It's pretty much amazing

Survey Says!

2009-02-05T12:25:00.002-05:00

Jessica had the idea to post this on her blog, even though she was tagged in Facebook - I decided to do both. Enjoy! Feel free to do this yourself - I've always wanted to know your deep and dark secrets...

25 things about Kate

1. One of my earliest memories is the day I learned ride my two-wheel (purple) bike on my own. I was rewarded with a big fork to eat my Mac and Cheese for lunch.

2. When I plan trips, I tend to research the local foods and restaurants before I find a place to stay.

3. My Favorite 3 foods are, in order: bacon, croutons, pickles.

4. Tuna fish from a can makes me nauseated. Raw tuna or seared tuna makes me hungry.

5. In my 11th grade AP Comp class, we spent an entire day learning the correct applications of the derivations of "nausea." Now every time someone says they feels nauseous, I want to correct them and tell them they actually feel nauseated. Thanks, Mrs. Flynn.

6. When I was little, I wished I could be adopted by McGyver and go off on crazy adventures. Just in case he showed up, I practiced making things in the basement. My most failed invention was a weed killer using SlimFast. It actually made the weeds grow faster. (note: I love my dad, always have, but given the choice of being a minister's daughter or McGyvers daughter, the choice is pretty easy).

7. At some point in my life, I want to have a DC mailing address.

8. I never liked cats. I took it as a sign from God that I am moderately allergic to them and therefore was predestined to be a dog person. Now I'm marrying a guy with a cat and find myself telling people about the hilarious way she eats her food or how she's starting to prefer me over Steve. I am turning into a crazy cat person.

9. My absolute favorite part of Christmas is sitting in the 7pm service after we've finished singing "Silent Night" and everyone has their candles up in the air and my dad says "Merry Christmas." It seems like the phrase has more meaning at that very moment than anytime during the entire holiday season.

10. When I was about 8 or 9, my dad made a joke about a Russian recipe called "Fish Balls in Tomato Sauce with Prunes." Last year, I finally realized that when he said fish balls, he actually mean pieces of the fish shaped into balls. I slept very well that night.

11. I am very competitive when playing games. I do not like to lose. Ever.

12. Fact: purple is the greatest color in the world. Do not dispute me on this.

13. I am not much of a crier when it comes to movies, but I will cry every time I watch the ending of "The Family Stone."

14. My biggest travel goal in life is to visit each and every wonder of the world. I've already been to Dollywood, so only 7 more to go.

15. When I order a burger at restaurants, I always order extra pickles. When the burger comes, I count and rearrange the pickles. I expect the pickles to completely cover the top of the bun with some overlap.

16. It takes me approximately 4 napkins to eat my lunch every day.

17. I consider myself a feminist. I also want to be a stay at home mom. I do not think these are mutually exclusive ideas.

18. I try to read every day on the metro with a goal of reading one book per week. This fall when I was re-reading "Ender's Game" I was so enthralled by one of the battle scenes that I not only got on the wrong train, but rode for nearly 20 minutes before I realized my mistake.

19. When I was 5, someone at church asked me if I was gay. I didn't know what that meant, so I asked my mom. She said gay meant happy. The next time the kid at church asked me, I said yes, I am gay. This was the last time I asked my mother what something meant.

20. I hate being in groups of more than 5 or 6 people.

21. Someone sent out a tweet once with "FTW" in it. I had no idea what it meant but assumed it meant "F* the world." Apparently it means "for the win" but I like my idea better.

22. I used to watch "Pride and Prejudice" about twice a week. After meeting a certain southern gentleman, I've only watched it once in the last 6 months. I've finally found someone better than Mr. Darcy.

23. If it were up to me, coconut and nutmeg would be banned from society.

24. I am allergic to chocolate and yogurt. People seem to think this is a tragedy. I think it's a reason to eat more bacon.

25. Every time I send one of these out, one of my friends responds back with a commentary about my life. I look forward to what she has to say about this.

Drive me crazy

2009-01-28T22:19:00.002-05:00

It's a new year, and a good year to be an ox apparently. I, unfortunately, am a dog. A friend asked me what that meant. I said it meant I was loyal... and perfect. I was curious later at home and looked it up. I am loyal. And a rule follower. And stubborn. And a good friend. Yet no where in the description of my dog sign did it say "has a good sense of direction."

Last weekend was my first adventure in wedding dress shopping. It was also my first lone roadtrip in over 3 years. I had armed myself in advance with directions to all of the shops, charged all phones, blackberrys, etc and headed down to Richmond. I had set up an ambitious agenda of 5 shops in 2 two days, determined to come home with a dress, since the timeline is tight. Jen and I arrived at the first shop, a cute little gown consignment shop in Newport News, VA, a good 20 minutes early. Considering both our penchants for arriving most places at least 10 minutes late, this was like being a full hour early. I tried on about 5 dresses, found one that was ok but needed a lot of work. We jumped back in the car to head towards Williamsburg to shop #2. I noticed we would be amazingly ahead of schedule for the next place, and decided since we had the time, we should go to old town Williamsburg and hit some shops. (I am on the hunt for the world's best pair of purple shoes afterall).

We followed signs into town, found a parking lot, wandered around, and found the car back. I couldn't believe my luck. I am amazing! I have this whole driving around a new place thing down again!

Then I pulled out of the parking lot and had absolutely no idea which way I had come from. So I did what any rational person who hates asking for directions would do - I just went for it. I drove straight ahead. Then, I .... turned right. Because ... why not. And then I went straight for a while. Jen, meanwhile, was making a few comments like "this doesn't look familiar" and "maybe we should turn around." I was sure I would eventually run into something with numbers on it, or at least something that said which way 64 was and then I could just start over. While Jen was busy trying to find a phone number for the store we were trying to find, I realized we were too far...to the right. So I should turn left. It made sense in a way. So at the next light, I turned left. It felt like we were getting somewhere but still, nothing looked right. I crossed another main road towards an area that perfectly described my mood: a little down, a little depressing, and a little...institutional. I circled around and pulled up to the light to consider what to do now.

Truth be told, the first shop didn't exactly light my fire. It was small, it had a limited selection, but I didn't have that "moment" where I saw myself and thought "wow, this is it." I have 5 moments of "wow, this feels like bad prom dress shopping." My spirits were a bit low as I drove around, completely lost, in Williamsburg. Sitting at the light, I started feeling a bit down and yet a bit crazy that I wasn't completely elated. I'm planning a wedding to the man of my dreams and yet here I am freaking out about a dress. I thought I was going a little nuts. Sitting at the light, trying to get my barrings, I noticed a big entrance sign to the area we had just circled around: the Virginia State Mental Institution.

Dress shopping drove me to the looney bin, people.

We took off in a new direction, eventually found the shop, and 24 hours later, I had my moment. After trying on at least 50 dresses, I walked into the last shop, took one trip around to look at the options and saw it. The moment she pulled the dress off the rack, I knew this is what I wanted Westley to see me in. Trying it on, stepping up to look at myself in the mirror, the tears came up. This was it. Crazy time is over. Bring on the I do's.

Hold It, Partner

2008-12-29T13:05:00.002-05:00

How does that holiday song go, something about traffic being terrific. If the traffic is terrific, then the air travel must be fantastic with an extra heaping portion of poking your eyes out. Off all the hassles of delayed flights, canceled flights, lost luggage, etc, there are always people having a worse day than you. Comforting thought, I know. Oh, there's no place like home/airports/rental cars for the holidays...

Last Saturday, we attempted to fly to Northern Michigan. After many delays, we finally boarded our plane in Chicago, then proceeded to sit at the gate for 30 minutes. The captain came on to say they were working the numbers (math is hard, after all) and would be taking off soon. All 36 people on our flight groaned but sat tight, just waiting to be sent away.

And then appeared our less than friendly gate agent. She wielded the microphone and announced due to bad weather, extra fuel was needed. Due to extra fuel, less passengers were needed. 11 people needed to give up their seat and the first 2 to do so would be able to fly to TC the next day. The other 9 would be SOL getting to TC but would have a free round trip voucher in their cold little hands. Oh and if 11 people don't volunteer, we'll be canceling the whole flight so all of you can hate us together. Merry Effing Christmas and thanks for flying United.

It was then that I noticed the family in front of me. Traveling in the rows in front were a mother and a father in their late 40's, a teenage son around15, a daughter around 12, and a happy youngest son around 7. The girl, Susie, hadn't looked all that great but it was late at night and no one was in the best mood. After the announcement of a possible total cancellation, Susie's face turned red and she started to cry.

Seriously, it's just a flight. You'll be fine.

The mom wasn't too worried - told her it'd be fine, we'll get there eventually. That's when Susie started complaining about how it hurt. Her mom gently reached over the isle and said "well then you need to take care of it." Susie: "but I caaaaaaaaaaaan't! you know I caaaaaan't!" Mom: "too bad, you're just going to have to sit down. You know you can't poop if you don't sit on the toilet." Susie: "nooooooooooooooo! You know I can't on a plane!!!!"

It seems Susie had a bit of a phobia of public restrooms. And airplane restrooms. And any restrooms not in her house or grandma's house. And so, she decided to hold it.

This was the exact moment when her older brother, seated right next to her, decided to start telling her about this guy he knew who used to hold in his poop until (DUH Duh Duuuuuuuuh) all the poop inside killed him. Susie started losing her mind, but not her poop.

I leaned over to Westley and suggested we get the heck off the anti-poop express. No one needed to be around for that.

We took the bump, the free hotel night, the food vouchers, and a rerouting (through Lansing of all places). Our luggage took a more exciting trip. More to that later...

Permission: Granted

2008-12-12T11:37:00.005-05:00

Here's proof - I did (sorta) ask for permission first:
me: so I watched 30 rock last night after you left

and they kept mentioning Outback Steakhouse

Westley: new episodes?

me: yes

Westley: haha

me: so I did a quick search

and there is one less than a mile from IKEA
Westley: are you sayin yer hankerin for a steak?

me: well, it has been a whole week

I also wrote a very funny blog

but it kinda makes fun of you

a lot

so I wasn't going to post it

Westley: lol
me: but

Westley: you should just post it

unless you think I'd get upset

me: if steak can ease your pain....

I don't think you'd get upset

it's about your cooking

Westley: heh

yeah you should go ahead and post it

So here it goes...

Westley is trying to learn to cook. And I applaud him. Starting from near ground zero, he's come a long way in a few months. But.

he's driving me crazy.

I have watched him assemble entire pieces of furniture, with 100 different pieces, all from picture-only instructions, perfectly. I have watched him look at two different maps of the same area at the same time and figure out exactly where to go through a giant construction site and make it through to the other side while I'm still figuring out how he managed to get out of the parking lot.

And yet, this boy can't read basic cooking instructions without massive missteps and multiple do-overs.

After a (mildly frustrating) marathon cooking spree on Sunday, he asked for some constructive criticism afterward. My one piece of advice was - read all of the instructions first. He said yeah, yeah, I know. No really, read them alllllll first.

Now I understand that sometimes cooking instructions are a bit confusing. But it's not this hard, right? When a recipe calls for 1 onion halved, what do you think this means? He thought it meant half of an onion, chopped. No, I said calmly, if they want it chopped, it would say "one onion, chopped" - that says "one onion halved" 'I don't get it then WHY CAN'T THEY SAY WHAT THEY WANT??' " They did - they want one onion cut in half. End of story, just CUT IT IN HALF." This similar interchange was shared over garlic, carrots, butter, lemons, etc. And to top it off, he was frantic - you'd think we were being timed or something by how manic he was, darting here or there, stressing out over having redo the garlic (it called for 4 cloves peeled, which he thought meant peeled, crushed, and minced...and so I made him do it again). In the end, the food was delicious and we hadn't killed each other. I took over cooking Tuesday night, kicked him out of my kitchen so I could cook in peace (and made an amazing 3 course meal in 20 minutes, thank you very much).

Last night, it was his turn to cook for "New Recipe Thursday" and he selected a 30 minute or less recipe from Cooking light - pork chops with lemon caper sauce. I suggested the recipe because a) it's very easy b) there are only about 4 steps to the whole thing and c) all the side dishes would be made in the microwave, so easy-peasy.

Or so I thought.

I came home late and found him in the kitchen prepping. Things looked good, until I watched him dump 3 tablespoons of olive oil in the lemon caper sauce, which seemed...odd, but whatever. I looked at the counter at the rest of the prep. Egg white in one bowl - good. One giant heap of flour. Hmmm, looks like a lot for 2 pork chops, but I know he's good at measuring things so it's probably ok. I asked if he needed help - nope, all set, everything is prepped. Great! I'll set the table.

And then I heard a "uh oh."

K: what?
W: uh, I screwed up.
K: how bad?
W: well, THIS RECIPE IS SO CONFUSING! It calls for spray oil and olive oil, so I sprayed the pan and put the olive oil in the sauce.
K:....ok, is that what the recipe says to do?
W: um, no.
K: ............then........why........ ...... ok what were you supposed to do?
W: spray the pork chops and add oil to the frying pan.
K: ok, so.......do that.
W: but that's dumb - why do you spray the pork chops?
K: probably so the flour sticks to them.
W: oooooooooooooh

Then I watched him dredge the pork chops. Once into the flour, once in to the egg, then dropped into the pan.

K: are you supposed to re-dredge the pork chops after you put them in the egg?
W: no.
K: are you sure?
W: yes, but I'll check the recipe.
W: ......... oh, yeah. crap.
K: no biggie, here I'll help you
W: so, should I redo the sauce since I put the EVOO in it?
K: do you have enough ingredients to do it?
W: yes.
K: then yes. Unless you want to eat an oil-based sauce.
W: well, no.
K: ok then.

At this point I grab the recipe to read again, just to make sure everything else is ok. It's not.
K: did you find my breadcrumbs ok?
W: yeah
K: so.....did you decide not to use them?
W: No, I did - it's in the flour.
K: ......it's not supposed to be in the flour.
W: WHAT?????
K:
W: well then why don't they say that.
K: well, they never say "mix all together" so that means don't mix all together.
W: crap.
K: it will still taste great, don't worry.

W: ...........crap.

Cooking tip of the night: next time, maybe you should READ THE INSTRUCTIONS. Maybe even out loud. Two times.

