Comedy Hookers Attack Eugene

The lovely and funny miss Alysia Wood wrote this, but it's such a great account of my weekend that I am stealing it.

Lizzy's "Date-Gate" 2008

Cockblockers?

Four comedians including myself, one with a fashion degree, a plus-size fashion model and the daughter of a former economics professor convicted for beating a Wal-Mart cop were turned loose in a small city with too much free time.

Lizzy Pilcher drove us to Eugene, OR to perform at the NW Women's Comedy Festival. We met up with Portland's Virginia Jones and Veronica Heath at the show.

Afterwards, we ended up at the smallest, saddest, most depressing gay bar on earth. It was called SNAFU, and there was no life, no style and - best we could tell - no gay people.

Not one to have her parade pissed on, Virginia Jones danced on:

In search of a better bar, we passed drunken hipster chicks dancing on the sidewalk. Virginia accosted them with, "Hey, you ladies, be careful! People HAVE been known to Jazzercise themselves to death."

Shortly after that, a car pulled up, "Hey, do you guys know where…?"

Virginia responded with, "We don't speak your language."

This was the moment that I fell in love with Mrs. Thom Jones.

It was raining, freezing, windy and foggy but nonetheless, Veronica decided to have a photo shoot. Since my cries of "Are you fucking serious?" went unanswered, I won't post those photos in protest but here's Virginia and I freezing as they modeled and I GPS'ed directions:

Finally we ended up at Diablo's. Within seconds of arriving, our group melded with a funk band, (initially) to my chagrin.

I should tell you now that man pictured below is the one we've chosen for Lizzy to marry.

Clearly he's got the funk. Only the best for our girl (whether she likes it or not).

Lizzy later voiced that she wanted the photo for her MySpace page, "to make all the boys jealous."

"You mean, more jealous," quipped Veronica, "than that photo of you in that sweater in 10^th grade with your flute?"

"Dude," Lizzy said, it was a clarinet."

I befriended a woman I will call Gramma Panties. As you can see, Virginia loves her also.

Virginia, Gramma Panties and I enthusiastically danced to the band's last song, during which the bassist slid into our booth while playing, stared pointedly at Lizzy and said, "Did you notice I dedicated all the songs to you and worked your name into all of the songs?"

She gave her standard-issue response: wordless devil horns.

Then she awkwardly looked to us for help but all three of her designated cock blockers had secretly agreed that we were going to MAKE THIS HAPPEN. We start snappin' photos.

Maybe it was his day job, the abs, the Philly attitude, the funk, the solar plexus-high green shorts/chains combo or that he was embarrassing the shit out of Lizzy with the gusto of a male stripper but… Virginia and I attempted to get Lizzy trashed. Instead, we got ourselves drunk with one sober but boy-crazy Veronica... all choosing not to come to the rescue of an only mildly-buzzed and severely annoyed Lizzy. It's difficult to outsmart or mind fuck Lizzy Pilcher (read her advice columns). It was 3 to 1 but Team Philly Funk could have used a fourth person.

The bassist, BTW, is due credit for surviving a swim in a 4-female-comic pirhana tank.

Virginia gave the bassist and Gramma Panties her card while Lizzy stared her down. We promised to get them past our show's $25 cover with a chorus of enthusiastic:

"Of course you should go!"

"OMG that would be SO cool."

"You should totally go!"

"We would love it if you went!"

"That would be SO awesome!"

"It's a GREAT show!"

Proof of Drunk includes: we forgot we made this promise and didn't have a guest list.

We stumbled back to the motel giggling, "He's perfect for you" and "Lizzy, shut the fuck up. We know what's good for you."

I knew we were getting through (at least a tad bit) when Lizzy that would normally would (and has) punched me, simply seemed exasperated from being badgered and said, "You're all whores."

We giggled ourselves to sleep. In the middle of the night, Lizzy rolled over, punched me in the face then rolled back over. She seemed asleep but I'm convinced it was a passive aggressive payback.

THE NEXT DAY

Virginia took a page from the military's torture playbook. We awoke to her shrieking, "DID YOU NOTICE I DEDICATED ALL THE SONGS TO YOU AND WORKED YOUR NAME INTO ALL OF THE SONGS?!"

She mocked Lizzy from a foot away, "REMEMBER THAT?"

Lizzy sat up partially and rubbed her eyes. "Yeah... I know…" she said flaty.

"He was so adorable," Virginia pushed.

"Adorable," I echoed. "and you punched me in the fucking face last night."

We then all turned to Veronica, who sat up slowly and said, "Olasyfn ghprnvcisau... ncpaurvnpcim... IUYRiwcey… Mmmmmmmm…."

Veronica attempts morning communication before she has the ABILITY to communicate. I think she was trying to say, "Someone take my picture."

At breakfast (coincidentally) we all wore all black at yesterday's smeared makeup – we probably looked more like a goth cover band.

Instead of dropping the issue like most newly-sober people would, we continued to badger Lizzy then dropped the issue all together. The bill (thanks to 2 for 1 coupons and a cash/credit mix) became a fucking nightmare and I was hungover.

I used the $30 left on my debit card to declare, "I headline so I no longer have to do math," and went outside to smoke, leaving Lizzy and Virginia to figure out the math while Veronica furiously texted in the parking lot.

Two cigarettes later, Lizzy shoved cash in my hand and we formulated our day: coffee, liquor store, convenience store, tattoo shop.

We made is as far as Starbucks before getting side-tracked by a street fair.

We struggled to keep track of Veronica, who is similar to an A.D.D. riddled child and - I can't say it enough – a photo whore.

