Thursday, November 30, 2006

Top Ten For 30

The clock is ticking on my moments as a 20 something. I guess that means I'm going to have to change my profile slogan, right?

There's a tease if I ever heard one. Stay tuned.


Like Nat said on her blog (she is creeping towards 3o as well) my 20s have been exceptionally good. I've accomplished some good things over the past decade and I've confronted several life challenges. Most importantly, I've had so much fun (sometimes too much) experiencing all that life has to offer and I've met some incredible people.

I'm working up a bang up post for my big day (yeah, part of that stay tuned business) but I wanted to leave something behind on my last day of 29.

And what's more appropriate than a Top Ten?

So, this one's for the ladies. A Top Ten of sorts for you to tick down as you spend your days moving towards your own 30th birthday. I'll be honest, I'm not a hundred percent on each factor, but I am certainly trying.

Top Ten Things To Take Care Of Before 30

10. Buy a great pair of black stilettos. Not the cheapies you buy at Target. A fantastic brand with a super sexy heel that makes you feel hot whether you're clomping around the house in your yoga pants and an apron or during a pub crawl across London.

9. Have a good story to tell in your back pocket. I've got tons. You wanna hear about my doing shots of tequila with Woody Harrelson? How about the time I stuck my tongue to a stop sign pole? Have a good, entertaining tale you can tell just about anyone. Nothing too racy. Nothing boring. And it's got to be all about you.

8. You've got to know one recipe you can ace. This is something you will rely on through the years - trust me. Something you can use whether you are whipping up a dish for a new boyfriend or your new in-laws. Something that's simple, impressive and tasty.

7. Nail down a good face regimen. Let's face it, girls. We're not getting any younger. You don't need to spend a fortune to keep wrinkles and pimples at bay (I rely on a system involving Ponds Cold Cream, St. Ives Elastin Face Moisturizer, Vaseline and Oil of Olay. Seriously.) but you DO need to do something to keep your pores clean and your skin moisturized. Do it. I promise, you'll be thanking yourself when you're 50.

6. It's all about the O. I don't care whether you are more of a stick shift/manual girl or someone who likes to drive automatic - you just need to know how to get yourself to O-town, if you know what I mean.

5. Believe in something. Have a cause that drives you crazy with passion. Dedicate your time to a worthwhile cause so that you can make this world a little bit better than it was when you got here.

4. It's in the bank. A sugar daddy isn't going to wave his credit card and make things all better for you when you're 80. Start squirreling some cash away. Set up a 401-K. Pay off your credit card debt. Cut up your credit cards! Buy a house. Save 10% of your paycheck - every paycheck. Chances are, Social Security won't be around when we need it, so it's time to take our retirement plans in our own hands.

3. You've got to work it. I mean, like, at the gym or something. Get out there and move that beautiful body! Whether you're a fan of walking or like to pump hard core iron with the gym bunnies, you've got to take steps to stay healthy so you live a long life.

2. Find and cherish your Soul Sister. Everyone needs one best friend, a touchstone, to help survive the ups and downs this world dishes out. She's probably the first person you call with all your big news and your lousy crises, and she'll be there for you until the day you die.

1. If all else fails, have hope! Optimism and determination are what will get you through anything in life. It's good to have goals and even bigger dreams.

Cheers friends.
I'll see you soon on the other side of 30.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Breaking News: Borat Attributed To Kid/Pam Break Up

(For my MySpace friends: I liked this one so much I thought I'd get double duty out of it)

No doubt you will be just as shocked as I am when you read this article from

The recent Borat flick may have been the impetus for the divorce between Mr. and Mrs. Rock.

Apparently Kid Rock was appalled with Pamela Anderson's performance in Sasha Baron Cohen's flick, saying the implant laden woman had humiliated herself, yelling 'You're nothing but a whore! You're a slut! How could you do that movie?' in front of a crowd of friends.

Kate Sez: It was apparently not only the first time Kid Rock had seen the Borat flick, but actually the first time the Detroit rocker had ever seen Pamela Anderson in person as well...

Check that. Ol' Bob must have never seen a single photo of his bride. Or an episode of Baywatch. Or any of the cheesy calendars in the mall kiosks this time of year.

If only he had seen the Tommy Lee sex tape before hand, he would have been able to avoid all this trouble.

Cowboy up!

Monday, November 27, 2006

Update: Change of Disposition

Kind of funny that I chose to use a George Bailey analogy in my previous post. It's A Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies - I'm talking top five here - because it shows the struggles the common man encounters. The flick depicts the sheer heartache that struggles and difficulties can bring to a person, and also the massive turnaround that comes through an outpouring of support and love.

I just love this movie, and I guess it's because I am a very Capraesque kind of person (according to Double Platinum). I have a positive outlook on life 95 percent of the time, and that's damn good in my book. To be quite honest, I think DP gets downright annoyed with my Pollyanna disposition.

But every once in a while life gives me a bad hand of cards, and I have a tough time coping with it.

I don't do depression well - it bums me out because it's such a 180 degree experience from the majority of my life.

