Real People I Love: Kate, A Woman With A Hairless Cat, An Apartment in Bushwick and a Gut Feeling She Belongs in New York
Hey y’all. In the weeks before the wedding, knowing I wouldn’t have much time to write, I asked a few women I’ve met if they’d agree to do an interview with me for my blog. They were women that I’ve met through various channels — other friends, Facebook, Tumblr — whom I’ve corresponded with for a while online before meeting in person.
One of these women was named Kate, and I met her a few weeks ago for dinner in Williamsburg. Our friend in Los Angeles set us up; she said we would fall in love, and we did, at a communal table while a dumpy couple with identically bad complexions gaped at us while we talked about ecstasy, hairless cats, denim dresses, and God.
The story of our generation of women has yet to be written. The only models we have thus far are extremes — the extreme privilege and attitude towards sex as characterized by Girls; the extreme lifestyle promoted by “Lean In,” in which women must model her behavior after men in order to be successful in a male-constructed corporate world; and the extreme attitudes about sex, love, marriage and motherhood promoted by articles about women in New York Magazine and The Atlantic.
I thought it might be interesting to tell the story of Kate, a woman who lives in Bushwick with her hairless cat, Smalls; has parents who live in Maine, one of whom is a pilot; who falls in love; who isn’t famous; who doesn’t live a life based around some sort of ideology; who works an office job. She’s like me; she’s not like me. She’s completely unique, but also normal. I think she’s really wonderful.
I wish I could write a better introduction to her, but I don’t have fucking time thanks to this goddamn wedding (I thought I was above the wedding thing — GUESS WHAT I’M NOT), so instead, I leave you her answers to my insane questions, unedited and uncut.
1. What’s your job, exactly?
Oh, I’m a glorified secretary. Everyone thinks I’m being self-depricating when I say that, but, not only am I not self-deprecating, it’s true and it’s exactly the job I applied for and exactly the job I want. I say good morning to everyone as they filter in, I buy the groceries, and restock the snacks, I clean the kitchen, I ask about mothers and kids (that’s not true, I actually don’t ask about anyone ever because I don’t really care, they volunteer and I humor the convo…when in Rome), I suffer fools and affect, and I sass everyone within earshot and within inches of HR violations. Also, I have two different nail files an arm’s length away, references to the need for coffee and alcohol on various pieces of flair, and pictures of my cat wallpapering my desk walls. I’m a secretary.