Surprise! No updates

2008-11-12T23:59:00.002-05:00

Heyyyyyyy. So I moved. And there are stories to tell. But not tonight because that requires a) creativity, b) time, and c) more sobriety than I currently have. Case in point - just finished a blog at this other sight, on schedule, and had this chat with my lil sis:

me: dude

did you see?

Kristin: Yeah I just read it!

me: I wrote my Wednesday blog! (drunk)

Kristin: hahaha

awesome

me: not really drunk

but
Kristin: I about to tuck into some ben & jerrys

me: my office chair is now my exercise ball

so with all the bouncing and drinking, who knows

ooooooh ice cream

Kristin: haha
me: I just read your blog

and am now tempted to pair my tasty costco cabernet with some cheetos

Kristin: hahaha

nice

me: Kate=Class

Kristin: naturally

Yup. That's it. Now about those cheetos...

Lean To

2008-10-17T19:55:00.003-04:00

There are some finds that are forwarded. There are some finds that are immediately sent out to the innerwebs on twitter. And then there are finds like this. Share. Now.

The Best MasterCard Commercial Ever

And also...

None for you.

2008-10-14T14:24:00.002-04:00

Rather than blog about the recent Beatles news blip and how dumb it is that a) anyone still cares about Ringo Star or that b) he's had to ask all 5 of his fans to stop mailing him their underwear, I instead submit to you an interview with a Beatles fan:

me: and also, wtf http://www.mamapop.com/mamapop/2008/10/ringo-starr-say.html

he still has fans?

Jennifer: I LOVE RINGO STARRRRR hahaha

me: oh, so he has 1 fan

Jennifer: ohhhhhhhhhhh

and uh, yeah

I guess I would be that fan lol

Your Ad Here

2008-10-08T11:04:00.004-04:00

A few months ago, an ad showed up on the metro for a local software development firm. Like most people, when I hear 'software developer' the mental image immediately coming to mind is a Tri Lambda grad with flood water pants, pocket protecor, and full size poster of Laura Croft hanging in their bedroom. Smart guys but not always the definition of cool.

Advertising on the metro for local jobs seems like a brilliant idea, especially in the current economy. Anyone with open doors and money to spend on talent has a huge base to draw from right now and even people with a steady job might be tempted to try for something new just in case current gig doesn't ride the current waves of the financial riptide.

And yet...this is the image they choose. So I guess they aren't hoping for a whole lot of diversity...

And Fail.

2008-10-03T11:09:00.003-04:00

One day in and I fail. Awesome.

For my penance, I shall post twice today. First, a story from my commute yesterday.

My metro ride to work each day is about 30 minutes. I've tried my best to make this time useful, either by reading, making shopping lists, listening to pod casts, etc. Part of this is because I like to feel like I've accomplished something and not just sitting idly on the metro, and partly because if I don't have something to do, I tend to stare. A lot. And on public transit in this fair city, there's usually a lot to gawk at, which is entertaining but rude.

Yesterday, I packed up my book, but underestimated how close I was to the end. I finished it early after my transfer to work, read the interview at the end, and put it away. No biggie. It was on my way home that it became a bit of an issue.

Metro delays hit me hard. No book, no iPod with me, no lists to make, what to do??? I eavesdropped a bit on the conversation behind me (two 50 something women were talking about what an idiot Sarah Palin is - was highly entertaining), then watched as an older couple visiting their 30 something son (who was sitting with them) started harassing a nice looking girl on the metro, trying to convince her to date their son (he has a good job and he's not too bad to look at right? Honey? Don't you think she's nice? Would you like to come to dinner with us? You seem so sweet...)

Then I noticed a guy half way down the car. At first glance, he seemed pretty average. Mid-to-late 20's, nice grey suit, ear buds firmly in place. And then the show started. At first, he was just nodding his head a bit, enjoying his music. Then the right hand started tapping the wall a bit. And then, much to all our enjoyment, he whipped out the air guitar in all its glory. The head started banging, both hands were very involved in playing MetroGuitarHero-Red Line edition. This went on for a good 20-30 seconds before he looked up and saw everyone enjoying the concert. Oops.

He exited immediately at the next stop. I stopped laughing 2 stops later.

And it begins

2008-10-01T23:51:00.002-04:00

October is a fan-damn-tastic month any year, but this year it is chock full-o-nuts and all sorts of excitement. Let's hit some highlights:
Angie and Jason Visiting!
Hanson!
Swing lessons begin!
Another Andy Zipf concert!
A trip to Richmond!
Meeting Westley's parents!
Birthdays, Birthdays, Birthdays!
Moving!
Finally owning a real bed!
Halloween!

Apparently, October is also "blog something every day" month. Looking at my calendar, this shouldn't be too hard. Stay tuned.

This is gonna be a big month.

A.B.C.D.E.F.U.

2008-09-25T10:22:00.002-04:00

Ever wonder what procrastination looks like? Here it is:

I would also include the picture of the 100+ files with tabs on the wrong flipping end that I have to fix and file before I can file any of the above papers, which still need to be sorted and alphabetized, but why would I broadcast that little nugget of evidence of K8IsAFlake on the innerwebs? Oh wait...

Excuse me, I need to start singing the alphabet song now.

Growing Pains

2008-09-18T13:46:00.003-04:00

About a year ago, a friend bought a Wii. To celebrate, we stayed up until 5 am playing bowling and golf, decided we should sleep a bit, then started up again around 9 am. At some point the next morning, Jen was out in the hallway when a little boy walked past, wanting to know what all the screams and giggles were about. "We're playing video games alllll day!" replied Jen, "this is what you get to do when you're a grown up - whatever you want!"

Heck yes I can do what ever I want. I is a grownup now. If I feel like staying up until 3 am on a school night to watch infomercials, I can. If I want to buy "The Office" DVDs rather than groceries, I can. If what I want for dinner really is macaroni and cheese with a side of cookie dough, I swear it will be done (side note:dinner last night was *awesome*). 99% of the time, being a grownup rocks.

And then there is that other pesky 1%. Today's 1% was the trip to the eye doctor. No change - still blind as a bat. Not a whole lot more blind, however, so that's a nice change (or I guess a nice non-change? yay status quo remaining the same (which is status quo by definition?) whatever), but still can't see more than 8 inches in front of my face without anti-evolutionary aides. I asked the doc to please please please change my contact prescription - these buggers cost over $700 a year and my glasses are in sad sad shape, not to mention way behind on the prescription. No problem he said, here's a free pair of cheaper contacts to try, then he whisked me out to pick out some new sexy specs.

I'm a sucker for the trendy plastic Clark-Kent-ish/hot librarian glasses, as is someone else I know. I told the helpful/bleeds-you-dry assistant what I wanted and she whipped out some pairs no one else had even seen yet - they're so new, even I haven't tried them on yet - you should get these now before someone else does. Holy Molten Lava Batman, these glasses were h-a-w-t. I asked how much they were, then held on to the counter as she told me. Ouch. She was nice enough to tell me all about how the easy care plan will save me money, then spit out the most complicated word problem I have ever heard - something like 15% off the price of a year supply of contacts less $65 plus the glasses, lenses, and coats divided by 2 plus the difference times emc squared. Or something. Huh? Can you maybe write that down? In a table? Or put this into Excel so I can run a goal seek scenario on how to make this cheaper? No, but she will start all over, using smaller words. And it kinda, sorta made sense, in a I can draw meiosis and mitosis but please don't give me an essay question on why this happens in the first place kind of way. She offered to let me pay half now and half later (something divided by 2! There's some math I can handle!!!) and I said ok.

My first pair of glasses were chosen because they were the cheapest ones available. They also happened to be the ugliest ones available. Remember those plastic frames your granny used to wear? With the blue on the top and pink on the bottom? Yeah, those were my glasses. Cheap, ugly, and I haaaaated them. Now that I get to pick my own, I understand why my parents headed straight for the cheap-os. But I just can't quite seem to do that myself. I want to look good and I'm (mostly) willing to pay for that, right? And, after all, I am getting these infinitely hotter ones at a Pythagorean discount. Or something like that. In 1 week, I will be the proud owner of some hott-damn!-sexy-specs. And if they break in the next 10 years, I'll just have to deal with being blind.

In the meantime, I will be running a cost-risk analysis on draining part of my 'wedding fund' to pay for laaaaasers to be shot into my eyes. How much does one really need for future wedding? I asked Jen about this - because really, how much can the Chapel of Love in Vegas possibly cost?

Guilty Pleasures

2008-09-17T11:50:00.003-04:00

Over a delicious breakfast with my high school Sunday School teacher, I admitted some fall concert plans. Marie literally put down her fork to take it all in. "Really? Hanson?" I took a deep breath and said yes, Hanson, my adolescent love. She thought for a moment and said, "you know, if Donny Osmond came within 300 miles here on tour, I'd be first in line to get those tickets, even though I know he's horrible. So go for it - and ENJOY IT."

I finally bought my tickets today and words cannot express how freakin' excited I am about this. I know, it's ridiculous and juvenile and quite possibly a colossal waste of money. But I care not. This was middle school soundtrack, a fixture of my youth and against my better judgement, I am still completely psyched to Mmmbop along with them all night long.

I contemplated writing up a (semi-nonbiased) review of their last two albums. Maybe if I could plead my case, show how they have grown up, expanded their sound, matured, etc, the innerwebs wouldn't judge me as harshly for my indulgence in 90's pop music. In the end, I thought better of that - it is probably pointless. For most people Hanson is to Mmmbop like, for me, Jack Nicholson is to the Joker. Some connections can never be broken.

So instead, I present to you a new song to enjoy, a la the Chipmunks. And now, just Get Up and Go.

Say "Photobooth!"

2008-09-02T16:02:00.001-04:00

When I broke the news to my parental units about a certain boy in my life, my mother hit me up with a plethora of questions. There are the standard ones:
What does he do?
Where is he from?
Does he go to a good church?

Then there are the "oh mother" questions:
What's his favorite food?
What three things do you like about him?
How much does he drink?

And then there are the request-type questions:
When do we get to meet him?
Can I have his email?
Are you going to leave us his number incase we need to get a hold of you and you don't answer your phone? You know, safety first.

And finally, she asks for a picture. I delay this for as long as humanly possible. Not for any horrible reason - Westley's a good looking guy, very photogenic, we have a picture on facebook together. The real reason is my my mother (oh heavens) and her mustinsertpictureintoemailandsendtoentireinbox fetish. It just does not need to happen if I can help it. She's been hounding me for weeks for a picture. She's reached the point of me wanting to pacify her just to make it stop, DEAR LORD MAKE IT STOP.

So I sent her this picture. Forward it like it's hot people.

It's Just a Man on a Horse

2008-08-28T20:51:00.003-04:00

I've lived in the DC area for over two and half years now and I'd like to think I've seen to most of the big touristy items on the list - the museums, the Mall, the White House, Ben's Chili Bowl, etc. I've seen a play in Ford's Theatre, I've snuck my way through the Spy Museum. And yet, in nearly three years, I hadn't been out to visit Manassas and the Civil War Battle ground there.

To be fair, I've wanted to see where the Battles of Bull Run happened. Until last weekend, I had no idea it was the same place. Oops. Yay Yankee education! Turns out, pretty much all battles have two names. Really this shouldn't be a surprise...we couldn't agree on how to treat 20% of our people - do you really think we could have agreed on a name?

Saturday morning, Westley and I trekked out to the Battle grounds, paid our $3, and quite frankly, had a ball. Two very informative (and vastly different) walking tours and a rousing musket demonstration later, we marveled at the landscape and the pivotal battles that occurred right in his backyard a mere 140+ years ago.

Of all the amazing information gleaned from our day (how far a cannon can shoot [1800 yds] and how insanely hot the Union Army uniforms were [great Hades they're hot!]) the biggest trivia nugget I learned that day was the First Battle of Manassas/Bull Run is where this guy earned his nickname. Colonel Thomas J. Jackson joined the fight here and when told the enemy was over running his Confederate comrades, Jackson responded "then we will give them the bayonet." On the top of that hill, his troops hunkered down and stopped the Union advance, helping the Confederates to win the battle. At the top of the hill (just 50 yards from a very cool visitors center) this huge statue is there in his honor, Col. Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson.

(sidebar- inside the visitor's center is one of the coolest battle displays ever -- it's a giant sculpted replica of the fields with little LED lights that not only show where each regiment was fighting but also whenever the narrator said a battle started, you could see the firefight in the little lights. Seriously cool and so worth the visit)

3 hours, two sunburns, and one perfect morning spent learning about our area's history later, we left the battle field filled with knowledge and so incredibly hungry. Want to know the next best thing I learned about Manassas that day? The location of Okras. Yum-o. And also, completely worth the trip. Nothing says 'hello perfect weekend' like state parks, jambalaya, and great company.

Sweet, sweet success, errr...I mean failure.

2008-08-21T09:52:00.006-04:00

Oh the plans and goals I had for myself today...so far I'm 0-4.

I stayed up late last night finishing a few projects and then was properly and completely sucked in to the Gold medal women's beach volleyball final. The announcer explained that China had called a time out due to "equipment issues." The "equipment" with the "issues" was a freaking hat. The 'issue' itself was the Olympian from China was having problems putting her pony tail thru the opening in the back of the hat. I kid you not, the male announcer said "you may not realize just how hard it is to get a ponytail through the back of a hat." Really? That's the difficulty of the match? Does this mean the US team deserves an additional medal for getting dressed alllll by themselves? Please.

I intended to get up early today, hoping to be leaving the house around 7:45 to a) actually be early for work and b) make it easier to leave early today. Instead, I woke up at 7:40. Awesome. I'm not sure why I'm so tired - I didn't go to bed that much later but I guess I was pretty out of it. I think I may have fallen asleep in the shower.

My face felt tight this morning after my shower so I thought to myself 'self, remember to moisturize.' Next thing I know, I've got a hand full of tooth paste and I'm about to rub those hands together for application. Hmmm, not sure that's going to help.

I decided to dress up a bit for work today, mostly because my most favorite purple work top (with polka dots and ruffles! it's cute, I swear) was clean and would give me an excuse to wear my super hot black pencil skirt. As I looked in the mirror once my outfit was complete, I realized my skirt had lint alllllll over it. Ick. I grabbed my lint roller and made a swipe. Equipment failure extreme - the roller pushed all the lint it had collected in swipes previous and deposited them on my skirt. The paper was completely un-sticky (non-sticky? stickiless? whatever). I lifted up the corner of the sans-sticky sheet to go to the next, gave a little pull, and ....... the entire roll unraveled like a 2 year old with Charmin. Aparently lint rollers expire. I was unaware. And now covered in lint.

