Hi, my name is Kitty and I’m a dork.

And I’m going to try really hard to not spend the rest of my blogging days talking about Moby, but right now, I can’t really help it.

I’ve been reading his website more. I read his essays today and some of them were interesting, some sounded kinda preachy. Admittedly, the preachier ones were older ones and you can see how his thought process has shifted over the years. Which is good. I like it when people evolve and change and progress. Stagnation is bad.

But he keeps talking about things that should happen in an enlightened society – equality, justice, understanding, and stuff like that. Thing that he doesn’t seem to be factoring in is the fact that we don’t really live in an enlightened society, particularly if you are referring to the entire planet as your said society.

Let’s face it, not everyone thinks like Moby does. Not everyone thinks the way that I do. This is part of the reason I have been enjoying reading his site so much – because it shows me that there is at least one other person out there who is thinking and coming to conclusions based on experiences and facts, not based on tradition or someone else’s say so. In one of his daily updates, he recounts a time when he went to a meeting of Marxists and he said that in general, they were okay people, but that the problem was they had only been hanging out with other Marxists for the past 30 years. I was raised in upper middle class white suburban America and I’ve been hanging out there too long. Yes, I dance, but most of my dancer friends are computer geeks during the day who still believe that if they have enough money and enough toys, they will be happy. Which is fine for them, but I don’t know that I agree with that. They are wonderful people, don’t get me wrong. I am thankful every day that they are in my life. But I don’t want to retire at 50. I want to keep working until I die. Particularly if that work is acting. I want to keel over on set when I’m 97 or something ridiculous like that. And I don’t need to live in the biggest house on the block. My apartment is four rooms on the second floor of a smallish building and I love it. I particularly love it since I painted my living room red. I don’t love the fact that my upstairs neighbors seem to switch their living room and bedroom furniture back and forth at least twice a day, but I can deal with it. So I guess its just nice to know that there is someone passionate out there, doing what it is that he loves to do because he loves to do it, not necessarily because he makes a lot of money doing it. It is a brief, electronic exposure to something new for me. And that was a really long tangent. I apologize.

Getting back on track.

We do not live in an enlightened society. There are so few enlightened people running around that they are considered the lunatic fringe in some cases. Or, depending on who you talk to (Buddhists, for example), there aren’t any enlightened people running around. The fact that we have cars and computers and medicine and tall buildings does not, I think, qualify us as enlightened. And a lot of the things Moby points out on his site as being wrong with the world today – Alaskan drilling, stupid politicians, cruelty to prisoners and animals and women and homosexuals, etc, etc, etc. – would seem to prove the fact that we are not enlightened. Because, after all, as George Carlin so appropriately put it, “Think about how stupid the average person is and realize that half of them are stupider than that.” People are not, in general, enlightened. Most of them probably don’t even think about this kind of thing. From my experiences seeing how this University (the one that I work at) in particular works, I have learned that a hell of a lot of people just want to solve problems in the quickest, easiest way possible, without thinking about the repercussions down the line. This is why even bigger problems erupt. This is why larger issues never get solved. We are a society that likes to put Band-Aids on things, and not even Band-Aids with Neosporin on them, just plain old Band-Aids. And it pisses me off. I guess it pisses Moby off, too, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re still not an enlightened society.

Man, that makes me sound like a misanthrope, doesn’t it? I’m not really. Fundamentally, I like people. I love old people. I love babies. And there are a lot of good ones in between, too. I stop and think every now and again, usually when I find myself getting really angry at someone else’s stupidity, that we’re really all after the same things – survival, love, and happiness. We all have that instinct to keep an eye on what is ours because we know we have worked hard for it and feel we deserve it, whether it be a lifetime achievement award or a stolen car. Our motivations are all the same, though our ways of going about things are quite different. And I just have to remember that and I start to love people again. You really can’t fault them for not knowing better and you really can’t fault them for getting wrapped up in what is directly in front of their faces as opposed to problems a half a world away.

So while I agree that there are things about the world that should change and/or need to change, I know also that they won’t. At least not right now. I can do my little part (like being nice to the people around me) in the hopes that everyone else will some day do the same, but I have to be patient with the rest of the world. Six billion minds take a long time to change.

I spent a large portion of my day yesterday reading Moby’s online updates. His diary, essentially. Well, the one that is published on the web. He may keep his own journal locked away somewhere wherein he writes about his contempt for the gullible capitalists who buy his music, but somehow I doubt that. He seems like a pretty cool guy. A very cool guy, actually. As in, I am sure we would have some interesting conversations if we ever met. If I could get over the whole “being star struck” thing and actually talk to him. He encourages people to walk up to him and say hi when they see him on the street. In a strange way, I hope he reads this in case I ever did approach him on the street in New York and say “hi,” he would know I wasn’t some crazy stalker chick. I’m kind of hoping to see him when I’m in New York, but I’m also terrified of that prospect and skeptical that it would ever happen. Yes, I have a celebrity crush on Moby. I find passionate, artistic intellectuals attractive. So sue me.

