seen in my hood

For the sports buffs, this pumpkin is on my way to work. My boss is a huge Giants fan, so I had to creep into my neighbors' yard and take a picture of this for her with my phone:
And for those of you who love bizarre little things, I found this while crossing the street:

end of an era?

Could the door slamming have ended... forever???

When I spoke with a very wise woman (with very reasonable rates) about the door slamming neighbors, she came up with a very simple idea: perhaps my neighbors were slamming the door (or not as careful with the door as they could be) not because they were evil people, but because I wasn't interested in being friends with them.

Backstory: When they first moved in, we had some interesting back and forth about how "you guys should come over for a glass of wine" and what not, but after hearing them scream so passionately at one another, I knew that no matter what, we weren't going to be close friends. I'm not a screamer. I'm just not comfortable with it. My family doesn't scream. We stew.

Anyway, I never really followed up on their offer of friendship, so why should they follow up on my requests to close the door quietly? It's a twisted logic, but it makes total sense to me.

So recently, I started leaving my old magazines on the corner of the handrail (is there a better word for that? If so, it's escaping me) with notes that said "want me? I'm yours!" And they started disappearing. So I left other ones -- Cosmo, Entertainment Weekly, Weekend Magazine -- all kind of crap magazines, unfortunately, but they were the small peace offering I had to make. And they kept going away. Awesome!

Then one day I got a note under my door. I got worried when I saw it, but one cursory glance revealed a smiley face, so I knew I was in safe territory. The wife of the pair was thanking me for my gestures, but telling me they didn't really want my garbage magazines. (hell, I didn't either!) But they appreciated the thought, and apologized for perhaps being a little over the top in the last letter.

So, as a coup de grace (or, appropriately a boo! de grace), last night I left halloween cupcakes out there.

It feels so much better this way.

what makes a guy a keeper

I realize that I've been working on this in a sort of backwards fashion – meeting guys and then trying to figure out why I didn't like them – but at least I'm starting to make some headway in creating a list of criteria for What Makes a Guy a Keeper. (alternatively titled So Many Losers, So Little Time)

I met a guy this weekend at a party, and we really seemed to hit it off. He was attractive, intelligent, interested in me and flirty. But by the end of the evening, my feelings were hurt and I wanted to go home. Two main reasons: 1) in the course of the evening, he never once bought (or offered to buy) me a drink, and 2) he was making points and then refusing to hear what I had to say in response. (For example, he was emphatic that I acknowledge what a great a thing it is that my parents support me in my acting. And I do acknowledge that, trust me, I do. But what he refused to hear was that with that support comes a huge, self-imposed, internal pressure to be successful. And if he could have heard that, instead of insisting on his own point, he might have been blessed with the opportunity to kiss me. As such, he went home alone in the rain.) (and so did I.)

So I've narrowed it down into seven primary categories in which I think you should click with any prospective mate. And I don't think any one is any more important than the others, but that's probably because I've been on so many dates lately that have gone well, but which I wouldn't classify as a success simply for want of fulfillment in one (or, say, six) of the categories.

They are:

• Initial Attraction
• Sense of Humor
• Intellect
• Connection
• Sexual Energy
• Trust
• Consideration

Initial Attraction.
This one is easy. You can't examine it or dissect it. You either are initially attracted to someone or you're not. This really comes into play if you're dating online – you can dig someone's email and phone styles, and then meet them and find that you're just not attracted to him. Sucks, but it's true.

Sense of Humor
I'm huge on laughing, so this is particularly important for me. It's like winning the lottery if I can find a guy who cracks me up. But I have a very specific sense of humor, so it's important that whoever I'm with also find me entertaining. Nothing sucks quite as much as laughing alone. (Well, laughing alone when there are other people around. Laughing alone at home rocks! I'm doing it right now!)

Intellect
For me, this isn't about book smarts (although they're pretty sexy). This is the general ability to talk about issues of interest with some air of authority. Periodically referencing something specific, like a book or a movie or an article, can serve as a means for connecting ("and I read in this book…." "Oh my god I love that book (and now I love you, too!)") If you're smart, you've probably done interesting things. I'd like to know about those things, and perhaps do some of them, too.

Connection
Hmmm. "Connection" is a little wishy-washy. But for me it's huge. It's that feeling that you get after talking to someone for three hours that he might be someone you actually know a little better than you did when you started. This is where someone starts to feel familiar. It's friendship, really. Is this guy someone who is open to being friends with me, to sharing things with me? This also tends to be the area that houses passion – not sexual passion, but passion for the things in your life that are important to you. I like this one. It makes me feel really great when it's there, and when it's not… well, eh. More fish in the sea.

Sexual Energy
If you read the previous post, you know how big a deal this is. It's common knowledge that most guys like to make out. But that doesn't mean they want to make out with you. It's important that the right signals land on the right receptors. I don't want to have to wonder if you want me, but by the same token, I don't want to spend the whole night talking about my boobs. (I mean, they are worthy of an evening of discussion, but you can go ahead and do it without me. Really, I won't mind.) And this is a really fun area to navigate and negotiate. I mean, come on, who doesn't like a first kiss?

Trust
I do a monologue that comes from Athol Fugard's play The Road to Mecca, and in it, the character says, "You know what the really big word is, Helen? I had it all wrong. Like most people, I used to think it was love. That's a big word all right, and quite an event when it comes along. But there's an even bigger one. Trust. And more dangerous. Because that's when you drop your defenses, lay yourself wide open and if you've made a mistake, you're in big, big trouble. And it hurts like hell." Trust is something you can develop (or repair, if you have to), but if I don't trust someone, I have to run away. I have more than my fair share of self-doubt, so I don't need it from the guy in my life. And if these categories are the criteria for starting a relationship, there's no reason for me to invest in someone I don't trust.

Consideration
This has been the watchword for Thea lately, and I've jumped on her bandwagon. It's about how much a guy pays attention to you, and is interested in making you happy. It seems simple, especially if this is a guy who wants to date you or take you home for the night, but in my experience (e.g., above), guys miss this boat more often than they should. It's not about spending money, but about showing a woman you value her. Sure, it often involves money, and I'm not advocating buying her a fur coat on the first date, but if you're getting a drink, check with her to see if she might like one, too. If you say you're going to call at six, try to get around to it before 6:30 or so.

