When I do trashy, I do it right!
Rickey Medlocke and Gary Rossington of Lynyrd Skynyrd (Photo by Larry Marano/Getty Images)
Ooof! So, it’s been a week — sorry ’bout that. I think Gay Pride killed me. I was still feeling the spangly effects over the 4th of July, which, incidentally, was done red neck style! I decided to bugger off down to the Jersey Shore — where I caught the Lynyrd Skynyrd God ‘N Guns tour (no, I’m not making this shizz up). Opening act — .38 Special (“So caught up in yoooouuuuuu!”) — the lead singer had killer hair plugs and a penchant for me. Seriously, I was the only woman under 45 and below 160 pounds within eye sight (2nd row, center, thank you very much — when I do trashy, I do it right!). Next up — Bret Michaels. And let me just call bullshit on his near death experience. Just three weeks after supposedly almost dying, he was up there prancing like a Mexican jumping bean on coke — WITH a full girlie entourage in tow in the wings (yes, there’s apparently yet another Rock of Love being filmed). But bullshit or not (some people will do ANYTHING to win Celebrity Apprentice — yeah, Marie Osmond and your fainting, I’m talking to you, too!), it rocked. “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn,” “Gimme Something to Believe In”… heaven. Sheer heaven.
But the culmination was LYNYRD SKYNYRD! Oh hell yes! Okay — so I know there’s only one living member of the original band, but Johnny Van Zant (filling in for dead brother Ronnie) kicked ass! I cried during “Simple Man”. Check it out on my YouTube page. I filmed it. Sigh. But the funniest thing was — so here we are at the PNC Arts Center in Holmdel, NJ (northern, NJ I might add) and the amount of confederate flags was… striking. I mean, damn. That shit is… not geographically (or frankly, morally) appropriate. Just sayin’…
Otherwise, the rest of the weekend was tame in comparison, despite hitting Kaboomfest in Red Bank and getting drunk-tard in Long Branch.
Meanwhile — I heard the funniest story today while watching Spain kick the Netherlands’ ass in soccer… A friend of mine went to Harvard and said, “Did you know the Harvard soccer team used to have a day where they would shave each others balls? They called it a ‘Trust Exercise.’” I love how you can flavor homo-eroticism. Cuz you KNOW the guy who thought that shit up was so not into the dark vaginal cavity. Let’s be honest. A trust exercise is: Okay, you fall backwards and I’ll catch you! Not: get naked, let me cup your balls and I’ll take a razor to them! I don’t even want to know what they did to exfoliate after. Karl meanwhile has been giving me the serious stink eye for a week. Not only is it too hot for him to go out — I tried to be all cheap and give him a home-haircut. He now has a bald spot on his head and a fringe of long hair on his side I apparently didn’t catch. His fury is palpable.