There are a couple of things that he talks about or stands for or what have you, that I don’t quite agree with. Or at least that I don’t do/participate in/believe in. If that is how he wants to live his life, more power to him, it’s just not for me.

The first is his belief in Christ and his love of the teachings of Christ. He doesn’t qualify himself as a Christian necessarily, because organized religion can get in the way of one’s belief system, but he thinks Jesus was a cool dude. Okay, maybe he was. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I’ve studied enough other world religions, though, and while I am by no means an expert on any of them, I’m also not sure Christ is the way to go. And, to be perfectly honest, I find the Old Testament rather dull and tedious. Or maybe I just haven’t gotten to the good parts yet. It took me forever to get out of Exodus.

I like a lot of little bits of a lot of different world religions and have come up with my own system of beliefs that only really makes sense to me. But that’s okay because it makes sense to me. And probably my favorite story that I heard in high school about Christian missionaries involves the first time missionaries went into India to spread the word of Jesus and convert people. As they were telling the Hindus about Jesus Christ, the Hindus thought, “Oh, he was just another reincarnation of Vishnu. Okay, we can buy that.”

I dunno. There seems to be a lot more going on in the universe than the physical world around us, but I can’t explain any of it – hell, I’m only 24. And people keep saying that this kind of stuff is the kind of stuff the human mind can’t comprehend anyway. My basic instinct is to believe that they’re all right, that we’re all worshipping to essentially the same thing/being/place, we just call it different things. Like cheese is also queso is also fromage, you know? Maybe a bits and pieces get lost in the translation from place to place, but its essentially all the same stuff. There are many paths to the top of the mountain, but it’s all the same mountain. Which is why I find it hard to believe in just one thing and why I had to come up with my own theories.

I do think it is important to have a spiritual side and I applaud Moby for having beliefs. A lot of people don’t. And he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would force his beliefs on someone else, so that’s cool. I’m not going to force mine on anyone else, either.

Another thing that just really isn’t for me is veganism. I believe in evolution. I believe in biology. Why? Because they make sense to me. The human body was not designed to eat only plant matter. First of all, plant matter contains cellulose. The human body cannot digest cellulose. Herbivores in general have the ability to digest cellulose. This leads me to believe that humans were not intended to be herbivores. Also, if you look at the human dental structure, you see we not only have molars (for grinding up veggies and such), but we also have canine teeth for ripping and chewing flesh. Phrased like that, it sounds kind of gruesome, but it again brings me to the conclusion that biologically, humans are supposed to be omnivorous. (I, personally, am ambinivorous – I eat just about anything, usually with both hands.) As I said earlier, I have my own set of spiritual beliefs, too, and nothing in them tells me I can’t eat meat if my body is craving meat. I don’t eat a lot of it because it sometimes strikes me as odd to eat just a large slab of meat by itself, but I am not going to deny myself my cravings. I have enough eating problems as it is; I don’t need to add denial and bingeing to the list.

Another part, though, of believing in evolution, is a belief in survival of the fittest and the idea of a food chain or food web. I can understand how someone might become vegetarian because they feel humans have an unfair advantage over other animals in that we have no natural predators and they want to even out the field. That’s cool. But humans do have natural predators – diseases. This is a very touchy subject for me and I usually end up sounding heartless, but there is a part of me that has problems justifying finding cures for every disease that attacks the human race. People used to die from the flu until we found ways of fighting it. Then it was chicken pox, which has now become almost a rite of passage for elementary school children. Then cancer, which we still cannot cure, though we can treat it. Then AIDS. Then Ebola. For every disease we cure or learn how to combat, something even more terrifying comes along. I think this might be Mother Nature trying to tell us something. And at the same time that I would never wish any of these diseases on anyone (I had a stepmother die of cancer so I know how horrible it can be), there is a small part of me that wants to point out that these diseases are the only thing keeping the human population in check and they are already losing. But as I said, this all makes me sound very heartless (which I hope I am not) and it is one of those things I am horribly torn about and will probably never come to a solution within myself that makes everything all better. And I’ll probably still donate money to cancer and AIDS research.

But, getting back to my original point, if I did not advocate disease research and such, I might feel more justified in being omnivorous – I’m eating animals and someday some bacteria is going to eat me. That’s just how it goes.