I'd like to think that by narrowing down my criteria into a handful of succinct paragraphs, I will instantaneously find myself with someone who meets all seven. Ok, ok, sure it's unlikely, but the beauty of knowing more specifically what I'm looking for is that I don't have to waste my time anymore with someone defensive (#6), oblivious (#7) or gay (#5).

p.s. these are the criteria I'm using to find out if I want to date someone. Being someone's girlfriend has a few more criteria. But let me get some good solid dates under my belt before we put the cart before the horse!

the upside of trollapalooza 2006

It looks like I'm going to be on the Dr. Keith Abelow show on Fox. I don't know when yet, but it's in the not-too-distant future, so get ready to set your tivos...

So, I met Richard at Trollapalooza 2006 (read the link for full backstory) and after the cameras had all been turned off, I offered to show him around the city on Thursday night. And we had one of the best times I've had in a while! I took him to Grand Central and Top of the Rock (which I HIGHLY recommend for everyone, especially New Yorkers) and to a very bad Tupperware-inspired art exhibit at the AOL/Time Warner Center (which I highly recommend for anyone who wants to be bored or let down). We had dinner and dessert and one of the most enjoyable conversations I've had in a while.

We really connected. But over calamari and cobb salad Richard revealed to me the real reason he was being flown up to meet Sarah, the 29 year-old virgin from Jane Magazine -- he, too, was a 29 year old virgin (just from Texas, not Jane Magazine). Hmmm. Now, at first glance, you'd never guess it. He's adorable, not at all awkward or geeky (and nothing like Staring Joseph). But over the course of the evening, it began to make sense to me. I felt really comfortable with him (like he was my friend's little brother or something) and, as such, we shared a lot of pretty emotional stuff. But there was no sexual energy between us. And, while I tend to bring more than my fair share of sexual energy to a conversation, it seemed to dissipate in the space between us. I can't fully explain it, but after a while, I stopped putting it out there. At one point in the evening, we went to his hotel room to pee, and it was really the first time I've been in a guy's hotel room without there being a chance of something happening. Sure, I could have stepped up and made something happen, but having received no sexual signals from him over dinner, I figured it would either be rebuffed, or would be an evening of Kate's In Charge. (And while I don't mind a good evening of Kate's In Charge, I'm trying to only go in for balanced affairs these days. They're cleaner.)

Richard said that he was frustrated by women's expectation that a guy make the first move. He said that it puts a lot of pressure on the guy. But I argued that women respect a guy who's willing to go out on a limb a little, and take that risk. [Maybe this is the rationale behind guys hissing at me on the sidewalk -- they're just taking a really big risk, so I'll probably really respond...] Sexual chemistry is something that's really hard to dissect and examine. Really, you either have it or you don't. And it wouldn't surprise me if he has it, but just doesn't trust it or know what to do with it. But it's kind of fascinating to be the one on the other end of that energy. To watch how it ended up affecting me.

I feel like I made a really good friend that night, but one who was (for whatever reasons) not at all interested in sleeping with me. (I'm going to guess that's not actually the case, but that's how it came across.) And after all these dates I've gone on with complete strangers, where there was no connection at all -- neither emotional nor chemical -- it was at least nice to remember what it's like to get past someone's outer layer.



SIDEBAR: Richard said the show makes him look awful. I would just like to say for the record that he's not awful. He's a great guy, and I think that ditching that virginity (ha! easy for me to say) will help him out immensely with women. Also, there's a chance he'll be reading this, so please be thoughtful in your comments.

adventures in murray hill

I truly don't know where to start, other than not to start at all.

As those of you who are subscribers know, Thea and I have been on a mission to get ourselves out there. Meet people. Make connections. Date. See what our options are.

And let me tell you, last night, we found out what they aren't.

We went to a Meet Up event last night for New York City Singles. If you're not familiar with meet up (www.meetup.com), it's a great idea. It's a website that lets you search for groups in your area with different interests -- card playing, small dog owning, knitting, you name it, they've got a group for it. So we thought that maybe meeting single guys that way would be a good idea. They wouldn't be actors. They wouldn't be open-bar-hugging alcoholics.

They would, however, be painfully average.

We got to the event (for which we paid $10, and for which there were NO DRINK SPECIALS), and we were handed a lock. The gentlemen (I use that word loosely) were handed keys. If you found the right key for your lock, you won an extra raffle ticket. Good idea in theory, right?

"Hey, you're cute, I'm shy, let me make some lame joke about how I'm only in this for the cash and prizes..." But no.

Oh no.

Instead, Thea and I crouched by the calamari, surveying the room. It was junior high all over again. The boys were all on one side of the room, and the girls all on the other. There was no crossover. Until, that is, we were approahced by Laughs Too Loud Guy, who was charming, but wildly uninteresting. He was replaced later by Staring Joseph. I'd like to do an impression for you of Staring Joseph. Come over here and stand within two feet of me. Now don't say anything. Don't even really look at me or Thea. Answer, "yes, I come to these things all the time" when we ask. Oh, and wear a big cross around your neck. That's a big turn on in a bar. Are you still staring? Good. Because that's all Staring Joseph was good at. Even across the room, after we walked away.

Who did we meet on the other side of the room? The Drunken Blonde and Nasty PR Guy. The DB, apparently, had been RECRUITED from the regular part of the bar (where she had already been overserved), to join in the fun in the too-well-lit back room. And Nasty PR Guy, while arguably the best-dressed man in the room, chatted to Thea (not with her) about how he puts his toilet seat down even though he lives alone. Best part? When he went to the bar to get a drink, he asked Thea what she wanted. When he came back, he brought her nothing. "Oh, I forgot what you said you were drinking..."

So Thea left the Scary Ass Back Room Where All The Weirdos Were, and got herself a drink from the waitress in the main part of the bar. That's where she met a weirdo they didn't let into the party.

HIM: I noticed your blondeness from the other side of the curtain.
THEA: Really? Hmmmm. (pause) I have to go back to my friend now.
HIM: The one in the striped shirt?"
THEA: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

After that, I declared that, no holds barred, I was marrying the man whose key fit in my lock.

But the worst part of Trollapalooza 2006 was that there was a camera crew from Fox Television there. Yeah, we were not only at the Loser Party (and I say that with as much affection as I can muster, but you had to be there) but there is now documentary footage proving we were there.

Why? Well, Jane Magazine is hosting a blog from a 29 year old virgin, Sarah, and the objective of it (as I gather) is for her to meet men that the readers of Jane have pre-screened and pre-approved. Week 9's winner, Richard, was flown to New York by the Dr. Keith Ablow Show (on Fox) either to dish on the experience, or to meet her on TV or something. I didn't exactly get the specifics. However, as a pre-filming detour, they sent Richard to Trollapalooza 2006 to meet the rest of us. The 29 year old non-virgins.

