That'sRandomKate

The World Needs Your Art

2016-11-22T10:28:00.002-08:00

Please know that the world needs your art. How could it not?

There is humanity in our sameness, and magic in our differences. We would be nowhere without individual inspiration, as odd as it might seem at its inception.

It doesn’t matter whether you believe that creativity comes from the brain or some divine source, either way you'd do well to honor that shit. You don’t need to know whether your art your will change the blueprints of the world or whether it will touch one single person. It’s all the same.

There are so many circumstances where we’re encouraged not to follow our impulses, and sometime those rules are correct. It’s not creative to be a criminal for example, or a deviant, or a bully. It’s been done. As an artist you might sometimes feel like those labels apply to you, but it’s important to remember that they don’t. Being a jerk is not inspired, being moved by your art on the other hand, is.

The only people who will be thrown by your creativity are the ones who are fearful, and they can be mighty with their control tactics. But by shying away from your art you’re only agreeing to that control, adding your signature to the petition of fear.

Of course sometimes those fearful people are the ones who are closest to us, and they can be pretty convincing with their arguments. They’re not right though, you’re right. Your spark rocks those people, and attempting to put it out is the only way they know how to regulate it. The urge to control comes from fear. Your spark frightens them because they don’t know where it’s going, and they don't know why they can’t honor their own, or find it at all. They don’t want to be less than or left behind. Your moving forward and rising up shakes up their world because if you can do it then they should be doing it too, and sometimes they aren’t ready to accept that it’s time to change. Be kind to those fearful people, they’re frightened. But those aren’t your fears.

Not everyone is brave enough to try, that’s for sure. For a complacent artist the burning desire to create without an outlet can feel like a personal hell. Really it is. But that’s because it’s a fire and it’s a gift to feel that even if you don’t know the how’s and the what’s quite yet. That fire is passion and passion offers you the keys to the driver’s seat in a world full of passengers and lost souls entirely. Please take the keys.

Sure it takes responsibility to accept it. It takes criticism, and commitment, and time management, and growing up enough to choose new priorities, and all of those other things that scare the shit out of us. But you can bet your ass that choosing your path is going to feel a hell of a lot better than letting the world choose it for you. It’s going to hurt either way, is the thing. You’re a human this time around and the endless oscillation of emotion just is what it is. Let it be. See it and step around it.

Thank your fears for the suggestions, and your tears for the clarity of what needs to change. Those are the clues that allow you to see where to go next, so thank goodness they’re there. Our emotions aren’t throwing us off course, we’d actually be lost without them. Don’t try to compartmentalize your thoughts or judge their whereabouts. Acknowledge them, and question them. Keep what you want and intent to change the rest, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that they’re not there.

Whatever you do, don't get caught in the trap of thinking that your art will suffer if you’re happy. Suffering can be creative sure, but only because it has to be. If your life is at stake you might come up with some more creative ideas about how to get dinner than if you’re sitting on the couch scrolling through your delivery options on a smartphone. But don't you dare give suffering all the power. It’s not the suffering that’s inspiring you, it’s that the suffering is distracting you enough to let your creativity sneak in while you’re not looking.

The same ideas are there all the time, you just say no to them before they get to the front of your mind. When you let your art come all the way forward then you’re faced with the accountability part. That’s why you shut it down. Stop saying no, we need your ideas now before the crisis hits, not after. We need happy people for a happy world, we all deserve that.

We also deserve to know that being happy doesn't mean that everything feels good all the time. It just doesn’t. Being happy means that you can observe what comes without attachment to it, or its outcome. Being happy means trying, and having good intentions, and being authentic, and accepting, and leaping, and then forgiving yourself and other people when you undoubtedly fall on your face or get pushed down. We're here to learn and grow and the opportunity to express how we have is through our character and our art.

You get stronger on the way up, you know it’s true. You know that heartbreak is kind of beautiful, because you’re an artist. You know that loss carries meaning because it makes room for the next thing to come in. Sometimes it’s the biggest blessing. Our egos like to assign things “good” and “bad” labels but you know that’s not how it works. You’ve felt the amusement and the ultimate aliveness in the midst of the dark moments. We’re so resilient, we always climb out.

In fact it’s sobering to feel, there’s a lot of clarity in it. There’s nothing to fear from it, and when there’s nothing to fear from feeling there is nothing left to fear about who you are. That’s where the real happiness lives. It’s not the lack of emotion, but the releasing of fear and the deconstructing of walls and other constricting “safety” tactics that have gone along with it. You already know how other people behave in the world, you only need to figure out how you do.

You already know how inspiring it is to see someone living out their purpose, whatever that might be. Seeing that can be somewhat alarming in a way, it looks effortless. That’s because they’re not fighting it. It’s not that the process is effortless or easy, that’s not it at all. That shit is a lot of hard work, but living that life full out is worth the hard parts, because it gives back to you and it gives out to others and it transforms everything.

Honor your art, it’s your being. Be gracious that it’s there because it’s a gift to care about something so deeply, no matter how much it loves you back. Stop saying no before someone else can. They will definitely say no. But they will also say yes.

Please, the world needs your art.

I Used to Be Funny, Relatively

2016-05-01T07:32:00.002-07:00

I feel like you can't really claim that you're funny in the same way that you can't claim to be good looking, because it's subjective. I mean you can but walking around a braggart tends to irritate people.

However, when it becomes a relative measurement it's fair game, like how all the grannies are always saying "I used to be so hot." Along those lines, I feel like I can say that I used to be funny. Unfortunately, I also feel like the circumstances that cultivated my funny weren't sustainable for my well being so I'm not sure I should romanticize it. I do think about it though.

It was 2011. I took a flight back to L.A. from Australia and neglected to sleep a wink despite how uncomfortably long of a flight that is. Instead I drank four bottles of middle sized bottles of wine that I've never seen anywhere else. (They were free.) I was inspired by the girl sitting in front of me who was also drinking copious amount of wine, so we can blame some of this on her. I ended up watching four (five?) movies back to back in lieu of sleep, and the only one I recall was Limitless which really fired me up.

