Monday, November 15, 2010


On any given day as I gently float down the streets of New York, falling flat on my face only occasionally to ensure all that I'm still human, you can find me with hot jams tickling my ear drums.  My steps punctuated by each firey beat, my fierce 'tude a mainline from the jam itself, the hits influence my very being.  I pound the pavement more often than I mold a chair so often the songs I choose carry me from first to last step and over the threshold to my home like a melodic groom.  I love music (and, yes, I would marry it) and so, by request from the lovely Ann Carr I present you with a few of my current obsessions in song or: My PLaserList.  (Pew pew pew... laser jams making a b-line to your brain!)

1. Girlfriend - Pebbles
My girl(friend) Pebbles knows how to tell it like it is!  I can think of a few times in the history of G that I should have heeded her fierce advice.  This song is way more than, "Cute.  Cute, cute, cute."

2. Ain't Nobody - Chaka Khan
I mean, can this be my wedding song?  Would that be cool with you guys?  Cuz I might insist on it.  Let this song wrap its charms around you.

3. The Girls Want to Be With the Girls - Talking Heads
Oh David Byrne, you get me.  (Er... Us.)  Hearts.

4. The Glamorous Life - Sheila E
Sheila E is here to remind us that being strong, independant women with big thoughts, big dreams (and a big brown mercedes sedan?) is great, but don't forget the most important thing in life: love.  Amen, girl.

5. Whip My Hair - Willow Smith
Ain't no shame in loving this song, whip it with me y'all!

6. Your Love - Nicki Minaj
Shawty Imma only tell you this once, you the illest (dat for dat dat dude), and for your lovin' Imma Die Hard like Bruce Willis.  You dig?

7. Right as Rain - Adele
Totally infectious and danceable plus Adele's killer voice.  Hot!

8. Valerie - Mark Ronson
Darling, how can you resist!?  I know I've got a hot jam on my hands when my Dead Head, jam band-loving lover gets down with it.  You simply can't resist!

9. Can't Hold Us Down - Christina Aguilera (ft. Lil' Kim)
This song has cheese pouring from it's bass licks, but it's insanely catchy and shoves girl power in your face.  Highly approve!

10. The Fame - Lady Gaga
Not the obvious choice, but my current obsession.  Boom!

11. Let's Stay Together - Tina Turner
Try not to think of her singing this to Ike and you'll do just fine.  Tinaaaa!

12. I Go To Rio - Peter Allen
You just can't stop this song!  Try it!  Go ahead and try it!  You can't, can you??  It's as hot as Rio!

13. I'm Not Your Toy - La Roux
This song is too good.  In fact I'd recommend the entire album.  Infectious beats, dangerous lyrics - dance hall Annie Lennox.  Totally obsessed.

14. Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
I just want to be drenched in sweat in the middle of the dance floor when this song comes on.  So hot.

15. Strut - Sheena Easton
Oh god this song is just... IT.  I can't listen to it sitting down - say, in a car - because I will bust out the door mid-drive and strut myself straight to the hospital.  It's that good.

And, at the risk of creating a hot one hundred hot list I'll stop at an even fifteen.  A nice, even fifteen.  (Shhh) Thus concludes my current music obsessions.  Enjoy!



Thursday, November 11, 2010

Dear Lindsay

Giiiiirl, how are you?  No seriously - how are you?  Is everything OK?  Cuz it really doesn't feel that way.  Feels kind of like you're in a dark place with your arm stuck under a rock.  Like you were just walking along and then you fell in a crevasse and this rock pinned you and now you have to gnaw your arm off to get free.  Do you feel like gnawing your arm off?  That's just an analogy... I don't really think you want to gnaw an appendage off.  (Well, maybe your ankle LOL.)

Anyway, just checking in.  Call me!



