things i learned today

I had three and a half hours of mandatory diversity training today, which turned out to not be diversity training at all, but rather a course in body language, with fancy names for positive body language ("MicroAdvantages") and negative body language ("MicroInequities"). Lucky for me, the presenter was somewhat entertaining, and in the middle of the presentation I had one of those AHA! moments, in which things I've learned in different arenas of my life meld into one coherent thought. (I LOVE those!)

So please, in reading this, feel free to experience your own AHA! moments. (I would, however, recommend avoiding all EWWW, ACK! and MRRR moments. They are MicroNotThePoint.)

1. Life As Impulse Control
We humans have a wide range of emotions, thoughts and behaviors that make up who we are. And to get what we want out of life (be it a fulfilling romantic relationship, a positive work environment, or even just the last donut hole) we have to intentionally balance the expression of ourselves.

For example, if I am unhappy with the way someone is treating me, and I want to have a discussion about his/her behavior, I could go ahead and express my hurt feelings immediately and feel, as such, that I'm having my say, and being true to myself. Or, I could focus on what I want out of the situation (i.e., to be heard, to generate a change in behavior, etc.), and temper my response according to what I want.

To put it as clearly as I can, someone named kate periodically has to choose between "having my say" (me focused and immediate) and "actually being heard." (also me focused, but more long term and productive)

Now, in writing this, I might as well be writing an acting text, as going after what you want is one of the key principles in good acting. But this isn't acting, and more than anything, I want to emphasize that it's not lying or being phony. It's just knowing what you really want (both in the long and short term), and behaving in a way that will get you closest to what you want.

This is particularly challenging for someone named kate who often wants an immediate soothing AND the accomplishment of her long term goals.

This balance-the-expression-of-yourself lesson was reinforced for me today by a lawyer who, in the middle of training, said that not using negative body language with someone you don't like is lying -- it's not honoring your feelings. The presenter deftly responded that he didn't care about any of our feelings. All he cared about was whether or not he was fostering a positive workspace, one in which his team members could thrive and make more money for the partnership. Because in business, arguably, that's the objective. (If this were the SATs, business : money as kate : long term goals)

2. An Odd Remedy for Dry Skin
Crisco. Best applied while doing dishes.

3. Giving Advice to Friends Sometimes Makes You Hear It Yourself
I have a friend who is getting married (in the turquoise wedding) and she called me in a tizzy the other night, convinced that her fiancee didn't want to marry her anymore. She listed a number of reasons, all of which had to do with her, and not with him at all, and at one point she said, "I'm making all these sacrifices in my lifestyle to be with him, and I just don't think he appreciates it."
I stopped her right there and said, "Wait a second, you're missing the point. He may NEVER appreciate the sacrifices you're making. And that's fine. It's really not his job to validate you or your sacrifices. You can only sacrifice when it is ok with you, and never expect anyone to praise you for it. Otherwise all you're doing is storing that sacrifice in your arsenal, ready to whip it out whenever you're in a fight that's not going your way."

(Not bad for someone who hasn't been in a relationship for let's-not-even-do-the-math-on-this-one long, eh?)

4. Spaghetti Squash is a Lot Like Spaghetti
It's true. It is. You cut it in half, nook it for 9 minutes in the microwave, dump some spaghetti sauce into it, stir, add cheese, stir some more and then chow down. Totally awesome meal.

5. Spaghetti Squash Makes Your Farts Really Stinky
Nuff said, right?

five ways in which i am blessed

I've been kind of down lately -- although I've been trying to keep it out of my blog because, man, nobody reads a blog to get bummed out.

["What are you doing tonight, dude?" "Well, I was feeling just a little too happy, so I thought I'd just stay in and read Kate's blog for a while. Then, I'll probably either drink or cry myself to sleep."]

And while I'm not here to please you all, I kind of am, so why not be honest about it?

ANYWAY: my point tonight is to shake off the poop and tell you five reasons why I am blessed, and ask you to share any of your own reasons, if you want to.

