But Purple is My Favorite

When I was young my mother dressed me according to my color season. You remember the seasons don't you? You could be a Winter, a Summer, Spring or Autumn. It was all according to your skin tone. Not a combination of factors like hair or eye color- equally important in determining what colors make you pop- just your skin tone. My dominant skin tone is peach and according to the color seasons that makes me an Autumn. All this means is in order to bring out the best in my complexion I'm supposed to stick to all the colors you see in my corresponding season. In my case, golden hued colors- pumpkin, burnt sienna, brown, mustard yellow- are the colors I should stick to. And to my mother this meant I COULD NEVER WEAR A COLOR THAT WASN'T ON MY WHEEL.

My color analysis was a holy text to her. She only veered off course with blue- because my eyes are blue. And when we went shopping together she would never get on board with a new color. Like yellow. Or green. She would discard those colors with total disdain. My color palette was one of a dying season. It's okay I suppose. I do love Autumn. It's my favorite. And you know, in all my school portraits, my skin did in fact glow. Mom didn't let me down there. My skin is so pale people think I'm ill if I'm not wearing some make-up. So what she accomplished was no small feat.

I simply wish I stood up to her when I was older and realized the color analysis is a total croc. It's one thing if you don't wear colors that look bad on you, but it's another to base a woman's sense of beauty on what colors she wears. I would never wear red. Primary red. Because it looks bad on me. But I could wear purple. Or gasp! green. These colors really bring out my eyes. But the color wheel told my mother that my eyes didn't matter. I'm not sitting here cursing my mother- for once that statement is true. Just looking at these vibrant colors of the season reminded me of the years of wearing them almost year round. Maybe that's why I love them so much. I was imprinted at such a young age to love them AND ONLY THEM. Too bad I love others. But don't let Autumn know.

Hipster or Dude Who Lives in His Mom's Basement?

1. His hair is greasy and the haircut is all too similar to the one his mother gave him when he was five- short on the neck but generous in the bangs.

2. Mom and Dad enable his lifestyle.

3. His wardrobe consists of jeans with holes in them and t-shirts of defunct beer companies.

4. Rush's entire catalog is in his possession. In vinyl.

5. His glasses are plastic-rimmed.

6. The facial hair of choice is a mustache. Or an attempt at a mustache.

7. Frisbee is his sport of choice.

8. Sometimes, in the summer, he'll wear cutoff jean shorts.

9. He thinks JRR Tolkein is totally the author to read.

10. His mom wishes he would just get a real job already.

Staying on My Toes I Suppose

A friend of mine had a baby not too long ago. She wanted to have a child so badly you could tell without her saying so. And once she was pregnant, she was the most radiant pregnant woman I've ever seen. She carried well, her skin glowed and peace rested in her face. She had everything she wanted- a husband she loves, a job she likes, a house she can call her own and a child to complete her family. I don't know if she's done having kids but there is something about her that says she has everything she wants out of life. That everything is easy roads from here on out.

I'm jealous. So jealous. Not that she has the house or the baby boy. But that she knows what she wants. We aren't so close that she confides in me often at all so for all I know there's some big picture stuff left on her life to do list. But she's so relaxed and happy that it seems there isn't.

One could think that it's kind of sad that she has it figured out at 30. There is no challenge left and she'll just coast. One could think it's really awesome and she could actually get on with Life instead of fighting or bartering with him all the time. I'm never really okay with where I am. There is always something I want to improve, change or wish to be better. I'll never feel settled. Is this a good thing? I'll always try to improve myself and my situation. Good or bad it's really exhausting.

Refreshing Tunes for the Fall

I don't listen to the radio much since I'm never in the car- the only place where I ever put the radio on. But I took myself on a hike (which was ah-maze-ing thank you) and needed the car to get myself to the trail head. I was so thrilled to not feel confined to a bus schedule or someone else's schedule for me. I was elated at the freedom. So on the radio went. And I immediately heard some great stuff.

There's my favorite kind of sunny weather jam: Enrique Iglesias' "I Like It"


And I heard another obscure band called The XX. When first at a computer I found out that they're going to be in Boston on Sunday and I think I can convince Mike to go... Here's their effing awesome song "Crystalized":


When I'm on the bus I listen to Pandora Radio on my cellphone. It's amazing. The website creates a playlist on an artist you choose. I have a Florence and the Machine channel (indie rock), a Lucy Pearl channel (plays excellent urban, hip hop and R&B), a New Order Channel (for my new wave addiction) and a Joy Division channel (for when I want a little punk mixed into my new wave). I get the most mileage out of the Florence channel. Where I heard this ditty. Macintosh Bruan's "My Time":


I hope you found something new and cool of these three. I know I did.

Me Again!

Dearest Ke$ha,

Hello again! Thanks for sending a picture our way to ease Mike's frustration. You are too sweet! And now that we've seen you on Saturday Night Live, there is no doubting your ethnic background. I must say, I'm impressed with your choice of a pleather onsie. That is one ballsy move. I could never pull that off in my bedroom with the lights off let alone on national television. Especially when covered in Aboriginal nonsense. But then again, I'm not a pop star! J/k. I totally am. In my heart.

I'm writing you today because I love your new jam "Take it Off."

I think it's just great. Fun and funky with a dash of musical nostalgia. That combo takes real talent. Well done! But as you know, I'm not writing you just to sing your praise. I have some thoughts I want to share.

