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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?)

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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?

Sheesh.

NEVER getting a individual spray tan again. Mystic wins.

Saturday on Santa Monica Blvd.

19 Apr
My gal pal came into town this weekend.
 
Whatever, we did fun stuff, but that’s not what this is about.
 
This is about one of two things:
 
1. A homeless man
2. The oldest hipster in LA
 
Saturday afternoon, after a long day of shopping in the Fashion District, we sat down at St. Felix’s on Santa Monica Blvd. up the street from my apartment.
 
As we were sipping on our sunset cocktails, a bum (or hipster, so hard to tell) approached us.
 
Yeah, okay, so we’ve all made the homeless/hipster jokes before, it’s not a new thing to joke about, but it’s not about that either. We truly couldn’t tell until he approached us.
 
He was listening to a turquoise iPod while strolling around West Hollywood in Toms. 
 
The biggest fashionista living on the streets or the oldest hipster this side of Cresent Heights? 
 
We decided on the former because his second time around the block he walks straight up to my friend and exclaims quite loudly in front of approximately 15 bar patrons:
 
“ARE YOU THAT BITCH THAT’S STARING AT ME!?”
 
I thought that this was hilarious because what kind of question is that? How do you answer that?
 
“No, I’m the bitch that’s staring at that other guy.” 
 
or
 
“No, it’s not me, that would be her, over there.” 
 
Irrelevant.
 
Later that night I was telling the story to Nancy at one of my favorite bars in Los Feliz, The Griffin.  I’m – naturally – yelling the story at her.
 
“AND THEN AFTER HE YELLS AT JAHZY FOR A WHILE, SAYING STUFF LIKE, ‘I KNOW I’M A BASTARD, BUT YOU’RE A BITCH!’ AND STUFF, HE WALKS BEHIND ME, PUTS HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER, LIKE THIS. AND THAT’S WHEN I HAD MY FIRST ORGASM.”
 
As we were cracking up at my funny, the guy next to us at the bar, looks at me and says,
 
“Well that’s an interesting thing to overhear the last sentence of!”
 
A few moments later, we had turned it into the new “…and then I found $20…” to make a bad story good.
 
Needless to say we had a great night.
 
 
 
 
And THAT’s when I had my first orgasm.
 
 

“I’m Just Not Having This” -Baby

17 Apr

Already hates shopping...

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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Got Mine Years Ago

1 Apr

image

Singles Vaccine

Ok, so obviously this says ‘Shingles Vaccine’ but as I was briskly walking by I had to do a double take.

Psychic Wins Again

1 Apr

Congratulations?!?!?!

This is what I’m talking about, guys. This is what I’m bombarded with. How is this any different than walking around downtown LA?

I mean, literally, every single one of these guys…. no. Just. No. Maybe one. But no.

You can’t make this stuff up. This is real.

Or is it? Is OkCupid pranking me?! Is this their genius April Fool’s Day joke?! Will I get a “Just Kidding!” email soon with 9 super attractive and awesome guys?!

No. No I won’t. I don’t think OkCupid has a very good sense of humor.

UGH.

Heartbreak Apartment

31 Mar
Some girls cry when they go through a break up and stop eating and get really skinny and depressed. They want to stop accepting things IN and let everything OUT. Let out the tears, let go of 5-10 pounds, let go of every emotion they’re feeling through facebook, their diaries, their friends. The color in their face goes, and maybe they stop caring about what their hair looks like.
 
I on the other hand do the total opposite. In dealing with heartbreak, I acquire things. Since Monday, I have purchased two pairs of shoes, several pairs of underwear, shoe inserts to keep my heels on better, DVDs, the internet, tons of groceries, a potted orchid, and a purse.  I keep everything in. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to think about it, I just don’t care to waste my time one second longer than I already have. I snap out of lala happy land and transition to keep myself too busy to think mode.  Naturally I snap every once and a while and go tourettes on myself and use language my sister gets mad at me for using. (She doesn’t like to hear the F word, which is awkward because I love the F word. I think it’s funny).
 
I paid all of my bills, paid of some credit card debt, and actually put my rent check in the mail on time. I’ve scheduled an oil change.
 
I’ve gone shopping in my office’s amazing supply of hair, makeup, and skin products, making my bathroom stocked like Cate Blanchett’s probably is.
 
I’ve been eating. Definitely eating. Not a ton, but DEFINITELY not less.
 
I’m busy. ALWAYS busy. The minute I wake up I spend my day at work doing things all day long. I’m getting a bike. I’m planning a weekend getaway to a resort in Phoenix (my grandparents luxurious home), and one of my best friends of all time is coming in 2 weeks THANK GAWD. I’ve made an appointment to get eyelash extensions and a fake tan.
 
