The Single City Gal blog is currently going on hiatis to pursue other projects. Thanks for all your support and loyal reading!
Best Regards,
SCG
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Mr. X
In the beginning it was like any single man and single woman getting to know each other. A budding “friendship” constantly tested by sexual tension and “what-if’s”. It was a relationship that they could never quite both put their fingers on or pin-point what direction the wind off Lake Michigan was actually taking them. It was a straight person’s relationship enigma. Two people, obviously attracted to each other and enjoyed spending time together, but unable to push through to the other side. Or as some may say, unable to pass through the infamous “friend zone”. But, after several months of mixed weather reports, the eye of the storm had finally arrived and their friendship just sort of grew into what it is now, a very platonic, loving, yet fiery Him and Her.
Mr. X (as he prefers to be called for the purposes of this blog) moved to Chicago just two weeks after me, on January 17, 2007 all the way from St. Louis. And the reason I so fondly remember the day we met is because we made a pact to always celebrate our anniversary at the very place we both first graced each other's paths ~ at a little hidden Irish Pub on the North Side, just a bit South from where I live now. He was out blowing off some much needed steam with two old friends who helped him move that day, and I was winding down after a strenuous day of shopping with my Aunt “V” who was visiting from the East Coast. Just to note, my happily married Aunt “V” was not helping me pick up men, she just happily served as my supportive wing woman. And I’m not quite sure if it was the Red Bull and Vodka, or the endless tone-deaf karaoke singing that night, but I do believe that the evening between Mr. X and I was sealed with a kiss. Our first and last (for the most part). Because as aforementioned, our relationship has now grown into a lovingly platonic friendship and he will always be known as my first real friend in my brand new city. And I couldn’t have started out in this new place without him. He takes care of my electronic woes, corrects my golf swing, and always remembers my birthday. And when I needed to be picked up from the hospital this past winter, Mr. X was there. As for what I give to him, well that’s a different story. He may say that I am his oh so tender, yet favorite “nagging” gal pal, but I would argue that I am his conscience. A voice, that Chicago’s most eligible bachelor needs to hear ~ especially now.
Mr. X is similar to more than fifty percent of men out there who “claim” they don’t want to be in a relationship. One may call those types non-committal, but I on the other hand call them ridiculous, or scared. This is just my opinion of course, but I truly feel that there is no such thing as being a commitment phobe. What I feel is that men and women who say they don’t want to be in a relationship just mean that they have not found the right person with whom they want to be in a relationship with. Or, maybe they are scared that if they commit they will give up the opportunity to have their chance with the next best thing. And my philosophy on that is when the BEST thing shows up on your doorstep, you’ll just know it ~ and then, the non-committal man or woman will immediately become extinct. Something I have observed a million and one times before.
As a successful computer executive making a nice living in one of the greatest cities in the country, Mr. X has the flexibility of arranging his own schedule to complement his weekly tee times and required happy hours ~ AND he currently has on retainer five living, breathing, more than willing women at his beck and call. Wait a second and let me re-clarify that last statement. These women are not call girls, but five single, unknowing women, who I can probably bet the farm on think they are the only ones in Mr. X’s life. Mr. X who “claims” he doesn’t want to be in a relationship is as he would say ~ living the dream. Five women. Five different types of sex at his fingertips. Wow, what man in his right mind who hasn’t yet found “the one” passes all that up?
What I have to say to you, my fine friend Mr. X, is to really look at what is going on here. Examine this lovely flock of your five incredible women who would each give their right arm for you and perhaps, if you feel potential with any one of them, make a choice. Pick your favorite, or listen to me who has already noted her fan favorite. We joke about your women in terms of being geographically desirable (living in the city), geographically undesirable (living in the suburbs), and geographically impossible (living where? Springfield, IL is it?). Desirable, undesirable, or impossible ~ if you follow your heart and take a chance, I bet the payout would be well worth it. But… if you still want to be just like George (Clooney, that is) and never get married, or fall in love, etc… I will continue to respect you ten-fold, just like I respect George. And just like George, be honest with yourself; be honest with your women, and for the love of God… Don’t forget to wear your rubbers!
.
Mr. X (as he prefers to be called for the purposes of this blog) moved to Chicago just two weeks after me, on January 17, 2007 all the way from St. Louis. And the reason I so fondly remember the day we met is because we made a pact to always celebrate our anniversary at the very place we both first graced each other's paths ~ at a little hidden Irish Pub on the North Side, just a bit South from where I live now. He was out blowing off some much needed steam with two old friends who helped him move that day, and I was winding down after a strenuous day of shopping with my Aunt “V” who was visiting from the East Coast. Just to note, my happily married Aunt “V” was not helping me pick up men, she just happily served as my supportive wing woman. And I’m not quite sure if it was the Red Bull and Vodka, or the endless tone-deaf karaoke singing that night, but I do believe that the evening between Mr. X and I was sealed with a kiss. Our first and last (for the most part). Because as aforementioned, our relationship has now grown into a lovingly platonic friendship and he will always be known as my first real friend in my brand new city. And I couldn’t have started out in this new place without him. He takes care of my electronic woes, corrects my golf swing, and always remembers my birthday. And when I needed to be picked up from the hospital this past winter, Mr. X was there. As for what I give to him, well that’s a different story. He may say that I am his oh so tender, yet favorite “nagging” gal pal, but I would argue that I am his conscience. A voice, that Chicago’s most eligible bachelor needs to hear ~ especially now.