I foolishly signed a release, so they got me on camera spouting out my drunken theories on dating, and now they are entitled to whatever footage they've shot of me, despite my constant reiteration of "please don't use this footage. Oh god, please!" I thought about flashing them so they woudn't use the footage, or swearing a lot so they'd have to edit it so much it would be unusuble, but then I remembered that it's Fox, and a talk show, so that would only guarantee I'd be on TV. And I'd look like a complete idiot on top of that.

When they finally turned the cameras off, Richard was a nice guy, (as were the guys on the crew) but he was completely out of his depth in New York -- he'd only been here 6 hours. He argued that he doesn't know how to date, citing an 8 year relationship in his past (even though he's been out of his that relationship for five years now), and that he's not sure why they picked him. I told him that he was charming and attractive and that he shouldn't be shy to approach a woman in a bar. Although in a New York bar... I can see why he might be intimidated.

Let's not forget, though, he was at Trollapalooza 2006.

WHAT A COMPLETE AND UTTER DISASTER!

Thea and I left the bar screaming, and didn't stop for about six blocks. We had seriously hit a new low. And because the whole event felt like junior high, we judged it as such. I'm not sure there were any grown ups in that room. The only good thing to come from the night is that we know we're not in that league, the League of People Who Can't Meet People Any Other Way. Hell, not only are we not in that league, we're not even playing the same sport. And while it was reaffirming, it was also really sad. But it was such a complete waste of time and energy that I can't even focus on the sad part without wanting to run six blocks, screaming at the top of my lungs.

As a sidebar, I'm showing Richard the town tonight. Got to get him ready for the virgin!

Oh, and are you still staring? Because I'm pretty sure Staring Joseph still is.

this just in

I'm not kidding, I got this just a minute ago in my inbox:

hi sweety ur cute and u have a sexy body im tony dominican and boricua i like what i see im in the millitery and i work with miami dade im 29 i live in north miami beach i love ur sexy lisp i dont have kids or a girl i love to dance chill at home go out walk on the beach and u soo tell me more abut u sweety e-mail me back ok bye (ps) if u whant to call me at my cell 305)XXX-XXXX im at work call me when u see this sweety bye

You love my sexy lisp??

a collection of interesting links

So I've seen some cool stuff lately and thought I'd share some of it with you all. A few of them are not safe for work and if you're in a tight-laced environment, I wouldn't open them there. I'd leave, actually, because I'm not so good with tight-laced environments, but that's just me.

First off, we have the dove campaign for real beauty. (Totally safe for work) My cousin Brian sent this to me, and I'm fascinated. I think that Dove's marketing ideas are both good and bad -- they're trying to get us to be beautiful just by being us... and using their products. Luckily, their products rock, and I'm all for their pro-women message. But I do see how they're pulling one over on us at the same time.

Brian also sent me this, which is shocking and appalling, and yet, not at all surprising (and also safe for work). It's apparently the page of an artist who modifies photos for album covers. (Ashlee Simpson needs all the help she can get, I think) We all know photos are retouched. It's kind of amazing, though, what this guy can do, and still make it look "believeable." After all, they're training us to believe this, aren't they? Interesting...

Up next, Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, my favorite show on NPR. It's their weekly news quiz show, with celebrities and regular folks phoning in. Great cast, really entertaining, and they come up with some bizarro tidbits of news. If you enjoy it, you might want to swing by WNYC.org and give them some money. They're in the middle of a fundraising drive.

This one, Monster Cheesecake, is really cool, but totally not safe for work. It's a series of photos by Caleb Oglesby (a.k.a. Klung 1) of women he met while filming porn. He got them all the pose for him wearing monster masks. It's pretty awesome.

I found another blog that I love, Mimi Smartypants. Her writing is really funny, friendly and accessible, and she adds some really entertaining links. It's mostly about life and her kid, Nora, but it's familiar and worth checking out every now and then.

My college ex-boyfriend (David) has finally edited the film he shot right after we broke up (a million years ago). It stars, oddly enough, his wife (Nicole) and my prior ex-boyfriend (Patrick). So watching it, for me, is a series of odd and uncomfortable college flashbacks... especially since I cheated on Patrick with David, and David cheated on me with Nicole. Great music, interesting dialogue... I can't say much more than that. It's not easy for me to watch. But give it a once-over. Or a six-over. Unless you're at work. I think there's some nudity.
Blue Plate Trailer
Blue Plate, Episode 1
Blue Plate, Episode Two
Blue Plate, Episode 3
Blue Plate, Episode 4
Blue Plate, Episode 5
Blue Plate, Episode 6

My New Fighting Technique Is Unstoppable, while completely odd, had me chuckling all the way into work one day (it's in printed form, too). It's a comic, with really basic drawings (clip art, maybe?) repeated over and over again, with simplistic dialogue that, for some reason, works. You might not like it. That's OK.

Equally odd are Weebl & Bob. They like pie. A lot. I like them. A lot.

And that's it for now. Back to your regularly scheduled boredom.

i want a singer/songwriter boyfriend

So one of my favorite local bands has changed its name and put out a new album (ok, new this summer) and I'm addicted to it right now. They used to be called Ahab Seamus, and I'm not sure what motivated the change, but now they go under the singer and songwriter's name, Robbie Gil. (If anyone more familiar with them has more information or clarification, please feel free to comment.)

I know them because Robbie's long-time girlfriend, Beth Ann played Cordelia in Lear with me this summer. Well, that's not entirely true. I met them both a long time ago because they both went to UConn with my exboyfriend Ian, but I really got to know Beth Ann this summer -- before that she was just a rock star to me. Secretly, Robbie's still a rock star to me. I mean, you listen to someone singing on a somewhat regular basis, it gets hard to see him as a regular Joe.

ANYWAY, I've been listening, via their website, to one of the new songs on their album Stumble Inn, called Elizabeth. (go there now, and listen to it while you read the rest of this). It's beautiful. The melody sticks in your head (in a pleasant, non-Hansen fashion) and Robbie sings with such passion, honesty and, most of all, vulnerability. He has a real sense of storytelling, without being heavy-handed. And the lyrics make me cry

Especially when I figured out who Elizabeth was.

If you can't access their site, or don't have sound, at least read the lyrics:

Elizabeth (hold me up), by Robbie Gil

I can still remember who I was before we met
You now know the demons well, but you choose to forget
If I was a gambling man, I'd surely bet it all
That although I'm standing up right now I know I'm bound to fall

Will you hold me up Elizabeth?
Hold me if you please
Hold me 'til these feelings pass
'Til I'm no longer weak in the knees.

