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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.


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.’



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!”


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….



Some Things Never Change…

17 May


3 May

You may have heard that Yvette Vickers, a Playboy Playmate and B-movie star of Attack of the 50 Foot Woman and Attack of the Giant Leeches, was discovered dead and mummified in her Beverly Hills home last week at age 82. They are saying that she was probably in there for a YEAR before anyone found her…

I was reading DListed, a favorite gossip site of mine, and DIED (not literally) after reading this. We’ll discuss more after you read:

Yvette Vickers

Submitted by colt13 on Tue, 05/03/2011 – 10:24am.
This might be me one day. I like my space, and I am single, so it would probably be a week before they found me. Postman would probably find me when all of those donation letters clog up my box.

I have a feeling that might be my fate too. Oh well you have to live life on your own terms and be happy right? You’ll be dead and off to whatever is the next great adventure so won’t really give a flyin crap.
I remember when I was a kid this man a street over from us wiped out his entire family. It didn’t take very long to sell the house. I don’t know if realtors have to disclose this type of information but I think they figured it out because whenever kids went by they would yell MURDER HOUSE! MURDER HOUSE!

HA! Hahahahaha! Ahahaha. Ha ohhh. Hahaha.

Obviously all of this is really sad, but how creepy is this WHOLE comment?!

1. “I will probably die like this.” She/he’s not kidding, either. They go on to explain how serious they are, and then rationalize loneliness to themselves/to anyone who will listen.

2. “A man murdered his whole family across the street when I was a kid.” This is just sad. But she’s not phased by it because

3. “It sold quickly.” Gross.

4. “MURDER HOUSE!” Ah!!! This is the best part!

This comment starts out really apathetic and sad and then somehow turns in to screaming MURDER HOUSE!

The best part, is how easy it is to visualize this situation.

It’s the 40’s or 50’s.  Kids on their bikes, riding around in packs through their new suburban neighborhoods, wearing pastels and hair gel and the best part of that summer was that a family got murdered across the street and they get to yell MURDER HOUSE all day long.

Thank you lady. (I’ve decided it’s a lady, because I really don’t think a man would write about dying alone, much less be reading DListed as an older person…)

An Easter Miracle!

25 Apr

Sunday Morning I woke up with a hangover and helped my pal  and his roommate make deviled eggs for an Easter brunch we were invited to (myself the night before.)

I balanced the slippery eggs uncovered on my lap in the backseat for the whole 20 minute curvy ride. Naturally the minute we park and I get out, I put the eggs on the roof so I could grab my purse and a bag of groceries. Twenty seconds later the trunk was opened and the above happened.

No one was surprised at all. We laughed, took pictures, and then put most of them back on the plate and put them inside on the buffet table.

Maple Syrup Hell aka Organic Spray Tan

25 Apr

Several weeks ago I got a great deal on a spray tan and corner lash extensions. Two weeks ago I got my first Mystic spray tan since Spring Break 2009. As you may (or…. may not?) know, I am a pale, freckled redhead, who can get a mean tan.  Approximately the day I turned 20, I realized that I was a pale, freckled redhead, and was quickly on my way to yucky wrinkly leather skin and skin cancer. From that day forth, I have been scared of the sun and any color on my skin.

If I notice my shoulders have a few extra freckles (which is very hard to have not happen, LA tends to be sunny…) I make sure to wear sleeves and sunscreen.

I embraced the deathly pale look, this is the new always me! And, until I moved out of New Orleans, I had platinum blonde hair…

So back to the spray tans.

I decided to get a Mystic tan. I went, I got it, I was tan! You could now see me when I walked into a white room! I received many compliments and decided this was exciting, must do more.

On Friday, I had the day off for the holiday, and decided to cash in on my tan/eyelash coupon.

I walk into this place, which is advertised to seem like it’s going to be this pristine, immaculate spa haven, when in fact, it’s more in a carpeted alley off Melrose.

I lay down on the bed and she puts the dentist-esque light over my face.

“Yeah… so you have white eyelashes…”

“Yes, I sure do.”

“Okay well, I don’t think the eyelash extensions will work for you. There would basically be 20 random long black eyelashes scattered amongst your blonde ones… and you can’t wear mascara with these extentions.”

“Uh oh. Okay.”

“Unless you want to get a full set, which will be $100 extra.”

“Nope I do not want that.”

So we decided on getting my eyelashes and eyebrows tinted instead.

I don’t know if you read/remember my post on getting my moles removed, but something about her putting Vaseline all around my eyes and then wet paper towels around them with her lightly brushing on my eyelashes, reminded me of getting my bandages replaced and I started to get nauseous. For NO reason. I was getting my eyelashes dyed. I basically do it everyday, its called MASCARA.

I made myself get over that real quicklike because I wasn’t going to vomit over something like that. Although I am on a diet so maybe…. Kidding.

After the eyelashes were tinted, she did my brows.

Everything looked great and I was happy. Then the two ladies conversed and realized I couldn’t get a spray tan until my tinting had “set in.” So I was told to come back several hours later that day.

I went hiking with Nancy and then got a late lunch with her, her baby (see photo here), and Preston.

