Kiss & Fly

Susan somehow convinced me to drag my ass out to Kiss & Fly to see a bizarre live taping of the "Judith Regan Show." I went not only to prove that I can still lurk around at hip clubs at my age, but also because I wanted to meet the legendary Judith Regan, who used to work for the publishing company I work for. One of my colleagues has saved a voicemail from Judith in which she starts off all nicey-nice, but then begins screaming at him so loudly that, years later, the sheer terror she must have inspired is still palpable. Because I had a crazy mother, I find crazy ladies really fascinating, and I go out of my way to befriend and mollify them. But I was unable to get close to Judith at Kiss & Fly, however - that dirty old Dennis Hof from HBO's "Cathouse" was in my way. :(



Susan and I were watching Vicki when Susan muttered to me, "Look at Vicki. What is she going for here - winter, spring, summer, or fall?" I cracked up, because I love catty fashion commentary! Then Susan told me that my evil college journalism nemesis Tom McGinty is up for two Pulitzers this year! I swear, if Tom McGinty wins a Pulitzer, I will plotz. Back at Utica College, he won every single award ever created, and tried to discredit me as a less-than-serious journalist! I will never forgive him for referring to me as the "part-time Arts & Entertainment Editor of the Tangerine." As my life has taught me, people hate the arts ...


Right after this picture was taken, some creeping fellow asked if I would come say hello to his friend, who was giving me the eye, and who apparently owns some gas stations. Even though I was not attracted to his friend, a gas station owner is a step up from my usual love interests, who are generally unemployed and sort of psychotic and detached. I went and said hello, but I guess I didn't make the cut, because I was dismissed after that. "We like to meet a lot of people," the creeper said. Apparently, the creeping friend and the gas station owner flew home that night in the gas station owner's personal helicopter. Ah, well. I guess I should count myself lucky. With my luck, I probably would have been thrown from the helicopter mid-flight.



Susan became drunkenly obsessed with getting a picture taken with Dennis Hof, and I took the opportunity to slip out and head home to bed with the Colonel. A typical night for the Gregster. No Pulitzer in hand, no digits from the gas station millionaire - but all the overweight cat I can snuggle.