Reason Number One: I have a friend (Lisa) who is an emotional trailblazer for me. She's crazy like me (in both the good and the bad ways) and understands the way I think because she's thought that way herself. And it feels so good to be seen so clearly by her -- and to also be her friend and find her so admirable. I know I'm going to be ok, because she is. And I know I'm fun to hang out with (despite all my baggage), because she is. Lisa shows me an incredible mirror, and I feel all the safer and more amazing for it. I also feel more capable of growth with someone so loving to nudge me back on my path.

Reason Number Two: Funny things happen in my proximity an inordinate amount. Like yesterday, at MoMA. There was this awesome little girl, maybe six or seven years old, and she so didn't want to be there anymore. She took to holding her breath and stomping her foot to get her mother to leave. (I tried it later, when I was ready to go, but nobody really gave a shit.) Additionally, there was a guy in the modern section who, I'm pretty sure, was wearing a woman's cardigan sweater, this pretty flowery, stripey, 80s number. (Tourist!) Maybe funny things happen to everyone, but to me, they're definitely a blessing.

Reason Number Three: My body has completely changed. You know how you have a default weight or size? And over time that generally seems to go up? And depending on your routine and eating habits and whatever, you can change that? Well, I managed, over the course of the last five years, to go from a size twelve to what the woman at David's Bridal called "a perfect six." (I wanted to correct her and tell her I was a perfect ten, but I didn't want her pulling dresses for me that didn't actually fit.) I recently looked at pictures from the late nineties/early millennium and... wow. To be generous, I have a lot more arm in those pictures.

Reason Number Four: I have a job I like and I am rewarded for the job I do. I get paid well (I could always be paid more, I mean, let's be honest) and I get consistently complimented on the work I do. It's particularly nice because my job didn't exist before I had it, so I don't have to live up to anyone else's performance of the job, and I can come in to work overdressed for my position, and nobody knows I don't have to look as nice as I do.

Which leads to...

Reason Number Five: I recently snagged two serious sales and got myself four blazers, two dresses, a blouse, a sweater and a pair of pants for $160. Four of those items alone would have cost $292 if I had purchased them full price. (I only picked those four because their tags are sitting right here next to the computer, but I now feel compelled to do the math on the rest of them.) Three of the others totaled $228, and the last item had a clearance only price tag on it, so I guess it has always only been $19.99.

Grand total: $539.99. This paragraph: Priceless. (Please note, I paid a mere 29% of the original retail value. Talk about blessed!)

care for a d8, k8?

I had a terrific date this weekend... with myself.

I had been out all day (trying on turquoise bridesmaids dresses and purchasing myself consolation black clothing to alleviate the scalding of my retinas) and when I got home, I was really bummed to discover that nobody had responded to my invitation to play on Saturday night.

I actually sat down at my desk and whimpered, feeling an enormous wave of loneliness wash over me. I fought the urge to put on my pajamas and sit on the couch, not to get up again for several hours (it was only 5:30 pm, after all).

I said outloud, "I wish someone would take me out to play."

And then I said to myself, "Well, what do you want to do?"

I answered (not outloud this time, since I'm not, in fact, crazy), "I want to wear my new dress and go somewhere fancy. I want to drink a glass of wine in a nice bar and hear a concert like a grown up."

So I slid myself into my fancy (black) dress, threw on some boots and my Charred Marshmallow Sleeping Bag Coat (which I love) and headed to the subway. Destination: Carnegie Hall.

I had several thousand conversations in my head about where I was going and why, and allowed myself the right to change my mind at any point. The ticket was only $20 and I figured that was worth putting on the dress and getting out of the house, let alone catching the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra. I still wasn't sold on the idea, however, until I walked into the lobby of the building. I was magnetized. I felt myself in my dress, my boots and my earrings, and I wanted to stay. Carnegie Hall really is amazing -- even just the lobby.

I climbed the sixty three flights of stairs to the $20 ticket section and ended up sitting next to a very handsome guy and his female companion (sister? girlfriend?) in the middle of the row. We chatted at intermission and it turned out that the woman was, in fact, his mother. So after the concert, I gave him my card. Hell, I had the dress on. Might as well.

