Shower Daze

LP's & Mike's shower part deux went down at the Lightkeeper's House in Cohasset this past weekend. Gorgeous apple green hydrangeas, a view of Cohasset harbor and room full of well-coiffed ladies (except WMD & Bags who, while well-coiffed, ain't no ladies) added up to another beautiful day spent in a shower daze -- and another pile of well-deserved loot for the to-be-Dell'Olios. It was a smashing afternoon that was only enhanced by Jamie Cullem on the Pod, and post-pinots with a miniature pug pillow at Atlantica.


(Photo (RIGHT): View from the Lighthouse Keeper's house where we've decided to host a "We're Turning 40" soiree when the time comes. It's still several years away for most of us. For others, it's not quite so far off - i.e, Jimmy)


(Photo (LEFT): Nic, Annie & Heidi power up for the shower)







(Photo (RIGHT): What's in that tea, Andree?)





(Photo (LEFT): Damnit, Cameo. My batteries are dead)

Ode to My Volvo

Sunday evening around 7 p.m., I was rounding a treacherous curve on Mt. Blue Street in Norwell when I hit a boulder and my car flipped over. I don't remember the accident but when I came to, my car was upside down and I was sitting by the side of the road with some woman who lived nearby. She said she saw me climb out of my overturned car and called 911. I don't remember climbing out of the car, but I do remember that it was totaled except for the Volvo-steel cage that houses the passengers. I was taken to the South Shore hospital, given a battery of CAT scans, X-rays and MRIs and ultimately the only injury I sustained was a serious facial beat-down from the airbag - not even a slight concussion. They told me I was lucky to be alive but I felt lucky for much more than that. Lucky that Caroline and Paul were not in the car with me. Lucky that I was wearing my seatbelt. Lucky to be able to return home the next day looking like a bloated troll. Lucky to be able to hug James, Caroline & Paulie a little harder. (I even kissed Vito on the lips). I'm lucky to be icing my face, updating the Pointy Universe, and searching for a new Volvo on a Tuesday night.

Random Quizzilla

1. Name a job that you would hate to have.
Maybe it's a side effect of the PTSD I have from a late-90s stint in high-tech PR but I would hate to sell any kind of technology product or service. It's not so much the technology -- much of which I find interesting -- but the industry culture at large. For some reason, tech companies always seem to be located in sterile suburban office parks right off major highways. While working at a sterile suburban office park right off 128, I often had the opportunity to leave the office on business travel. Unfortunately, it was always for another sterile suburban office park right off a major highway. It didn't matter if it was San Francisco or Bowling Green, Kentucky. It was all the same. I'd spend my days whoring about for media coverage for gel-coiffed 20-something guys with names like "Kenneth," whom I am certain masturbated to their own press clips judging from the sudden onset of exuburance whenever they saw their names in print (even in publications like Supply Chain Systems Magazine.) One of the more heinous "Kenneths," whose company's office park was right outside of San Fran, was a bit of a schizo. He would ignore you while angrily pecking at his Palm Pilot and then challenge you to a friendly game of Foozball. He'd mercilessly eviscerate a press release you wrote and then offer you a Bud Light in the middle of the work day -- just to show you how fun-loving he was when he wasn't being such a hardass. I hated this man. Worse, he forced me and my colleagues to socialize with him and his unctuous colleagues each night. He not only made us wear golf shirts with corporate logos (he only had size XLs. I looked like an 11-year-old playing dress up in her father's shirt) but he took us -- good god make it stop -- to the Olive Garden. I vividly remember thinking I'm five minutes from San Francisco and I'm having dinner at the Olive Garden with a bunch of assholes. After dinner, I escaped. I took a cab to Vesuvio by myself and chain smoked away the self-loathing. Thank goodness for the dot.com bust.

2. Name 3 things that are on your desk at home or work.
Color Wonder finger paints, a diet coke, and a mixed CD from JAL with all my favorite gay-boy dance tunes that I play whenever I need a chair-dancing break. It's like a mini-vacation. BTW-Thanks, Jim.

3. If you could change occupations, what would you want to do?
I'd be a lounge singer at a swanky hotel bar. Because Lady Owls Love Hotel Bars (LOLHB).

