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sticky icky

It happened again. I was driving into work and I flashed back to The Improv, 2001'ish. The Parrish's and I are there to see Paul Mooney. Michelle knocks over a full Long Island Iced Tea in my lap, during the show. And I gotta sit there like an asshole. I'm not getting up and maneuvering through the tables during Paul Mooney's set to clean up. I was furious, like Top 5 furious, furious. So, I sat there. In my often flawed memory, "Dad" snickers a lil bit. My jeans were syrupy and sticking to me like I was involved in the biggest freak fest ever and I was the only woman attending.

By the last JonBenet Ramsey joke, my pants had crusted. I walked stiffly to the car.

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