Veganism (as opposed to vegetarianism) is something that I don’t understand, though. The restrictions go above and beyond not eating animals because it is cruel to kill them. They include things like not drinking milk. It is painful for cows bearing milk to not be milked. Granted, I don’t know all of the inner workings of a cow or a dairy farm (maybe they keep the dairy cows in a constant state of lactation that would not exist if the cows ran free and the simple act of feeding calves would keep the cow’s milk supply in check), but I have problems seeing how alleviating the pain a cow experiences from not being milked is a bad thing. As I said, I am not an expert on any of this stuff, so if you have more information for me, please share it. kmortland@yahoo.com I am open to being proven wrong. I am always open to being proven wrong. It gives me more stuff to think about.

So yeah, those are a couple of Moby things that I don’t necessarily agree with. And his love of LA. Eep. I found LA to have no real soul. Then again, when I went, I was there as a peon, not as a rock star, so our experiences were probably completely different. I wouldn’t mind visiting LA again as a rock star. I wouldn't mind being a rock star.

But I still maintain that Moby is a cool guy and we would have some cool conversations. I’d be happy to meet him at some vegan restaurant in New York. As long as he promises to not judge me for having a cheeseburger the next day.

When I was the poster child for the single, independent female who wanted nothing to do with a romantic relationship of any kind, my friends looked at me with pity as if I had lost all hope and had a defeatist attitude. They would tell me of the joys of a relationship, how wonderful it can be to share your life with someone, and that there was someone out there for me and I would meet him one day. I know, I thought it was pretty corny, too.

Now that I have come to the realization that a romantic relationship is what I am looking for, my friends are looking at me with pity as if there is some horrible secret out there that I don’t know and they warn me about how horrible relationships can be and that they don’t want to see me get hurt. What the fuck? What is so horribly wrong with the fact that I feel I am finally ready for a real relationship? There are millions of people out there looking to meet someone. How do I know this? Look at how many frickin’ dating shows there are on TV. Read the personal ads. Check out Hurry Date. Hooking people up is a multi-million dollar business that prays on people’s hopes, desires, and insecurities.

I, however, have not resorted to personal ads. I have not signed up for Hurry Date. I will not go on a dating TV show. Silly me, I try to meet people the old fashioned way – by going out and saying hi to strangers. Not necessarily total strangers, but I make myself approachable in situations where there are men there I don’t know personally. Like at parties at friend’s houses. Or out dancing. I am pouring no more money into the hooking people up business than I would be spending on a regular social life. But yes, there is the thought in the back of my mind that maybe I’d like to date one of the people I meet when I am out and about. What is so wrong with that? Why are my friends now trying to talk me out of wanting to be with someone? I can tell you for a fact that not a single one of them wants to spend the rest of his or her life alone. Why do they seem to be wishing that fate on me?

I don’t expect them to understand my position. A lot of them look for relationships for the wrong reasons or they pick bad relationships. They know I don’t have a lot of experience in this arena and are trying to share their knowledge with me. Fine, great, thanks. Thing is, I have spent god knows how long trying to figure out what it is exactly that I am looking for and why I want it and I’m not ready to settle or abandon that just yet. I want a relationship for much healthier reasons than most of the people I know, and I am the one who is looked upon as being crazy for my desires. Maybe it’s my friends – you just can’t win with them. Or maybe I should just stop complaining about this to them.

So a friend of mine wouldn’t stick a bottle cap to my chest this weekend because he respects me. You are probably thinking one of two things – either, “What a stupid thing to complain about,” or “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Now, I would only say I am complaining about it because it is a stupid reason to not have physical contact with me. I was not asking him to molest me or feel me up. And someone else had just stuck a bottle cap to my chest a minute earlier. It was not a sexual invitation – if anything it was one of those invitations that could be sexual but really isn’t – like playing suck and blow. But he would not do it because he respects me.

Now, I am the queen of being shot down. I have been shot down for looks, for lack of confidence, for lack of time, for a sister’s graduation, for being someone friend, for all kinds of reasons. I think “I respect you” is the biggest cop out of all of them, though. Maybe its just me, but isn’t there a sick sense of satisfaction associated with violating something you respect and/or look up to? Some sense of enjoyment that comes from bringing your superior down to your level? Like when you can fix the copier or when you get a really good idea that your company latches on to while you are working in the mailroom or something like that. Which would lead me to believe that sticking a bottle cap to the chest of someone you respect would be, I dunno, satisfying or something.