Metro was running with *h*u*g*e* delays today, so I quickly fired off some emails before crossing the bridge so hopefully I won't get nailed for turning in some docs late. I arrived at Chinatown, my transfer point, and proceeded to go to the wrong platform. I looked around thinking, "hmmm, that train should be going the other waaaaaa- fudge." Walked back over to the correct side and caught my train.

When I finally made it to my stop, late as usual, I decided what I needed more than anything was coffee. Good coffee. I sent a quick email to a couple other people with the "hitting up starbucks - who wants some" message. Within 3.4 seconds, a new world record, Dorothy responded with her order. One Big Big Latte coming up. I decided to treat myself to a venti as well - I have the feeling I could use the extra caffination today.

I headed into work, managed to open the massive door in front while balancing two venti cups against my chin and dropped Dorothy's off. No trips, no falls, no spillage. Thank the LORD.

Within 2 minutes of sitting at my desk, 1/4 of my latte ended up in my little basket of binder clips. yay me. go team. rah freakin' rah.

So now the question is do a) I go and wash all 50 of my little binder clips now dripping with my skinny vanilla latte, b) just put them back sticky and covered in milk - that will teach people to steal my clips, c) throw them away and start from scratch, or d) abort mission - just go home.

Why didn't you tell me baby?

2008-08-19T11:35:00.003-04:00

It came to my attention that not everyone in the world has been notified about the epidemic hitting playgrounds and McDonalds everywhere. Please, for the love lunchables, talk to your kids about this, before someone else does...

From a Me to a We

2008-08-18T21:55:00.003-04:00

I headed home last week, eager for some time off, armed with some fun news, and just a tad (ok quite a bit more than a tad) reluctant to be gone at this exact moment. I should say something grown up and professional, such as it's my uber busy career in finance giving me the hesitation to be gone for a while, but really it was something so much more fun than that.

A few select people knew my news in advance, but I was a little apprehensive to say anything to the parental units because that makes it so...real. A name. With the adjective 'boyfriend' in front of it. Big. Screaming. Deal.

My first morning at home, mom and I were wandering around downtown on search of post cards. I found one that was just right and got in line to buy it. My mom looked at me and said, "A postcard? Only one?" 'Yes, mother. One postcard.' "Well...whooooo...are...yousendingitto?"

I could have made something up, said Jen or Jess or anyone, but at the moment I realized I was ready for it to be real. I took a deep breath and said 'it's for my boyfriend, mom - Westley.'

My mother is one of the most prim and proper women you will ever meet - she could put Emily Post to shame. But at that moment, she could not hold it in - her emotion, for one of the first times in my presence, got the best of her and she started jumping up and down.

I suppose I could write a novel about how utterly embarrassing and horrifying it was to watch my 50+ year old mother act like the 3 year old finding the perfect toy in the cereal box but instead I smiled and laughed at my ridiculously cute mom finding joy in my crazy mixed up life. And when it came down to it, I couldn't find any fault in her response - I've been jumping up and down on the inside for quite some time now.

It's an amazing moment, to go from a me to a we. It's a small accomplishment, really, to say on a Monday "we just saw the most amazing show" instead of "I went to see a great band" but somehow that one little word changes the story completely. It's a fun place to be right now, in the early stages and its so wonderful to know, resolutely and definitively, that he's enjoying this crazy ride as much as I.

Speaking of a great show, WOW. Pretty much amazing. Obviously the company played a huge part in the enjoyment but the breathtaking skill of Dr. Lonnie Smith only further highlighted how amazing the guy sitting next to me is. Turns out Westley's not a huge jazz fan like me but had the foresight to pick this show, knowing I would enjoy it, in the amazing Blues Alley venue, starting off one of the best weekends of record in my world. I could keep going, but the gushing needs to be kept to a minimum. I don't want anyone to vomit on their keyboards and send me bills.

In short, my cheeks hurt from the smiling, my heart is light as a feather, and I'm as corny as Kansas in August. Dr. Smith's rendition of "Someday My Prince Will Come" just came on. Let's change that to did. La vita è bella.

And I'm telling you, I'm SO leaving

2008-08-05T21:47:00.005-04:00

On a jet plane...tomorrow.

I should be packing right now. And finding my toothbrush. And filling up my shampoo bottle. And trying to figure out if I can survive on a five day trip with 6 pairs of shoes and 2 pairs of socks (let's keep those priorities in line kids...)

But instead I'm not. I'm checking my latest obsession... oh my heavens is it fun. You should join. Right now. Then, tomorrow at precisely 3 pm, you'll get the update that I have heartburn. Just what you've always wanted, I know...

I am leaving tomorrow though- back to Northern Michigan. On purpose. I checked the weather forecast for my time at home - highs of 75. Max. In full sun. This is the way summer should be people. It's a little odd to pack for a summer vacation and be more worried about sweatshirts and jeans than shorts and tank tops, but not when you head up north. Thankfully Klue is still at home with a closet she is happy to share (I hope...my suitcase is running out of room).

In my absence, enjoy my top 5 accomplishments from the weekend:
1. Went to a Nationals game with some awesome people and not only scored free tickets but managed to get free food too.
2. Stayed up till 4 am (fun), forgot to turn my alarm clock off (not fun) and was wide awake at 6:45 am (pure genius).
3. Took a nap by the pool (awesome) but didn't turn arms, body, or head - thus one side of my face is burned (not awesome).
4. Hooked someone new on The Office; was repaid in full by a new addiction to Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. I think this guy's a keeper...
5. Found the best Sunday night activity combination - pedicures, Tater Tot Casserole, and Fight Club. hot, Hot and HOT.

Quite the weekend. Only one more day of work, then a 5 day weekend. Huzzah.

Kill Her With Kindness

2008-08-01T11:44:00.003-04:00

I'd like to think overall I'm pretty good at not sweating the small stuff. I try to be that calm duck on top of the water while my feet are kicking madly beneath the surface. My job has helped me develop a thick skin I a) needed and b) appreciate daily. But there are a few people who still manage get my goat, one of whom was staying over last night.

I was dreading going home all day. Anxiety levels were unbelievably high and I hadn't even seen her yet. Thankfully I had to work late, then I met up with a friend for dinner hoping to minimize the possible contact time. On my metro ride home it struck me how ridiculous I'm being. Since when do I back down from a fight? Why am I fighting passive aggressive behavior with passive aggressive behavior? This is going nowhere. I started analyzing the situation, asking myself what the root of the issue really is. Is she a fairly miserable person? Yes. Is she amazingly talented at getting under my skin? Yes. Does this mean I don't have to be nice to her? Yes.....well, no.

I remembered something I read written by a woman who worked at a coffee house. Dee was frustrated people didn't treat her with the same respect and attention she was giving them. She remembered tens or even hundreds of individual orders, preferences, kids names, etc, and yet so few could remember just one name, or even bother to look at her name tag and call her by her name. My brief time as a restaurant employee gave me the same frustrations - I'd greet someone with "Hello! How are ya?" and the response invariably would be "Yes, I'd like a...." After a while, I stopped expecting people to answer my question and generally stopped asking all together. Dee's response was different - she decided instead to 'kill them with kindness.' Over time, she started noticing a difference. There would always be those people who would view her as just an extension of the espresso machine but others stopped and saw she was more than an excellent frother. She had a name, she had a daughter, she had a great sense of humor. She was a kind and generous person who deserved kindness in return.

I decided to give it a whirl last night. I didn't rush home after dinner but as I got home, I psyched myself up for battle before going in. She was there and was not in a good mood. I greeted her, she returned it with a heavy sigh but with a hello. I couldn't tell if she was just tired or annoyed that I was home later than I said I would be. I asked her if she was psyched up for her daughter's move this weekend. She was not. Ok then. Well it will be fun to see her new place! She does not like it. Well then...

I took a five minute break from the action to recompose myself. She was not going to make this easy. I went back out and asked if she'd like me to set up our extra bed in the living room for her. She looked at it and said "it doesn't look comfortable." Well, it's just a twin I replied, but it's more comfy than the carpet! "Oh. Well....no. I don't think so. But I might put the mattress on the floor." Sure! I said. I have sheets to fit it! And blankets! I can grab them for you in a minute. "No, I brought my OWN sheets. I don't want yours." Ok, I said, but if you'd rather, I also have an air mattress - it might be better than the green thing -- just let me know, I'm happy to get it out for you. "No, I'm sleeping on that tomorrow. (big sigh) At Marie's. Air mattress (mutter mutter mutter)..." And then she gave me the full body turn away to face the TV.

I wanted to run over to her, give her a hug, and scream in her ear 'I'M BEING NICE TO YOU DAMMIT AND I DON'T HAVE TO! BE NICE TO ME - YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE GROWN UP HERE' but I didn't. She clearly needs more hugs and compliments and sunshine and puppies, etc, but not from me, and not tonight. I don't want to make one of those sweeping statements of "thank God I'm me and not her" so instead I made more of a "thank God I am me. Period. Dot." Who knows why she is the way she is. Freud probably has some ideas, therapy might not be a bad idea, but in the mean time, even if it kills me, I will be nice. Nicer than nice. A friend just sent me an email forward with a bunch of pink fru fru crap but at the end it said "Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." I don't know what she's fighting, but from the looks of it, she could use all the help she can get.

Now I Understand Why Daddy Blocked MTV...

2008-07-29T22:17:00.006-04:00

Last weekend was Projekt Revolution Tour Weekend. I do not have a single picture that does it justice. Enjoy my blurry taken-whlie-jumping-up-and-down pictures from my camera phone. You are welcome.

Linkin Park was awesome -- no surprise there. The one song I wanted to hear (One Step Closer) they played right at the end. I did momma proud; not only was I shakin' it and screaming right along with everyone else, but I totally took out the massive guy next to me with my not-so-straight-up-and-down jumping. He probably thought I was seizing or something...no no this is just Kate having a good time.

But I digress... the Big WooptyWho was a very saucy man named Chris Cornell. This is a better representation of what I saw on stage...the picture to the right is all I came away with...except the memories. Sweet, sweet, sweaty memories.
Mmm...wait what? Where am I? Oh yes.

When my family first moved to Michigan, my dad signed us up for cable. Awesome. We hadn't ever had full cable before and now, a solid 50-60 channels were at our disposal, keeping us in doors and up late every day of the year. Who missed the swimming pool when suddenly we had TBS and TNT and holy crap there's a channel all about food???

There was also a little channel called MTV. This channel didn't go over well when mom caught us watching something called 'reality tv' and a show called 'The Real World' which as far as we could tell had nothing to do with the real world and everything to do with Pedro just wanting love and not to die of AIDS. Mom didn't like us watching this but one show wasn't enough to pay the cable guy to come allllllllll the way back out to do anything about it.

Then, a little program playing 'music videos' started showing a band called Sound Garden. The band's new hit, "Black Hole Sun" was on hourly rotation for weeks. Dad saw this one time and before all the faces had finished melting, the cable guy had been summoned to our house to block MTV once and for all. After realizing Chris Cornell = Audioslave and also Chris Cornell = Sound Garden, I agreed to go to this concert just to hear "Black Hole Sun" one time.

Before Chris and crew even came on stage, they played the most beautiful string version of the song -- prompting me to think they weren't going to play it on stage since, duh, we all just heard it.

Oooooooh no. They played it. They played the crap out of it. It was amazing. It was unbeatable. It made the concert and pit ticket price completely worth it. After he finished his set, as he walked off the stage, a jazz version started playing as well. Seriously, a Chris Botti-esque version of "Black Hole Sun." 10 points for who ever can find these versions for me and send them asap.

I'm not sure if dad canceled MTV because of the video or maybe because he saw a glimpse of the man behind the baggy clothes and was worried about his three daughters lusting after this fine specimen of man (uh, yeah, my daughters won't be watching this either until they're much, much older) but I know I appreciated it a lot more now, seeing him live and in living color on stage. Or maybe it's because of what the song is actually about...oh yeah, that. Hmm. Good move, Dad.

5 Steps to Emotional Health

2008-06-30T22:12:00.023-04:00

Step One: Beef.

Step Two: New Gadgets

a) a baby gas grill b) a fancy schmancy 2 probe digital meat thermometer with a 120 foot range beeper!

Step Three: Find someone smaller than you to pick on.

Step Four: Buy Yourself Something Special - shop with a friend!

A) The Tobacco Company B) Sine C) Galaxy Diner

Step Five: Enjoy a Late Night Snack to Chat About your Feelings Regarding:

a) Superior Drink choices!

b)Inferior Drink choices!

c) Zero Morality!

d) Fried Pickles!

e) More beef!

Congrats. You are healed. Good luck with those arteries.

Close only counts in Horseshoes, Hand Grenades, and Narrow Escapes of Death in Richmond

2008-06-30T20:40:00.004-04:00

My life is full of adventures and tales of glory - fighting the good fight, taking on the enemy, risking it all for knowledge of standing on the side of righteousness. And then there is the portion of my life I like to refer to as 'dumb luck' or this week as '#7 of my 9 lives' -- or to put it plainly, 'Kate Goes to Richmond and Tries to Stay Alive.'

Somehow each time I make the trek a mere 90 miles south, I enter the CZ - the Catastrophe Zone. Once there was the mystery monster flying bug in the bathroom that waited until you otherwise occupied to jump out and help nature along by literally scaring the crap out of you. Next time, while out on a Zombie walk, I was attacked by a giant (I think) flesh eating spider (or at least one with a wicked bite), had my arm swell up and ended up with a fever. I almost died, I swear. And then there was the time we were racing to catch a 6 am train and....oh wait, I didn't die...but someone almost did. (Hi Jen!)

Life with Jen is never boring - there's the endless adventures of hikes around Belle Isle, the never ending search for lost keys, wild exploits in parallel parking, and always going where ever the wind takes us - I always have a fan-damn-tastic time in the south with her. This past weekend, however, was nearly my last.

Jen needed to have her oil changed (and needed a good excuse to drive the other car that has A/C during the hot hot weather) and asked if I'd mind following her to the shop in one of the cars. I lept at the chance to drive a car! oooooh emmmmmm geeeee! A Car! And I was secretly hoping we could take the long way to the shop so I could spend just a few more minutes behind the wheel. Without even having to ask, Jen read my mind. But we didn't just take a spin around the block....ooooooh no, we took a trip down Old Gun Road.

