Back in New York and am happy to be home. I went to the final taping of The Late, Late Show with Craig Kilborn. Christian’s friend, Chris Deluca, is a writer for the show and did a bit in the beginning where he choked on pastry and Craig gave him the heimlich. Then Will Ferrell, Vince Vaughn, Adam West, Marlee Matlin, Martin Mull and Nikki Zeiring did some stuff and then Christian’s other friend, Julius Sharpe (Goldy on the show) danced with Craig, et. al. and then it was over.
We chatted in the hallway with Chris & Julius awhile and turned down offers of free food & booze in the green room so we could wander the hallways of CBS’s various studios in “Television City”. We ventured down one floor and I cracked open the door — not locked?!?!?! — to find a giant glittery green price tag about the size of my apartment with the words The Price is Right emblazoned on its face.
Had I died? Because this is HEAVEN!
We were THISCLOSE to doing “it” on a giant red and white boat about the size of my apartment named the “S.S. Price”. And by “it”, I mean screwing. I’m not sure if Bob would have been angry or impressed to know that his ship had been christened (yeah, right, like no one else has), but we decided to pick up our stuff from security and dine on Mexican at El Compadre rather than “rock the boat” during our last night in LA. Live mariachi bands and refried beans vs. sex on oversized, sequined prop piece I’ve seen on television since the day I was born. Hmmm…not sure I made the right choice.
I forgot to tell you that I met Jay Maynard, aka “Tron“, in the Jimmy Kimmel Green Room. Although he lives in Minnesota now, he’s originally from Houston, Texas — hence his southern accent — and knew all about Montgomery, Texas, the tiny little town I called home during my youth.
Too tired to write proper.
No, it wasn’t nearly getting banged by a 5’3″ Asian. Good guess, but WRONG! I was chatting with Sob Stories alum Doug Benson of the Marijuanalogues last night and suddenly felt like a complete square. This guy does a show about the glories of weed: smoking and eating and paranoia and so on and so forth. I wear a work wardrobe courtesy of Banana Republic and use an alarm clock regularly. Yet I was determined to make him think he and I were on the same “wave length”, that I was anyone but the kind of girl that only has sex with the lights off while Harry Connick, Jr. croons in the background.
“I grew up with pot smokers, so I know.” Uh, huh, sure…Continue, Kambri…you’re on a roll. I’m fuh-reaky. Wooooooooo! (It’s not true, though…I always have daylight sex and never play Harry Connick, Sr. OR Jr. I even take off my pearls to leave room!)
“Yeah, so I had a horse. Not for riding in competitions or anything. No, he helped keep our acreage tidy and fertilized our lawn and was my transportation to and from the store. So one day my mom was like, ‘What’s the matter with Charlie Brown?’ My brother was like, ‘Oh, fuck,’ and took off running into the woods towards the ‘garden’. Turns out, Charlie Brown had eaten all of the stalks of pot plants… he was stoned, man!”
Doug simply said, “That gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘Get off your high horse.’
My high horse has attitude…I’ll get off when he wants me to.
How can you tell if moth balls smell fresh? Why, you just lift his little legs and sniff!
Just for that, I’m eating an extra bowl of New York Super Fudge Chunk with the strawberries I’ve been letting soak in sugar all night and extra Hershey’s chocolate syrup poured all over it. Mmmmmm…mmmmm…mmmmm…. mmmmm..mm.m.m…m…it’s going straight to my boobies and making them fat…egads, the horror! Take that, Slim Fast!
Sugar coma…nighty night.
More on the beloved Paquita who is in the loving arms of my friend Keith as I type this from Anguilla: She inspired Christian to write a joke which has been transformed into a cartoon on Comedy Central’s new show Shorties Watching Shorties. Although the dog they drew looks nothing like Paquita, I must say they did a great job animating his joke.
Paquita is going to have to start paying me for this publicity work!
Last night’s show was great. A rainy day after a major U.S. holiday couldn’t keep the crowd away. It was a packed house and great night of Sob Stories. Next month’s theme is “I Got Dumped” where you can hear about the sorrowful ways in which the featured guests were given the old heave-ho out of love.
Christian is cute, too!
I enjoyed my days poolside so much that my feathers were ruffled nary a bit when three of the most obnoxious sounds happened in unison: a motorcycle so loud it set off a car alarm precisely at the moment a baby screamed at being placed in the pool. I remained completely zen-like. I sipped my margarita and merely commented on the timing.
At the airport, all things that could go wrong did: My bag was flagged for security after the x-ray operator enjoyed a big old laugh with the guard as they eyed the contents of my bag. Said guard then manhandled my “back massager.”
“It’s so hot in here,” I complained to Christian as the guard got warmer and warmer to the hidden valuable. Point = +20 to Murphy’s Law.
After that little incident was over, we got caught behind the entire Ecuadorian Little League Baseball team. “I’m glad I’m not going to Ecuador on their plane; it’s practically doomed to crash.” Turns out they were going to NYC. Yep, you guessed it, on our plane. Point = +50 for me for kicking fate in the balls and saying “fuck with me”.
