Snuck to Conan O'Brien!

Just came from the Conan O'Brien show. If you hear the screaming person in the audience saying: "Go Tribe!" it's probably me, after Conan paid respect to the Yankee's loss to the Indians for the national playoffs. If you hear the person screaming "I LOVE YOU CONAAAAN!" that was definitely not me, although I do like Conan. And then it was not me again when she screamed: "I LOVE YOU MAAAAARK!" when Mark Wahlburg walked on the stage. Dream.

Last night, my PR friend from Red Branch PR texted me saying "t me now asap!" I always jump when a PR girl tells me to, and thank goodness. So my friend, her employee/friend and me can now check off Late Night Audience Member from our things-to-do-NYC-while-you-live-here list.

Late Night Highlights:

• The Conan O'Brien show has a great looking staff. Meaning, almost all of the crew were sort of really cute. Not to mention the audience members (ourselves included!).
• Mark Walburg was also his usual hottie self, but there was someone else there with a hottie body - it was a random professor guy planing in a skit with a Vomiting Kermit puppet (who vomited on him of course). This professor guy and had to change his shirt after the skit. He was doing this behind curtains on the side stage, but then the curtains blew open for a second while we were analyzing who all of the crew were, and there was the professor guy - shirtless! We thought he was Marky Mark!
• We sensed some...weird something between Conan and Mark. We didn't know what it was, but Conan seemed to be explaining something to Mark, to which Mark nodded, and it just continued like that. For each segment, a writer or producer or PA guy would come out to give Conan notes of or about questions he was to ask his guests. The contact for the Mark segment was very tense. I want to say I've found the source: if you're a research nut, fact-checker type, you'll love this blog post explaining what could not happen for Mark on the Conan blog.
  
• The Black Lips were the band. One of the funniest lines I heard all night was what my PR friend's friend said when the band came on stage: "They are so little!" because they were. Like, high school little. We had never heard of the Black Lips, even though they were just in Rolling Stone, and we sadly have no plans of listening to them again. Unless you like a psychedelic Jack White influence with a screaming voice. Or, at least for the song we heard.
• There were big body guards. Thanks to the screaming girl behind us, who was probably a screaming stalker who went to a show once a week, the body guard in near the stage kept his eye on us the whole time.
• "There are no trash cans outside of the studio because of terrorism." As told to us by a very-into-her-job PA in a suit (production assistant) or house manager of some kind.
  

After the show, we drifted out of the studio and into La Maison du Chocolate at Rockefeller Center. Purrr-fection.



And as we ate our little caramel chocolate squares like they were popcorn, we wandered outside to the newly frozen ice-skating rink at Rock Plaza (it was 80 degrees today), and we could have sworn the skating rink production was calling Batman because of omnipresent Lord of the Rings music was coming from somewhere, and the huge white lights traveling up and down Rockefeller Center and other buildings.



We stared up at the clouded sky and waited for the sign of the bat. The night was so warm with a light breeze, we could have stayed there for a few more hours in our hookie-ness from our own businesses. But dinner called, and we parted.