4. How much cash do you usually carry with you?
I've always got a pimp wad in my purse and I'm certain the buttoned-down clerks at my Panera Bread satellite office think I'm a stripper. I need to pay my babysitters in cash every day. That, coupled with my current love affair with Supreme Omelet sandwiches (sans fromage) and Turbo Hots at the Dunkie's drive-thru requires frequent trips thru the Bank of America ATM. I hope disclosure of this information does not get me mugged at the Derby Shoppes next week.

5. What word or phrase do you use most frequently?
"That's insane." This week, it's been "Chill, Jimmy, it's only basketball."

Erin Go Taco

As planned, we did not spend St. Paddy's Day feasting on corned beef, cabbage and pints of Guinness but enchiladas, guacamole and Patron margaritas. We headed off to Acapulco's in Cohasset with the Nortons and the Drinans, whose company alone always inspires fiesta -- and it's a good thing because Acapulco's was not what I was expecting. Harshly-lit, ambiance-starved, and overrun with small children, the restaurant is basically a Mexican Bickfords.

Dining here beneath the dropped ceilings was probably not unlike the "dining in" experience the Bags recently had at their Chinese "take-out" place, Feng Shui. Adding to our bemusement were some non-sequiturian menu selections, including "Make Your Own Combo" where the Combo Tijuana and Combo Mexicali allow you "choice of one" entree. As most upright individuals would note --one choice does not a combo make. James noted this in his order: "I'll have the Taco Combo. In other words, I'll have a Taco."

Other than that, the meals were OK but the bar was shuttered at 10 p.m. So, after some extemporaneous Catholic bashing over our leftover drinks, we swung by Star's to enjoy some obligatory irish music and abundant green foam hats. While Katie N. and I distracted the irish singer with a green foam hat, James N. grabbed his guitar for an impromptu set. All in all the evening resembled a St. Paddy's of yesteryear, minus the Dunkin Donuts cups.

**NOTE: For some reason, Blogger is having technical difficulties with photo uploads today, which, judging from my photos, is in everyone's best interest.

Wetting the Shamrock

Ah, St. Paddy's Day; the unrestrained joys of my youth are flashing before me.

Every March 17th, I can almost smell the beer-soaked floors of the Midnight Court. It's similar to an acid flashback (not that I would know) but instead of going psychedelic at the sound of a Pink Floyd tune, I get a scent memory when I hear an Irish song like Black Velvet Band -- something that is unavoidable on this day. I'm not sure how the Midnight Court, which closed in the early 1990s, got lodged in my Limbic system as I've indulged in the uisce beatha in numerous places on March 17ths past.

Most of my St. Pat's memories from high school sort of blur together but they all involve, in some capacity, drinking peppermint schnapps out of a Dunkin Donuts cup in M Street Park in South Boston. In college, LP and I used to flee the 413 area code to drink green beer and see McMurphy (bums up!) at the Midnight Court. And we'd stay there for about 12 hours. (I believe I just answered my own question on how the scent memory got lodged in my brain.) In my 20s, I recall a movable, Bass Ale-fueled feast with assorted co-workers that began in some questionable South Boston establishments and sloshed back toward downtown as the day wore on. However, St. Patrick's Day eventually became a non-event for many, many years as we grew annoyed by inebriated, step-dancing fools like ourselves and began to scorn all the green drunken sentimentality. I don't feel this way anymore, however.

Right now, James and I are in the grips of a fierce Mexican jones that has gone unquenched for several months. That said, we'll likely be wetting the shamrock at Acapulco's this evening. A few years back we went out to dinner at a Lebanese restaurant on St. Patrick's Day and there were Italian musicians playing Irish drinking songs, the bulk of which were dedicated to a frail blue-haired bird named Mrs. DiBona. Who knows what Acapulco's might have in store? At least we'll have some green guac.

If you have a moment today, check out this English-Gaelic translator where you can learn to say "Happy St. Patrick's Day" or "I'll have the same as the man on the floor."

Slainte!

Oh Deer

( << This is not a photo of the deer I saw)

I was about to jump into the shower the other morning when I was frozen like a deer in a neon shower cap. I was in our upstairs bathroom, which after living here a year still lacks window treatments. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed an animal walking along the brook that runs behind our house. I instantly experienced the requisite heart palpitations and fight-or-flight adrenaline that often accompany my unexpected confrontations with nature, or when I see a bee in the house.

