a little box full of soul

Strip off your main definition of yourself. You know, that part of you which has always made you proud and powerful. That thing about which you've always been passionate. The part of you that makes you feel interesting and different and, let's face it, special when filling out those godforsaken online dating profiles, or talking to the decidedly unartistic souls with whom you pass your work week. [not everyone -- just to be clear]

Go ahead and strip that off. Fold it carefully and put it in a little silk-lined box. Glue the little box someplace in your peripheral vision so you can periodically peek in on it and wonder if putting it away is the best idea.

Don't put it away yet.

Then tell some people you're thinking about redefining yourself. Maybe even show them the little box with your soul in it. Watch their eyes widen, or nod in appreciation and admiration, or watch them back away, taking their carefully-defined selves (not in boxes) with them. Listen to some of them drone on and on and on (god, shut up already!) and on about how they did it ten years ago and how it's the hardest thing you're ever going to do. How it's going to hurt and how it requires "a little bit of thought every day."

Try to ignore the box. Pretend it will all sort itself out. In the meantime, ignore the empty space that climbs up your limbs, tiptoes mockingly behind you and washes up on the shores of your desert island just to drown you.

Start to hear criticism in everything that everyone says. You're too needy. I don't want to talk about this with you because it's more than I can handle. I can't call you because you can't support me. You're a burden. [Nobody's actually saying that, but hear it anyway.]

Look at the box. Avoid the temptation to pick it up and slip inside the comforting warmth of your definition and rip the box to tiny fucking shreds.

Get completely lost. Don't bother asking for directions. Nobody has them for you (except maybe your coworker who wouldn't shut up about it, even after you sat, twitching in his office, checking your watch, twirling your hair, practically shreiking "LEAVE ME ALONE").

Try to be patient. Try not to take this fear and frustration out on other things, like boys who refuse to be there for you, or friends who love you and can't give you the answers you so desperately want them to provide. Try not to think of yourself in terms of negatives (not enough, not interesting, not worth the effort), and try to be ok with the unfilled hours that stretch out before you.

Mop your floor. [I'm not sure it helps, but it probably needs to be done.]

The box will always be there. God wililng, the itch inside your skin will not.

The Holiday Schedule at Chez Surgeons

Welcome aboard Holiday Airlines Flight 2006 from Brooklyn, New York to Southern Connecticut, where you'll enjoy a four-day, four-night stay at the renowned Chez Surgeons, a five-star bed and breakfast tucked into the heart of snooty suburbia. Please review your itinerary for your stay:

Friday, December 22:
2:49 Hastily depart your office, realizing that you have no train ticket in your wallet and some large carry-on items (a suitcase, backpack and shopping bag). Run through Grand Central, knocking small, festively decorated children on their asses.

3:04 Arrive in the train, ticketed, to find an empty seat next to the snottiest lady alive. When you move her coat so you can put your suitcase in the luggage rack, resist the urge to punch her when she sneers, "could you please leave my coat where it was?" Instead tell her that you'll put her coat on top of your suitcase if she'd like (unless she'd rather sit on your suitcase...)

3:07 Train departs. Take a nap.

4:16 Train arrives in Snootyville. Greet your mother when she picks you up in a car you can't see because it's behind you. Right behind you.

4:17 -- 7:15 Hang out with your parents (the proprietors, no less) and eat far more from the tin of popcorn than you thought humanly possible -- especially because the popcorn will be stale.

7:15 -- 8:30 Wrap presents (a.k.a. hide) upstairs while your parents have cocktails with some family friends that you don't have the energy to talk to. In the same timeframe, your sister and brother in law will arrive home, so just when you think the party is leaving and you can go downstairs for a snack, everyone has another drink, and you're stuck in the office, starving (because everyone knows stale popcorn has no staying power).

8:30 -- 11:00 Hang out with your sister and brother in law. Try to sneak up on Scott while he is wrapping presents. Scare the daylights out of him. Break down laughing. Try not to pee in your pants.

Additionally, eat so much corn chowder that you actually have to lay down to feel better.

11:00 -- 11:30 Enjoy "Christmas Eve" with your family. Unwrap your Christmas Cuties (the nightgowns/pajamas your mother has bought for the family for the last 30 years so you look nice in pictures in the morning). Drag your popcorny/chowdery ass to bed.

Saturday, December 23rd
8:30 Wake up because your sister hocks a big fat loogie in the shared bathroom.