When I landed in at LAX it was around 6 A.M. and I was certifiably drunk. And naturally I was trying to pretend like I wasn't because my roommate who picked me up was a real rule stickler and I wasn't in the mood to be judged. I went home, took a nap, and then went out that night as anyone returning from a two week vacation does.

I don't know if I traveled through some sort of space time continuum skipping a night on that flight, or if that weird movie did something to my psyche, but I couldn't sleep right for about a year. It was a marked change from my previous sleeping habits. I don't know how insomnia goes for most people, but it really cracked me out. It wasn't comfortable, and half the time I felt like I was at risk of melting a little and sliding sideways off the planet, but I was also just funny.

I can confirm that I was funny during this time based on the fact that people told me so, and also that I've gone back and read my tweets from that time period. They're funny. This could have been a really useful time period for me to pen a hit screenplay or something but I wasn't a writer yet, so I did what most people do with strikes of creative genius...nothing.

Eventually I started sleeping again and my sanity was returned, but those strange moments of funny insight really tapered down with it. Is it possible to be both stable and hilarious? I'd like to think so. But while I wait for that to happen I can at least fondly reminisce about what once was and show you screenshots to prove it. At least I'm still good looking.

The Book I'd Really Like to Write

2016-04-23T14:10:00.002-07:00

Becoming a professional writer is a strange thing, because to make any money you either have to come up with something to sell and then actually sell it, or if you're like me, start writing a shit-ton of articles for other people and get so busy writing that you hardly have time for your own creative writing. It's complicated.

Writing all day long for work and then writing all night long on a creative project is a lot of time alone and in front of my computer. So I don't always do that. Even now it's Saturday, a charming 76 degrees outside, and I can see my neighbors laying out by the pool. I'll do as much work as humanly possible but I'm also just a girl with a bikini that wants to be worn, you know?

Not that I'm not inching along on some creative projects outside of my currently paid writing work because I am. I'm in the process of writing a screenplay with someone that I used to date but that is definitely a story for another day.

One thing that keeps pinging in my mind however is that what I really want to do is write a memoir of sorts. Bear with me before you scoff and roll your eyes. I like the way my brain works writing about my life from my perspective, and I think that sometimes it's even a little entertaining for other people as well. Except to get anyone to read your memoir you either need to be famous so that people actually believe that you have something interesting to say, or you need to do something. Like Eat, Pray, Love the crap out of your life or something. And as egocentric as some of my thoughts can be I am still well aware that it's not exaclty unique to be a young person existing and dating in Los Angeles while trying to live out my grandest dreams.

So while I figure out an angle, or get successful enough that anyone has to care about what I have to say, I guess I'll start blogging again. The title of my blog by the way, (which might suck I can't tell), came from a TV star I used to date who once said that to me in a way that was just bordering on disdainful enough to really drive home that not everyone would get me. "...that's random Kate." Although, he ended up getting arrested for something real dumb so what does he know.

I'll leave you with a random photo of me sitting on the ground in public because I do things like that. You should see the tanlines I got from those boots. Tragic.

Hey Women, Your Issues With Kim Kardashian Are Doing All Women a Disservice

2014-11-15T10:18:00.000-08:00

Some people are driving me crazy about this Kim Kardashian naked Paper spread, and it's not the Kardashians. It's the women looking for trouble and expressing their various forms of distaste about Kim. There's a lot of bullshit, and there's a lot of backwards stepping. The last thing that women should be doing is criminalizing other women for making choices that they feel celebrate their bodies, because all it does is keep in place the structures we have about judging women's bodies. Here are my two favorite pieces of bullshit:

1. The Idea that Kim is Shameful for Baring her Greasy Butt Because She's a Mother

The last time I checked, we women have been working pretty hard to get the world to accept us as people who can both work and procreate in a lifetime. We don't want to lose our identities within motherhood, because we can only be good mothers when we show our children that it's safe and possible to be who we want to be. I don't think anyone wants to be considered a desexualized old hag, but saying that Kim's nakedness is a poor choice more so has to do with the fact that she's playfully and accessibly sexy, and therefore you're suggesting she should be a little less sexualized and maybe even a little more haggy.

Lots of people are naked. Lots of mothers are naked. Just this past week Kiera Knightly showed us her boobies, and Lara Stone also showed us her boobies. And hot damn hold the front door...Lara's boobie photo shoot is her POST BABY body. Except in this case it's brave and a powerful statement because she's sharing with us her fatter self which obviously differs from her average super model status. It's different because Lara's sexuality is off limits to us, she's a fashion model, it's artistic, she's unaccessible. Kate Moss can do Playboy, Beyonce can sing about sex, and Chelsea Handler can bare her bum in jest. Kim's own baby sister Kendall Jenner has bared her nips on the runway, but we're okay with that because it's high fashion.

Kim is also a model whether you like it or not, or whether you appreciate the sort of modeling she does. Does putting a separate classification on why "serious" people can be naked but so called "talentless" people can't really sound like a good way to support our women? It sure doesn't to me.

By all means don't get naked if you don't want your kids to see you naked, and don't look at Kim's photos or any other lady lumps if that's not something you want to see. But do consider, just consider, if there's any ounce of hypocrisy in your idea of what's approved nudity and what isn't.

2. The Idea that Kim is Flawed for Having Work Done

This one particularly insulted me when I saw it coming from a woman who has a made a career out of allegedly supporting women's bodies in all their various forms. However her line is clearly drawn at supporting natural bodies. I am in no way suggesting that anyone should engage in any sort of procedures or surgeries to enhance their bodies if they don't want to, but if they do, why must they lose your respect or gain your assumption that they need salvation? Your suggesting that getting work done is wrong is your attempt to claim superiority over the people who think it's right. Doesn't supporting your sister women include supporting their choices, not just their own conformation to your single idea about what is right or wrong?

One argument of course, is that the people who get work done are not respecting the human form and are setting different standards and bars that the people who don't get work done can't reach, which isn't sisterly. But hold up girl if you're so happy and comfortable with who you are and what you look like, then you really shouldn't care what anyone else looks like. Can you confirm that Kim's butt is even fake? Can you confirm that dying your hair and spray tanning your skin isn't a similar concept as getting work done just on a less offensive and more socially approved scale? Would you really prefer the photo to not be photoshopped so you can point out her cellulite? We know she has cellulite because we have cellulite.