After eyeing the 50-plus identically dressed little boys and men all chatting excitedly in Spanish, I glanced back at Christian. The exasperated look on his face that said, “This flight is going to suck royal ass,” was priceless. Point = +30 to the boys for proving us wrong.
Turns out, the boys were very well behaved, unlike the Hassidic father who sat to my right and his three boys and wife sat in the aisle across from us. The man smacked gum in my ear the whole way. He literally leaned over (to look out the window) and would smack, smack, smack without regard. He took his shoes off and hiked his leg up on the seat so I got a real close glimpse of the shine on his toenails peeking through his worn black cotton socks. Who puts their feet up on a chair when smushed that close to a total stranger? Point = -100 to Miss Manners…that bitch didn’t teach him shit.
At one point I looked over at one of the dad’s boys just in time to see the large contents of his tiny mouth getting sloshed around wildly. Apparently he learned his chewing habits from his dad. Later the father scolded the same youngster for staring and pointing. Point = +5 to Dad for attempting some sort of guidance.
Looks like I win with 50 points. Woo! Here’s my prize, a picture of me & David Alan Grier in the Improv green room.
Still very, very zen.
One of the perks of dating a “Best Week Ever” panelist (there are SO many, let me tell you!) is knowing what the topics will be ahead of time. Isn’t that exciting? This week there will be a bit about Carmen Electra and Dave Navarro’s reality show. I have no clue what it’s called and am too lazy to Google it. I’ve never even seen this Dave guy before. As a result, Christian caught a few minutes of their season finale last night. (Are those enough pre-emptive excuses for my watching a ridiculously masturbatory reality show for you?)
When I first caught a glimpse of him on my telly, the first thing that came to mind was “So, that’s what happened to the bearded lady!”
Seriously. He should shave.
Then he could endorse razors!
Christian got a job writing for Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn. He has been employed there for nearly a week, but didn’t let the cat out of the bag until today so now I can properly promote his new assignment. His first piece is tentatively scheduled to air tomorrow night on Comedy Central. Check your LOCAL listings, folks.
Mom, “folks” means you.
We’re still celebrating. Look, we’re under a horseshoe. This should bode well, yes? How does that lucky charm work? I don’t think it follows the people, after all I got drug by a cab a few hours after this photo was taken.
I digress. So tonight you should join us for Sweet Paprika at the Village Lantern. It’s Ophira’s birthday (I’d link to this very talented and charming Canadian, but she is sans website — see, my use of French when referencing a Canadian? I am very, very clever.), Christian is a surprise guest, it’s only $5.00 and the comedy is superb. So, if you thought you didn’t have anything to do, you thought wrong. Again.
You really should stop thinking that.
After watching a terrific comedy show “Sweet Paprika” at the Village Lantern Friday night (more on that some other time), I made my way home. It was nearing midnight, but I managed to catch the 1 Train as it pulled into the station. Sweet. I then transferred at Times Square to the N Train and was thrilled to see that it, too, was just pulling into the station. Even sweeter! (For you non-New Yorkers, late nights in the subway station can mean waiting 20+ minutes for a train if your timing is off. My late night transfer move was my bold statement to the Gods: I am very cheap these days. Take my buzz, see if I care!)
I raced down the stairs and eyed a pair of sliding doors to enter. I made my way swiftly in their direction and then eeek! Brake! Some chick and I nearly collided. No worries, she passed in front of me and I made my way through those sliding doors I eyed and settled in for my ride home. When I got off at the Broadway stop my phone rang.
“Hello?””It’s Bobbie. Where are you?”
Hey Bobbie, I’m walking home. Where are you?”
“Did you just get off the train?”
“Umm, yeeeeeaaaah, why? Where are you?” (I start looking all around to see a familiar face.)
“Did you almost run into someone at Times Square?”
“Yeah! I think I did!”
“That was me.”
After several, “No ways!” and “Get outs!” on my part, Bob passed the phone to Wendy and we all decided to meet for brunch.I know it’s a bit anti-climactic, but that’s it. No punch line or anything. It just never ceases to amaze me when in a city of over 8 million people, I bump into a neighbor and friend after coming home on a route I hardly ever take, let alone near midnight on a Friday after work. Wild.
So after brunch on Sunday, we all hung out chatting at my apartment. At one point, I fixated the conversation on Pilates. After several minutes of raving to Wendy & Bob about the benefits and simplicity of Pilates, I suddenly felt like I was pushing a hard Amway sale. “Have you actually tried Pilates? Have you seen anyone do it? Here check out this fabulous DVD set. Really, you should try it. They’re broken down into 20 minute workouts and who doesn’t have 20 minutes? The best part? If you get two people to start Pilates, and then they get two people and so on and so on, then I get a new car!”
Seriously, have you tried Amway?
