Babettes on Blu Ray
It must be cocktail hour someplace.
So I invited in a few of my closest friends for a little female bonding.
I whipped up a margarita, planted myself in front of the new Sony Bravia, bought just today to replace the tired old one, and proceeded to commune with some of my favorite ladies: Meryl, Julie and Christine.
The ladies of Mamma Mia.
God, I love those dames.
The guys aren’t so bad, either.
The other day, I invited over my new girlfriends: Maya, Kristen, Rose 2, and Melissa — those pottie mouthed firecrackers from Bridesmaids.
Some days, I really need to get on my raunch, to take a virtual dump in the street or wear spandex and Gene Simmon’s heels and sing-a-long while basking in the rugged beauty of the Greek Islands.
These girls never let me down. And they make me feel like I’m not alone.
I lost most of my real girlfriends over the years. When the Press Club was open, I used to belong to a merry band of gals called The Nellies (North End Ladies, referring to their position at the bar, or Nellie McClungs, which we eventually became). We’d get together once a month, drink and eat Paul’s terrific food and dish the dirt. For a few years, the Nellies were great, until the group became too big and bureaucratic. By the end of it, we were all being asked to tell the group about what was happening in our lives — one by one — and my life was so friggin’ depressing that I couldn’t bear to blurt out the lurid details.
So I quit.
After the Club closed, I stopped going downtown altogether and, now, I only see my real girlfriends sporadically, if at all.
So I have to make do with the babes on Blu Ray.
But I never get tired of them, never get weary of Kristin’s penis impression or Melissa’s aggressive banging of her favorite air marshal. And I really love the ladies of Mamma Mia! They rock.
Besides, the babes on Blu Ray never disappoint, what’s more, they never expect ANY thing of me.
Which is fine with me.
Really.
It’s better than drinking alone.
I can see you, there, through the little camera on my PC; you’re titch, titching me.
Don’t feel sorry for me.
Don’t call me virtual sponsor.
I’m blessed. I have an Ekornes slingback chair, a one drink minimum, and all the Hollywood glitz and glamor that money can buy.
Sadly, since Blockbuster closed its doors, I’m thinking of investing in downloads.
No muss, no fuss.
Gotta go.
Colin Firth is singing.
Yum!
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Rose Simpson
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