True confession time: I am horrible with my finances. I don't balance my checkbook and am often faced with the rotten consequence of 34 dollar overdraft fees - like, several (several) a pay period. Granted, it doesn't happen all the time, but it happens frequently enough to make a dent in my account balance.

My financial follies make it very difficult for me to save any money for a rainy day.

Like when I have car trouble. Like, 600 dollar car trouble.

One of the tragic flaws of the hero called Kate the Great: I am hardwired to learn from my experience. I can try to read up on stuff or garner a snippet of knowledge from advice shared by a loved one. But the best way I learn - it's the hard way. The way that makes things uncomfortable and emotional and challenging. That's the best way I can ingrain things in this brain o' mine.

So, it looks like I'm on the brink of 30 and going through some appropriate growing pains.

I'm not too old to learn this important lesson, just a late bloomer. And that's okay with me.

I'm Having A Moment

You know the part in It's A Wonderful Life when George Bailey jumps off the bridge because he realizes he's worth more dead than alive? When he's so desperate to make things right but he just doesn't know how?

Well, that's how I feel right now.

I guess even the good guys can have a bad day now and then.

I know I'll be able to look back and laugh (or be amused at the very least) in six months, but right now I'm struggling a bit.

Hopefully things will right themselves in the next few days. Until then, I may be a bit lack in posting.


Bad Day

Where is the moment when you need it the most
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost
Tell me your blue sky's fade to grey
Tell me your passion's gone away
And I don't need no carryin' on

You're standin' in line just to hit a new low
You're fakin' a smile with the coffee to go
Tell me your life's been way off line
You're fallin' to pieces every time
And I don't need no carryin' on

'Cause you had a bad day, you're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know, you tell me don't lie
You work on a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day, the camera don't lie
You're comin' back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day... you had a bad day

Well you need a blue sky holiday
The point is they laugh at what you say
And I don't need no carryin' on

You had a bad day, you're takin' one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know, you tell me don't lie
You work on a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day, the camera don't lie
You're comin' back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day...(mmm... holiday)

Sometimes the system goes on the blink and the whole thing it turns out wrong
You might not make it back and you know that you could be well all that strong
And I'm not wrong... (Yeahh!!)

So where is the passion when you need it the most
(oh, when you're down)
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost

'Cause you had a bad day, you're takin' one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know, you tell me don't lie
You work on a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day, you see what you like
And how does it feel, one more time,
You had a bad day... you had a bad day
(ahh yeahh!!)
You had a bad day 3x

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

It's almost here...

T ryptophan excuse to avoid the family.

H ungry Man dinner for those who can't cook.

A rguments over who gets the wishbone.

N neighborhood bar that offers an escape from too much togetherness.

K razy ass arguments over the wishbone.

S tuffing. Sweet potatoes. Sweet decadence for dessert.

G everztraminer - the kind of white wine my family drinks with turkey.

I ngenious creation that is the Turkey Pop Up Button.

V olunteering (or not volunteering) to clear the table.

I gnoring Aunt Ethel when she asks you to wipe the mashed potatoes off her mouth.

N FL. Miami vs. Detroit on CBS.

G luttonous exhaustion.

New Anthem

Thank You, Gavin DeGraw

I don't need to be anything other than a prison guard's son
I don't need to be anything other than a specialist's son
I don't have to be anyone other than a birth of two souls in one
Part of where I'm going is knowing where I'm coming from

I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and have peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Say It Isn't So, Kramer

Life was so much easier when Kramer would make us smile with a grandiose entrance into Jerry's apartment and a bizzare quip.

By now, you've no doubt heard about the racial tirade made by Michael Richards at a Los Angeles comedy club.

The world was so much kinder when he masqueraded on Thursday nights as a man who was known as Cosmo.

George Costanza: You're really moving to California?
Cosmo Kramer: [points to his head] Up here, I'm already gone.
Cosmo Kramer: If you're not gonna be a part of a civil society, then just get in your car and drive on over to the East Side.
[Kramer has a vanity plate, "Assman", and parks in a reserved hospital zone] Security guard: Can I help you?
Cosmo Kramer: [points to his license plate] Uh, yeah, Doctor Cosmo Kramer. Proctology.
Jerry: Why are you buttering your face?
Cosmo Kramer: I'm shaving with it.
Jerry: Oh Moses, smell the roses.
[Kramer has an intern]
Intern: Mr. Newman on line 2...
Jerry: Line 2?
Cosmo Kramer: Yeah, your phone is line 1.
Cosmo Kramer: [Kramer is describing George's hands] Smooth... Creamy... Delicate, yet... Masculine...!
Jerry: This woman's completely ignoring me.
Cosmo Kramer: Look at her. This is a lonely woman looking for companionship. A spinster... Maybe a virgin. Maybe she got hurt a long time ago. She's a schoolgirl, there was a boy, it didn't work out. So now she needs a little tenderness. She needs a little understanding. Needs a little Kramer.
Jerry: Then she'll need a little shot of penicillin.

Monday, November 20, 2006

How Much Time Do You Waste?

At publishing, I've had 155 people look at this blog today.

Most of you come to read the hideously ridiculous or embarrassing exploits of my single life. Some of you are curious about someone who would actually write about their silly, sad, and vulnerable moments. The rest of you voyeurs are interested in the comings and goings of someone you know/may have once known.