Mr. X is similar to more than fifty percent of men out there who “claim” they don’t want to be in a relationship. One may call those types non-committal, but I on the other hand call them ridiculous, or scared. This is just my opinion of course, but I truly feel that there is no such thing as being a commitment phobe. What I feel is that men and women who say they don’t want to be in a relationship just mean that they have not found the right person with whom they want to be in a relationship with. Or, maybe they are scared that if they commit they will give up the opportunity to have their chance with the next best thing. And my philosophy on that is when the BEST thing shows up on your doorstep, you’ll just know it ~ and then, the non-committal man or woman will immediately become extinct. Something I have observed a million and one times before.
As a successful computer executive making a nice living in one of the greatest cities in the country, Mr. X has the flexibility of arranging his own schedule to complement his weekly tee times and required happy hours ~ AND he currently has on retainer five living, breathing, more than willing women at his beck and call. Wait a second and let me re-clarify that last statement. These women are not call girls, but five single, unknowing women, who I can probably bet the farm on think they are the only ones in Mr. X’s life. Mr. X who “claims” he doesn’t want to be in a relationship is as he would say ~ living the dream. Five women. Five different types of sex at his fingertips. Wow, what man in his right mind who hasn’t yet found “the one” passes all that up?
What I have to say to you, my fine friend Mr. X, is to really look at what is going on here. Examine this lovely flock of your five incredible women who would each give their right arm for you and perhaps, if you feel potential with any one of them, make a choice. Pick your favorite, or listen to me who has already noted her fan favorite. We joke about your women in terms of being geographically desirable (living in the city), geographically undesirable (living in the suburbs), and geographically impossible (living where? Springfield, IL is it?). Desirable, undesirable, or impossible ~ if you follow your heart and take a chance, I bet the payout would be well worth it. But… if you still want to be just like George (Clooney, that is) and never get married, or fall in love, etc… I will continue to respect you ten-fold, just like I respect George. And just like George, be honest with yourself; be honest with your women, and for the love of God… Don’t forget to wear your rubbers!
.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Thank You For Being a Friend...
You may remember him as the geeky, sometimes pathetic, dinosaur-obsessed paleontologist with a dedication to “Ounagi”. Or perhaps you recall him as the Jewish holiday armadillo. Or maybe, as the synthesizer-playing Spudnick (otherwise referred to as “a Doody” by his fine Friend Joey). But, to me this is the man I fell in love with every Thursday night for ten years. A comic-book hero, formally known as “Science-Boy” who one unfortunate night found, himself stuck inside a pair of over-heated leather pants, after only recovering a few episodes earlier from being caught in a blacklit room with severely over-whitened teeth. To many of you, he is best known as Ross (The Ross-A-Tron) Geller. But to me, he will always be, my lobster.
So... give it up. Favorite "Friends" moments... Mine is a toss up between the "leather pants" and the "lightening round".... xoxo Make your comments below!
So... give it up. Favorite "Friends" moments... Mine is a toss up between the "leather pants" and the "lightening round".... xoxo Make your comments below!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Pick of the Week: The Yoga Boutique
I have tried yoga studios all over the US and this is the best yoga studio.... EVER!
Right here in Chicago!!!
The Yoga Boutique!!!
Visit Dana Robert and her website now!!
Click here for details:
http://www.theyogaboutiquechicago.com/
Right here in Chicago!!!
The Yoga Boutique!!!
Visit Dana Robert and her website now!!
Click here for details:
http://www.theyogaboutiquechicago.com/
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Bachelor: The Windy City Calls
Growing up in New York, I grew accustomed to the cold winters. Periodic below subzero temperatures, the occasional snowfall, sleet, hail, and black ice. Scraping the morning frost off your windshield while you waited for the car to warm up before you could actually drive it. Never leaving the house without a pair of gloves and a woolly-bully hat. And maybe, you had that parent who made you wear the puffy, round winter coat, which when zipped up made you mildly resemble the long lost twin of the Michelin Man. We all know the ones I’m talking about. Needless to say, I’ve survived my share of rough winters, but what I was to experience here, in my second Chicago winter was one for the record books.
They said it was the worst winter Chicago had seen in over fifteen years. Breaking records of over sixty inches of snow in one season and going over budget by approximately three million dollars in snow removal clean-up. The city and surrounding suburbs had run out of rock salt and I can honestly not recall a day between Thanksgiving and the end of April without a trace of snow on the ground. And although signs of this horrific Chicago winter are now finally entering hibernation, the after affects still haunt me.