1. Were you going for a Mad Max sort of feeling where mobs dance-fight over paint instead of killing for oil? Or was this a commentary on eminent domain? When the government takes over you decide to fight back by dancing with abandon. I'm not quite sure about that. But then again, you don't look too confident about that choice either...
2. I had no idea about the connection between glitter and badassery. If I go somewhere and there's glitter on the floor is that all I need to know that shit is about to get real? Because I have no other way to gauge many situations and this is very helpful information.
3. Driving a gold trans am dressed like a pimp is one of few ways to beg getting pulled over if you so much as drive one mile over the limit. And when the cop finds your whiskey in a water bottle, clear water bottle I presume, he will arrest your ass faster than you can smack a bitch. At least put it in a Sigg water bottle or a Klean Kanteen. (And what is your obsession with whiskey? I love whiskey as much as the next booze hound but there are other wonderful liquors in which to imbibe. Like white lightening.)
4. Drunk texting is probably the least of your worries for the next morning after the night you are describing. I would be concerned about contacting ring worm from all the writhing nakedness. Which brings me to my next point:
   
5. Mike made an excellent observation: if you are taking all your clothes off, where are your wallets and purses going? You're just asking for identity theft in this place that is "so hardcore." But forget such trifle things. What about getting glitter in your who-ha? That is a far more pressing and immediate concern.
6. I applaud your designated driver! Are you sponsored by MADD? Or perhaps SADD? Because I think you just found yourself a brand new audience! Genius, K!

I hope this letter finds you well and pleather-free. That material is notorious for not breathing. We can't have breakouts on your young and supple pop-star epidermis. That's it for now.

Keeping it real,
Katherine
xxoo

What Am I Thinking?

I mentioned a few posts ago that I quit my job. The job that I was really excited about getting a year ago turned into a shit storm. My dream job was a dream realized only by the job description but not my supervisors. I asked until my face turned blue for more projects, specific projects, and all they gave me to do was print documents on letterhead and send people scripts. That was it. Of course the job was downsized right after I gave my notice. So it worked out a little bit since I was able to claim unemployment for time I otherwise wouldn't have.

Want to know why I quit my job? I was so upset with my current employment and the desperate fact that there was nothing better out there for me, I decided to go into business for myself. The book business. I want to open a bookstore in downtown Albany.

The fact that I can now talk about it in my current jobs and on this blog without fear of my bosses finding out about it is liberating. I haven't really had a chance to write about it until now because getting my act together is proving an uphill battle. Fear keeps gripping me. Fear of my current financial situation getting in the way of securing financing. Fear of not getting the retail space I want. Fear of failure. Of course I won't know until I try. And I would never forgive myself if I didn't try. There are very few woulda, shoulda, couldas in my life and I don't want this to be it.

I'm sick of working for incompetent bosses. Managers who have no management skills are too many to count. I'm lucky that the two part time jobs I have are fine (I'm not writing that to cover my ass, they legitimately don't know about this blog and no one at work(s) does either.) But I've had some shitty bosses who don't mentor or foster employee talents. Which is even more annoying when I'm standing there telling them I'm good at something and can handle it.

So. I want to be my own boss. And maybe boss some other people. I want to be a manager who makes employees feel valuable and like they are a part of something other than a way to get a paycheck and check out. I also want to be able to DO STUFF. My jobs have been so limiting and with no real responsibility. I'm tired of it. I want to take the bull by the horns. Whatever horns they be. I'll take 'em.

I took a one-day intro to bookselling back in May when I went to the national trade show for bookselling. I joined the American Booksellers Association. I am taking an entrepreneurial "boot camp" where I'm meeting all kinds of people who can help me in my business plan and help me know where to go to get money. I'm not taking it so much for the what, I've done a TON of research on legal things and accounting things, but the how, who and where. It's proving awesome. Too bad I can only go to one of the two nights a week because my schedule prevents me from attending both. I also met with the owner of another independent bookstore in Albany and she's going to let me apprentice in her store close to one of my jobs. I'm trying to do this smartly. But also within my budget. Sadly I can't afford to go to a three day workshop in bookselling down in Florida. Maybe if I didn't just pay for a wedding on my credit card I would. Que sera sera.

So here I went. And here I go. Wish me luck. And I'll let you know what's up.

I Did Not Make a New Friend Today

Pandora, a music site, can stream on my phone so I enjoy listening to that while on the bus. Today I forgot my phone and was subjected to the conversations around me. Usually there is very little talking or there's the occasional one-sided phone conversation. But today was a special day. There was a very chatty fellow on the 22 bus between Albany and Troy (a bus-line already known for sketchy characters that is only reinforced further with every single ride I take) and I was privy to an awesome conversation/monologue today.

They tried to put me in jail twice.
I *** his baby-mama.
This is my first drug charge. All I have is violent crimes.
The cops busted his door down looking for me now he's facing jail time for that shit.
I'm not gonna pop no crying girl.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I was terrified and interested at the same time. I should've been more terrified than I was but he excused himself when he bumped into another rider. Go figure.

My Favorite Things: About Ernest Borgnine

5. Borgnine's full legal name makes me want to eat Indian food with champagne- Ermes Effron Borgnino.

4. His work as the doorman of John Silverman's sitcom masterpiece "The Single Guy." Ernest brought me many laughs in my most formative years. And I thank him.

3. The man's tireless support of feminism:

They tried it the wrong way. You can't expect anyone to take you seriously if you burn your undies and tell me I'm a pig. That's why it failed. Too many ugly broads telling me that they don't want to sleep with me. Who wanted you anyway?

And:

I hate hippies and dopeheads. Just hate them. I'm glad we sent the men off to war. They came back with a sense of responsibility and respect. We should have grabbed the women, given them a bath, put a chastity belt on them, and put them in secretary school.

2. Oohh la la. His teeth.
1. Back in 1964, Borgnine married Ethel Merman. The marriage ended after a month because she couldn't stand the fact that he was the bigger star.