After the reading (see post below), we filtered out into the lobby where I ran into a few of Christian’s friends. As I was introducing everyone to everyone, I caught a chick pointing me out to her friend who subsequently looked me up and down in that way that women do. I caught their stares mid point-n-chat which caused the chick to look away quickly and drop her hand as though she’d just been caught masturbating. People still do that? Point and stare? With the exception of gawking at dwarves, I thought that trend died out along with Rubik’s Cubes and Atari. It was something you did as a kid, but quickly grew tired of.
The thing is, I was actually introduced to this chick at Christian’s final Portable Comedy show. She could have eased her embarrassment by a quick wave and smile as if to say, “I remember you and I’m telling my friend who you are.” Her actual reaction made it clear to me that she wasn’t being friendly. If only I weren’t so diplomatic, I would have scooped her eyes out with spoon and sawed her finger off with an emery board. Then she wouldn’t stare and point any more. The end.
My Oprahesque Light Bulb Moment
I was also in a rush to get to the next item on my agenda, so there was no time for mutilation bent on correcting someone’s social ignorance. I caught the 10:00pm show of Hopscotch: The New York Sex Comedy and then did some Tex in the City business with the author, Wendy Williams. During our conversation she asked what rate of success we have had with our press releases. It was then, right then and there, that I realized what a success we have been in such a short time and small amount of part-time work. We’ve been written up in Liz Smith’s column, the New York Times, The NY Sun, New York Magazine, the Ft. Worth Star Telegram and much, much more. Imagine if I could channel all my energy and resources into my own company rather than some Rockefeller Center law firm.
I’m going about this all the wrong way. I need to revert my website back to what it was (an online resume) and put this blog thing on a different page. Now, what do I call my sole proprietorship which will be geared toward marketing and PR and what should my logo be?
I got a pretty nice Wednesday evening group plan together. After drinks and dinner with Tex in the City, Keith, Ken, Nancy and I headed over to meet Heidi and see Bob Powers and Todd Levin in their reading lesson entitled How to Kick People.
Do I, bearer of minuscule nads, have the audacity to critique a $6 show put on by two people I will see again in a social setting? Yes. Because it’s good.**
If it were horrible, then I wouldn’t bother, because why give it a critique with the hope it will get better? Shit, gussied up in Sunday best, is still shit. How to Kick People, however, is just like the nerdy heroine in a teen romance flick, it’s charming and engaging and makes you want to love it. You just wish it lost its glasses and put on a little rouge. Yes, rouge in the latest hue called Slightly Cleaner Execution.
The writing, is as I expected. It was provocative, intermittently uncomfortable and at all times entertaining. This writing, after all, is what I stayed in the City after a long day’s work to hear. Todd & Bob do not disappoint. They are worth foregoing that hour of whatever awaits you at home. Do see it next Wednesday, November 19th at 8:00pm at the People’s Improv Theater. It’s only $6 and so close to Penn Station that you’ll be home faster than a jackrabbit running from a twister.
**And they don’t read my website; so what’s the worry if some two-bit producer / PR guru loves their show but wants it to look purty?
Seriously, go see it.
I’m rousing myself out of my funk by filling up my dance card. I find I’m happier when I’m busier and certainly do a fine job of putting on a happy face when I’m around others. I’m seeing 42nd Street tonight for free, courtesy of the producer. Thank you, Ms. Producer!
Tomorrow, Christian and I will do some free tourist-y thing like the Cloisters perhaps or a museum. We will definitely see a free movie or two courtesy of his Loews movie pass. Thank you City of New York and Loews!
Saturday I’ll stay in Astoria and watch Christian perform right there in my very own neighborhood. And guess what? The show is free and my drinks will be, too! Thank you, Albatross!
Paquita has a date with a neutered terrier named Sam on Sunday. They’re going to the free Doggie Street Fair at Saks Fifth Avenue which I learned about in yesterday’s Liz Smith column. Since the proceeds benefit the ASPCA, I don’t feel too badly about shutting down a portion of 5th Avenue to browse doggy couture and sniff doggy butt. After the street fair, they’ll enjoy a long walk in Central Park and perhaps indulge in a little pigeon chasing and fruitless humping. I’d say that’s a nice first date, wouldn’t you? It’s all free, too. Thank you, Saks and the City of New York!
I’m taking all the money I would have spent on going out and buying myself a stick of gum and a peppermint from that deli.
Better Mood Through Cheap Living
Boy, it’s great to be home! We had a terrific last two days for several reasons: a light agenda,Christian got to headline the last show (Richard must be atoning for Yom Kippur), bonus spending money, free movie passes to see School of Rock (simply darling and genuinely amusing) and, most importantly, each other’s company. Gross, huh? Ah, what can I say for myself? It’s true.
At one point, we were gazing so cheesily into each other’s eyes, the Emcee for the weekend interrupted us by demanding, “Get a room!” The thing is, we weren’t groping or tonguing each other or anything else grotesquely physical; we were being intimate. Christian observed that intimacy is more uncomfortable for others than just flat out public grope sessions and that the Emcee should have said, “Get a candlelight dinner!” Which we did. We used the extra cash to treat ourselves to a deliciously private and tasty steak dinner last night, full of long gazes, teary toasts and, yes, even a kiss or eight or thirty.