I should have stopped while I was ahead, but instead I went downtown, thinking I would catch another friend's show at the Living Room. But when I got there, he wasn't playing yet, and I didn't know anybody in the bar, and there wasn't a seat to be had. Sure, I was brave, but not THAT brave.

So I headed home, feeling somewhat defeated for not having had the guts to just sit at a bar and talk to strangers. Sometimes it's the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes I feel like such a phony I don't even want to talk to myself. Hard to be charming when you're judging every word that comes out of your mouth.

Anyway, the night was, all in all, a success, and I realized that what I love about going to a concert or a museum is that I know enough about art and music to enjoy them, but I don't know enough about them to be let down. If I had gone to see a play, I would have judged it all the way through, critiquing and analyzing it instead of just enjoying it for what it was. With a concert, especially at Carnegie Hall, I can just be a kid again and experience the joy of watching a guy play a marimba with four mallets (and only two hands)! I can thrill to a cellist digging his bow into the string and getting this violently sexy sound of it. And I can be totally psyched to see two guys in tuxedos playing the bongos.

Talk about a terrific date!

fearless living (a totally different three day conference)

With all the fearless living conferences I go to, you'd think I'd be fearlessly ruling the world by now. Alas, I'm not. I'm focusing on conquering a far more complex and confusing terrain -- me.
Over the long weekend, I went to a Fearless Foundation Workshop, run by Rhonda Britten (of Starting Over fame) and, while I won't go into the specifics of exactly what we covered (as that would breach my agreement with the Institute) I will give you a basic outline of what I learned, and why it's important to me -- for free!

(Aren't I just the best?)

First, Rhonda argues, when we experience negative emotions (anger, anxiety, frustration, despair, etc.) it's because we're being triggered by fear. We have one major fear, and when we can identify that fear, take a step back and stop reacting to it, we have much more freedom in our lives to make choices that actually serve us. Additionally, she argues, there is an essential nature that each of us has, but which we have denied, and only when we stop reacting from fear will we start to access that essential nature and end up with what she calls our "wholeness."

My essential nature, as I discovered this weekend, is compassionate. And that may not surprise many of you, as I believe I'm an extremely compassionate person... to other people. Inside my own head, however, it's a bar brawl, with Judgment duking it out with Mean-Spiritedness (who is tag teamming with Not-Good-Enough). There's definitely an element of this that has served me over time (pushing me to go to Yale, driving me to be better and less complacent in just about everything I do), but more than not, it has been a really good tool for me to use to drive myself crazy. (Just ask my ex-boyfriends. I think they'll back me up on this.)

However, the problem a self-judger faces when she feels she is now tasked with the job of being compassionate is that it's really easy to sit there and tell yourself you're not being compassionate enough, or compassionate in the right way, or compassionate at all. (This was how I spent my Sunday night and Monday morning. Don't do this at home. It's exhausting.)

The upside, it turns out, is that any decision I can make from a place outside of fear is already compassionate, by default! (Yippee!) The more I can do to take a step back, examine my behavior, take a deep breath, or stand up for myself (especially in the face of my greatest fear), the sweeter I will be to myself. The more I will move towards forgiving myself.

The awesomer I will become.

So, while the conference was draining, at times irritating, and I basically felt like someone had taken the Jaws of Life, cracked open my rib cage and just kept spreading and spreading and spreading until there was next to no life left in me, it was totally worth it in the Peace of Mind department.

If you're interested in learning more about any of this, please let me know, visit www.fearlessliving.org, or read Rhonda's book, Fearless Living. I wouldn't recommend it for everyone, as it's really hard emotional work that will only benefit you if you're really ready for it, but if you feel stuck in a rut (either in your thoughts, career, behaviors, relationships, life, whatever) it'll totally help. You may, in fact, never be the same again.

adventures in cheesemaking

I made cheese tonight.

(And no, that's not a euphemism for some bodily function.)