I've never been courageous, honest or sublime
But if later is better than never you came just in time
If I was a humble man I'd bow down gratefully
Instead of pushing everybody down
So they'd have to look up to me

Will you hold me up Elizabeth?
Hold me if you please
Hold me 'til these feelings pass
'Til I'm no longer weak in the knees.

Oh you're the only one who could ever manage
To make a man out of me
Oh you're the only one who could ever manage
To make a man out of me

This is where it gets hard for me to say
You know just how flawed I am, you love me anyway
So I thank you in advance for sticking around
And for picking up the broken pieces
Before I fall down

Will you hold me up Elizabeth?
Hold me if you please
Hold me 'til these feelings pass
'Til I'm no longer weak in the knees.

Will you hold me up Elizabeth?
Hold me if you please
Hold me 'til these feelings pass
'Til I'm no longer weak
'Til I'm no longer weak
'Til I'm no longer weak
In the knees

They have a show tonight at the Living Room at 9, and I'm going to try to go. But I'm feeling a little bit like death on a stick today, so it's unlikely. But I do so love their music.

Please love them and support them!

(Oh, p.s. listen to the song on my front page -- that's them, too)

shooting on the upper east side

[You know you're an actor when you see a headline like "shooting on the upper east side" and instead of worrying about victims, you wonder, "ooh, which film?"]

Saturday morning at 6:15 my alarm clock went off, and, to my own delight, the first words out of my mouth were, "OH-FOR-FUCK'S-SAKE-YOU-HAVE-GOT-TO-BE-KIDDING-ME!" I stumbled into the shower, flipped the switch on the coffee maker that I had set up the night before (because I'm a genius!), and piled myself into sixteen layers of clothes. I slathered foundation on my face (gah), flung my script into my bag, and staggered out the front door.

All in the dark.

When I got to the subway, there was no Manhattan-bound service. No signs, no warnings, no placards in the station at all. Just a piece of tape across the stairs. "NO TRAINS" scrawled semi-legibly.

With more grumbling (and "fuck's saking"), I got on a Brooklyn-bound train, and just as it pulled into the express station, a Manhattan-bound train pulled out. Because holding a train for a minute at 6:55 on a Saturday morning would screw up the whole weekend, I'm sure.

I finally got to the shoot and began to wake up. Only to realize that it was REALLY cold out. And while I was wearing several hundred layers, none of them were warm enough to keep me from getting stiff.

Luckily, though, the crew was competent and efficient and we managed to stick to the schedule. And they were relentless about throwing my jacket onto my back every second the camera was not rolling. Bless them!! You never know what you're going to get on a student film, and I got some of the good ones... even though we were shooting outdoors in the mind-numbing cold.

But what surprised me more than the professionality of my crew was the complete oblivion (or is it disrespect?) with which people walk down the sidewalks of the Upper East Side. Not just the people who don't see the camera (and they abound), but those of whom we made the polite request to hang back for just a moment while we got our shot (none of which were much longer than 30 seconds) and who refused. "Would you mind walking on the other side of the street just for a minute?" we'd ask, and they'd plow right on through our set up, grumbling about why there had to be a suitcase on the sidewalk.

[sidebar: the title of the film is "The Suitcase"]

One guy (and he was a crotchety old bugger) was walking his dog, and the DOG POOPED RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR SET! Now, granted, our set was the south side of 71st Street, between Park and Lex, so I imagine we were actually shooting in that dog's bathroom, but the worst part was how Mr. Grumpyguts, the owner, leaned over, cleaned up three of the five gifts left for us by the poopin' pooch, and then, when we told him he had missed some, he went after them with such gusto, that two more of the gifts fell out of the paper he was using to clean them up! Evenutally, I found some nice big leaves and covered up what he left behind. And then gleefully watched as other people (not cast or crew) walked blindly into the little booby traps.

Did I mention it was cold?

Not half as cold, though, as I imagine it's likely to be next weekend, when we're shooting on the East River at 7:30 in the morning...

'tis the season... for a tummyache

Gather 'round, candylovers, I'm about to give you my run down on my favorite candies ever. I like to think that I'm removed enough from the topic to be able to keep it to the top 10, but I know I can't. There are too many options -- do you go with chocolate or fruity? Minty or sugary? Crunchy or bouncy? Do you stick to something you know you can control yourself with, or do you reward yourself with something extravagant?

In an effort to avoid argument, I've broken it down into five categories:

1. Chocolate (obviously)
2. Fruity (also obvious)
3. Oh No, Not Again (candy, which, by nature of being candy, I'll eat, but I won't be happy about it)
4. Candy I'd Take to a Deserted Island So I Can Eat As Much of it As I Want With Nobody Else Looking On
5. Other Favorites (i.e. everything else)
   

Chocolate.
I love chocolate. But I grew up thinking that it was too good to be good for you, and as such, I can actually eat it in moderation. But add something really tasty to it (like peanut butter) and I'm in big trouble. The top five I'd like to see in this year's trick or treat bag?
1. Reese's pieces or cups
2. Butterfinger
3. Peanut M&Ms
4. Mounds
5. Dove Bars

Fruity
Now, this is where I have my great downfall. Because, "fruity" candy, generally not being made out of fat, convinces me I can eat it until the cows come home. And I do. And then I realize that I am, in fact, one of the cows.
1. Red Vines. (Like Twizzlers, but WAAAAAY better)
2. Mike & Ikes
3. Swedish Fish/Gummi Bears
4. Chuckles/Sunkist Chews
5. Fruit Mentos

Oh No, Not Again
This is the stuff that manages to creep into plastic pumpkins across the nation, but is just garbage. Nobody should be giving these out. Least of all to me.
1. Sour Patch Kids
2. Fireballs
3. Blow Pops
4. Nerds
5. DOTS(I'm not even mentioning that hard-as-a-rock gum or other lame pieces of hard candy. They're beneath my radar on this one.) I can also live without Raisenets, Jujubees, Rolos, Airheads and Now 'n' Laters.

Candy I'd Take to a Deserted Island So I Can Eat as Much of it as I Want With Nobody Else Looking On
Um, all of it? No, these are my secret little loves. Which make my butt anything but secret or little.
1. Candy Corn
2. Tootsie Rolls (and all the different flavor variations)
3. Peeps (even though they're not Halloween candy)
4. Jelly Bellies
5. Circus Peanuts.

(I KNOW that circus peanuts are disgusting. That's why I'm taking them to a deserted island so I can't hear you throwing up while I eat them)

Other Favorites
Um, everything? I like me some whoppers, bit o honey, good 'n' fruity (plenty I can live without), those cute little Halloween coins with chocolate inside? I'm pretty much open to suggestion.