PS - I'm not saying I'm necessarily worried about you.  I know what a firecracker you are!  I know you'll bounce back!  It's just, well, you kind of seem blue.  And maybe, well, maybe like you're losing your mind a little.  And, listen, I totally get it.  I thank my stars I wasn't a child actor with fucked up parents.  (I was just a child with fucked up parents LOL.)  I mean life was hard enough as it was, but add millions of dollars to the mix and I can only imagine how you must feel!  So I toooootally get you.  I just want you to know that if you ever feel like talking I'm here.  CALL ME!

PPS - Just use your words, you know?  Use your words.

PPPS - Like if I did something to piss you off just TELL ME!  You know?  Just TELL ME.  OK, that's all.  Love ya!  xo

PPPPS - Because do I really need to say that I get you, man!  I get having a shitty relationship with your father and taking it out on yourself.  Boy do I get that.  I mean, sure, your dad is in a league of his own, but isn't the sentiment the same at the heart of the matter?  Anyway, I'm not sure what I'm trying to say here.  I just want you to know I GET YOU.  OK, seriously - call me.

PPPPPS - I mean, I'm trying really hard to be rational here, you know?  LOL!!!  I just don't want to ruin what we have, you know?  I think you're really great and I'm really trying to keep my cool over here.  So, just, you know.  Call me or something and we'll talk.  Let's just TALK.  OK.  OK.  ...OK.

PPPPPPS - No, but seriously - fuck it.  Who am I kidding, over here??  I'm pissed!  You knew what you were doing... don't give me that innocent crap.  You really fucked me over this year!!  I was gonna be living large and you made sure to shove that money train right off the tracks.  I mean you really left me cold and broken on the bathroom floor!  And the worst part is - you know what that's like!  I mean your video for "Confessions of a Broken Heart" of course.  I mean, shit.  We GET each other, girl!  Or at least I thought we did.  I guess I just don't know you anymore.

PPPPPPPS - OK so I'm just going to come right out and say it.  That commercial had NOTHING to do with you.  Like, literally, nothing.  You know what nothing is right?  It's the lack of something.  The absence of things, things being you as the "hidden meaning" of that commercial.  I was hired to do a voice and that was it.  Why would I do something to hurt you?  I was just trying to do my job!  I mean think about it - you've done nothing to me - am I some psycho who just goes around hurting innocent people?  You know I'm not that person!  If you had done something to piss me off I would have called you and been like, "dude you really pissed me off!" and then you would have been like, "what did I do??" and I would have been all, "you borrowed my antique measuring cup and broke the handle off then tried to glue it back on and pass it off when you should have just told me you broke it in the first place.  You know I care more about you then some stupid measuring cup from the 50s!  Come on, girl!  You know that!"  And then we would have gotten together for some egg nog ice cream and pound cake (our fave!), snuggled on the couch and finished watching Season 1 of Damages.  Instead you chose to stab me in the back and I'm really pissed!  Fuck!  I don't know if we can be friends again.  Seriously, I think this might be a deal-breaker, lady.

PPPPPPPPS - SO I NAMED THE BABY LINDSAY.  So what!?  There are a currently about a million people named Lindsay.  And that crap about you being synonymous with the name Lindsay that is just crap!  You're not Cher, dude.  You starred in a few movies and made some shitty records.  Get over yourself!