I am beginning to believe that respect is just another word for fear. Perhaps a different kind of fear, but fear nonetheless. They both carry the same sort of power-differentiation between the parties involved and the same or similar boundaries of action. Respect just sounds better, I think. Though I would prefer that someone tell me they are afraid of me because that is something we can work on together to come to a mutual understanding about. I can help someone get over his or her fear of me. In order to help someone get over his or her respect for me, I have to make an ass out of myself, and while I am no stranger to making an ass out of myself, I like to do it on my own terms, you know?

That, and I don't honestly think there is a good reason for anyone to be afraid of me.

I quit my dance troupe last night. Well, not my dance troupe, but the dance troupe of which I had been a part for just under two years. There are a lot of reasons why I left the troupe beyond the fact that my partner was ready to quit, too, and in a way I’m glad I did. But man, did I feel like crap last night. I walked out of rehearsal and started to cry. I’ve already told you that I cry way too easily, but I don’t really do it in front of people, so you don’t have to worry about that. But it is very therapeutic to cry. So I did. It was as if I had just broken up with a boyfriend of two years or something. I know that I was miserable in the troupe and it did little more than make me fell horrible about myself for almost two years, so I know that in the long run, I did the right thing. But there is this empty spot there now. Besides the fact that my Thursday nights are now open. Its like, it’s official now – I will never be a world champion lindy hopper. I’m not part of a troupe. I’m just your average Joe social dancer.

Though, on the upside, without the pressures of being in a performance troupe, maybe I’ll start to enjoy dancing again.

I am ashamed to admit that one of my guilty pleasures is watching Dawson’s Creek. A friend of mine got me hooked on it. I watch it because it is so hoaky – what teenagers talk like that? Get serious.

There was one interesting thought brought up on the show last night, though. Joey almost had an affair with her English teacher. When she didn’t, the question of “What is the best literary ending in history?” is raised. Yeah, nice use of topic avoidance to make a point. But anyway, the English teacher asserts that the best literary ending in history is from some book I’ve never read wherein the two main characters finish the story by sitting together remembering the things that never happened. This is the idea that is intriguing to me: remembering things that never happened.

There are a lot of things in my life that never happened. Like possibly my whole relationship with the guy I told you about a couple of days ago. But I still remember them. I remember him. But I remember him in the way you remember a dream – I remember the things that I wanted to happen, the conversations I never had the guts to start or he never had the guts to finish – and I think that it is these memories that it is hardest to let go of for the simple reason that they are so romantic. In these memories, there is no pain, there is no argument that can’t be resolved, and the resolutions are always physically pleasing in one way or another. And maybe this is why it took me four years to get over this guy and why I have no idea what I would say to him if I saw him again. Maybe this is why everyone always says you need closure.

I had a lot more to say about remembering things that never happened last night, but they seem to have left me the same way my sleeping hours did. Stupid cat.

There’s this website where you can supposedly find all of the people you went to elementary, junior high, and high school with. I’m registered on there at all three of my childhood schools. The only problem is you can only find your classmates if they are registered on the site, too. I am one of three people from my elementary school, one of three from my junior high, and one of about 200 (out of a graduating class of 436 or something like that) from my high school. And unfortunately, none of those other 199 people from my high school are anyone I am dying to get in touch with.

I had this one friend in high school who, in retrospect, I should have appreciated more when we were in school together. He was smart and funny and had good taste in films and was damn cute. He was miserable and I was miserable. I took this bizarre sense of comfort in the fact that no matter how uncomfortable I was in any given situation, he was moreso. We got along really well and at one point he even asked me out. I turned him down, of course, though I regret that now. He was good people. But he is not registered on the aforementioned website. Meaning, I have no idea how to find him. He just kind of disappeared after high school.

I have a couple of years to go before I hit my 10-year high school reunion. Yes, I am a young'un. I was not a popular person in high school by any stretch of the imagination. I looked through my yearbook the other day and was reminded of how few people I went to school with even knew I was in their classes. Which is fine – I’m glad I didn’t peak in high school. I hope I peak 5 minutes before I die so I never have to look at my past to see when was the best time of my life. But it occurred to me that the only real reason I would even go to my 10-year high school reunion would be to see my friend who was so miserable. Maybe two other friends. But that’s it. Out of a class of over 400 people, I would want to see three of them. And none of those three is listed on the website. Oh well. At least I don’t have to worry about being rich and thin and successful by the time my reunion rolls around…

Parenting. Its one of those things that everyone thinks they’re good at or they know they will suck at so they don’t even pretend to try it. I hope I get to try it someday. Not right now. But someday. I’m at that point where I see small children running around and I think, “I gotta get me one of those.” But there are other logistical reasons why I see myself waiting another 5 or 10 years before having kids.