8:35 Sneak downstairs and hide behind a really big present and scare the pants off your mother and sister.

8:45 Make noise so Scott and Dad wake up.

9:00 Start Christmas!
(Scott didn't get a pair of kitty pants)

10:00 Eat too much French toast.

10:30 Enjoy unwrapping too many presents, including several books, a new duffel bag, some lightbulbs (yes, I asked for them), a bunch of tights, muffin pans and a new can opener (no, I didn't ask for that, but mom thought I did). Whenever you open something you don't particularly like, feel free to say, "Oh, I have one just like this at home," and then hide that present in a pile you can't see.

12:30 Start cleaning up after Christmas. Eat too many candied pecans.

3:30 A guest arrives for dinner. This guest may look a lot like the guy you are dating. Try not to freak out. Stay cool. You have another seven hours together.

3:30 -- 7:30 Play games with the family -- most notably, the new game Apples to Apples that Polly gave to dad this year. Fun game. Win one round!

8:00 Dinner at the Country Club. Feel posh. Get drunk. Admire your guest as he converses with ease and grace with members of your whole family. Fantasize a little about what it would be like to actually count on him to be there. Then stop.

9:30 Go to the bathroom and have a weak moment, wishing you actually had a serious relationship with this guest.

9:32 Notice that your sister has flung her stall door open while still on the toilet. Let her cheer you up. (She rocks.)

10:30 Enjoy wheelchair rides from your sister in the coat check. 10:45 Your guest departs. Go to bed. Don't think about it.

Sunday, December 24th
8:30 Wake up because someone in the house closes a door too loudly. (Don't forget, you're the lightest sleeper ever)

8:45 Go for a walk with your sister. Try to burn off the scallops, wine and chipwich from the night before. Oh yeah, and the guacamole, cheese and crackers, too. Did I mention the candied pecans?

9:30 -- 2:00 Laze around, working on the Sunday Times crossword, chatting with the family, and playing with new toys from Santa.

2:00 -- 4:30 Quake in trepidation as Lois goes into Party Mode, and strikes fear into the hearts of every family member. "There's an inch of dust on every surface in this house!" Prepare to dust, vacuum and clean up within an inch of your life.

4:30 -- 6:30 Cocktail party. Eat too many cocktail weenies, chips, mini-quiches and candied pecans.

Pretend not to notice when Polly and Scott slip out through the garage so they can spend Real Christmas Eve and Real Christmas with Scott's family in Vermont.

6:30 -- 7:15 Caroling on God's Acre (that's what the call the lawn in town that happens to be bordered by three churches -- what else do you want them to call it?) with the family and remnants of the cocktail party guests.

(Mom and Auntie Miriam)

7:30 -- 11:30 Pretend you're eating dinner, but instead, flop down on a couch and eat more hors d'eourves. Watch Warm Springs, the HBO movie about FDR. Watch the rest of your family fall asleep on the couch.

Monday, December 25th
8:15 Wake up because your dad doesn't know how to close a door quietly. Try not to be bitter.

8:25 Go running. Hell, you've eaten enough for a small country at this point.

9:15 Come home and eat a sensible breakfast. (twice)

9:15 -- 12:00 Do nothing. Really. Nothing.

12:00 -- 1:00 Play paddle tennis with your dad. Win the first set 6-1, lose the second set 6-2 and lose the third set 6-4. Swear like a sailor, but have a hell of a good fucking time!

3:30 Depart for your aunt's house to pick her up for the big family Christmas, more food, and regifting!

4:30 Arrive at your cousin's house, eat more food, drink more wine, and get rid of some crappy gifts you've accumulated over the year. Walk out with a set of floating candles (which you put in last year) and a Coach bag. Consider yourself totally the winner. Feel lucky you didn't get any of these:

9:30 Step away from the cookie tray and chocolate box, and end the Christmas festivities. After all, you have a "flight" to catch tomorrow morning at 8:07.

10:30 Arrive home, and call your sister in Vermont. Let your mother tell her everything you've just spent the last half hour telling her.

11:30 Go to bed. It's been a long weekend!

Tuesday, December 26th
7:30 Get up.

8:07 Get on the train.

8:10 Get depressed.

9:15 Get to work.

