This One's For the Girls

OK, y'all, I've finally decided what I want to be when I grow up.  Are you ready?

*drumroll please*

When I grow up I want to be . . .

(deep breath)

Kathy Griffin.

Because I'm pretty sure when Kathy Griffin grows up she will be . . .

Betty White.

Here's why:

Like 95% of the stuff I eventually laud on this blog, Kathy Griffin had to win me over.  She's at times bewildered me and left me indifferent.  I was always glad that she was a female comedian who talked about more than dating and her menstrual cycle--and she was shrill, but in a way that didn't seem put upon--but at times I didn't...get her.  Kind of like Chelsea Handler.  I'd heard the sales pitch, I just wasn't quite ready to shell out for the product.

Then one night, my buddy Bob and I may or may not have gotten inebriated (hi, Mom!) and may or may not have returned to his apartment after stumbling to Jewel in our pajamas because we NEEDED margarita mix and brownies to celebrate the fact that our Last Five Years singalong had not caused his neighbors to file a noise complaint.  (We also may or may not have needed the entire next day to kick our hangovers.)  Bob popped in a DVD of Kathy's stand-up special, and I nearly peed my pink plaid pajama bottoms at her bit about what a bitch Gwyneth Paltrow is.  I'd always found Shakespeare in Love overrated (Saving Private Ryan was robbed), so I pointed at the TV and slurred, "Right on, sista!"

On and off, I've caught My Life on the D-List.  I never understood the whole Woz thing, but I did love how Kathy made a point to tour Iraq in between doing kooky things like introducing her niece to Laguna Beach heartthrob Talan.  And her parents, particularly her box wine-swilling mom, were just too cute.

Did I mention that I'm friends with a TON of gay men?  The gays love Kathy and Kathy loves the gays, so we have that in common too.  What I'm trying to say in my usual rambling manner, is that Kathy Griffin has wormed her proudly single, Irish Catholic, celeb-stalking way into my proudly single, Irish Catholic, celeb-obsessing heart.  (I still hold no hope for Chelsea Handler, though.)

I just finished reading Official Book Club Selection, Kathy's autobiography.  IMMEDIATELY, you guys.  Read it IMMEDIATELY.  Granted, I'm not sure how well all the pop culture references are going to hold up in even one year (of course, I could say the same thing about this blog!)  That said: what a cool, cool woman.  She puts all her shit out there and does it in style.  She's frank about her eating issues and plastic surgery, what she regrets and what she doesn't, and how body image is still something she wrestles with every single day.  (And you know what?  Unlike most famous ladies, I actually believe her.)  She goes into family secrets, mainly a disturbed older brother.  She expands on what went wrong in her now-defunct marriage.

But here's what I really took away from the book: damn, Kathy Griffin is tenacious.  At a time when reality TV makes people famous for being famous, you've gotta love someone who has worked her ass off since she was eighteen, not stopping for breath even after her friends (Janeane Garofalo, Lisa Kudrow, Andy Dick, and Margaret Cho) were getting TV and movie deals left and right while Kathy was struggling with glorified extra parts and sets at tiny comedy clubs.  You've gotta love someone who weaseled backstage passes to every single set she ever worked on--for her mom and dad, who charmed the bejeezus out of the likes of George Clooney.  You've gotta love someone who is at once snarky of celebrity culture and ravenous to be a part of it.

Here's a woman who saw what she wanted when she was a teenager.  Didn't stop till she got it, and still hustles her butt off.  Say what you want about her schtick, the truth is this: Kathy Griffin RAWKS.

And she needs to call me so we can get all our gays together for fruity cocktails and showtunes.

Oh, and Betty White?  To crib a 1920's bon mot, she's the bee's knees.  I know I don't need to convince you of that.  With all due respect to the late Bea Arthur, no other Golden Girl could deliver a honey-tinged insult quite like White's Rose Nyland.  And she's still kickin'--witness her hilariously profane turn as Ryan Reynolds' hot-to-trot grandma in the pleasant surprise of a romantic comedy The Proposal.  It's not just her lines, either.  When meeting Sandra Bullock's character for the first time, White rolls her eyes in a way that had me choking on my popcorn in delight.

Who's up for a Golden Girls marathon?  Memememe!