PPPPPPPPPS - Sorry.  I'm really sorry.  I didn't mean to low-blow you like that.  I love your movies and your music.  Really!  I play your songs all the time.  A lot of your songs!  So, yeah, I named the baby Lindsay and called her a "milk-a-holic".  It's true.  Shit, I know how it sounds, boo.  I know you must have seen that spot and thought what a raging bitch I was. You probably threw a few things.  I know your temper ;)  (Remember the stool through my parent's sliding glass door??? LOL!)  But you have to believe it was purely coincidental.  The producers were looking for a baby name that sounded edgy and the first name that popped in my head was Lindsay.  (Um - you should totally feel honored by that, btw.)  And the "milk-a-holic" thing was just a hilarious joke about babies!  Wait... do you get it?  Maybe that's the problem - you don't get it.  See... cuz babies don't date each other, yano?  So the whole commercial in the first place is just ridiculous.  Yano?  I mean, it starts off with a girl baby TALKING, first of all... and it's and adult voice (MY voice) so right off the bat you're like, "oh man I get this commercial - it's a joke!"  And then the girl baby is like "where were you last night??" which, let's face it, we both get.  Dating an unfaithful guy bites the big one.  Been there, done that, right sister?  I mean, we chose different ways of dealing with it, but still.  (Me - therapy.  You - Samantha. LOL!)  So anyway, the commercial is parodying adult relationships in kids so it's funny to call the "tramp baby" at the end a "milk-a-holic" because she's a baby who... are you getting this at all?  It was a joke that had nothing to do with you.  Plain and simple.  A joke.  Anyway, I guess I'll talk to you in person about this at some point.  Love you like a sister.  SWAK!

PPPPPPPPPPS - No, wait... I'm sorry.  The more I think about this the more it pisses me off.  You sued them, dude!  You sued E*Trade for 100 MILLION DOLLARS!!  Why not make it a billion!  Jesus!  Like, are you even kidding me right now?  They took that spot off the air.  It was the number 3 Super Bowl spot, it probably would have run ALL TIME and you had it taken off the air.  Do you understand what that did to my bank account?  Can you say overdrawn?  Do you know what that's like?  Do you know what it's like to fend for yourself financially from the time you're 19??  Do you have any fucking idea??  It's really hard!  Do you KNOW what it's like to book a job which means financial security for a little while so I don't have to think about money all the goddamn time?  I mean, do you even get the plight of the everyman or are you too busy snorting your money up your fucking nose?  Huh??  Huh!!?  Do you get that at ALL!?!?  Seriously, dude.  Fuck you.

PPPPPPPPPPPS - OK, I went to far that time for realz.  I'm really sorry.  (And what was that "plight of the everyman" crap?  Who do I think I am - your dad!?  :P ) Ug, Linds... it's just... it's just a shitty situation.  You really put me in a bitch of a tight spot.  I guess it's over now and there's not a lot that can be done.  I guess I forgive you in the end.  I feel like there's a lot of shit going on in your life I don't know about.  Anyway, call me some time and we'll talk.  Sorry again about the snorting money up your nose comment.  I really do hope you're doing well.

(But seriously, how 'bout a few bones from the settlement, eh?  Help a sister out?  LOL!)

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

I Love a Surprise

Is there anything better than a surprise party?  Hardly.  The thrill, the sneak, the unveil - it's beautiful.  It's better than the best thing ever.  Even winning the Olympics.  ALL of the Olympics.  It's perfect.  It's not only a party it's an instant party!  A party full of people you love in the blink of an eye.

I pulled off the surprise of the century for my boo on Saturday night.  The planning started only a week before when I realized November snuck up on me like a sneeze-fart: fast and furious.  I looked at my calendar, saw there were only 9 days until the celebration of the man who rocks my LIFE, and knew I had to act fast.  I knew I wanted to do something big and, because I love a challenge (and a surprise, see: title), I settled on a surprise party and set the wheels in motion for a mere 5-days away.  The clock was a-tickin' down.

Planning a surprise is hard enough, but planning it for someone you live with IN the place you live is near impossible.  I had to call in many favors and every single person without exception delivered.  With golden fists of fury!  God, we have great friends.  The guise was set: a meeting with comedy pal and bestie Vince to commence at 7pm on the night of the party.  That plan quickly fell through when our worst fears were realized.  He said no!  (WhyIoughta...)  Vince's lady, Jodi, suggested I take him to dinner instead which was a grand plan B, but one which would need a lot of additional help.  I called in reinforcements in the form of Fire! (Kate Tellers), Water! (Marcy Girt), Air! (Carrie Faverty) and Earth! (Jason Falchook).  They jumped at the challenge and delivered a 9-pound baby boy named Matt McCarthy.  Well, his surprise party anyway.  So, at 7pm the night of the fete, I took Matt to Sel de Mer where we laboriously dined on lobster, fries and Budweiser tall boys while the Fearsome Foursome TCB, all the while my stomach turning over in antici..... (say it!).  And boy was he ever surprised.  Not a clue!  Never have I seen him move as quickly in my life.  It was... beautiful.