I never believed in it. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD). According to experts, it is a condition by where one experiences depression and mood changes during the winter months. After returning home from a quick trip to NYC in early February, I started noticing some unfamiliar changes in myself. For one, I became extremely anti-social, which is very uncharacteristic for me. I did not want to go out ~ at all. And when invited out, I would make any excuse in the book not to go. For about four to six weeks, I only left the house for work. I had no energy to go to the gym or even the grocery store. All I did was sleep and eat. EAT. EAT. EAT. I would order in almost everyday and by April’s end, I had gained twelve pounds. I felt as if I had fallen into icy Lake Michigan without a life-preserver to save me. I was in the deepest funk of my life since my mother passed away over six years ago. And then, all on a whim, The Bachelor came calling.
Two weeks ago, I went online to nominate my brother for the hit reality dating show, The Bachelor. We all know that show is an absolute train wreck, but you can’t help not to watch. As my cousin Ali says, “The show is like Fed-Ex, it always delivers.” Travis, Andy, Matt, Lorenzo? C’mon, we can’t help not to love them. And those crazy bachelorettes who sit patiently and wait to get a rose while their “perfect” bachelor is hooking up with every other girl on the show? Absolutely. Hey, whatever works and we all know it makes for good TV. Isn’t it all about entertaining the masses? So, for kicks and giggles, I nominated myself in addition to my brother (for a different episode, obviously). It was easy. All I had to do was fill out an online profile and submit a picture. Given my obvious state of appearance though, I selected a picture taken a little over a year ago, and rounded my weight down roughly about fifteen pounds. Like I said, whatever works, and the chances of me actually getting selected are slim to none anyway. So, no worries.
And then… two days later, on a late on a Friday afternoon my cell phone rings.
“Hello. Is this Jaime?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. This is Emily from The Bachelor.”
“OMG! You got my brother’s application!”
“Your brother? We’re calling for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. We received your online profile and loved it! We want you to attend a casting in Chicago on Tuesday.”
“You do?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Great. We’ll email you all the information and what you’ll need to bring. Auditions begin at five o’clock.”
“Okay. Well….thanks for your call.”
Click.
Oh Shit.
Okay, my first thought ~ How the hell am I going to lose fifteen pounds in four days? Well, I am definitely not hitting Chili’s for dinner on the ride home. My second thought ~ Holy crap, there is no way I can get on national television in a bathing suit. For the love of God there are some things even my Miracle Suit can’t help. Followed by another thought ~ Please Dear Lord be casting for The Bachelor: Alaska, so that I can wear my Michelin Man coat 24/7. And my final thought ~ Maybe…they are casting for The Bachelor: Chubby Chasers on the Loose?!?! Who knows? But, there was no comment as supportive and loving as this one from my cousin Greg, “Um, Jaim, I think you should bring your own bouquet of roses.”
Ahhh… regardless of the situation, I had some serious business to take care of over the weekend and it started with black. Finding that perfect, oh so slimming, black dress.
Lets just say, god bless Ann Taylor. Within an hour I found it. Verging on the funeral wear look though, I jazzed it up with a pretty blue scarf, accented by a subtle purse. Now, taking a second glance in the mirror, I appeared innocent, virgin-like, and poised. Blair Waldorf or Audrey Hepburnesque. Clean and understated. A look that the show could definitely use. I decided to roll with it. Just some new bronzer and a little self-tanner and I was good to go.
The auditions were held Downtown at the Hard Rock Hotel. When Tuesday came, I left work a bit early to go home and make a miracle happen and to hopefully get down there a little on the early side. I had no idea how many other ladies, or shall I say contenders would be there.
Upon arriving at the hotel, I got on the elevator to the forth floor with a man who appeared to be someone from the show. I kindly introduced myself.
“Hello, are you from The Bachelor?”
“Yes, I’m Jesse the casting director and you are..?”
“Jaime. Kosinski. Emily had called from LA last week and asked me to come here to audition for the show today.” His response….
“To be ON The Bachelor?”
“Yes….”
He’s now looking me up and down ~ and sideways. I felt about two inches tall and one hundred and eighty feet wide. Would someone please throw me that life preserver?
“Okay Jaime, well I will be setting up in a few minutes. Just take a seat in the waiting room and fill out the appropriate forms. And just so you know. There are hidden cameras everywhere. We want to see how the girls interact with each other.”
When I get inside the waiting room there is me and about five others. Internally, I start sizing up the competition. You’ve got your typical beauty queen. Two token hot tub girls. A sweet professor who drove all the way from Ohio who teaches at Bowling Green and lastly, a girl who looks like she needs to eat about ten sandwiches. And me. Just me. In my slimming black dress.
Knowing the hidden cameras are rolling I start to ham it up. I begin asking the girls questions, offering witty, off the cuff comments, just trying to make everyone laugh when I soon realize, I am the only one in the room with any personality. Or at least any person showing it.