Well, today I want to get a little serious, so y'all are going to have to wait another day for another confession.

I had the pleasure and honor of spending some of my Saturday with some local children who are far removed from the love and comfort of a wholesome family life.

These are kids who spend their days at a local facility that takes care of, feeds and clothes them. Around 40 children ranging in age from six to 14, all ticking off the days until they either make their way to a loving home or grow up and escape to their dreams of adulthood.

In the meantime, they spend lots of time longing for something better, and that's exactly what I tried to do with a couple hours of my time.

I showed up in jeans and my sleeves rolled up, ready to get dirty - we were bringing with us icing for frosted cookies and puffy paint to cover some little canvas bags. We had all kinds of crafts and games planned to shed a little sunshine on some children in dire need of a heaping helping of TLC.

Most of my time was spent at the word search table. We had several different games and puzzles and things for children of various capabilities. During my time there I talked to one teen about his cool gelled up mohawk and his passion for the Cincinnati Bengals. I met a young girl who wants to be a teacher and discovered she has an aptitude suited for her dreams as she helped another child finish his own word search puzzle.

My heart pretty much melted when one of the older kids bubbled over with appreciation and enthusiasm for the fun she had over the course of our two hours there.

Two hours.
Five volunteers.
A few bucks in supplies.

That's all it took for us to make a great moment for nearly 40 kids.

And I really don't know who had more fun, the kids or us volunteers.

I started this volunteering thing this spring when I realized I waste too much of my time. Sure, I have a demanding job and spend some time at work off the clock to get stuff done. I try and keep a well rounded social schedule, too, and also have to take care of silly things like exercise, cooking and home maintenance.

But a couple hours a week?

I can scrape that time together to try and change a life, or at the very least, make somebody a little happier.

And that somebody might just be me.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Reason Number 9623 Why I Wanted The Earth To Swallow Me Whole

So, I'm an independent woman.

I think I've aptly proven that point. I'll change my own damn tire, I'd be happy sailing past the rock of Gibraltar on my own. I would even be brave enough to go it alone to a gala I've got on my calendar in April (though I may just dig up a date for that cha-cha formal event).

But drinking a glass of wine? Alone? In a bar? Ooooh that's so scary.

Friday night started innocently enough. Casino Royale with a new friend. A drink and a bite to eat before hand and then we decided to cap the evening with yet another drink at another fabulous Newport institution. 80 cent drinks (appletinis, merlot, G and Ts - you name it) for chicks and fun 80s music. I was a bit apprehensive to go back to Tropicana considering I was there two weeks earlier and I accidentally (yes, accidentally) tossed my cookies. In the bar. Seriously.

I guess Kate the Great is going to march into her 30s, uh, gracefully.


SO there I was, sipping on some uber-cheap booze and enjoying the fine musical stylings of Bon Jovi (or was it Poison?) and rubbing elbows with some guys who are battling the Saints today (D Money, I saw SG's hideous two-tone Benz again. That guy makes my skin crawl) when my friend and I decided to bail.

But I wasn't ready to call it a night.

I thought about how my good friend D told me she likes to enjoy a good glass of wine by herself from time to time. And so I heard her voice echoing in my head, encouraging me to sack up and be a big girl, unafraid of the solemnity of sitting solo at a bar.

I left Newport, destination Hyde Park, headed for this quaint little wine bar that is dimly lit and appointed with sleek and cozy love seats and a stunning, curved granite bar. The intimate room kind of glistens like a secret jewel-box hideaway in one of Cincinnati's most exclusive neighborhoods.

The bar would be a perfect spot to baptize my first foray in drinking wine alone in public.

I crept in, dressed to the nines and confident the sparse crowd would be kind to the girl drinking wine alone. I took my red overcoat off and hung it on the back of the chair and flipped open the wine list.

Then I pretty much stopped dead in my tracks.

I realized that the sparse crowd included the very guy I had my sights set on last February. Irish. Two seats away and on a first date of his own.

That's when I wanted the tectonic plates that lie beneath Hyde Park to rumble and create little fissures, leading to a massive hole that would have swallowed me to the hellish depths below.

At this point, there was no going back. There was no chance for me to flip closed the wine list with a Thank-you-very-much-but-no-thanks quip and throw on my coat to head back to the safe corners of my messy apartment.

Instead, I had to sack up and order a glass of wine. Two. Seats. Away. From. Irish.

I picked a 10 dollar glass of merlot and took the biggest first sip I could. The faster I could drink, the more quickly I could be out of there, right?

Doesn't that just blow - having to drink an excellent glass of wine fast? Too swift to even enjoy the tannins and smoky undertones and hints of berry and chestnut or whatever Miles would say?

My stomach was sick about half way through the glass. Not too much alcohol sick. More like oh my god how pitiful do I look sick.

I know he saw me. But we both observed some strange code of silence, failing to acknowledge the other's presence.

The agony inside that wine bar lasted about 20 minutes. 20 minutes from first sip to cash out. 20 minutes to ponder the existence I call my own.

20 minutes to consider whether I have the cojones to actually go have wine alone again.

