Wednesday, December 21, 2005

First day of winter

Today is the first day of winter. It is 78 degrees in Hollywood at 4:07pm.

I leave for Ohio this Saturday.

The forecast for Los Angeles this weekend:
Saturday, Dec. 24: High - 79. Low - 50. Partly cloudy.
Sunday, Dec. 25: High - 75. Low - 48. Sunny.

The forecast for Ohio:
Saturday, Dec. 24: High - 43. Low - 31. Rain, snow showers.
Sunday, Dec. 25: High - 41. Low - 31. Rain, snow showers.


Thursday, December 15, 2005

The 2nd time in 11 years

I think people who know me best will agree that my adult life is a healthy mix of grown-up responsibility and childish foolishness.

I make excellent decisions when it comes to my safety and my well-being. I won't get on the back of a motorcycle because I know if something were to happen to me, my mother would be devastated. I don't speed often, not because I can't pay a speeding ticket, but because I don't want to lose my good driver's discount on my insurance. My producer at work asked me if I wanted a massage or shoes for Christmas, and I couldn't pass up a practical gift like a good pair of shoes. I have two life insurance policies, a small savings account, a good job and a nice computer. I know a whole lot about babies and kids, even though I have none of my own. All of these things make me feel like an adult.

After a shopping spree at Old Navy last night, 48 hours before a trip to Las Vegas and an unpaid 2 week hiatus, I called Justine. We had some details to work out regarding Vegas, and I hadn't really had a good conversation with her in about 6 weeks, so we were catching up. I pulled up in front of my apartment right in the middle of our conversation. I have underground parking, which means I can't continue conversations once I'm home because I'll lose signal on my cell phone once I'm in the garage. I often find myself parked illegally with the car running while I finish up conversations with friends. I was in such a situation last night, finishing up my chat with Justine, when all of a sudden, my car made sort of a "putter" noise and died. I turned the key... putter, putter, die.

I ran out of gas. Parked in front of my apartment. No, wait... parked ILLEGALLY in front of my apartment. Luckily (or not so luckily, as it turned out), my roommate was home and, as good roommates will do, she went to get gas for me. It wasn't enough gas, though... so we called AAA, and they came to the rescue, even though this comedy duo of tow truck guys they sent laughed at me.

When they put gas in the car and it started right up, I raised both of my arms with balled fists in an excited gesture of triumph. Gina said, "Score!"

The tow truck guy jokingly said, "Aw, don't get my hopes up."

What was the lesson I learned from last night? Always drive on a tank that's above 1/4 full? That the fact that this only my 2nd time running out of gas in 11 years of driving does not make it okay? Nope.

The lesson: everyone loves my girlfriend.

Monday, December 12, 2005


As I get older and more settled down, I have realized that the most difficult thing about being in a same-sex relationship is the lack of validation from many people outside my own little community. This absence of encouragement makes me question my reality more than I care to admit. I have never had a problem with it until recently, since I have finally started to feel more settled down and have begun to give serious thought to grown-up things, like purchasing a home, having children, and always having a good bottle of red wine in the house.

We went to Gina's sister-in-law's baby shower this weekend. When we arrived, the sister-in-law's mother greeted us with warm hugs, and I was immediately grateful that she remembered me from the wedding last year. She said, "Come on in, girls, I have to give you a name tag so everyone know's who you are."

She wrote out Gina's: "Gina - Frank's sister." (Frank is the papa-to-be.)

She wrote out mine, asking, "Now, you know Gina from Ohio, right?" I responded yes, and she wrote out: "Katie - Frank and Gina's Friend - Ohio"

Gina noticed what she was writing and said, "You know, she's my girlfriend. You can just write that."

She responded, "Oh, well, I just wrote Frank and Gina's friend from Ohio."

Hi, Round Hole? I'm Square Peg.

Friday, December 09, 2005

I'll take three... no, four!

