Last night, the Brians invited me to join them at the San Francisco Young Democrats Election Night Party at Jillian's in the Ghettotron, so Joe and I met up after work and made an appearance. We sat at a back table with the Brians and some other political diehards, drinking martinis and eating the most disgusting cheese dip known to man.
Word to the wise, if you head over to Jillian's for a little snack, steer clear of the cheese and chorizo dip.
Not that we didn't eat it.
Oh, another word to the wise, the last time Mikey and I were in there for pre-movie cocktails, our bartendress pulled my cocktail onions from the jar with her fingers.
Not that I didn't drink it.
Anyway, we're yucking it up at Jillian's, watching election returns on the myriad of flat screens placed around the back room. I wanted to get home by 9:30 to watch my father do is his favorite thing all year: host Election Night on KRCB Public Television. Because at 9:30, Dad would be interviewing State Senate District 3 Candidates Judge Judy on Crack, Mark "Loves Me" Leno and JAV.
Around 8pm, suffering through our cheese dip, Brian D. gasped gayer than he's ever gasped in his life.
"Oh my god! Carole's here!"
It's like you could feel the temperature change in the room, with a mixture of Crazy and White Diamonds wafting through and sitting itself down at a table with really old gays.
As Joe pointed out, "I thought this was supposed to be the YOUNG Democrats."
Now, this woman was due to be on live television with my father in an hour an a half and Brian was desperate for me to go up and introduce myself. Again.
But that loon scares me shitless.
"What's she going to do?" Brian asked. "She should be afraid of you!"
You know what? Here's why I won't go over to her. I make fun of a lot of kooky people. And most of them roll with it. But that bitch called my office and accused me of lying. Actually, she had her flunky Eric Potashithead do it. And when I provided video proof that she was the one full of shit, not I, nary a soul from her office said, "Oops, we still hate you, but we were wrong on that one."
I'm willing to guess even that Pesky Peskin could muster the balls to send a goddamn e-mail.
So screw you, Migden! And screw you Eric!
I'm not nervously walking up to that fruitcake and offering my hand, wondering if she'll figure out who the hell I am.
"Oh, you're about to go on TV with my dad. Please be nice to me."
I'm on the Gate, crackpot. Ever heard of it?
Anyway, Carole and her clown wig stayed for about 4 seconds, so I managed to avoid Brian's pleadings and get off scott free. But 5 minutes later, we spotted Carole out the window on the sidewalk, holding a take-out bag from Firewood and a Nantucket Nectars juice jar, staring into Jillian's and trying to watch CNN through the window.
She was no doubt racing off to be obnoxious to my dad, and I silently hoped she's spill that Nectar all over her bolero.
When she finally got on television, Carole was predictably insane, constantly calling Mark "Loves Me" Leno, "The Gentleman."
According to the Brians, my father looked "exasperated."
I've seen that look before.
Conveniently, Pops is moderating the debate on Leap Day and Brian and I will be front row center. I've already taken off of work, so if Carole's minions want to harass me, they can do so on my cell as I'll be out of the office...