(That is not Vito >>>)

At first I thought the animal was a coyote and prayed Vito was not sniffing around in the bushes out back. But I quickly realized it was a deer. It took a few moments to identify because I've always expected the first deer I'd see would be some majestically-antlered buck like Bambi's dad. Instead, I saw a little doe -- two of them, actually -- drinking from the brook, completely unaware of their shower-capped spectator. I yelled downstairs to James so he could show Caroline. It's a true milestone as it's the first time we've seen a non-domestic animal in our midst since moving here last April -- and the experience was nothing like the false alarm of last fall.

"HIGH" TEA

It was not your typical afternoon in Jefferson, Mass. For those of you who are challenged in your knowledge of 508 geography, Jefferson is a part of Holden, a lovely enclave just outside of Worcester. Here, a bridal shower for LP, like the Olympic torch, officially ignited the chain of events that will lead up to the nuptials on May 6.



WMD's sisters hosted a bridal tea, but very well knew they'd have to accessorize the bridesmaids to downplay our vulgarness, as well as MoHO Di's & Jess' church cleavage. On hand were gorgeous vintage hats that more proper ladies of days gone by may have worn to high tea. LP's hat resembled an elegant wedding cake and most of the b-maids looked like they'd stepped out of a Jane Austen novel -- the very picture of ladylike restraint. The hat I chose was made from sheep-sheared Cookie Monster -- a muppet who is the very picture of zero self control. I must admit, I got attached to my hat by the end of the day even though Lisa and I kept inhaling some of its blue microscopic feather particles.

("Nice lids, ladies," says Pope Benedict)

Regardless of their proper appearances, everyone's inner Cookie Monster busted out at the sweets table, a spread that made everyone wish they'd worn their buffet pants instead of their Sunday best. If LP had taken off her hat, it likely would have been consumed as well. I'm still coming down from my sugar high, a feeling that gives "high tea" a whole new dimension. That said, if this Saturday's event was a preview of things to come, we're in for some good times between now and May 6th.

Baby Bags

Come September, the world will welcome a Baby Bags! Congratulations to Celine & Keith, who are going to be the best parents any wee one could ask for. Just ask Patch.

Random Quizzilla

1) Have you ever ridden on a moped?
Yes. Bermuda, Spring Break 1988.

2) What is the farthest place you've ever traveled to?
Italy or Hawaii -- not sure which one is farther geographically. I'll look that up on Google Earth and get back to you.

3) How would you describe the sound of your voice?
I cringe when I hear my voice on tape. I think I sound like Alice from the Brady Bunch. When I was a smoker, I liked the sound of my voice. It was raspier, smoother and much less grating. I wish I could get that voice back without slowly killing myself.

4) Favorite song(s) in the 6th grade?
I have a vivid memory of sixth grade because it was so traumatic. Spirits in the Material World by the Police. The Message by Grand Master Flash. Ebony & Ivory by Paul McCartney & Stevie Wonder. Goody Two Shoes by Adam Ant. I could go on and on here. Repressed memory: I was really into On the Wings of Love by Jeffrey Osbourne for awhile because an MDC "skate guard" from Porazzo skating rink gave me the "45" and a shrinkwrapped rose from Store 24 one afternoon. I thought it was cool but now I realize I was likely being courted by a pedophile. I think he was 20. Ick. It's a creepy story that is compounded by the fact that On the Wings of Love is probably one of the worst songs ever next to Get out of my Dreams, Get into my Car by Billy Ocean.

5) Name a quality you despise.
Self righteousness. In the case of Imette St. Guillen, the poor young woman from Mission Hill who was killed in NYC: There are so many sanctimonious idiots on the radio and TV implying she is somehow responsible for her own murder because she was drunk at 4 a.m. in NYC. Some people are so desperate to believe they could never meet the same fate that they're playing the "she brought it on herself" card. Anyone with a life has been in Imette's situation more than once. The only difference is luck, not superior morals. It's bad enough her family has to listen to the gruesome details of her death over and over again, not to mention this nonsense from "well-meaning" individuals with their misguided teaching moments.