Old Gun Road is a back road at its best. I'm sure the speed limit is about 15 miles an hour, but with all the curves and dips and turns and ups and downs, you really can't appreciate it going less than 40. And appreciate it we did. I was doing a pretty good job in my car keeping up with the Lead Foot Leader when we started up an incline. A poor sap on a bike training for the Tour De Richmond was huffing and puffing up the hill when Jen zoomzoomed around him and took off. I, naturally did the same, as safely as I could when I looked ahead of me and saw a Jeep. Coming towards me. And I swear to God, accelerating towards me. The biker was next to me and I thought I had enough time to increase my speed just a bit more and squeak in. barely. I was so focused on a) not pushing the biker down the 4 foot drop off the side of the road and b) not hitting the Jeep head on in a car that didn't belong to me, that I missed Jen seeing my life flash before her eyes. After I very expertly (and almost too late) maneuvered back into my lane, Jen called and texted me to let me know we were done with this little road trip. Apparently killing your house guest is against southern custom.

Sunday night, with not a whole lot to do, Jen decided to take me to her happy place. It's a lovely farm about 20 minutes from her house with lots of horses, donkeys, llamas, and the lone pig (who looked more tasty than friendly). We thought we'd take Jen's horse, Topper, and the other, very gentle and mild mannered and well trained horse, Snoopy, could be my trusty stead for the night. Walking down toward the pasture, Jen pointed out her adopted horse and at the exact moment we watched her mild mannered boy bite the horse next door. Hard. Hmmmm...he might not be the one to ride today. Ok, instead we decide to say hey to Snoopy and maybe just ride him around the indoor ring for a little while instead. Harmless, docile little Snoopy. Jen gave me the leader line as we walked towards the ring while she carried the tack. She tied him up to a 12 foot section of heavy metal fencing in a easy release knot and said "now, if anything happens and I'm not here, just pull this end of the rope to let him go." But why would I need to know that? He's so sweet and gentle!

I went to work, brushing him down, prepping him for his saddle. I finished one side and moved to the other while telling him just how handsome he is and he's not so scary even though he's fricken huge... Next, I don't know what happened but something spooked him.

Snoopy reared up a foot from me and started thrashing around. There was no grabbing the rope - I was getting the heck outta dodge. The moment I turned around to get back, he dislodged the entire piece of fencing and hurled it around, still attached to his bridle, right behind my back close enough for me to feel the breeze. Still bucking and thrashing, he turned and took off for the pasture. About 30 feet into his escape, the leader line broke, dropping the fence just outside the building entrance, with the quick release knot still firmly in place. He didn't run far and seemed to be completely calmed down. Jen grabbed a fist full of grass, offered it up as a peace offering and grabbed a hold of his bridal to lead him calmly back to his pasture.

There would be no riding today.

Thank heavens no one was hurt - even Snoopy with his wild outburst of gentility didn't have so much as a scratch to show for the tantrum. An hour later or so, after my heart had returned to a more steady and less frantic pace, and realized I'd dodged death or at least a severe maiming a second time in two days, I wondered if it was really worth it to put my life on the line to spend time with Jen. That's an easy question - of course it's worth it - but next time I head down for a weekend, I think I'll wear a helmet.

Ponder Me This

2008-06-26T17:14:00.006-04:00

On a scale of 0-50 pounds, how bad would it be to own this?

Is it wrong to pull my hair out while listening to coworkers wax poetic about the amazing acting prowess of Russel Crow in "Captain Ron"?

What is the statue of limitations on (still) being horrified when I run into I coworker whom I pulled on to the dance floor at last year's Holiday Party to show him my amazing sweeping abilities?

Is stealing and hording free food a bad thing or just good planning?

My boss just said "You and Kate are quite the dynamic duo" - does this mean my alter ego should expect to start receiving a pay check as well?

If someone offered to give you money if you donated your body to science upon death, who gets to spend your two dollars?

If I an employee is due in to work at 9 am, usually shows up around 9:30 am, but this day came in at 8:40 am, does this mean she can leave 50 minutes early? (Please?)

If someone tells you that you are the best grandma alive, but all of their personal grandmothers are currently alive, are you still the best?

Let's imagine your friend dates a boy whose name starts with the letter M, who turned out to be a Moron (an M word!), with Many Major Malfunctions (triple word score!) who you'd kinda like to Murder (yet another M word!) is ok to substitute his name in all conversations with Midiot?

Is it at all shocking to find the entire reason someone dumped you in a comic strip?

Should I be surprised that my life can be defined by a three frame comic strip?

There's No Crying in Baseball

2008-06-23T21:14:00.005-04:00

Friday afternoon, a guy from Portfolio was roaming around the office with 2 tickets to that evening's National's game. I've been trying to figure out how to score some free tickets because although I really want to see the new stadium, I don't really want to pay to see the new stadium. And TADA! Just like that, I had two tickets in really decent seats for the game. Hello peanuts and cracker jacks! Ok more like beer and a Ben's Half Smoke, but details, details.

I spent the next 3 hours trying to find someone, anyone, who wanted to go to the game. Everybody and their mother had plans - dinners with dads and family members, colds/flus/plagues, birthday parties, weddings, etc. As a last ditch effort, I emailed my old roommate Favre, who had previously scored and shared free Piston/Wizard tickets, and I offered to return the favor with free baseball tickets. Favre works crazy long hours alllllllll the time and thus if plans are ever made with him, whatever it is we're doing needs to start no earlier than 9 pm if he has a chance of making it. So when I asked him to a 7:35 pm game, I was pretty sure he'd say no. But he surprized me - instead (at 3:15 pm) he said "shit shit shit shit shit... i'm swamped, but let me see if i can pull it off." At 7:15 I left a ticket at Will Call and he sent a text saying he thought he would make it by 8 pm - not too shabby. In the mean time, let's work on some snacks.

I double fisted some tasty cervezas, finally got my hands on a deliciously sinful Half Smoke from Ben's Chili Bowl and headed down to my seat. And what a seat it was - right over home plate with a great view of the field. Next to me was a guy very very involved in Nat's baseball - and not at all pleased with tonight's pitcher.

Before the start of the bottom of the second inning, a special video montage started - and with it, the waterworks. The National's Baseball Franchise honored Tim Russert, who is not only a Washington and Political Icon but also a huge supporter of bringing baseball back to DC. From watching part of his speech during the inauguration of the team returning to the District to seeing clips of him on his various shows and in his various duties, I felt the tears starting to flow. As we all in the stadium waved our caps to celebrate the life and passion that was Tim Russert, all I could do to compose myself was think - "There's no crying in baseball, THERE IS NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!"

But really, the best solution to the waterworks is the Presidential Race - no not Obama kicking some old man tail, but the Racing of the Presidents. I, in true midwestern fashion, picked Abe to win it all. And did he ever - BOTH races, and by a lot. Farve, with all his polling experience, picked Teddy, who during the first race, spent his time at the bar rather than running his race. Good choice man, better luck next time.

In the end, the game was fantastic - tied in the bottom of the 9th, we ended up going extra innings - 14 total innings before the Nats finally pulled away with a win. Bottom of the 14th, with one out and bases loaded, you better win or we've got bigger issues than an alcoholic mascot to deal with. But they did end up being able to score the all important run to win 4-3. No more tears were shed and I was on my way home around midnight.

But finally, for 10 points can anyone tell me what's wrong with this picture?

From a trickle to an all out Waterfall

2008-06-09T10:54:00.007-04:00

Back in April, I read Peter Sagal's blog about what makes a manly man like him tear up. I thought for a little while about what my list would be, casually thought about ripping off his idea and making my own list of "How to Make Kate Cry" then realized it would be an unbelievably short list, especially for a girl. Do I need to advertise my lack of emotion on the internet? Clearly, I do.

I'm not a big crier. Movies, music, good books, it takes a lot to get me worked up enough to really let loose. Once, in high school, I was hanging out with a friend who was introducing me to some new music. He decided to play a song called "Kentucky Rose" but before hitting play, he introduced it with "I never cry, but this song makes everyone I know cry. If it doesn't, there's clearly something wrong with you." I cannot tell you how hard I tried to cry during that song - but it just didn't do it for me. Joel was not impressed.

We're all affected in different ways and differently as time moves on. Movies that seemed so amazing and touching to me in college have much less effect on me now, but now I cry watching TV shows, something I never imagined I would do 5 years ago. My first year in DC, after my dad was diagnosed with Cancer, I lost it every week during "Grey's Anatomy" when the 'Meredith's Mother is Dying' story line was dragging out. And yet, I would re-watch the episodes, bawling right along with Mere in the supply closet, much to the exasperation of my ex ('if you KNOW you're going to be upset, why do you keep watching it???' "I don't know, I just DO!!!"). Watching "Rent" during that same year, I had to pause the movie to compose myself as Collins was singing goodbye to his love, Angel ("with a thousand sweet kisses, I'll cover you; when your heart has expired, oh lover, I'll cover you"). Seriously, snot, gushing tears, total mess until that song is over, and yet, I keep watching it and I c a n n o t f a s t f o r w a r d through the funeral scene.

Dad is on the mend now and everyone is healthy and happy, so thankfully my crying has definitely decreased to a more acceptable level. Kate the Emotional Rock is back. Even watching the "Sex and the City" movie this weekend, I teared up a couple times, but no Niagra effect on me, even while staring down all my worst fears and nightmares about single living/marriage/motherhood/etc.

Right when I'm thinking I'm back to being myself, TBS and all it's 'let's play a movie 4 times in a row and run it into the ground' glory happened this weekend with the killer of all tear duct movies - "The Family Stone."

"The Family Stone" is not a great movie by any stretch, but is solidly in the 'better than average' category. It has decent writing, a great cast, and an interesting (but overdone) plot. There was more political content thrown in than I expected, and good amount of eye candy, and then there's the last 30 minutes of the movie. Quick rundown of the plot: oldest darling child in well off New England family wants family diamond to give to girlfriend no one likes. Girlfriend pisses off every family member with her socially awkward/uncomfortable ways, mother of darling boy not only hates her but (surprise!) is dying and this is her last Christmas, which is only known by her husband until the very end of the movie. Let's just evaluate all the issues Kate identifies with here to understand her unnatural obsession with this movie: awkward girl faced with being alone forever, death of family member by cancer, perfect Christmas with SNOW, sister being constantly measured up (and found wanting) to her more adorable/well rounded/poised sister, being the outcast by trying to be helpful, and generally over reacting to everything/reading into everything/constantly playing worst case scenario/ etc. I could go on and on and on about why I identify with this movie, as painful as it is, but I think you get the idea. This is exactly the type of movie I should never watch. Certainly I should never re-watch it. And yet, I cannot turn away.

I saw on the On Demand menu the movie only had 30 minutes left before it was restarting. I remembered what happens in the last 30 minutes, and still turned to TBS to watch the end. Maybe I was testing myself a little to see if I could handle it now, or maybe I am just a glutton for punishment. As it turns out, I still can't handle it. As the final scene was starting when the family minus one was gathering around the tree, there I was, unleashing a torrent of tears onto my sofa, promptly turned from a strongly confident, emotionally grounded, independent woman into a blubbering mess of sobs and hiccups. Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for opening up those flood gates.

Maybe I don't show enough range of emotion on a daily basis, but turn on a dying Diane Keaton and show me one scene of Coach and Rachel McAdams tearing up, and I'll produce enough tears for a year's worth of emotion. But now, it's time to go back to happy movies only. HAPPY. No death, certainly no CANCER. Time to rent Mary Poppins and The Incredibles and Fight Club to cheer me up. Yes, Fight Club. Nothing puts a smile on my face like Brad Pitt and Edward Norton with six packs beating the crap out of random guys and yelling "His Name Is Robert Paulson! His Name Is Robert Paulson!" Oooh yes. Happy, happy thoughts.

Politely placed it there

2008-05-29T23:01:00.009-04:00

This Week's Ray of Sunshine in the PhotoFiles of Kate:
the "Get Blasted Rocket Ship Beer Dispenser"

I'm off on a rocketship

Prepared for something new

I'm off on a rocketship

Ecstatic with the view

I am scared of the things upcoming
And I want for the things I don't have

Cannot stand to be one of many

I'm not what they are

'hanks Mom

2008-05-12T19:24:00.020-04:00

I've realized it's hard to really 'celebrate' Mother's Day when you aren't within shouting distance of your actual mother. Sure, you can send a card, or a gift, or a lanyard, but are you really celebrating? Somehow I think supporting Hallmark by sending a card is more of remembering. This year, I felt the need to celebrate.

While making lots of other amazing shopping decisions (there's a story for later...), I decided to celebrate my mom this past Sunday by cooking. Cooking a lot. Specifically, cooking things my mommy used to cook for me - chicken, beets, parsley potatoes, and homemade* biscuits.

First off, chicken - the Sunday Staple for most of my more formidable years. Although my absolute favorite chicken mommy used to make is actually flour chicken, I decided it was time to practice on the whole bird - something sure to make mom proud.

In honor of my little sister, I bought organic veggies AND hormone/drug free, range fed, hugged twice a day chicken. It was a little more pricey, and sadly came without the extra packet of goodies normal chickens come with, but the meat was unbelievably tender and amazing (although brining the chicken over night probably helped...)

Next, a vegetable, of course. Nothing makes me think of mom more than freshly boiled beets. I think I am the only other person in my family who would buy stock in Schrute Farms, I do love me some beets and these babies were HUGE. They also came with some amazing greens, so in honor of my dad (since he did help with the upbringing and all) I tried a new recipe - cooked beet greens. It was ... interesting. Dad would probably approve. They might have been a little funky, but they sure were pretty.

My absolute favorite side dish my mom has ever made is also the easiest - parsley red potatoes. It's not a very interesting process to see those made so sorry, no pictures. But they are sitting quite happily next to the chicken in the last picture.

In true Mom style, there is no dessert because don't you think you've had enough already? But really, I did have enough. I have 25 years of cooking lessons and observations locked away inside, I heard my mother tell me to stop adding butter to the veggies, even though I really wanted to, I had her lessons of setting the Sunday dining room telling me which side to put the fork and knife down on, and for heavens sake stop sitting on your feet at the table. I have enough memories, training sessions, and prep hours in the kitchen to really honor, respect, and celebrate my mom.