I don't think it's necessary to point out how many women in Hollywood get work done, but I can assure you that it's happening all over the damn place and to the least expected faces. Just because you can't tell that someone has had work done doesn't mean they haven't, it means they have a good doctor. But again, if you're an A-list actor you're a "serious" person and we're okay with averting our eyes over a little work. (But not so much that you pull a Renee Zellweger, keep it quiet.)

Did you know that some people have been altering, stretching, tattooing, and adorning their bodies since the beginning of time, and yet at another point in time ankles were considered too sexy to show? Sorry but you didn't come up with your holy judgement, you're adhering to one culturally approved opinion without thinking about the breaks you're throwing on the forward movement toward peace and acceptance and woman power that you say you want so badly.

Plus, Kim looks amazing.

Things That Scare Me

2014-03-28T08:08:00.000-07:00

Nothing scares me quite like a Google search that brings up no results. I mean fine, lots of things scare me. Emotional intimacy can be challenging, and to be honest I'm still haunted by the facial expressions that Britney Spears made during her stint as a judge on X Factor. (See below.) But other than that, empty Google searches. In the entire world there's not one thing that even looks a little bit like what I was asking for? So you're saying I'm alone in my thoughts and super weird? I'M NOT.

To be fair it's not like I'm searching for a key word like "ice cream" and it shuts me down, it's usually more like when I'm trying to find out how dangerous an antibiotic is on a scale from 9-10 and I misspell it's cute pharmaceutical name. But I'd like to think that the internet has some left field ideas for me since it knows everything and I thought we were friends. It's almost as bad as when I misspell "ridiculous" in a text and the spell check doesn't have the slightest idea of what I was trying to say. But that's what abbreviations are for. Redic.

via: celebfuck.tumblr.com

When Guys Flirt: Pin the Tail on the Donkey Edition

2014-01-31T19:08:00.000-08:00

There are a lot of weird things that happen when guys on hit on women, like pretty much every part of it, but I have noticed a new bizarre occurrence in my own experience and I can't tell if I should be incredibly insulted or sort of flattered. Or some blend of both. I'll call it "the repeat". Or more colorfully "pin the tail on the donkey" for the blind and random element of it. Basically what has happened is that someone hits on me...and then on a different day they do it again...because they forgot about it the first time. WHOA BRO.

Example one: My friend and I are in Vegas minding our own business in the intimate nightlife venue that is Hakkasan. Just kidding, Hakkasan holds over 7,000 people which I obviously googled while I was there drinking my chardonnay because how can you expect me to have a good time without knowing those sort of important details. Anyway, these two guys start talking to my friend and I and we are not interested, but they're basically the most fun people we encountered so we hang out with them for a bit and dance to the extent that you can dance when you're sandwiched alongside 7,000 other people and disorienting strobe lighting or whatever.

Fast forward to a month or so later when me and my same friend are minding our own business drinking chardonnay at the Roosevelt pool in Hollywood, and would you believe the exact same guys walk up and start hitting on us! (Because they didn't remember the first time.) Now, I understand that people in Vegas can be a little drunk, and maybe I look slightly different when I'm in my hip Los Angeles clothing as opposed to my Vegas neon orange dress, but like there were TWO of us. You don't recognize either of us? Of course when I interrupted them and reminded them that we had in fact already met, it all came crashing back. What is interesting to note about this interaction is that Guy 1 hit on me both times and Guy 2 hit on my friend both times, so at least they were consistent in their approach. Could have been worse.

Example two: I'm drinking chardonnay at Warwick in Hollywood with my best friend and some guy asks for my number. I'm not interested but I give it to him anyway because I tend to forget that there are simple ways to get out of this exchange, such as saying "no". The same day of the following week I'm doing the exact same thing in the exact same place, and literally within feet of where he hit on me the first time he does it again...because he doesn't remember the first time. I'm like slow it way down guy, you got a blindfold on? Let me show you my pretend insulted face and point out that you already have my number right there in your iPhone. Look alive man. He has since texted me twice, so the best explanation I have for this example is that I must have looked way cuter the second time that he saw me for the first time.

Let's be honest, I probably don't remember half the people I made out with in college but that was 8,501 years ago. (I look great for my age.) And yes, these incidents both happened at nightclubs which are supposedly bad for meeting quality people. But pretty sure as a mature adult when I see a cute guy and speak even one word to him I would recognize him a mere week later no matter where the run in occurred, so I deduce that these "pin the tail on the donkey" type guys are the dating equivalent of those commercial fishing boats that use big nets and scoop up 43 different types of sea creatures that they don't need when they are just looking for one fish to sell/girl who will have sex with them. Offensive? Probably. But not more so than the fact that I basically just referred to myself as a donkey and a sea creature. I need better analogies.

The Worst Coffee Shop

2013-10-19T15:50:00.004-07:00

In the vein of those helpful and hip blog posts that highlight the best coffee shops in Los Angeles to sit down and pen your first hit screenplay, I'd like to suggest one that might be the worst.

I don't make it a daily habit to buy coffee out. I drink it black and hearty like a beast, and realistically I need caffeine to get out of the house in the first place, so it just makes sense to brew a cup of my own. Plus, I'm not raking in the millions yet and you can't read any type of financial responsibility article without coming across facts about how much money we waste at Starbucks. I listen.

But occasionally I run out of coffee. And then sometimes I specifically go to the store to refill my stash and then forget it anyway. When that happens I end up having to walk the half block from my apartment to Hollywood Boulevard where they sell some of that good stuff.

I usually cross the street for Coffee Bean because it seems like the most exotic choice for the neighborhood, but on this day I had already gone once at 8 AM and I didn't really want to go back at 2:30 PM just in case anyone recognized me. I don't need any judgments about my two-a-days, whether those judgements are fiscal or addiction related. It's unlikely that I would be recognized because I was wearing a different outfit but I had on the same groggy face, so you just never know.

