I've always wanted a ginger friend.

Kathy Griffin. She's unfairly judgmental, hypocritical, and obnoxious. I totally want to be her friend. Can you imagine the 2am conversation out on the porch after finishing a bottle of wine? Fab-u-lous. What makes her even more alluring to me is that she is one of those celebrities I feel like I actually know. I'll read something terrible about Speidi or Lindsay Lohan and think, "Omigod, I should call Kathy and tell her!" It's then I remember that I don't actually know this person, nor do I have her number and I would probably end up with a restraining order. Yet somehow I've had this thought more then a few times. Like when her dad died on her "My Life on the D-List" show - I cried. Then when she went to Ireland to spread the ashes - I cried harder.

The last time, however, that I really wanted to call up Miss Griffin was when I saw her bikini bod in OK! "Omigod, you look amazing - congrats!"


Then I remember. I don't know this person. Congratulating strangers on their rocking bod is creepy.