A few weeks ago, I read a book that extolled the virtues of eating locally (Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle) and one of the things the author talks about is making her own cheese with her daughters. It sounded like fun, so I ordered a cheesemaking kit, bought myself some milk and made some cheese.

Sort of.

First things first, the instructions said I should use a pot that wasn't aluminum or cast iron. I don't exactly have one of those. So I did the best I could, and the curds and whey (they really are called curds and whey) separated apart the way they were supposed to. That was promising, so I moved on to the step where you're supposed to put the curds in the microwave, drain off more whey, work it into a ball with your hands and then keep microwaving, draining, kneading and repeating until the cheese reaches 135 degrees.

That was my second mistake.

The directions suggest that when the cheese gets too hot to handle, you use rubber gloves. Well, I don't own rubber gloves. So when the cheese got too hot to handle, I got super-classy on its ass. I put on a winter glove and stuck it into a plastic bag and used that.

I worked the one big curd (and by "big" I mean "not much more than a fistful") until it was just sticking like glue to the plastic bag. I thought perhaps it was just too hot, and if I just let it cool off a little bit, it would be fine.

That was my third mistake.

By the end, my mistakes combined to make a really tasty ricotta-rella that wasn't exactly ricotta, but wasn't quite mozzarella either. But boy will it be tasty on toast!

the neighborhood update

I have been reminded recently of how much I love writing this blog. Sure, my readership is down from six months ago, and sure, nobody but the Exceptionally Cool Kids Club is still on myspace, but whatever. You're here. I'm here. Let's not sweat it.
So, a few things that are crucial for you to know (and nobody not in the ECKC will ever know this):

1. There is a custom in my neighborhood of hanging clothes on your street fence for others to take as they walk by. Often you'll see kids' clothes, ugly clothes or particularly trashy clothes, but someone down the block from me periodically gets rid of really good stuff -- like Betsy Johnson dresses and Brooks Brothers sweaters. And she's just about my size.

Over the weekend, I was on my way home when I passed her house and sure enough, there was a very smart gray blazer hanging on the fence. I walked past it, thinking I Was Waaaaay Too Good for A Blazer From the Street, and then I woke up from that fantasy and backed up. I snatched the blazer and flung it over a chair in my kitchen, thinking that since it was a size two it wouldn't fit and there was no point in trying it on.

Well, the regular morning drama (starring I-Have-No-Clothes and Why-Is-All-My-Stuff-So-Frumpy) played out this morning as I got dressed.

"Wait!" I said, to no one in particular, flinging yet another black sweater onto the chair in my office, "The new blazer!"

I bolted to the kitchen, retrieved the jacket, slid myself into it (almlost as if it were made for me) and pranced off to work, looking smart and happy.

2. Remember my door slamming neighbors? Well, I have a confession to make. I don't hate them as much as I pretend to. I kind of only do that for dramatic effect. (Although when they first moved in and were, in fact, door-slamming, they provided plenty of their own dramatic effect.) In fact, I don't really hate them at all. (But, shhhh, don't tell!)

Anyway, last night there was a small tap on my door and when I opened it, I discovered my neighbor, looking gorgeous. She was wearing a long black, fitted dress, her hair was perfect, a gorgeous necklace graced her chest, and there was a light in her eyes, a peace I had never seen in her before. Now, maybe I was just all blissed out from a long, emotional conference all weekend, but something about her looked different.

She was holding a bouquet of flowers, which she extended to me.

"I know this is a weird question, but do you want these?"

"Oh my god," I said, "Are you sure you don't just want to borrow a vase?"

"No, no, no," she said, "I have like six or eight bouquets in my apartment. I'm just kind of drowning in them."

"Wow, um, sure, I'll take them."

(small pause)

"It's my one year anniversary of not having a drink. Oh my god, I wasn't going to tell you that, but I just did. I was totally going to make something up."

"Holy crap! Congratulations!" I said, thrilled for her. (I'm still smiling, just thinking of it.)

Beyond the obvious amazingness of her not having a drink for a whole year was the plainview reminder that people can and do change. And after working my guts out at a conference about learning to live fearlessly, she was exactly what I needed to see.