Thennnn I went back to Melrose to get this amazing organic individually applied spray tan.

So I strip down in the bathroom and she gets to work. I’m basically standing on a platform with my legs and arms spread open like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, while she takes an airbrush to every crevice. Literally opened my butt crack and lifted my boobs to get in there. Oh well. I’d say it wasn’t weird because I’m used to it, but I’ve obviously never done that before, but I definitely didn’t care because I’m known to do cartwheels naked in my parents home after dinner.

“Okay you’re all done, just come out here and stand in front of the fan. It’s okay, no one’s really here.”

So now I’m exiting the private bathroom and literally just strolling around the spa, still in Vitruvian Man pose, in front of a small fan while people were carrying on with their business.

If I had been someone who was shy… would have been terrifying…

Good thing I’m an exhibitionist. Even when I shouldn’t be… (fat).

Eventually she tells me I’m good and to go home. Here’s what I was expected to do/not do:

Don’t sit in one spot for too long

Don’t sit, really

Don’t wear clothes

Don’t go out

Don’t cross your legs

Don’t sit on anything

Don’t sweat

Don’t touch your skin

Don’t do anything, really for TWELVE HOURS.

And then I can shower in the morning.

Ok, may not seem so awful, but imagine taking a dip in maple syrup and then do the above. I don’t know about you, but two hours laying on a towel in sticky brown shit was two hours too long. This stuff was awful. I tried doing some homework, and after two hours, looked at myself in the mirror and cracked up. I looked like I was doing a bad version of black face. It was called sticky, runny, brown face. After a mini photo shoot to document it, I gave up and hopped in the shower, trying to just lightly rinse off to make the stickiness go away. Once I’d sufficiently watched the brownness go down the drain I air dried and applied lotion.

Then I turned green.

Back in the shower, scrubbed myself raw, went to CVS and bought a can of L’Oreal airbrush tan.

Worked like a charm.

So now, I am officially 100% pigmented. Where I was once practically albino, I’ve now dyed my hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and skin darker.

Here I am world. Colored. I mean, darkened. Well, darker. More like not a ghost?


NEVER getting a individual spray tan again. Mystic wins.

Taking Care of Business… Drunk.

17 Apr

You ever have that moment when you wake up Sunday morning and you stumble into the kitchen to make coffee and shove a muffin in your mouth while it’s brewing and then you can’t wait for the pot to finish so you quickly pull a Mission Impossible and switch the pot with your mug and then switch it back and then add Coffee Mate creamer and then sit down on your couch with your knees tucked in, mmmmming while sipping your warm coffee and then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the glass over the framed image on the wall and a hundred quick flashes of mistake moments run a train through your mind and you start feeling like a total drunken idiot and start half thinking about how embarrassed you’ll be once your coffee kicks in and your mind wakes up and then you finally call your best friend back after you realize you have 13 missed calls from her?

Well, THIS lady is going to wake up tomorrow, make her pot of coffee, do the Mission Impossible, sit down, catch a glimpse of herself, and frantically try to figure out why her hair looks so damn good all of a sudden. And then a hundred images of being in a nice salon in Hollywood around 3:30-8pm will run a train through her mind and she’ll remember bits and pieces of how her amazing stylist dealt with her drunk ass as she mumbled, stumbled, and jerkily slept through her several hours worth of salon hair treatments. She will find a receipt later probably for a lot more than if she would have been sober, speaking English words correctly, not stumbling back and forth from the bathroom every so often, and then nodding off and jerking her head awake – that thing that boys in school are known to do during Spanish class.

She might remember the entire staff wondering how to deal with her, but graciously treating her like she’s a normal person.  Maybe her stylist was like, Thank God, I finally get someone I that won’t be analyzing and freaking out over every snip I make and stroke of color I brush.  It was probably actually nice to have a client that just slept there while she did her thing.

Makes me think she’s on to something. Not the salon part, but the passed out drunk part of doing necessary things. Maybe I should take some shots and then hit up the dentist? Or enjoy a bottle of wine before a wax?

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2 Apr

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.15am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Poster

I opened the screen door yesterday and my cat got out and has been missing since then so I was wondering if you are not to busy you could make a poster for me. It has to be A4 and I will photocopy it and put it around my suburb this afternoon.

This is the only photo of her I have she answers to the name Missy and is black and white and about 8 months old. missing on Harper street and my phone number.
Thanks Shan.

From:David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.26am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,
That is shocking news.
Although I have two clients expecting completed work this afternoon, I will, of course, drop everything and do whatever it takes to facilitate the speedy return of Missy.
Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.37am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Poster

yeah ok thanks. I know you dont like cats but I am really worried about mine. I have to leave at 1pm today.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.17am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,
I never said I don’t like cats. Attached poster as requested.
Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.24am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

yeah thats not what I was looking for at all. it looks like a movie and how come the photo of Missy is so small?