We said goodbye to our free stay at the Strand this morning. I woke up feeling a little blue about having to leave but excited to see Paquita again and have places like Rite Aid and the liquor store all within spitting distance. On the way home, our cabbie was on time, our flight arrived in New York 15 minutes early and even though they required passengers to remain seated due to a medical emergency in the back, they let my and Christian’s row de-plane anyway so I had time to get Paquita to take her with me to the bank before it closed. I love New York and its efficiency at handling the flow of people. That inadequacy of Florida is what frustrated us for our first day or two there — we need a vacation!
— Now that I’m back in civilization, I’ve added photos to the past links.
Another terrific performance by Christian rounded out a day full of intense highs and lows. This place, West Palm Beach, is clearly not meant for tourists. There are no sidewalks, not a single drugstore and the cab service wouldn’t pick us up without knowing the exact name of the building we were at even though we told them we were at the beach and gave them an intersection and physical address of the nearest building. The worst part, though, is the exorbitant amount of construction. They are building anything and everything from scratch here. You know, because the natural landscape isn’t pretty enough.
We frolicked in the waves and I bronzed my skin while Christian turned a bright pink. Later at the Improv, I snapped a few photos of Christian on stage. When he viewed the results he remarked, “I look like I’m doing comedy on Mars.” The lights were red, his shirt was a burnt orange and his face matched them perfectly. The red planet was never this fun.
It wasn’t all frustrating and fruitless, though.The views are stunning, the sounds of the ocean are so calming and the shoes here are cheap! This library from where I type overlooks the Intercoastal and is surrounded by palm trees and fountains and bright cheery colors. It beats my local library by a long shot, unless you prefer piss smelling books, cramped spaces and tattered books that are outdated and useless. Well, I’d love to keep a travel log, but this isn’t very exciting and my bed awaits. Bye!
Well, after a pleasant and easy flight from LaGuardia on Delta Song, we arrived in sunny and warm Florida. There was much to do about nothing trying to get us into the proper condo, but we finally got settled in to our spacious two bedroom, two bath condominium complete with a dining room, huge kitchen, cable television and a balcony. We’re even high enough for me to push Christian off the edge if he gets out of line.
The place is great and so close to everything. We asked a guy where the nearest grocery store was, letting him know we didn’t have a car and he gave us directions saying, “But it’s pretty far.” We said our thanks and not to worry about the distance. Turns out, it was about as far as the R stop from my apartment door. Far? You call that far?
We ate lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, one of several chain restaurants we have to choose from, and I warned Christian to not order anything but an entree as their portions were obscenely large. He took my advice and we both ordered sandwiches. These things could feed a horse and horses don’t know when they’re full. We both finished just one half of our portions and got the rest to go. Who eats that much food? No wonder this country is a mess. We drive to the grocery store that’s around the corner after we’ve eaten about eight pounds of cheese and bread.
I brought my Pilates DVD so I wouldn’t get out of the routine and actually DID Pilates before going to Christian’s first of six shows at the Improv where he’s featuring for Richard Lewis and headlining on Saturday night. Knock on wood, I’ve never seen Christian eat it on stage and he didn’t fail last night. He kept the audience in a steady rolling laughter including a bit of sexual bantering with a 60-some-odd-year-old lady and some war of the words with a guy who was very excited to see Richard Lewis — who, in my opinion, wasn’t really trying very hard because the audience was pretty sparse for his standards. I guess when you’ve been doing comedy successfully for 34 years, performing for anything less than 300 people is a drag. But tonight should be a packed house, and I fully expect Christian to do well again and Richard to bring it tonight.
Okay enough comedy reviews, I’ve got free slushies to drink, a pool to lie near, and a boy who has called me “beautiful” about 58 times since we left New York. Hey, if this is what clean air does to his senses, I’m going on vacation with him as often as possible!
So I came up with clever idea to do a live reading of a relatively new and up and coming comedy magazine including multi-media visuals and such. The idea was so great, they’re going to do it! Yeah! Without me. Boo! Yep, they took my idea and ran with it. Literally. Now, forseeably, we (Tex in the City) could still do this live reading idea I came up with, but are we second best? I hardly think so. Just ask Governor Ann Richards.
We don’t hop on the bandwagon, we give it wheels.™
Then someone stole Jack’s Palm Pilot in its leather case by Coach right out of my bag. Why was it in my bag? Because Jack was loaning it to me till I bought a replacement for my broken one. So, now, I need TWO Palm Vx’s and a leather Coach case. Anyone looking to sell theirs?
Wow. There’s nothing like (a) seeing two acquaintances on stage accepting their second Emmy, (b) another two acquaintances giving birth to a new female human and (c) an old friend on a national television spot ALL IN ONE DAY to make me feel like (a) I have no goals, (b) no purpose and (c) no future. So, today I (a) made plans to drink and party for the entire weekend, (b) walked around in the cool air with a thin shirt and no jacket to validate my existence and (c) further guaranteed my job security by picking up Jack’s Viagra prescription and snagging two tickets to the Dave Matthews concert in Central Park for his kid. So much for goals, purpose and a future.
