It's not so often that I get to be the main topic of discussion in someone else's blog.
But alas, the ever-effervescent Kathleen Newlove has posted a recent entry about how "famous" I've apparently become, the Kathleen of NEWLOVE, that link you see near the bottom on the panel to your right (yes, that's her real surname, "like, as in old hate," and it's quite kickass, no?).
After reading her recent blog about moi, I'd like to say that anyone who knows Kathleen knows she's famous in her own right. Famous for being a hi-larry-ous storyteller with a sharp memory for detail. Famous for being a ginormous hater of cilantro. Famous for her near-psychotic obsession with Hugh Grant. And, most importantly, famous for being the Mistress of Globetrotting.
Let me elaborate.
Whenever I'm out with friends, and I'm asked for an update on the popular Ms. Newlove, I honestly can't give a thorough answer because, frankly, I never know where the hell she is during any given month. Keeping tabs on her can be an exhausting sport that warrants Perez Hilton-style coverage. Move over, Carmen Sandiego. We wanna know where in the world is Kathleen Newlove.
If she's not visiting the fam in her native Denmark, she's either doing the following: Visiting a friend in Hong Kong. Driving cross-country to Miami. Riding an elephant in India (and later losing 20 pounds from a nasty case of dysentery). Counting down to the new year in Budapest. Swigging cocktails in Berlin. Dining with fashion designers in Melbourne...I'm sure there are plenty of other countries and cultures that have been graced by her presence.
She is a self-proclaimed "bad friend," never in town for someone's birthday, a cocktail party, a movie premiere. If I'm lucky enough, I'll catch her before one of her excursions, and most likely it will be for lunch and a movie at the Arclight.
Some of you may want to know, "What the hell does this bitch do for a living?" Well, that's a query for the woman herself since I, except for "Independent" and "Contractor," lack the words to fully describe her career. On reading that, it may sound like she's on the payroll of some shady global organization, but I assure you she's not. Although it does seem cool to imagine her hopping from country to country in various Sydney Bristow-type outfits, kicking bad-guy ass and diffusing bombs with enough boom to level a major metropolitan area.
Another piece of the puzzle: she claims to have had no credit cards in her possession. Ever.
A brief history on how this jet-setter and I became friends: Back in the summer of 2002, when I was a wide-eyed and naive college grad, I had interned for her at a small independent production company (the name of the shingle is irrelevant because I'm pretty sure they shut down a while back). I had lured her into my tempting web of weekly trips to Baskin Robbins and Coffee Bean (Iced Blendeds were a vice before Pinkberry came along). My tactics had worked. We had developed all the traits of BFFs, indulging in calorie binges and making fun of people behind their backs. That summer, a Thai intern prone to digestive problems had unfortunately become the target of ridicule (again, K's knack for retelling a story would be needed here).
And now she's off again to another country (India, again), and I'm not quite sure when Los Angeles will see her again (sometime after my birthday).
So, the next time you're wondering about Kathleen's whereabouts, just bet on that she's probably getting her passport stamped for the umpteenth time in some faraway land, interacting with the natives, having a jolly good time without us. And we'll miss her. When she's back, we'll still love her and enjoy her company as if she never left.
I'll look forward to a souvenir.
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