Nothing says I love you like a home cooked meal. In the end, the chicken was divine, the beets were perfect and sweet, the potatoes were almost as good as moms, and my little baby biscuits were taaaaaasty.

For all those lessons, 'hanks mom. You're the best.

He Blinded Me With Science

2008-04-29T20:11:00.004-04:00

Zach's conditions upon me staying with him was my willing participation in many, many science experiments. For your viewing pleasure, here is the first one.

Thank you, Chuck Norris.

Fandamntastic

2008-04-16T15:29:00.035-04:00

That pretty much sums it up. Just took my first ever business trip, spent the week working out of our New York City Midtown office, and am now trying to adjust to my life that is CubeLand. A few highlights:

1. My office. IN THE CORNER. I contemplated changing my name to Tess McGill all week.

2. Free Lunch every day – not a new thing, but this week, I could order what ever my little heart desired. And I did. Oh yes oh yes oh yes.

3. I took my turn being one of those nerdy people who stands outside the Today Show taping…and saw Matt Lauer.

He is quite dishy in person

4. Two Words: THE PALM.

5. I have great respect for the LIRR – not only do they have a very clean trains (other than the bathrooms – eeeeeeeew gross) and decent prices considering the distance you’re going, but they also allow food and drinks on board. Hellz yes.

6. One tid bit of knowledge for the week – there’s a very good reason beer doesn’t come with a straw.

7. Lunch at one of *the* places in NYC – Tao. Simply amazing. Nevermind how I dropped each and every dumpling in my soy sauce and splashed it all over. Clearly I need a little more remedial education re: chopsticks.

8. Did I mention my office? Oh, ok, then how about the VIEW.

9. After traveling all the way up to NYC to be very cosmopolitan and urban and city chic, I end up at a country bar. But this place had class, fried pickles, AND a mechanical bull.

10. Ending my week in a dive bar on Long Island, singing at the top of my lungs how I BELIEVE IN A THING CALLED LOVE while I’m HANGING TOUGH with WHAT I GOT which includes someone that makes me say WHATTA MAN WHATTA MAN WHATTA MAN, all the while drinking too much ALCOHOL but knowing no matter what, I WILL SURVIVE.

I think I could get used to this business travel

Peaks and Valleys

2008-04-07T11:27:00.003-04:00

Tuesday was rough but in the grand scheme of things, nothing bad actually happened to me. No one died. No one was hurt. No tragedy occurred. Maybe it’s the lack of actual drama that made it harder to bounce back. It’s like a sprained ankle: nothing is broken, you’ll be fine in a few days, but those days of dealing with the annoyance of the sprain and being limited to your everyday life seem to be the most miserable days of your life.

I suppose my last post could have been read as more of an SOS than I meant it to – really I wrote it 2 days later mostly because looking back at everything (especially the thug on the street) it really was starting to be pretty funny. I mean really, all of that in one day? The jerk from Brooklyn plus the thug on the street plus the many many many blisters on my poor toes from my anger management march around Chevy Chase plus living and reliving all the political crap of working in a DunderMiflinWorld – could be a hilarious part in a movie some day (although when I re-write it, I WILL turn around and kick that guy in the pants – geeeeze)

Wednesday morning, I made a conscience decision to a) get over myself and b) have a good day, no matter the cost. I thought I’d treat myself to some Starbucks and wear my new outfit to work – feel good on the inside, look good on the outside. Then I got an email from my boss, Heidi, to let us know she was at the hospital, in labor, about to become a mom for the first time. By mid morning, her very own bouncing baby boy had arrived. Little Markus Octaveous had joined the ranks of the world officially.

Wednesday night I lit Markus’ candle in my room, celebrating his very first birthday. I said a little prayer for him and his newbie parents, but rather than ask God to simply bless the family with health and happiness, I asked Him to give Markus the ability to bounce – to take all the peaks and valleys he’ll travel through and knowing he’ll have rough times, give him the strength of character to see through to the good times. I’ve learned this lesson hard this week – I’ve got to learn how to bounce better – not take things so seriously and shake it off. And I’m doing just fine.

I’ve bounced back in a big way now – I’m writing this on a train (the acela even!) on my way to New York City for a full week in the Big Apple. I’m working out of our NY office, and I’ll be working IN an ACTUAL office, looking out at St. Pat’s Cathedral on 5^th Avenue (googlemap THAT thug boy). I’m pretty sure I have the ability now to jump tall buildings in a single bound. This is one big bounce back and I’m loving every second of it.

Adventures in Timestamping

2008-04-03T14:01:00.006-04:00

Tuesday
9:00ish: Arrives at work
9:30: Starts to send out links to blog
9:45: Re-reads the blog, reliving the previous night's trip
10:00: Finished coffee, thinking about getting some work done
10:01: Abandons idea of getting work done, reads other blogs instead
10:20: Convinced today will be perfect and amazing
10:28: Phone rings. Brooklyn area code
10:29: Man on phone, Byron, recounts his previous convo with me re: why I am a bad person
10:30: Pulse hits about 200 bpm
10:31: Byron starts yelling at me, but not AT me, as he is so kind, but yells at the situation (which IS me)
10:32: Finger starts waving about in the air. oh he did not just say that. and that. and what the...
10:34: Yelling into the phone, I demand respect! And kind words! And ... RESPECT damn it!
10:36: Am told I am no good at my job, never will be, should quit my job pronto and inquire for a local fry chef position at the Golden Arches
10:38: SCREAMING into the phone "There is no reason to disrespect me! You have no right to speak to me this way!"
10:40: Still be screamed at, am told I have cost my boss Bill millions of dollars, ruined my company, and am a total idiot.
10:43: Byron hangs up on me, having accomplished whatever it was he was hoping to accomplish.
10:43:01: I slam receiver down, nearly breaking a nail and possibly the phone.
10:43:02: Bosses Geeves and Soph run out of offices, wanting to know what is up, why was I yelling
10:44:10: Start to feel tears/emotion/total breakdown about to start
10:44:30: Run to kitchen for 'water'
10:46: Return from kitchen to recount to bosses in short sentences with pulse racing at over 300 bpm "I. HATE. THAT. MAN. I. HATE. MY. JOB. HATE. MAN. CAN'T. BREATHE. DON'T. WANT. TO . TALKABOUTITRIGHTNOWBUTDOSOMETHINGASAPBEFOREICOMPLETELYLOSEMYMIND.
10:47: Runs to bathroom, hides in stall, cries.
10:57: still crying.
11:05: Emerges from bathroom, red, splotchy, makeup/hair/composure ruined, completely embarrassed. Bosses are waiting for me.
11:15: Boss Bill calls, wants to know what the h-e-double hockey sticks is wrong with me - why can't I handle myself - why do I let people talk to me this way - why do I let my emotions get the better of me
11:15:10 I'm wondering why I let people talk to me this way
11:15:20: Still wondering why I let people talk to me this way
11:15:21: thinking my parents' basement is looking better and better every day
11:15:22: wants pringles. and skinny cow strawberry ice cream sandwiches. and pickles. and guacamole. and root beer. without the root. and extra beer.
11:20: done listening to boss Bill tell stories about when people have been more mean to him and how he handled it with great aplomb that I clearly lack and by the way what is wrong with you anyway?
11:58: Finds ability to breath fire. Or at least scare people away.
12:10: Boss Raymond cracks joke
12:10:02 Not laughing at joke. Nothing is funny. Not even you.
12:10:30 Boss Raymond wonders aloud what I'm so upset about
12:10:31 Gives Raymond the "what are you an IDIOT?" death stare. Bolts for the door, needs to walk off some aggression and search for at least 2 items of the above comfort list
12:12: starts death march in dress shoes around Chevy Chase
12:25: one mile into walk, sees young thug-dressed boy approaching
12:25:30: thug calls me baby
12:25:31: thug puts hand on my shoulder
12:25:32: thug tries to put his hand down my shirt
12:25:33: hand is swatted away
12:27: Just realized what he was trying to do
12:27:30: contemplates turning around to find said thug and kick him in the balls
12:28: decides not to chase worthless human being and head for guacamole instead
12:45: one mile later, guacamole and root beer is found (thank heavens for Chipotle)
1:10: arrives back at office, audience has assembled for Meltdown2008.
1:12: burrito is devoured in record time. behold the power of avocado.
1:30: first meeting with bosses Geeves and Raymond post HR session, nothing is changing
1:30:30 not surprised
1:31 and not gonna take it
3:30 second meeting with bosses Geeves and Raymond post second HR session and general stomping around
3:31 something might change but it will take time
3:31:30 not falling for that for a second
4:00 deal is brokered which involves nothing changing but boy oh boy wasn't this a fun day
5:50 email from friend "want a drink"
5:50:10 response "or 6"
6:20: grey goose cosmo in hand, things are looking up
7:00: second grey goose cosmo in hand, things are not only looking up but moving on their own, even though they are stationary objects
7:10: starting to wonder if I'm abusing alcohol
7:11: realized the only options for coping was either a drink or violence, and since violence is never the answer, drinking must be ok
7:20: dinner arrives - mussels frittes.
7:30: mussels are inhaled, lots of broth left over. bread is needed
7:50: have successfully eaten my weight in bread, even though the diet was re-starting *today*
8:00: contemplates a third drink, but probably not the best idea.
9:45: at home, in bed, heart beat down, day is over.

Have a Nice Trip

2008-03-31T22:16:00.007-04:00

Time and again, I share with people my almost stories - like the time I almost died from a scorpion sting, or when I almost made an amazing, game winning catch in a softball game, or when I almost kicked someone's butt for sitting in my seat on an airplane. The vast majority of my almost stories, however, are more focused on when, at least 3 or 4 times a week, I almost wipe out.

I've developed a bad habit of bringing up in every conversation with Curtis all my recent near misses in the world of 101 Ways Kate Can Wipe Out While Walking On Flat Ground. Once when I was walking through the lobby at work, late, in wet sneakers, I slipped on the floor and slid all the way into an open elevator door, almost taking out not just myself, but also a lawyer from my company, who happened to be carrying an extra hot venti coffee. Almost...

Tonight as I was walking over to borrow a drill from Curtis, I almost wiped out when my heel of my rather high (and hot for the record) heel wedged itself a gap in the brick sidewalk. In my stumbling and sudden halt in the forward motion I had been making, two people who had been following too close behind me almost rammed right into me. Thankfully for all of us, we all avoided the collision, I unwedged my shoe and carried on my way.

As I headed down the slope towards his condo, I remembered the stairs that were to come. They are haphazard stairs formed into the slope of a hill supposedly to look very natural and as though they were always there but what they really are is a giant safety disaster waiting to happen for anyone who is either a) not entirely sober, b) not the most stable of walkers, or most disastrously c) a combination of the two (guilty). None of these stairs are the same size, depth, or space apart. The center of each stair is brick that since it was built has now sunk into the ground and is not only not level but now has lots of little corners and pieces to trip you up constantly. Around this ankle-death trap are giant 2x4s 'framing' the brick, but not level with the brick of course, so if you don't trip on the brick, you will certainly catch a heel or toe on the wood and face-plant right into the brick. In my worst case scenario thinking mind, I immediately start thinking about how embarrassing it would be to wipe out while walking down the stairs with Curtis waiting for me at the bottom, with limbs flailing in the wind behind me.

Three stairs from the bottom, I look up to see him waiting for me, in a t-shirt and sandals, in the rain, and so I now feel compelled to hurry up so he doesn't have to stand out in the rain any longer than necessary. In my rush, I almost wipe out on a step. I catch myself just barely, take a deep breath, and pray he did not just see that, please he did not just see that oh goodness, please no.

When I caught up with him, he remarks how successful and uneventful his run in the rain was without any near misses or wipe outs on his part. I tell him as we walk towards his little gate house thing about how he nearly just saw me wipe out on the stairs (he hadn't noticed), and how I also had a near miss when my heel was stuck in the brick by the metro, but made it unscathed. He laughed and commented for as many stories as he's heard about me almost wiping out, he's never seen me anywhere near even a mild disaster and isn't entirely convinced any of it really happens.

...he just had to say that.

As we walked into the gate house area, I had only about 16 stairs to make it back down to level ground. I had come over after work and thus still had my work clothes on, which today meant my brown trousers, 2 sizes too big, and now too long, even with heels on. These pants are a little wide legged and also have large cuffs at the bottom. My heels (the hot ones previously mentioned) are very adorable pointed toe shoes with a 2.5ish inch heel - a very narrow, sharp, easy-to-trip-on, heel.

I started down the stairs, not holding on the railing, as I had a bag and purse in one hand and I was using the other to explain something that at the time was v v important. 3 steps from the bottom, my left leg goes toward the next stair but my left heel finds my right pant leg cuff instead. I'm making a forward motion; I can't stop. And there's only one thing to do - jump.

I push off with my right leg (a mere 5 feet in front of me is a giant brick wall and 7 feet to my left is a nice short flight of stairs I could fall down while I'm at it) while my left foot is very much stuck in my pants and leap towards my very probable broken ankle. 2 thoughts are running through my mind - 1. this is not going to end well and 2. I can't ruin these pants - they were too expensive! why did I ever spend this much money on pants I will just end up destroying falling down an elevator shaft or in front of a metro car, or maybe tripping on perfectly dry and evenly spaced stairs in front of Curtis!!! With nothing else to do but try for the impossible, I pull off an amazingly spectacular acrobatic feat of pulling my left heel out of my pants, maneuvering both feet under me, and sticking the landing. In heels. Without ruining my pants, breaking a heel, ankle, or anything but a little piece of pride that I've made it three months without falling like a total idiot in front of Curtis.

Curtis rushed down the last few stairs to quickly grab my arm and survey the damage, fully expecting broken, or at least very sprained, ankles, feet, legs, mangled flesh, etc.

"Holy Crap! Are you okay?"

"yup."

"That scared the crap out of me!"

"yup."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"yup. but now you know, I'm really not making up all this falling down crap."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Had a nice trip. See ya next fall.

She Shoots, She Scores

2008-03-24T22:30:00.007-04:00

I find myself feeling a little spoiled. To be perfectly honest, I really love my life in DC. I live in a great apartment, I work for a good company and for good people. My work may not be the most interesting or important work but it does allow me to maintain a certain level of comfort that frankly, I completely enjoy. I haven't packed a lunch for over 2 years. I haven't ordered a pizza at home in over a year because a buffet of them are available every Friday for lunch. As far as the ridiculous materialistic side of my work (and probably life in general) goes, I really want for nothing.