Granted, it's not an ideal situation. I'd do cartwheels naked down Cincinnati's Main Street (which says a lot considering I'd likely get shot during my stunt) to sip and sup with a standing date.

But I'm not going to let my solo status, or Irish, steal my drive to enjoy life the way I'd like.

I sure as hell won't be 60 and wishing I had done more with my life or took more opportunities during my single years.

Kate the Great

Friday, November 17, 2006

Fleeting Synapses

The date was good. Not great, not awful, but good. The conversation flowed, he seemed intelligent and was reasonably attractive.

But I didn't walk away feeling the Wow factor.

That doesn't really bother me - I'd be happy to go out with him again as he appears to be nice and is likely not a serial killer. I don't necessarily think fireworks have to go off at every first date, but it's nice when they do.

I'll keep you posted.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Going to see Casino Royale tonight. Not so sure about the new Blond, James Blond -er- Bond. This is the film that sets up the rest of the movies that have come before it. I will always be a Connery fan. There's something about the accent and his uber-cool confidence.

Clooney would make a great Bond. This new guy, though? I don't know. All I remember him as is the bully son of the Irish mob boss in The Road to Perdition.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
I've got another volunteering venture this weekend. Tomorrow I'll be spending a few hours making crafts with some children at a local orphanage.

I didn't even know they still had orphanages. It's such an Oliver Please-sir,-can-we-have-some-more? archaic concept. It's hard to believe there are so many children in this world without loving families to call home - and yet I know lots of couples in this world struggle with conceiving their own babies.

I guess these orphanages are better than keeping these children in the heartbreaking, dangerous circumstances that may exist at home.

My understanding is there will be 34 kids tomorrow between the ages of six and 13. We'll be making mini-pumpkin turkeys, Thanksgiving themed hair barrettes and playing games. I'm looking forward to the chance to be silly and creative with some kids who need a little TLC.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
I'm two weeks away from doing away with the 20 something part of my blog description.

It feels so surreal.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
My apartment is a disaster yet again.

The kitchen has recouped a bit since I did some major dish washing a week ago. The living room looks like the scene of a massive closet explosion. Clean clothes all over my couch and love seat, shoes everywhere. A trail of stilettos leading from the front door to the bathroom... a variety of tennis shoes strewn about the floor. An opened suitcase with remnants of a trip I took almost a month ago.

I really need to get my ass in gear if I'm going to be inviting holiday company over starting next week.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

First Date

I don't even know him and I am already nervous. The kind of nervous where I can't eat - which is pretty damn miraculous considering I am always ready to eat.

Nervous and yet surprised because I kind of don't care. I mean, not in him as a person because I try to have a general respect and interest in all of humanity, more like an I don't care in the way that this feels like number 57621 in a long list of first dates. A first date - blind date.

Oh, what a doozy.

OMG. Swirling in my head: will I be wearing the right outfit? Is this guy going to be something completely different from what he says he is over the phone?

Do I need to go to the bathroom right now? How about if I take a Valium?

Do I even know anybody with Valium?

And why does there have to be all this hype over a first date in modern 21st century Western World culture?

Right now I'm torn between downing a glass of merlot (Miles, lots of people actually like merlot) and half assing it and swaggering in to our particular meeting spot with my ripped up jeans and my red glasses on. Because some people think girls in glasses are cute, right?

And for all my pent up tension, all my nervous anticipation - I realize I am in a wholly unoriginal situation. Practically everybody and their mother has been on a first date. And congrats to that mother because obviously she was successful with her first date (but hopefully not *too* successful, because that would make an awful Lifetime movie starring Tracey Gold).

Everyone's been on a first date. That doesn't make it any less freaking scary.


Monday, November 13, 2006


I was all set to rip off a post about empowerment and feeling comfortable and happy in my own skin. This comes after an epiphany this weekend that I am damn satisfied experiencing the life that is mine, single or not, and that if I'm meant to be married and with children - then it will happen when it's supposed to.

But in the mean time I'm enjoying everything that life is blessing me with, because right now my life is really rocking, and I'm loving every minute of it.

And then I was hit with a whammy that pretty much sucked the air right out of me.

I found out a former co-worker of mine just passed away after a battle with brain cancer.

This man was a photographer at my former television station. 48 years young and the picture of health. Duane was perhaps the most physically fit of all my co-workers at WTVQ. He was always busy riding his bicycle or playing disc golf, and I got the impression that everything he ate was uber-healthy.

Duane was also one of the most laid back people I've known in the television business. The epitome of California Cool, which is where Duane called home.

In an industry that is based on frenetic energy and irrational, split-second decision making, Duane was one of the people in the newsroom who would aptly put things in perspective. We weren't in the business of saving lives, we were in the business of moving pictures and talking heads. In sea of hot-headed managers, a revolving door of reporters and a cavalcade of inexperienced producers (including yours truly), Duane was a member of the brotherhood of photographers who offered stability, knowledge and peace in a manic newsroom. The rotation of key players never changed, they rarely got all hot and bothered about what we wanted them to do.

That doesn't mean Duane was perfect.