To Starbucks I went. This particular Starbucks, which is about 100 feet from my apartment, is quaintly situated below Madame Tussauds wax museum. This is also next to the $10 store where everything is actually $5 as shouted at you by underaged boys pumping signs on sticks in your face. Of course all of these delightful store fronts are right along the boulevard where people dress up as Hollywood characters and beg for cash in exchange for photographs from tourists.

This spot is usually hot, might be more polluted than the rest of Hollywood if that's possible, has roughly one million tourists to duck and run through at any given time, and the dance music blasting from Madame Tussauds is louder than any nightclub in the world which I know because I've been to them all or at least enough to know. I'm not sure how many tables there are outside of Starbuck's because I couldn't see straight from the aggressive noise level, but my best estimate is that there is one. One table that could be the absolute worst coffee shop table in the city to write at.

In closing, I know that it looks like Madame Tussauds is spelled wrong, but it's not. I checked.

A Fun Day at the Doctor's Office/Clown Show

2013-04-16T16:07:00.002-07:00

Now, I'm always in favor of trying a natural or homeopathic route when faced with some dumb health issue. But you better believe when I've been ill for over two weeks and facing challenges with working, working out, going out, or doing anything much besides reading Nicholas Sparks in bed and googling potential diseases and inflictions, eventually I will go hobbling down to the doctor.

On my first trip my litany of "mysterious" symptoms were met with a flippant (super bitch) young lady doctor who proclaimed my ailments "too much" and spat "what is it that you want me to do for you?"
Oh ok...doctor me? She suggested that I may have rheumatoid arthritis, and while I puttered about my other symptoms that don't exactly fit that diagnosis she swept me out the door to the lab for blood work.

To her credit, she put me on STAT so I got to cut 75 old women in line which was cool until they started revolting. "I have arthritis!" I imagined screaming while dodging canes. "So do we!' They'd scream back. Instead I tried to hide in my old college sweatshirt but then every nurse and technician I encountered after that tried to read the block letters and couldn't get it. "UCG?' "No..." "Oh 'UCD' is that UC Berkeley?" "Oh no, that's UC Davis." "Ohh UC Irvine?" Ok nice chat, you can take my blood now!

Three days later, and less well, I get in to see my primary doctor who seems much more focused because she has a sassy cartoon caricature of herself on her exam door. Snap! Two minutes after my arrival she slides her rolling chair across the room throwing her hands up in defeat. "I can't make any sense of this. Nothing! Could you be pregnant?" Not likely, but I'm very cooperative so sure I'll take a pee test, blood test, and repeat all of the tests I just took at my last visit.

The next stop was CAT scan. I'm feeling productive now and not pregnant, let's x ray that shit! Oh wait, I have to drink one and a half BANANA flavored barium "smoothies"? I would have stomped my foot but joint inflammation and fevers don't afford that kind of energy expenditure. So I did what anyone would do, sit on the hallway floor and drink my smoothie to avoid watching Maury in the waiting room for the two hours it takes for the gunk to work though your body.

Finally I enter the sweet oasis of the CAT scan room, reminiscent of a psychiatric punishment ward and yet also an underground alien probe bomb shelter. As standard protocol I signed my life away and then laid down for 30 minutes while my iodine-in-vein technician tried and failed seven times to get a needle in my vein. Ha ha! Each attempt was tested by an saline injection, and since the needle was not in my vein I lay there calmly growing saline mountains under my skin and leaking blood everywhere. He tried to get me to watch the whole process, I politely declined. Perhaps small veins are considered a challenge to overcome in that field, but by the time he went to get a child sized needle I was trying not to shake or let my let my eyes water. Baby needle worked on the first try. He wasn't pleased that we had to resort to that, and post scan sent me on my way with a "And I thought you wouldn't be difficult." Thanks! I waved, holding down my bandages.

Back at my primary doctor, I thought we were getting somewhere. Doc bounds into the room with my CAT scan results and an animated "Now I understand your pain. Very unusual." Hit me. Their quick in-office diagnosis after reviewing my scan was that my bladder was dangerously large and that they immediately needed to put in a catheter for a TWO WEEK period to drain the freak thing otherwise major trouble. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Can you have sex with a catheter???

"But but..." I protested, "I had to pee during my CAT scan!" She nodded her head no with a wild look in her eyes. Just as I started to cry and gently cradle myself she came back and said that the urologist would fit me in. He quickly determined that no, that's not the problem. I just have an unusually high capacity bladder, and that I'm quite lucky really.

So then I left, six hours later than I arrived, shaking with chills, more confused than when I went in and with less a lot less cash in my purse. This morning I messaged my doctor about some less complicated possibilities, such as deficiencies of some sort, and was that possible? She immediately ordered me back to the lab for blood cultures and said to expect a call from Infectious Disease. Okay cool. I hope they like adults with baby veins.

The WTF Apartment Hunt

2013-01-30T18:41:00.001-08:00

So here I am, suddenly looking for a new apartment. I know what you're thinking friends; "But Kate! You're almost 1/3rd of the way through a 90 day novel writing class where they specifically warned you not to make any large life changes like MOVE during the course!"

And you're totally right. Hilarious!! Not to mention that within the same week that my roommate gives a highly unexpected early moving notice, the guy I'm casually/longterm seeing has a resurface of a false and defamatory legal allegation, AND it seems that some of my favorite family members aren't speaking to me for reasons that remain a total mystery, without any notice! HAHA. One not-at-all distracted novelist right here!

But let's focus on one pressing issue at a time, quickly finding the perfect studio apartment in a highly competitive L.A. market. And by perfect I obviously just mean affordable with a parking spot, A/C, and laundry on site, so fine, we're looking for near perfect. But seriously the second studio I looked at was perfect. Okay it did not have a parking spot, but it did have a humungous PRIVATE YARD and a super cute totally ready for me style, in an ideal location. It even had free Wi-fi you guys.

As the place at hand hadn't even been listed at the time (and was still inhabited by three mega stoners, a dog, and some Bob Marley posters) only one other guy was there looking at the place at the same time, and by golly I was quick to vocalize that I'd take it. Well this little guy wanted the place too, so we were instructed to gather up three years of W-2's, three months of bank statements, proof of savings accounts, and a $500 holding deposit and race over to the leasing office.