Cream Shop Friday: A Dreama Come True

For all who have been wondering where Dreama's been the past few months, the kitty's out of the bag. Apparently, she's taken up with the Cloon. Glad to see George has finally come to his senses and moved to Connecticut. One question: Did he bring his pig with him?

Dream On

"There's someone like everyone but there’s no one like Pete."

With these words, James, the best man, kicked off Pete & Apryl's wedding reception. In a toast rife with classic DeLuca anecdotes, James told his audience this long-held sentiment about Pete expired about five years ago when he met his better half. Indeed there is someone like him -- his bride, Apryl.

(Best Man James)

Both Pete & Apryl can kick any moment -- big or small -- up several notches. As James noted, they don't just go skiing, they go skiing in Chile. They don't just go to a Patriots' game, they go to the Super Bowl. They don't just go to a Sox game, they go to the World Series. But the best part is they appreciate every second of their good times. They are always aware when significant moments are unfolding, whether the moments are part of their own personal history or history at large. Pete called James after the Red Sox won the World Series in St. Louis; he and Apryl were leaning over the first base line filling their pockets with dirt from the infield.

So, it's no surprise that their wedding, in keeping with their philosophy, was just as memorable. Let's pause briefly for a few photos...













The ceremony and the reception were at the State Room (formerly the Bay Tower Room), a gorgeous venue on the 33rd floor of Sixty State Street where floor to ceiling windows show off panoramic views of the city and harbor. And once the snow and fog cleared, Pete & Apryl -- in front of friends, family and a crystal clear city night -- exchanged vows as each other's "biggest challenge and best friend."


Their band, Nightshift, was undoubtedly one of the best wedding bands I've ever seen. They transitioned, almost seamlessly, from Pete & Apryl's wedding song "All I Ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera, to 70s disco, then to a little funk, to some classic Michael Jackson and even a bit of U2 and Coldplay. Very few people sat down during this wedding as there were musical goodies for all to get down to.



(Out of my way! I must dance to Billie Jean. >>)

When the band played "Beautiful Day" by U2, a wedding guest who had to be in his 70s, stood a few feet away from me with his arms raised, singing, "DAAAAAAY." On the flip side of the family, Kyle and Dan "the Duke" DeLuca made their way inside many a dancefloor circle.

(Paul & Maria catch a bass line)

At the end of the evening, Pete took the mic. He thanked Jamie for inviting Paul and Maria, and Maria for inviting Apryl on the now infamous ski trip to Whistler five years ago where he first met his wife to be. And then, in an unexpected twist that was both surreal and hilarious, Pete and two of his friends on drums and guitar tore into "Dream On" by Aerosmith. It's important to note that Pete has never been in a band. Still, he busted some Steve Tyler-esque antics with the microphone, pulled off a few high kicks, and got really sweaty as the song built to its crescendo. While the singing left much to be desired, the message in the music was something of an invitation: "Sing with me if it's just for today. Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away." They are words that Pete and Apryl live by. And last Saturday night, everyone at the wedding lived by them too.

Man vs. Nature

(James reels in a seamonster)

The boys are back from their Costa Rican fishing expedition. I'm still surprised that James, our Arab engineer, made it through customs having grown darker than a Columbian coffee bean in the Costa Rican sun. Since returning, James has been indulging in laptop slide shows every five minutes, wistfully reliving the moments of his trip. To me, much of it seemed like something straight out of Jaws as some of those sailfish are just plain scary looking.

(< Matt's Mammoth Marlin)

Matt Del, like Hemingway's Santiago, engaged in a fierce test of wills with a 750 lb Marlin. When he finally reeled the behemoth in, rumor has it, he openly wept. This spontaneous release of emotion proves once and for all what most of us already knew -- that beneath his curmudgeonly exterior, Matt is all bunnies and rainbows. I was happy to learn -- with the exception of a dolphin fish which they grilled up and drizzled with olive oil -- the boys let all of the fish go after they caught them.

(The Old Men and the Sea)

It wasn't all fishing, however. The boys dined and cocktailed their way through the week, coloring this exclusive resort community with shades of Weymouth. Last year, Prince Albert of Monaco fished on Mr. Del's boat. This year it was B-Mac and Jimmy, Vince and Sepeck -- a much more entertaining cast of characters if you ask me. And while out of his element culturally -- James thrived. Watching endless hours of Dora the Explorer finally paid off as he was able to use his preschool Spanish to make chit-chat with some high-end Costa Rican hookers.