Sooplize! (photo: Jason Falchook)
I pulled off a surprise of grand proportions once before when Mini McMurray (my little sister) came to visit for her 21st birthday.  Kelsey now lives in Long Island with her honey Frank, but at the time she still resided in Colorado so I wanted to make her visit one of a kind.  It was her 21st birthday after all!  Since she had nobody to really celebrate with here in NY, I planned a fake surprise party in my apartment with my two friends Marcy and Noni.  She walked in to sad little streamers, a cake with melted frosting (Hap Birthdayyy Kelsss) and a few gag gifts.  She was nonetheless thrilled.  She's a lot of things but a diva she is not.  I told her post-cake we'd go to a nearby bar, Blackbear Lodge, for some $3 margaritas and Big Buck Hunter and that WAS the plan... with a detour on the way.  As we walked down the street toward the bar we passed a limo.  I turn to Kelsey and say, "dare me to get in that limo?"

"Ha ha ha, yeah I dare you," she said.


"Glennis... wait..."


And with that I ran over and hopped in the limo, rolled down the window and shouted, "Happy birthday, bitch!  This is YOUR limo!" And then I reveled in the look on her face the rest of the night.

I love a surprise.  It's a wonderful change of pace, but beyond that, after planning and executing a real, lights-up, everyone-you-love-in-one-room surprise party, I realized I've loved a surprise party my entire life.  Every single year since... as long as I can remember, I've wished and hoped for one planned in my honor.  To me it came to signify, well, love.  Look at all this work we did for you!  Look at all these people who showed up!  Look at the time and planning done in your honor!  We love you!  I thought if my family was unable to show they loved me in certain ways a surprise party was a wonderful way to make up for it.  But, and not to throw myself a surprise pity-party here, it never happened.  But actually I'd assume that's the case for most people.  (And if it's not, if every single one of you has had a surprise party thrown for you... DON'T TELL ME.)  Most people don't have the surprise of their life and even sadder than that, don't celebrate their birthday at all.

How can you not??  How can you not celebrate the day you were born?!  I'm not getting on my soapbox, I swear, but I just wonder what the reasoning is behind that.  I guess celebrating could just not be your thing.  I hope it's not that you don't think you're worth a celebration!  (WhyIoughta...)  For me, my birthday was the one day a year I got to be the center of attention.  I know that sounds crazy me being an actress and all, (an actress with self-esteem issues... alert the presses!), but I felt it was the one day I could ask people to come and deal with my antics without a tinge of guilt or self-doubt on my part.  It was also the one day I could ask them to make t-shirts/do karaoke/don wigs/spend $90 on dinner and basically act a fool.  And so, upon moving to NY, I decided I was going to do my birthday up big times.

The T-Shirt Party of 2006
I provided t-shirts, markers and a few art supplies (hehe, supplies!) and people did the rest.


A Dangerous Question

The Creator of the "Glesbian" title, Ms. Kate Tellers
Be Fre!

PLEASE NOTE: I did not ask, nor require the use of my name in the making of said shirts.  (But I didn't discourage it either.)

The Wig/Karaoke Party of 2007
I asked people to don wigs and sing songs and they delivered.  Boy did they deliver.

Name Fail

First time in the big city.

Quiet, please.  There's a lady on stage.

You-ah, you-ah, you-ah oughta know.

Willie showed up with his puff jacket stuffed with kind bud.

Jezus kreist.  Why are these buttons so small!?

I invited him because I had a huge crush and when he showed up I peed a little.  Now we're getting married!

The Dirtbag Potluck/Karaoke/Wig Party of 2008
I asked, once again, for the donning of wigs with the addition of a dirty, nasty, delicious dirtbag potluck dish.