I have enjoyed a bit of a lucky streak lately. My company owns seats in a box at the Verizon center that I have had the privilege to enjoy more than once. Since moving to DC, I have been to 6 different concerts and professional sporting events and have only paid for tickets one time. Last night was another freebie for Kate. My old roommate, Favre, from the house-who-will-not-be-named emailed on Friday to invite myself and our other former roommate, Rocky, to go to the game on Sunday. He didn't say what game (hockey, basketball, pro, college, etc) but the word 'free' was in the invite so I of course said yes.

I am well aware of the phrase 'beggars can't be choosers' but when it comes to seats, even when the tickets are free, I don't want crappy ones. The only time I paid for my seat was for a Wizards game. I paid a whopping 20 bucks and got what I paid for - second to last row in the ENTIRE arena-so high up the players were but specks running around on a postage stamp of a court. This is no way to watch a game.

I met Favre and company at a bar before the game for a quick drink and catch up session, then the tickets were handed out in case we were separated.

Oh
My
Goodness.

Wizards vs. Pistons
6 rows back from the court, close enough to watch the Pistons lose and awesome enough to not feel entirely guilty about staying out too late, drinking too much, and paying for it dearly all day today at work.

I love my life.

Feeling Hot Hot Hot

2008-03-13T16:30:00.003-04:00

Let's just sum up this week (even though it's only Thursday) to be known as the week of bored frustration. Not frustratingly bored, just bored frustration. I made some colossal mistakes at work, which although somewhat funny now (I somehow confused Santa Monica and San Francisco and thus sent my boss to SFO instead of LAX, which he was thrilled about...it's just California - how far apart can places be? Oh......), another boss has the flu/SARS/plague and has been out, so I've had plenty of time to be completely frustrated about one teensy weensy work issue that was supposed to be solved a month ago and was officially shot down yesterday, and thus Pissy, thy name is Kate.

I took out my frustration on my usual target - the cutting board. I decided to make a nice spicy chili which would a) give me many, many things to chop chop chop, b) give me an excuse to drink some beer and c) have a nice therapy/cooking session, which I haven't been doing much of lately. I found a great recipe for ground turkey and black bean chili and went to town.

When I threw the spices in (chili pepper, cayenne pepper, and cumin oh my!) it looked like an awful lot of heat but oh well, I thought, that's what the beer is for (not that I'm drinking when angry, it's to kill the burn! see! Not abusing alcohol, just loving it for its medicinal qualities!).

I let it sit and simmer for a good 40 minutes, letting all that smoky flavor work its magic, then was starving and was more than ready to crack open some high quality Yuengling. I scooped it up, properly garnished the dish, the set it down. (I am a lukewarm soup eater. I don't like hot liquids of any kind - (that's the devil's temperature!) I prefer all drinks, soups, etc to be a nice moderately hot but more cool temperature before it touches these lips.)

I flipped on to my embarrassing addiction of a tv show, gave my soup a song to cool down, then dug right in. And promptly burned my mouth. Burned it bad enough that it would not have mattered if I had a half dozen habaneros in there, I wasn't tasting a thing. Bummer.

In other news, AI has a new ending song. I haven't really ever watch the show (no really, I haven't) but for some reason, I'm a little addicted this year. Last night, the unveiled the new we're sorry but nobody likes you song - "Celebrate Me Home." Won't even try to lie about it, I completely teared up (maybe it was a delayed reaction to my tongue injury...but probably not since I tear up every time it comes on my iPod) - I LOVE that song. I can't say I'm too thrilled Ruben is trying to improve on the perfection that is Kenny Loggins but wow, nicely done. Daughtry's song was good, the "Had a Bad Day" was ironic and almost a good song, but they really did finally nail the all important aspect of the show - song selection. Well done, AI peeps, well done.

My Cup Runneth Over

2008-02-28T10:07:00.003-05:00

I'm a pretty big fan of my dad - and now everyone who reads preaching.com can see just how cool of a cat he is. This is an article written by a church member and a good friend, Cliff Denay, about my dad's children sermons in church. Enjoy!

What's in the Box?

By Clifford E. Denay Jr.

I’m sitting in row seven watching Dr. Bob, our senior pastor, give today’s sermon for children. He raises a box and squints his eyes as though he is trying to figure out what is in it. Now most of us, children and adults alike, love guessing games. So, Dr. Bob calls his weekly children’s talk “What’s in the Box?” Talk about mystery. The kids love it. So do the adults. Especially me.

Next, Bob invites all the children to come to the front of the sanctuary. Sometimes a few brave adults join them, but not today. The children sit in a semi-circle with Dr. Bob as the master of ceremonies. Then I listen for the same question the eager ears have waited for.

“Who’s got the box this week?” Bob’s intonation makes the question sound brand new, exciting, fun and playful.

The gift-wrapped and much-loved shoe box is proudly presented by last week’s lucky kid. You see, children’s hands fly skyward each time he asks for a volunteer to hide something mysterious for the following Sunday’s service. So, the child who presents the “Sabbath-day secret” each week beams with the powerful knowledge of the sealed box. All eyes are fixed on the treasure cradled in his/her arms.

Even the adults lean forward in their seats, straining for a peek. I’m usually on the edge of my seat, too. Dr. Bob begins with a few observations designed to exaggerate his attempts to figure out what lies hidden under the lid. He lifts the box, shakes it and sniffs at it.

“It’s not too heavy. It doesn’t rattle when you shake it. I can’t smell anything. Nope. It’s not making any noise.”

Then, he stirs in questions: “What could be in here? Is it something you eat? Can you wear it, like a mask or a hat or clothes? Is it dangerous? Hmmmmm.”

I listen as the children answer each question with a chorus of “yes-s-s-s-s…!” or “no-o-o-o-o-o…!” And laughter. Lots of laughter. Giggling. Joy. One child jumps to his feet, shifts from one foot to another, anticipates the revelation. I feel the tension building. The grown-ups lean forward, chuckling, pretending they’re not being taken in by the ruse. But, they are.

Then, every soul in the congregation is fully engaged. Bob knows he’s got every child and adult in the palm of his hand. I listen to him launch into another extemporaneous sermon that he “hand builds,” without missing a beat, around the soon-to-be- revealed object. As always, his message seems to ignite everyone’s spirit this morning. Every child and child-at-heart is captured, “boxed in” with the word of God spoken by this precious pastor.

Is this children’s sermon, again, for this child of God? I wonder. I ask myself the same question each Sunday. And today’s answer is the same as always – yes. Dr. Bob’s message is for me, too. It’s for me every time.

I try to remember who told me to think outside the box. It’s what’s inside this box that counts.

On this day, two plush artificial kittens spring forth from under the cover – cute, cuddly and colorful. Dr. Bob tenderly raises them high so we all can see.

“These kitties are beautiful. They’re soft and furry. They’re easy to hug. They hold still when you want to hold them.” I study his eyes, watch him begin to frame his message. They sparkle. I’m watching an idea being born, God reaching out through this man.

He continues, “But, do these kittens need to be fed? Do they cry when they’re hungry? Do you have to clean their litter box? Do they lick your face?” The kids’ chorus answers every question.

I watch him carefully, wondering where he’s taking us.

"Are these kittens real?” he asks.

“No-o-o-o-o-o!” everyone answers. “They’re just play kittens. Real kitties would wiggle out of your arms,” one child declares.

“So, these kittens aren’t real?” Bob asks.

“Yes-s-s-s-s-s!” The chorus is stronger than ever. Their declaration is firm, convincing.

“Yes-s-s-s-s-s-s! They’re just play kitties!”

Dr. Bob eases into a short talk about the differences between “real” and “artificial” pets. His young audience joins in, offering their opinions, helping him understand. He graciously accepts their instruction. His smile widens. Staccato examples fly between the members of this altar-bound group.

Then, pausing, Dr. Bob gets to the heart of his message.

“Is God real or artificial?” he asks.

“God is real!” a little girl answers. “He’s real!” “Jesus is real, too!” another joins in. “He’s always real! He’s cool. Not like these kitties.”

Hands fly up. More affirmations follow, declarations regarding God’s reality are proudly pronounced, affirmed, supported. Then, the kids start to wiggle, sensing closure. Dr. Bob sits back slightly, offers a few more examples of what life would be like if God wasn’t real, if Jesus was a fake. Small heads nod vigorously. One boy stands and stamps his foot on the floor, his own signature of his belief in God.

For the closing prayer of petition, Dr. Bob asks each child to recognize the real God at work in his/her life, the real Jesus walking beside him/her every day in the form of friends and family members, precious pets and surprise secrets hidden in the box.

I slide back in my pew and consider his prayer. I think of Jesus’ promise, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age”(Matt. 28:20). Bob’s done it again. Is there a better “take away” from a sermon than this?

I know this message is for me.

So what’s in the box this week? The guessing game’s over for today. I know the answer. Stuffed, plush kittens. But, next Sunday, who knows? I’m confident and grateful that when the next secret peeks out from under the shoe box lid, Dr. Bob will use it to teach another spiritual truth.

“I want the children to recognize God in the things of this world, to see God all around them,” he told me recently. “If I can do that, God becomes real for them.”

"Yes,” I replied, “and for me, too.”

37 *

2008-02-20T12:01:00.003-05:00

Living in DC, you'd think everyone would have all the federal holidays off. Not so for me and my fair fellow employees slaving away at CSE. We are working away every Columbus Day, each year on Veteran's Day, and never have the chance to plan a fun day out on Arbor Day. But by some stroke of luck, we were actually granted President's Day off this year. I suppose since I live fairly close to where a few of them have lived, I should have spent the day out honoring the Presidents, or at least making a stop by the Giant Sharpened Pencil in the Sky and said thanks to George the First for, well, being the first and stuff. Instead, I spent the day doing my three favorite activities: going to the early movie at E Street (Persepolis!), cooking up a storm, and cleaning.

For the last 7 years, I have moved at least two times a year. This gave me an excellent opportunity to be constantly going through things, cleaning out the closet, making room for new things, re-organizing the ever growing pile of shoes, etc. I've never had to actually plan a spring cleaning - it conveniently was the same time I needed to pack up from school and head home. After moving out to DC, I've been bouncing around a bit, and in my first year, moved 4 times. Each time I have to pack, I re-evaluate how much of this stuff I really need to keep (or rather carry...again) for the new place. But for the past 15 months, I have not moved once. It's a little mind boggling that I've found the ability to suppress my Moving-ADD habit this long. And from the looks of my closet, my lack of mobility has caused great havoc on my tendency to keep things long past their shelf life.

I attacked my closet Monday afternoon, first going for the fun stuff (I literally tried on every tank top, jean, sweater, and any 'questionable' article of clothing I own and pretended Stacey and Clinton were there with me), then dove into the more difficult stuff (how many pairs of brown pants do I need to own? Am I too young to have items for a costume box already because some of this stuff is hilariously bad...) and then my most difficult cleaning project of all - my shoes.

I love shoes. Seriously. I. LOVE. SHOES. Shoes can make an outfit. Shoes are the most fun way to accessorize. Shoes bring in a pop of color to an otherwise conservative/modest/dull outfit. Shoes, unlike your favorite jeans or lucky top, always fit. With all this said, and as much as it pains me to admit it, my shoe collection is a little out of control. I bought a lot of shoes last year. I wouldn't go so far as to say I bought too many shoes last year, but we teetered on the line of a full blown addiction for a while. I've tried to enforce the rule of throwing out one pair of shoes each time I buy a new pair (or two), but it's hard to say good bye to the favorites. Yes, those ridiculous pink sneakers give me blisters and make my toes bleed, but I had such a FUN time in those in Georgetown. Oh those old brown sandals I wore my first summer in Hell even though they were against the dress code but I received many compliments on my self-pedicures. Am I ready to let go of the memories and let these shoes walk into someone else's life?

In a word, yes. It's time. I have a hanging shoe organizer, a double stacked shoe shelf plus floor space and the shoes are still being double stacked and forced in. It was time to let go.

After much weeping and gnashing of teeth, I parted with almost a dozen pairs of shoes. When all was said and done, I recounted my precious collection and was astonished to have it down to a reasonable level - 37 pairs of shoes. Everything fits, every pair has it's place of honor, and amazingly enough, I even have a little room to grow.

Very Presidential

2008-02-08T09:33:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I found myself between very important appointments with time to kill. What a perfect time to go to my favorite Smithsonian, the National Portrait Gallery! I have yet to make it all the way through the museum, but this day, it was important because of a new (temporary) addition to the Hall of the Presidents.

Usually, people head upstairs to see this guy: Mr. Numero Uno in all his glory.

Don't get me wrong, he's an impressive guy. There are many many pictures of him, looking very...uh, presidential. And one unfinished one of just his face floating on a blank canvas. I'm sure there's a great story to that one, but I had moved on before I had time to care.

The rest of the hall is filled with amazing pictures, and even more amazing stories of the paintings, like Norman Rockwell's painting of Nixon. Rockwell was so disturbed by how intense and ominous Nixon seemed, that he purposely softened his look to keep from being forever creeped out by Tricky Dick.

But the real show was just outside the hall of Presidents and was the actual reason I took the trip on Saturday. Just as I came up the stairs to the Hall of Presidents, I stumbled upon this:

No, it's not a line to the bathroom, although it IS where the bathrooms are.
It's because of this:

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, one of the future presidents of the United States, in his own place of honor, between the throne rooms at the Portrait Gallery.

I stood in line for a few minutes to get this picture, walked away, then realized I should get a better shot, had to get back in this line, which after only 20 minutes had turned into not only a longer line but also included a camera crew from the Colbert Report, filming people taking pictures of a picture. Hilarity ensued.

Here's the close up:

Outstanding, I know. It was pretty much amazing.

I wasn't sure I could top this until...I saw the portrait of the next President of the United States. Don't ask me how the Smithsonian folks figured this out already, but after hours and hours of research and polling, they have pre-determined the future President. And already have the portrait up. Now keep in mind, it was a quick job - a better portrait is to come when she officially takes office, but in the mean time, here she is, the future President of the United States of America:Please send your contributions to the campaign/life/shoe-fund now.

A Giant Triumph

2008-02-05T12:40:00.001-05:00

In case you missed it, Sunday was the greatest Super Bowl e v e r.

