I Dropped an Ativan Down My Bra During Jersey Boys

Trapped between Typhoid Ted and two nice people close to death, I knew I'd get jittery by "Opus 17." It takes lot of effort to dodge coughing fits and seek alternate routes should Grim Reaper start singing "Oh what a night..." Dish flees in a crisis. I put off medicating until right before "Too Good to Be True" when the fidgets got too Sybil, even for me. I deftly reached into my purse, brought out my First Aid Kit, and oh-so gingerly pulled out the little white speck. The minute I put it up to my mouth it dropped into the abyss. I started laughing, thinking, Thanks, Universe. Message received. So I closed my eyes and just listened, felt so much better naturally because of that fabulous song.

More drama from the Met Gala. Gwyneth Paltrow didn't like it and now we hate her even more. Imagine, a costume party that's not FUN. Can I go in her place next year? And also, now that Randy Jackson is leaving Idol at the end of the year, I'm volunteering to replace him, with all my years of experience. Oh no, wait. I can't sit with Nicki Minaj. Mariah, yes.


Allegedly, Real Housewives of NYC have threatened to walk if they don't get gigantic paychecks. I say, Andy Cohen, drop this particular cast immediately. This past season was a big fat snore. (I'll be a housewife for free--plus 100K
...)

Shame and Bethenny Frankel

What a long week. I don't know about you but it seemed to drag on forever. Maybe I shouldn't have spent three hours unraveling a big knot in a skein of silk yarn (thanks, Dishcousin, for the kerchief pattern!) or tried to convince TG to watch Bridesmaids or Bridget Jones. He is obstinate in not watching but every six months, he'll give in to one piece of crap.

To commemorate the institution of marriage, I watched Bethenny Ever After. The woman scared me on The Real Housewives of New York City, like her arguments with the other women were frightening. But she's far more sedate and funny with her own show. How strange and different that women aren't fighting all the time on a reality show--which makes me wonder if Andy Cohen is actually Satan. I found myself desperately wanting to hang out with B-Frank after two episodes. I'd learn so much. And who knew Hoda was such a delight!

Then, after rampant buzz, Charlize Theron's flirtatious crack about Michael Fassbender's wang and Dishfriend's ooh-lala-ing of him, I had to watch Shame. I'm only 30 minutes through and it's quite good. Thoughtful, hard to watch (no pun intended), moving. Fans of full frontal will enjoy, but for Dish the novelty wears off when you see how "overused" the characters are. M-Fass and Carrie Mulligan are so talented. What I love most is how the flick captures the unrelenting loneliness of life in Manhattan. I highly recommend...so far, especially if you love deeply depressing movies, which I do!

Star Sighting--Andy Cohen!!!

Last night, 7:19 pm, 14th b/w 7th and 8th: Dish was navigating a haze of allergies when that familiar tingling flooded all senses--star. There he was wearing a sandy linen-ish suit and consulting technology, Bravo god Andy Cohen. He looks exactly in life as he does on TV. I whispered my spotting to TG and he shouted, "Oh, he's the guy who interviews the housewives at the end!!! I like him!!!" I could almost see him contemplating a fourth-wall interruption but luckily we reached the subway and had tickets to see Dishniece in a play.

Mixed news: We learned our stint on Anderson will never see the light of day but I did manage to laugh uproariously over and over at his new giggling outburst. This time it's the phrase "hitting him with her pussywillow" that makes him explode at the 1:38 mark.

Two stars ailing: Ryan O'Neal revealed he has prostate cancer and Robin Gibb is in a coma. Forgive not giving them separate sentences but these illnesses hurt me to the core and I'd rather deny, deny, deny. Best wishes for a speedy recovery, R&R!

I console myself with an Ally McBeal marathon. Am on the John Ritter episode, which makes me truly misty. Jack Tripper 4ever!