If Only She Were Gay

New section added to the blog: Straight Celeb Crushes and How I Can't Talk to Them Even After Tequila Shots.

Filed under: Why, God, couldn't you have made her hipper to fem-zippers: Janeane Garofalo. Sigh. Filed under: Maybe she'd make out with a chick? Shots? Filed under: Utterly adorable, absolutely brilliant. Filed under: Reader-type with jaded jokes that whoosh over some of the young heads. The sweaty young heads. It was so hot last night at Emo's outside that one actually did fall.

"Someone just passed out," Janeane exclaimed, completely spooked, as she tried to hang up the mic 10 minutes early. What a set. Hot as hell. Her back kills. Spiro's had some rapper next door booming bass. The mics kept going out. Garaf's was having a time of it. ("All of this is great for comedy," she said.) She tried to bail. But the hot crowd pleaded. Sweated.

And then, Patton Oswalt came on and killed. Absolutely killed.

After the show, I tried to tell the doorman, "I was the one who passed out, just wanted to tell her sorry for wrecking her show," you know, tryin' to meet Janeane. The Garaf. No dice. In truth, a grandma had been the one to spill. Plan foiled. Filed under: I tried.

Then, I caught a line of people getting to meet her out back. J. was slumpy, her body language the kind that didn't wanna talk to strangers, and so I chickened out. Didn't know what to say. My throat clammed. I choked. So I didn't get even get to meet her.

But at least I didn't pass out.