I, unlike Klue, did not blog in advance about my pick, but I was rooting for the Giants, although to be 100 % truthful it was more of an anti-Patriot choice rather than a pro-Giants choice.

My anti-Patriot sentiment comes from two places - Boston Fans and My Boss the Boston Fan. I'm a little sick of Boston fans. woo hoo you won the World Series. Good for you, now go home. But no, then the football team had to have a 'perfect' season and build up a ridiculous amount of press about Tom Brady, god of football. Puh-leeeeeeese people. He's not all that.

My Boss the Boston Fan, whom we'll call Geeves, is obsessed with all things Boston Sports related, but all his sports love is nothing compared to his ridiculous Man-crush on Tom Brady. It goes beyond admiration for an athlete - it's down right creepy. After last year's season, all I heard for days and days and days was Geeves saying "If I died and could come back as someone, I'd want to be Tom Brady, no question." Over and over. The affection he has towards Brady has gone too far. This along with a perfect Pats season has made the fall sports season annoying at best. Stop. With. The. Brady. Madness.

Last Friday, Geeves was all but running the victory lap around the office in complete faith in the upcoming Pats victory in the Superbowl. I had a flare up of nausea. He was insufferable. He was obnoxious. He was ... a typical Boston Fan.

Fast Forward to Monday -- Geeves is traveling all week, much to his happiness, as he won't have to face the rest of us (who were ALL cheering for the Giants) here in the office. We've been trying to come up with something tasteful to a) celebrate the victory and b) rub it in. just a little. Or a lot.

In a situtation like this, there is only one thing to do - dig deep, channel Ashton, and do a little punking. Here's the result:

Geeve's office before:

Geeve's office after:

Heck yes.

The Trials of Kate-erella

2008-02-01T15:25:00.000-05:00

Its been a looooong week. Work is crazy. People at work are crazy. And I'm right smack dab in the middle of my continuation of my attempts at actually keeping a New Year's Resolution, which means I'm cranky while eating my healthy food on the way to the gym but my is it nice to feel lighter...

Anyway, today in lieu of meeting my workout buddy for our typical late night work out session, we decided to attempt an am work out session. As in before work. As in before the freakin' sun was up. As in dosh Tate your alarm is going off early this morning...

I have a certain paranoia about sleeping through my alarm when I actually have something out of the ordinary on the agenda that morning. Generally it means I won't be able to fall asleep for at least an hour while I'm calculating a) how many times I can still hit the snooze when the alarm goes off at an unGodly hour, b) how much sleep I can get if I fall asleep rightnow and c) did I turn the oven off? do I hear the TV on? Is the door locked? It's midnight - do I know where my cell phone is? etc. Then, without fail, a minimum of 20 minutes before the alarm is supposed to go off, I am wide awake, pissed that a) I'm too awake now to enjoy hitting the snooze button, b) I can't help but to calculate just how much sleep I gave up for whatever I am about to attend grumpy and tired, and c) who cares if the oven is on, the TV is buzzing with static, door is unlocked, my cell phone is under my bed in an unreachable spot beeping its swan song of a dead battery because I forgot to plug it in again, and why is there not Starbucks on the Metro??? And yet today, I thought it was a genius idea to not only get up over an hour earlier than normal, but was getting up over an hour earlier to go to the gym, which I don't even like doing but am trying to be a big girl and get over my complexes about public gyms.

When I got to the lobby, I looked out the window and saw it was down pouring, not just raining but build-yourself-an-arc-to-cross-the-street down pouring. And I had no umbrella and a very absorbent sweatshirt on. I could go upstairs and get my umbrella, but I'm already late sooooo let's RUN to the gym!

I forgot my ear phones, so I read the close captioning on my tv, which made no sense until I realized it read from the bottom up. This I find obnoxious and defying reason - who reads from the bottom up? Why can't this scroll like a teleprompter? Why is there a 15 second delay? Why is Diane Sawyer so chipper in the morning? Thankfully, the confusion/aggression/anti-morning behavior made me work out harder, so I wrapped up my time on the elliptical, finished my brief but challenging upper body workout, and headed out back into the torrential down pour. And then the day just went down hill...

Who's idea was this morning workout again? Why was I up so freaking early?

It's 4 pm and I'm ready for a nap.

It might be that time again...

2008-01-18T12:39:00.001-05:00

I'm thinking about re-creating this, with my new favorite toy.

Anyone interested in a cake party?

Like totally super fun

2008-01-16T17:16:00.000-05:00

Do you ever hear yourself and realize you sound like a total idiot? Lately, I have been catching myself saying the most ridiculous, horrendous, and embarrassing things:

Super fun
Totally Awesome
aaaaaaahMAZing
Totally
Like totally, right?

BLAH.

I blame this on all the "Legally Blonde" commercials on TV lately. I can't help it, that movie cracks me up. I wouldn't take it with me on a deserted island or anything, but, like, OH my GOSH it cracks me up. And now, every time I open my mouth, I sound like Valley High Barbie.

Please, help me stop.

Today's Puzzle: Cause and Effect

2008-01-15T17:12:00.001-05:00

I've been pondering the concept of Karma today. I was asked last night if I'm concerned about Karma biting my behind someday when I have my own kids. Will all my old habits and jokes come back to haunt me?

My sister is finding this true for her now. Other than her son telling her oh so sweetly to "go blow it out your ass" and asking "does mom have stupid written on her forehead?" he's a good kid. But sometimes, when pushed too far, he reverts back to his DNA, channels all the things his mother said at his age and comes up with zingers like this from last week: "yeah, well you never should have been a mother." Ouch.

I was a good sister. I wasn't too mouthy, I helped out with my chores and changed nasty dirty cloth diapers when Klue was a baby. I might have been a stubborn child but I had a heart of gold and at times a little too much time on my hands. There were a few episodes of pure genius, I mean small jokes (ok pranks) that maybe weren't always in the best taste but were always Hilarious. Who wouldn't want to:

1. Teach a 2 year old to say, in a pathetic and wimpy voice, "Help me! Help me!" when wanting attention.

2. Swap out the apple juice for lemon juice to see if I can make Klue's face stick permanently in a 'bitter beer' type look.

3. Trick the older sister to attend a tea party with the younger sister where the 'tea' being served is actually water a la toilet.

4. Train my darling blond younger sister to on command say "Thanks for the Refill!" whenever I blew in her ear.

Is that really all that horrible? Will my children be (brilliant, genius, and ridiculously good looking) deviants constantly putting whoopee cushions on my chair and Vaselining my door knobs?

I suppose I should expect nothing less, especially after teaching my nephew this song:

"Grandma, you don't have to turn on the red light.
Those days are over
You don't have to sell your body to the night
Grandma, you don't have to wear that dress tonight..."

Oh Karma, I think I'm screwed.

Yo Quiero Guapos

2008-01-09T11:17:00.001-05:00

There are many aspects of my job that I enjoy: free coffee, blackberry, all the office supplies I can cram on my desk. But the best of all is the free lunch. And of all the lunches we are served, I have 2 favorites far and above all the others: Rocklands and Guapos.

Today is Guapos Day.

I am trying so hard to make it until noon, but it might not happen. To increase my happiness and share my joy with you, I have composed an Ode to Guapos.

Ooooh Guapos.
All those steak fajitas,
The giant bowls of fresh guacamole
Gallons of fresh salsa
Huevos Rancheros and Red Beans on Rice
Mounds and mounds of chicken quesodillas
Plentiful Plantains fresh from the grease
You call to me
From the Kitchen
"Don't wait a moment longer-
Your lunch is here."
Ooooh Guapos.

**update-lunchtime!**

Resolving Resolutions

2008-01-06T09:35:00.003-05:00

Resolutions aren't my thing. I tend toward the typical goals of' "I will lose weight and eat better" and follow through for exactly 3.4 days until, hungry and cranky, I binge on whatever cheese-covered deep fried delight I can find within a 10 mile radius of my diet melt down.

Last year, I restarted my new year 2 weeks into the year. I had officially started 2007 living in the land of Coupledom, mayor of Arguing City and on the town council of Massively Unhappy. 2 weeks into the new year, I packed up and moved into the far far away land of OnMyOwnAgainberg and became queen bee of Single City. I immediately made all sorts of resolutions: I will learn to ballroom dance! I will join more groups! I will say yes more! I will meet new people! I will be HAPPY!

Not to toot my own horn too much, but I did pretty damn well on the list. I DID learn to ballroom dance and had a great time with friends in the process. I DID join more groups and have met tons of great people through the book club I joined. I DID say yes more and have found myself being more open to situations and enjoying life. I DID meet new people and have worked on expanding my social circle. I AM HAPPY!

The end of 2007 made me wonder what my next goals should be. A friend of my sister's loaned me the first 3 seasons of "The Office" while I was Up North and I became a little obsessed. It's a little uncanny how much my work environment mirrors the show and how much I tend to be Pam. While watching some episodes in the Detroit airport between flights, Pam made a resolution to stop being so nice. She, like me, tends to say yes to everything, overly accommodating to the point of being unhappy about giving in so much. At the end of the episode, I contemplated Pam's struggle to go against her desire to always please people and instead just say how she feels and what she wants, even if it means someone else will have to compromise. As I stood inline to board my next plane, I decided to take Pam's goal as my own - I would stop being so nice; I would start speaking up and say what I want.

As I boarded the plane, overflowing with a new confidence of my amazing new goal for myself, I felt invigorated as I hadn't felt in a long time. I approached my row, double checked my ticket, and noticed someone was in my seat. The middle seat was open, but I didn't want the middle seat, I wanted the window seat I had picked out hours ago when I checked in. Now what do I do??? The guy in my seat was comfy and reading a book, and here I was, standing in the aisle, knowing I needed to buck up and ask him to move, but my boastful confidence from 5 mintues ago is no where to be found. The SeatStealer looks up at me, and asks if he was in my seat. My head screams "YES! MOVE IT OR LOSE IT BUDDY" but my mouth says...

"...oh, well yeah but I don't mind sitting in the middle."

What just happened????? I can't even tell you why I buckled so quickly and so completely, but I sat down, stewed about being such a complete and total idiot and failing at my resolution within 5 minutes of deciding on it. So I decided to start again. Midway through my flight, I was very tired and decided to take a little nap. I plugged my iPod in (which is not dead by the way!!!), reclined my seat, and closed my eyes. I was on the verge of a very nice nap when my seat started shaking and someone started very forcefully tapping my shoulder. I took an earbud out and was met with a very unhappy guy sitting in the window seat in the row behind, and was promptly asked to put my seat up because the guy behind me didn't like it reclined. So what did I do? Did I tell them tough, I'm tired and coming off 12 days with my mother and need a nap thank you very much so deal with it? Did I reason with them and only recline half way so I could still get a nap, albeit not as quality but still at a sleep-allowable angle?

Oh no, not this time. I put my seat alllllll the way back up and had no nap, and began the inner dialog all over again.

So maybe the first run on this resolution didn't fare so well, but I am happy to report I have decided to restart this again...if that's ok with you.

BEEP....bEEp....bEep...beep...----------------------------

2007-12-19T13:15:00.000-05:00

My iPod is terminal. It's not gonna make it.

I've been having issues with it for some time now. Somehow while trying to update the software on my iPod, I managed to screw up my entire iTunes, then not be able to sync the iPod once iTunes was fixed.

Last night I tried to sync it 5 times. The first time, it started beeping (I didn't know it could make noise without headphones -- never a good sign). It beeped it's little SOS about 10 times, then the error popped up on my screen, then the iPod disappeared from my devices. I tried again, this time the iPod was super hot, beeped for help/oxygen/morphine about 5 times, error message, disappears. 3 more times with the same result, each time with fewer pleas for help.

After leaving it all night, I have 9 songs and about 15 empty play lists on my iPod. (In no particular order and for your enjoyment, my songs are "Freak Like Me," "Natural Woman" (Kelly Clarkson version, thanks Allen), "Let Me Fall" (Josh Groban), "Where are you Christmas?" (Faith Hill - how the CRAP did that get on here???) "Philosophy" (Ben Folds - thank GOD there's one good song on here), and Lake Woebegone Updates, including advertisements for the Sleep Number Bed and Pillsbury's new Website.)

If by some stroke of luck the genius bar people at Apple can fix it tonight (2 months past my warranty, of course) I might start believing in Christmas Miracles all over again.

If not...it might be time to cash in some of my winnings for a new one...but then the dilemma...do I get a Nano in my favorite color, a classic to hold all 18,000 of my songs, or a touch iPod because, c'mon, it's TOUCH iPOD!!!!!

Feel free to vote in the comments. I'm looking for any and all feedback before ordering one.

See Kate. See Kate be busy. Busy, Kate, Busy.

2007-12-11T17:11:00.000-05:00

I've been busy. So incredibly busy. See how busy I am? So busy I'm blogging at work.

Yeah, right.

I've been working on material for my other blog, which I'm guessing all 4 of my readers will be given the super secret access to, but in the meantime, I'll just tease you with - wait, just wait -- it will be worth it.

Anywho, I've been busy. Lots of important things to do. Like buy a Christmas tree. And make wreaths by hand. And plan a party. And go to work at unGodly hours to flex my powerpoint muscles.

Monday I was to report to work at 7:00 am. Which means I have to leave my apartment by 6:00 am*, which means I have to set my alarm for 5:30 am, even though I really should get up at 5:15 am, which means all night I play the game "if I fall asleep right now I can get 5 hours, ok 4 hours, ok 3 hours....ok screw it I'm just getting up." (*in Kate-world, leaving by 6:00 am means at 6:10 am I'm hopping around on one foot trying to put on my socks while not so silently cussing about this ridiculous time to go in to work to be bolding text and changing fonts and can you make the moons blue I really like when moons are blue and all sorts of other v v important things.)

This may not come to a surprise to you, but I am not a morning person. I worked one summer where a few days a week I had to be at work before 6 am and if not for the endless free coffee supplied there, I would not have come back for a second day.

All this said, yesterday was a long day. The final deadline to have all the slides done, printed, and sent was 3:00 pm. At 4:15 pm, I was told I could go home. But by then I was v v busy on actual important things. And then I got this email:

Subject: Caps Tickets
Body: I know it's late notice but I have two tickets for the game tonight if you are interested.

.....

Free??? Hockey Tickets??? For Tonight???

Within 3.5 seconds, I responded back that yes I want them. Right now. And I will be there. And no I'm not tired. And holy crap me like hockey.