If You’re the Only One Laughing, You’re Probably Not Funny
Someone give Robin Williams a valium, please. Watching him chat with Joan Rivers had some very funny moments, but once you give him an inch of approval, he takes it a schtick too far. His most awkward quote was in reference to Gary Coleman. Robin screeched, “Honey, it’s the jockey at the door!” I’m sure he meant jockey as in diminutive horse rider and not the racist lawn decoration. Right? Right??! Eeeew. It was gross to watch. The crack had no point of reference. There it was wedged between a slam on Joan’s dress and a lame quip about the California Governor’s race. Ill-fitting and painful, just like his suit. He looks like a dazed priest.
So, there was a deaf British comic on Christian’s Portable Comedy lineup named Steve Day. His appearance is what prompted me to make a whole night out of Friday. I was fully prepared to applaud with my deaf jazz hands and “chat” the night away. Turns out he doesn’t even know sign language. He is 70% deaf since the age of 18 and hasn’t yet learned a single sign. Not one.
So I taught him how to say “fuck” and told him a story that made him laugh heartily. The kind of laugh that makes your eyes close, mouth open, and an embarrassingly loud bellow come from your belly. When I retold the story to a chick that walked up during his guffaw, she stared. Blinked. Smiled. Blinked. Hey, he got it, because he’s 70% deaf.
The story, which does not translate to the written word very well and is, therefore, shortened and dulled as follows:
A boy I consequently broke up with because he blinked too much — hard intense blinks with purpose and annoying frequency — once came to my place to pick me up for a date. My dad, rarely having the opportunity to be fatherly to a girl like me (fabulously and sometimes painfully independent), decided to greet my date and give me advice before I headed out to play video games and air hockey. He shook hands with said boy and glared menacingly before turning to me and signing stern advice which I ignore to this day.
His advice? “Don’t fuck.”
What I told the boy? “He said, “Nice to meet you.'”
And off on our merry way we went.
Last night’s Portable Comedy was quite possibly the best one ever. Jon Fisch stole the show. I’m going back in two weeks, so join me and Tex in the City on Friday, September 26th for another fun night of laughs and free vodka. Mention Tex in the City and get in for $5.00 rather than $7.00.
Christian and I trekked to the Boudoir Bar in Brooklyn for Larry Getlen’s comedy show, Brew-Ha-Ha. Christian’s set went well considering the audience was nearly comatose through the performers that preceded him, save for Joe DeVito and Ray Somethingorother who both reminded everyone it was okay to laugh.
So Christian performed some new material including a joke in which I was the source of humor. As soon as he mentioned “his girlfriend”, my breathing stopped. I was suddenly aware that too many people in the room knew that I was the girl in “his girlfriend”. I wanted to take back all the ridiculous white-man-overbite-dancing-naked-save-for-my-grass-skirt, breaking-bed-frame, taking-other-calls-during-phone-sex moments we’d ever shared. I found myself laughing more loudly than usual punctuated with nervous giggling until it was over and I was certain my reputation was intact: I like AC/DC and sex. Whew!
Okay, so maybe it is not I who is Very Important, but I was with a Premium Blend alumnus which allowed me V.I.P. access to Comedy Central’s taping of the next season of P.B. The host was D.L. (Peeeee) Hughley. (get it, peee-hughley?) A bad, bad choice in hosts. He speaks as though his cheeks are chubby on the inside. There’s just too much interfering with normal speech patterns. His set during the taping of the first episode was pretty good, but when it came to reading from the teleprompter to introduce a comic he fizzled. Bad host, bad, bad.
My only other complaint was the lull in between episodes. While we waited for the band and host to change clothes, the warm-up “comic” led us with a little game of playing matchmaker. A woman in the audience would stand up, Warm Up Comic would ask a few basic questions (name, age, etc.), would hint at making a joke but would fall short, and then solicit a man to volunteer to meet her after the show. It might as well have been a horse auction. “Look at this little filly right here, boy I’d like to ride her bare back! Going once, going twice . . . YES, YOU! Meet her after the show! All right, next single woman . . .”
It was all very misogynistic and did absolutely nothing to keep the audience engaged (which is, you know, the point) as it went on way too long after the novelty of it wore off. If that’s the route they wanted to go, they should have had a guy like Ron Poole who is aces at audience interaction. He could have turned that 20 minutes into a show in and of itself.
Luckily the stand-up talent rose above D.L. Hughley’s marbles-in-his-mouth speech impediment and the Warm Up Comic’s sh*ting on the audience energy. . . there really wasn’t a dud act to be found. More importantly, Julius Sharpe did well, much to my, Christian, Eric, Jay and Bob‘s delight. His was a job well done, and I recommend you set your TiVo now.