I started to picture myself on the show as the girl who would be the glue in the house of the twenty-five bachelorettes. The one trying to keep the peace instead of starting the cat fights. The nice, funny girl. The underdog who all of America would fall in love with. I would be the “Bob Guiney” of girls. If you remember, Bob Guiney was the chubby, very funny, bachelor whose heart was broken by Trista Renn. America loved him so much, they then they made him The Bachelor. He later ended up marrying gorgeous soap star Rebecca Budig from All My Children. Not a bad ending for a chubby, funny guy if you ask me.
They call my name.
After my run in with Jesse, the not so impressed casting agent in the elevator, I was extra nervous for my audition. I then said to myself, F--- It. It is a million and one chance that I would ever even get on the show, so just go have some fun, be yourself, and if anything, the experience will make for an entertaining blog. So, I put my A-Game on and followed Jesse into the audition room.
It all starts with the line up. He has me stand against the wall, holding a piece of paper with my name and phone number written on it. In rather large writing so the camera can see it. Feeling a need to break the silence I say, “Hey, thanks for sparing me any blank spaces on this paper for my weight and shoe sizes. I feared this may actually be Biggest Loser auditions and I’d be standing on a hidden scale under the floor and all of a sudden lights, sirens, and digital numbers would start dinging.”
He laughs. Really laughs.
He then takes a few frames of me from ALL sides. Again, I feel the need to say something as he is shooting my back side.
“Oh yes, Sir! You know, when I used to work in Harlem, this was by far my best side. Men whistled from miles away. I remember a nice African-American man once telling that he’d love to grab hold of me because a woman wasn’t a real woman if you can feel her ribs. So Jesse, when done craft services get here?”
He laughs again. I was now at complete ease. I think he was seeing a completely different woman then he first saw in the elevator just thirty minutes ago. And I had another revelation. I LOVED THE CAMERA. It brought out this side of me I never knew existed. I immediately felt the urge to call Bravo and get my own talk show. LOL!
Originally, Jesse told me that I would have five minutes on camera. Well, he must have really liked me because in the end he had me on well over fifteen. The questions he asked were as expected. What do you do? Where are you from? What is the picture of your ideal mate? “Breathing,” I told him.
And more… Tell me about your perfect date. “Well, Jesse, as someone who has enjoyed several months practicing Immaculate Conception, something “climatic” may be an obvious winner.”
Why do you want to be on the show? “Because I have a dire need to get on national television as a spokesperson for the Miracle Suit. I want healthy girls to not be afraid to work it girl!”
What do you expect to achieve from being on this show? Tell me about your prior dating experience. Do you have any fears about drinking or making out on camera? “No, I’ve embarrassed myself and my family way worse than that before,” I answered.
General questions as such. All of which I responded with both humor and sincerity. And what I loved is that through the entire audition Jesse smiled and laughed. And laughed and laughed. Of course I was hoping he was laughing with me and not at me.
When the last question was finished, he asked to me make one final comment with regard to how I felt about dating up until this point in my life and I said, “In the wise words of Charlotte York, I’ve been dating since I was sixteen, I’m exhausted! Where is he already?” And again, he laughed.
Jesse shut the camera off, grabbed my two hands and said, “You are absolutely adorable. I love you! That was one of the most entertaining, funniest auditions I’ve ever had and I’ve been casting for the show over seven years. You are great! What a way for me to start the evening’s auditions! I’m so glad you went first.”
I felt like a champ. A real winner!
And after that long Chicago winter, and twelve extra pounds (that really didn’t matter to the casting director of the most superficial reality show on television), I was reborn. Leaving the Hard Rock that evening, I was back. I had a spring in my step again. I felt great about who I was, at any size. It made me think that maybe even these ridiculous shows on television that profile the unrealistic woman saw me for who I am. A real girl. A contender. Perhaps even a contestant who ninety-nine percent of American women could relate to. Someone they could truly root for. We will see….
In closing, the past week has been a complete one-eighty. My funk has officially sunk. I am back with my running group. I joined a tennis clinic and even made a run to the grocery store. And last Friday, I went with my cousin to Houghten Lake, Michigan to try out for the Amazing Race. Like I said, I sure love the camera. I even called my father and told him I wanted to be a comedic actress! He laughed of course and offered a typical fatherly response, “Well, as long as it doesn’t cost me any more tuitions.”
If I can give any advice to anyone who has ever felt down in the dumps, bear down. It will pass. Sometimes all it takes is a little someone offering an unexpected rose.
Ps>> My book pick of the month: Love the One You're With, by Emily Giffin!
They said it was the worst winter Chicago had seen in over fifteen years. Breaking records of over sixty inches of snow in one season and going over budget by approximately three million dollars in snow removal clean-up. The city and surrounding suburbs had run out of rock salt and I can honestly not recall a day between Thanksgiving and the end of April without a trace of snow on the ground. And although signs of this horrific Chicago winter are now finally entering hibernation, the after affects still haunt me.