The one thing I do know about parenting is I was blessed with two good ones. My mother is one of my very best friends. Yes, she drives me nuts sometimes, but as far as having someone to support me and love me and take an interest in my life and to converse with and share with and give to, they don’t come much better than my mom. All my friends love her, too, ‘cuz she just rocks. My dad is a slightly different story. We fight and disagree about a bunch of things. To the point where I sometimes don’t want to talk to him. We just don’t see eye to eye on certain issues. Which is fine, people are allowed to disagree, it just means that my relationship with my dad isn’t as healthy as my relationship with my mom. But what I have learned about my dad is that even though he may not love me the way I want to be loved, he does love me the way he knows how to and he will for the rest of his life and if I ever need help with anything, he will be there for me. That’s a pretty incredible realization to come to. Hell, I’m tearing up as I’m writing this.

So yeah. I didn’t have too much of a point, there, did I? Except that I am really lucky to have two good parents. I hope my kids can one day say the same.

I took a trip down memory lane with a friend of mine last night. Well, he took a trip down his memory lane which made me think about my own personal memory lane and I’ve been hanging out there for a good part of the morning today. My friend was talking about past girlfriends and such, which got me thinking about the one guy in my past who really had an effect on me and the way I think about relationships. Its funny that most of my current friends want to beat the crap out of him. I realize that is my fault because of the spin I put on the stories I told them about him and for that reason, I would never let any of them lay a finger on the boy. But when I was thinking about him last night and reminiscing, it was all good stuff that was coming up, which I am hoping means that I am far enough removed from the situation by now that I can appreciate the good and not dwell in the bad

But part of this “appreciating the good" includes bringing back good memories I had forgotten when I was too busy being hurt by the whole thing. Like the way his bottom lip was always just a little bit chapped. Or the way his hair felt. Or the shape of his hands and the way they felt on my skin. Or the night we took a walk after dark and he recounted to me the story of how we first met – one of those stories I didn’t think he remembered. Or the look on his face when I surprised him one night after graduation and how he just held me and breathed me in. The way he laughed. The way he smoked. The electric look in his eyes. The way his hair would fall in his eyes by the end of a long night of dancing. The fact that he took up dancing for my sake. The weight of him lounging on the couch as we sat one on top of the other the day I moved out of his house. Watching his favorite movie with him, me unable to really see it because I didn’t have my contacts in. The CD he bought me because it was good road-tripping music, even though my car didn’t have a CD player. The night some girl in a bar told me he was completely worthless and I watched him deflate and helped him recover. The way he still thought of me as “his” two and a half years later.

It was, by no stretch of the imagination, a perfect relationship. A lot of times I wonder if it even qualifies as a relationship because we never really defined what was going on between the two of us. But I don’t think its about definitions anymore. It’s about the feeling I am left with at the end of the day when all is said and done. It’s about these silly little memories, not of momentous events, but of real life being shared with another person – the good parts and the bad parts. It’s about being alive and feeling alive and loving the fact that you are alive. If someone could have that kind of effect on me, then I think its safe to say we had a relationship of some sort, don’t you?

And while I think it is safe to say that I am no longer in love with him (as evidenced by the fact that I am able to talk about him now without shame or embarrassment), until I find another man who is even better than him, don’t be surprised if you find me hanging out on memory lane every now and again.

So the hot Russian guy won the gold medal in skating last night. I’m happy for him. And not just because he’s hot. He truly deserved to win – his was the best performance of the night. I probably wouldn’t have given him a 6.0, though, because he did have one little bobble on one landing, but I’m not a skating judge so it doesn’t really matter, now, does it?

But it does make me think. This guy is 21 years old. He left his family and his home country to come to the United States and train to become the best skater in the world. Last night, you could see in his face that he was thinking, “It was all worth it.” But what happens now? Once you’ve reached the top, where do you go from there? He is going to be around for another sixty or seventy years. What is he going to do with all of that time?

I think about things like this in reference to my own life, too. I know I will never be the World Champion Lindy Hopper. I know I’ll never win a Nobel Prize or a Field’s Medal or a Grammy or anything. Most of the things that I do I do for fun. I do my best at them, but there is always someone better than me. I don’t think it’s completely out of the realm of possibility to think I might win an Oscar one day, but that’s one of those way-down-the-road goals. I have to get noticed, first. But the question remains, what would I do after I had won? Once you’re the best, where can you go from there? Be the best again? Have you ever noticed how many people virtually disappear once they’ve won an award of some type? They used to joke about the Grammys and say that whoever won best new artist would disappear within a year. There was something on TV a couple weeks ago about how Cuba Gooding, Jr. has been having problems getting roles since his Oscar win. Why is that?

