Welcome to my mid-life crisis. My name is Kate (Hi, Kate!), and I will be your tour guide. I find myself saying “how’d that happen” all the time these days—and I don’t just mean when I look at my enormous bottom on the mirror (I know how that happened—get thee back, oh evil Häagen-Dazs. Well, not that far back, that’s just taking me far too literally. Closer. Closer. Closer. Ugh. Damn you!!).
Um, anyway, other popular questions with me these days:
What happened to them? How did I go from having goals to only having complaints?
At what point am I going to discover what it is that I want to be when I grow up? When I was a teenager, I absolutely knew—Laura Holt. I wanted to be Laura Holt. Not a detective, but actually Laura Holt. I had the hats. I had the moxie. Sadly, did not have Remington Steele, but I was sure that one day I would have him or a reasonable facsimile. Yeah, still waiting on that one. At least I still have the hats, right?
Look, I’ve known a lot of wonderful, caring popular ladies. Very popular. Very, very, very, very, very popular, and I have cheered them on. But these days, the overwhelming media perception about sex is that you meet someone and you immediately have sex with them and then maybe you get to know them, maybe not. Anyone see “Big Shots” the other night? The relatively chaste about-to-be-divorced guy (played by the dreamy Michael Vartan) was lamenting the loss of old fashioned girl who waited until the third date (third date? that’s his version of old fashioned?) (I think the woman he met at the party had known him all of about 20 minutes before wanting to get on with it). All of his buddies told him that he should revel in the fact that women now have sex like men. Ok. Well, if that’s your thing, congratulations, but behaving like a guy isn’t really a selling point for me. I’ve spent years complaining about the way guys treat women, and now I’m supposed to be psyched that I have the opportunity to return the favor, or that now neither of us will give a shit? This is progress? Eh. Not so much. Oooh—perhaps I have found a career goal after all—nun. Clearly, these are my people.
Ever get the feeling that really big change is coming? A couple of times a year, I seem to get this overwhelming feeling that something is coming. I don’t think it’s anything particularly psychic—it’s more likely that my subconscious is picking something up that I’m not ready to deal with in any other way. The change isn’t always bad, either, but it is usually big. And I’ve never been wrong. I’m just hoping that this time it means that George Clooney will be one of my trick or treaters tonight. And if he is, I promise to seriously reconsider my stance on the paragraph above.
Kate, seemingly the last relatively old fashioned, goal-challenged girl in the world