I never believed in it. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD). According to experts, it is a condition by where one experiences depression and mood changes during the winter months. After returning home from a quick trip to NYC in early February, I started noticing some unfamiliar changes in myself. For one, I became extremely anti-social, which is very uncharacteristic for me. I did not want to go out ~ at all. And when invited out, I would make any excuse in the book not to go. For about four to six weeks, I only left the house for work. I had no energy to go to the gym or even the grocery store. All I did was sleep and eat. EAT. EAT. EAT. I would order in almost everyday and by April’s end, I had gained twelve pounds. I felt as if I had fallen into icy Lake Michigan without a life-preserver to save me. I was in the deepest funk of my life since my mother passed away over six years ago. And then, all on a whim, The Bachelor came calling.
Two weeks ago, I went online to nominate my brother for the hit reality dating show, The Bachelor. We all know that show is an absolute train wreck, but you can’t help not to watch. As my cousin Ali says, “The show is like Fed-Ex, it always delivers.” Travis, Andy, Matt, Lorenzo? C’mon, we can’t help not to love them. And those crazy bachelorettes who sit patiently and wait to get a rose while their “perfect” bachelor is hooking up with every other girl on the show? Absolutely. Hey, whatever works and we all know it makes for good TV. Isn’t it all about entertaining the masses? So, for kicks and giggles, I nominated myself in addition to my brother (for a different episode, obviously). It was easy. All I had to do was fill out an online profile and submit a picture. Given my obvious state of appearance though, I selected a picture taken a little over a year ago, and rounded my weight down roughly about fifteen pounds. Like I said, whatever works, and the chances of me actually getting selected are slim to none anyway. So, no worries.
And then… two days later, on a late on a Friday afternoon my cell phone rings.
“Hello. Is this Jaime?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. This is Emily from The Bachelor.”
“OMG! You got my brother’s application!”
“Your brother? We’re calling for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. We received your online profile and loved it! We want you to attend a casting in Chicago on Tuesday.”
“You do?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Great. We’ll email you all the information and what you’ll need to bring. Auditions begin at five o’clock.”
“Okay. Well….thanks for your call.”
Click.
Oh Shit.
Okay, my first thought ~ How the hell am I going to lose fifteen pounds in four days? Well, I am definitely not hitting Chili’s for dinner on the ride home. My second thought ~ Holy crap, there is no way I can get on national television in a bathing suit. For the love of God there are some things even my Miracle Suit can’t help. Followed by another thought ~ Please Dear Lord be casting for The Bachelor: Alaska, so that I can wear my Michelin Man coat 24/7. And my final thought ~ Maybe…they are casting for The Bachelor: Chubby Chasers on the Loose?!?! Who knows? But, there was no comment as supportive and loving as this one from my cousin Greg, “Um, Jaim, I think you should bring your own bouquet of roses.”
Ahhh… regardless of the situation, I had some serious business to take care of over the weekend and it started with black. Finding that perfect, oh so slimming, black dress.
Lets just say, god bless Ann Taylor. Within an hour I found it. Verging on the funeral wear look though, I jazzed it up with a pretty blue scarf, accented by a subtle purse. Now, taking a second glance in the mirror, I appeared innocent, virgin-like, and poised. Blair Waldorf or Audrey Hepburnesque. Clean and understated. A look that the show could definitely use. I decided to roll with it. Just some new bronzer and a little self-tanner and I was good to go.
The auditions were held Downtown at the Hard Rock Hotel. When Tuesday came, I left work a bit early to go home and make a miracle happen and to hopefully get down there a little on the early side. I had no idea how many other ladies, or shall I say contenders would be there.
Upon arriving at the hotel, I got on the elevator to the forth floor with a man who appeared to be someone from the show. I kindly introduced myself.
“Hello, are you from The Bachelor?”
“Yes, I’m Jesse the casting director and you are..?”
“Jaime. Kosinski. Emily had called from LA last week and asked me to come here to audition for the show today.” His response….
“To be ON The Bachelor?”
“Yes….”
He’s now looking me up and down ~ and sideways. I felt about two inches tall and one hundred and eighty feet wide. Would someone please throw me that life preserver?
“Okay Jaime, well I will be setting up in a few minutes. Just take a seat in the waiting room and fill out the appropriate forms. And just so you know. There are hidden cameras everywhere. We want to see how the girls interact with each other.”
When I get inside the waiting room there is me and about five others. Internally, I start sizing up the competition. You’ve got your typical beauty queen. Two token hot tub girls. A sweet professor who drove all the way from Ohio who teaches at Bowling Green and lastly, a girl who looks like she needs to eat about ten sandwiches. And me. Just me. In my slimming black dress.
Knowing the hidden cameras are rolling I start to ham it up. I begin asking the girls questions, offering witty, off the cuff comments, just trying to make everyone laugh when I soon realize, I am the only one in the room with any personality. Or at least any person showing it.
I started to picture myself on the show as the girl who would be the glue in the house of the twenty-five bachelorettes. The one trying to keep the peace instead of starting the cat fights. The nice, funny girl. The underdog who all of America would fall in love with. I would be the “Bob Guiney” of girls. If you remember, Bob Guiney was the chubby, very funny, bachelor whose heart was broken by Trista Renn. America loved him so much, they then they made him The Bachelor. He later ended up marrying gorgeous soap star Rebecca Budig from All My Children. Not a bad ending for a chubby, funny guy if you ask me.