Like most people, I find out things about myself every day that make me think, Boy, I sure have changed since _________. Or, I sure think differently than I did when I was ___ years old. People grow, things change.

One thing that has not changed for me is the fact that I want kids. I have two younger sisters: my sister Jessie was born when I was seven turning eight years old; my sister Jackie was born when I was ten. I spent my childhood summers babysitting - feeding, changing, playing. And I liked it. I loved it. Sure, there were times I would've rather been doing something else, like hanging out with kids my own age, but I loved my sisters so much and was so grateful for them, I was okay with it. And they were so M-Fing CUTE.

I blame this period of my life for my desire... or NEED to have children. I'm so comfortable with babies and kids, and even though I know once I have kids my life will no longer be my own, I look forward to that day more than I've ever looked forward to anything else.

Well, I'm 27 years old now. When my mom was my age, she had a seven year old and a newborn. CRAZY! WEIRD! EW! Gina wants kids probably more than even me, so we talk about it a lot. Maybe too much, but we like it. In the last few months, we have realized that we should start thinking about when we might be ready, and Gina came up with a Two Year Plan, which gets us pregnant in 2007. Of course, we still have to work out exactly where we'll get the baby making material, i.e., sperm. We have some plans, don't worry.

Gina has 3 nieces, and another niece/nephew on the way. (Her brother and his wife haven't found out the sex of the baby... it's not like they're giving birth to a hermaphrodite or anything... we just don't know if it's a boy or girl yet). The baby shower for the unborn is this weekend, so naturally we had to go to Babies R Us and spend our combined weight in gold on the package due to arrive at the end of February.

We learned something yesterday: we shouldn't go to Babies R Us together.

If we were a straight couple, I'd be pregnant today. That store got us convinced we had to have babies NOW. We were already planning our baby registry. I know, I know. It's weird. But we can't help ourselves!

So naturally, I had a dream last night that we had a baby. A girl. And she was so cute and perfect. My dream included me being pregnant, going to the hospital, and giving birth... and the baby was clearly about 3 months old. Not a newborn. We didn't have a car seat, and I kept thinking, why didn't we have a baby shower? Why are we not prepared? Am I dreaming this? I don't want to be dreaming. Am I? No, I'm not. Wait... am I?

I was.

I told Gina about it this morning... and wouldn't you know it, she had a dream we had a baby too - a girl. Her dream baby looked like her mom... my dream baby looked like the baby on the package for the Swaddle Me blanket we bought for her sister-in-law. Hey... I'll take what I can get.

In related news, we'll apparently be bringing up baby in an apartment, because with homes at a median price of $500,000 in California, 85 percent of households can't afford to buy a house.


Thursday, December 08, 2005


"Hey, what was that funny phrase we said at lunch today, and I said I was going to make a top 10 list of funniest phrases and that was going to be on it?"

"Oh... um..."

"It was around when we were said rootin' tootin' cowboy."

"Rootin' tootin' cowboy! That wasn't it?"


"What were we talking about?"

"You were saying how babies are dangerous like on Bugs Bunny when the baby had a rifle in the stroller and it was shooting at Bugs, but the baby was really Elmer Fudd."

"No, it was Yosemite Sam."

"I know, but you said Elmer Fudd first."

"Oh, right."

"It wasn't 'ticking time bomb.' It was in the knife-on-the-ceiling fan conversation..."

"Oh... um.... butter in the ceiling fan..."

"Right before you said, Check out the midwestern sweatshirt."

"OH, shit, I think that lady heard me, because she glared at me on my way out."

"Was it her glaring, or the teddy bear wearing a santa hat on her sweatshirt?"

"Oooh, I'm not sure."

"So what was it? The phrase?"

"It's right on the tip of my tongue. What did I tell you we needed to look for tonight?"

"OH! Um... space heaters... and... diapers?"

"No, not diapers... um..."

Pause. Pause. Pause.

"Well, if you think of that phrase, call me."