Right when I get off work my browsing begins. I look at everything. I wander in and out of any and every store. I flirt back with all the weirdos that hit on me. That feels nice. I feel like I’m on crack all day long. There’s something about getting great sleep every night that makes you feel buzzed the next day, right? No? Hmm.
 
I’m still getting dozens of messages on my stupid online dating site. I’m thinking about WriterNoir, an enormous, long haired, wrestler type in a suit holding flowers (his picture).
 
Ok so I’m not actually interested in him, but…. what if…? Woof.
 
My apartment, more or less, looks like the precious beginning of a life long hoarder’s apartment.  I still haven’t cleaned up after my family’s visit, so I have shit just everywhere.  Sunflower seeds litter the floor along with my underwear and socks. I have plastic shopping bags full of my new things sitting on every surface.  My bathroom/kitchen carpet is still rolled up, keeping the mini glass pokies away from my feet from when my mirror fell and broke.  You have to understand, I’m too busy getting things, eating cheetos and wine in bed, and being not home to put my new things I’m getting where they will end up belonging.  Nancy asked me today if she left a small red box at my house. How the hell would I know? You know your apartment is messy when you only have two rooms to find something in… and you can’t find it…
 
I got my hair “trimmed” aka butchered so it will be in a bun for the next few months, but my bangs look good again so…. fuck.
 
Goddamnit.
 
To hell.
Piece.
Of.
Shit.
(There goes the tourettes.)
 
Last night my mom told me not to worry because all of her friends are having a great time dating in their 40’s and 50’s, so I only have 20-30 more years until dating becomes fun. And at the rate I’m going, and clearly my mom thinks so too, I will still be unmarried and dating complete fucking idiots who love wasting my time and energy and trick me into thinking they’re nice people but who really are just selfish pricks but who still want to be friends and spend all their time with you.
Ha.
 
So for now, I have some amazing Dolce & Gabbana summer wedges, an enormous pile of trash to take out, and great hair and skin products. My life in a nutshell.
 
UGH.

April is for Losers

30 Mar

Well, here I am literally GULPING coffee so that I get it all before it goes cold way too quickly.

You know when you end things with someone, and it all of a sudden hits you that you’ve dated this person over and over again and you wonder why you keep choosing the same assholes over and over and then you’re like, NO. These assholes keep picking ME!
 
Me too.
 
I did that last night.
 
So. Not that I was ever not single, but I am even single-er now.
 
My psychic landlord did predict that I’d date a bunch of losers in April, so I’m free to start meeting all those fucking assholes now. Yay.
 
The most annoying part is that I started settling for someone because they were there and it was easy. My brother and sister met him last week and said that it was like watching two Kate’s interact. And that just can’t be good. I think one of me is plenty.
 
So here I am at work. Getting high on caffeine, well, trying at least.
 
The credit card companies are calling, my student loan grim reaper is standing behind me right now (he thinks I can’t see him), and I’m fat.
 
But I am nowhere near unhappy. I feel like I might never be anything but happy, probably because the meds I’m on make that near impossible, but I won’t let these things get me down! (aaaaaaaand neither will my meds…)
 
Fast forward to several hours later, I have paid my credit cards and will tackle my loan when I get home. I have planned when I will get an oil change and that I will get my hair cut tonight.
 
I will then dye my hair myself later, as usual, and will most likely make my bathroom look like an illegal abortion clinic (red hair dye looks alarmingly like blood, of that sort).
 
I will then book a hair appointment with the girl who does my sister’s and friend’s hair, to fix it after I’ve done it poorly as it won’t come out the way I want it to now that i’ve decided to go lighter. Just my roots will be perfect, and I will look like I’m balding.
 
I’ll start calling my mom again ten times a day, because she will become my new best friend with whom I’ll call when I’m alone, which will be often, and she’ll feel bad for me but really happy for her because I’ve been too busy for our 300 minute chats.
 
I’ll set up internet in the next few minutes because I can’t start re-watching the DVDs I have that I’ve watched the other 3 times I’ve moved and not set up internet or cable for the first few months. I’ve seen The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and How to Lose a Guy In Ten Days so many times… sooooo many times…. like, realistically around 30 each. That’s horrible. And those are just two of the DVDs I watch over and over and over and over and over.
 
I will sign up for a writing class now that I have money and be HAPPY.
 
I’ve realized that the only thing that could truly make me happy is performing/entertaining. I want to make people laugh. I want to bring smiles to their faces, and I want to be creative. I need my creative outlet, and since I cannot be a ceramicist or a painter for a living, I must perform!