Red's Baron

Congratulations to Code Red on her new arrival, Baron! Annie has adopted a six month old pooch into her life and loft after deciding she was "ready to care for something else besides herself." She said she has some house plants that may disagree with this notion, but to them we say: Shut your pie holes, house plants! Maybe if you'd had Baron's soulful eyes and sweet nature, you'd have made it. Ever hear of survival of the fittest? Ok..that was kind of weird. Anyway, Vito, Patch, Wrigley and Logan, the canines of our group, are chomping at the bit for a field day with Baron. In the meantime, Vito has been grounded after Caroline busted him humping "Valentino," the stuffed dog that James gave her for Valentine's Day.

Paulie Decimates Assinippi General Store...Again

(photo: Paulie "The Milkman" Jackson has an appetite for destruction)

For the second time in two months, Paulie cut a swath of destruction through the Assinippi General Store, our favorite neighborhood convenience store. Last month when we went in to buy some bread, he launched loaves of Scali off the shelves, took a bite out of an apple and put it back, and then tackled a newspaper rack on his way out. I promised the owner I wouldn't bring him back until he was past this stage. But Saturday, with James away and no babysitter, I was forced to bring him because we were fresh out of diapers and Cavit. Again, I figured I'd run in and run out. How much damage could he do in under 4 minutes? Within seconds, he'd grabbed a giant bag of Cheetos from the snack shelves and sat on it. The bag exploded and Cheetos crunched beneath my feet while I shooed him away. My arms were loaded up with diapers and wine so I tried to sort of herd him toward the check out line. He stayed in front of me, rolling a can of Bush's Baked Beans down the not-so-clean aisle. Then he overturned a bucket of ATM receipts and used coffee cups. I offered to clean everything up but the owner kindly said "not to worry." I bought the flattened Cheetos, went home and bathed Paulie in Purell.

Cream Shop Friday: Oprah as It Should've Been

Spend one minute and 13 seconds in the Cream Shop today and check out this creative mash-up of two key Oprah interviews: The confrontational one where Oprah tears James Frey a new one and the supergoo interview of sofa jockey in fake-love, Tom Cruise. If only...

TomKat and a Crazy Dangle

The latest issue of Life & Style magazine which hits newsstands tomorrow is reporting that TomKat, that monkey-charade of a romance wrapped in a heavy beard, is over. Before the story even broke, Cruise's publicists Paul Bloch and Arnold Robinson swooped in to issue a forceful denial. "It should be known that this story is 100 percent false." Then they climbed back into their spaceship and spirited away.

I personally thought Katie Holmes was rocking a fake belly but now I'm convinced she consulted with Debbie Rowe (Michael Jackson's baby mama) and made her acquaintance with a turkey baster. Since announcing her pregnancy, Holmes has been closeted as tightly as Cruise's homosexuality and only gets out once a day for a cup of Peet's coffee -- with several "handlers" from the Church of Scientology in tow, of course. There is likely a billion dollar contract involved so we can't feel too sorry for her self-made mess.

The "insiders" quoted by L & S mag say that Tom, 43, and Katie, 27, plan to keep up the farce until after their baby’s birth this spring and then announce a separation shortly thereafter.

MEANWHILE...Cruise was spotted dangling from a balcony at a Kanye West concert this past weekend. Apparently he became completely unhinged during "Golddigger," when during Kanye's line about pre-nups, he threw his hands in the air and started climbing up cables to latch onto the upper balcony. You just can't make this stuff up.

dBar

(Jim's Camera phone photographs auras. Mine and Annie's apparently consist of static)

In celebration of Ernie's birthday, we headed to dBar in Dorchester for dinner and dancing with the boys. From the outside, dBar blends into Dot Ave perfectly. The sign is spelled out in the Celtic lettering of a typical Irish bar and inside, it's mahogany city, but trust me -- this ain't the Eire Pub. After experiencing the "Hot & Dirty" martinis and Sesame Crusted Tuna, you get the feeling you're not in Dot anymore. Also, there is not a whiff of the New England Reserve which is often so prevalent at neighborhood taverns. Here, instead of pretending you don't exist, the patrons and waitstaff are laid back and friendly (and quite ripped).