And, as a treat, as I was searching for images to use in this post (which idea, as you can see, I've since abandoned) I came across this, which made me rethink my life completely:

SWEET!

the rule of threes

Things always happen in threes. That's how it works in comedy and tragedy, spit takes and family deaths, knock knock jokes and dangerous surgeries, you name it, it comes in threes. And for a girl about to hit thirty, of course, this is also true for weddings (which fall into both categories).

In the last ten days, I've had three friends announce their engagements. And while I'm thrilled for all of them, part of me is envious and wishes I were like them; so in love that I couldn't imagine the rest of my life without that certain someone else. But after the string of long (and unsuccessful) relationships I've recently ended, part of me just revels in my singlehood. I'm dancing by myself, of course, but I'm still dancing.

Anyway, the first friend to announce it to me was my friend Derek at work, who doesn't really like me talking about his life in public, so I've changed his name. I don't really work with a Derek. But let's just pretend I do, so he won't get mad at me.

So, I'm sitting at my desk and Derek calls me into his office I think his computer is malfunctioning or something, since he looks really harried and essentially barks at me to come in.

"Shut the door," he says, and I do, sure now that it's not computer trouble, and hoping he's going to complain about something, since I love a good rant. "Look at this," he says, whipping out this little velvet box. I open it up, and there's this gorgeous sapphire and diamond ring in there.

"Holy shit!" I shout. (No wonder he had me close the door.) "That's gorgeous! Are you going to ask her tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Wow!"

Derek and Kristen (also not her name) have been together seven months and are both two years younger than I am. I have my doubts, and I voice them, but Derek assures me that he just knows. That they won't get married for another year, they haven't even officially moved in with each other yet, but that's happening next weekend, I think. And these lawyer types tend to all be married before thirty anyway.

I love them together, and I can see how Kristen has made Derek's life so much better, so I feel safe that this is the right choice for them. I predict they'll hit some bumps in the road ahead of them, as they both grow into who they are, but I think they're up for it. And I'm invited to the wedding, so it's all good.

Next up are Leslie and Dan.

They have been together for about a year and a half, and they dated for about three months in high school, too (which I think is just adorable). They live together somewhere uptown (I don't have my passport stamped, so I'm not entirely sure where) and Dan moved to NYC from Chicago to be with Leslie. When I asked her when she knew this was it, she said his moving here was a pretty big sign.

She showed me her ring and it's gorgeous, too! Very small and delicate band (which feels really great when you put it on) and a lovely diamond solitaire.

I've never really gotten to know Dan (although we have met briefly) but just from the way her face lights up when she talks about him now, and a year and a half ago, I can see how much she loves him, and how this partnership is just so right.

And, most recently, I got word last night of my third engagement. I'll be honest that it came as more than a little shock, as half of the couple getting engaged is the guy I broke up with about four months ago. That's right, Ian and Stephany are engaged. After six weeks.

One night, after Ian and I had broken up, but just a few weeks after he and Stephany had met, I came home to find that my building was for sale, and that my lease was in jeopardy. I talked to the guy I was dating at the time, and, try as he might, he couldn't comfort me the way I knew Ian would. So I just called Ian, assuming he would be sitting around at home, doing nothing. Of course, he was on the other line with Stephany, and I was embarrassed, and felt bad interrupting. I told him he could call me later, but he said that when he told her that it was me on the other line in tears, Stephany told him to call her back later. Not at all threatened by me, and more than that, generous with Ian's affection. Which is more than a lot of women will do for one another.

I've never met her, but I like Stephany. And I know Ian. He loves to love and be in love. He has a very big heart and I think Stephany just fills it right up.

I won't lie and say I don't think it's too soon. Because I do. Way too soon. There are only 1008 hours in six weeks. And assuming one were to sleep for 6 hours a night (I'm being stingy, but I can, because its my blog), that leaves 756 waking hours in six weeks.

Can you know for certain after spending 756 hours with someone that you want to spend the rest of your life with them?

I don't know, and am certainly the wrong person to ask. I've spent more time than that with people I thought I wanted to marry, who turned out to just not be the right guy for me.

But everyone who is married (or engaged) tells me they just knew. They knew deep down that this was the one person they wanted to be with. So if you know it at six weeks, as long as you still know it a year later, isn't that all that matters?

I wish all three couples the best of luck, and hope that there will be hosts of hot, single (straight) men at all of the weddings and that they're not all at the same time. After all, there's only so many wedding gifts a single girl can buy in one month!

adventures in canned food!

My cousin Brian is in town, and we went to check out Canstruction last week at the Design Center (200 Lexington Avenue at 32nd Street). If you have an extra can of food (that's the cost of admission) grab it, and hop on over to the Design Center. I never thought you could do this kind of stuff with food!

A few samples:

Pretty canny, sis! (I think the game pieces were made out of Goya seasoning)
Lots and lots of canned salmon and green beans
The red part of the apple actually was canned sardines!
The little lunar lander was made out of a can of beans!
Oops. Please do not touch.

And one of the coolest (my other favorite was a dripping faucet, but I seem to have misplaced the photo at the moment):

the chopsticks were made out of pasta, the serving tray out of tubs of brown rice, and lots of fruit cups found their way in!

There are a lot more, and they're really fun to explore. I thoroughly recommend checking it out if you have a spare hour!

adventures in Chelsea

I'm not kidding, we're going to hit every neighborhood in this godforsaken city, and at some point, it will all be worth it!

So last night my good friend and adventure partner got us into an open bar Drambuie party at a really nice bar on 14th and 8th called, um, Metro? Monarch? Mode? Something with an M (help me out here, Thea). We checked our coats (and my nineteen-ton backpack), got ourselves a glass full of sugar (as that's all any drink mixed with Drambuie is likely to be) and assessed the crowd. This was a party whose location was super-secret and only released that day (probably due to the entirely-free free-flowing liquor), and we were a little iffy about who would be in the crowd. Based on some of our less-than-stellar previous adventures, we were right to be nervous. But this group was fairly delightful. AND, in the downstairs part of the bar, they were giving out free spa services -- massages, shaving, shoe shines, manicures, the works!

Our rule for this evening was that we, two considerably attractive and yet almost retardedly shy women, would hold someone's eye contact for long enough to just say "hi." That was the whole rule. And we both had to do it at least once. And after over an hour, neither of us had accomplished it.

But then, our savior came into our lives. Sort of.

Now, imagine if you will a short (i.e. only to our shoulders) man, who, while you looked him in the face, was busy drowning in the happiness of your bosoms. He was telling us about the next party (because you need another drink, Slurry McDrunkington) and asking us to join him. And we're too nice to just flat out walk away. We covered our boobs and umcomfortably began to look around.