Catch Christian on Chappelle’s Show tonight on Comedy Central. It’s Mix Tape Vol. 2 which is a mix of the best sketches from the first season and Christian’s turn as Chadin “The Mad Real World” should be included as it was balls out funnier than anything I’ve ever seen.
He’s in Montreal this very moment pretending to be single on a show called “Dating It” during which he’ll go on a speed date with someone and then engage in some other crazy “antics” which, during the NY show last April, included him vigorously* making out with his date.
Meanwhile, I’m busy plucking random hairs by their roots in an effort to gain a sense of control. I hope he’ll still love me when I’m bald**, unless, of course, he elopes with his speed date in an effort to gain dual citizenship. Why wouldn’t he? I hear poutine is delicious.
*Word choice of Colette Hawley, extremely hilariousand chic host of Dating It.
** No, I don’t suffer from trichotillomania. It’s the poor girl’s Brazilian wax!
Post Walden Pond, Christian’s great set at the Regatta Bar in the Charles Hotel and many beers, buffalo wings and chicken fingers, we crashed our pretty little heads on the best fu*king bed and bedding ever created on earth. I tried to stuff the down comforter in my bag, but the lush towels and terry cloth robe were hogging up too much space. Who wants that nasty old comforter anyway? We already used it once; time to move on. So move on we did.
We hustled back down to Boston’s version of Chinatown (whatever…they have no raw meats and/or fish visible anywhere. Even here in Astoria, we hang out skinned goats and rabbits for the world to see. Chinatown, schminatown) and plunked down our $10 US Currency.
For four hours and thirty minutes, I was the girl in junior high I always wanted to be. I was seated in the back seat of the bus where all the cool people sit* with the most popular, cutest boy who could see only the good in me.
We made out for a few minutes then ate apple pie and Coke for breakfast. Then we napped for a while. Then we made out for a few minutes before we played a few rounds of the slapping game. Then I re-told Christian stories about how I once stole a girl’s purse and kissed a nasty old cab driver to save $1 on my cab fare. Then we made out some more. Then we made up stories about Fung Wah, a bus driver afflicted with anal polyps, and Willie Booker T. Washington, the world famous basketball player with no arms. Then we made out and almost had sex on the $10 Chinatown bus. By then we had reached the Bronx, and the bus was bouncing too much; so Christian chickened out, because he didn’t want to have a scandalous report in Page Six right before he goes to Montreal for the biggest annual festival in comedy. I tried to convince him that the only bad press is no press, but he didn’t buy it. So instead I flashed all the truckers with http://www.christianfinnegan.com/ written across my boobies. **
Five hours later, we found ourselves back in Astoria and I was all grown up again. I returned my boss’ voice mail to tell him the name of the restaurant he wanted was not called Chez Glue but rather la Gouloue, unpacked, French kissed my dog and met with my business partners about a very important book launching party that we are hosting. During the meeting, I had cappuccino and French fries for dinner.***
P.S. If you ever have a chance, be sure to check out the lovely Kelly MacFarland. She is one spunky, funny chick. She’d better get her ass to New York soon and bring all her fabulous wooden toys with her.****
*Rosa Parks excluded.
**This is a lie. It actually read: www.christianfinnegan.com/TowerofHubris.htm
***I said I was grown up. That was a lie, too.
****This is not a sexual reference. Wooden sex toys could be problematic, what, with all the splinters and all. Simply put, she is from Maine. They make wooden toys there.
Before the start of last night’s movie, they played a commercial for Cover Girl’s Outlast All-Day Lipcolor. The ad’s storyline followed that of “Cinderella”. Dressed in pink and wearing matching Pearl Shade lipcolor, Cinderella was envied by the other ball attendees, because even after ten hours and despite having kissed the bachelor of every girl’s desire, her lips still looked fabulous and flawlessly pink.
What a genius invention, but what does one (languid) kiss prove? I say for a genuine study fit for Consumer Reports, put that lipcolor on a porn star and let her go to town. The commercial might go something like this:
Cue funky, heavy beat background music.
Wide angle shot of a woman’s head bobbing up and down over the pelvic area of an insanely tanned male, her face obscured by strands of bleached blonde hair.
Man’s moans crescendo, then cut to close up of woman’s face looking up and smiling, a schmear of lipstick runs from her lips to her chin and cheeks. Cut to close up of man’s face. His facial expression changes from that of pleasure to disgust at the sight he sees.
Cue Voice Over: “Tired of embarrassing smudges and smears? Well, look no further. With CoverGirl’s Outlast All-Day Lipcolor your lipcolor can withstand the most demanding of dates.”
Return to same wide angle shot as before with the addition of a long line of men waiting their turn. After the man’s moans crescendo, close up of same blonde woman this time facing the camera. Her smile is big, her ruby red lipstick is perfect.
Cue Voice Over: “And the only thing out of place on your face won’t be your lipcolor. Easy Breezy CoverGirl!”