(Ernie, Annie and I ensconced in the ghostly blue static of the Jim Cam)

After 10 p.m., the vibe shifts; the tables are gradually cleared and the whole place becomes a nightclub. DJs spin disco, dry ice creeps in, requisite gay sing-a-longs and shirtless dancing ensue. It's such a great concept and I can't wait to go back. LP, Di, Annie, Ernie and Jim partook in the fun and it's official: We have a new favorite place to dance. At the very least, a tradition is born. Who's birthday is up next?

Random Quizzilla

1) When was the last time you swam in a pool?
Last summer, I swam in my pool twice. It took us five weeks to open it properly and then the season started to turn.

2) Describe your personality in terms of a certain vehicle and explain why.
A Mini Cooper. Because it's small, self conscious and completely impractical.

3) If you were to win a superlative award just for today, what would it be?
Most likely to finish the Dunkin' Donuts Munchkins my babysitter brought over earlier.

4)What song do you like to sing along to in your car?
"Always Love" by Nada Surf. A perfect driving tune and as satisfying as Spree candy. I crank it up and sing it loudly, even when the babies are on board. Paulie is a bit of a rocker and shakes his head from side to side whenever I do something like this. Caroline, however, frowns in disapproval, "Turn it down, mommy. And no singing, please."

5) On a scale of 1-10, how sociable are you?
Five.

Serendipity & Red Bull in NYC

(< Photo: Velvet-roped and we don't know why)

The last time I traveled to New York with this particular crew was in Feb 1996. We had a crazy co-worker along with us named Ginger who was obsessed with returning a two year-old dress to Bergdorf's and putting wrestling holds on men. This time, happily Ginger-free, we more than made up for the nine-year gulf between trips. As usual things did not start out smoothly. A harrowing Jet Blue experience delayed the fun for several hours. At 10 p.m., Annie and I were finally in Manhattan but Jen, Jonae and Siobhan were still drinking wine at Legal Seafoods at Logan with a giggly businessman named Todd. They didn't arrive until 1 a.m. But from thereon, good times and serendipity reigned, bringing us places where we never intended to go that proved to be much better than our original destinations.

On a recommendation, Annie and I headed out to a Thai restaurant named Rain which had two locations in Manhattan. We naturally chose the location closest to us but when the cab dropped us off in front of the address, it was boarded up and painted black. And the paint looked fresh. We walked down Lexington Ave and popped into a small French bistro called Sel & Poivre which ended up being exactly what we wanted. Cocktails and chair dancing at Rue 57 followed, where we were greeted by a patron being dragged out "Weekend at Bernie-Style."

The next morning, we met up with the weary travelers for brunch at Balthazar in SoHo to load up before a long day shopping for crappy bags on Canal and Spring streets. Anna Wintour, the notoriously evil editor of Vogue, dined just a few booths away from us and we averted our eyes for fear we'd turn to stone. At one point, however, I had to restrain Annie from asking Wintour if she was planning to feature "plump redheads" on the cover any time soon. We ventured down Canal Street in an icy drizzle, constantly accosted by peddlers muttering "louis vuitt, louis vuitt" which sounded like "ribbit, ribbit." They ushered us into "secret" back rooms with walls of counterfeit bags, acting rushed and shady like the cops had no idea they existed.

(photo: "louis-vuitt, louis-vuitt")

Soon, it was high time for a snack and a cocktail. Annie, Jonae and I headed to the SoHo Grand. Jen and Siobhan, who continued to maurader for bags, met us there two hours later. Pupils dilated, coming down from handbag high: "We bought eight pocketbooks."

Our serendipitous trend continued that evening when we were looking for a restaurant on West 46th but couldn't find it. We asked a man walking past us where it was and he suggested we go to the restaurant where he waited tables instead, swearing it was better. It was. It ended up being Becco, one of Lidia Bastianich's restaurants. Even though there was a wait, the maitre'd seated us immediately and within minutes, we were carbing up thick with breads, pastas and pies. We topped it off with a round of Limoncella - Cin Cin and a second wind.

