Archive | October, 2011

New Orleans Part I

19 Oct

So I went to New Orleans this past weekend.

I’m going to break it up into shorter posts, because I’d rather you focus on one thing at a time.

I knew all along that I was going to New Orleans. Ever since I bought a ticket. But it didn’t seem real to me until I realized that once I walked onto that blue and orange plane over there, I would step off of it.

In New Orleans.

Where Brian would be waiting in his golden chariot to escort me to his palace. And oh how we’d laugh and laugh and laugh and shrug our shoulders and sip warm drinks and go “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm” or any drink for that matter (margaritas, it turned out). And we’d hold hands and skip and also fall and sing and dance and make late night mistakes. Whoops.

And that’s exactly what happened except when I walked off the plane, I was punched in the smile maker by the moldy smell that means “You’re about to be really really really happy for a few days and hopefully remember why later.”

I felt like I was home again. Felt very relaxed immediately. Felt like I’d been gone a month, not over a year. Felt like I needed to lock it up so I could spend more time awake, up, and about enjoying this amazing city rather than vomming during the day. Felt like I should be be eating more and drunk shopping less. Felt like I should start pounding bourbon and ginger ales and Abita Ambers and Purple Hazes and blueberry mojitos and vodka and any wine, white even! Felt like taking my pants off and running through the ghettos! (I have a rule to never take my top off, but pants are okay). Felt like I would soon wake up in a sea of empty bottles, cigarette butts, crack pipes, and to-go cups.

There’s something about being at Monkey Hill that makes me become the poster child for ‘Oops.’  Nope. Scratch that. Not just Monkey Hill. Any bar in New Orleans.

At one point, I tried to say that I talk a lot. Instead, I said “I’ve never been the kinda girl who’s kept her mouth not open.” Because that’s the best way I could think of saying that?

My friend Matt heard through a friend that I was in town and currently at Monkey Hill. It didn’t take him long to find me because when he walked in the door I was the only person standing on the bar. Dancing to a song that I hardly even knew.

Most people recognized me but my hair being a different color really threw some people off.

My friend who got married’s father definitely knows me. I lived with his daughter for 3 years and spent time in his home. I walked up excitedly to him and his wife to say hello after the ceremony, and as his wife is like “Heeyyy!!!!” he’s like “Oh hiii there..?”

So had to do what I hate most, which is say, Hi it’s me Kate. Remember??

Then obviously his eyes widen as he realizes who I am, and exclaims,

“Wow! Kate?! Kate! You look just fantastic! Did you lose weight? Wow, what like 20, 30 pounds?!”

To which his wife responds, “No! She dyed her hair!”

Men.

Naturally as the night progressed and story was added to, it became 50, 75, 100, 150 pounds and I became the mopey roommate who blossomed after college, leaving her overweight life behind and learning all the splendors there are in life when you’re thin. (Note: I’ve never been overweight, except when I was in 5th grade and hit rock bottom as a juiceaholic and butter eater. And once my mom called me blown up like Jessica Simpson. But that’s it.)

To be continued…

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Is This Real Life? Because If It Is… Yikes.

6 Oct

Oops. I got busy.

I don’t know if you remember this, but at some point I mentioned that I believe television characters are real friends of mine. (Southpark characters in ’07, The Office characters in ’08).

Just now I thought real quick of something funny to write about that had happened to me in last million years since I posted anything, and the only things that came to mind, were those things that happened to my friends in New York, Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer. And also that thing where someone from Letterman accidentally called me and asked me to audition for stand up. But that’s another thing. Hold your horses.

Season 5 of Seinfeld is really good. Really really good.

The first episode is about faking orgasms so naturally I loved that one. There is one scene later on in the season where Kramer is a stand in for a soap star, and the voice he makes… I can’t help but crack up each time (5 times and counting) I watch it. Whatever I’m already over trying to tell you funny stories from 1994. TV, 1994.

I can’t say too much, but let’s just say someone I work with is working with Julia Louis-Dreyfus on her new show VEEP and I may or may not have a copy of the first few episodes.

And I haven’t even read them yet.

I know, I know.

But I mostly just can’t bear to read a script if the name “Kate Holly” isn’t listed as an actor on it.

I keep having really close calls with being instantly famous (hahahha not close at all).

The other night I was having sushi by myself, pretending to watch baseball and realizing that some players are really hot and other are really old and wear necklaces? when the man sitting next to me, also alone, started chatting with me.

He used the most obvious lead in, ‘Is that your natural hair color?’ as I stuffed a too-big sushi roll halfway down my throat before I could get a chew in.

Choking down the thread of sushi paper and crunchy shrimp tail, oops, I eventually responded with my usual response.

‘Mostly.’

Long my-life-story short, after blabbing about how I’m hilarious yet not actually being funny at all, he tells me he’s a writer/director for comedies.

Again, I don’t want to get into details, you never know how many writer/directors in Hollywood are reading this, but I’m pretty sure I could get a job out of him, as long as there was raw talent and sex involved. Which I don’t want to do. Not not have sex, but with him.

Then, the worst thing of all happened.

My dreams came true. And then I watched them slip through my hands and die.

I work at an agency. Not for actors.

I answer a call, from a friend, I’m assuming, because they say,

‘Hello, do you have any stand up comics.’

to which I respond,

‘Ha, just one!’

you know, because they’re obviously talking about me, this friend of mine who’s voice I don’t recognize.

‘Just one really funny one?!’

my friend says, in on the joke too.

‘Great, because we’re holding a private audition for stand ups to be featured on Letterman and then be a part of an exclusive workshop for stand ups.’

Silence.

Pause.

This is real.

What do I do.

This is it.

My moment.

‘Ohhhh. Hahaha. You’re gonna laugh…. I thought you were a friend of mine…’

You can still save it Kate! Tell her how funny but I’m hilarious and would love to audition!

‘We don’t represent actors… Sorry!”

Faillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll.

So now I hate myself.

And then after work I got drunk and then also went running after getting drunk, because, no better time to make your heart race than when your blood is thinned out and you’re automatically short of breath.

Something is going to happen soon. Something….

(Please?)