Pre-party wig placements.
Serious Musical Soul Sisters

The "Dirtbag Potluck" portion of the evening.

Now they havin a baby, y'all!  A wig baby!

Brandon took his wig a little too seriously.

Cheespuff Monroe

Yunz want some Cheetahs?

Eazy Squeezy Cheese Pants
Sammy's Roumanian Fete of 2009

And this.  Nuff said.
And the parties have continued to rock out Sammy's Roumanian-style every since and will continue to do so every year until I die.

I love a surprise, but my need for a surprise party to be thrown in my honor has faded and, I think, been sated.  No longer is it the only way I know to feel loved, though throwing the fete for Matt was indeed love-fueled and love-themed.  All these parties I threw for myself were just as full of love and people who have now become my NY family.  So no surprises for Glennis, though if you're set on throwing one wait until my death day.  What a way to go!



Friday, November 05, 2010

Triple F!

If you were to ask me what this world needs more of, first I'd give you the Clair Stare for not already knowing the answer, then I'd tell you in two words: Triple Fs.  Aka Fierce Fabulous Fems.  Amirite, people??  I'm getting a little F-E-D Fed Up with hearing women say they're "crazy", "insane" or "broken" and don't deserve what they make abundantly clear they desire.  Everyone deserves happiness but you, right?  Wrong.  Every, and I do mean every, woman out there can be a goddamn rock star, it just takes a few minor tweaks (and maybe some therapy - you knew it was coming), some pointers from me, and a good old college try.  Here are a few tips I picked up on my road to becoming a Triple F.


"I'll have confidence when my stomach is flat/ass is smaller/thighs don't jiggle."

"A husband and kids with THIS NOSE??"

"Papa can you hear me?  No, you can't.  I'm an unlovable monster!"

"I'm just a socially awkward weirdo.  Drinks on me!"

Sound familiar?  They do to me because they're all things I've said and have let hold me back.  Pretty sad if I do say so myself.  (And I do.) It's not the worst thing in the world by any means, but it's a downright shame.  I know there are ladies out there thinking similar thoughts on a daily basis.  So here's the thing, we all have residual shit from childhood.  I used to be *squawked* at every time I'd walk into my middle school art class.  They called me "Beak".  As in "BIRD BEAK".  No joke, guys, it stuck with me and I didn't even realize I was seeing my nose through their eyes.  I don't have a big nose, but if I did wtf cares?  Good old Bette Davis put it best when she said, "If you hate your parents for willing you buck teeth, have them fixed or become a comic - only keep quiet about it."  I think we'd all agree that Ms. Davis was a Triple F, yes?  So stop hating and start heeding!!  Stop making excuses, start making out with yourself!  If you hate your nose either fix it or MOVE ON WITH YOUR LIFE.

You know who doesn't use excuses?  Rosemarie Siggins aka "The Woman with Half a Body" (thank you Discovery Health).  She had her legs amputated at a young age because of a genetic condition and now gets around using her arms and a sweet skateboard.  I mean, literally, best excuse ever to not move forward with your life, right?  You literally have no legs to do the moving forward.  But did she sit at home moping, beating herself up and name-calling?  No!  She got out there!  She met a man, had kids, BOOM!  Are you really going to tell me you're not good enough while looking at a serious Triple F like Rosemarie Siggins?  Give me a serious break.