Thea had been having an imaginary flirt with a group of four guys behind me. Now, I thought they were the suit-clad gents at nine o'clock, but it turns out they were the adorable-yet-teenaged group of British guys at six o'clock. I didn't find this out, however, until I had begged them for their assistance, and they did less than rise to the occasion.

A note to all the gentlemen in the world: if there are two women engaged in "conversation" with anyone remotely troll-like, and they shoot you eyes that say "DEAR GOD SAVE ME FROM THIS AWFUL SITUTATION" or "IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU SAY, PRETEND TO BE MY BROTHER" or simply "SAAAAAAAAAVE ME," it should take you less than three seconds to be at her side. She will reward you with just about anything you want -- assuming you are less than troll-like yourself.

These boys, however (and, as adorable as they were, they were 23 year old boys) picked up on that like a 1980's boom box picks up an AM station in the middle of the desert. The first look was met with a surprised and quizzical response, with a good chuckle with his neighboring mate. The second look got a laugh, and the third look got a hey-guys-look-at-that-girl-in-danger laugh. So as soon as we dispatched the troll, I gave British Check Shirt Boy the what for.

"What kind of rescue was that?"

"Oh, didn't really think you needed it!"

I hadn't met the eye-contact-until-"hi"-rule so I was ready to flirt with him, despite his complete lack of bar grace, but after about a minute, I was unenthused. He was kind of cute, and had a fantastic accent, but that was about it. Sadly, however, he was sitting right next to Thea's Perfect Cup of Tea, and we were forced to have another drink with them down the street.

Well, Thea was forced to have another drink. I was free to change back into my pants and sneakers and walk myself home.

Next time. I promise! Next time!!

to do pile

Think your to do list sucks?

I have to read all these. By November 1st.

Do they make band-aids for your eyeballs?

pantyhose: a lament

Control Top Pantyhose: Fashion's Revenge on or Blessed Gift for the Shapely Woman?

I'm wearing the saddest pantyhose in the world today. I hate wearing pantyhose in general, so any pair is going to be irritating. And if they come from my "lingerie drawer" (which also has socks, shorts and my passport in it), they're likely to have a run at the toe, and a run at the waist (but nothing from shin to thigh!), or be covered in cat fur, as I often inherit pairs from my feline-owning sister or mother. I am the Old Pantyhose Dunghill.

But beyond my regular complaints, today's pair has really let me down.

First off, they're Control Top. (For those of you not familiar with the term "Control Top" see below):
The idea is that this panel of SUPER-CONSTRICTING, NON-BREATHING, BIZARRE-IMPRINT INDUCING NYLON will keep your bulges, ripples, jiggles and other unsightly imperfections in check.

However, it rarely works that way. The kind I have on today are too tight at top, so there's an unsightly De-Controlled Zone (DCZ) near my waist, leading to a nice, um, shall we say, fold, and for some reason, the area of "control" keeps creeping higher and higher, pushing everyone else out below. (see Insert 2.1 below)

What is this controlling? My underwear? Barely!

Now, I'm not saying that I am the poster child for control top pantyhose -- I'm neither Jiggle Free nor the Light 'N' Lively Cottage Cheese Factory, but I'd consider myself someone with a few Control Deficits. And when I ask for help, I expect my pantyhose to rise to the occasion. (But not quite so literally!)

Secondly, I'm experiencing the fine phenomenon of "elephant knees," which basically means my knees look like, well, those of a wrinkly old (or young) elephant. (I thought this was a more prevalent condition, and I'd be able to find pictures of other women's elephant knees online, but apparently it's not even a term used outside my own family. Oh well.)

Basically elephant knees happen when your pantyhose are all stretched out and too tired to bother staying on your leg. My picture above doesn't really do the condition justice, but I'm at my desk at work. I can't take too many pictures up my skirt. Suffice it to say that when I step out of these babies tonight, they're going to be shaped just like me.

Except for the control panel. That part will be shaped like a small Asian woman.

And while I am grateful that everyone down there is safe and secure (and snugger than a bug in a rug), I am appalled that I wore this same skirt all summer and never once thought about what my fanny looked like. Not that I worry it looked bad -- I'm sure it was fine. I'm appalled that in winter, when we're wearing MORE clothes, that's when I start to worry about what's shaking.

So, Fashion's Revenge or Blessed Gift? Hard to tell. All I know is that I have a date tonight, and since I pulled a stomach muscle last night, I can't suck my stomach in. A girl's gotta find her support where she can get it.

hold onto your hats, kids, because Thea and I went to the CAT SHOW!

That's right. My Sunday was CAT-TASTIC! Thea and I got ourselves to Madison Square Garden for some feline loving. And boy did we get it in spades!

We were so excited, there was almost no controlling us (especially Thea, who is worried that by having gone to this convention, we are now definitely going to grow up to be Weird Old Cat Ladies, instead of there being any doubt. She might be right.)
First thing we saw was this guy, in the Feats of Agility Ring (which, I think was just actually called the Agility Course, but which sounds more exciting and dangerous as the Feats of Agility Ring, don't you think?):

I did not fall instantaneoulsy in love with him, as I prefer my cats with fur. But then we saw some awfully cute guys.

Like Grouchy Kitty:

And Cutie-Pie Hammock Kitty:

Roll-Up Ears Kitty:

Fluffball Kitty (a prize-winner, no less):

Actually, there were a large number of prize-winning cats there, and Thea and I found it kind of sad, because there were ribbons out there saying "Ninth Best Cat" or "Seventh Best Cat." I'd almost rather be ribbon-less than Seventh Best.

There were a buttload of fluffy kitties there. Like this Cage O' Fluff (with no fewer than four inhabitants):

Or Wadded Up Fluffy Kitty:

Or Fluffy Satan:

And there were a surprising number of Squashed Face Kitties (I think they're called "Exotics") as well. They all cracked me up a little. This guy was really cute, and kept trying to touch Thea through the mesh (and the Seventh Best Ribbon)

This one just makes me giggle:

But if we were worried about being weirdo kitty ladies, we could rest assured that there were folks out there odder than we were.

Because Jellicles Can and Jellicles Do (Go To Cat Shows):

(The next one needed some clarification, so I gave her an outline so you could see what she was wearing)

Yes, it's a cat mask. And her baby had a matching outfit on, too. Dad was there as well, but I think he was on drugs.