I mean that's a lot to ask, but when I say I raced...I raced. Who knew that I even had all my W-2's conveniently nestled together in a file folder? I was born for this moment! I grabbed some cash and sprinted into to the leasing office. Maybe took me an hour. Bam.

But would you guess that this little guy had gotten there 10 minutes before me and gotten approved to sign and steal my beautiful apartment? Oh come on! You a magician, dickhead? Keep all your taxes and confidential paperwork in your trunk on a Saturday afternoon do you? Your first born back there too?

Well I can't say that I was pleased. But I did talk to the leasing agent again a couple days later and she made sure to let me know that she gave him a real hard time about it and even suggested that he take a different unit. He wouldn't.

She said to him: "Don't you at least feel a little guilty taking this place from a girl?" And the fastest short guy in the West said "Nope."

But don't worry you guys. I'm sure it's good for the book.

My Favorite Asshole Restaurant.

2012-10-23T16:21:00.001-07:00

I have a favorite restaurant. Have-ish. It turned into a favorite because it came talked up and is good, but mostly because it became a habit and very familiar. (Shut up that is nothing like any romantic relationship I've been in!)

I frequent said restaurant at least weekly with my best friend, mostly because of one key item: chimichurri. (Look it up.) We are greeted in style and presented with our chosen bottle of chardonnay before we even have to ask. They know that we're getting our delicious salads and kindly bring us some extra chimchurris to flavor them and we happy dance all the way through.

Or we did.

Last week we went twice. Day one, great. Day two all hell broke loose. We nervously ordered with a new waiter which went fine until he solemnly returned to the table sharing the news that there was now a limit on chimichurri. Three per table. A LIMIT ON CHIMICHURRI?

Our jaws hit the floor and stayed there. Which is a look that is usually specifically reserved for cartoon characters or the faces of small children from rural Texas when you shock them with the fact that you live in the elusive land of California.

Upon further inquiry we were informed that extra chimichurris could be purchased for 50 cents a piece after the initial three. Oh, we gayly laughed, fine we'll take two.

But then I start thinking. I can't help but take this very personally. I feel stabbed in the back by a institution that seems to adore my business but then erects a glass ceiling on my enjoyment. Plus, I order my salad without half of the items it comes with and turn down the free bread like any normal skinny person does, so I'm basically saving them money. PLUS, only three per table...no matter how many customers there are? Do you get four or five then for three people? Six for four? Sounds phony, and like way too much potential math for anyone trying to enjoy life. I mentally shake my fist and then come up with a plan.

Next time, my best friend and I will just come alone 3 minutes apart and sit at different tables, secure three bowls of chimchurri a piece, do the chosen hand signal across the restaurant/to the next booth over (depending on how we're sat) and then "run into" each other, thereby getting our derserved goods while simultaneously opening up an extra table for the restaurant and basically saving the day. Don't fuck with me, favorite restaurant.

Short Subject: The Art Show vs Kate's Brain

2012-07-26T17:50:00.003-07:00

In Los Angeles we might gather on a Thursday night at a local gallery such as
Lab Art for an event showcasing the larger than life Lego man that had washed
up on a Malibu beach thanks to street artist Ego Leonard. It might rain in a humid
July, we might be run into old friends and dramatically meet new ones over plastic
cups of two-buck chuck.

We might lean in and coyly discuss business ventures while posing for event
photos, willing a creative breakthrough to kidnap our minds while we stare at each
other's outfits. We might lose our current fatigues in a loud room and tweet our
whereabouts.

It might not be entirely unreasonable in this town to consider our friend's teasing
that the baby running around the party dramatically jabbing his fingers on a
make-believe phone call is actually the under cover street artist Alec Monopoly
with a growth hormone disease. He might have been wearing a tell tale black
hat upon his head.

Our wheels might turn on the logistics of a baby/small man reaching high enough
to swiftly plaster the sleeping city with his satirical grafitti as we thrill in this
fantasy. All teamwork, we might concede, and go about our night.

A very few days later we might see a casting notice specifically seeking extremely
athletic people under the height of 3'10". Aha, we might think. This breakdown
is speaking to us. Although in this town we can't be entirely certain of what it's trying to say.

Call Me Crazy...

2012-07-11T14:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Sir,

In the event that you are discussing your casual love life with me, perhaps don't throw out the old adage following the lines of: "The smoking hot women are always the craziest ones." Reasons being that I myself happen to be a woman, and your general but concrete reference inadvertently throws me into one unsavory lady category or another while you ramble on.

Ideally some folk might consider me of a hot breed, and while I may harbor a crazy tendency or two they lean more towards eating entire jars of salsa at two in the morning and less toward sporadic tire slashing. If you happen to bring up this belief I will ask you to clarify whether I fall under the hot and crazy umbrella or stand just to the left looking ugly and sane, thereby placing my rationality in your firing zone by having to pose the question in the first place.

Perhaps take a moment to ponder this further and consider that your bloody head popped out of a woman who's looks are in your best interest if you care at all about your own. We all sincerely hope your pretty mommy isn't too crazy for the sake of your own mental and emotional stability! Carry on.

XO,
Lady

Let Me Help You Feel Less Tired Today

2012-06-29T11:04:00.002-07:00

I really want to complain about how tired I am this morning, after working a full week plus being thrown a nightlife job that kept me out late, followed by a writing assignment covering a comedy show that kept me out late, and a full day of work ahead of me. But the truth is that my today's work just consists of my writing comfortably from home and that I have a fun night ahead planned at the X Games. That alone cancels out any potential pity party over lack of nap time. Obviously.

But then there's also the fact that my sister in law, the mother of my beautiful nephew, just placed first in her heat, and fifth in the women's 200 breaststroke which is sending her into semi finals tonight for the Olympic trials. So...it's safe to consider that she might be more tired than me at the moment. As if the physical act of the swimming and adrenaline peaks and crashes aren't enough to bring on outstanding levels of fatigue, there are also immense levels of pressure and anticipation hovering that are difficult to fathom. This is one of the huge yearly moments in her career; a few seconds off or on a brief heat in the pool will either send her to the London Olympics or not. As this would be her FIFTH time going to the Olympics, and her having been swimming most of her thirty years, people are paying attention to this gold and silver medal holder. That garners a lot of tremendous support, but my goodness the expectations.