Serious Rockstar and Lover of America


Adding some self respect to the mix has some pretty great side effects.  First, something we all want more of - confidence.  Self respect and confidence go hand in hand.  I mean, sure, you can fake confidence till the cows come home but at some point your true self image will show and it's usually on your 15th vodka/soda at 3 in the morning while you cry to your friend on a street corner.  (Been there, done that, lost the t-shirt.)  Second, respect from men!  How about that??  I can't think of anything sadder than a seemingly strong, confident woman seeking a man-child's approval.  Add some self respect to the mix and, well you might not be able to open his eyes, but you sure as hell can show him you won't stand for that kind of behavior!  (Do I really need to give examples?  Pretty sure we've all been victims at some point in our lives.)  The more women who stand up for themselves and stop jumping through hoops for men the better chance we have of them realizing they can't get away with that shit and... *Boom!*  Problem solved.  Unfortunately, there are a bunch of dickwads out there (just watch an episode of 16 and Pregnant for the earliest signs of dickwaddery) with no one to hold them accountable and it just makes me sick.  (Seriously though I think I need to stop watching 16 and Preggers. Rage.)


Grade Triple F Meat
Does anyone define "owning it" better than Lady Gaga?  Doubt it.  I mean you're telling me it doesn't take balls to wear a dress made out of meat?  Not only wear it, but ROCKET?  You're really going to tell me that right now?  She can wear a dress of meat, but you can't wear jeans because your butt looks big?  Gimme a B-R-E-A-K, Break!

Owning It, Bitch
I love Snooki.  She knows who she is and makes no apologies for it.  She doesn't fit into the box society has deemed "acceptable" for a lady, so she does her thing with a middle finger to the world.  At the same time she stays true to herself and the people she loves.  Sure, she can be a hot mess at times - who can't?  I've had my share of hot messiness, but she doesn't let men dick her around, she doesn't accept double standards and she rocks her attitude just as fiercely on the red carpet as in her grimy slippers.  (Seriously though wash those things, Snooks.)


I think all my ladies will agree that it's hard out there for a girl, yes?  So why make it harder?  We're already fighting for respect from a lot of men so why are we fighting for respect from each other?  Shouldn't the mere fact that we're all the same gender be enough to unite us?

Oh, and side note: can everyone, but especially ladies, please stop calling them "slutty" Halloween costumes?  That would be awesome.  Exposing skin does not a slut make.  Thanks.

True Triple Fs are proud of each other.  They take pride in the work of their brethren and respect them enough not to turn everything into a fight-to-the-death competition.  Healthy competition, sure!  Look at what the ladies around you are doing and let that inspire you to think, hey, if they can why not me? Healthy competition moves you forward, unhealthy keeps you stuck.  Support each other and things will undoubtedly be easier on all of us!


After a show a few years back, two audience members joined me for drinks at a bar around the corner.  Two lovely ladies from New Jersey, both middle-aged and non-creative types, they were interested in the career path I'd chosen and were asking a lot of questions.  We got to talking, drinking and talking some more and the subject of sex came up.  I, of course, started talking about vibrators and how the one I bought wasn't doing the "trick" and was met with blank stares.  Certain I'd crossed the line and - reminding myself these were not only strangers but fans who had probably just tossed their "Glesbo" hats straight out the metaphorical window - I quickly changed the subject.  There's a time and a place, McMurray!  To my surprise their floodgates opened and all the pent-up sexual frustrations came pouring out.  "I've never masturbated" one woman said.  (I tried to contain my shock reminding myself once again that these were strangers.)  "I've never had an orgasm" the other said.  "And," she added "I've been married for 10 years."
Whu-whu-whu-whuuuuutt??  Hold the goddamn line for a second.  What the balls!?  I tried to diplomatically respond, but ended up giving them an earful about how gettin' down with yourself is awesome and hot and NECESSARY.  They said they knew and made excuses and I'm pretty sure I scared them, but I'm glad I had my say.  Seriously, ladies, that thing between your legs is - news flash - not just for dudes!  (Or ladies if that's your thang.)  What I'm trying to say is a Triple F loves herself inside and out.  She rubs the bean, flicks the pea, massages the chicklet all in the name of happiness, confidence and fabulousness.  So take that Christine O'Donnell you sad little robot.