They call my name.
After my run in with Jesse, the not so impressed casting agent in the elevator, I was extra nervous for my audition. I then said to myself, F--- It. It is a million and one chance that I would ever even get on the show, so just go have some fun, be yourself, and if anything, the experience will make for an entertaining blog. So, I put my A-Game on and followed Jesse into the audition room.
It all starts with the line up. He has me stand against the wall, holding a piece of paper with my name and phone number written on it. In rather large writing so the camera can see it. Feeling a need to break the silence I say, “Hey, thanks for sparing me any blank spaces on this paper for my weight and shoe sizes. I feared this may actually be Biggest Loser auditions and I’d be standing on a hidden scale under the floor and all of a sudden lights, sirens, and digital numbers would start dinging.”
He laughs. Really laughs.
He then takes a few frames of me from ALL sides. Again, I feel the need to say something as he is shooting my back side.
“Oh yes, Sir! You know, when I used to work in Harlem, this was by far my best side. Men whistled from miles away. I remember a nice African-American man once telling that he’d love to grab hold of me because a woman wasn’t a real woman if you can feel her ribs. So Jesse, when done craft services get here?”
He laughs again. I was now at complete ease. I think he was seeing a completely different woman then he first saw in the elevator just thirty minutes ago. And I had another revelation. I LOVED THE CAMERA. It brought out this side of me I never knew existed. I immediately felt the urge to call Bravo and get my own talk show. LOL!
Originally, Jesse told me that I would have five minutes on camera. Well, he must have really liked me because in the end he had me on well over fifteen. The questions he asked were as expected. What do you do? Where are you from? What is the picture of your ideal mate? “Breathing,” I told him.
And more… Tell me about your perfect date. “Well, Jesse, as someone who has enjoyed several months practicing Immaculate Conception, something “climatic” may be an obvious winner.”
Why do you want to be on the show? “Because I have a dire need to get on national television as a spokesperson for the Miracle Suit. I want healthy girls to not be afraid to work it girl!”
What do you expect to achieve from being on this show? Tell me about your prior dating experience. Do you have any fears about drinking or making out on camera? “No, I’ve embarrassed myself and my family way worse than that before,” I answered.
General questions as such. All of which I responded with both humor and sincerity. And what I loved is that through the entire audition Jesse smiled and laughed. And laughed and laughed. Of course I was hoping he was laughing with me and not at me.
When the last question was finished, he asked to me make one final comment with regard to how I felt about dating up until this point in my life and I said, “In the wise words of Charlotte York, I’ve been dating since I was sixteen, I’m exhausted! Where is he already?” And again, he laughed.
Jesse shut the camera off, grabbed my two hands and said, “You are absolutely adorable. I love you! That was one of the most entertaining, funniest auditions I’ve ever had and I’ve been casting for the show over seven years. You are great! What a way for me to start the evening’s auditions! I’m so glad you went first.”
I felt like a champ. A real winner!
And after that long Chicago winter, and twelve extra pounds (that really didn’t matter to the casting director of the most superficial reality show on television), I was reborn. Leaving the Hard Rock that evening, I was back. I had a spring in my step again. I felt great about who I was, at any size. It made me think that maybe even these ridiculous shows on television that profile the unrealistic woman saw me for who I am. A real girl. A contender. Perhaps even a contestant who ninety-nine percent of American women could relate to. Someone they could truly root for. We will see….
In closing, the past week has been a complete one-eighty. My funk has officially sunk. I am back with my running group. I joined a tennis clinic and even made a run to the grocery store. And last Friday, I went with my cousin to Houghten Lake, Michigan to try out for the Amazing Race. Like I said, I sure love the camera. I even called my father and told him I wanted to be a comedic actress! He laughed of course and offered a typical fatherly response, “Well, as long as it doesn’t cost me any more tuitions.”
If I can give any advice to anyone who has ever felt down in the dumps, bear down. It will pass. Sometimes all it takes is a little someone offering an unexpected rose.
Ps>> My book pick of the month: Love the One You're With, by Emily Giffin!
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The Little White Ribbon (Excerpt)
Henry and I met in New York City a little over ten years ago. At twenty-two years-old we had both just finished college at two of the most rivaled schools in the nation. Me, at UNC-Chapel Hill and him at Duke. And everyone knows there is no love loss between a North Carolina Tarheel and a Duke Blue Devil. The only other rivals that even come close to comparison are Ohio State/Michigan and Red Sox/Yankees. So, that added element definitely contributed to our hot, fiery passion, especially during college basketball season.
Interestingly enough though, Henry and I had also both graduated with degrees in fine arts management and had dreams of one day becoming high-powered talent agents in New York City. Let’s just say, our goal was to give Ari Gold a run for his money. Luckily, as fate would have it, we both ended up landing entry level assistant jobs at Paradigm, on West Fifty-Seventh Street in Manhattan.
The rest as they now say, is pretty much history.