9:30 Start writing.

laxmas

So I've got myself a tannenbaum, and I've sort of decked the halls (sans boughs of holly). I've had visions dance in my head, but they're of me on vacation, not of sugar plum fairies. I've been merry and light... sort of. But when the little drummer boy from the feast of Steven asks if I see what he sees, all I'm getting is three old guys smoking a rubber cigar.


It's beginning to look a lot like Halloween


Maybe it's the lack of snow (or even cold weather, for that matter). Maybe it's turning 30. Maybe it's because the flan is holding me at spoon's length. Maybe it's because I've been hearing christmas carols since Halloween, and I'm just not listening to them anymore.


Maybe it's just because I've got other things on my mind.


I'm celebrating a cross (forgive the pun) between lax-mas and ehs-mas.


Ho ho hum.

the suitcase

Here are a couple of photos from the short film I shot this fall, the Suitcase. They're not great shots (a little wobbly and fuzzy) but I like the way they look. Especially the second one.

You'd never know how cold I was that day. (well, at least not in the second one...)

day two of thirty: the afternoon of ugly cake!

Meet Ugly Cake:

You'll notice there are two forks here and half a cake. (And I don't even think the cake is ugly, but Thea dubbed it so after 1) having to shave it to make it the right shape and 2) having to carry it around the city all morning) Thea met me today, the day after my birthday, the day after my office holiday party -- the day I had off because I've worked at the law firm for (gulp) five years. (So far this being 30 thing rocks!)

The weather today was gorgeous, so Thea and I munched and strolled and said "happy birthday to me!" whenever anybody looked askance at two lovely women gorging on birthday cake in the middle of the afternoon.

I was all loosey-goosey after my visit to the spa (thank you attorney-bosses) and we talked about boys and being thirty and acting and everything important. We wended our way to the east village where we stopped at the Knit Cafe for a coffee, but decided just to head over to 7A for lunch instead. And post lunch? Thea gave me a palm reading -- and I don't mean she read my palm. She found me a professional palm reader (who worked out of a storefront with naked screaming children in the back).

Want to know my future? I'm going to live a "long life." I'm going to "be the mother of three children" (at which point I snickered) even though I find it "difficult to fathom" at this point. I'm very creative. And I'm very passionate and physical when I love someome. I've spent too much time with one person in the past, and I'm having a hard time connecting with the person I'm with now. I'm not necessarily holding on to the past, it's holding on to me. (whatever any of that means)

Oh, and I won't be doing Midsummer Night's Dream. (that wasn't the psychic, though. It was my answering service.)

I would like to publicly thank Thea for making my birthday extra-special! And to all of you who remembered, who called me, who sent e-cards, real cards or gifts. (especially tasty LUSH ones!) Who left comments on my blog. Who took the time on a special day to make me feel special. My birthday has always meant a lot to me, and it's because of you, the people who speak up to tell me you're happy I was born.

I think we should do more of this on a regular basis.

And so does ugly cake.

conversations with ugly cake

So, instead of sitting down and shoving the other half of it into my face to fill up the emptiness I periodically feel, I decided to sit down and have a heart-to-crumb with ugly cake. The following is a transcript of our conversation.

k8: Hey ugly cake. What's up?

ugly cake: Not much. I'm kind of bummed.

k8: why?

uc: Well, I'm kind of seeing this flan. And he's really great. Rich, creamy, fluffy, without being too airy -- he's got a lot going on. And the other muffins in my life think he's a stud. But I think he just isn't really ready to be in a relationship with me.

k8: what makes you say that, ugly cake?

uc: It's complicated. You know, it was my birthday recently.

k8: Really? I had no idea! Did someone get you a person?

uc: Um, yeah. You.

k8: Oh, right, duh.

(pause)

k8: ahem. go on.

uc: Well, on my birthday, there was this big party, and I invited the flan to go with me. And he agreed to go -- this was weeks ago, mind you, when I first invited him. See, we've been going out, I don't know, a month or two? And I realize that meeting all the other baked goods in my life might be a little precipitous at this point, but why not? It's a party, there would be all kinds of free nuts and frostings there, I thought he would enjoy it.

