February 28, 2006 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?

–know that you’re my hero,
and everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings.

It might have appeared to go unnoticed,
but I’ve got it all here in my heart.
I want you to know I know the truth–

Yes, ma’am. Please bear with me as my computer is slow as molasses in January and if I could just put you on hold a second…

Whatever you say
Turn on the boob tube
I’m in the mood to obey
So lead me astray by the way, now

Where’d all the good people go?
I’ve been changin’ channels

Thank you all for your continued patience with my complete and utter failure to get the ski weekend documented and posted. But I leave for the airport in a mere six hours and right now I need to pack, do laundry, and go to the gym. In that order. (Notice “sleep” is not on the list. Again, that’s what the plane is for.) If I’m really productive, you’ll have the ski recap before I get on that plane. If not, perhaps entering your sixteen digit account number, followed by the pound sign, will help pass the time. Or, you know, feel free to sing along with the hold music.

(Bonus points if you can “sing” the next verse for us, without Googling for the answer. And I’ll know if you cheated, so don’t try it.)

Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it’s cold as hell
And there’s no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science I don’t understand
It’s just my job five days a week–

February 24, 2006 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, Is She Still Talking?

Y’all, I really debated about posting this, because in doing so I give up any remaining shred of anonymity and, worse, all plausible deniability that I am the author of this blog. Which is not something I’d recommend to any of my clients. Consider yourselves very lucky.

Yesterday I received a refresher course in one of the universe’s fundamental truths. Namely, that I Am Not in Charge. (It ranks right up there with other important truths like There Is a God and Wine Is Good for You and Redheads Can Totally Wear Pink and Red, Just Pick the Right Shade, Please.) My boss’s boss’s boss gave a speech wherein she referred to me as Kate about four times in sixty seconds. And then the CEO of the company hosting this talk, whom I have met on many occasions and to whom I have always introduced myself as Katherine, he referred to me as Kate. From the podium. This wouldn’t be so bad, except that everyone I know in my professional life knows me as Katherine. Everyone.

I’ve had many names (and nicknames) in my life. How you refer to me is a good indicator as to when you met me, or under what circumstances. I was Katie growing up and into college. Liz liked to call me “Katherine Anne” in a fake I’m-yelling-at-you voice, which was funny because even our parents didn’t call me Katherine when I was getting yelled at. The neighbor boy across the street would use Katherine occasionally, with the same tongue-in-cheek attitude. (”Hello, Kath-er-ine…” enunciating every syllable.) Only within my family (both nuclear and extended) would anyone call me Kate.

During my first real job in college, I had to ditch Katie. I didn’t mind that it was somewhat young-sounding, I was young, and that was part of my appeal. No, I got tired of receiving faxes from people who massacred my name. “Caydee” and “Ka-de” and “K.T.” drove me up the wall, as did “Kathy.” So I became Kate. It was a little more sophisticated, but still me. Some of my college friends made the switch, some didn’t, and I was pretty indifferent. To new people in my life I introduced myself as Kate, for the rest of college and grad school.

Then it was time for a job. A real job. And that meant I had to decide on a professional name. The name that would be my brand for the next fifty years. The name under which I would run for office. The name they would print in the newspaper headlines and the history books. The name that would be synonymous with Really Smart, Tough, Sexy Person You Definitely Want Working for You. I settled on Katherine. It was professional, would be durable my entire career, is splashed across the top of my resumes, etc. I even went to the trouble of changing my voice mail message so prospective employers wouldn’t be confused/tempted by Kate.

Being Katherine turned out to be more difficult than I expected. At first, it was just weird, but eventually I got used to answering to it. And, more importantly, introducing myself as such. Nothing says “I’m an idiot” like tripping over your own name. Alas, people still spell my name creatively. And the likelihood of someone calling me Kathy is much greater. Argh! I have plenty of names; please use one from the approved list! (I hate Kathy for reasons even I don’t understand. My best friend is a Kathy; one of my best bosses is a Kathy; my current favorite networking connection is a Kathy. [You don't have a current favorite networking connection? What kind of cave do you live in?])

Plus, there’s the whole thing of being different names to different groups of people. It wasn’t much of a problem when I was one name at home and one name at work/school. But now? It’s Katie for old-school friends, college friends, and people I know through the alumni association; Kate for grad school friends and my family; Katherine for work people, Junior League people, Banana Republic people, pretty much anyone I met after June 2002. Even worse is when you put all these people in the same room and everyone is confused about how to address me.

Finally, I never know what name to use with the guys I date. Katherine seems too formal for someone with whom I might have a close personal relationship and could actually be family one day. On the other hand, how do I know he’s going to stick around long enough to qualify for the close personal relationship status? But then, how does one achieve a name-switch in the middle of a relationship? It’s all so confusing! (I solve this dilemma by simply not dating. So much easier.)

Everyone prefers a different name. One of my friends thinks Katie is just the perfect name for me. Another said, “Katie is, like, a ditzy cheerleader name. That’s totally not you.” My mother, it turns out, doesn’t like Katherine.