My work at Paradigm had started a few weeks prior to Henry’s. It was about mid-June back in 1998 and I was placed as an assistant agent in the models department on the fourth floor. My initial hope was to get an apprenticeship on the acting side, but just getting my foot in the door of such a cut-throat industry was step one.
Assistant agents at the time were only making about $18,000 a year. Seriously, how did they expect one to live in NYC on what was considered minimum wage? I contemplated working nights at a strip club, but I didn’t think my pole dancing skills, or healthy size 10 frame would qualify me. It was a tough realization that after four years of college, I still couldn’t afford to buy myself a slice of pepperoni pizza. And, unlike being back in North Carolina, nickel beer nights in NYC were scarce to be found. My Dad always said though, “Hey, we all have to start somewhere. As long as you’re learning, that’s the most important thing.”
“Well, did learning involve starving?” I thought.
I vividly remember being in my interview with head modeling agent, now former boss, Lisa Leone, when she offered me the job.
“Kate.” she said.
“The pay is $250 per week and with that comes the invaluable bonus of learning from me. The Lisa Leone. There is nobody better in the biz. Tyra, Christy, Elle, Heidi. I found all of them. They owe their careers to me and some day you will too.”
And looking back, she was right.
I quickly accepted Lisa’s offer, as she did have quite an impressive resume and a lot to teach me. I always wondered though why ninety percent of talent agents had this pretentious, cocky-like aura about them. It must be their way of scaring the “little people” off. And when you first start in “the biz” that’s exactly how you feel ~ little. Adapting to that type of persona was something I eventually had real difficulty succeeding at.
Interestingly enough though, Henry and I had also both graduated with degrees in fine arts management and had dreams of one day becoming high-powered talent agents in New York City. Let’s just say, our goal was to give Ari Gold a run for his money. Luckily, as fate would have it, we both ended up landing entry level assistant jobs at Paradigm, on West Fifty-Seventh Street in Manhattan.
The rest as they now say, is pretty much history.
My work at Paradigm had started a few weeks prior to Henry’s. It was about mid-June back in 1998 and I was placed as an assistant agent in the models department on the fourth floor. My initial hope was to get an apprenticeship on the acting side, but just getting my foot in the door of such a cut-throat industry was step one.
Assistant agents at the time were only making about $18,000 a year. Seriously, how did they expect one to live in NYC on what was considered minimum wage? I contemplated working nights at a strip club, but I didn’t think my pole dancing skills, or healthy size 10 frame would qualify me. It was a tough realization that after four years of college, I still couldn’t afford to buy myself a slice of pepperoni pizza. And, unlike being back in North Carolina, nickel beer nights in NYC were scarce to be found. My Dad always said though, “Hey, we all have to start somewhere. As long as you’re learning, that’s the most important thing.”
“Well, did learning involve starving?” I thought.
I vividly remember being in my interview with head modeling agent, now former boss, Lisa Leone, when she offered me the job.
“Kate.” she said.
“The pay is $250 per week and with that comes the invaluable bonus of learning from me. The Lisa Leone. There is nobody better in the biz. Tyra, Christy, Elle, Heidi. I found all of them. They owe their careers to me and some day you will too.”
And looking back, she was right.
I quickly accepted Lisa’s offer, as she did have quite an impressive resume and a lot to teach me. I always wondered though why ninety percent of talent agents had this pretentious, cocky-like aura about them. It must be their way of scaring the “little people” off. And when you first start in “the biz” that’s exactly how you feel ~ little. Adapting to that type of persona was something I eventually had real difficulty succeeding at.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Please Pass the Potatoes
We all know the old saying that if we want to make God laugh, tell Him your life plan.
If you haven’t yet read the popular book “The Five People You Meet In Heaven” by Mitch Albom, I highly advise that you pick up a copy. Whether you are religious or not, it is a heart-warming story which ponders the idea that the people we come in contact with during our time on earth, doesn’t just happen by chance. That perhaps the people we meet during our lives is actually a pre-planned map by a much higher power.
When I moved to Sag Harbor, NY in the 8th grade, it was really hard being the new girl in school. Meeting friends during the height of my “gawk,” was not the easiest of tasks, until one day fate stepped in. Mr. Bausman, my junior high biology teacher randomly assigned me a seat next to who I thought was the scariest girl in school. Let’s just call her S.G. She was tough, had attitude, and could hit a 3-pointer better then Michael Jordan. Now twenty years later, I believe that that assigned seat was just part of my plan in leading me to one of my closest friends. And who knew that back then at thirteen years old, that we would still be dissecting frogs together twenty years later.
I always think about my close friend Crume too from college, and how we met. I was transferring to Wake Forest my sophomore year and had to find a roommate to live with off-campus. The transfer office at Wake had given me a list of other transferring students to possibly match up with. So, one night I randomly start calling the list one by one. All the numbers were busy or nobody answered, except for Crume’s. To this day, when I think about how close Crume and I are, I always wonder what if I never got her on the phone first that night? Would we have still met?
