"Blah blah... Brokeback Mountain... Blah..."

It's Wednesday, people! So what better day to play a little game that I like to call WHAT DO THE FOLLOWING ITEMIZED AFFAIRS HAVE IN COMMON?

1. Pausing a Tivo'd episode of "CBS News on Logo" to stare deeply - nay, longingly - into the void created by Itay Hod's partially unbuttoned Oxford shirt.

2. Openly weeping during a 3 a.m. broadcast of "The Oprah Winfrey Show."

3. Openly weeping during a 3:07 a.m. commercial for the following day's broadcast of "The Oprah Winfrey Show."

4. Openly weeping (tears of hilarity!) at the sight - and sound - of a cat shitting in a toilet during "Date Movie", of which the best part was the six-pack I smuggled into the theater.

5. Deciding to wear a denim shirt to work.

Give up?

I did all of those things while under the influence of gin, whiskey, boxed wine and/or beer!

(Okay, to be honest, I was legally sober during No. 5, so I really don't have an excuse for looking like a gay cowboy. Sorry.)

Needless to say, alcohol brings out the emotions (and penchant for toilet humor) in me, which will come as no surprise to anyone who has encountered me during one of my many "very special" moments at such exotic locales as the Gentleman Friend's apartment, the pancake syrup aisle of Safeway, or, let's say, the Cock in New York City at 4 a.m.

Okay, so what if I cry at the drop of "These Dreams" by Heart, the hugely successful female-fronted hard rock band of the 1970s? The important thing is that the next day, I always remember who came to me in my time of need. This allows me to call and thank him or her for the perfunctory kindness bestowed unto me, and then avoid that person for as long as humanly possible.

Of course, every now and then, I don't remember a drunken liver-to-liver with a close friend - which brings me (finally!) to the point (if you dare to call it that) of today's entry.

Just last week, I met a few people for drinks at Larry's Lounge on 18th Street; this I recall. (Comments written expressly to mock me for going to Larry's Lounge will not be approved!) After desperately imbibing a number of beers (approximately 18 to 49 - a value set eerily identical to the age range in which "American Idol" consistantly ranks No. 1), I began chatting it up with my friend. I didn't realize just how intimate our conversation had become until the next day, when we exchanged the following instant messages:

My friend: Hey, so, I'm still trying to figure out that Caroline Rhea thing.
Me: What Caroline Rhea thing?
My friend: Don't you remember?
Me (nervously): Maybe.
My friend: Last night, you said I was a lot like Caroline Rhea...
Me: Why would I do that?!
My friend: I don't know. You said you'd explain it to me tomorrow.
Me: What the fuck!

I have no idea why I would compare my friend to Caroline Rhea. First of all, my friend looks nothing like Caroline Rhea. Second of all, my friend is male.

Like my friend, Caroline Rhea does not look good in a sweater set stolen from a 7-year-old girl. Unlike my friend, Caroline Rhea needs to die.

This brings me to...

POSSIBLE EXPLANATIONS FOR THE OTHERWISE UNWARRANTED COMPARISON OF MY FRIEND TO CAROLINE RHEA

1. My friend is a stand-up comedian, actress, and the former host of talk show "The Caroline Rhea Show."

Hmm, no, that's not it.

2. My friend is Canadian.

No...

3. My friend has a talking cat.

Ah, that's right! My friend totally has a talking cat. Phew, I'm glad we cleared that up. The end!

"Dogs guard; cats watch... and judge." Truer words have never been spoken by an anthropomorphized cat on a children's television series!