When a woman gets breast implants, her tits become novelty items. She takes them to parties and whips them out like they’re the Deluxe Edition of Yahtzee. As a partygoer you want to partake in the game playing by poking them and squeezing them and thumping them like melons at a fruit stand because they’re a new, weird version of an old toy.
But are they too much like Silly Putty? Oh sure, Silly Putty is fun at first, because, what the hell IS it really and just what do you DO with it? But then once you realize it’s just synthetic rubber, it loses it’s appeal and you’re left wondering what’s so great about it? Because, when you get down to it, there isn’t anything exciting about Silly Putty. After you’ve transferred a comic book image or two, stretched it and molded it, and slammed it with a hammer to see it retain it’s shape, well, there’s just no fun left. It’s just silicone and boric acid masquerading as a real toy, except real toys don’t require an FAQ’s page or anesthesia.
And despite the semi-transparent gold glitter dice, flocked dice tray, and leatherette dice cup, original Yahtzee is played by the same rules as the Deluxe Edition. The only thing different is how much you paid for the game.
My tub is miserably clogged and Liquid Plumber doesn’t do what it professes. I need to call my Super, but I’d rather shower in ankle deep stagnant water than come face to face with him. Why, oh why, dear God, did Stevie Wonder’s I Wish have to be so fun and funky?
So after last night’s dinner and show (one of the best dates EVER) we came back to Astoria for a beer at Gibney’s and dessert at my place. We were having such a great conversation, we completely missed Christian’s appearance as “Chad” in the “Mad Real World” episode of Chappelle’s Show. It wasn’t until the closing credits when Christian heard a familiar sound that we directed our attention to the television screen. Ah, well, they’ll air it again I’m sure. Meanwhile, read all about him here in Backstage’s “Spotlight On Comedy: Comedy Best Bets 2003 – 10 Standout Stand-Ups Worth Watching.”
So Bob and I covered many topics last night that will remain between us girls. However I will share with you the brilliant idea resulting from our discussion of Paquita’s exceptionally high libido and how I’m not that good at discouraging her –ahem– rubbing. (Hey, she doesn’t have much in life, let her have that.)
That’s where the idea of Puppy Love™ was born. Puppy Love™ is made of the latest state of the art latex and feels like real flesh. Puppy Love™ comes in three shapes to satisfy every breed’s most hidden desire: Forearm Fantasy*, Leggy Lust**, Crawling Carousal***. For the low, low price of $19.95 (SRP) your pet can hump to its hearts content in the:
— car; and, let’s not forget…
— the bedroom (cue Barry White “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Baby”)!
while you’re too busy:
— pooping and peeing;
— copulating; and,
— much, much more!
Simply mount Puppy Love™ using the handy adjustable straps (3 sets included****) and let your stud or bitch have his or her way. They’ll love you for it. Don’t leave your pet wanting more. Mount Puppy Love™ in every room.
*Bendable fingers for those special needs
**Specify male or female leg
***Specify infant or toddler size (recommended for dogs weighing more than 35 pounds for an additional $29.95)
****Extra straps $3.95 each.
Sorry, only available in the USA. Shipping and handling $4.95. Batteries not included.
Last night I scored a ticket to an open bar fundraiser for a gay and lesbian charity. Wall-to-wall men and not a one of them looking at me twice. No lesbians to flirt with either. I threatened to wear a strap-on and start randomly poking people for attention.
At the bar, I whipped out my handy little “magic wallet” which garnered from the bartender a gleeful “Wee, you have one of those weird little things!” To which I replied, “Yes, it’s called a ‘vagina’. Very strange and unique. You won’t see anything like it here.”
Scott required nourishment in the form of fast food and convinced me and Patrick to exit the subway at Times Square for some Mickey D’s. Apparently the 24-hour McDonald’s in Time Square is not open 24-hours at all and instead closes at the precise moment our hands touch the door handle. Suck.
Alan Greenspan is having prostate surgery today. Why is this news? Why not just say a “surgical procedure”? The only prostate I find myself daydreaming about (because that’s all I think of all day—a man’s prostate), isn’t on Wall Street. Frankly, I resent the media implanting the mental image of his engorged gland into my brain. There’s not a lot of room up there and I would rather not have it cluttered with nonsense like that. I need to save room for things like the coffin birth phenomenon, if I can eat that chicken in my fridge without getting food poisoning, and most importantly, who is the next contestant booted off Survivor!
Spring time is a time for renewal. It’s a reminder that the cycle of life never stops. Fresh blossoms and green life sprout all around me. The birds and the bees comingle to spread new life. And, believe it or not, I’m buying into it. I’m smitten. And, dare I say it? I think I’m in…LOVE! All I can think of is him. I want to lick him and taste his warm, salty skin. Mmm…so hot and tasty. And, his smell? Oh, his smell drives me mad and lingers long after he’s gone reminding me of our fleeting moment together.
Some people might say he’s no good for me, but I don’t care. I love him still. I might even love him because he’s bad for me. I don’t care about that either. I just know that I enjoy him and I don’t want to share him with anyone. He’s mine, all mine, and you can’t have any of him.