"Can opener!"

"That wasn't it."

"No, that's what we need to look for tonight."

Simply Unnecessary Vehicle, vol. 2

Being gay is funny, sometimes. Take last night, for instance. Gina and I went to see The Drowsy Chaperone at the Ahmanson, and instead of fighting 6:30 traffic on the 101/110, we decided to take the subway. This means we had to, you know, walk around the streets of Hollywood, which is only a pain in the ass because of all of the tourists.

When we got back to Hollywood from downtown, we were waiting at the crosswalk at Hollywood and Highland. A blue Suburban, with tinted windows and music thumping its way out every nook, was waiting to turn left onto Highland. Gina and I were holding hands, as couples are wont to do. The blue Suburban was filled with a brood of young Hispanic girls, early 20s. A girl in the back rolled down the window and was yelling at us, something about taking our picture. But she was saying it in this teasing sexy voice, like, "Yeah, baby, can I take your picture?" This made her look like more of a tool than I already knew she was, so instead of responding to it, I made eye contact with her and just started at her, sympathetically.

She yelled out the window, "Yeah, girl, I'm talking to you. Uh huh."

I shook my head slowly in that way adults do when they see young punk kids. The car rolled past. I said to Gina, "What is life like for someone like that?"

Gina: "Short."

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Simply Unnecessary Vehicle.

I have realized lately that the older I get, the less tolerance I have for people. In general, really. This tops my list of Things To Work On In Order To Be A Better Person, but I'm sort of stuck with it right now.

This attitude shines when it comes to my apartment complex. Put a person with no tolerance in a building with 100 other people, make her share parking spaces, washing machines, and mailbox areas, make her follow "rules" about where she lives, and she'll be a hard core bitch. You can count on it.

Honestly, I'm a nice person. I mean, I try to be. I hate conflict, which is why I can't seem to ever finish a good short story. In order to avoid conflict, I go to great lengths to change my mind about things, or alter my situation so that no one around me will be upset. This has been working rather well with my friends, but with strangers? I turn in to this conflict-lovin' lady.

Our apartment complex has underground parking, which I'm grateful for, and it's a commodity in Los Angeles. My roommate and I share tandem spaces, which can be annoying, but it beats the alternative of having no parking at all. If she's behind me, I'll move her car to get mine out and then I'll re-park hers... she does me the same favor. It's no big deal.

Recently, we got new parking neighbors. A couple - a guy who drives a late 90s mustang, and a girl who drives a white Dodge Durango roughly the size of a yacht. These underground parking spaces are not large. Their first night in the building, they parked that white beast RIGHT ON THE EDGE OF THE YELLOW LINE separating her space from ours. I ran into her in the parking garage and explained to her that we can't get in our cars if she parks like that. Things have been okay since then, besides my total intolerance for SUVs.

This morning, I had to move my roommate's car. In order to do that, I have to back the car out of the space and park it somewhere in the garage. I park it out of the way of most cars... even though it's only going to be there for 45 seconds. I park the car and begin heading back to my car. Well, Dodge Durango girl is leaving, and she zooms out of her space in reverse and doesn't look like she's going to stop before she runs into my roommate's car. After all, my roommate's Honda CRV is dwarfed by the Durango... maybe she didn't see it at first. She stopped, and then had to do a 60 point turn to get her "car" out of the garage. She rolls down her passenger side window and mumbles something in her tiny straight girl voice. I walk over to get a better listen.

"Is there a reason you're parked there, because it's really hard for me to get out," she whines in a chiding voice.

"Yes, I have to move my car."

I walk away as she whines something else.

A few things: She had PLENTY OF ROOM. If a girl that size is going to drive a car that large, she needs to be able to have some sense of depth, and some sense of how big her car is. Secondly, does she not know she looks like an asshat driving a car like that?