15 phone calls, texts, and gchats later, I headed to the game by myself with an extra ticket unclaimed. Oh well, I thought, considering who is giving me the tickets, they should be pretty good seats and when all those hot russians hit the ice to break the Devils in half, I would be ignoring whomever I brought anyway. And I won't have to share my snacks.

I headed to will call, picked up my tickets, glanced briefly at the section and took off. I never remember how the arena is set up. What is ground level: the 100's or is there less than a 100 section?

I found the right spot, was pointed to my seat by a very knowledgeable usher, and headed down. Here's my view:

I'm not tired. Not one bit.

Card Shark

2007-11-27T10:05:00.002-05:00

The holidays are an interesting time of year for families. For some, it means multiple celebrations, hours and hours of driving over the river and through the woods to random relatives' houses to see extended family, and eating a holiday meal two, three, maybe even four different times. For other families, it's a time to eat-sleep-shop-eat-sleep-shop-eat-decorate-sleep-shop. For my family, Thanksgiving has always been very low key. Other than a couple times of celebrating with my uncle's family down state, it is usually just our small nucleus, in our own home, with our stretchy pants, our own strange takes on traditional food and one final key ingredient - cards.

While some families stretch out on couches to watch hours of football, TV, and bad ABC Family holiday movies ("Borrowed Hearts" anyone?), my family breaks out the card table and prepares for a marathon day of Phase10, Cribbage, Pinochle, Kings in the Corner, Sequence...snack, bathroom break, and shuffle.

We are a game playing family. Grandpa Lueck was all about Phase 10 and Uno, Grandpa Carder (when he'd actually let us play with him) was all about Spit and Hand & Foot. We've been having family game night well before Milton Bradley made it cool. It started out innocent enough, with Candy Land and Memory, then moved up to MixMax and Yahtzee, and eventually progressed to the marathon games of 10,000 Rummy and Killer Uno. But my favorite games of all are speed games.

8th grade was the year I learned the game Speed. It's like two-person solitaire on crack. It's fast. It's furious. It's full of competition, scratched hands, and paper cuts from flying cards. But only playing with two people leaves everyone else out, no matter how fun I might think it is for everyone else in the room to watch me win. In high school, I was introduced to the world of Spoons.

Spoons is everything a card game should be. It requires strategy, timing, attention to detail, speed, and the willingness to fight to the death for a spoon. It's musical chairs, go fish, memory, and WWF all rolled in to one. I introduced this game to some friends earlier this year, while waiting for movies to begin at outdoor festivals. Our games attracted attention and admiration from fellow movie watchers. In Strathmoore we even made a new friend and added her to our game. And so at Thanksgiving this year, to interject a bit of Lueck Tradition to the Wilson Family Holiday, I suggested we play a friendly game of spoons.

Spoons is similar to the basketball game of Horse - after each hand has been played, who ever doesn't have a spoon receives a letter: S-P-O-O-N-S. Usually the game would end up with scores something like this:
Player 1: S-P-O
Player 2: S-P-O-O
Player 3: S-P-O-O-N-S
As seen here, usually it is fairly close. There isn't always a clear winner, someone has to lose, someone has to win, but everything stays fun and competitive.

Unfortunately, this was not the case this year in Battle:Spoons. Jen, Allen, and I decided to play, while Jen's mom and sister, armed with cameras, decided to watch the game. What started out as friendly competition ended up being more of a massacre. Here was the score after 5 rounds:
Kate:
Allen:
Jen: S-P-O-O-N

We decided to try to help increase Jen's chances of winning the next hand by moving the spoons very very close to her, basically under her elbows so she a) would notice when we went for them and b) would absolutely be able to grab one. The video below shows just how that worked out for her.

Yup. So much for our help.
Final Score:
Kate:
Allen:
Jen: S-P-O-O-N-S.

Thus endeth the card playing. But oh what a way to go.

How to Make Kate Happy - Tip # 2,309

2007-11-12T16:17:00.000-05:00

In case you are just joining us, I still have buckets and buckets of hate for the temps who are still. here. (side bar - doesn't the term "temp" imply a short term hire? As in a couple weeks, at tops a month? These thorns in my side have been here for at least 3 or 4 months. This is no longer temporary in my book.)

I have been contemplating lately asking a coworker - who previously I was very very scared of but now realize although he can be very mean and scary when he wants to be, he is actually quite harmless under most circumstances - to come out and yell at the temps to shut it when they get super chatty, as they do become nearly every day. Today they have been driving me more nuts than usual. Like shave my head and feed babies mountain dew crazy. For reals y'all.

An example for your consideration: Whenever the girl temp gets up to go to the kitchen, she always a) announces where she's going and then b) asks the other two temps if they need anything, and then makes a big scene about how she's "like totally like willing to bring back like extra M&Ms because like I know you like them." It's obnoxious. Seriously, we sit 25 feet from the kitchen - they are all capable of getting things from the kitchen on their own.

And then, without even having to ask him, said scary coworker just threw a very hilarious insult at the temps...
As said coworker (will work on good code name for him...but not now) was walking by my cube, he stops, and says quite loudly "KATE - I AM GOING TO THE KITCHEN. DO YOU NEED ANYTHING? I CAN BRING YOU ANYTHING FROM THE KITCHEN YOU MIGHT WANT!"

...and I started cracking up. And now the temps are very very quiet.

He totally made my day.

Memories from Richmond

2007-10-29T15:26:00.002-04:00

10 things from my weekend in Richmond:

1. Jen makes 20-whatever look fun. Why am I so freaked out by birthdays? Clearly for no reason, as she rocked hers out.

2. Life in a convertible is better than life in any other car. Unless of course your convertible has no top and its raining. Then I imagine life in a convertible is like life aquatic. Thankfully, we did not experience that this weekend. I even ended up with a little sun burn.

3. I have a new found...tolerance...for zombies. I hate zombie movies. I am bothered by people who like Zombie movies. But I thought I would open my mind to new experiences and went on a Zombie walk. It was hilarious. SO hilarious. And then we walked by a guy who's comment, while watching a couple hundred Zombies walk by was "boy am I glad I just finished reading the Zombie Survival Guide - otherwise this would make me really nervous." Seriously. ZOMBIES AREN'T REAL. Dosh.

4. I like bacon. A lot. Especially when other people make it for me and get the thick sliced kind. It was almost like it was my birthday it was so good. YUM.

5. We attempted to scare the crap out of Jen by banging on windows, ringing door bells, and generally being hooligans. Steve was a little worried the neighbors across the street might by NRA folks with loaded shotguns pointed out the windows on their 'neighborhood watch' of Scarsborough Dr. Thankfully their neighborhood watch is very very ineffective and our scare tactics went off without a hitch, until Jen caught sight of Steve frolicking around the side of her house. Next time we'll be in better stealth mode. With wigs and everything.

6. Jen and I discovered the best hang over cure: soft leather couches + blankets + the best movie ever. Worked like a charm... well, at least for me.

7. Sometimes your friends know you so well, you are overwhelmed with how similar presents are from them. Case in Point: Jen's shirt from Steve - 'Morally Corrupt' Jen's gift from Kate - 'The Book of Vices: Very Naughty Things and How to Do Them'

8. I got bit/stung/attacked by a spider while taking this photo with Jen. And almost died from a bug bite. Again. But I survived to see another day. I guess having my arm cut off would be a better end to this story. Maybe next time...

9. My camera almost didn't make it through the weekend. Less than 12 hours into the time in Richmond, the camera went AWOL. I think it knew pictures like this were about to be captured and it was afraid of breaking under the pressure.
10. And last, but certainly not least, Jen and I met Wally Shawn. AMAZING. Although I wouldn't categorize him as 'charming' or 'polite' or 'touched and amazed that two hot (if not slightly hung over - we couldn't have even bought brandy) women knew who he was and would fawn over him all day even if he was out for brunch in sweat pants' -- it was still a brush with fame I won't soon forget. Inconceivable!

Hello, my name is Jess's Friend

2007-10-14T21:49:00.000-04:00

I am one Proud friend today.

I have an *amazing* friend from good 'ole PHS named Jess. We've been friends since 7th grade, competed in MathCOUNTS together, went through 4 years of High School debate together, band, calculus, and the ever exciting world of PVW's Science III class, or more accurately, the Adventures of Moo and Oink. Although deemed a bad influence on me (and my liver) early on, Jess has been in my life for a long time and is now forever stuck with me in hers.

Today I ventured down to may favorite theatre in town to see Ang Lee's new movie, "Lust, Caution." Although I went to the wrong theatre and ended up watching the end twice, I can say without a hesitation it is an amazing movie. It might make you blush at some parts, but is worth seeing. I don't think I've seen better acting in a loooooong time...if not ever.

And then the best part of the movie started -- the credits. I watched the names, checking to see if there are any famous Luecks out there I need to network with. Then the post production credits started. There she was, scrolling along in an award winning movie -- Jessica Parks. Live and in living color, my friend from Northern Michigan is officially in the movie credits. While other theatre goers were drying their tears and attempting to digest the ending they just witnessed, I, in the back of the theatre was screaming and clapping, bursting with pride for my friend, the future Oscar winning sound designer/engineer/mixer/etc.

Congratulations, Jess -- you are a STAR.

Don't want no Captain Crunch, don't want no Raisin Bran

2007-09-27T13:13:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, on a sick day, I watched an entire 30 minute show of Mario Batali on the best network ever. Generally, I avoid his show, Molto Mario, because he is so aggravatingly snotty, makes things that require you to make your own specific broths with a 3 day cure and must be used within 12 hours of completion or they self destruct, etc. Don't get me started on the price of the olive oil he strongly advises to use to keep your food from tasting too common. Also, he wears bright orange crocks. Who does that, honestly. Even with all my issues of his character, taste in fashion, and general disgust for him, I found one reason that day to watch: his entire show was about cooking with the eatable innards of the chicken - namely the gizzard, heart and liver. I decided to give Mario Batali a chance to prove that he does have a place in this world and is not a total waste of space, as has been my assumption all along.

I am a huge gizzard and heart fan. Growing up, it was a fight between my dad and I who would eat them after unpacking the chicken/turkey/etc and throwing them in the frying pan. Granted, anything fried in enough grease or butter and properly seasoned is tasty, but the gizzard and heart are especially yummy. A little tough, but in a good way. Tons of flavor. Fun shape. Offers a chance to quote Magua ("When the white meat is dead, Magua will eat his heart" ). Limited competition (dad usually was distracted by the neck, giving me a chance to swoop in with my fork for the good stuff). Imagine my delight when I learned of an entire dish that could be made from chicken gizzards and hearts. A-mazing. This was months ago. I have searched Harris Teeter every time I shop for gizzards to make this dish. I asked the butcher at the most amazing grocery store ever and was shot down when I asked for a half pound of gizzards. I had all but given up hope (last resort: start buying chickens and save each and every gizzard and heart until I had collected the appropriate amount).

It was with an open heart and an empty stomach that I wandered into Giant after work on Friday to pick up some rice to attempt to redo the previous disaster (side note: the pan, after some excellent advice, has come back for more faithful service!). After watching Howie make oodles and oodles of risottos on TC this season, I also threw in the appropriate rice to attempt my own some time if the mood struck. And then there is the habitual stroll down the meat aisle, hoping fillet mignon has been marked down to $.75/pound.

And then, buried in the poultry section, were two packages of gizzard and hearts. $1.70 for the entire package.

At home, I went about the task of finding the recipe. I had printed it off at one time, but alas, it was not to be found. No problem, I thought, I'll just find it online. None of the Batali gizzard recipes were right. None sounded remotely as appetizing as the one I had burned in my memory. I was stuck in Pit of Gizzard despair.

Epicurious to the rescue! A quick search found a Gizzard Risotto recipe that not only was Kosher (how timely, considering the next day was Yom Kippur) but I also happened to have risotto rice on hand! And everything else (other than the carrots and celery, but no matter...)! I went to task (its a 2 hour recipe, but well worth the effort) and started my dinner. Well into the cooking, during a lull when the gizzards were happily simmering away in their wine and chicken broth, I started to put away my groceries from earlier. As I reached up above my fridge to collect my rice container, a piece of paper slid down, formerly stuck in just the right place so it couldn't be seen between the cookbooks and dry ingredient jars.

It was, of course, Mario's recipe.

If, by an act of God or kind butchers, I find gizzards again in the store, Mario will be challenged once again. Until then, keep your crocks outta my kitchen.

The Story of the Phantom Roommate and the Dinner that Almost Wasn't

2007-09-21T22:53:00.001-04:00

Welcome to my world all. This is my first attempt at blogging, which is bound to be pretty much amazing. As I am a structure queen, I thought about trying to pick a theme or topic my blog should be about. Cooking? Pedicures? My life that is "Devil(s) Wears Golf Shirts on Fridays" perhaps? More likely than not, a main feature will be what I'm eating. And drinking. Most likely wine will be involved. Often.

I live in a huge apartment. Huge. Seriously. And up until last weekend, I had the perfect arrangement. I moved into my apartment last November but my roommate has never actually lived here - she's been living with her boyfriend the whole time. Until last Friday when they broke up.

Oy vey.

Cooking for me is a bit of a therapy session and I've been super stressed out the last few days between work and her moving back in, so I decided to make myself a nice dinner and wind down a bit. What's the saying about good intentions? Something about hell? Well if hell is the smoke alarm going off and the death of my sauce pan, well yeah, that's about right.

Generally I am quite good about multitasking while cooking - whisk in one hand, submersion blender in the other while 2 other pots are happily bubbling away. Tonight it was too much to take. I started my broth and lemon zest infused rice on the back burner and turned my attention to the almond slivers toasting and the mushrooms that needed a quick cleaning and slicing. I thought it smelled like the almonds were cooking too fast, so a quick toss and I went back to the fungi. I smelled the smell again and, thinking that slight burned smell was the nuts, gave them another quick toss and went about the task of finding something to put them in so I could start on the chicken. Almonds out, chicken in, and the smell was still there. I assumed a sliver of almond was still stuck in the pan.

And then I smelled smoke.

And then I saw smoke.

And then I pulled the lid on my rice pot.

I'm pretty sure when I put the rice into the pot, it wasn't the color of charcoal. Let's all take a moment to remember the short life but loyal service of my sauce pan. < > Ok, thanks.

The chicken, on the other hand, was quite tasty, if I do say so myself.