Sometimes he didn't like shooting what I asked him to cover. He wasn't always a big fan of doing live shots for my 6 pm newscast and he also wasn't the first to jump at covering breaking news.

But Duane was such a nice guy that I never really held it against him.

And I guess that's what people remember about us when we're gone. They don't remember whether we wrote dynamite VOSOTs or whether we were the first on the scene to shoot the house fire.

People don't keep track of when we win or lose at work. They keep track of when we were kind to them.

And Duane was a King of Kindness.

Always there for a smile. Always ready for a toss of the frisbee in the back lot. Always toting his bike around for the next ride.

Ride on, Duane. Thanks for the calm.

My Brain Is In Overdrive

Two hours ago I posted that I don't want to get married anytime soon, promising a follow up.

My opinion has changed in light of some heartbreaking events involving someone I know.

I'll update when I have the time, because I can't rush through this one...


Friday, November 10, 2006


When was the last time you listened to a cassette tape?

I went to Cin Weekly's Green Party last night and had the pleasure of listening to one of Cincinnati's best and most popular bands, The Rusty Griswolds. They play mostly 80s cover music and it was a real trip down memory lane as they switched from Posion to The Police.

Double Platinum and his lady, MMM

I was totally yanked back to 1985 when I heard the band belt out their own rendition of a Heart song - I think it was "These Dreams" - when I remarked to Double Platinum that Heart was my very first cassette tape. I was in 3rd Grade and remember playing "What About Love" over and over and over. I remember reading the lyrics on the cassette liner trying to figure out what these two sister-chicks were singing about. Probably lying around wearing stirrup pants and shirts totally covered in puffy paint.

And so that made me ponder the last time I listened to a cassette tape, and I really have no idea. Probably while riding in my dad's Volvo station wagon because he's yet to upgrade to CDs in his vehicle.

What was your first cassette tape? Don't you think that little nugget of your life dates you? Maybe just a little bit?

Have a great weekend.

I'll be in Lexington briefly to cheer on UK as they roll over Vanderbilt.

Go Big Blue!

Thursday, November 09, 2006

I am in control of my own destiny

SO, I almost had a Bridget Jones moment this week.

I told you a little bit about the training meeting I went on Tuesday - the meeting where I learned about networking?

Well, at one point the facilitator was doing an exercise to teach us about how resourceful people are. She asked volunteers to stand up and address the room with a problem in the hopes someone else there would be able to come up with a quick solution.

One of the first volunteers stood up and said she was having a difficult time with a new little dog she got, one of those ankle biter types, and was looking for some kind of help with discipline. Immediately another lady raised her hand and suggested a place called Puppy Kindergarten as a place for getting the little rat dog some instruction.

Another woman said she was in need of an inexpensive, second-hand piano so her kids had something to bang around on. A gal quickly said her mother-in-law was looking to get rid of an old piano and volunteered to exchange numbers at the end of the meeting.

And this was when I was about to have my BJ moment.

How ballsy would it be to stand up in front of a group of 70 women and say something to the effect of "Hi. I'm looking for a husband. Somebody nice and professional. Around the age of 30 or so. Preferably someone who doesn't already have any kids. Someone who's not into wife beating or carousing. I'm a great cook and have an exceptional touch with all things domestic. I am crafty and yet can change my own spare tire. I'm really family oriented but don't intend on giving up my career. Does anybody have a great brother/friend/co-worker who fits the bill?"

I mean, part of me thinks it would be hilarious to actually have stood up and done that. No doubt, I would have been saying what so many other women in that meeting were thinking. But how desperate would I have looked? How pathetic? How needy?

And so that was my almost-Bridget Jones moment. The kind of situation where everyone would be laughing - you just don't know whether they're laughing with you or at you.

That doesn't mean I can't do a little legwork to find my own Prince Charming.

No matter how silly it sounds - for about two years now I've been offering a Finders Fee of sorts for anyone who introduces me to my future husband. Cold hard cash handed over after the vows are exchanged. I've told my co-workers, I've told friends. I have a whole group of friends in Lexington vying for the chance to cash in on my crazy offer, and I've got one friend here in Cincinnati (Big Blue Blood) who is bummed one of her prospects didn't pan out.

The offer still stands for any of you blog readers.

Another new development: I have recently revived my interest in a dating website. As they say, all the kids are doing it, so I've decided I might as well do it, too. Who knows whether it will work. I've pretty much reached the I don't care anymore point, and everyone says that's a good thing because that's supposedly when the magic will happen.

Hey. It's a 44 dollar investment that covers three months. That's cheaper than a gym membership (which, by the way, never turned up a date for me - studly or otherwise).

I'll keep y'all posted.


Dirty Laundry Take 2

So, my three week stint on the morning show turned into an epic three month experience, but I'm finally living and working amidst the daylight hours.


No sleeping while everyone's living, and living while everyone's sleeping.

And I have rediscovered that refreshing feeling of stress.

Yes, I said refreshing.

Remember: Local News Good. Oprah Bad.

At least in Cincinnati...

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Workin' It


B-E aggressive.

It's a cheer my sister Bridge used to do when she was a Tiger cheerleader a million years ago.

That same cheer was running through my head last night as I attended a seminar on networking.