And most importantly: I will NOT alter MY life in order for YOU to drive a gas-guzzling Sport Utility Vehicle that you don't even NEED, because you live in a one-bedroom apartment in Hollywood with your BOYFRIEND. Maybe if you had bought a more efficient car, you could afford a house in Los Angeles. If you want to drive a car like that, go ahead. But I'll be DAMNED if you're getting any special treatment from me beyond looks of disgust at how ignorant you must be to be driving a car like that unless you have a brood of kids and sporting equipment (and even then... it's gotta be upwards of $150 to fill up that tank!). YOU picked that car, tiny woman... not me. YOU decided to move into this building, even though you knew the parking situation.

And BESIDES, I was totally here first.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005


Hearing your little sister's friend, who you met six years ago when she was about 12, tell your sister: "Oh my god, I just got a massage. It was better than sex!"

Check, please.

And I thought I wasn't addicted to anything...

Since I learned what the word "cliche" meant, I've had this overwhelming, sinking feeling that I've been nothing but cliche my whole life. So present is this notion, the very mention of the word "cliche" is... well, cliche.

To add to this, I'm about to tell you the most cliche 21st-century-life-in-Los-Angeles thing ever: there is a drink, a very special drink, available only at your local Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, to which I am addicted. That's right... addicted. It's the White Chocolate Latte... so glorious is it, I must use capital letters to refer to it.

Growing up with an alcoholic father, I don't like to use the term "addiction" lightly, so maybe I'm not quite addicted. But I really love this cup of coffee. I've decided that I'm going to allow you to be the judge... a very rare instance where I'm encouraging judgment from other people.

This morning, I left early for work for a few reasons: Gina and I are going to dinner in Anahiem tonight with her brother Frank who is in town from the Bay Area. I'll need to get out of work early to make it there before tomorrow. Also, I needed gas in my car. As soon as I woke up, I thought: Oohhh... I'm totally going to take Laurel Canyon to work instead of the 101 so that I may stop at Coffee Bean to get a White Chocolate Latte! That's right: I actually planned altering my usual route to work JUST so that I could get this cup of coffee.

Allow me to back up for a second: three weeks ago, I swore off coffee during the week. Last week was a really busy week which included a whirlwind trip to Ohio, so I allowed myself to have coffee last week, fully intending on resuming my coffee-on-the-weekends-only rule once this week started. Ha.

Back to this morning: I stopped at the gas station, convincing myself I needed gas in my car more than I needed a sugary latte. I was making the right decision! No coffee! I'd just have tea when I got to work! Just like I should be doing! I went inside to pay and the line, nearly 8 people deep, didn't move for three minutes. I'm my mother's daughter when it comes to my ability to wait... for ANYTHING, so I turned around and left without getting gas. And because I couldn't get gas, I thought I deserved my White Chocolate Latte.

On my way to Coffee Bean, as I snaked up Laurel Canyon, I talked myself out of getting the cup of coffee. You don't need the sugar, you don't need the caffeine, don't get it. And yet, as I neared the turn, my car inexplicably turned into the parking lot. And after I finished listening to the NPR story about the case being heard before the Supreme Court regarding universities allowing military recruiters on campus even though they discriminate against homosexuals, I walked myself right into that Coffee Bean and ordered a LARGE White Chocolate Latte, extra hot. And man, it was tasty.


Monday, November 28, 2005

Christmas time... is here...

Actual incident over long Thanksgiving weekend:

(on radio) ... and I just want to dedicate this special song to my husband, because he's so great, and I just want to give him the best gift ever!

Katie & Gina, in unison: Give him a blowjob.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Friend or Foe-hawk?

I gotta say, officially, I'm over the faux-hawk. I still approve of it some instances, such as the following: if you're not a raging bitchy dyke, then yes, a faux-hawk is still okay. Otherwise? Shave it. Do us all a favor.

This is why I hate this hairstyle: in my many, many nights spent in lesbian bars over the last few years, I have maybe met one or two worthwhile women sporting this 'do. The rest of them have been entirely forgettable if not downright unfriendly.

