G.N.O.

16 Jan

Maria Bamford and Hot Damn, chillin'

Usually, Kool and the Gang ain’t got nothing on one of my ladies’ nights…

On disco lights your name will be seen, You can fulfill all your dreams, Party here, party there, ev’rywhere, This is your night Baby, you’ve got to be there…”

No men or children allowed

Apparently, this is not true if your southern city has been kneecapped by ice.  But a girl has got to at least try to get funky, especially after 5 days sequestered at home, and that’s what six of my mommy friends and I did Friday night.

Alleluia! It's raining (wo)men!

After spending what seemed like maybe 90 micro-minutes figuring out how we would be able to get home later, Sydney emerged with her fancy 4-wheel drive and a sobriety pledge to save the night.  And then Kristen swore off the firewater too, to catch a flight in the morning.  First stop…dinner at Ecco to celebrate a “big number” birthday for Tracy.  Parking was a challenge, but walking the block to the restaurant was practically suicidal.  There is nothing quite like being faced with your own mortality from a “slip and fall” to toss a wet blanket on your desire to get your drink on.  Us ladies were going to need to hold on to our stability with both hands.  Dinner was all kinds of wonderful and our poor waiter was a good sport as he suffered through seven type A women retelling the hell they’d been through, like a tour in ‘Nam, the past few days with laundry, bored kids, extra kids, micro-managing husbands or husbands who just wanted to play.  Every time the poor guy managed to come to the table one of us was shouting either of the words: ball, testicle or scrotum.  Okay, not every time, but a solid 80% fer sure.  I think this is how housewives on furlough get the reputation for being nuts.

May I recommend the fried goat cheese balls at Ecco?

The next stop?  Oh, just a hop, skip and a “whaaaa!  I’m sliding” up the street to the Laughing Skull Lounge to catch Maria Bamford.  All of her shows sold out, which is impressive considering the extra effort getting anywhere took during the snowcalypse.  Unfortunately, we were about the last through the door and ended up sitting in the bleacher seats.  The view isn’t bad, and you are really close to the bar, which helps with diluting the discomfort.  All I’m saying here is that back cushions wouldn’t hurt.

Continuing his hosting duties was fanatical agnostic and speed dater, Gilbert Lawand.  As the only man on stage through the evening, poor Gilbert was like a tomcat in a patch of kittens.  He handled it like a man, though.

Joyelle, Hot Damn, Maria, Michelle

Current Brooklynite, Joyelle Johnson, introduced me to a new word, the meaning of which I am so intimately familiar that I am dumbfounded that I had never thought of it before: Complisult.  It’s when an insult is wearing a compliment’s clothing.  It describes the time my mother and I had our makeup “done” at Neiman’s and she exclaimed, “Oh, you are so pretty!  You should always wear that much makeup”.  I looked like a two-bit whore, by the way.  Joyelle, I gather, is one of those optimistic girls who finds the good in everyone and then wants to reward them.  Like how she thinks that stalkers should totally get the sexy-time because of their determination, focus and dedication.  In a twisted up way, it makes total sense.

Turns out that I am not the only person that thinks emoticons are kinda loser.  Michelle Biloon is certain that anyone who uses this 😉 is a pedophile, leprechaun or both.  Despite being unable to discern between professionally trained tap-dancers and people who just fake it, Michelle has wondrous powers.  Who else can boast having not only “gayed” her twin sister, but also having the ability to break the spell and “un-gay” her by incanting the word “straight” three times…then refusing to do it.  You know what else?  Her power is so strong that she has figured out a foolproof way to eschew both the hover method and tissue toilet seat covers without contracting some weird disease.  How can she do it?  By keeping herself “gaping ass-wound free”.  Gosh, it is so simple.

You know that whole genre of movies and shorts where they mix cartoon characters with live characters and sometimes they interact, but it’s just silly and unbelievable?  For instance, I never once thought that Paula Abdul dancing with MC Scat Kat was at all convincing.  And Monkeybone was just unforgivable.  But, Maria Bamford is like an animated character and a human morphed together in some sort of forward thinking CGI format.  She’s all wiggly angles, wide expressive eyes and a slew of different voice pitches.  Maria may even be able to do ventriloquisms.  I knew that I was going to love her show when she made funny out of Manifest Destiny.  Then she went on to admitting suspicion of Churches that are trying to be all cool, hip and vague by offering up concerts and coffee shops with Jimi Hendrix font on their flyers.  I guess that finding that perfect relationship is a universal struggle.   Even when you are successful, well liked and easy on the eye it is inescapable.  Maria is just plain scared of relationships though and likens a suitor’s approach to a mugging yelling, “Just take my purse!  Don’t hurt me…I have nothing of value!”  But she’s willing to keep at it through Internet dating.  I’d love to get back with her in a few to find out if her experiment with upfront honesty in her profile yields any good dates.  Who wouldn’t want to wine and dine a special lady who freely admits to being “able to wear the same clothes for five days in a row and can crouch down on the shower floor in the fetal position and get real small”?  It helps when you have high expectations and low boundaries for romance.  If romantic relationships do not materialize for our dating heroine, she can always spend time with her family playing Joy Whack-a-Mole.  Come to think of it, this may be a game that can only actually be played with your parents and siblings.  The object is that when you tell your supportive family about something in your life that is a cause for celebration, they will pound it down into the hole it came from.  Sounds like fun, no?

So despite the entire headache of an icy, easy on the booze night out after a week in solitary, I think it was a pretty successful Girls’ Night Out after all.  Turns out that Buckhead Safety Cab and someone puking in her purse aren’t requisite to having a meaningful, bonding night without husbands or kids.  A good meal, a lot of lady laughs and seeing someone on his way to Bulldogs do a butt plant on the ice are pretty special.  And I felt so much better the next morning.

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2 Responses to “G.N.O.”

  1. Tracy Wilson January 16, 2011 at 10:09 am #

    There are so many things I can type right now, but I am just going to go with “thank you.”

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  1. Atlanta Comedy Club & Lounge | Laughing Skull Lounge - January 17, 2011

    […] G.N.O. […]

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