So congratulations to the hot Russian guy. If anyone knows how to get in touch with him, give him my number and tell him I’ll probably be in Connecticut next October. And good luck in your future endeavors, wherever the future may take you.

I saw a movie when I was fourteen years old that changed my life. I am, of course, too embarrassed to tell you what the title of said movie is because when you think of it, you don’t really think “life affirming,” but at the time that I saw it, it meant a lot to me. There was a very strong female character in it who kicked ass and took names. With everything I had going on in my life at the time, I decided that I wanted to be exactly like her. I was going to be tough and strong and independent and not need anybody. Which was convenient at the time since I didn’t really have anybody.

I spent the next seven years emulating this character. It didn’t matter that I was single. It didn’t matter that I was picked on. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t beautiful. I was strong. Nothing could get through. Nothing could hurt me. Of course, this also means I didn’t really let anyone love me, either.

So then I go to Australia. I must say, if you have the means, I highly recommend it. Sydney is such a great city. Great people, great food, lots of stuff to see and do. But while I was there, I missed my friends and family more than I ever had before. I went by myself to prove to myself and to everyone around me that there was nothing I couldn’t handle, nothing I couldn’t achieve. In a way, I succeeded, but at the time I felt like a failure because I was so intensely homesick. Yeah, I met cool people down under, but it just wasn’t the same. I didn’t share a history with them which made really sharing my present and my future with them difficult or unsatisfying. I don’t know if that makes any sense to anyone else, but it makes a lot of sense to me. So I came home early to be with the people I loved and who loved me. I learned when I was 21 years old that my life was worthless if I couldn’t share it with someone. Talk about a 180, huh?

So I came back to the United States determined to open myself up, to be vulnerable, to find that special person to share my life with who would share his with me and we could grow and learn and love together. My head came out of the clouds shortly after the plane landed. But I did decide that it was time for me to find that person who compliments my life – not completes it, because its pretty darn good by itself. And ever since then, I have absolutely zero luck with men.

Which brings us back to Valentine’s Day. I went out last night to a pseudo-Valentine’s Day shin-dig. Boys in tuxes, women in red dresses, lots of love being spread all around. And I went stag. There were at least three married couples in attendance, and about six or seven more with their wedding dates set for later this year. And I went stag. There was good music and overpriced drinks and I think I’m safe in saying that fun was had by all. But I went stag. I’m forced to think about this. So many of these other people have found someone to share their lives with, even if just for a short while and I still haven’t. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Perhaps because I’m too picky. But I have started to ask myself how much longer I am going to hold on to this belief that I need to share my life with someone in order to make it worthwhile before I go back to emulating the character from the movie I so loved when I was fourteen.

I wrote this lovely blog the other day about my weekend, but before I could post it, my connection timed out. So I’m going to try it again, but please forgive me if it doesn’t turn out to be as lovely as the first attempt.

I went to a dance workshop this weekend in another city. The fact that I say I went to a workshop is, in and of itself, funny because I only went to two of the possible seven classes all weekend, but I went to another city under the guise of attending a dance workshop. Truth is, though, that these weekends are seldom about the classes anyway. We all pretend that we want to learn and become better dancers, but really it is a social gathering – a chance to see all of your friends from all over the country at the same time. There are people who go to these weekends and don’t attend any of the classes for whatever reasons, but just spend the weekend relaxing, visiting with friends, trying to get jazzed up about social dancing again, or looking for a workshop hook-up.

The workshop hook-up is related to the one-night stand, but in a third-cousin-twice-removed sort of way. Sex can be involved, but it is not required. Usually, what happens is this: Two people meet on the dance floor and have an amazing dance. Sometimes two in a row. A connection is formed and the two people spend the rest of the evening seeking out any and every possible excuse to dance with each other more. They start to talk on and off the dance floor. They may even steal off into a dark corner and make out for a while. Housing arrangements are adjusted so the two parties can sleep next to one another on their host’s floor. They eat their meals together, arrive at events together, stay next to each other in the rotation at the workshop, and in general make everyone around them sick.

On Sunday afternoon, both parties go home to their regular lives. They may exchange e-mail addresses or IM names or phone numbers and a few communications go back and forth over the next couple of days, possibly weeks. But inevitably, both parties come to the conclusion that a long-distance relationship is really not in the cards for them and they part as friends. They will still talk occasionally and will still dance with one another at future events, but thus ends the workshop hook-up.

