the power of dreams

"hold fast to dreams for if dreams die life is a broken-winged bird that can not fly."

- langston hughes-

imagine this... it is raining outside. you are walking with a purple umbrella and bright pink chanel lipstick. roy orbison "all i have to do is dream" is playing on your ipod. a smile on your face.

people stop to stare, wondering what you have to be so happy about on such a dreary day?

simple really. i had the most wonderful dream last night. i was sitting at a desk full of color and clutter, typing away dressed in a bright flowing maxi-dress across from a boy i love writing in a leather bound journal only pausing to look up and smile. Gary lewis and the playboys streaming from a record play .... "i want a dream lover so i wont have to dream alone."

this is exactly how i imagine my life in a few years.

simple. happy. writing. a creative man by my side.

oh, and to go too clown school in paris. the perfect place for food, fashion, art for arts sake and daily champagne.

granted i was awoken from this lovely dream by a terrible thunderstorm. the walls of the paper doll house i currently reside in trembling with the lightning coming through my windows as if i was at a rave filled with lighters raised and neon glow sticks.

some might have taken my frightening wake up call as a sign reminding me that my dream was just that...only a dream.

i, however, believe that is was a helpful little nudge.

natures way of saying to me:

today is your day.

get up. get on with it. make it happen.

and that my friends is exactly what i plan to do.

to make my dreams a reality.

raising my glass. thinking of you.

fondly,

katherine cabiness.

"the happy idea"... not the happy ending

get ready. i am about to impress you with not only my wit but also my extreme intellect.

woah. i know. i hope you can handle it.

do not freak out. because i am. and well... we can't all be freaking out now can we?

the course: dramatic literature

the teacher: dr.m

the test: approaching too quickly.

this is the kind of class that makes you enjoy learning. it is one of those. the kind that is actually interesting and makes you question why all of your other teachers lack the passion for the subject they have chosen to educate others on. thank you dr.m for that passion and passing it on to your students. can i have an a please? kidding. somewhat. but seriously thank you.

the test shall be covering all of the greats; aristotle, sophocles, shakespeare, johnson, calderon, moliere and my new love aristophanes.

what brought about this new love?

his premise for the plot structure of old comedy.

clearly.

makes me blush. makes me swoon. would tug at any single girls heart strings.

the name of this educational aphrodisiac: "the happy idea".

not to be confused with the cinderella happy ending.

or the kind that comes from visiting your local "masseuse".

let me lay it down for you.

aristophanes, a quite dead fellow, came up with a plot structure for "old comedy".

the main character has some devastating dilemma, he must marry his mother, a plague has covered the city or she must have her brothers child. you know, the normal dilemmas we all have. awkward old comedy.

then the AHA! moment,

"the happy idea": the main character comes up with an imaginative, somewhat impractical, solution to said problem. something small or grand that helps make the situation seem a little less dire.

dr.m began explaining to the class what a brilliant idea it was for all of us to have our very own versions of "the happy idea" to make our every day seem a little easier and most importantly a little more HAPPY!

our class began discussing different ways we incorporate "the happy idea" in our day to day lives. to each their own but, here was our version which i happen to adore:

a cup of tea. a joint in the morning. dancing alone. your own theme music playing in your head throughout the day. fancy hats. fancy clothes. exercise of some sort (i choose walking to get coffee or dancing in my room). top off with champagne.

all the other stuff; studying, to do lists, bills and the never fun task of figuring out the next stop well, that all falls in between.

human nature leaves us wanting more. it is not our fault. we want more time, more success, more money, more friends, more champagne and mainly more love.

we get so caught up in wanting more from our lives that our perspective becomes skewed. one forgets the little things in our daily routines that make us happy.

somedays we feel we need more time, when all we really need is to slow down.

somedays we want more love, when all we really need is to love ourselves.

we focus so much on the end goal that we miss everything going on around us. we become so caught up in the wanting more and wanting success that we end up taking for granted the wonderful little moments in life that truly take our breath away. taking for granted our friends, our families, true love.

taking for granted a beautiful fall day, a postcard from an old friend, happy hour on wednesdays, a great conversation, the first bite of a fantastic meal or even something as simple as a loving glance from a friend you have so dearly missed.

i dont know if this is what aristophanes meant from "the happy idea".

i do however know this.

i have never been happier.

raising my glass. thinking of you.

fondly,

katherine cabiness

yes. i am about to compare men and jeans.

i have figured it out. and just think it only took me 21 years... trust me, it takes most people much much longer. i have figured out the deep-rooted and complicated correlation between girls love and hatred for that delicious devil denim and.....

well.

men.

i have no type. my dating history...that long line of short lived romances consist of a various assortment. one can try and find a similar quality to link my men, but one will have no such luck. i have an extremely short attention span...as do they. i have horrible taste in men; or maybe it is just that i never choose the right type of man.

