Thursday, September 17, 2009

PRIDE Begins At Home

This week, Laurie and Teri, two card-carrying members of the Hagosphere, joined me on a sojurn to the Legion Bar in Williamsburg to attend my dear pal Out About Brooklyn's benefit screening of "Small Town Gay Bar" for The Brooklyn Community Pride Center. Having attended a hilarious reading of Prospect Park West by the ever-so haglicious authoress Amy Sohn en route, we were a bit tardy. But once fueled up with a couple stealth GG dirties, we made our presence known and had a thoroughly enjoyable time.

Sadly, Brooklyn is the only borough in NYC minus an LGBT center, despite the robust gayborhoods of Park Slope, downtown and HS HQ, right here in the CG. So check out their site and do whatcha can to show the sweeties some love, 'mmmmkay?

LiLo IS So-Low

Photo: DListed

Surprise, surprise. Desk LA reports that Lindsey Lohan attended a meeting at a cable network, but refused to shake the hand of the assistant charged with greeting her, snarling, "I don't do that," or some shiteous stank to that effect.

Someone needs to remind her she's not exactly first in line for a meet and greet at the oval office. Her oval orifice, maybe. If girlfriend wants to resurrect her Afterschool Special of a career, she better learn to do a better job of shaking babies and kissing hands, and right quick. We all know that the people you meet instead of going down, might be on their way up someday.

TV for the TiVo Impaired

Gossip Girl

Photo: CW promo

Honestly, I don't know how it happened. I was an innocent bystander, mocking these pretty hopheads with each page-turn of an US magazine. But one evening, whist I waited for something better to come on, I flipped onto this stupidity. And in a flash...I was gone.

What captivates me, you may ask? I ask myself the same. Blake Lively's leggy blondeness and throaty laugh? Ed Westwick's propensity for houndstooth? Leighton Meester's saucy little minx-ness? Chace Crawford's adorable lil' gayface? Jessica Szohr's obvious extensions? The clothes? The dialogue?

Let's be clear - Bonfire of the Vanities, this is not. But I swear it's as if they've offered me a bump. Who wouldn't want to indulge in a vapid fantasy world of being young, gorgeous, loaded and loaded in rich man's NYC?

There ain't no paps hanging 'round my bush, so to speak. It's kind of fun to see how the other half lives.

But I don't get that low-budge Courtney Love one. She's what represents punk rebellion? Skunk, more like. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But it feels so very soft core and poseur without the requisite cutting, barbiturates and strap-ons. Flash some pierced clit, then we'll talk.

I don't often say I told you so, but please review this three and a half year-old post about how I fell in love with this bitch before all y'all. Back when it was called "The Chelsea Handler Show." 'Member?

Now that she's scored an interview with Jennifer Aniston (one of the lamest & tamest I've ever witnessed, but I'm sure that was part of the agreement), watch for the guests to escalate to A-List and tix to be harder than early am boy bladder to come by. Work it out, Soul Sister!

As always, you are completely fierce, but my only objection is to one of your hair people. There are nights it looks great but what was up with the bushy-tail last night? Do you know you've got some bouf action on top of your head that makes you look like Meredith Viera's burnout kid sister? Your amazing spirit is clearly not one of a 50 year old Today show co-host. Fuck the blowdryer and hairspray and go edgy shag, already.

You're welcome.

And if you readers so happen to make her acquaintance, do me a solid and inform her that this wacky bitch longs to be plucked from obscurity to assume her rightful position on her round table. Hey, I'm flexible enough to bend over. We all know my guns are big enough to help hold her drunk ass up. My boobs are longer than Heather's. And, I'm just the right size to keep Chuy company.

Whatever You Do, "Keep Fucking That Chicken!"

I take great joy in watching stoic newscasters let loose and cuss. In crediting his weather man for keeping rain at bay, Ernie Anastos hereby gives us a great for-instance. I guess we now know who bogarted the flask that night. The look on his co-anchor's face is PRICELESS. I'm shocked he had nothing colorful to add during her boobie-boinging aerobic segment.

That's it for now, bitches!

Love & Rockets,

© 2009 All rights reserved. Or Kiss. My. Ass.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Chelsea's hair is wack.