Honestly, from hearing some women talk it sometimes seems like a lost cause, but I know it's not.  I know one of you is reading this going, "I want to be a Triple F!" and I know you'll figure out how.  Because you do have to figure it out for yourself which is the unfortunate/fortunate part of all this.  Looking outside yourself (a man, booze, woman-hating) to feel more confident is just temporary and so not fabulous or fierce.  How about we all just start being proud that we're the third F... Females.  (Or, my preferred term, "Ladies".  I had to settle for Female to sate my love of alliteration.)

So ladies, let's slap on a coat of red lipstick, throw on some self respect and we'll be that much closer to having a world bursting with Triple Fs.  Imagine?



Monday, November 01, 2010

Ah Skeet Skeet

100 pct crazy
Double G

Tonight!  Live on stage for the very first time it's Double G tag team Gilda and Glenny in...


Yappy Hour is hosted by Mina with her owner Giulia Rozzi (Stripped Stories, Mtv, VH1) and Dummy with her owner Tony Camin (Comedy Central, Marijuanaloges) and will showcase some of New York's funniest dog-owners and their dogs telling jokes, stories, and doing fancy tricks!

Hosted by Mina (with Giulia Rozzi) & Dummy (with Tony Camin)

With performances by:
Scoops (with Dan Curry)
Lucy ( with Brandy Barber)
Mocha (with Ophira Eisenberg)
Atticus (with Eliot Glazer)
Fenchurch J. Nuisance (with Sean Crespo & Carol Hartsell)
Astaire Allocco (with Sara Jo Allocco)
Paquita Borgita Borgata Chorizo Jimenez (with Kambri Crews)
Gilda Raddog McArfy (with Glennis McMurray)
...And just added Ripley (with Jenn Wehrung!)

Tonight, 8pm, $5.00
307 West 26th Street @ 8th Avenue
Reserve your $5 ticket at or call 212.366.9176

See you there, suckas!


Double Gs

Friday, October 29, 2010

Website Revamp

Because I've been stuck at home for the past day and a half (hack/cough/sigh), I decided to update my website.  This might very well be the 200th time I've done so since learning to do so, but this one is my favorite of all.  The backgrounds represent my two homes: Colorado and New York, and the nameplate is the one I wear every day given to me by my boo.

Enjoy and let me know if you find any typos, broken links, etc.



Thursday, October 28, 2010

Ask G: Pu-push It Real Good aka The Perfect Birthing Mix

Today on "Ask G" 'Bill's Mom' writes:

"Hi there-
I am going to be having a baby in the next couple weeks or so and I was told that I should look into music to listen to during the labor you have any advice on good music mixes for bringing a baby into the world? I hear you used to be a dj.
-"Bill's" soon to be mom"

Dear Mommy Bill,

I'm a baby.

I can't speak from experience here, but I understand having a baby is a pret-ty big deal.  In fact I hear it can be life changing, but don't quote me on that.  An expert on babies I'm not... an expert on music I totally am not either.  But I do love me some hot jams and I am more than up to the task of helping you put together your baby mix!  In fact, I'm honored!

I thought hard about this and I've decided that, because everyone's musical tastes differ, I'd give you some guidelines to follow when picking your mix instead of choosing songs for you.  Though I'm sure along the way I'll throw in one or two suggestions which you by no means have to use.

In my opinion you should consider the following when choosing your "burthing jamz":

1.  Your Annoyance Level
Preeeeetty sure the level of  annoyance rises when pushing a medicine ball-sized person out your hoo-ha (childbirth is beautiful is it not?), so you want to avoid songs with catchy, but repetitive hooks which might drive you to insanity.  Eiffel 65's Blue (Da Bu De) comes to mind as a song that, when played at a club might cause shawty fire burning on a dance floor, but when played in a... baby birthing room (huh) might cause murder.  You might argue that murdering someone while giving birth is the true circle of life, but I'd like to point out that your arguments are stupid.

Moving on.