With jeans, i have great taste. the problem is i can never seem to find the perfect fit. i like so many different cuts and washes, but the are not necessarily liking me back, much like my past “relationships”.

strangely enough, there are two men who have lead to my epiphany behind finding the right pair of jeans and my being so unfortunately unlucky in love.

one named oscar.

the other cole porter. okay, his name is not really cole porter. that is what i shall call him anyway though.

both gay. both fabulous.

you see, as hopelessly awkward i am with straight men, the gays and i have always bonded marvelously. i am consistently finding my relationships with gay men to be the most rewarding in my life.

case in point.

Oscar.

recently a dear friend of mine invited me too an event at the charming boutique where she works so fittingly and ironically named Therapy. they had invited a wonderful man named Oscar from the denim designers of J Brand. he is a celebrity fit stylist and a jean genius. Immediately he made me feel fantastic by complementing my outfit. then the tough part came... the question “what size?”. i was stumped and embarrassed. for my intense love of fashion, i startled myself by not knowing the answer. when buying jeans i try to make my excursions as quick and painless as possible. grab jeans. try on. grab bigger size. pay. run away. sometimes run all the way home. he quickly grabbed a pair and wrapped them around my neck...i assumed to choke my for my fashion fraud. could i blame him? he released the waist of the jeans from around my neck exclaiming “yep. you are a 27. try these on. you will love them”. i was hesitant, already assuming i would tire of their magical mocha coloring. nervous, i closed the dressing room curtain and pulled on the most beautiful pair of jeans. they fit perfectly. even better, they were the most comfortable pair of jeans i had ever placed on my hard to please thighs. i stepped out eager to get approval from Oscar who cried, “perfect. do they not just hug your body? women need to understand that they are already fabulous they just need jeans like this to sculpt them”. i could not agree more. without any ambivalence, i quickly purchased these lovely size 27 mocha low rise legging jeans along with a newfound realization that delectable denim was not my enemy after all. i just needed the wisdom of Oscar to help me get over my indecisive attitude and silly fearful anxiety.

this brings me too my other love.

my fantastic and stylish best friend. under the alias of cole porter.

i could go on for days about how wonderful he is too me, the fun we have, the trouble we get into and the deep bond we formed over clothes, complaining and cocktails.

this is not about that. this is about his ability to fix my life after every wrong choice i make. this boy knows me and he knows that when it comes to straight boys my love compass is always pointing all awry. no matter how blunt and harsh his advice, he is inevitably right and always follows up with positive reinforcement, witty remarks and drinks. currently we are living a million miles away. coleporter: being fabulous and grown up in new york. me: trying to survive my last year in a small college town. this has not prevented him from being my relationship guru and life coach. a few weeks back i had developed a crush on a boy so clearly wrong for me i couldn’t even see it.

coleporter however could.

after foolishly flirting and thinking said crush was mutual, i learned it was in fact not. said crush was interested, just not interested in me. coleporter had told me from the start and i once again did not listen. while wallowing in self pity to avoid destructive behavior (binge eating reeses) i leaned on my dear friend asking him incessantly why i continuously make such poor choices regarding the heart. since the option of making him my boyfriend was mute, we discussed my other options.

K- your carving a pumpkin alone? that is so domestic of you susie homemaker.

CP- i know. i make cocktails, cook, and carve pumpkins. who have i become, katherine, who?

K- i think a drunk 1950’s housewife?

CP- so correct. you can be the next door neighbor who comes over and we just drink and smoke cigs and gossip all day. i’ll get the dirty martys started.

K- who would be the ideal man for me? besides you of course.

CP- ok. besides me? but i love you so much. hmmm...i see someone powerful but trendy

K- yes yes. and probably with ravishing good looks. smart. but not annoyingly smart.

CP- see that is describing a gay man.

K- well of course our love affair will continue. i just need someone around to do the heavy lifting. and hold my hand when it is cold and i have misplaced my gloves.

CP- how do you feel about lawyers?

K- like them. but they would win all of our fights.

CP- your right. maybe a musician?

K- oh yes. i love a good musician.

CP- then i can totally help. i bet my boyfriend know lots of hot straight men.

K- so the conclusion we have come too over the past few days: we are moving to paris, starting a band, and you have final say on whomever i date(we already knew that though). oh and your turning into a housewife.

