That Was My First, And Last, Bud Light

A bunch of us stayed late (read: 1 a.m.) at work tonight to attend a Pity Party for our entertainment editor who was waiting to replate for the Oscars.

A sampling of comments, post shitty vodka and pineapple rum and Bud Lights (free booze sent to editors. Yeah, it happens.):

"Helen Mirren has amazing boobs."

"Celine Dion looks like a beautiful woman after she's been assaulted."

"Look at Helen Mirren's boobs. Wow."

"I'd do her with gusto."

"Yeah, but you'd do anyone."

"Sure. But I wouldn’t do everyone with gusto."

I may have won the Oscar pool, but I'll know for sure tomorrow. All I can say is I picked "The Departed" for best pic, so I did pretty damn well. Now I just have to see "The Departed"…

Posts-Pity Party, four of us split a cab to Brooklyn.

But first we got in the cab. It is hailing. We are in midtown. There are rocks falling from the sky.

"We're making four stops all near each other in Brooklyn."

"I'm not going to Brooklyn," the cabbie says.

Eh uh. Not something an NYC cabbie should say.

"That's illegal," we tell him.

"No," he answers. "If you read the rules, I don't have to make that many stops out of Manhattan."

Blappity, blippity. The man is lying, we are arguing, and eh uh, I'm beginning to boil.

"Let's just get the fuck out of the cab," I say. I begin to get out.

As I'm sliding out the backseat, I hear my friend say: "Listen man, you picked the wrong people to screw with here. We're a bunch of newspaper reporters and we talk to the TLC every day. But hey, you can do whatever you want, right?"

"Okay, okay, I'll take you," he says, repeatedly, politely suddenly.

He took us. We took his medallion number.

I just think it'd be funnier if we all worked at, say, "Teen Vogue." You know: "Listen man, you picked the wrong people to screw with here. We're a bunch of reporters [at Teen Vogue]. But hey, you can do whatever you want, right?"