Last night the Junior League offered a training session for its provisional and active members. The goal of the meeting was to arm us with skills we could use next time we had to bombard some unsuspecting merchant or philanthropist for goods or donations we could use for the betterment of others.

What, did you think we'd forgo our raffles and instead keep all those gift certificates and diamond tennis bracelets and mink coats that people turn over in the name of charity? Bah!


The seminar was perhaps the best one I've attended thus far. Diane Darling is an expert in networking and has been featured in The Wall Street Journal, The Boston Globe and on NBC Nightly News. She broke down a slew of techniques that could be used by anyone trying to make new connections, whether they be for professional or personal use.

Since I'm such a good friend, I thought I'd pass on a few to you.

Come prepared with three neutral questions. Where are you from? What do you do? Tell me how you're connected to Group X? Think of three questions you can use to find common interests or links to the person with whom you're speaking.

Keep your drink in your left hand. Otherwise it will make your right hand feel cold, wet and clammy at the most inopportune time - when you need to shake hands! There is a loophole to this one though: if you're the sweaty hand nervous type, keep your drink in your right hand. Then you can blame your wet hand on your drink.

Save the best for last, at least where your name is concerned. Darling calls it a dyslexic introduction. Basically, you should set up your name with who you are when meeting someone - "Hi, I have a blog about the trials of being a single chick and my name is Kate the Great." This technique leaves your name last, making it the last thing the listener will focus on.

Also buried in that sentence: a little flag that gives the listener a heads up Hey, a name is coming! Remember the name! Pay attention to the name! That little flag is the gem of a phrase " name is..." Surprisingly, that phrase is more effective than the beloved "I'm so-and-so."

If the person can remember your name, it will be easier for you to make a connection.

Hopefully all these little nuggets will help me be a little bit more aggressive when meeting strangers. Now if only I could find a pair of pom poms...


Diane Darling runs down a slew of networking tips in her book, aptly titled The Networking Survival Guide: Getting the Success You Want by Tapping into the People You Know

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

The Grass is Always Greener

Sometimes it takes a person with a *perfect* life for you to realize how lovely your own is.

So, my sister Bridge is trying to have a baby.

She's 27 and married to one of the most wonderful men in the world. They're a cute little couple living in a cute little townhouse in Big City Atlanta with fabulous careers and limitless potential.

And I am so jealous of her.

Not the kind of jealous that used to spur wicked bad fights of hair pulling and sweater stealing and hairbrush throwing in the days of old. More like the kind of jealous that gives birth to those invisible conversation clouds above my head filled with "Gee, I wish someday I'm lucky enough to live her kind of life."

Lucky because she has a wonderful marriage and is getting ready to embark on the biggest change our family has experienced since I was the first one to leave home. Motherhood - the next step of adulthood that will for the first time put her "ahead" in the race of What's Next.

Then I remember life isn't a race. It doesn't matter how fast or slow you get to the Finish Line. It's how well you play the game along the way.

And Bridge says I am playing very, very well.

And she's jealous.

My mom and dad will drop hints every once in a while letting me know Bridge wishes she could sometimes walk around in my Size 10 75% off BCBG Girl shoes. Bridge says she wishes she could be the one to go on single gal-pal trips to Vegas or Boston. Wishes she could be the one who gets to go out and stay out with her friends at all hours of the night. Wishes she could be the one who had a next first kiss to look forward to. Wishes she could buy all the Coach she wanted and not worry about paying her husband's grad school tuition or mortgage or other Grown Up bills. The kind of stuff I've been eschewing since I was born I turned 22.

Bridge wishes she could be the Gal About Town who is enjoying her moment of independence. The chick who is making her own money (and spending her own money) the way she wants to. The girl who only has to answer to the demands of a career and any other commitments she may choose to get tied up in.

The girl living by her own rock n' roll, Freebird kind of anthem.

And I guess when I see it that way, it sounds pretty damn good to me, too.

The picture doesn't look quite like the sketchy portrait I often paint of myself.
Almost 30 something woman still paying rent solo.
Paying the bills and living paycheck to paycheck.
Never having a standing date to the parties and events and obligations I get invited to.
Wondering when my life is going to get a little bit more full with the trappings of romance and family.

And I suppose that's one great thing about having sisters.

They get to look at the portrait and point out the dramatic, heavy brushstrokes. The quirky choices of color. The unique nature of the artist's perspective.

And then I feel beautiful again.

A beautiful, single woman who is bursting with excitement about the chance to be a fabulous aunt.

Monday, November 06, 2006

I love William Sledd

If you need fashion help, you will enjoy this snippet from You Tube.

It is hilarious - and has lots of good advice on which jeans to buy.

And from a good Kentucky gay boy. Who knew?

Blue Monday

It's that time of year where we're all just too damn busy.

It's 4 am eastern time on Monday morning and I know that I, for one, already feel like a hamster on a wheel.

If you saw my calendar for this week, you'd understand.

The train of commitment rolled out of the station Friday and it's chucking along hard core until Sunday.

Friday Nov 3- Derf Happy Hour (Yes, I drank too much. No, I don't regret it.)