And then there was the infamous Moles, another Wake transfer student who happened to be looking for housing as well. The funny thing about “the Moles” is that when I first met her I said, “No way am I living with her!” She was way too laid back for me, MESSY, and talked more than I did if you can believe it. Plus, what kind of a name was Moley anyway? The two of us couldn’t have been more polar opposites, but during our senior year of college, “Jaims and Moles” were a force to be reckoned with. In addition to many laughs, and crazy times at the China Buffet, we took care of each other. There was a genuine compassion that made us very much like sisters. I felt proud to later serve as her maid of honor and Godmother to her first born.
The reason I bring up these three specific close friendships of mine is because all three of these amazing women are in very different places in their lives then I am now. All three are now married, with children, and conduct a very different daily lifestyle than I do as a single person. Although I try desperately to listen to our conversations and attempt to find continuous common ground, it is not always easy. And what I am finding out over time is that sometimes those differences can cause relationships to change (good and bad), or just become “different.” What you have to ask yourself as close friendships change is, “Can you still find that common place that makes the friendship work?" In addition, it has to be an equal relationship. A one-sided friendship will only lead to no friendship at all.
As careers and families grow, it’s part of life that our plates end up with double servings, and that can cause friendships to go through highs and lows, or even fizzle out. And whether “married with children people” believe it or not, single people have just as much hustle and bustle in our daily lives, we just fill our plates with different commitments.
As a single person in my thirties, I accept the fact that one day when I get married or have a child that many of those people’s weddings I went to in my twenties, or babies I went to visit as a single person won’t be reciprocated because at that point, their families will be even larger, and organizing their “extra servings” with regard to travel and finances, will become an even bigger issue then it is now. It is my hope though that the friendships which mean the most can accept the differences in their respective lives and find an equal balance so that they can continue to enjoy the reasons why they were placed in each other’s paths to begin with.
If you haven’t yet read the popular book “The Five People You Meet In Heaven” by Mitch Albom, I highly advise that you pick up a copy. Whether you are religious or not, it is a heart-warming story which ponders the idea that the people we come in contact with during our time on earth, doesn’t just happen by chance. That perhaps the people we meet during our lives is actually a pre-planned map by a much higher power.
When I moved to Sag Harbor, NY in the 8th grade, it was really hard being the new girl in school. Meeting friends during the height of my “gawk,” was not the easiest of tasks, until one day fate stepped in. Mr. Bausman, my junior high biology teacher randomly assigned me a seat next to who I thought was the scariest girl in school. Let’s just call her S.G. She was tough, had attitude, and could hit a 3-pointer better then Michael Jordan. Now twenty years later, I believe that that assigned seat was just part of my plan in leading me to one of my closest friends. And who knew that back then at thirteen years old, that we would still be dissecting frogs together twenty years later.
I always think about my close friend Crume too from college, and how we met. I was transferring to Wake Forest my sophomore year and had to find a roommate to live with off-campus. The transfer office at Wake had given me a list of other transferring students to possibly match up with. So, one night I randomly start calling the list one by one. All the numbers were busy or nobody answered, except for Crume’s. To this day, when I think about how close Crume and I are, I always wonder what if I never got her on the phone first that night? Would we have still met?
And then there was the infamous Moles, another Wake transfer student who happened to be looking for housing as well. The funny thing about “the Moles” is that when I first met her I said, “No way am I living with her!” She was way too laid back for me, MESSY, and talked more than I did if you can believe it. Plus, what kind of a name was Moley anyway? The two of us couldn’t have been more polar opposites, but during our senior year of college, “Jaims and Moles” were a force to be reckoned with. In addition to many laughs, and crazy times at the China Buffet, we took care of each other. There was a genuine compassion that made us very much like sisters. I felt proud to later serve as her maid of honor and Godmother to her first born.
The reason I bring up these three specific close friendships of mine is because all three of these amazing women are in very different places in their lives then I am now. All three are now married, with children, and conduct a very different daily lifestyle than I do as a single person. Although I try desperately to listen to our conversations and attempt to find continuous common ground, it is not always easy. And what I am finding out over time is that sometimes those differences can cause relationships to change (good and bad), or just become “different.” What you have to ask yourself as close friendships change is, “Can you still find that common place that makes the friendship work?" In addition, it has to be an equal relationship. A one-sided friendship will only lead to no friendship at all.
As careers and families grow, it’s part of life that our plates end up with double servings, and that can cause friendships to go through highs and lows, or even fizzle out. And whether “married with children people” believe it or not, single people have just as much hustle and bustle in our daily lives, we just fill our plates with different commitments.
As a single person in my thirties, I accept the fact that one day when I get married or have a child that many of those people’s weddings I went to in my twenties, or babies I went to visit as a single person won’t be reciprocated because at that point, their families will be even larger, and organizing their “extra servings” with regard to travel and finances, will become an even bigger issue then it is now. It is my hope though that the friendships which mean the most can accept the differences in their respective lives and find an equal balance so that they can continue to enjoy the reasons why they were placed in each other’s paths to begin with.
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