(It also doesn't hurt that a bouquet of flowers is just about one of my favorite things in the whole world.)

3. In other news, my dishes are disgusting. I hate doing dishes. Have I mentioned this a thousand times yet? Don't worry, I will. Just not today.

that’s why they call them business socks

oh. my. god.

have you seen this??

awesome.

a waste of fur

Have I mentioned that I hate my landlord's dog? I mean, there are few things in this world that I really, truly, gut-burningly hate, and that little yip-dog is one of them. He's a Rottweiler shrinky-dink cooked in the microwave with a side of ANNOYING. (Best served about two hours before you actually have to wake up.)

I have tried to find the small, obscure corner of my heart that this early-morning-barker could occupy, but to no avail. (One corner's full of snotty spit recently coughed up onto the sidewalk, one of litterbugs, one of drunken NYU students and the fourth is reserved for my door-slamming neighbors.) Sorry, pooch, no vacancy here.

Especially not after this morning.

I left my apartment around 8am on a Saturday morning (which, in and of itself seemed cruel enough to me) and opened the front door of the building to find my landlord and his little shit coming back from a walk. I stepped aside so that they had easy access into the "courtyard" (really just a garbage can hang-out place) and as I stepped out of the way, Kujo Jr. charged me, jumped my leg AND SUNK HIS YAPPY LITTLE TEETH INTO ME!

No, he didn't break the skin (lucky little fuck), so I felt ok rejecting my landlord's advice ("go to the hospital"). But I did charge back upstairs, sobbing (more from the surprise and outrage than anything else), to douse my entire leg with alcohol and smother it in neosporin.

"Don't you think he's old enough not to be biting anymore?" I asked with a painfully condescending tone in my voice.

"I'm thinking, actually," my landlord stammered, as he backed his way out of my apartment, "of shipping him upstate to my son."

"Good!" I shouted, as I slammed the door for my neighbors' early-morning enjoyment. "Get that fucker out of here!"

(Ok, ok. You all know I didn't actually say that. But boy did I think it.)

And the funny thing? When I called 311 to find out what the procedure is when you get a dog bite (what your rights are, etc.), they transfered me to the Poison Control Center.

Just think! I could have gotten Yipshit Poisoning! What a close call!

tips on being cultural

Here are a few things you should know before going to the New York City Ballet like I did tonight:

1. When your ticket is only $20, you should probably bring your binoculars. Barring that, you should definitely bring your glasses. (Especially if your night vision isn't all that.)

2. Don't go at all if you're going to sit behind me and hack up a lung. That's just gross.

3. The dancers are all skinnier than you are. (You know this.) However, some of them may actually seem to have boobs, and, while physiologically impossible, that's wildly unfair. Take some comfort in knowing that it's probably just the cut of those leotards, which only look good on ballerinas, Barbie dolls and toddlers in diapers.

4. There are bound to be some good looking male dancers. Don't forget that they're looking at all the good looking male dancers, too. (Can you say "Package Enhancer"?)

5. The choreography is likely going to involve a number of changements (or, as Keri calls them, "foot twiddles"). This will impress the ladies. Recreating said twiddles on the subway platform will not.

6. If you interpret some of the dancing-as-stand-in-for-dialogue to be "here, you take this jug" and "ow, don't punch me again" and "no, I can't stay, I'm going far far away to that corner over there," you're spot on. I got the script ahead of time, and that's exactly what they're saying.

7. When you watch the guy do the splits in the air, don't forget about the other guy, the one with his leg at a right angle while he spins around for two and a half minutes. I wasn't even spinning and my leg got tired. (Ok, I wasn't holding my leg up either, but that's not the point.)

8. And, last but not least, stay away from the Ladies' Room. It smells like old lady vagina.

online learning

Please tell me how these two ads are supposed to make me want to study at this particular online university. I wish I could have sat in on the approval meeting...

Agency Guy: So we think that if we use creepy-ass Santas in mid-January, everyone will remember their inner fear of inadequacy, re-contemplate their archetypal desires and actualize their phallic justice by going back to school to make more money so they can buy better gifts next year.