Mom: I just can’t get over this Katherine thing. Why are you Katherine? It sounds so old and stuffy.
Me: Mom, you gave me this name! Since when do you not like Katherine? And why would you give me a name you don’t like?
Mom: I like Katie; that’s why I named you Katherine. I just figured you’d go by Kate as a grown-up.
Me: Thanks for telling me now.

As for me? I like them all, but I’m most concerned about that professional name. I just don’t see myself doing the Katie Couric thing. But I can handle a Katharine/Kate Graham approach to life. I’m still introducing myself as Katherine, but it’ll be interesting to see if (and how quickly) the Kate thing catches on here. Any bets? Faster than the transmission of avian bird flu? (Speaking of name changes, we are now calling it “Avian influenza.” Which makes sense, since “avian bird flu” is needlessly redundant.) In the meantime, while we get this whole mess sorted out, you may address me as “Your Highness.”

February 23, 2006 | Filed under: DC! DC! DC!

Yay! I will be in DC next week. Woo-hoo! Can you tell I’m just a tad excited? No? Well, I am. Though this is nothing compared to my excitement in December, when I hadn’t been to DC in four months and I thought I would spontaneously combust during my last 48 hours in California. Imagine Christmas Eve for a four-year old little boy who loves Christmas…yeah, that was me before boarding the plane. (And I have some dorky text messages sent from the gate to prove it.)

Anyway, yes, DC, the land of policy wonks and nonstop networking and daily happy hours. And me, in the midst of it all. Yay! (Confidential to you DC types: Happy Hour. Thursday. Fado. Be there.)

Official Ski Trip Update: Yes, yes, I know. Pictures, funny stories, I get it. And I will deliver, just as soon as I can. But it will be another day because Walgreens did not understand that, while having the physical pictures is nice (ready in just 90 minutes!), what I really wanted was my film developed into some kind of digital, computerable, blog-loadable format, and the physical pictures don’t really accomplish this. Perhaps because I forgot to tell them. Perhaps because it didn’t even occur to me until about half an hour ago.

February 22, 2006 | Filed under: It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It., People I Like Even More Than My Job

Yes, that’s right, I survived the Official Ski Trip to Tahoe and met my death on the side of a mountain neither skiing nor driving. Though I do have some darn good stories about both to share, just as soon as the pictures are developed. (We didn’t risk killing the digital camera on the slopes, and instead opted for a disposable one with real live film, hence the delay in picture production.) My chin, of all things, suffered the worst of it, due to constant rubbing against the top of my ski jacket. Red, peeling chin…not sexy. But the damage was minimal and short-lived - pretty good, as far as injuries go.

Danielle’s visit provided much amusement, as always, and I miss her already. *Sob.* We spent our last night carousing in my ‘hood…dinner at the Czech/Italian place down the street (yes, really, Czech and Italian. The owner/chef is Czech but previously worked at an Italian restaurant, so he now cooks both cuisines. Quite well, as a matter of fact.) followed by many pints at the English pub next door. Danielle enjoyed it immensely, as it was reminiscent of the time she spent in jolly old England. I enjoyed it immensely, as it was reminiscent of the time I spent socializing with single people.

The pub’s big attraction is a Sunday night trivia game. And the guy running the show was HOT. (Or hot according to my warped-by-DC standards. Or hotter than anyone else within five feet of us.) We tried to figure out how old Trivia Boy is. 24? 25? The trivia questions seemed to center on information just a little before our time, so we upped the estimate to 30. (And we wondered who the hell knows this crap…until Danielle came up with several correct answers in a row and I amazed myself by knowing the answers to some pop culture questions, which is really, really not my forte.)

The evening progressed with several Trivia Boy run-ins. When the trivia festivities were over and the place had significantly cleared out, I found myself sharing a booth with him. This was the beginning of the end. It was midnight and Trivia Boy was drinking water and having a hard time stringing words together to form complete sentences. But best of all? He proceeded to pick at his teeth during our entire conversation. You’ve been drinking beer for the last twelve hours, what could possibly be stuck in your teeth?!?!

And this was not an attempt at discrete teeth-picking, where you use your pinky finger and try to make it as quick as possible and hope no one notices. This was whole-mouth-open, half-his-hand-in-there, undeniable, outright teeth-picking. Thirty? I hope not.

(There was also some vague reference to not knowing where he was going to be tomorrow morning. Um, was I supposed to suggest my place here? Cuz, yeah no. Did I mention the incessant teeth-picking? Uh, pass.)

I slid out of the booth with a casual “Have a good night” (and please don’t ever run into me again!). Danielle and I made our way home, very slowly, because we kept stopping to fall over laughing as I recounted the story for her. My triumphant return to nightlife, and this is what I get?

*Insert game show buzzer sound here.*
Bob, what lovely parting gifts do we have for our contestant today?
Well, Jim, it’s a one-way ticket to Spinsterhood. I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.