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.28am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,
It’s a design thing. The cat is lost in the negative space.
Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.33am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Thats just stupid. Can you do it properly please? I am extremely emotional over this and was up all night in tears. you seem to think it is funny. Can you make the photo bigger please and fix the text and do it in colour please. Thanks.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.46am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,
Having worked with designers for a few years now, I would have assumed you understood, despite our vague suggestions otherwise, we do not welcome constructive criticism. I don’t come downstairs and tell you how to send text messages, log onto Facebook and look out of the window. I have amended and attached the poster as per your instructions.
Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.59am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

This is worse than the other one. can you make it so it shows the whole photo of Missy and delete the stupid text that says missing missy off it? I just want it to say Lost.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.14am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.21am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

yeah can you do the poster or not? I just want a photo and the word lost and the telephone number and when and where she was lost and her name. Not like a movie poster or anything stupid. I have to leave early today. If it was your cat I would help you. Thanks.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.32am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Awww

Dear Shannon,
I don’t have a cat. I once agreed to look after a friend’s cat for a week but after he dropped it off at my apartment and explained the concept of kitty litter. I have attached the amended version of your poster as per your detailed instructions.
Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.47am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Awww

Thats not my cat. where did you get that picture from? That cat is orange. I gave you a photo of my cat.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.58am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Awww

I know, but that one is cute. As Missy has quite possibly met any one of several violent ends, it is possible you might get a better cat out of this. If anybody calls and says “I haven’t seen your orange cat but I did find a black and white one with its hind legs run over by a car, do you want it?” you can politely decline and save yourself a costly veterinarian bill.
Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.07pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Please just use the photo I gave you.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.22pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.34pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

I didnt say there was a reward. I dont have $2000 dollars. What did you even put that there for? Apart from that it is perfect can you please remove the reward bit. Thanks Shan.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.42pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.51pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Can you just please take the reward bit off altogether? I have to leave in ten minutes and I still have to make photocopies of it.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.56pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 1.03pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Fine. That will have to do.

All Packed.

18 Mar



Rikki made sure to get everything tightly packed for her roadtrip to LA today. Didn’t want to forget anything that she might need.

No Coffee :(

8 Mar

I just tried to write a new post about something I actually want to write about, but I had to stop 5 sentences in because I haven’t had ANY coffee yet and I literally feel like my body is made out of lead. UGH. I’m waiting on a shipment from Staples to bring me my coveted Folgers, which cracks me up, but I’ve learned to love that shit. Until then… I hope you all have had as much coffee as you want…

The Every-Two-Years Trip To Hell

4 Mar
Oh god. Today. Today is not good. Today is not good, god. 
So… girls get their periods. Everyone knows this, and if you don’t… look at the tampons and pads in your mom’s bathroom trash bin … or if you’re me, the back of your mom’s pants as she walks by, or falling out of her purse in Nordstroms, or really anywhere at anytime (you never know).
But, this girl doesn’t.
That’s right, sayanara, cyle!  I’ve had several doctors give me the green light to never have to feel like there is a boulder in my lower torso, trying to come out through my vag, slamming around my lower back, around my muscles and ribs and hips.  I no longer have to spend money buying tampons, pads, and any other product that keeps that shit from getting out. I don’t have to lay in bed, or on the couch, or in the break room, curled up in a ball, wanting to simultaneously eat Doritos, brownies, and a pizza while drinking a bottle of vodka and bitch-slapping anyone who does something really, really irritating like getting too close or being there.
I can just coast on by, month after month, pill after pill, not bleeding.
But today, dear friends, today I got my period. It’s been two years.
I literally feel 13. I feel like I should embarassingly walk up to my mom while she is in the middle of yelling at my dad about the carpet or something and meekly whisper to her that I got my period, hoping she’ll be so excited for me and make a big deal, but instead, goes,
“What? You got your period? Tampons are in my bathroom drawer. DON! GODDAMNIT!”
Except this time, I don’t have any just-in-case tampons or pads anywhere. I stared at my underwear this morning, deciding which pair to ruin.
Which reminds me.
I got a call from my little sister one day a while back, and she said the most amazing thing:
“You know in the early morning when you are sleeping and your body wakes you up and is like ‘Get up Rikki, you are about to ruin your sheets’?”
And I just laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. What a glorious sentence. Thank god for her. You don’t even need to hear the rest of what she was saying, because that was the golden moment.
It’s funny, because it’s true. Somehow there are those magic period moments where your body knows you well enough to know how pissed you are going to be when you have to wash your sheets, or throw them away completely. 
Why don’t I get my period, you ask?
They are way too painful and I get contraction-like cramps where I immediately must buckle over and moan and grunt and breathe weird no matter what I am doing or where I am.
I’d be working behind the register at work, ringing up the woman who owns fish oil, and in the middle of asking if she wants to pay debit or credit, I’d get a       cramp-traction and have to act like I wasn’t holding my breath and internally screaming, turning blue in the face from lack of oxygen, bending my knees, pretending to all of a sudden need to get something off the floor, until it passes and then come back up for air.
Or I’d be driving and a cramp-traction would hit and I’d immediately have to thrust my hips towards the steering wheel and scream in a creepy moany way while the man in the Jetta next to me stares at me in awe.
I don’t have to do that anymore!
We’ll see how this one goes… stay tuned.
(Unless you are completely disgusted and don’t want to hear more awesome girl stories.)