Online University: (snoring)

Agency Guy: What do you think?

Online University: (waking up) What?! Excellent proposal. The psychology department is behind you 100%.

(My favorite is the psychologist, who just thinks all your problems are a laugh a minute, although the slightly drunk, mostly cynical HR Santa is pretty excellent as well.)

Alternatively, there's this ad, also running:

Wow.

How DO I become a suitcase -- I mean, Accountant?

I'm going to face my archetypal phallic injustice fears of inadequacy and go back to school to be a More! That'll save me!

(good god.)

catsuping. ketchupping. catching up.

I have more to say than I could possibly cram into one entry, so watch me now go ahead and try.


First, some excellent things I've heard recently:



1. At my birthday party about a month ago (and the only reason I'm recounting it now was that I totally forgot about it, and found the cocktail napkin I used to record the conversation in my camera case):



Guy: I'm black and Peruvian and Brazilian and Chinese.Me: I'm half Swedish.Guy: Can I make out with you?

Me: No.



(Note: this guy was not remotely attractive to me, despite his compelling heritage.)



2. Tonight, sitting next to a naked guy reading a book about cooking meals for childen:



Guy: I'm touching my testicle do you like sleeping canneloni?



(Note: this particular guy was four years old.)



3. Also tonight, with said naked guy (prior to disrobing) rolling around on the carpeting:



Guy: I don't want to control myself. It feels soooooooooo good!



(Note: this particular guy could have been four or thirty-four, I'm not sure it makes much of a difference.)



4. In Colorado this weekend, I met my friend's roommate, Yoshi. He walked into the kitchen in a pair of what looked like brand new jeans with the entire front crotch area completely busted out.


My friend: What happened to your pants, Yoshi?


Yoshi: Oh, I roundhoused my friend.(pause)


My friend: You think you can get those fixed?


Yoshi: No, probably not. And they're brand new. I got them for Christmas from my mom.


(pause)


My friend: Well, why don't you ask her where she got them and then just go and buy another pair?


Yoshi: I can't. The exact same thing happened two years ago.
------------------------------------------
A note to all the low-life cheating bastards out there in the world (and my dear, sweet readers will only be able to pass this on to them, as none of my readers are of this particularly shitsome ilk):



You fuck with my friends again, I'll hunt you down and hurt you.



Love,
kate
------------------------------------------
A conundrum for those of us who are dating:
Is there a difference between who a person is, and how that person treats you?



I think this is a particularly compelling question, mostly because unless you spend great amounts of time with the person you are dating, and see him (or her, obviously) interact with others, you'll never know the difference. And if a tree falls in the woods...



Anyone else have thoughts on this?



Actually, while we're here, I have another question:



What's an acceptable time frame for a "relationship"? I mean, when is it ok to start thinking of someone as your boyfriend (or girlfriend)? I know I rush into things too quickly [and if anyone I'm dating is reading this, don't freak out! I'm not thinking of you, per se, I'm just thinking outloud], but what's "too quickly"? And if the person you're with is really the right person (as chosen for you by the universe), could rushing that stage really ruin things?



My friend tonight reminded me of when I tried to rush things with ugly cake's boyflan and how disasterous the results were. These days, while I really really really want to be in a relationship, it is important to remember that, sure, the early bird gets the worm, but slow and steady wins the race. (And afterall, who wants a wrinkly little worm??)
------------------------------------------
Is there anything that can be made out of an english muffin, half a jar of tomato sauce, a wedge of blue cheese, a frozen banana, some licorice and four mealy apples? Because that's what I've got in my fridge right now.



Oh, wait! I just found some All Bran.



Lucky me.
------------------------------------------
Some photos from Colorado:



You probably can't see it in the picture, but something about the air in Colorado really turns your boogers into weapons. Small square cubes of boog in your nose that, if picked (say, accidentally), could actually cause bleeding.