Who is he? Click here for the answer. Isn’t he delicious?
I haven’t had McDonald’s in at least 8 months. Today at lunch I went on a binge and, obviously, I don’t regret a single moment of it. Outrageously satisfying. I just might do it again some day.
The phones in our office are equipped with an interoffice buzzer system. This means one touch dialing will produce an ear piercing BEEEEEEE BOOOOOOO that demands immediate attention before it will BEEEEEEE BOOOOOOO at you again. Several of these demanding signals in a row are enough to drive a girl (me) mad. I am petitioning to have the BEEEEEEE BOOOOOOO changed with a less aggravating, more happy summons. Perhaps positive affirmations that rotate on a regular basis. For my phone, I will have:
– Have you lost weight?
– Damn you’re fine!
– You’re smart, talented, funny & sexy and dammit people like you!
and the obvious:
– You deserve a raise!
I think I’m onto something here.
My heart’s not big enough for these butterflies. They make me want to run and run till I can’t remember the reason I started running in the first place. Run so far that nobody knows who I am or from whence I came. Run so my heart bursts open and lets these butterflies free because they hurt. They hurt bad.
I was stuck underground between subway stops due to “heavy smoke” at Lexington Avenue. After an extremely long wait, I started getting nervous and wondered if I would be burned alive or die from smoke inhalation first. All I could think of was:
(1) Poor little Paquita and Larry Bird and Phish home alone for a few days before anyone noticed I was missing and broke into my apartment to save them and loot my things; and
(2) I have the most monumental pile of dirty laundry hidden in my closet that someone would find once the looting began.
I had a friend over the other night who went into my kitchen and said, “Hey, look, you’ve got a quarter on the floor,” then bent down and picked it up. My reply, “Yeah, it’s been there a coupla weeks.”
What’s wrong with me? Am I that lazy, really? Laundry sucks, but come on, I can’t pick a quarter up off the floor? Time to start training Paquita to learn a new trick called: “Take care of the lazy slob that occasionally feeds you.”
Funked up Facts
I learned a disturbing fact from the source of all great knowledge —why, the flip side of a Snapple lid, of course— and thought I’d share it with you:
Snapple’s “Real Fact” #137:
The City of Los Angeles has 3x more automobiles than people.
Get all the “Real Facts” at snapple.com
What the Hell? Those self-indulgent pricks! Something Christian might point out is that Real Fact is in quotes. Is the “Real Fact” not real at all? Perhaps the folks at Snapple are just toying with us East Coasters trying to get us to hate the West Coasters by leading us to believe that they are excessive, grandiose, spoiled snobs. I wonder what their Snapple lids say?
Snapple’s “Real Fact” #2003
New York is responsible for all earthquakes.
Get all the “Real Facts” at snapple.com
Walking home in the slushy, dirty water with wind and sleet beating against my face, I passed a shrub — it’s branches heavy with snow. From somewhere inside the bush, came the noisy chatter of some 20 birds. I pictured one certain lead ave getting a severe talking to by its flock:
“You dipsh*t! Had to big a big shot and wouldn’t stop to ask for directions. I bet we’re still in Canada! Or, worse, in Alaska! What about the weather report? I suppose you forgot to look at that before you had us fly 1,000 miles for what? For this?! THIS?? Wait till the Aviary hears about this! They’ll take your wings for sure…Idiot.”
Trenches in the Iraqi Desert. Soldiers in full fatigues with weapons drawn are crouching in an effort to avoid being detected by the enemy. Suddenly the digital sound of Hava Nagila breaks the silence and is followed by a soldier loudly whispering, “Hey, wassup? Actually, now’s a bad time. Can I call you back?” Crossfire ensues.
Lesson: Turn off your cell phone ringers, people, or you could get your head shot off. Fair warning.
This afternoon I met with a Broadway producer. I was reminded why I’m so glad to be out of banking and in the entertainment business when…
…he accidentally said Tex in the Titty and nobody blushed.
…vibrators and sex workshops were a legitimate part of discussions.
…he hugged me goodbye.
I never got that kind of return from stock options.
Saw my friend Mark Malkoff last night in his show “Ralph”. Ralph was pretty funny and only $5. Instead of Mark being nekkid, he was a teenager whose mother attempted to abort him fourteen times without success. Pretty sketchy humor (ba dum bump), but humor nonetheless.
Pre-show dinner was in the Village at a popular lesbian hangout called Rubyfruit, a typical Village restaurant with it’s low lighting and cozy eccentricity. The downstairs dining area is very romantic and the service was fantastic. Dinner was scrumptious (I recommend the baked brie as a starter) although there was lots of feta and olives. We live in Greek world and we came down to the Village for feta? Oh yeah, and lots of lesbians playing bingo in the upstairs bar. A few B-13s and O-66s later a “Bingo” was called. The emcee announced, “She’s coming, she’s coming…I hope!” Those wacky women, they sure know how to make a girl blush!