Last night, gina and I went to Guys. I used to go to this bar all the time, and I would have fun there. Last night, however, the crowd was about 10 years younger than normal, and it was apparently free drink night if you showed your "I'm a bitch" card at the door.

I really try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but I witnessed something last night that made me realize my hasty generalizations might not be so hasty. Two girls who looked exactly the same, both with faux-hawks and stretched earlobes, were standing at the bar, waiting for their drinks. It was clear with one look that these girls thought they were the bee’s knees. I mean, we were all so lucky to be in their presence.

I watched a short cuddly-looking girl with braces, not much older than 22, walk up to these 2 faux-hawks with a look of excited recognition. Yay! She was meeting friends out and she found them! She hadn't come alone... she was flanked by two shy girls who waited behind while she walked up to the two faux-hawks. She tapped one of the faux-hawks on the back. Nothing. Tapped her again. Nothing. Put her full hand on her back and rubbed it in that friendly sort of way that usually illicits a warm hug. Faux-Hawk 1 turned around and looked at her. Cuddly girl waved and smiled. Faux-Hawk 1 turned back to the bar.

THEN, Cuddly Girl did the same thing to Faux-Hawk 2, and Faux-Hawk 2 had the same response. Looked at her, and turned back to the bar. No hug, no motion that said "hang on a sec, I'm ordering a drink," nothing. These Faux-Hawks totally blew off this girl, a girl they clearly knew but maybe didn't want to know.

In my most adult move of the day, I complained about it to gina, motioning to the Faux-Hawks, and then I started making faces behind their backs: "Oh, I'm SO important! Look at my faux-hawk!"

I'm lucky those girls didn't see me, because they could've kicked my ass, for sure.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

What's funny?

My friend Amy calls me just about every day in the morning. She plays it off as "I'm just calling to say hi," but really, I think she's using me for my ability to make her laugh. I enjoy the attention, so I don't say anything.

She called me this morning and the following conversation ensued:

Amy: I love slash hate you right now!
Me: Why?
Amy: Because I just visited your new journal and I saw linked on it, and I was thinking, oh, what's this website? I clicked on it and...
Me: I know! Magic, right?
Amy: I literally have been reading it for three hours, thinking, how could she have not told me about this website??
Me: I DID tell you!
Amy: I need to start listening to you more.

A little later...

Me: That's why I haven't posted on my blog in a week, because nothing funny has happened, and I only want to write about funny things.
Amy: Funny things happen all the time.
Me: Yeah, but I'm not creative enough to realize it.
Amy: Yes you are. You know what you should write about?
Me: What?
Amy: You should write about how our answer to a bad day is a shot and a pitcher of beer. That's real healthy.

She is referring to this past Saturday... when the following conversation ensued:

Me: (answering phone) Hello?
Amy: Hi! Wait. What's wrong? Are you okay?
Me: No.
Amy: You and I need to be drunk right now. How soon can you get here?

...which led to the following drinks being consumed between the two of us at a bar in Manhattan Beach:

3 pitchers of beer
2 kamikaze shots
1 vodka tonic

...wherein we learned that some problems have no reasonable solution, and you have to just basically take it up the ass.


Tuesday, November 15, 2005

I'm learning...

You want to know what I can't figure out how to do here? I'll tell you.

Thanks to KTP, I learned of HaloScan comments. I like the fact that you can type in your name, email, and homepage, and leave a comment. It's very user-friendly.

Naturally, when I started up this version of my blog, I wanted to use HaloScan comments. I went to the website and since I'm HTML illiterate, I opted for the automatic setup of HaloScan. All it asked for was my blogger name and password, and ta-da! HaloScan comments are added.

HOWEVER, when I make ANY template changes, the HaloScan comments disappear. It's like the code for the HaloScan comments is not in my template, and it's somehow magically appearing on my blog anyway, and the minute I change my template to, let's say, add on another site I visit, the HaloScan comments disappear.

