Sunday, March 21, 2010

Compared to this Chick, Chelsea Handler is an angel...

Chelsea Handler at the Paramount last night. She was expectedly irreverent. Best parts were when she was cracking herself up so much she had to catch herself, pull herself together to get out the story she was trying to tell. That kind of shit is contagious.

Unfortunately during her opening act by Guy, a regular sidekick on her show (a large, bald, openly gay feller), the couple with tickets next to mine arrived. I smelled them before they fell into their seats: cigarette smoke and scotch. Lots of both. And cheap perfume. The woman was next to me. And within a matter of seconds it was trouble. “Oh man, I hate this guy. HE’S SO GAY.”

Then her hands go up. Waving. “Where’s Chelsea. I HATE this guy, Guy.”

Then she starts talking to her date. Really loud. I subtly “shush” her. “No you shut up, you.” She says to me. She’s lighting into the guy about the bitch she’s sitting next to (me). There’s a little shuffling. He tells her he’ll switch places. He has to kind of drag her off her seat, shove her into his place. I murmur “Thank you” to him. She continues to rudely say how much she hates the guy on stage because he is “so gay.” Mr. tries to tell her she needs to calm down or she will get kicked out. She’s defiant. I see the guy in the seat behind her now leave. After a few minutes an usher comes, lowers to her level and says “Ma'am, I have had complaints about your behavior. This show is for everyone and you are ruining other’s experiences. You have one warning. If you do not behave you will be removed.” The woman is really pissed now. Her date calms her down. She is mostly better behaved. Though she speaks loudly about the bitch on the other side (me) to her date. He keeps reminding her they will get kicked out. She quiets down some but I have to tell you I really didn’t hear much of what the entertainer was saying. I was too distracted by the drama next to us. My heart was racing. I was distracted. Disappointed that this was the way the evening was going.

Then Chelsea is introduced. Drunk row lady leaps up and stands in the aisle. Whooooo. Arms flailing. Drunken swaying. Big fan. She won’t sit down. “Sit down” several folks behind yell. Date man coaxes her back to her seat where she still won’t sit down. Guy directly behind her says directly at her “SIT DOWN.” She turns around and five inches from his face says “Fuck off.” Her date grabs her and sits her down. She totally focuses on Chelsea, screaming her name over and over. I see out of the corner of my eye, the guy behind leave his seat and come back. Drunken chick is teetering between passing out in her dates arms and conversing with Chelsea about all her jokes. Next, usher with two other assistants come, bend down, tell drunk chick she must leave, right now. Boy friend pushes her up and follows her out as she is saying “I didn’t do anything.”

Show goes on. Now I can focus on Chelsea. She’s funny. Uncomfortable topics sometimes. But what I expected. After a full hour of entertainment, including some good exchanges with the audience, she wraps up. Lights go on. We gather our stuff to leave. One last best part of the night: I go to grab my coat and find an extra one. A very nice soft buttery black leather jacket. It’s drunk lady’s. She missed Chelsea. And now she’s missing her leather coat. I laid it over the seats. Maybe somebody nice will get it.

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