So, yeah, we watched the Hollywood Cat Training Show. We wanted to see the daring feats they'd promised. Instead, we got a cat playing the piano. (which was actually cute (and very far away)):

The whole event was truly odd. Cat breeders are, by nature, I guess, strange people, and bad dressers. And not svelte, generally. There were more snacks and treats there than in the grocery store. At one point Thea showed me a cat and I showed her the brownie on top of its cage. We almost ate it.

Speaking of the cages, these things are what you'd get if you crossed Long Island in the 80s with Florida mobile homes and then shrunk them:

And now, for a parade of cute. First in the Main Coon Fashion:

(this guy's head was about the size of a grapefruit. he was GINORMOUS!)

And then, in the Generally Adorable Fashion:

Then in the Don't Bother Me, I'm Sleeping Fashion (perhaps the neighbor cats were slamming their cage doors):

And my favorite kitty, who we called Perm Kitty:

Did we have the time of our lives? No, probably not. But it was way more fun than grocery shopping!

And I'll let you guess who sponsored it:

adventures in the flower district

Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, step right up to hear the Adventures of The Fearless Duo in Let's Go to a Singles' Event!!!

Yeah, that's right, Thea and I went out last night to an event co-hosted by Absolut Vodka and Lavalife.

First off, they required that you register for this event. So Thea and I showed up, registered as Bob Williams and Cady Sanburg, respectively. Which might have been a problem had we shown up at 8, but by the time we got there, the guy at the front door was so harried that we just showed ourselves in. Little did we know, however, that the guy up front was the guy handing out the free drink tickets.

Luckily, Thea finagled us some drinks out of this guy near the bar, (hell, he wasn't paying for them) but just as soon as we got a drink, they cranked the music up so loud that you could only hold a conversation with someone by yelling directly into their eardrum. Which was really unfortunate for Thea, as the guy she scored the drinks from could have benefitted greatly from a piece of gum. Or a field of mint.

Armed with our free drinks, we worked the crowd -- not in Thea's LA-Style, which apparently involves flailing about and getting ugly looks from all the perfect people in the room, but by simply walking, and acting like Moses, if Moses were in a sea of five foot men. Five foot, unattractive men.

It was only ten minutes in, and already I wanted to leave.

We found Thea's friend from college, Mike, and gratefully chatted with (i.e., screamed at) him while the music got louder and louder. Thea went off to find the bathroom and came back with a lawyer. I sat in the corner and talked to a guy who works in the telecommunications industry who told me that "Snoop is coming to my friend's place later" and that the cellphone is my "remote control to the universe." He insisted on touching me a lot. I insisted on ignoring him after that.

While the noise level was extremely unpleasant, the company (other than Mike) a little dubious and the drinks strong, random and free, I actually had a good time, and learned some valuable lessons last night:

1. Vodka makes me surly. Red wine will open my heart so I love the world. Whiskey will make me stumbly and goofy. Tequila makes me want to smooch everything I see. But Vodka? It makes me want to yell at people and punch them in the head. I don't think I should drink it much anymore.

2. Peeing at McDonald's, while always a risky proposition, is a really good excuse to get a tasty parfait treat. (It's best to go to the McDonald'ses that aren't under construction, though. Hard to pee when there is no bathroom.)

3. I don't think I'm cut out for singles' events at loud bars. Meeting me there is like meeting me while I'm shopping at Bergdorf's -- it's a fluke, and you'll never catch me in that situation again, so how can you possibly meet the real me?

4. Thea is a true friend. Involved in as intimate a chat (i.e. screaming match) as she was with a cute lawyer (who had Hobbit ears), she looked at me, saw that I was surly, single and solo, and told the lawyer we had to leave. Didn't even take his number.

5. Thea and I may be single for a while. And truthfully, that's OK with me!

one last thing, and then I swear I'll drop it... (or at least I'll try)

Things seem to be getting worse with the neighbors, although this morning, they proved that they do, in fact, know how to close the door quietly, and just haven't been doing so all along. I pray to Jeff, the God of Doorknobs, that this low-level animosity between us keeps them turning that doorknob before closing the door. In truth, though, it seems too good to last.

Yesterday morning I left them a note that read:

I am BEGGING you, if it is before 8 a.m. or after midnight (i.e., especially 3 a.m. Friday night), please CLOSE THE DOOR QUIETLY. I don't expect you to live by my schedule, but I do ask that you show it some respect.

You know I would do the same for you.

Last night I came home to a typed letter that had been slipped under my door, reading:

Kate,

Got your 15th note and knocked on your door immediately as to be honest I can't take this anymore. [My husband] and I are not intentionally slamming the door and in fact have been mature about the fact that our new door is less than desirable and was installed during my only vacation this year. We can not help it when we have weddings, events or lives that lead us to return home late.

We are not trying to slam the door at specific times, we are living our lives. Most times that we have company you are ALWAYS on our minds and we modify the time or volume as your complaints have been so frequent.

We have also noticed the slamming of your door recently, which I can only assume is intentional or perhaps it is just that you are living your life and closing your door is part of it. Either way we WOULD NEVER COMPLAIN.

We are leaving the apartment on April 1, 2007 and realize this is quite a few months away but there will finally be an end to this one sided situation. A cupcake simply didn't do the trick for me when part of our lives was disrupted and the overall appearance of our place altered.

We will do our best to live around your sleeping patterns (i.e. try not to breathe at any time that won't work for you) if you could please LEAVE US ALONE!

As you can tell from the tone of this letter, I am beyond sick of getting complaints after a HARD day of work. Many people in this building make noise but we would NEVER complain. We all pay rent and unless we are intentionally arguing, screaming in the hall or playin gmusic etc. etc, we should be allowed to live our lives.

Please knock if you want to chat about this further, as I initially knocked on your door to discuss this face to face.

If not good luck with your new neighbors in April or May, I hope they will work out better for your routine.

Best,
Angry Non-slammington

While I'm sorely tempted to comment on this letter, truthfully, I think it speaks for itself. Obviously we're both victims, and think our side is more important. But what they don't understand is that, while my behavior makes them angry, their behavior makes me angry... and it wakes me up.

And to clarify... a) I've only ever complained about the noise level of a party of theirs once, and it was 12:30 at night on a school night and all I did was tell them I was going to bed, and b) I haven't heard anyone else in the building (besides the stupid dog, obviously) make any noise.

poetry slam

Odes to my hateful neighbors, who drive me crazy, and make me want to kill them.

I've got these crap neighbors next door,
One of whom is a door-slamming whore.
Slams it early or late
With no thought for poor Kate --
Oh, I hate them right down to my core!

3 a.m. I'm awake in my bed
Sounds of slamming reverb in my head
Through the door to 3L
Live the neighbors from hell
And I think they'd be better off dead.

