Me? Me?

Omigosh, it's finally happened. I've been tagged for a Meme (the blogosphere's lengthy answer to the "truth" part of a truth or dare). I'm kinda psyched, actually. I love reading these on other blogs. They're sorta like those "getting to know you" emails where you're asked if you've ever been to Africa and if you prefer hugs or kisses and you roll your eyes but secretely love typing that your favorite food is Mexican. Thanks to the gamely Frantic Puppy I have the opportunity to honestly purge myself of the following wishes, pleasures and regrets. Feels good. Watch out, you're next.


I can't believe I have never...
Gotten on board with Obama. What's wrong with me? It seems such a good fit: the progressive values, eloquence, pro-green-women-gay platform, the saying-all-the-right-things schtick. The celebrity endorsements. The youth vote. The polish and shine. The magazine analyses. The hype. The opinions of so many people I respect. If I'd thought for one second in 2004 when I saw "the speech" that I'd be standing dry outside the big, ol' Obama swimming hole in 2008, I'da been shocked. But honestly, it's just not happening. He's not my guy. There, it's done. I've said it.


I wish I'd...when I had the chance...
This rates second only to wishing I'd gotten an academic education, which I really wish I'd done and I'm really gonna try to do. But that said, I wouldn't take back the education I did get and I'm not sorry I made the choices I made when I did. So, after that, I only wish I'd gone to visit the Liberian refugee camp in Ghana, West Africa when I was there in 2001. The group we traveled with had an opportunity to see firsthand how people at the camp were living after the civil war. Some folks went and some stayed behind. I stayed behind. I've regretted it for 7 years. I guess I was on overload. We were maybe a week or more into the trip and I'd reached maximum density. It was my first experience with the poverty of a developing nation and I was afraid of what I'd see and how I'd feel and I felt myself sort of going numb and no longer taking in the experience. So I didn't go. I missed an opportunity to see for myself the failures of the UN and the lives of people who were living in conditions beyond anything I could fathom. It would've given me an even greater perspective than I'd already been granted on that trip as well as a deeper connection to the people in the region, and I'm really, really sorry I missed it.


I've never felt so out of place as when I...
Last stood in a room full of actors at an audition about six years ago. Self-producing kept me nice and comfortable in the roles I cast myself in so on a lark I felt it was time to "get out there" and fire off an audition to keep the muscle exercised. The sides were on little slips of paper like the ones you write the name of your secret santa on and all the actors were standing around in a hallway prepping with these tiny strips in their hands. The breakdown called for "Freaks, pimps, glamour girls and Eurotrash". Now, don't ask me why but at the time I felt I could play Eurotrash. It must've been the "trash" that I connected to. And for some odd reason I wore silver satin pants. I guess I sorta felt they were Euro in a way. Flashy. I had some seriously contrasting blonde highlights at the time and I can still see myself walking up to the building in my disco pants, wearing a scarf (actorly!) and a pair of cheap pleather platforms ready to blow them away with my faux-Berlin persona. I knew immediately it wasn't my crowd. This was a room full of young, ingenue-y, waifish girls pulling off that wispy, tight-jeaned vulnerability with ease. And there I was, sparkling and cheap (but not Eurocheap) standing akwardly in plastic shoes. Insecure but not delicately vulnerable. I felt sorta like an Elvis impersonator in a performance of Swan Lake. I selected my sides (a poem about how my ass looked in jeans--another mistake) and tried to prep, at that point more as an exercise in pain tolerance than a genuine desire to play Eurotrash. When I went in to audition, I got about 2 lines in, uttered the word "orbs" in reference to my ass cheeks and from the dark came "thanks so much". I'm absolutely positive it was the pants.


My guilty pleasure is...
Oh, The Hills. I love it. It thrills with its urban Cali setting, jetting off to Crested Butte, drone-y boys and foolish control battles. I love its voiceovers and personal revelations. I love its megabitch and super-sweet, the flip flops, baby doll dresses, fashion internships and product endorsements. I love Heidi's fake tits storyline and her faux relationship with Spencer and Lauren's work trip to Paris. I love Audrina's ridiculous name. Audrina Patridge. Mostly I just love to put it on and listen to the monotonous voices of the young and lovely hash out the business of being beautiful and burdened with bad boyfriends. De-lish.


I hope...knows how grateful I am...
I think my husband knows how grateful I am that he's my cosmic twin. But he may not know how grateful I am that he's a hopeful person with great compassion. He might be unaware that I'm grateful he's profoundly dark and funny and imaginative. He probably has no idea how grateful I am that he eats my food, listens to Edie Brickell with me when I'm on a tear and calls me "ma'am" when I'm being naggy. What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man.


In my darkest hour I secretly blame...
God. Myself. We compete for first place. Though, I do thank God that I don't blame my parents anymore.


...changed my life forever...
In chronological order: The Michael Jackson Thriller concert, Prince, The Cure, Siouxsee Sioux, drugs, dropping out of high school, black hair dye, Morrissey, moving to New York, sleeping at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, Africa, This Woman's Work, getting married, losing my grandparents, finding our perfect dog, Gogol Bordello.


Every time I think about...I still cringe...
The first time I went on air on QVC in the U.S. I'm cringing so hard I can barely type. This also gets second place for the "I've never felt so out of place as when I" paragraph. I was replacing a former platinum blonde Mrs. America who'd repped our brand for a fucking decade, I had a severe updo and looked like the mistress at an orphanage circa 1935, I was under pressure to save our company financially in this one four minute spot and I was presenting cosmetics in a home show. I came just after the "mini aquarium" and just before the "car wash in a bottle". We sold 137 of 7200 items in stock. When I came off air there was no one to greet me. It's a "coffee is for closers" kinda environment. You only get an escort out of the studio if you sell mega product. I walked myself off the set and was greeted by a curt and hurried PA who pulled my mic quipment off in silence. Cringe.

So, now I gotta tag and keep the honesty comin'. Whatagoodguy, you're SO it.
Yours, OneKate