Thursday, September 28, 2006


In other self-obsessed news...

I get very easily bored with things. Clothes, food, men... ok maybe not men. But definitely hair. I change my hair a lot (at least that's what people say) but it's always within the same parameters of my basic hairstyle. But now, I want a CHANGE and I need your help. I've created a bunch of mock-ups of what I might look like with different haircuts and I need you guys to help me choose the best one. Whichever style gets the most votes wins.

I'll keep my comments on each one minimal so as not to sway your votes.

Let's begin.

The "SJP when she still smoked and talked to the camera on S&TC" hairstyle.

The "I'm a REALLY REALLY big Oprah fan" hairstyle (in red).

The "How the hell did Kim Catrall ever pull off this hairstyle" hairstyle. (I think it was because we were all looking at her OTHER hairstyle most of the time. You know what I mean. Wink Wink.)

The "I've got a stick up my bum."

The "Cocker Spaniel" (a.k.a. Sheryl Crow)

The "So cool I can ironically wear my hair silver" hairstyle.

The "I'm wild in the bedroom" hairstyle.

The "I'm wild in the bedroom at 90" hairstyle.

The "Maybe this sassy Latino hairstyle will detract from my non-Latino, flat ass" hairstyle.

The "I have Halle Berry's hairstyle from when she was in that movie where she showed her boobs. Not that movie. The OTHER one." hairstyle.

The "Halle Berry has awesome boobies, right?" hairstyle (in blonde).

The "Jennifer Aniston should have stayed with Brad Pitt. Dating Vince Vaughn was such a downgrade." hairstyle.

That's it. Now get to votin.

Oh... and have a great day, will you please?



Wednesday, September 27, 2006


As a lady, I'd like just about anything from Tiffany's. Who doesn't want their very own turquoise box? I even, at the recommendation of Kate T, sent my friend two Tiffany beer mugs as a congratulatory gift for opening her dental office. Update: She is 27 and has her own dental office. I am 27 and have my own ceramic hair straightener. Maybe I should have gone to college?

But can we please all agree that these necklaces will never, ever be around my neck?

They're by a designer named Frank Gehry. Frank's jewelry looks like he was all, "Look at dees reeng. Eet ees so peculeyar! Unt Squuuare. Eet weel go on yur fingur. You beetch!"

(I actually kind of love this ring but it would literally consume my teeny, baby fingers. Did I mention I have child hands? I do. They are freakish.)

PLEEEEASE, Frank. You're trying to hard. Your stuff looks like it was designed while reading Dr. Suess.

Then again... it's Tiffany so it's going on my wishlist!

Update: I've recently learned (as you'll see from the comments) that Frank is an architect. Does that make those necklaces ANY BETTER? I didn't think so.

Home, Home on the Range

Did y'all watch Oprah yesterday?? Didja?? If you did then you saw my hometown where I was born and bred. That's right, good old Durango, Colorado about which Ops said, "I love this town. I love love this town!"

I was home sick yesterday and while laying there, clinging to life, the images of my home really made me weepy. It really is an amazing place.

Isn't it quaint?

Oprah and Gail when to eat at one of the best restaurants in Durango, The Palace. That's where I had dinner before prom!

My date and I dressed to the nines. No, seriously. That is really dressed up for Durango. We were voted worst dressed town in America. Seriously.

But the best part of the show was when Ops and Gail went to take a picture in an old timey photo place. I used to WORK THERE, DUDES! I mean, come on. Why couldn't she have come through when I was there. It would have made the worst job on EARTH much more bearable. (And when I say worst, I mean it. Yeah it's all fun and games until a 400 lb dude from Texas comes in and I have to reach between his legs to put chaps on him while he lets silent meat-farts loose in my face.)

The most exciting thing that happened to me in Durango (celebrity-wise) was when Ricky Schroeder and his family came into the Ice Cream place I worked in (where I got to wear cow-print clothing) and I served them. And then stood behind the counter staring at them. Ok, just him. And yes, I did serve him with a silver spoon. Heyooo!

