Why Kathy Griffin is My Good Friend

I realize I may lose some of you on this post, but hear me out…

Two summers ago when I was unemployed and about 123 weeks pregnant with Frankie, I became rather close to Judge Judy. She was always there for me with witty repartee to keep my rusting mind sharp. Last summer, I was fortunate to teach summer school, and then manage the chaos that was buying a house, moving to Iowa and preparing for my first teaching job.

This summer, I made sure to keep my calendar clear so I could devote all of my time to caring for and adjusting to a newborn, while entertaining Frankie. About mid-June, I got the process down to a science and it was back to Satan’s box during my hours under the Boppy. I became particularly addicted to Kathy Griffin’s show, My Life on the D-List. Last night was the season finale, and I gotta admit – I cried my eyes out.

Kathy and I actually have very little in common: She’s rich and sort of famous, I’m definitely not either of those. She’s liberal, I’m not. She curses like a sailor, I don’t (anymore). She is, in her own words, a “fallen Catholic,” I try hard not to be. She hates kids, I only dislike other people’s kids (just kidding, sort of). Her hair, in all of its bright orangeness, is ever-changing in volume and shape, whereas mine is a low-maintenance, mousy brown mom do (hair is important in friendships). But the woman makes a living by bashing celebrities, humbled self-deprecation and making a complete spectacle of herself, and THAT’S where she gets me. I’m sorry, but the lady is frickin’ hilarious.

She’s a publicity whore – which beckons me back to my PR days – and will do anything, yes, anything, for a picture in a tabloid. To make her European publicity debut, she faked a drunken fall out of a taxi in London. She “posed” in pictures with Hilary Clinton at a recent Irish Heritage Award Show by walking in front of the cameras as they shot pictures of Hilary. In an effort to become “the red-headed Oprah,” she passed out $10,000 in 20 dollar bills to needy women on the streets of LA, only to be snubbed by a Star reporter (of all ‘loids) who kept calling her Kathy Lee and thought she worked for Oprah – it’s a long story.

While lots of comedians are funny, the thing that gets me about Kathy is her sincerity. Sure, “My Life on the D-List” is entertainment, and I realize most of it is acting. But, this season included some real-life struggles for her: a divorce and losing her father. In an early episode, she addressed her divorce and shared herself with an authenticity that could not be contrived. Then, she took us on the journey of her father’s passing from congestive heart failure. The situation, its struggles and the emotional tug-of-wars she went through were almost identical to my own when my dad eventually lost his battle with CHF. She allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of the camera. She cried, and let me tell you, I cried with her. Not what I expected from a crass, funny lady’s TV show.

Kathy admits wholeheartedly that her fondest target audience is “the gays.” Clearly, I’m not of this demographic, but she’s missing the boat if she thinks that’s all she appeals to. There is the stay-at-home teacher/mom who has little to do but watch unending Bravo reruns all afternoon while nursing her newborn and wrangling her two-year-old.

So, Kathy... I had a great summer getting to know you and laughing at your adventures. Give my best to your wine-box-drinking, Lord's-name-in-vain-taking, Irish Catholic mom/roommate, and Team Griffin – the best friends money can buy. I look forward to your visiting a TRUE D-list venue (aka anywhere in Iowa) sometime soon. And mostly, thanks for the memories.

Now, off with the box. It's time to seek therapy and find some real friends in this Mid-Western wasteland.