Kathy Griffin 2009

Tonight marks my second time seeing Kathy Griffin live. Sure, some people argue that she comes down to hard on celebs and just feeds into rumors, but either way, that bitch is HIL-to the-ARIOUS!

Her targets this time:

Octomom
The Real Housewives of OC and NY
Jessica Simpson and her weight (she thinks she's fat)
Miley
"The Jonas Sisters" (amazing)
Seacrest (nothing new there)
Cher & Bette (only good things)
Her mom
Tom, her tour manager
The Schmemmys
The Grammys
Sarah Palin

And so many more I can't even think. I was laughing out loud 75 percent of the time and I slapped my knee (but not as much as when I saw Flight of the Conchords at Comix back in 2006).

Anyway, if you have an inner gay man living inside of you (like I do) you should definitely try to get tickets to one of her shows. She will offend and you will laugh, I promise.

We need Patches O'Houlihan

Dodgeball Game #1 Recap:

Last night marked game 1 of my dodgeball season this fall. I joined the team to be social ("demented and sad but sort of social") and to have fun with my friends. Apparently the teams we drew in the first round were in it for different reasons. Scary reasons.

Let me describe:

Team 1:

Name: The Hotness

Uniform: They brought their own tie-died t-shirts with nicknames on the back that included but are not limited to: The Rock, Johnny Boy, Clutch and "The Shocker" (he literally had the phrase "one in the stink" printed on his back.) Oh yea, and The Rock wore wrestling shoes and a headband.

Description: This collection of B&T guidos on came to kick ass and get rid of their roid rage while their skinny minnie girlfriends hung in the back. They not only aimed for girls more than boys, they aimed for girls in the head. One of them literally yelled "PUT HIM IN A BODY BAG JOHNNY" as if our "friendly" game was equivalent to the final battle in The Karate Kid.

Ralph Macchio I am not. Damn you Kobra Kai.

Team 2:

Name: ZS4 (ZS=Zog Sports, the peole that created the league)

Uniform: Purple zog sports t-shirt

Description: A collection of obvious dorks who didn't have enough friends to form a team of their own. One scary player, which someone dubbed the Tsunami, would wail the ball at girls with no shame. He would hide in the corner and just peg people. Then there was scary red head who I think misplaced her crazy pills before she showed up. The two combined looked like this:

Team 3: Us

Uniform: Sage Green T-shirts (could we get a weaker color?)

Description: A collection of former athletes who in the past 7 years have well, let's just say we aren't really "athletes" any more (with the exception of one or two).

We need to work out like these kids.

So yea, when only 8 of our 12 showed up I realized I would have to play. Play against the scary guidos. My strategy was to hide in a corner (which I got yelled at for). That didn't work.

So then I actively tried to throw caution to the wind, disregard everything I have ever known to be true and try to get some of these people out. And again, I proved to myself that I throw like a 4 year-old. No aim, no rhyme or reason and ever so softly. Every time I th
rew, I was out.

My teammates stayed strong, and one back injusry and 8 sore bodies later, we ended the night 1-2-1, not too bad considering we faced a Rock and a Tsunami.

We play again on 10/11 (we have a week off). Hoepfully, I won't have sit an entire day with a heating pad on my back after that one. And worse comes to worse, we will no doubt get the best drinking team award. Nothing helps a bad back like a big glass of cider.

I got rescued at The Drift and all I got was a Miller Light tank top

When I was a little girl, my mom would take me and my sister's to a friend's house in East Hampton. She also took her boss. Who happened to be a nun. I loved it because they had a pool and that's all I needed to be happy. As I got older, I stopped going on the trips because I was either working, or didn't want to go hang out with my mom and a nun. Why would I when instead, I would have parties at my house and smoke cigarettes freely on the porch?

My mom stopped asking me to join her when I went to college. Now I beg her to take me. Why? Because it's like Zoolander, only rediculously fun-looking.

This past weekend, as promised, DM invited me to her share house. We met at Penn Station (which I think is my version of what hell would be like, literally, people do not understand personal space in thhat joint). We hopped on the Long Island railroad (which is quite nice once you get on the actual train) and two hours later, I was on my way to drunken fun.

Just two hours east of Manhatty lies to land of beer, boys and sick dance parties.

Here is what happened in my typical bulleted list style which means I am being full on lazt because I am tried from work and want to watch the Hell's Kitchen finale:

Friday:

Many Beers + Shots (I think there may have been more than one) + Dance Party to Journey's Don't Stop Believing+Winning a free tank top in a beer taste test+making out with a youngin (yes, more cougar action!)+one innaproproate but HYSTERICAL joke+DM making out with a boy who looked foreign+taking and advil and some other brown pill before bed = a kick ass night with minimal hangover.

Saturday:

Perfect beach day with funny stories and beers on the beach. And I hate the beach. It was really close to the weather on what I call "THE BEST DAY EVER" but that's a story for another time.