And while I've experienced moments where Amanda has been stressed, I'm not sure that I've ever heard her complain about being tired. I have trouble finding time to do laundry and she somehow snuck out a healthy baby, a marriage, and had a book hit the New York Times Bestseller List between summer Olympics.

So in honor of Amanda Beard's upcoming swim tonight and *cross-your-fingers* upcoming games, let's take a day off from being tired and attempt to fit in an extra task. Or at least dedicate your nap to her.

Beware the Monday Morning Nap.

2012-06-18T09:18:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if morning naps before 8 am are technically naps because most people are usually sleeping and stuff, but if I have to get up and eat food at 6 am and then sleep for another hour or two, it seems like a nap. Oh, just like this morning. When I awoke at 6 I was feeling sprightly. Mostly starving from the stomach acid barreling through my stomach despite my midnight snack, but also sprightly. I briefly debated making coffee and doing the whole real morning thing but decided that I might regret the early rising later. So I did the next logical thing; made some oatmeal, ate it, and then went back to sleep. But what happens during that morning nap is where I'm thrown off. A whole two hours later I should feel even more rested right? But here I sit with a puffy face, stuffy nose, and a back screaming at me for missing yoga like once. (Once-25 times.) If my physical whine inducers weren't enough punishment for sleeping a whole eight hours, my nap also included some really trippy/somewhat disturbing lucid dreams. A middle of the night creep fest I can blame on a deep REM cycle, but a morning nap that includes a phone call from a woman I owe money to, a possible pregnancy, running around missing spin classes left and right, AND my being cast in a horror film with a truly horrible/potentially dangerous director called "Death Wish"? Make up your mind anxiety, is it life or death?!? Plus I gave the evil director my parents' home address instead of mine because I was afraid of him, so now I feel like a real asshole. Perhaps I should just be relieved that those are all made up scenarios and I'm exaggerating what I consider a stuffy nose. But Monday mornings, damn.

Wednesday's Missed Connections

2012-05-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

This is dedicated to the two different girls I kept running into around town this morning. We crossed paths in spin class, Whole Foods, CVS. Who knows where else if I hadn't run home to light my brand new (half off) "Warm White Sands" scented candle! If we were coincidentally running that many errands in sync I feel that we are destined to be very dear friends, that one of you knows how to get ahold of the key to the elaborate box holding my utmost life potential and some new diet tricks, or that you could possibly secure me a date with a relatevly sane person (man). At the very least we've been gifted a synchronistic opportunity to reduce our carbon footprint and carpool on errands next Wednesday, while we sip our Kombucha and talk about our roommates!! If however this was no coincidence and you're actually CIA keeping me under surveillance for something questionable that I posted on Twitter...jokes. All jokes.

Murder Music Video Gets Axed From My Assignment List (See what I did there?)

2012-03-12T14:27:00.000-07:00

So yeah I write for this online news site and my first assignment today was this music video starring this kinda popular actor. When I was near completion it got axed (literally okay) for the high violence content. So here you go...

Band The Shoes have enlisted Jake Gyllenhaal to star in their new music video for the just released EP “Time to Dance”. In this case Jake is not playing your average heartthrob but he is sweeping the ladies off their feet…by murdering them. He’s taking down the gentleman as well though not to worry. The video is almost 9 minutes long, there’s time for everyone.

The video opens with Jake at what appears to be an after party of sorts (I garner this by the fact that there is only one couple in the room dancing but they appear late-night wasted, plus, the cocaine he rubs on his gums.) His character is in full fencing uniform, and he performs a double offing with his sword. The video progresses with scenes of Jake eating, working out, having sauna time etc (normal things), alternating scenes with him killing more people at parties. I’ve seen some people get pretty grumpy and flip me off or what not when they stay out too late too often, but man this guy really needs a nap.

The end of the video shows Jake watching some people dance, pounding his own fist against the wall in time to the music, and then standing pensively outside against a white snowy scene alongside a bunch of birds. Purity point? Is he over it? He was clearly feeling the beat, maybe he should take up dancing as a new hobby and see what kind of demons he can exorcise that way.

However you slice it (serial killer joke) this band took a mighty big and lucky publicity move using Mr. Gyllenhaal. Attention please! So who are The Shoes? They’re a French electronic duo, who have been linked style wise to Calvin Harris, Phoenix and Hot Chip. Their EP for “Time to Dance” is available in Europe now. And other than that I really don’t know. I also don't know how to link the video in here so find it yourself.

Valentine's Day

2012-02-25T16:34:00.000-08:00

Wow I'm late with my Valentine's day post. Mostly just due to my diligent babysitting of a friend post elective surgery, followed immediately by my own bout of a halucinatory flu, and then my adopting a rapper to crash in my bedroom. (I say "a" flu not "the" flu because I was only feverish for like 30 hours and I don't want to take anything away from the true sufferers.)

So Valentine's day...whatever right? I guess. I mean I thoroughly appreciate the art project aspect. Heart doilies with heart stickers decorating shoeboxes turned love letter receptacle, that sort of thing. But since I no longer have the assignment luxuries of a 7 year-old, I do less of that. It glitters on in my memory. But a day's assumption that a relationship is mandatory or the norm? Please don't get me started on how dysfunctional half the V-day crowds pairings actually are. I'm watching.

I am however, single, and like it or not the day is about love and if there's ever a time to be reflective about it, a forced time is as good as ever. In general my single status doesn't pelt me with a club when I awake or try to drag me down the drain when I shower like so many loveless characters throughout time. Is this wrong? I've chosen alone time at certain times, other times it's chosen for me. I usually have a man in my life though he may not be my "boyfriend". It's hard to imagine checking married on a form at Costco or something anytime soon but uninvolved? Far from it. I'm reflective and aware, I quite like my life. Do I require growth? Absolutely I do. Abso-fucking-lutely. Most do. And when I feel hurt and all whiny baby I still can't deny that I have suitors. Even if they are the type that yell at me about how much they like me in front of 85 of our closest friends or send me strange poems on Facebook or tell me what kind of animals they would kill for me. I'm honored and gracious.