Ops also mentioned the Strater Hotel which is the oldest hotel in Durango and which houses the Diamond Circle Theatre where I used to perform as a kid. It really makes me think of the time my best friend Brittany and I went to see a variety vaudeville show there and pretended we were from France. We had the whole cast referencing French stuff (mostly fries) and we just sat and giggled. In French. Oh my god we were such nerds.

Man oh man did this show make me nostalgic!

I definitely didn't take advantage of all Durango had to offer. I never skied (well, once and I about died on the bunny hill) and I didn't raft or kayak. I mountain biked a little but not much. Oh but I did take advantage of their sweet supply of hippie weed.

Another great part of the show was when Oprah said, "everyone is so fit here!" as she was talking to a woman on her mountain bike. She just kept saying it over and over "everyone's so fit!" and from behind her the camera catches a heavy woman saying, "I'm from Texas!"


In closing: Durango is awesome. So is the truck and the boots.



Tuesday, September 26, 2006


I'm sick. I have to go record a voice over for 2 hours (literally two hours straight) and I'm sick. It serves me right! I should have stayed in and gone to bed instead of going out to BED! Oh life, you win this time.

I'll try to get back on the write more later but don't hold your breath. Unless you're in close proximity to me because I am filled with germs. I should lysol this keyboard.

Have a great day!



Monday, September 25, 2006


Having lived in NY for about 8 years I have amassed an insane amount of friends. I have friends through improv (mostly) friends through family, friends through boyfriends (ex), friends from high school (wait... I need to stop for a second. "Papa Can You Hear Me" just came on my iTunes.

Papa, how I miss you... kissing me... good night...)

Oh my god that song. So fantastic.

It reminds me of being in high school and doing that song as an a capella trio with my two friends Brittany and Amber in the talent show. This was talent, people. Talent and a need to be ridiculed by our peers.

Also, if you've never seen Barbara Streisand in "Funny Girl" she is just AMAZING. I had seen it but never on the big screen so I went to a screen a while ago at this theatre in Chelsea and I just about cried. So much talent! Of course now she paints Oprah's microphones white... so there's that.


I'm not sitting here saying I'm the most popular girl in Manhattan (close 2nd to Lizzie Grubman) but I do know a lot of people. Which is why if I run into someone randomly on the street I haven't seen since high school I don't so much say "oh my god... HIYEEEE!!!" out of shock as out of slobbering drunkenness. I should mention this usually takes place at noon on a Tuesday.

Having so many people in your life makes for an amazing tapestry (tapestry? really?) of friends. I have friends for all seasons. Friends who like to go out and paint the town red, friends who like to sit at home and play Cranium, friends who lend me books, friends who burn me music, friends who sing me songs and friends who do almost all of the above.

I feel so insanely lucky. Especially because my entire life has been spent avoiding becoming close with people. Had I known what I was missing out on!!

What's better than ordering in food and watching Grey's Anatomy? Or having such a fun time with someone that a man from Australia thinks you're lovers? Or starting a dance party and committing to it 100% because you both love to dance so much? Or finding out what probing is at 2:00 in the morning and giggling like school girls. Or... or... I mean I could go on and and on.

If I could freeze my life right now and stay here forever I would.

A little update on the dream... I'm not really able to find anything online that interprets my dream. Which leads me to believe that I am indeed EFFED UP. I will talk to my therapist about it today and see what she says.

Have a great day! Tell your friends you love them!!



Sunday, September 24, 2006

Sweet, Sweet Fantasy

I broke down. I finally went to a club in Manhattan. Just to remind you guys, if you don't talk to me on a daily basis and hear all about this, I hate clubs. Which is where DDPP was born. Anyway, the last time I was at a club and had fun was when I turned 21 and my friends and I went to Lime Light. I had the most awesome time: I almost got busted for smoking pot, I almost gave my fiancee a handy in a booth upstairs (sorry, mom) and I almost got so drunk I died. Almost. That's the story of my life, isn't it?