Saturday - Bachelor Party. Yes, bachelor party - with a bunch of guys I didn't know. there was discussion of four of us getting in the massive bathtub in the Belterra hotel room, but Big Blue Blood and I decided to leave after dinner, which was well before anything hairy would have happened.

Sunday - Volunteered at the Aronoff for the ballet. Basically I got to sell a bunch of little girls frilly things like pink ballet tutus and fancy satin slippers signed by the performer starring in Giselle. The production was beautiful, but I can appreciate how ballet can be tough for some people who like a little, uh, sizzle with their steak.

Monday and Tuesday - I have Junior League meetings both nights this week. Add on top of that the fact that I'll have to come in to work at midnight Tuesday and Wednesday - and that means KtG will be one tired girl this week. Also Tuesday - It's Election Day. Get out and vote, no matter who you cast your ballot for. Typically only 45% of Americans turn out for Presidential and Congressional elections - how sad considering we're supposed to be the global symbol of democracy.

Wednesday - I've got plans for dinner with some friends at a somewhat new restaurant at the Levee. I'm all about trying something different, and grabbing a bite to eat will be a good break from the cavalcade of commitments this week.

Thursday - Dammit. The Green Party. I totally forgot I sounded the battle cry on this one. And I'm even wearing one of my two green shirts as I write this. Oh well, guess I'll have to break out the antique PBR kermit green shirt...

Friday - Tastefully Simple party. BYOB. Bottle of Charles Shaw? Check.

Saturday - Game night in Anderson Twp!
I may take an AM trip down to old Lex Vegas for a tailgating event celebrating UK's match up against Vandy. (PS to my Wildcat fans - can y'all believe Big Blue beat Georgia?!! Damn, I wish I could have been down there for that routing.)

I think I'll be scheduling some R and R on Sunday. Don't call. Don't come over. I'll be hiding out under my comforter with a movie and a Freshetta pizza.

Friday, November 03, 2006


Every once in a while, God hands you an opportunity to realize just how lucky you are to be living in your own skin.

I am thankful I had a chance to experience that sensation this past Monday.

Through a group I'm a member of, I had the chance to help throw a Halloween party for some children who are living in a battered women's shelter.

These are all kids who had to say goodbye to all their toys, favorite clothes and neighborhood friends when their mother packed up the car and drove her little family to safety, driving towards a frightening unknown that was safer than the brutal familiar.

These women had to close the books on a life they spent hours dreaming about and working for. Establishing themselves at jobs and in neighborhoods, painstakingly picking out curtains and whipping up dinners, trying to find the perfect recipe for the American Dream. Unfortunately they were building their lives with a deck of cards - an unreliable, irrational, angry partner who would unleash the most venomous names and most painful punches until blood or tears rushed out of these hopeful women.

These women somehow found the strength to walk away, no, run from the painful circumstances of their tattered lives for a chance to bring hope to their future and that of their children.

I cannot even imagine the insecurity, fear and uncertainty that goes along with this wrenching situation.

I cannot fathom a life where I live in fear of the person whom I love most in this world. A life where every day brings a new set of obstacles and challenges - Is it alright if I ask him for money to buy groceries? Is he going to break a bone next time? Is today the day he is going to start beating my children?

God, those kids...

I thought of them huddling in closets and under beds, places I would sometimes hide when I would hear my parents arguing in the kitchen. But my mom always walked away from those fights healthy and safe and still respected by my father. These children were wedged in situations veiled in complete uncertainty, utmost fear for their own safety and that of their mothers.

These children were observing and memorizing a life pattern that all too often repeats itself: boy starts beating his own loved ones or girl gravitates to others who are violent. It's a cycle that's hard to break unless someone, a mother, is brave enough to strike out without her own cash, her own career, her own confidence.

And so, for a few hours, I put on my crazy ass pink wig and some silly disco shoes and a sparkly scarf - trying my best to look like a rock star - while my fellow volunteers and I threw a little Halloween party for the tiniest victims of domestic violence. We brought them costumes: bumble bees/princesses/ninjas/Hershey Kisses/you name it. We brought bags and bags and bags of candy, enough to rot all these little kids' teeth, and we brought silly games like Twister and bags full of strange things like apricots and spaghetti (bags of ears and monster brains - at least that's what we told the kids).

And we didn't forget their brave moms.

Someone in my group arranged for a masseuse to volunteer his time and give these strong women neck and back massages. Someone else found a stylist who gave the ladies fun little hairstyles they could learn to do themselves.

It was a simple evening for us volunteers, but it was a little escape - an opportunity to forget about the brutal reality - for these children and women.

I am so lucky to be safe. I am so thankful to be bursting with happiness and confidence.

I am so grateful God gave me the life I have.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

If you or someone you know is caught in a situation of domestic violence, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE.

Officially Four Weeks and Counting

Get your own countdown at

Thursday, November 02, 2006

London Town: It's All Good

Everything goes where fashion's concerned.

London is the kind of place where you could dig out all those old stirrup pants and t-shirts cinched with a buckle at the waist - and no one would give you a second look.


People were wearing all kinds of junk that I would normally feel embarrassed to drop off at the Salvation Army. Really, anything goes. Anything.