I was talking to a friend of mine at the workshop this weekend and she said she was having a great time, but she kind of missed the workshop hook-up. Neither of us participated in one this past weekend. And its not because we miss cheap, meaningless sex or the drama attached to it, or the hurt feelings that inevitably arise when you see your hook-up at another event with another person. We miss the attention. We miss the thrill of flirting with someone new. We miss the fantasy of having a special someone for a weekend. We miss the excitement of knowing that this other person is so attracted to you that the idea of passing up an opportunity to spend time with you is ludicrous. But the days of the workshop hook-up seem to have passed for us because we have either exhausted our options for hook-up partners, or we are such good friends with the other people there that to hook-up with them would just be weird. Or, we’ve just gotten tired of the fantasy and want something real.

Valentine's Day. Normally, I like to just let it slip by without even really acknowleging it. I might call up my mom and tell her I love her or I might wear all black, but even boycotting this "holiday" is giving it way more attention than it deserves. But this year, I can't quite let it go. Maybe its because even the reruns on TV are the Valentine's Day episodes. Maybe its because someone actually gave me a valentine last night (it didn't even have my name on it -- he signed a bunch of valentines and walked around randomly handing them out -- what's up with that?). But whatever the reason, I'm stuck thinking Valentine's Day this year and I've come to a couple of conclusions.

Valentine's Day is not a day to celebrate your love for your fellow man. People who are truly in love celebrate their love all the time. Even platonic love -- I tell my friends that I love them as often as I possibly can. Valentine's Day is designed to make lonely people feel lonlier, dejected people feel more dejected, and single people to feel even more
single, if that's possible. Its a day about feeling bad about yourself and where you are in your life, regardless of whether or not you have someone to share it with. For example, I have quite a few married friends who maintain that Valentine's Day is "just another day," but if they don't get the roses or the chocolate or even a card, I know there will be hell to pay. My best friend who has the world's greatest boyfriend wants to throw an anti-Valentine's Day party because nether of them really has the money to celebrate. What's up with that? But you get my point -- Valentine's Day isn't only for single people to feel stupid. Its for everyone.

So what will I be doing for Valentine's Day? I'll probably watch Friends and Who's Line is it, Anyway? That's it. I have done two interesting things on Valentine's Day in my entire life. In high school, I went on a double date once. My one guy friend wanted to ask out a girl friend of mine but thought a double date would be less threatening so he asked me and another guy friend of ours to go out with them. So it was kind of a date, but not really. Then in college, the object of my obsession was in a play on Valentine's Day. I went and saw it and we went out to dinner afterwards. It was completely unintentional, but a lovely Valentine's Day nonetheless. But that's it. Two pseudo-dates on Valentine's Day in 24 years. That's a pretty sad average. Though, I guess when you look at the fact that my only real "relationship" experience consists of a four year obsession with a man who couldn't figure out what he wanted, it kind of makes sense. Its still sad, though.

A four year obsession with a man who couldn't figure out what he wanted. Does any man know what he wants? Does any woman know what she wants? Good questions. I thought I knew what I wanted. I think I still do, its just changed a little bit. I want to feel the electric brand of love like I did with the object of my obsession, but I don't want all the bullshit games and stuff that came along with it. If I ask a guy what he wants and he replies he doesn't know, I would like him to at least think about it and get back to me later. Its not a static answer -- it can change with time -- but I would like an answer. Though I am forced to wonder with every rejection I face, is it too much to ask to fall
in love like that again? Some people don't even feel that once, regardless of whether or not it is reciprocated. Who I am to ask for it twice? But that's a whole other story for a whole other day. I don't want to be thinking about how pathetic my love life has been with Valentine's Day looming in the distance. I'll think about it on Friday.

I cry way too easily.

I'm watching the Olympics last night. I don't know how many of you were watching it, but there was this young Swiss guy who won the K90 ski jump. He came out of nowhere and beat the favorites in the event to take it and he was so happy! I started tearing up. I kid you not. I guess I just really enjoy watching people do what they really love to do and to see all of their hard work pay off like that. I get a little choked up at the Oscars and stuff, too, but I know that those are more of a popularity contest than a talent thing, so I can usually keep myself under control.

But it got me thinking about a couple of other things, too. Like the woman who took the gold in the women's half-pipe is six years younger than me. Six years. And what am I doing with my life? Wasting it sitting behind a desk in a job that a trained monkey could do withy my fingers crossed that one of these indie films I've done in the last year and a half will hit it big. Which then, of course, leads me to the fact that I will never win an Olympic medal. I may never take home an Oscar. I will never be the World Champion of Lindy Hop. I will never be the best in the world at anything. Hell, I'm not even the kind of dancer who world champions look at and say, "Wow, she's good. I want to dance with her." I will only ever be the absolute best at being me. That sounds defeatest yet uplifting, doesn't it? And of course, that will only last until they make a movie about me after I'm dead and get some new young starlet to play me. Then everyone will believe her portrayal. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it as I'll be dead by then.