Every club experience after that has been completely retardo. Waiting in lines, douchey people, bad music. And I have to say this time was not bad... but honestly not much different.

Amanda Allan and I decided to go to BED because every time we talk about going out to a club we say, "let's go to BED!" and we never do. This time... this time we went.

There was a short line but we waited because why not. It wasn't down the block so we knew we'd be in in a few minutes. Besides... we're funny girls! We'd entertain ourselves in line! For example: let's look at our driver's license pictures and comment on how we look like lesbians! Which brings the number of friends I have who have terrible, lesbian haircuts in their license picture to 3. I'm sorry lesbians... I don't mean to offend. I'm sure a lot of you have great hair. So we wait in line a while, laughing all the time, and then enter the club. It's on the 6th floor so we first have to get in an elevator (which immediately makes me nervous which makes me crack a joke, "this is what we stood in line for!?" which garners 50% of the elevator snickering (i.e. the secure people. enough so to laugh at a terrible joke.) and 50% of the elevator shooting me glances as if I'd just said I was going to eat a bagel with cream cheese (i.e. the girls who looked 14. and probably were.).

The elevator takes us up and when we arrive on the 6th floor I hold my breath for what has been a club mecca to me for quite some time. Which doesn't hold much salt since, as I said, I hate clubs. All the same, I was expecting something amazing. And what I got was 20 people standing around, 20 people laying on beds and one man we later dubbed "party crew" who was dancing alone as if he were surrounded by strobe lights and foam. Needless to say; I was a bit unimpressed. But we decided to make the most of it (use the bathroom) so we stayed.

After standing there for what seemed like days (as I sipped on my $10 gin & tonic which they gave to me in a large mixing bowl. i'm kidding.) two men walked over to talk to us. First impression? Hmm. Second? Oooh, they're Australian! (Sorry boys but the accent really does bring the sexy factor up at least 2 pts.) They were nice enough chaps (blokes?) and they thought we were bloody hilarious (these are all British terms I'm using, yes?) and the one, named Paul I believe, offered to buy us a round. We agreed and as soon as he left went off on the, "oooh I hope he doesn't roofie us!" tangent. Or, as my friend Marcy says, "make sure no one puts a mickey in my drink." I adore her. The talk of being date raped OF COURSE led us to politely decline the purchased drinks and leave the club, right? Yeah... right. Free drinks are free drinks, my friends. I will stick around and talk to just about anyone for a free drink. Which sounds pathetic but come on. You know you're with me on this one, ladies. (Please, god, tell me you're with me on this one.)

After a while Paul was the only one sticking around talking to us and I honestly couldn't figure out which of us he was in to. And here's why. After 20 minutes of knowing this man he says to us, "mind if I ask you ladies a rather personal question?" To which, after a few looks and raised eyebrows, we said of course he could.

"Are you two a couple?"

We laughed. And laughed. AND LAUGHED. Then we laughed a little more. And then we stopped. And then we laughed some more and he apologized for offending us and we said no no, it was fine! And kind of hot. And then I ruined the moment by saying, "I totally thought you were going to ask us to blow you in the bathroom!" (sorry, mom)

Oh, Glennis. Can you not be classy for just a little bit? Like, just a few minutes?

I guess you can take the girl out of Colorado...

We went to Level V after that and it was fun but at that point we were so exhausted (from providing hot fantasies for Aussies) we had to call it a night.

So thus ends another night in this single girl's life. I hope it sounds oh so much more glamorous than it was.

Oh who am I kidding. It was pretty effin glamorous.

Have a good night all you reading this at 12:10AM! (my timestamp thing is effed up. I gotta fix that.)



Friday, September 22, 2006

Open Your Eyes

Let's see how this posting from my treo works.

I just had my face peeled, stabbed, tugged, yanked and all in the name of love. No, I mean beauty. I'm trying to say I got a facial again. This time I got microdermabrasion because i'm not getting any younger! The lovely Russian I'm forgetting the title here. Anywhosyerdaddy... She said it would help with fine lines. Ha! I showed her! My face is too fat to show fine lines!

