigerator that little Mick drew for me when she was a wee eight years old. A picture of our house and me behind the wheel of a car with a scrawled "Please be carefull when you drive Katy, I love you."

It still makes my heart melt. But boy, have things changed.

Mickdizzle is a beautiful, poised-when-she-wants-to-be 20 year old girl/woman. She is best friends with her flat iron (no more messy curly hair) and is a brand whore.

Burberry. The North Face. Coach. That's pretty much the only language Mickdizzle speaks.

So, my relationship with Mickdizzle is going through some growing pains right now.

She so desperately wants to be treated like a grown up. She's always snapping at me when I correct her on a word pronunciation or when she thinks something I say is patronizing and condescending.

I try and bite my tongue most of the time. Really, I do. I work so hard to treat Mickdizzle the same way I'd treat one of my friends.

Then she says something like, "Yeah. So am I going to be sitting next to anyone smelly tonight?"

That was the little gem she asked me as we were walking towards the Playhouse front door.

Seriously.

I really wish I could go back to the days when it was easy.

The days when I was allowed to treat her like a kid because that's what she wanted to be - hanging in trees and riding her bike with the little plastic streamers coming out of the handle bars.

Making up little stories about her imaginary friend Marley and playing with my makeup.

It was way easier back in the day.

Even when we were pulling hair and and yelling and stealing hairbrushes.
******************************
Speaking of going back in the past:

A great tune came on in the car as Mickdizzle and I headed back to home base in Oakley.

Fiona Apple's Criminal - it's one of my karaoke classics. When I sing Criminal my voice sounds like something half way between strong and sultry. I think my rendition could very well give Ms. Apple a run for her own one-hit-wonder money.

So there I was belting out And-I-need-to-be-redeemed-to-the-one-I've-sinned-against- because-he's-all-I-ever-knew-of-a-love... when my voice box came to an abrupt halt. I was sitting at the intersection, getting ready to turn right onto my street, and I was caught off guard by the car in front of mine.

I recognized the model immediately. The plates were what I expected them to be, and the driver was sitting in the pose I once made fun of him for.

Someone whom I didn't expect to see on my side of town. Someone I guess I didn't want to see on my side of town.

It's easy to run into someone in the place you expect them to be - you get ahold of the intestinal fortitude to prepare for that chance happening. Maybe at a bar they like to frequent, a gas station near their home.

But not on your home turf.

Not in a place where you feel safe and warm and protected from the past.

Because we can't go back. We can't change what happened. We can't get a do-over on the mistakes we make. All we can do is second guess and play the scenario in our mind over and over and over and hope that the next time we're dealt those cards we play the game a little better - and hope we can keep our poker tell to ourselves.
*******************************
So I went to One World Wednesday on guess when Wednesday.

The theme was London and I loved it because it reminded me of my trip a month and a half ago.

The friend whom I was supposed to go with was caught in a meeting in Louisville, so there I was standing alone with a beer in my hand next to some interesting gold bowl honoring King Whateverhisnameis from Persia/Egypt/some other place prominent in history a million years ago.

I don't do well with reaching out to strangers. I am much better at cruising crowded spots on my own - appearing to be extremely interested in the back story of the gold bowl like why it has a special rippled rim because it's a unique design feature representing bladdy blady blah.

So there I was enjoying the unusual artwork, the British house music and the samples of fish and chips (uh, yeah, they're exactly the same in the States as they are in London) when I ran into a friend from my past.

I cannot express to you the sheer glee I felt upon seeing a familiar face.

I'd had enough of Let's pretend we're the foreign visitor in London and was grateful to know I wasn't alone anymore.

My friend informed me that he didn't have time to chat because he was on his way to volunteer at a wine station (how come I never get those kinds of volunteering opportunities?) but that we'd catch up later.

I ended up running into some coworkers whom I don't know very well, and spent the evening getting to know some kind people who bide their time at the same great work place.

But not before participating in one of the evening's forums regarding whether Britain is the United States' only friend.

Yours truly was the primary contributor to this debate.

I guess the others in the group that evening aren't as passionate or critical as I am in regards to world affairs.

God, that statement says volumes about the people in this city.

The Greenup Cafe

You are not greeted at the door by a host at the Greenup Cafe.

True, a kind soul will likely say hello and offer to get you a table, but that's not really what grabs ahold of you.

It's the chartreuse.

The neon, yellowy-green walls and adjoining pomegranate rooms stop you in your tracks and immediately give you a heads up that this is not like any other restaurant you've been to in a long, long time.
The Covington eatery is the latest effort by cooking genius Jean Robert de Cavel in his campaign to take over all gastronomic endeavors sizzling in the Tri-State.

And sizzle is what Jean Robert does best.

The Greenup Cafe has a distinct bohemian feel that welcomes all diners, including those getting their first bite of Jean Robert food. Unlike other JRdC restaurants, prices here are easy on the wallet and the food is a type of French comfort food that hits the spot both for foodies and those who are easing their way into more daring, dining territory.

The restaurant takes up the space inside an old home a few blocks from the river. The living quarters have been turned into cozy dining spaces with simple benches lining the perimeter of the rooms and intimate tables dotting the periphery. Classic French, almost Toulouse Lautrec posters (and some more modern in design) hang on the walls to add to the foreign feeling.

Now, I am balls out daring when it comes to eating.

My fork has never grazed through something I didn't like (well except for maybe that black pudding in Scotland, but that's another story for another day) so I decided to try the seafood crepes. Delicate crepes stuffed with everything in the sea - scallops, shrimp, bits of fish - and mushrooms, all swimming in a creamy sauce of gruyere cheese. The pair of crepes were carefully tucked in a dish atop a bed of mossy green spinach.