2. Capturing the Moment
One day your little Bill is going to look at you in his Yankee uniform just before he takes the mound for the very first time and he'll say, "Mom.  Dad.  There's something I've always wanted to ask you.  What was the first song I ever heard?  I mean... what played as I exited your lady garage?"  Do you really want to turn to him and say, "Pop That Pussy by 2 Live Crew"?  Can you even imagine the effect that would have on poor Bill?  I mean, sure, the song is relevent to the birthing process and you and your husband will have at that point raised a fine young man, but his mighty world might be crushed by that news causing him to blow the game ruining the Yankee's chances of ever becoming the winningest team in baseball.  Nice going, mom.  You really screwed the pooch on that one.

3. I Get So Emotional
Childbirth is beautiful blahblahblah, but let's face facts... you've got a job to do.  Getting the boy out is job number one and you don't want some sappy song about a unicorn drinking out of a kitten's paw mucking that up for you.  I do a lot of crying on the toilet and let me tell you crying and pushing do not go together like ramalama kadingidy dingy dong.

4. Sessytime
Sex is what got you into this so you might be inclined to listen to a sexy song to mark the occasion.  While almost every part of me thinks this is a good idea, there is this nagging voice in the back of my head telling me it crosses the line.  Prince has no place in a birthing mix.  I concede.

5. Classic
I know a lot of people are of the mindset that classical music cures all, but I'm of the mindset that it's a giant snoozefest.  I mean, sure, there is a time and a place, but do you really want your baby coming out all snootypants thinking he's better than other people because he was born to Sonata No. 12 In E Minor The Wind in my Shorts?  I don't think so.

Wait.  Hold the phone.  Something just occurred to me.  My advice, and I truly think this might be the best advice I've ever doled, is to listen to...

wait for it...

waaaaait for it...



for it...


Mind = blown
Yes, my dear mommy to be, I believe you should listen to your favorite musicals, soundtracks and, hell let's throw comedy albums in there as well.  (I mean can you even imagine how rich this revelation is going to make me?  Brilliant.)  What's better than a sing-a-long to keep your mind off the pain?  That's what makes going to the dentist so awful - no sing-a-longs! (Sorry to my DDS friend Brittany reading this - I'm sure you've figured out a way to work around that problem.)

I'm not having a baby yet (but as I just tweeted I have some nasty indigestion, so... fingers crossed!), but here's what I'd do if I was about to push a papoose out my teepee:

On your way to the hospital: Ideally your husband would drive you, but if you live in NY you'll probably take a cab.  Assuming the baby's not on its way, I'd like you to a capella "Morning Glow".  Your husband need not join in, but really how can he resist?  The song perfectly captures the uplifting spirit of the situation and will really set you in the mood for baby time.  (Why a capella?  Because NYC, home of the Great White Way, still doesn't have an all-musical radio station.  And they call this America.)

Chillin' in your room:  A mix of songs that are just plain fun to sing along with.  Suddenly Seymour, Cabaret, Hard Knock Life, Part of Your World.  Get the staff involved and soon you'll be the most popular patient on the floor!  No, really.  Trust me on this.  Musical theatre makes you very popular.

Uncomfortable, but not in pain:  When the contractions kick in, but it's not time to push, switch it up to The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  Just be careful when doing the Time Warp.

When the contractions intensify: Listen to your favorite comedy album.  Steven Martin?  Maria Bamford?  George Carlin?  What's your poison?  Or, wait - check with your doctor to make sure it's OK to laugh at this stage.  You don't want to end up hurting the baby in the name of a good time.  Plenty of opportunities to do that once he's born.  (Might I also recommend my boo's comedy album?  Why, I might.  I might just do that.)

In your final contractions: Your husband serenades you with "Maria" from West Side Story, but subs in your name.  ex: "Aaaaaamanda.  I just met a girl named Amanda!  And suddenly I see..." the baby!  Holy shit it's coming!

As Bill meets the world: You and your husband perform an exhausted, but impassioned version of "Without Love" from Hairspray.

Happiest. Baby. Ever.

Well, Bill's Mom To Be, I hope this helped.  No need to thank me, really.  Just name your first girl Glennis and we'll call it even.


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