CP- exactly. small steps.

sometimes all a girl really need is a fabulous stylist and an even better best friend to tell you that you have lost your mind and share a bottle of wine (even far away) while explaining your poor poor choice in men.

i still may not choose the right men. however, thanks to Oscar, i now have the perfect pair of jeans that sculpt my bum (so well i might add) to help me feel a little better when i fall down. thanks to coleporter for still thinking i am charming even when i whine and making me laugh when all i want to do is cry. you my friend are a gem. the best kind of friend, the one who stays at the end of the day.

my jeans may not always fit. my love life may not always go according to plan.

my friends though will always be fantastic. as will my shoes.

raising my glass. thinking of you.

fondly,

katherine cabiness

gnats and a bunny

currently living in an old old old house.

a wonderful house.

but an old house.

a house full of character.

a house full of gnats.

and a bunny.

a few weeks ago my roommates and i decided to get a pet turtle.

upon entering the shadiest pet store in possibly the whole world, we locked eyes with the most adorable and freckled heirloom bunny. the turtle was toast.

it was love.

we had too have her/it. the owner had no clue about our bunny and its sexual orientation.

once again... sketchy.

the next day........

ah. this is me screaming right now.

ah! this is me screaming right now alone at my house with a bug killer in my hand clutched tightly as if it were a gun... or my new Marc Jacobs bag.

ah!! this is me running from cockroaches.

they are legitimately hunting me down.

i have nowhere to hide.

no room mates i can find.

everywhere i turn there is a new one staring me straight in the eye.

they are a devious little bunch of roaches and they are aiming to kill.

suddenly i am out of spray. my one chance at survival.

i want to run out the door but am to frightened to move, afraid all of the bugs will join forces on their James Perse clad prey (i was about to fake working out - pilates) and ATTACK, ATTACK, ATTACK.

at first i was going to put all the blame on my sweet bunny edie and “vintage” house. the bunny however is at her aunts house for the weekend.

all of a sudden it hits me.

that beady determined look in their eyes.

the pout when i aim the spray bottle.

the smirk as they dodge my valiant efforts.

i am reminded a little of myself.

the unwillingness to accept defeat when my credit card is declined or my high waisted paisley skirt no longer fits.

I WILL FIND A WAY.

i begin to feel a little sad. i cannot believe i am sympathizing with cockroaches. but, alas i am.

this only lasts for a second.

i try to make a run for it and they begin scampering towards me with vengeance.

lightbulb.

i am bigger than them.

i begin repeating this mantra aloud to myself as my feet take over. i imagine my shoes have the souls/soles (witty, i know) of a mariachi band and start stomping away. it was foul. but necessary.

adios cockaroach!!

inhaled. too. many. fumes.

feeling. faint. dizzy. nauseous.

i should probably google and find out if i am about to collapse or not. maybe phone a friend. dramatic? a little.

first things first. off to the store.

on my list: flyswatter, more ammo, copious amounts of sleeping medication and kleenex...to cry.

heres to hoping i have intimidated the little devils.

raising my glass. thinking of you.

fondly,

katherine cabiness.

i have a problem with champagne.

and by problem, i mean an obsession.

most people bring out the bubbly for special occasions...toasting to a graduation, newlyweds, pink or blue babies and early retirement.

they believe this is why champagne was created.

they however are wrong.

they are misinformed.

their theories are in fact misguided.

i do not trust anyone who does not believe in the power of champagne or the idea that a fabulous outfit can change ones mood or life.

thankfully, i was brought up the right way.

my parents, the stylish and fantastic people they are, taught me from a young age that

champagne does not need an occasion. neither do evening gowns or vintage hats.

people who drink champagne should be able to create the occasion.

i drink champagne morning, noon and night.

i drink champagne :

when im feeling blue, happy, sad, mad, jealous, ecstatic, hungry

when i have a case of the “mean reds”

when i believe i am in love

when i realize i was actually in lust

when i begin a new relationship

when i screw up said relationship

when i purchase a vintage (or new) hat, dress or jewelry

when i read about previously mentioned hat, dress or jewelry

you get the picture. i ADORE champagne.

other things i adore:

gay men - they are after all a girls best friend. clearly.

photography, kindness, hot tea, no cell phone signs.

roadtrips, airplanes, rollerskating, the law of attraction.

music - all, when i am in a mood though, Frank Sinatra & The Mamas and The Papas. ultimate choice.

live theater, "personal days", skor bars, wine, interesting doors.

dancing foolishly, libraries, cheesecake, Tulsa OK.

collecting-- ok. hoarding. ok fine. hoarding.

flowers, winter, curling up with a good book, fireplaces.

dinner parties, good conversation, good company.

okay. that is it. did you catch all of that?

hope so.

sorry, that was alot.

i am sure the question you are wanting to ask, dear reader, is "why am i starting this here blog?" (and RAMBLING, i know.)

a. i like to write.

b. apparently i have alot of free time.

c. i lead a simple yet interesting life. at least i choose to believe this quite bold statement is true...which it probably is not.

JUST HUMOR ME.

disclaimer: future entries...less me me me. i promise.

there will alway always be champagne my darling friends.

and when troubles come my way and the day is full of unrequited love and heartache, i also believe in vodka...on ice.

raising my glass. thinking of you.

fondly,

katherine cabiness.