It's fair to reflect I suppose, but that I do in private. (Until I feel like blogging about it.) Really my only issue with Valentine's day is everyone coming out of the woodworks posting about it on social networking sites in obnoxious ways. I myself practice being as kind and loving as possible to everyone always but I'd never SAY that. If you're madly in love and in the best relationship in the world and showered in flowers, at least visually stimulate me by using a nice filter on the 45 pics you posted to instagram. If you're livid about your single status then I certainly don't want to hear about that you cad, go hang out with your FRIENDS jeez. Bake a cake. Cultivate self esteem through your astounding leaps toward enlightenment or something instead of making me feel defensive about being linked to you through our single hood. Id like to think that I'M NOT LIKE YOU.

So I spent my day going about my business as usual, ignoring weird Facebook statuses to the best of my ability. I recieved a romantic text message from my mother, then I went to the orthodontist and got fitted for my retainers. Independent woman, you know.

Everything was cool until I sat down to lunch and realized that I was watching the Bachelor online while wearing pink sweatpants and a red T-shirt. I couldn't ignore this situation. I don't even WATCH that show and I've certainly never matched that pajama combination. Was I playing a joke on myself, testing my emotional stability on love day? Let's see if I can make myself feel lonely and/or feel bad for the people I've hurt? Let's see if I'm gallant enough to turn this mandatory/forced pain into humor like the comics do? Luckily no one sent me any candies so I wasn't tempted to pull an Elle Woods crying and throwing chocolate wrappers and conversation hearts at my computer. I felt...relatively normal. Mostly all I felt was the strange gurgling power of a Hallmark holiday, fat baby cupid trying to taunt me with glinting dollar signs in his irises.

Ugh. I just felt a really strong urge to tweet about my getup. But the stronger urge not to. I just don't like Valentine's posts. I paced. I debated putting on my only other red piece of clothing, my new Shwaysted snap back hat. I took notes on my thoughts and I laughed so hard at myself that I slapped my thigh. And then I laughed at my ridiculous self sufficient humor system, and I realized that yes, I can't recall the last time I was asked out BUT about 17 men are trying to live with me at the moment so I can't be a COMPLETE social outcast. If things get bad at least I will never have to be a cat lady. Instead of cats I will collect young men for Kate's Boarding Lodge and I will read them my tweets and we will laugh, and laugh.

Don't Choke.

2012-01-30T15:37:00.001-08:00

I don't consider myself very morbid or like to hold on to an awkward subject too long, but I was just considering how terrible it would be to choke on turkey jerky. I'm considering this because I almost did while I was driving and there's that joke about single people dying alone in their apartments because there's no one to give them the heimlich manuever. I don't know if anyone I've ever dated could perform a heimlich in a car anyway but they are all capable of using phones and hollering.

But really I was considering how awful the jerky factor would be. Even considering survival after hopping out of a car and getting some neighborly assitance. You just know that this kind of story would make the news and possibly YouTube depending on who as their iPhone out at the scene. I guess it's better than a slim jim, but turkey jerky?

At least if you choked eating sushi it's clear that you're a a cultured bitch and/or asian. A ThinkThin bar, because you're so fit and thin thinking. Plain black beans because you're on a budget, a Snickers because why wait? Cheesy bread because that's just delicious, a tofu stir fry because you're a wok pro or a banana because you're replenishing your potassium stores after a workout or drink-out.

But jerky? That's harder to make sense of. Sounds moderately pathetic. Delicious, but pathetic. I'm jerky-ing in traffic over here, not gazing at the sunset from the volcanic peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. Keep that in mind when you're choosing your potentially public snacks. Related: It it possible to give yourself the heimlich? Please send links.

And for my next trick, I'm Asian-ish.

2012-01-12T16:40:00.000-08:00

It was a Sunday afternoon post flea market, pre art show. I was sitting in my favorite sushi restaurant with a friend where I may or may not have been engaging in a conversation motivated by Asian stereotypes, when my mother calls to inform me about our newly discovered Asian blood. Naturally.

I put down my chopsticks and pry for more details, but there weren’t any. Just that. Some type of mystery Asian blood on my maternal grandfather’s side that some of the family has known about forever but neglected to mention to the rest of us. Hold up, what does this mean for my mega Euro heritage? I hail from vikings! Potato famine survivors! Swedish gypsies! (What are those? Serious question.) Plus I am trying to be a blond person over here, thank you very much.

Then I feel a bit nervous. This word "Asian" is a bit broad for me, not my strongest knowledge file. I can whip out like five really incredible facts about kangaroos or my first Nokia cell phone, but what do I know for certain about different ethnicities and their supposed categories? I need some details before I insult someone or MYSELF. This calls for a DNA testing stat.

Just then another call comes through from my dear friend and I blurt out the shocking news. Without pause she calmly points out that this is why I get so red when I drink alcohol. Well that would certainly be a sexier explanation than a sad liver. I whip out the googs and Wikipedia confirms that the defective allele of ALDH2 is virtually nonexistent in Europeans and Africans. “Oriental Flushing Syndrome” as they call it on the street. I’m totally Asian.

How to Make Guys Mad (Disclaimer: These are sarcastic tips and I'm Totally Innocent)

2012-01-10T15:31:00.000-08:00

There is a very specific ninja art of pissing guys off so swiftly that you aren’t even aware that you’re in a fight with them until they ferociously frown in your face a week later. (This only applies to people you've slept with, no one else can act so sensitive and get away with it.) To snag yourself some resentful ex-flings, follow these simple steps. (It will take some practice to get it flowing so naturally, but you’ll get there.)

First of all, obviously don’t date. Deny any offers of dinner or movie nights or whatever. Just deny them in general even when they call you five days straight or sit you down twice a week at the club and tell you everything they love about you. Deny. Cultivate a friendship with them and be elusive but also very touchy-feely while you deny.

Next, kiss them out of nowhere to signify your potential availability. This works even better if you had been flirting with their best friend all night or if everyone sees this happen. Maybe even go home with them, but if you do that you have to run screaming in the morning with an obvious lie such as: “My car is at a meter!!” (It’s Sunday), or “I’ve never heard of your dad”. He’ll call you the next day. Ta-da you’ve got yourself a sleeping partner.