So I have this day job wherein I don't really do much. Yeah, if you sit and list the amount of stuff that I do in you average week, it looks like I'm a busy person. But truth be told, I am not. I have one of those jobs that a trained monkey could do. For example, I was done with everything I had to do within about an hour of my arrival at work this morning. The rest has been gravy.

So I have to come up with various ways to waste time. Thing is, though, I don't like to waste time. I am the sort of person who would much rather be doing something. I'll give myself silly tasks like making out my budget plan for the year or plan or planning events for the local swing community of which I am an active member. But you need a break from those things sometimes, too. Which is when the fun sort of time wasting comes in. There are bulletin boards and online comics and, of course, blogger.com. Even those get boring after a while, too, though. So how do you waste time? Do you waste time just for the sake of it? Do you waste time by doing nothing or by doing something that you really shouldn't be doing?

And I'd like to thank my friend for this topic. I hope your conversation about it was better than my post.

I found out about a week and a half ago that not only do I make a mean chocolate chip cookie, I also make a mean oatmeal raisin cookie. If I may quote my friend, "That's damn good cookie. And I don't even have to lie about it." This is, of course, the same guy who told me he had been cooking a few days earlier and made excellent green beans without using a recipie! Apparently, he put butter on them. Then some salt. I laughed my ass off.

I've heard some really strange cooking stories and while I'm not the world's greatest chef, I have trouble understanding how one could be downright bad at it. You have a recipie in front of you, right? Follow it. What's so hard about that? Or, if you are improvising a meal, don't put chicken, fish, broccoli, and peanut butter in the same pan as it will require way more ranch dressing than is healthy to cover up the amazing taste of dirt you get. I mean, think about it. You know what foods taste good together and you know what ones don't. Don't put the ones that don't taste good together together, you know?

And my best friend calls me a genius.

...and back.

I realize that the site name is daily Kitty, but I have to tell you right now that I am not going to be able to post something every day. I don't have a computer at home. So the best promise I can make is that I will post something every day I have computer access. Sometimes more than once.

So remind me not to get the tuna wrap again. I was feeling great this morning until I had that for lunch. Now I think I'm going to pass out or something. I will avoid describing the "something" to you as I'm sure it will be unpleasant and if you are trying to read this while eating your lunch, "something" might happen to you, too.

It occured to me last night as I was thinking about this blog that I should have some way for y'all to contact me if you really want to. At least it couldn't hurt. So yeah, if you have any particular comments or questions or things you would like me to rant about, send them to kitty@windyhop.org. If not, don't worry about it.

Yeah, I know I just posted, but I have time to kill and experiments to do. I gotta find out how some of this nifty stuff works. Like if I wanted to tell you that I'm working on a fundraiser for Windyhop.org, could I get the link to work and such.

That, and it is a very strange feeling to suddenly have my thoughts posted on the web. It might take me a while to get used to that. Not that I mind. I wouldn't post anything I didn't want people to know. But what an odd world we live in, huh? Where the skills of oration and public speaking have been replaced by people with modems and spellcheck. Its too bad, too, because there are a lot of people out there now with great voices. People like James Earl Jones, Patrick Stewart, Sean Connery. Hell, even my friend Tom has a really nice speaking voice. He also types 80 words per minute, though, so I guess he wins either way.

I was talking to a friend of mine today, saying that I really should get a website up so I could post random musings on it every day like rock stars have taken to doing recently. The only problems being I have not yet finished my HTML classes or my JavaScript classes, nor do I have any money, nor am I a rock star. I do get rock star parking rather frequently for one who is not officially a rock star, but nonetheless, I am not one. I just get really bored at work. So my friend directed me here, to blogger.com, suggesting that this would be a good way to keep an online journal. I'm hoping to one day be cool enough to have an actual site with links and stuff where I can post bits of fiction I have written in the past and bits of fiction I am currently working on, but for today, I just want to give this a random shot.

This also means please bear with me if this is not the coolest site in the world. I'm not that good with HTML and stuff yet, so it may look kinda plain for a while. But stick with me. I'm learning.

And of course, now that I have my page established, I have very little to say. I could go through that whole "this is who I am, this is what I do, this is who my friends are" thing, but anyone who knows me knows that that's really not what I'm all about. I observe people to get to know them. So I guess if you want to find out who is behind this site, you'll have to keep checking back and reading more and more. Reading is good for you. Even if it is online.