Tuesday, May 11, 2010

What A Day, Faye

Suddenly, my life seems more complete:

It's Chelsea bitches! Before going to her show on Friday night, I stood in a long line at a local bookstore and froze my ass off, since Kansas has apparently told spring to fuck off, to have my book signed by Miss Handler. Unfortunately we weren't allowed to take pictures with her...not enough time and too many damn people I guess. However, I did give her a bottle of "Most Wanted" vodka, which is made in Kansas with a card that said:

Get shitfaced on some Kansas vodka courtesy of your biggest fan in KC.
Cheers fuckface,
(blog address)

Pretty tricky. I set it on the table and said I had a little something' somethin' for her, she looked up and said, "thanks, girl!" Then the douchey security guard snatched it up. I'm all, "That's not for you, you little turd! That's Chelsea's, goddammit!" He wasn't amused...at least he wouldn't have been if I would have said that out loud.

While in line I of course made a little friend because everywhere I go, there they are: The chicks who wear lots of make up and feel the need to tell me inappropriate things about their personal life in great detail. Apparently you can take the girl out of journalism, but you can't take the journalism out of the girl. However, apparently I don't even have to try anymore. I've surely developed some sort of tell-me-everything-even-if-I-don't-care aura.

So, when we realized one of the comedians on Chelsea Lately, Chris Franjola, was outside hanging out after the signing, we switched cameras so we could each get a pic with him. I was first, and I walked up, handed him the book and said, "uhhh, I'm a writer too," like fucking Butthead off Beavis and Butthead. I'm awesome. DEERRRRRRRR. DER. DER.

Of course, that's not the best part of this encounter. The lovely photography done by Miss Shares-A-Lot was absolutely outstanding.

Here's Chris Franjola....and my eyes.

What the hell?! Me...and Chris Franjola's mouth.

Seriously lady? What the fuck is this?

I'm not sure how difficult it is to make sure both of the heads are fully in the GIANT viewing window, then click the button. Did she suddenly turn into her 90-year-old grandmother? You know, not the senile one, but the one who is notorious for only taking pictures of people's boobs?

Anyway, later that night, Kate and I headed to Starlight Theater, an outdoor theater...did I mention it was freezing? I was sitting there shivering in a winter coat on May 7th. Total bullshit.

Franjola was good, but Chelsea nearly made me piss my pants. Here's a few of the things I remember most:

Chelsea on the anal bleaching trend:

"I'll never bleach my asshole. I might stick a Crest Whitestrip on it, but I'm never doing anal bleaching."

"People are like, 'oh, you talk about drinking.' And, I'm like, 'yeah, I do because it fucking fun! Get involved!'"

She also told a story about how she tricked her boyfriend into thinking he had shit the bed by smearing a piece of chocolate cake in the bed while he was in the bathroom. The story itself was fucking crazy, but her delivery of these stories was just priceless. The motions, the noises, the comments...the fact that she still cracks up thinking about the story and has to hold her crotch on stage to keep from peeing her pants...I believe at one point in the story she said, "A fucking giraffe had to have come by for this to happen," referring to the monstrous smear of "shit" in the bed. Kate and I were sitting there crying and snorting uncontrollably.

Seriously though, once you shit the bed, there's no coming back.

While I've only heard of one story about an adult actually shitting the bed, this story made me think of the epidemic known as pissing the bed that hit my generation in college. I can't even count how many piss the bed stories I've heard, which usually involve a collegiate woman going to bed with a so-called grown man...grown shitcanned wasted man...then waking up in a large pool of said man's urine while the dumbshit dude snores away unaware that they had just given their shacker an extremely unwanted golden shower.

Really? Who the fuck pees the bed past the age of eight? This has never happened to me — the pisser nor the pissee — however I did wake up once to find that my drunk boyfriend at the time had gotten out of bed to piss on the wall in the hallway. At least it wasn't in my closet, like the problem one of my other friends had with her boyfriend.

The combination of the shit and piss the bed stories and Chelsea's special words she uses for shit (shadoobie) and vagina (coslopus) also makes me think of this woman who sends e-mails to The Bloggess on a fairly regular basis and The Bloggess takes the liberty of posting them on her blog. The shit The Bloggess says often makes me laugh so hard that I cry and pee a little, but these e-mails are so completely fucked up that it make me go, "I'll have what she's having," as in the copious amounts of drugs this woman must take to produce these masterpieces. The e-mails are almost always riddled with the phrases "jesus christ in a rowboat!" and "Shit the bed, Fred!" Which I find irresistibly charming. Perhaps even more so than shadoobie and coslopus.

I feel that when we are sprinkled with such lovely words and phrases, we should adopt them as our own, then use them freely and often because jesus christ in a rowboat, how often do you come across a phrase that is so perfect to use at the opportune moment during such an epidemic. You wake up next to a giraffe-sized schmear of shadoobie and screech, "well, shit the bed, Fred!" Seriously though, you just shit the bed, Fred. Get the hell out of my house.

Also a crowning moment on Friday? I found out that I got into the Master of Marketing and Master of Business Administration program at the University of Colorado-Denver. I opened the e-mail, let out a bloodcurdling scream, then started crying, then called my Mom, who tried to be happy for me, but is actually sad that I'm officially moving in a few short months — moving away from the place I've called home since I was 16-months-old. It's going to be a huge adjustment and I have a shitload of planning to do...and also a little waiting since I still need to hear back from a school in Chicago before I make my final decision. I'm pretty much pissing and shitting my pants on all accounts...though still not doing either in the bed.

Wow...What a day, Faye. What a day.


nova said...

Wahoo! Congratulations

Megs said...

Dude. So jealous. Congrats to you.

Also - at least its not like my friend's husband who gets up in the middle of the night (still) and pees...where ever. Apparently, he has peed in the closet, he has peed on various walls, he's peed in the kitchen. Who knew we needed to be screening men for levels of housebrokenness?


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