And despite previous misconceptions, Londoners are rocking jeans hardcore. No matter where I went - restaurants, clubs and airports (for a wide cross section of examples) the 15-to-50 set are all wearing their favorite Sevens or Levis or Old Navys.

In regards to other ambitious fashion moves - there are leggings under mini skirts, flat boots, boots that come well above the knee (some of which reminded me of Peter Pan). The hairstyles are just about as diverse - all kinds of colors, curls, braids, hair bands, scarves, you name it. It all goes. Seriously.

The children look equally unusual. On more than one occasion, I would notice a little one dressed in some unusually printed dress with leggings that appeared to be government issue, and I would think to myself So many of these kids look like they just stepped out of a Russian gulag. With their generic flower/japanimation/abstract printed clothing (whether it be tops or pants or coats or purses or whatever), it looked like these kids just fell out of a 1992 trailer park in East Berlin.

Wait, did 1992 East Berlin even have trailer parks?

That's the other thing about London, and perhaps Europe in general. No brand names. No "Roccawear" splashed across the sweatshirt. No polo ponies, no Coach Cs anywhere. London appears to be a place that has practically banned the conspicuous branding that Americans have so fallen in love with. I can't even be sure I saw the famous "LV" logo that covers so many coveted purses in the States.

Kind of wild.

It's shocking to think how eclectic the fashions are in such a fashion forward city as London. So many of the unusual, envelope pressing selections would elicit dirty looks and hushed whispers in any Cincinnati club bathroom.

And I suppose that's one reason why I love big cities. The people there roll with unconventionalism. No matter the city - Chicago, Seattle, New York, Tokyo: a wide convergence of people leads to more acceptance and a fostering of unique ideas.

One Week And Counting: Get Out The Vote

Cast your ballot for whomever you'd like...

Photo Credit: special thanks to T-Homas' MySpace page
Not that I'm trying to make a statement or anything

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The Food and Drink of Great Britain

London is a veritable Around The World game spread out across the city, with all kinds of world delicacies ready for your enjoyment.

Southern Son enjoys a Greek beer at Souvlaki and Bar

Forget what you've heard, the food in England is pretty damn good. Even the pies and puddings and assortment of potatoes featured on menus showcasing authentic British food are pretty good.

D Money tried a beef and ale pie at Punch and Judy's at Covent Garden, and I'd say it pretty much tasted like the Marie Callender's pot pie I got on sale for two bucks a couple weeks ago at Kroger. Which translates to a good rating in my book. Even the mashed peas (I don't understand why you just can't serve them in their original, "prepackaged" spherical form, but whatever) were alright.

Southern Son and I went to a really great fish and chips shop near Baker Street - The Seashell - and I had fried haddock. Excellent batter - not too doughy. Just the lightest, flaky flavorful cover for an excellent piece of fish. The chips were great, too. Very potatoey. Not like those skinny straw things that the Mickey Ds dish out back home.

I also briefly discussed the Indian food we at at Ram's in Kenton. A symphony of foreign spices and foods that were both pleasing to the eyes and taste buds.

That's not to say I escaped the UK without eating anything weird.

A previous post mentions the the haggis I chowed down on in Scotland. Somehow I failed to mention the black pudding I had for breakfast last Wednesday.

I can't believe I forgot to mention the black pudding.

Our hotel served up a complete, authentic Scottish breakfast, and I decided to try everything "foreign," including the said, mysterious black pudding.

It tasted alright. Meaty would be one word I'd use to describe the black pudding. It kind of tasted like the haggis (which is a lot like Cincinnati's goetta) but it seemed like it was missing some of the oatmeal.

Why, oh, why did I look up what black pudding was when I came back to the States?

I knew I should have let well enough alone, but I had to know. What was that strange piece of food that I ingested merely five days earlier?

I can't believe I am even going to write this following statement out, considering my mouth is currently full of Halloween candy.

Warning: do not continue reading if you are eating, have a weak stomach, or hate anything remotely similar to Fear Factor.

Black pudding is actually made with animals' blood. Congealed animals' blood. It's congealed and mixed with fat and oatmeal and stuffed in casings (sometimes hosiery) into a sausage form.

Looking back on it, this black pudding was by far the most disgusting thing I've ever expected my body to digest and process into waste. Even more disgusting than the cicada I ate to impress a former boyfriend.

I knew the black pudding was sketchy. I ate it anyway, not wanting to know what it was until long after it was digested.

Now I know.

The weird thing is, it really didn't taste bad - and who knows, I might even be willing to try it again.

Oh Dwight...

It's been so long since we've been together.

My temporary crazy work schedule threw a kink in our Tuesday night love affair. You had to move to Thursday, and I had to move to the morning shift. Our burning embers of passion hardly stood a chance against the insurmountable odds.

But now, here we are. Less than a week away from my triumphant return to my dayside newscast and the same working hours as the rest of the western world. And you, I always knew you'd be there - waiting for me on Thursdays with your funny circa 1992 wired glasses and your Assistant Regional Manager, er, Assistant to the Regional Manager title.

I don't know how to celebrate this triumphant occasion.

Perhaps the Time Warp would be the only appropriate action...