To them I cried and begged and pleaded
But my wishes for quiet were ne'er heeded.
With sheer heartless disdain
They ignored me again
A drastic rent hike for them is what's needed

Every day I'm awake 'fore my time
Just to sleep would be oh so sublime
But they slam every door
With loud stomping galore
They're the bastards of 329!

When they leave their apartment the floor shakes
I can only imagine each board quakes
And with every door slam
To myself I say, "Damn,
I regret ever baking them doorcakes!"

"animal" crackers

I fully admit to playing with my food, but I may have gone too far today.

On my way to meet up with Thea this afternoon for our jaunt to (get this) Ye Olde Renaissance Faire at Forte Tryon Parke (i.e. Ye Olde Cloisters) (yea, I jest not, tho' I wish I did), the F train was doing some festive footwork, so I had extra time to kill at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn stop. I was hungry, and started to munch on the animal crackers I had brought along as a snack. All of a sudden, gazing upon these tasty treats, I realized that they don't bear anything resembling a resemblance to any animal I have ever seen in my life.

Animal crackers are supposed to be circus animals. I'd really like to see a circus of these creatures.

Hippo?

Horse? Zebra?
Camel?Buffalo?
Deer?Antelope?
This one is the most baffling. Monkey? Big cat?

So then I got even mroe bored... Hppo Parade.
"I'm sorry, this club is for Deer/Antelope only. No Buffaloes/Camels allowed!"

noah cracks me up... again

Want to laugh? Visit baggypantsandbravado, my friend Noah Smith's blog. He's got his top jokes for SNL posted there, and they crack me up. A few of my favorites:

Republican strategist Karl Rove has said that the American electorate is in a "sour" mood at the moment. This is probably because they've discovered their president is a lemon.

President Bush threw out the opening pitch Monday at Cincinnati's Great American Ball Park, but the pitch was high and inside, two words that also describe George W. Bush during Vietnam.
An Italian judge ruled that it is not necessarily hate speech to call someone a "dirty negro." But, still, Crayola really should find a new name for that color crayon.

And my favorite: It was reported this week that Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Sarsgaard are expecting their first child and plan to marry soon. The couple is registered at Taarget.

Noah is a genius, but he seems to have really mastered this format. Many kudos to you, my friend!

firsts and lasts

These were snatched from Bon, who nabbed them from Susan

Everyone has their Firsts:
First Real Best Friend: Amy Gabriele. But then, in fourth grade, she became friends with Beth Robinson, and in the middle of reading class she passed me a note that said "Shut Up Fat Four Eyes!" I think we stayed friends even after that.

First Cell Phone: A crappy Motorola, kind of like this one:

First Funeral: Grandpa Burl. He was always such a joker that everyone expected him to sit up in his casket and yell "Surprise" but both were unlikely, especially after that last stroke.

First Pet: Sunshine. She was a guinea pig. Which makes my porn name really good -- Sunshine Messenger!

First Big Trip: No idea. Probably that road trip to Florida where I got herpes all over the inside of my mouth and my mom said I didn't stop wailing for almost all 24 hours of the trip. Bet that was so much fun!

First Fight: I'm sure it was with my sister, and I'm sure I lost.

First Celebrity Crush:

First Time Out of the Country: Switzerland. I had altitude sickness and jet lag and barfed all over my mom in a fondue/yodeling restaurant, and when she went to wash off her sweater, they only had one of those rotating cloth towels for her to dry off with. Total disaster. And the ONE day I ended up skiing, I could not, for the life of me, master a pommel lift, and ended up face first in the snow amidst hundreds of pre-pubescent Swiss kids shouting "Hello America! Hamburger!"

First Myspace Friend: Techincally, Tom. But realistically, Christina

Everyone has their Lasts:

Last Person You Hugged: David N., Faux Bike Messenger Extraordinnaire. (who knew I dug that look?)

Last Car Ride: In Robin's car, on the way from the Greenwood Cemetery to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to meet Lisa and RJ. Thank god he gave me a ride, too, because I was wearing Date Sandals, and they were tearing up my feet!

Last Time You Cried: Yesterday, when Thea told me she might be moving to LA.

Last Movie You Watched: Frida. And I hate Salma Hayek, but she was FANTASTIC in this movie!

Last Food You Ate: a red pepper, three strips of which are left in the bag and I just don't want them anymore.

Last Item Bought: Caffeine free diet coke. Although the last exciting thing I bought was new socks at Target! (which, when you put it in writing, is far less exciting)

Last Shirt Worn: I'm going to jazz it up a bit and say that sweaters don't count. So the last shirt I wore was the Yale t-shirt I sleep in. [That wasn't half as jazzy as I wanted it to be.]

Last Phone Call: from my sister, stuck in traffic between Minneapolis and St. Paul, on her way to the airport. She had to pee, and I told her to go in the rental car. After all, there's no rule saying she can't....

Last Kiss: See last hug.

Last Thing You Touched: Other than the pepper and the phone and the keyboard? Candy Corn!!

Last Funeral: Grandma Esther's, I think. And that was in high school.

Last Time at the Mall: Christmas. Although, more recently than that, I was on the phone with someone who was at the Mall of America, and I kind of felt like I was there, too...

Last Time You Were Excited for Something: When Christina came to visit.

Last Person You Saw: My boss Eric. He just came by my desk to give me work to do. Ha!

Last Thing You Drank: Hot cocoa. Sure, it's 80 degrees outside, but it's FREEZING in here!

Last Person who Broke Your Heart: me?

Last Time you were Really Honestly Happy: This question makes me sad, and as a protest, I'm not going to answer it.

LA is hogging all my friends

Dear Los Angeles,

You've got enough of my friends already. Can't you just knock it off and keep your greasy little mitts of the rest of my pals?

Oh sure, you're offering them success, fame, fortune, and a greater amount of paying union work. You've got nice weather. You've got beaches. You've got a laid back, traffic-laden, schmooze-easy culture. Fine! I can't compete with that.

But LA, will you bake my sweet friends cupcakes? Will you listen to them as they cry in the parking lot at 3 in the morning? Will you fight with them every time they tell you their haircut is ugly? Will you look the other way as they slip out of sexy heels and into flip flops? Will you love them the way I do?

No. You won't. You never will. And that's why it's most unfair that you want to have them... and that they want to have you. They're mine. And until you send at least one of them back, I'm taking my toys in the other room, holding my breath and not saying another word to you.

You're stupid LA and, like I said to my dad when I was five years old, You have a big bald spot and I hope you die!

Love,
Kate-who-misses-Thea-and-Christina-and-the-rest-of-you-out-there