Also, for any of you considering traveling to Colorado, please avoid doing at least one of the following:

• getting dehydrated
• getting sleep deprived
• getting emotional
• getting premenstrual
• getting hung over
• getting jet lagged
• getting hosed by a fake snowstorm in NYC that cancels your flight but actually brings no snow

and

• getting a cubey booger stuck to your sleeping shirt

gratitude

My friends are the most awesome women in the world. All of them. I am so grateful for their love, their laughter, their support, their compassion, their undying love of sushi, their reminders, their concern, their vulnerability, their strength, their forgiveness and their care.
So in the vein of those cheesy Casey Kasem Top 40s Dedications from our youths, this one is for all the women in my life who have buoyed me and steadied me, both recently and over the long haul.

I love you.

I will be the answer at the end of the line
I will be there for you while you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty
I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance if you can't look down
If it takes my whole life
I won't break
I won't bend
It'll all be worth it, worth it in the end
'Cause I can only tell you what I know
that I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
you'll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight
If it takes a whole life
I won't break
I won't bend
It'll all be worth it, worth it in the end
'Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
And when the stars have all burned out
You'll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently into morning
for the night has been unkind
--Sarah McLachlan

five... four... three... two... one!

"Hey Kate, did you have a nice New Year's Eve?"

Kate swivels in her chair, smiles smugly at the visitor in her doorframe, and tosses her hair over her left shoulder. "Why yes, I did," she says, twinkling her eyes, "thank you!"
In a full-court-press effort at efficiency and productivity, she begins to swivel her chair back towards the computer screen when the visitor chokes out his question -- "What. Did. You. Do?"

"Oh, me?" she replies, chuckling, "I was in Times Square. But not with all the rabble. I was at a private party. I was a VIP."

And it's true. I was. (see?)
It's a long story of just exactly how I got invited, but I did, and I had an excellent time, if I do say so myself.

ABC Studios (our hosts) did something interesting -- they hired professional dancers to be there just to get the party to start dancing. And I'm all for that. I love to dance, and rarely get the chance, so any time there's an opportunity, I like it to start before we all get too drunk to remember the way it feels to move in space with other people. To forget how clutzy I can be, and to just embody the music for a few hours.

My date and I named the dancers -- this one below is Olga and Marcos. (Ok, I named him Marcos on my own. But I think it's fitting.)

Sexy-doodle-doo! (Except he was very, VERY gay.)

There was another dancer there who looked like a cross between Gwen Stefani (poofy hairball thing on top of her head and two tight, blonde french braids on the side), Scarlett Johansen (face) and Me in Fourth Grade (six inch, white elastic belt, and one white legwarmer. ONE!)

In what seems to be a trend at corporate parties these days, we were given a number of toys and decorations -- hats, wands, and (my favorite) sunglasses. I dropped mine right away and a lens popped right out, so I popped out the other one as well in order to sport a truly nerdy look. At several different points I was given a hat, but it didn't fit my head at all, so at several-plus-one different points, I lost it.

They had carved out a little space for us in the square -- we couldn't see the ball drop, but we could see the screen counting down the seconds. Doe to some odd form of digital interference, there's a line through the middle of the 19... but who cares? I was in Times Square on New Year's Eve and NOBODY BARFED ON ME!

There were noodles. (oodles of them)

And confetti:

And there was something electric about being there. I didn't want to hug everyone, I didn't want to sing along or propose to anyone, but I did want to send a big hallmark card to the city of New York. I love this town. I really do. So much so that the other day, as I was in a subway going over the bridge, I looked at the sunset behind the Brooklyn Bridge and it was so beautiful, so painfully beautiful, that I started to cry. The thought of ever leaving this city feels like leaving a friend. And yet... could I ever really raise kids in the city?

But that's another story for another post. (although it was on my mind over New Year's.)

Anyway, great times were had (until 4:24 am!) and I woke up with a tennis ball lodged in the frontal lobe of my brain. (Which, I'll tell you, is NOT pleasant.) It's hard to be a lightweight. You forget that sometimes, drinking hurts.

If I sent out New Year's Cards, this might be the photo. Something about it makes me feel like we're a comedy duo from the forties. I think it's the glasses.

Happy New Year, everyone!