The only thing that disappointed me about my meal was that there was nothing left when I was finished eating. I think my dish was about $10.50.

My dining companion had the omlette du jour - sausage and ratatouille with cheese, served with beautiful, rusty colored red potatoes and a dainty salad of mixed greens with bits of radish. A light savory dressing did not detract from the fresh flavors of the lettuce. The omlette was substantial and cooked perfectly - sturdy enough to hold the cornocopia of stuffing and yet not overcooked. The potatoes made my mouth water, as they looked like something a grandmother would whip up for her family with a well seasoned cast iron skillet. The omlette et cetera checked in at a more than fair $7.50.

The Greenup Cafe also does dinner and as I recall the prices topped out in the neighborhood of $15.50 per entree.

On this particular afternoon the restaurant was full of all kinds of people savoring the amazing dishes.

Young professionals grabbing a leisurely bite on a Friday, a bunch of 50 something women celebrating a special event. A couple spending some quality time over some quality food.

And a chick and her friend celebrating a 30th birthday.

I hope to visit the Greenup Cafe many, many more times before I reach 31.

The Greenup Cafe serves coffee and quick pastries early most mornings. Breakfast and lunch are available Monday through Friday, and dinner is served up Wednesday through Sunday. Brunch is featured Saturday and Sunday only. Check here for specifics on hours.

Random Snippets

The 30th birthday celebration was exceptionally long for KtG.
Things got rolling along last Thursday and we didn't put the cake away (literally) until this evening. Over the past five days I've enjoyed:

• Three fabulous meals with great friends and family (a write-up on Covington's Greenup Cafe is coming - stay tuned
• Several several rounds of drinks at bars on both sides of the Ohio
• Two birthday cakes, some chocolate chip cookies and a Bavarian cream puff
• A Dance Party complete with In Da Club and Sexy/Back

I guess if there was one birthday that was to get the extended remix treatment, it would be the 3-0, wouldn't it?

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I bring home the bacon and can fry it up in the pan.

Actually, lately I haven't been frying much bacon, but I have been a cooking machine. Yesterday I fixed my own version of a Chipotle burrito (I'd say it was way better, but then I'm a bit prejudice) and I also whipped up an interesting wasabe and dill tuna salad.

Tonight it's all about some Christmas cookies.

Tomorrow I'm pitching in to throw a holiday party for some kids living in a local shelter, so tonight I'll be up to my elbows in flour and colored sugar sprinkles.

Hopefully I can save some for Santa.

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The holidays are already making a dent at the scale. The gravitational pull on my body appears to be increasing thanks to Thanksgiving, my birthday and the litany of treats making their way to the newsroom.

Thank goodness gravity appears to working on my behalf to ensure I don't float away.

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A business sent me a t-shirt today. It's brown and it has a gold scroll font with the lettering Mostly Evil on it.

Is the universe trying to send me a message? Whassup with that?

One Night Only

So I had no idea I'd be returning to London so quickly.

The Cincinnati Art Museum is holding its monthly One World Wednesday event this week - with the theme being The Queen's fair city.

I won't be able to see my sweet friend D-Money but I will be able to enjoy English beer and check out the museum's version of a London shopping bazaar.

I wonder if they'll have my favorite - any trios like the kind I found on Portobello Road.

D. I miss you. When are you coming back to the Motherland?

What I'm Gonna Do With 30

30.

It's a frightening number when put in perspective with the circle of life. Considering the life span of my grandparents, the age of 30 likely means I've already lived a third of my days.

If you compare life to seasons (and we're assuming I'll live to see 90), then I've already lived through the Spring of my life and I've got 14 years left until I hit Autumn.

Summertime happens to be the hottest, steamiest time of the year, so perhaps I am in for a real ride over this next decade. That actually coincides with what most biologists say in regards to a woman's sexual peak. In fact, this website says the 30 happens to be the magical age of orgasmic enlightenment.

I don't really know about that.

Some articles say a woman should have a laundry list of crazy experiences under her belt by the time she hits 30. Things like parachuting, threesomes, living in a foreign country, abseiling, bondage, motorcycling, shagging on your office desk, singing karaoke and lesbian sex.

I've got the karaoke singing down pat. The other stuff, not so much.

I don't even know what "abseiling" is.

Anyway.

Kiplinger has quite a different list of things to do before 30. Most of them either bore me or terrify me (or perhaps both). The traveling mention at the bottom is a big TO DO on my Life List of interests, so I'll stick with that and hopefully the others will fall in to place over time.

I was thinking about it a month ago, and I decided hitting 30 means that I'm old enough to know better, but young enough to do it anyway. I've survived the pain and heartbreak that goes along with growing into adulthood and I've firmly planted some fantastic (and sometimes totally outrageous) memories in my past.

And I intend to continue with that theme well into this next decade.

I had a near-nervous breakdown the night before my 20th. I freaked out because my 20s were all about officially leaving the next and striking out on my own. Graduating, getting a job, getting my own apartment. Car payments, being responsible for the costs associated with leaving the living room light on all night long. Dating. Like, big girl dating. None of that silly college party shots and making out dating. But real dating with real men on real dates.

I've gotten down most of that. This decade is all about fine tuning the rules of being Grown Up.

Now, I'm kind of freaking out because I'm sans home. Sans husband. Sans kids.

But I know full well all of those things will come in time.

Until then, I'm loving every minute of riding the wave that is life.


A couple links related to the milestone that is 30
handbag.com
kiplinger.com