...is Don Rickles.
When I was a purple-haired, bitter-ass, high-maintenance, weed-smoking teenager, my hero was Don Rickles.
In fact, my hero is still Don Rickles.
On family trips, I'd play his CDs on my ghetto "disc-man" for Alex, Kate, Matt and Jenny, watching their shock masking pure joy. Don Rickles is God and I've always felt I was born 40 years too late because shit, I love three things above all else: sequins, booze and off-color humor.
I had a rough day at work today and decided to come back to my folks and raid their top-shelf cheese and wine, not to mention their high-end cable as opposed to spending Friday night feeling like a spinster-dork at my own house. I'm currently watching a documentary about Don, cheese on Wheat Thin and Chardonnay almost empty and it turns out, guess what?!?!
Don will be in my old haunt, glamorous South Lake Tahoe on February 16th!
Folks, I put out. I drink like a Kennedy and I curse like a sailor. Plus, I've got some cute outfits. I NEED TO BE AT THE MONTBLEU on the 16th.
The man could be dead in a year.
I'm just saying.
It's my Make-A-Wish...