(photo: Late afternoon nosh at SoHo Grand >)

We decided to dance off dinner at The Whiskey . When we arrived, we were immediately -- and quite inexplicably -- whisked into a VIP area with our own bar and velvet couches. We enjoyed a few Red Bulls & Mandarins, but unfortunately, the scene quickly degenerated into Techno Hell so we split.

We walked a few blocks to the China Room Club, where again, we were in line for five minutes before a burly bouncer plucked us from obscurity and led us downstair. Inside, we checked our coats. Siobhan wanted to hold on to hers but was stalked by a hostile coat checker around the bar area until she gave in. Her sparkly green shirt made it impossible to shake the coat checker, even amid the swirling dry ice and disco lights. Here, the music and vibe were much better, and finally - we danced for several hours. Around 2 a.m., though, some creepy silk-shirted men were lurking in the shadows trying to procure Heinekens to us like Jello shots. Soon, the China Room smelled of cheap cologne and the pent-up energy of a crime about to be committed. We decided to leave and get some food. Still in high spirits, the five of us walked down Broadway, arms linked, giddily heading into the early hours of Sunday. I, however, was heading for a Lindsay Lohan moment.

Cream Shop Friday: Britney & Jesus

The Stechford Baptist Church in Birmingham, England recently kicked off a series of little plays called “What would Jesus say too…..,” in which Jesus speaks to famous people through a radio. And this week Jesus spoke to Britney. Director Martin Turner said the event was less about Britney herself and more a cautionary tale for those who believe fame begets happiness.

"There's nothing wrong with fame--Jesus certainly is the most famous Christian--but that's not where happiness lies," Turner said.

So, what did Jesus ultimately say to Spears?

"What we concluded was that Jesus would say there's more to life than fame, that it's fleeting," Turner said.

In fact, Turner said, he thinks Jesus "would have loved Britney's music."

"I'm not sure he would have loved all over her videos," Turner said, "but I don't think Jesus was ever freaked out by overt sex."

Other notables to get a talking to, in a theoretical sense, in the coming weeks include Princes William and Harry, Bart Simpson, sci-fi icon Dr. Who and theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking. (Condensed from E!Online)

A QUESTION TO PONDER IN THE CREAM SHOP: What do you think Jesus should have said to Britney? Even better, what would Jesus say to that asshead K-Fed.

BONUS VIDEO: CLICK HERE FOR SOME FRIDAY AFTERNOON HUMOR

Tu-Tu-Tulio's

This month's Suppah Club -- at Tulio's in Quincy -- comes with a theme song courtesy of Auntie and Phil Collins. Judging from this photo, it looks more like the Last Suppah than Suppah club, with Annie in the role of Jesus. However, the monthly ritual served up the usual fare of riveting topics and issues. We discussed my unabashed Tello's worship and Paige's concern for her health after spending time in India, a largely toilet-free country. Pete & Apryl made an unexpected cameo, but alas Cameo herself did not.

Then, somewhere between the Caesar salad and the bolognese, things turned a bit more solemn. We were forced to stage a mini intervention after Goy revealed a somewhat unhealthy Tiger Beat-ish obsession with Nick Lachey. In fact, she admitted she may very well be cyberstalking him. "But he's just so cute and clean-cut," said Goy.

Plagued by the Piano Man

I’m troubled by a vivid dream I had the other night. In the dream, I was working at my satellite office. It was Panera but it wasn’t Panera; it was quieter, dingier, and more harshly lit, kind of like a greasy diner. I was working on my laptop and these renegade pop-ups kept popping up. They were all still shots of Billy Joel, complete with sound, which for reasons unknown were set at ear-splitting decibels. Every two seconds, a different Billy Joel song shattered the quiet of the dirty Panera. YOU MAY BE RIGHT! I MAY BE CRAZY. And before I could shut one down, another one would pop up WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH THE CLOTHES I’M WEARIN.

It went on and on and on. I couldn’t turn the volume down and was continually pummeled. Chrissy Donahue Harmon would have been appalled. Finally, the manager asked me to leave because I was disturbing the other patrons. I left in shame with BUT IT JUST MAY BE A LUUUUNATIC YOU’RE LOOKIN’ FOR hollerin’ out my laptop bag. This is a classic dream of deep-rooted anxiety. The loss of control, the helplessness. I still don’t know why Billy is the one giving me static.