Yes. It's true. We were in the presence of the divine one herself.
Kathy Griffin....live...at one of the most obnoxious venues in New York City.
But let's go back to earlier that evening to set the stage and give you the WHOLE experience...
Okay - Peter and his bf Eric sweetly gave us the tickets for Christmas, so we've been
jonesing for this night for an entire month.
So this past
Saturday, we hopped on the glamorous and sparkling clean Metro North Railroad (NOT - I mean there was something dark and mysterious running down the damned door between cars -
ewww) at Beacon, we merrily made our way into the city - fortified by the strangely yummy hot chocolate and vanilla
cappuccino sold by the elderly man in the
ticky-tacky shop on the platform.
And aside from the occasional unwashed passenger taking a seat behind us, the ride was largely uneventful.
We emerged at Grand Central Station - in all the glorious hustle bustle of its classic New York City Grand
Central-ness. (it's all I can do to keep from twirling
ala Mary Tyler Moore in the grand atrium some days, throwing my knit cap in the air and declaring that I will, some how, some day, make it after all - it may yet happen...).
Okay - we'll pause here for those of you who wish to let that huge, in-your-face cream pie of GAY that just hit them dribble off and fall to the floor....
Anyway...
It was a lovely, chilly January evening - we meandered through Times Square in search of a restaurant that, to our chagrin, we found no longer existed. Then pressed on down 7
th Avenue to our fall-back choice which, as it turns out, should have been the first choice all along.
We dined at
Seven - just steps away from Madison Square Garden and the show. I can't begin to tell you just how much we enjoyed it. The food was unbelievably good - I had bacon wrapped
monkfish, preceded by sweet onion risotto, and followed by
tiramisu,
Sambuca and coffee.
Dessert, as is turned out, may have been the funniest thing we encountered all evening - or at least the most memorable. I mean, Kathy Griffin is funny, but over the course of dessert and coffee, Brian, Peter and I dubbed Eric with the drag name of
Sambuca Liqueur. And while the hilarity largely centered around how
Sambuca might appear, whether or not a fruit hat might be involved, and if Eric's dog Lupe (a small black chihuahua) might accompany him in a fluorescent baby wig - the most hysterical part was (and continues to be) Eric's disgust with the whole idea.
And oh yes,
Sambuca will be in charge of the smoothie kiosk in Peter's new eatery. With her dog. In a baby-wig.
You probably had to be there....sigh. But we're still laughing.
And my poor Midwestern mother is still recovering from the fact that you can possibly pay $100 per person for diner - anywhere. Poor woman required smelling salts after hearing that.
After dinner - and still laughing - we stumbled over to Washington Mutual (or
WaMu) Theater at Madison Square Garden.
And oh my - the gayness level around MSG that night was OFF the charts. Normally, MSG is surrounded by Rangers fan with painted faces, beer bellies and team hats whooping it up and funking up the area with their beer breath.
Tonight, however - the cologne alert level was at medium-high risk (meaning that small children, the elderly and religious conservatives might experience difficulty in breathing after prolonged exposure) and what Peter and I call " the gay white noise" was almost deafening.
The gay white noise can best be described as that "buzz" that seems to permeate a room when someone famous walks in - or when high school girls suddenly huddle to whisper and dish about someone close by.
I heard the white noise behind me as we were ascending the steps to the front doors. And as I turned to see what had prompted it, I was nearly cut-off by Queer Eye guy Carson
Kressley and what appeared to be a smaller, female Carson mini-me. I briefly made eye contact with Carson, but he apparently deemed me inconsequential and he and his identically dressed, tight jean wearing, fur-collared, high-heeled boots wearing minion continued on their way.
Unfortunately, as I was looking at Carson and mini-Carson, ANOTHER couple apparently cut off Brian on the OTHER side... and when Brian said, "well - they may have cut in front of us, but at least we're not ill-mannered or badly dressed," - I think Carson and mini-Carson may have glared at me. Just a little.
SO - we found our seats and prepared to sweat through another two hours of
WaMu Theater entertainment. Yes - I said sweat. Apparently the
WaMu theater doubles as a Native American sweat lodge during non-show hours.
This is the second time we've been there this winter - and on our
previous WaMu adventure to see the Cirque
du Soleil production '
Wintuk', Linda actually stripped down to her camisole, it was so hot - and she is the LAST person to EVER be warm in our group. Linda gets cold in the summer.
But despite the heat and the discomfort of sweating through layers of clothing while it's 20 degrees outside - and sitting in seats that make airline economy class look downright luxurious - the show was fantastic.
Kathy was fabulous. She had all new material and had us screaming with laughter. From sharing a bed with Liza Minnelli in a Canadian casino to
her new relationship with Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak to Brittany to Oprah (best line of the evening - while discussing Oprah's 100
Osmonds show and wondering how racially diverse Utah might actually be - she mimicked one of the Osmond great
grandkids saying of Oprah ..."it talks...")
It was a great show and a great evening - Kathy filled two hours, which was wonderfully unexpected.
And of course, we giggled and hooted back across town and all the way home - about Kathy and the show but - truth be told - we found
Sambuca Liqueur and her smoothies to be even funnier fare for the trip.
The hilarity carried over to the next morning when Peter joined us for brunch at
Oriole 9 in Woodstock. We were still laughing so hard that the waitress AND the manager both asked us to stay as long as possible to set a good example for other diners.
And our waitress didn't even run away when we asked her for her opinions on baby-wigs. She just refilled our wine and encouraged us to continue.
Damn - I love being us.
