Holy Crap!

Kathy Griffin on corporate gigs and the crazy dog lady.

Before I get to the blog, I just have to say one thing... HOLY CRAP, CAN YOU BELIEVE THE SHOW IS UP FOR AN EMMY?

It's true -- "My Life on the D-List" is nominated for Best Reality show. I really hope I win. Just so my speech can go like this: "Well I f**ked my way to the middle and it's finally paid off..."

Part of me kind of hopes that the day of the awards never comes because I like being a nominee so much. Because for one frozen moment in time, I'm just as good as those bitches on "Grey's Anatomy." And now, I blog...

GOING CORPORATE I don't know if anything makes me more nervous than corporate gigs. I do about five corporates a year, and they consistently scare the crap out of me. I'm always scouring the audience, trying to find a gay, and then I attach myself to him or her. Or if that doesn't work, I try to talk about sports because I know the heterosexual community loves sports. So I'll try to lean the local team names or find out if there have been any big trades.

Doing research about sports is always hard for me, because I firmly believe that all athletes are rapists and wife beaters. I don't know the exact statistics, but I'm pretty sure 94% of athletes have been arrested for rape or beating their wife. It's probably the same percentage for corporate employees.

And so I usually bomb, which is awful -- not just for me, but for the gay guy or woman who booked me, because they love me, and they're always so confused when the rest of their co-workers don't.

And once it becomes clear that the rest of the company doesn't love me as much as the person who booked me does, the booking person invariably gets that look on their face where, because of me, their job is on the line.

Look, I know I'm never gonna be Leno or Seinfeld at these gigs, but if just once, I can just keep the person who booked me from getting fired, I'll feel like the show was a success. Even though corporate gigs give me major anxiety, they are one of those things that I am determined to learn how to do better. I refuse to go to my grave being the comic that bombs at corporate gigs. Which is why I've decided to learn more about their corporate, heterosexual, middle-aged, white world. I am going to infiltrate them, and live among them to see if I can't learn how to relate to them better.

Like when Julia Roberts went to live in Outer Mongolia with a family in an igloo to learn how to understand their Outer Mongolian igloo ways for that PBS special she did.

That's what I'm going to do.

I just hope the corporate guys have nicer igloos than those Outer Mongolians.


Renate the dog trainer has a very interesting M.O. She never blames the dogs for doing anything wrong, but she constantly blames me for not executing her insane ideas properly. I don't know who's regulating Renate's meds, but somebody better get a scale and a Bunsen burner and make some adjustments.

She thought my dying beetle was just okay, but not great, and yet she still had confidence that I could pull off the dressing up like a rat thing. Except that when I showed her a tape of me in the rat costume scaring the dogs, she thought I was a complete idiot. Not that she thought I was insane -- I can handle that. She just didn't think my rat costume was good enough and she was pissed that I didn't fire real shotguns. Clearly Renate must have trained Charlton Heston's dogs before she trained mine. Chuck likes his guns.

By the way, I don't care what Renate says -- I had such a good time in that rat costume, that if you drive by my house you might see me wearing it at any time.

And I don't even need it for the dogs anymore because we got an electric fence. Turns out Chance and Pom Pom aren't really into getting shocked, and they haven't tried to run away since.

Who needs a crazy dog lady when you've got 115 volts?


Let's face it -- sometimes I say horrible things. Like when I was a judge at "Last Comic Standing" and I made fun of the comic with Cerebral Palsy. Who, by the way, I still think might be faking it. But that's neither here nor there.

The point is that when I was watching a rough cut of this episode, Jessica told me I had to tell Bravo to cut that line out because it made me look bad. But I want you all to know, I don't ever take incriminating stuff out of the show to make myself look better. I could. But I don't. I have to live with the s**t that I say. I'll definitely edit something out of the show if it's lame and boring, but if all it does is make me look like a bitch, well ... too bad for me.

Although sometimes things do get edited out of the show because of time constraints. Like when I spoke at the Learning Annex, a woman got up and asked me something like, " Well, your house is on TV now. Aren't you worried that I could figure out where it is and come and kill you?" I don't know why they edited that out. I thought that was the most unusual question.

And the truth is: No, I'm not really worried that somebody's coming to my house to kill me. I have bigger fish to fry. But if somebody were coming to my house to kill me, it would probably be Clay Aiken.

And lord knows I would have it coming.

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