Hopefully Romantic
"Can I ask you a question?"
Sighing mentally, I look at the guy sitting next to me. What I want to say: "Can I stop you?" What I actually say, with a smile: "Of course."
He twists in his barstool to angle himself closer to me. "I heard that guy say you're a romance author, so you're probably tuned into what women want."
I nod. "Ironically, I'm also a woman."
"There is that." He leans in closer. "I have this fear that women think men are wimps."
Pursing my lips, I take all of two seconds to reply. "Yeah, pretty much."
"I knew it." He smacks the bar countertop. "See, I've had this suspicion all along, but no one ever confirmed it for me."
"I'm happy to help." I smile and start to return to my notebook.
He grabs my arm, preventing me from turning. "Is it all hopeless?"
Taken aback by his passion, I blink. "Hopeless?"
"The whole man-woman thing." He waves a hand. "Are we men screwed from the beginning?"
Frowning, I ponder this for about ten seconds. Then I shake my head. "I'm a romance writer. Of course I'm not going to believe it's hopeless. But men need to step up. They need to go for what they want. And they need to understand that romance is important to a woman. It's a lost art. I've been on countless dates over the past couple months, and only one of those guys made an effort to romance me."
"Romance. Lost art. Got it." He taps his chin.
I tip my head. "Do you want some paper to take notes?"
"No. But I may need refresher." He smiles—hopefully. "Maybe over dinner tomorrow?"
Check Your Pantry
Last night, I hung out with a friend at his place. I got hungry at one point and, being me, raided his fridge while he wasn't looking.
Picture this inside the refrigerator: a bag of organic red potatoes, shredded pecorino cheese, a squeeze bottle of mayo, mustard, some sprouting garlic, and a bottle of olive oil that had congealed into a cold mass. The freezer wasn't much better. In the one cupboard that actually had something in it (the rest were empty) there was an assortment of open pasta boxes and some pouches with weird gooey stuff in it.
At least it made deciding what to cook easy. Pasta with olive oil tossed with pecorino.
We were sitting on the leather couch, eating our feast, when I commented on the sparseness of his kitchen. He, of course, got all indignant.
Him: What do you mean, I have a typical bachelor guy's kitchen?
Me: I'm just saying you don't have much stocked in there.
Him: I have all the essentials. Like potatoes. And pancake mix.
Me: Um, you don't have salt.
Him: I looked at some fancy salt in that store down the hill where we got the granola. I think I'll get some of that.
Me: You don't have pepper, either. You should maybe pick that up too.
Him: So because I don't have salt and pepper, you're saying I have a guy kitchen?
Me: No. Mostly it's the Miller Lite piggy bank sitting in the corner under the cabinet.
It got me to thinking how much a person's cupboard says about him or her. What's the weirdest thing you've found in someone's cupboard, pantry, or fridge? What do your characters stock? What does he or she keep tucked away, and what's out in the open for all to see?
In his freezer, my friend had six neatly lined up frozen meatballs. You have to admire someone who keeps things so tidy and precise.
Pesky Ducks
I'm lining all my ducks up because... I'm going to Argentina in a couple weeks. For several months.
Hearing this news, you'll have one of two reactions.
You'll give me a high five and say, "That's so awesome, Kate! Thrilling, really. You're so adventurous to go live in a country where you've never been, don't know anyone, and don't speak the language."
Or...
You'll get a ghastly look on your face and exclaim, "WTF are you thinking???"
Shrug. A girl's got to do what she wants to do, and this girl wants to live in another country for a while. And why not Argentina? They have the best steak in the world, and the men are hot. You don't need more reason than that.
Last weekend I found a place to rent in Buenos Aires. It looks lovely and, more importantly, the rent includes twice-a-week maid service. My sister has already found me tango lessons. I'm looking forward to writing in new cafés and new environments.
I'm excited. And happy. I feel like one of my heroines, minus the million neuroses. (No comment, please.)
Blog-ageddon II
I've revamped some things, instigated new policies, and generally wreaked havoc on the site. Ergo, new blog system.
I debated what to do about the old stuff. It seemed crazy to enter the million or so blog posts that exist into my new blog software, not to mention the ten million comments. Instead, I decided I'm going to keep the old stuff available as archives. From right here.
Except then when I tried to do it, I encountered some tech issues (it's complicated). Instead of trying to hack things out, I opted to eat pizza and drink beer. Sue me.
So one day soon, all the old blogs will be accessible. Hopefully.