Then, you’ll start hanging out a lot because he likes to sleep with you and loves you as person. Be nice and behave and be all around awesome chill chick besides a couple bitchy text messages and he will freak out because, “How did you weasel your way into my life girl, I just wanna fck bitches I resent you I RESENT YOU.” Works every time. He might even shove you off his futon post coital and then fist bump you.

If you find yourself having sleepovers most days of the week that don’t even include sex half the time it’s really time to make a mess. Hit him with the “Where is this going?” talk and hopefully he’ll be like “Yo are you serious? We’ve only been chillin for three years what gave you the idea that I like you?” If not, hook up with his best friend.

Even if he used to cry on your shoulder out of fatigue while telling you secrets that TMZ would purchase and things ended amicably he will soon be glaring at you on the streets of Hollywood. Cause that was extremely rude of you to let him bone you for so long, what were you thinking trying to ruin his life?

Be courteous to his best friends that you would never hook up with and he'll probably cuss you out, sometimes even cutting contact off for six months. Bonus if they are actually hitting on you, because he will never tell his friends to back off and instead text you some form of this: "I don't care! I'm so mad at you! Do what you want I don't care but I'm sooo mad at you! Sex?"

If he is an oddball and heaven forbid likes you more and MORE after you’ve been hooking up, cut the cling off stat and become good friends with all of his best friends. P-P-Pout. And hook up with one of his friends. Or if he is too sensitive for that say "Let's just be friends!" and he'll unfollow you on Twitter and defriend you on Facebook fo sho.

(Don't do any of this. Bye.)

Unpleasant Lying vs Hitchhiking, Maybe.

2011-11-22T09:21:00.000-08:00

People who pathologically announce that they were the mastermind behind every idea, trend or catchphrase, those people really scare the shit out of me. Like smug lying children but much much worse because they're not children and it's much more awkward to point out to adults at eye level that liars get ostracized on the playground.

Oh fingerless gloves were your idea? That's fascinating and really impressively untrue. Scared.

These people are easy to spot because they are the only ones who are about to wave their arms and stomp their feet at someone who is stealing their idea of wearing an ugly Christmas sweater this season. They are gossiping about how their ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend ALSO got a black car this year, what a creepy stalker bitch she must be. They're also about to status update on Facebook: "I have an announcement coming soon" followed shortly by "My best idea yet: mix vodka with SODA!! You're welcome" and be wholly absolutely proudly serious. Next they'll comment on everyone's photos: "Hey you used my drink idea! ;0 thank me later". OMG.

These people are dangerous. What kind of egocentric maniac is so confident in their outlandish claims that they would be willing to scream it publicly in the face of eye rolls and being called insane if anyone was actually calling them out which they're not because everyone's scared. They will carry out years of resentment to their challengers, play victim and condemn the world for being out to get them...what ELSE are they capable of? I'm telling you, these people are ruthless. I'll hang out with drug dealers, handle spiders, and hitch hike with strangers over that company any day. And while I really don't like to brag I owe it to you to mention that hitchhiking was totally my idea okay, you're welcome.

What's happening in my brain today!

2011-11-17T14:44:00.000-08:00

1. The fact that I had to work and was unable to attend the Drake performance at the Mr. Brainwash studio last night. Seriously I'm having anxiety about it. There are STORM TROOPERS dangling off that building right now and I want in. And just, Drake.

2. The fact that my friend just tried to write "Lo siento" in a text to me and the iPhone autocorrected it to "Lo Scientology".

3. Wondering, when will I repaint my nails and will someone let me borrow their dog sometime?

4. The fact that I would possibly entertain the thought of un-doing some adult activites to re-do some male friendships. Homies turned not-so-much homies = sad Kate. SAD KATE.

5. The thought: At what point does a bar (86) start counting as a second home? Do you have to actually sleep there or does spending like 20 hours a week there count? And who is going to jump on the project of organizing a group sleepover at a bar?

6. The fact that I'm writing articles from home and I'm so distracted that I had to write a blog about my distractedness and also that I'm running out of food, I have few jokes in my head, and will I survive off only broccoli and ketchup until this evening?

What a day.

2011-10-12T11:20:00.000-07:00

Words from iTunes to I.

2011-09-01T13:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

I was just syncing your iPhone and naturally I can’t help but make some judgments about your recent text messages. Are you sure you want to save all these? Between you and I, sigh. You should not be left alone to text message a guy you have a massive crush on. Don’t make me quietly drown that cracked phone of yours again. We all know if he was interested he would act interested, now wouldn’t he. Plus your idea of a dream date would be to learn about mummifying practices or do some sidewalk chalk drawings outside shops on Melrose. Good luck with that. Not to mention when one guy stops responding you obviously feel the need to do something reckless and text another guy you only half like in an attempt to get some attention. 1:40 am on a Wednesday? Go to bed you zippy monkey. Besides which, you were hanging out with like 12 guys at that moment anyway so cool your jets. I can note however, that you are making some pretty stellar music choices these days so I’ll give you that much. It’s nice. Also, I have some new terms and conditions I need you to approve.

Love,

iTunes

Change is Good/Bad/Inevitable/Purple.

2011-08-22T14:39:00.000-07:00

As one popular saying goes: "People never change." You know, if he cheated on his ex girlfriend with you he'll cheat on you with the next girl or, your mom. Or if she stole forks from a diner in Tahoe she's probably also planning a high stakes bank heist and has written you in somehow so good luck with that. However they also say that "She/he changed." As in; she moved to Los Angeles and thinks she's better than everyone especially after she started dating B-list celebrities, or he got obsessed with doilies from the turn of the century and now we have nothing to talk about. "Change is hard" is how we might respond to our neighbor revealing that they just got an exhausting overnight job in the valley transcribing speech into those tickers at the bottom of the tv for the blind. "Change is good" is what happens when you go to a clothes swap and end up with much better items than you contributed, and also when you become lactose intolerant and have to justify the fact that you may never be able to eat cheese again. "Change is inevitable" is what happens in all of these examples I think but I might change my mind.