What I Do Miss About the Holidays

Just about everything.

And this:

I was only in Los Angeles for the night. I dropped my suitcase at home, drove to Hollywood and rocked it with my fake rock band until the wee hours. Dana closed out the night as only she can. Props to Josh, Sarah, Scott, Allison and Buster for the background.

What I Don’t Miss About the Holidays

These people, who was I trapped between for a flight from Burbank to New York.

See, she needed the aisle because she constantly had to pee. That’s what she told me when I sat down. He needed the window because he wanted to take pictures. That’s what I figured out when he couldn’t stop taking pictures of the wing. What they failed to mention was that they were going to yell at each other the entire flight. Here, they argue over an incredibly fragrant breakfast burrito.

My Only New Year’s Drunk Dial Was From My Soberest Friend.

Normally, Dave Cole does not drink. In fact, until the last few hours of 2008, I believe he’d never touched a drop. The Power of Anna Beth worked again (see: everything anybody has ever done that wasn’t their idea and might not have been the best idea but made everyone else happy), so at her suggestion, Dave and Tara decided to split a bottle of champagne for their New Year’s Podcast.

But before the podcast, there was Dave’s drunk post, which let us know we were in for some fun:

Tara just said that people are facebooking my drunk dials. They don’t know the historical signifcance of what just happened. It was the interrsection of awesome and me and drinking. One day Pamie will be sad she wasn’t around to take the call. Pamie was probably out making a skirt. Read more

So what had happened was–

It’s a couple days before Christmas, I’m at Grand Central Station, and there’s some time before the train to Connecticut. Not a lot of time, but some time. Enough to grab a drink.

There’d been some drinking the night before, so I didn’t want another glass of wine. I just wanted something to sip while I waited, so I ordered a Scotch. Glenlivet, with one ice cube.

This is what came to the table:

“No, excuse me, I wanted it with just one ice cube,” I said. “Or neat. There’s water in this, right?”

“No, ma’am. That’s all Scotch.”

“Why? Are you trying to kill me?”

It’s got to be $40 worth of Scotch that they gave me for $12. I’ve thought about it for a while, and I can’t figure out which one is the answer.

1. The bartender was crazy-impressed with my order, and went balls-out on the pour. (This happens sometimes, apparently a woman ordering Scotch sends some bartenders over the edge. A few months ago when I ordered, the bartender turned to my friend and said, “You need to marry this woman.” Yes, because she doesn’t mind getting drunk before her meal.)

2. The bartender assumed anyone ordering Scotch at that hour was on her way to an extremely trying Christmas vacation, and was trying to say, “Lady, I get it.”

3. The bartender assumed the Scotch was for the gentleman next to me. When the waiter arrived, he placed the wrong drink in front of me. “Champagne for the lady?” he said, with a flourish. Nope. Champagne for the gentleman. It was one of those moments where I’m hoping it comes off all cool, but inside I’m mortified that it looks like I have an actual drinking problem.

Whatever the bartender had in mind by pouring half a bottle of Scotch into a glass, I mostly felt bad that I barely put a dent in it by the time I had to leave for the train. Not that I didn’t give it my best shot.

It was one of my better Christmas presents this year.

Keeping Up Tradition

Same place, same day, new year, new terminal. Thankful for the things that stay the same, grateful for the things that are new.

Hmm. I did have a picture taken from last year’s Jet Blue post-Xmas flight, but now I remember I never got to post it, as a woman sitting at the table next to me struck up a conversation and we ended up eating lunch together, swapping stories of love and romance. One thing I’ve definitely inherited from my mother is whatever it is that causes strangers to want to intensely bond for about an hour and then disappear forever.

Happy holidays, everybody. Hope your days are filled with love.

Cat on the Prowl: Pamela Ribon

Cat Davis had me on her show. She made me cook for her, dress her, repeatedly defend my sexual identity, and perform my unrehearsed Cat Davis impression while sleeveless in harsh sunlight. She made me laugh so hard I got all teary and so there’s something in my eye for the first half of the episode.

Come share half an hour with the two Vageniuses. What better way to spend those last few minutes you’re stuck in the office?

This Turkey Day Eve, Cat is super thankful to be on the prowl with writer/comedian (and Cat Davis doppleganger) Pamela Ribon (Samantha Who?). It’s holiday heartbreak time when Kevyn cheats on Cat, and Pamie breaks the news that Cat has no chance with a certain Samantha Who? actress (whose name rhymes with “Mean Heart”).

Thank goodness for holiday comfort food! Pam shares her favorite Thanksgiving recipe, and Cat drowns her sorrows in pumpkin pudding. It turns out to be a happy holiday after all when Cat all but succeeds in taking the “Honor” out of straight Pam’s “Honorary Lesbian” status.

I had the video embedded, but the margins cut off the right side of the frame. So instead, go here to watch.

(I’m doing a parody of Cat’s opening from this episode.)

(More of Cat on the Prowl right here.)

i got burned

so i’m typing really slowly

Ow.  Ow.  Ow.

I am covered in sunburn.  That’s what happens when you try and fit a whole summer in a weekend.  It was a great weekend.  I had a lot of fun.  But today I’m covered in Aloe, and keep a bottle of aloe/lidocane next to my arm because my shoulders and chest keep screaming whenever I lean over to pick something up.

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