This sucks.

So... until I learn how to fix it, I have to add to my list of sites I visit every day a website I didn't have the address for last night when I was working on this. (The address is on my computer at work, so I checked it today and made a note to add it.)

The website is: Amanda B.'s Very Zen website. Amanda, if you read this, as soon as I figure out what the hell I need to do to add you to the side of my page, I'll do it.

Um, that's not your cup.

Gina, being the environmentally conscious gal that she is, has a cup she bought from Starbucks about a year ago. It's a black travel mug, and it has seen better days. Its biggest offense is that it's missing its lid, so coffee spills quite a bit in her car, but dammit, she's not throwing anything away! She used to frequent a coffee shop in the Bay Area, a very Bay Area type of coffee shop whose employees most likely think Starbucks is the incarnation of all that is evil in the world, and upon suggestion of someone at that Bay Area coffee shop, Gina covered the "Starbucks" logo on the cup with a recipe for Pear Ginger Tarts (provided, I believe, by the offended Bay Area coffee shop).

Last night, we went to a Starbucks in Van Nuys. Gina strolled in with coffee cup in hand and ordered her soy caramel latte (sauce AND syrup, thanks). I ordered a tall decaf drip, as I have given up caffeinated coffee (except on weekends). As we waited for her coffee to be ready, we stood several feet away from the bar, chatting. The barista set her cup on the bar and pushed it towards a girl maybe a little younger than me, and then asked, "Did you want caramel on top?" The girl smiled and said yes, and Gina and I watched as the barista amended the drink in Gina's personal cup for some stranger. The barista put the caramel sauce on top, and the girl took the cup. She looked at the protective sleeve, and brought the BLACK STARBUCKS CUP MISSING A LID to the cream and sugar bar. Gina and I watched with an amused disbelief. We wanted to see how long it would take her to realize she had someone else's cup. She went to POUR SUGAR into the CARAMEL LATTE, and I finally said, "Um, that's not your cup."

She gave me a puzzled look, and for a moment, I thought she might not speak English.

"Look at it," I said. "That's not your cup."

She looked at it, confused. Then, as if we offended her, "Well, I'm sorry, that's the one she gave me."

I wanted to say, "So if I give you the keys to my cavalier and take the keys to your BMW, you'll take my car because those are the keys I gave you?"

Instead, we just walked away.

Monday, November 14, 2005

commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

What the HTML are you talking about?

I don't know HTML. What does it even stand for?

Bear with me.

This time, we're drawing blood.

It's official. I'm moving my journal to And here it is! You've found it!

I'm switching over for many reasons, none of which I'll entertain you with here, but I think my 3 readers will enjoy this format more.

Eventually, I'd like to have a place where I'm archiving all this stuff, but for now, if you'd like to read any back entries, feel free to visit my livejournal:

In the meantime, come over here so I can ceremoniously cut you.

Friday, November 11, 2005


You know the normal car alarm sound? It's like: whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, nee-ner, nee-ner, nee-ner, nee-ner, pow, pow. pow, pow, doo-DOO, doo-DOO, doo-DOO, doo-DOO.

You know.

Well, today, as Gina and I were in the parking lot at Starbucks for our daily fix (I'm going with the caffeine-free espresso drinks, an oxymoron in the highest terms), we heard a small, unobtrusive beeping. It was similar to that of a large truck backing up, but if it had been a large truck, it would've been about a half mile away, it was so quiet. I then thought it was a smoke alarm... again, a half mile away... some sort of outdoor smoke alarm, I imagined.

We finally got out of the car and I saw the source of the noise. It was the ever-threatening alarm for the pinkish red Dodge Neon parked a few spaces away. It's lights were blinking on and off and it wasn't even making a "beep-beep" noise... it was more like, "bep bep bep."

I didn't know Dodge Neons were such hot items these days.