Virginia usually obliges Veronica's persistent and manic "Get the camera!" (although sometimes Veronica would silently break from the pack and we would later find her in some random place).

Here's one place we found her, wordlessly posing:

However, when Veronica and Lizzy broke from the pack, Virginia continued to walk and said, to me, "Oh, that is NOT happening. I see what they're trying to do and it is not gonna happen."

I looked over my shoulder to see Lizzy and Veronica plopped down next to an elderly man in a colorful shirt who had a parrot on his shoulder (BTW: the face and neck beards didn't connect).

Veronica yelled, "VIRGINIA!"

Virginia yelled back "NO!"

"VIRGINIA!"

"NOooo!"

"VIRGINIA!"

"Nope!"

They did this until we were safely out of ear shot, trying on hats.

Then we met "Frog the Jokeboy" and I was unable to stop Virginia from buying me a set of his books. Meanwhile, Veronica bought peacock earrings, which we berated until we saw them on an episode of Top Model that night.

Veronica then suggested we join the Prop 8 protest across the street and dramatically announced that she would "REFUSE TO REST until my gay brothers can marry."

But first she wanted to find a tattoo shop. Inside, the person at the register asked, "Has she been helped? What can I do for you girls?"

I responded that we needed him to tell Veronica that she couldn't afford a tattoo so we wouldn't be late for our "appointment."

We left her there and a protestin' we went.

SOoooo to recap: Veronica refuses to rest until her gay brothers can marry OR she gets a tattoo…

We, on the other hand, used Virginia's fashion degree to cobble together "the five minute bride" out of a table cloth and white sequined tube top from a religious thrift store.

I'll have you know, a good cause is mandatory if you want to see me in ANY tube top, much less a white, sequined one that is a size too small.

We fashioned together our eye-catching bride in a café bathroom then hurried to the protest.

We found a large drum circle on the courthouse steps and 3 abandoned signs but no Prop 8 protesters. So either it was a VERY quick protest or the popular protest was at a Mormon church. I'll gladly protest a court for equality but protesting a religious organization for voting for their beliefs seems rather hypocritical (even if I disagree with them). Plus, it wasn't walking distance. So we hung around, took photos and talked to homeless people. Lizzy and I posed as a couple.

Veronica arrived and greeted us with "What's going on? Virginia, why are you wearing an eye patch?"

At this point, we headed back to the motel. We passed a booth with cookies. The sign said:

"Got a problem you can't solve? Let us pray with you. Free!

I snickered, "Hey, do you think we can get them to pray for gay rights? How would they react?"

We started reviewing and uploading photos while Veronica morphed into the shower drill sergeant, ordering everyone to lineup for showers (preparing 4 female performers takes a long time).

She and Lizzy went to the convenience store to buy water-based lotion for her behind-the-ear tattoo, which was covered by a napkin that was scotch-taped to her hair but otherwise flapping around.

On the way back, a pierced woman in a Camaro pulls up to them and yells at Veronica, "Hunney, you gots some toilet paper behind yer ear."

Veronica responded, "I know. It's not toilet paper."

"Well," the woman yelled back, "I thoughts maybe yer friend was trickin' ya and ya didn't know."

To which Veronica responded, perplexed and annoyed, "How would my friends TAPE toilet paper to my HEAD without me knowing it?

Note: She forgot to buy the lotion.

THAT NIGHT:

The Best Part

I'm smoking and drinking a cup of coffee outside of the cabaret that night when Lizzy abruptly punches me in my "coffee arm".

"Dude," I snap, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"THE BASSIST IS HERE," she yelled.

"SO," I shot back, "why are you fucking punching me?"

She stared at me for a few seconds as though as I was supposed to have empathy until she realized that she wasn't getting any.

"Shit," she said under her breath, "He paid the $25 cover." She threw her hands in the air, rolled her eyes and said louder, "Now I HAVE to sleep with him… FUCK!"

I shrugged and sipped my coffee.

On my way back from backstage, I passed Lizzy preparing to go onstage who locked eyes with me and said, "Fuck you."

I laughed and kept walking… because I'm a good friend.

She then proceeded to go onstage and CRUSH. At one point, she told the audience that we'd all run out of money and asked for someone to buy her a beer. A few beats later she sneered sarcastically, "I'm sure there's a LINE of men to buy me a beer."

Um… in the back of the room, Veronica, Virginia and I started FUCKING HOWLING because we saw the bassist spring up to buy her a beer. Lizzy, oblivious, gave us the stink eye. A minute or so later, he brought her the beer onstage and –

the look on her face…

WAS…

…UTTERLY…

PRICELESS…

AND WE HAVE IT ON VIDEO…

And it got BETTER and BETTER and BETTER…

Over the audience, farthest from the camera I suspect that you will distinctly hear three women UTTERLY losing their shit with reckless abandon. I'm probably the loudest.

I don't want to spoil what happened next but if you read this far then you owe it to yourself to experience this:

In the meantime I can tell you that I got:

That video

One wicked hangover

Two new friends

Two gifts from Virginia (copies of "I Was A Teenage Frog" by Frog and "The S & M Frog Joke Book: Recycled Jokes" by Frog (and by copies, I mean Xeroxes))

A White, Sequined, One-Size-Too-Small Tube Top

2.4 trillion photos of Veronica

Also, Lizzy would like you to know that Burrito Boy is the best burrito place ever.

"Happy Holidays!" from the four of us.

Now if you'll excuse me, the three of us are planning Lizzy's wedding (whether she likes it or not).