So, as the day of the party approached, I asked the flan if he would consider coming back to my pantry after the party was over. He immediately told me it wouldn't work. And didn't give a reason for it at first. (I mean, I know he's got this big dish, and there's alternate side of the cupboard parking in the pantry where he lives, so he probably had to take care of that. But there seemed to be more to it than that.)

k8: Oh, yeah, the guy I'm seeing has a car. Same deal.

uc: My feelings were hurt. Here it was my birthday, and the flan didn't want to share it with me. I felt like something was inherently wrong.

k8: well, did you ask him what was at the heart of it?

uc: Yeah. He said that he didn't understand why it was so important to me that we spend the night together.

k8: Oh that sucks. I mean, duh, it's your birthday. Of course you want to spend the night with the flan you're seeing.

uc: THANK YOU.

k8: No, I'm totally with you. So what happened?

uc: Well, we talked about it some more, after the party and after we had spent the night together and he told me that he wasn't sure what he had found so threatening in my request.

k8: well, it's good that he was thinking about it.

uc: Yeah. He said maybe it was the importance I was placing on our being together, maybe it was the assumption that we'd be together... I don't know. He said he was uncomfortable with my depending on him.

k8: Ooh, that sucks. Sounds kind of like he just hasn't decided whether or not he's ready to be in a relationship yet.

uc: I guess. But then why is he acting like my boyflan?

k8: What do you mean?

uc: Well, he calls me almost every night, talks to me about what's going on in his crumbs, invites me over one night and then balks about having me over two nights later... why is he doing this?

k8: I don't have an answer for you on that one.

uc: What can I do?

k8: Well, I certainly don't know. I think all you can do is give him the space he needs to make a decision like that. It sounds like it isn't you, ugly cake. It sounds like you're doing everything you can to be clear and communicate what you'd like.

uc: I know, but I feel like I'm failing.

k8: Listen here, cakey-poo. This has nothing to do with you. You are a charming, loving, adorable (albeit ugly) cake, with rich frosting and cute sprinkles. Your flour and eggs stayed together and gave you a seriously chocolatey base. Not every cake is as lucky as you. Sure, you sometimes feel like you're not enough --

uc: TOTALLY.

k8: -- but we all feel that way sometimes.

(ugly cake blushes)

k8: The question you have to ask here is one that Thea asked me earlier, while we were eating you. Why are you in it? It shouldn't be all about him. Why are you sticking around?

uc: Well, I'm hoping that it will get better.

k8: And is there any indication that it will?

uc: That's hard to tell. (thinks) Well, he says he's acting in a certain way to achieve a certain end result, one that won't be as fucked up as his last few attempts at relationships. He says he's not 100% sure he's doing it the right way. Maybe if he didn't try so hard, maybe if he just relaxed and trusted me... I don't know. (sniffs)

k8: Hey, it's ok. (patting ugly cake with a fork) You don't have to have an answer right now. Just keep an eye on whether or not you're getting what you want out of this "relationship," whatever it is.

uc: I just want him.

k8: I know. Trust me, I know. But can you live with what you're getting, just as it is right this very second?

uc: (begrudgingly) no. I don't think so.

k8: So, I'd say you should get through the holidays, focus on your family and friends, your potential new career as a... what?

uc: half-eaten birthday cake.

k8: Um, right. (confused look) Just see how it is in January, and don't forget to keep something for yourself.

(pause. ugly cake dries her tears)

k8: You know, I'm having a hard time thinking about eating you anymore.

uc: Phew. I was starting to get nervous.

happy birthday to me!

Dear Future Parents of America,

If you're thinking about having sex at all in April, please don't. It will be better for your children down the road not to share their birthday month with Jesus. He tends to hog up all the attention. (Whatever, Mr. I-can-walk-on-water. I can do cool things, too.)
Your pal,
Kate

I'm trying to lay low this year, as in years past I have gotten myself all bent out of shape about my birthday and how nobody pays attention to it. (which isn't really true, but it feels that way when you are really excited about it and act like a seven year old) And you know what, the less you focus on it (you being me in this case), the more positive response you get to it.

For example, today I went on a third callback for a production of Midsummer Night's Dream. I told them I was 30 and they gave me a check!

(Ok, it didn't happen in that order. They gave me a check because you're not supposed to have three rounds of callbacks with Equity actors without paying them something, and I told them it was my birthday as the audition wrapped, and they told me they would prefer to work with actors in their thirties, so it's a good thing I didn't lie and say I was 29!)

Tonight I'm slated for an office party, which I'm calling my birthday party. I'm telling everyone they should come eat and drink heavily, that everything's on me! If nothing else, maybe I'll make more friends at work!

See? Thirty's already looking great!