Holy Cats! It's fucking raining like a mofo tonight. Just came back from inhaling more food in onbe sitting than I eat in a week. Sara & I went to Two Boots Pizza and I had a piece of The Night Tripper (which I always accidentally call the Night Stalker, and that is because I am obesessed with serial killers because I think I'm going to be killed by one someday so I like to keep abreast of them) and a Mug Root Beer. Then we walked in the shitty weather up to St. Mark's where I scarfed down a Temptee Dog from Crif Dog- deep fried hot dog, bacon wrapped, schmear of Temptee Cream Cheese. I washed it all down with RC Cola. WHAT. I didn't eat at all yesterday- I think I had some cantaloupe at noon and one mini cupcake at Chicks & Giggles- and then today I ate 2 crackers with cream cheese and a single piece of chile-spiced mango slice. Real, real healthy gal. That's me. After all this, in which I coerced Sara to take baby bird bites so I'd not be alone in my odd binge, we tried to brave the torrential rain storm. We made it half a block, were soaked thru the tube tops, kept shreiking like loons, and managed to hail a cab. It would have been romantic had one of us been a dude.
Potential necking partners, take note: I have a real thing about making out in the rain, and it never seems to happen. The last time I stood in the rain with a member of the opposite sex, it was with someone who I was no longer involved with and with whom I was trying to forge a very fragile friendship. We were both really, really drunk, he blindingly so. He had just puked on the street, told me he couldn't help that he "liked what he liked" (this, I realized later, was guy code for "I want to have sex with you but I don't want to be your boyfriend") and then tried drunkenly to kiss me. I believe he also said, "Isn't this romantic, standing here in the rain screaming at each other?" Yes, standing a foot from a puddle of cheap Chardonnay & Maker's shots puke being screamed at for making you have a boner still is my idea of romantic. It's funny in hindsight. Wait. No, no it's not. The point of all this? My damp make out wishes are doomed.
Porter told me about this lady, who is the real life person that Jerri Blank is based on. AWESOME.
After viewing that clip, I'd like add to the unflattering parade, so here are pics of me at Chicks & Giggles last nite (which BTW was an amazing show full of really funny ladeeez), playing a very naughty restaurant trainer (also based on a real person I once encountered):
And here's me with the fab Carla Rhodes, with whom I may have been seperated at birth:
Here is my awesome cat, Nigel, be-decked & be-ribboned:
Here is a picture of Jenny and Shawn at MAX! tonight, delivering a PSA on the Dangers of Date Rape (hint-it involves ugly triplets):
And lastly, here's Sara and I at MAX! tonight, making friends for the world to see like Elton John:
My top and our suspicious body language may lead you to believe we are Jazzercizing it up, perchance to "Let's Get Physical" by Olivia Newton-John. No. Just two whores, about to get into fisticuffs over a remote controlled fart machine. I'm sorry, I mean, over our MATCHING remote controlled fart machines.