For your viewing pleasure:

Yes, that would be eight purses/handbags/totes/laptop bags. For the two of us. We have no money to carry around in these bags, but I found my perfect black purse!

We’re in the process of forming a support group. If you’re interested, e-mail me your membership application. Tips on where to find a really hot bag at a great price are also welcome.

OLYMPICS UPDATE: Don’t look for me in the halfpipe in Vancouver, but Anja Paerson and I are going head-to-head in the Women’s Slalom event.

February 17, 2006 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?, The California Adventure

If you thought I dialed it in yesterday, just wait til you read this collection of random crap. I’m killin’ time here, until Danielle arrives and we get this show on the road. And, I know how sad you’d be if you didn’t have anything to entertain you on a Friday. Today it’s about quantity, not quality, and I’m OK with that.

First, another installment in The Evil Safeway series. My god, how much do I hate your Muzak? The sad part is, I know the lyrics to every damn song you play and find myself singing along (sometimes audibly) while wandering the aisles. Bad! And what is up with the cheap-o, knock-off version of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” Was the original Elton John version not Muzak-y enough for you? You had to go get some woman to sing it veeeeery slowly with lots of echo-y flourishes from the background vocals? I had pretty much convinced myself this was the case, but lo and behold, the very next song was “Why Can’t This Be Love?” by Van Halen. Van Halen! And Elton John was too rockin’??? But you just haven’t lived until your average 350-pound high school checkout boy starts belting out - tunelessly and not keeping time with the Muzak - Toni Braxton’s “You Mean the World to Me.” Which is now stuck in my head. Thank you, oh so much, Safeway.

Official Ski Trip Update: I have chains! It took stops at three auto parts stores, but they are now safely thrown somewhere in the trunk of my car. And it was quite the experience.

Auto Part Store #1: Closed. I could tell this without even pulling into the parking lot. Almost broke down in tears due to working in crappy small town suburb where nothing is open past 5:00 p.m. and haven’t we already covered the fact that I DO NOT leave work before 5:00 p.m. and WOULD A STUPID SET OF CHAINS BE TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR??? I am going to drive into snow-covered mountains and meet my snow-covered death, all because I actually go to work during the day.

Auto Part Store #2: Open, yay! I put on my I’m-just-a-pathetic-girl-please-help-me face, which works like a charm. (And wasn’t much of a stretch considering the near-breakdown I’d just had.) Michael (yes, we’re on a first-name basis) asks what size tires I have. Right. See, I knew that was a critical piece of information, but when Adam (helper guy from last night) looked at my tires, he committed the size to memory without telling me. So…? Does knowing that it’s a Corolla help? Michael and I go out to inspect my tires. They are 175/65/14, in case you were wondering, and I will be writing that information someplace not lose-able, like on my registration form, since I am tired of not being able to answer that question. Michael finds the appropriate chains in their inventory catalog, but does not have them in his store. Apparently I have unusually small tires. Or unusually small tires for one who is going to drive up a mountain. Again with the snow-covered death pictures flashing through my head. But! Michael’s handy dandy computer tells him that another store in the area has them in stock. Jackpot.

[Danielle just arrived and can't wait to get back in the car, so I will finish this very hilarious story later. If I do not meet my death on the side of a mountain.]

Auto Part Store #3: Also open, yay! Following Michael’s instructions, I go find Chris who will hook me up with some chain love. (That sounds way kinkier than it is. Contain yourselves.) Chris, on notice from Michael that a young woman in search of chains will be stopping by, takes one look at me and goes off to get the chains. When he returns, chains in hand, I inquire about windshield wiper fluid. I spotted some in Auto Part Store #2 and thought, I haven’t put wiper fluid in the car since moving to California a year ago, so I’ll bet it’s time to start worrying about that. Chris suggests that I get a de-icer instead of regular old wiper fluid. I thank him for the thought, but no, really, I just want wiper fluid. No, he insists that I will be sad, and may possibly die a snow-covered death on the side of a mountain, without the de-icer. Ok, fine, give me the de-icer.

Chris: I’d love to, but actually we’re not allowed to sell de-icer in Sacramento County.
Me: blank stare
Chris: I know.
Me: Huh?
Chris: Just stop someplace on your way up the mountain, like in Placerville, they can sell it to you.
Me: Are you kidding? Why? No, wait, don’t. I don’t want to know. I will just add this to my list of Things about California That Make Absolutely No Sense Whatsoever.

Hello, California legislators? Sacramento County board? Have you run out of ideas on what to make laws about? Is this what it’s come to? De-icer regulations??? Have we already solved those other problems like poverty and child abuse and lackluster educational achievement? Are you worried that I will inappropriately use my de-icer on a frigid 50-degree winter day? De-icer???

Anyway, we are here now, having safely navigated the mountainous terrain without needing chains or de-icer (which is good, because we didn’t stop for any). Hopefully the skiing goes just as smoothly!