Saturday night:

I was made friends with the 007

I got to hang out with fun people

I finally "got rescued"

I learned what Drift foot is

And that's all I can remember. I do have 97 pictures from the weekend, all photographic evidence of the following things:

1. I have sick dance moves.

2. My friends like the big pink pole.

3. We like to get drunk and dance. And when I say dance, I mean like full on Napolean Dynamite, Flashdance, with your heart and soul dancing. It's. awesome.

Are these sick moves? Indeed.

So thank you DM for a very necessary break from reality. And I'm so in for a share next summer. Better work on some new moves for next year.

Don't call it a come back...

Ahh Saratoga Springs, New York. The wonderful land of quaint small town shops and bars, beautiful parks around a famous race track. And now home to one of my most embarrasing moments.

Some people bring home souveneirs, I bring home shame.

I headed up to Saratoga on Friday after work. Amtrak did it's job, getting me there in under 4 hours, and I even got a seat (it seems that AMtrak--like Greyhound--like to overbook, more on that later) next to some local Saratoga folks who gave me the inside skinny on the local hot spots and a lecture about the gentrification of the town (OH MY GOD--STARBUCKS!).

Best Dressed's Saratoga home was adorable and a great place for me to spruce up to hit up the local bars. Who knew that SS, NY had such a booming night life? Streets closed off, crowds of people in the road, a million bars, bands playing on small stages--I haven't seen anything this sick since my Austin, TX trip back in '03. Needless to say, beers were consumed by Little and myself but I kept it under control. I was fully aware that we had a long day ahead of us the following day as we had to be up at 9 am to go to the race track.

When we woke up the following morning, I felt groggy and had a headache but it wasn't anything a shower, tylenol and a morning mimosa couldn't fix--or so I thought. We showed up at the track and were shown to our tent. Best Dressed's dad had hooked us up with table in the owner's tent. It had a huge buffet, waitress service and we were right on the rails. It was amazing--except for the heat. I started sweating (and I didn't even wear a hat!) profusely but thought nothing of it since everyone else was drenched too. When our first orders of mimosas showed I took one look at them and started to feel ill. The kind of ill you feel after a long night of drinking when you are about to have a projectile puke. Gross. Luckily, we had also ordered water and I grabbed an ice cold Dasani out of the bucket and took a few sips. No help there. At. all.

I totallyw alked out of a conversation with the college crowd and stood in front of an industrial fan. You would think it would help. But blowing 95 degree hot air at industrial force only made me sweat more. And then feel like my legs couldn't stand.

So I sat. And then I closed my eyes. And then I put my head down.

The next thing I knew, Little and a Best Dressed's dad were dousing me with water soaked cloth napkins and ice. I was forced to drink small sips of water and crunch on ice chips. Then. it. happened. I heard the fateful words:

"I NEED A MEDIC!"

Tengo sed.

And did the medics come. I heard about 5 showed up, asking me invasive questions (They kept asking me if I was preggers in front of ALL of my friends and I wasn't even wearing an empire waist dress!). I was in and out for the next few minutes and I couldn't really tell what was going on around me because I couldn't open my eyes.

Then came the wheel chair. Yes, an effing wheel chair. That I had to be picked up and put in. I was wheeled out of the fancy pants tent, and I can only imagine what everyone was thinking ("Did she drink too much?" - No, the frigging races haven't even started yet. "Is she pregnant?" - No, totally impossible...trust me, it's been a bit of a dry spell).

Oh but it gets better. Outside of the tent, the medics proceeded to place an oxygyn mask on my face and take my pulse and blood pressure. Little's good friend LT followed me in the chair, a nice gesture so Little wouldn't miss any of the races (and a picture in the winner's circle and all this fun stuff that happened when I was melting).

I was wheeled across the entire grounds to the medic station. As soon as I felt the air conditioning I started to feel a lot better. A doctor grilled me ("Are you pregnant?") and a nice nurse brought me some Lemon/Lime Gatorade. I was quicly on the road to recover with a wet cloth and ice pack on my head. LT and I started laughing, only because it was sort of funny...I mean really, who gets an oxygyn mask. The saddest part, once I started feeling better and it was decided I didn't need an IV, we were the most concerned on whether I could drink or not or if I would make it out that night.

When I made it back to the tent I was greeted with applause. I was the comback kid--a wise one who stuck to water for the remainder of the races.

BUT--

Once the sun went down, I started proclaiming that we all had to "PUMP IT UP!" since we were all exhausted. After dinner, I thought a celebratory beer would be appropriate. And indeed it was. The boozy floozy was back. And while most of the party pooped out by 12:30, Jonesy was in the last cab home still proclaiming that we needed to "PUMP IT UP!"

Pump it up, You've got ot pump it up.

I had a great time (minus the almost passing out and extreme public embarassment). I learned to bet on the ponies, I learned all about Saratoga Springs history (thanks train friends!) and I learned to always chug a few glasses of water after a long night of drinking.

And most of all I learned that a good rally from a short, pale Irish girl in a dress is definitley impressive.