My face now looks like I've been stung by 1 bee with 4billion stingers. And I got the pleasure of going home like that. Ah but who am I trying to impress, am I right people?

This is gonna be a short one because of the Treo and all... but I had one of the worst dreams of my life last night. I can't get online to analyze it yet but tomorrow we'll see what all this sick twisted crap inside me means.

So... in the dream I'm at a party with some friends. Me, three girls, and my friend Lindsey (not her name but she is a real person in my life). We leave and tell Lindsey to meet us at home. Cut to my apartment. We are in the kitchen when we hear a knock on the door. I don't know what, but something feels wrong. The other 3 girls walk over to open the door. I can see them, but not what's outside. They open the door and start screaming and crying, "Oh my god! Lindsey! What happened!" I run over and see Lindsey laying face down. She is soaking wet and is laying, from the waist down, in a large metal trash can. The back of her head is partly bald because someone has ripped the hair out of her head. She rolls over so we can see her face. I'm screaming, "we have to take her to the hospital!" but the minute I see her face, I know she'll die. It looks as if someone took an over-ripe melon and flattened one side. There was no blood. Just a big bruise on her cheek getting worse and worse.

I woke up from that dream scared like I haven't been scared in a long time. The feeling is slow leaving me today. I can't wait to see what my therapist thinks of this.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Pop Whore

(Before I start, let me dish a bit of good news in Glennis-land. I think I just got a pretty cool job as the voice for a new WE show called, "Hollywood Hair Affair." I'm not sure exactly what it is but I get paid to talk and my mommy will be so impressed. So I think it's pretty cool! I'll keep you posted. Speaking of posted... on to today's post. Oh wait... one more thing. I'm going to try to blog every day. EVERY DAY PEOPLE. So check back. And if you like what you read you should pass it on to your friends. Just. Because. Carry on.)

You guys...


I love it. I love every piece of shitty pop shit that shits out of the shitter. And here's the thing, I don't think it's shit. I think it's awesome. All of it. Kelly Clarkson (well duhvs), Britney, Justin, Fergie, JoJo... I don't care who it is. If it's pop and it's music I want to hear it!

There's something that pop music clicks with in my brain. Those overproduced sounds just get me. Yano?

I'm not even going to go into the "indie" bands I might like or how I know this or that about Johnny Cash. That would give me street cred and honestly, I'm not interested in looking cool. I'm not ashamed. Just like my post about loving Kelly Clarkson oh so many months ago (and would I be wrong in saying I was the first to publicly admit that and that after doing so you all felt free to come out of the KC closet? The Kelly Clarset, if you will. And you won't.)

I'm pretty sure the only pop music I won't get on board with is Paris and that's just because I feel like if I were to meet her and Scott Storch, her producer, in a dark ally they'd corner me, call me fat and throw pigs blood on me. I swore only to let my boyfriends do that, thank you very much!

The other day I was talking to a friend about how much I love the new JTimberlake CD. I said it without even thinking anyone would scoff at me. And someone did. I looked over and immediately said, "Justin is awesome!" And after stating my case so eloquently, he agreed that he was "a kinda talented dude."

I think the thing with pop music is, as Eliza stated so perfectly yesterday, you tell yourself you are supposed to hate this stuff. When really, it's impossible to hate most pop music. I really think that if you listen to a pop song, no matter how terrible it might be (and I do believe Fergie's CD is terrible and is making Liz die a little inside when having to listen & review it) there's something about it that is innately enjoyable. You just can't help it! So just give IN people. Realize you are going to eventually like every song Britney puts out (haha, Britney puts out. I'm 12.) and that the new Brooke Hogan song will be your father-daughter dance.

Trust me. The sooner you give in, the better. Pretty soon even your favorite indie artists will realize they need to make money (*cough* Liz Phair *cough*) and in order to do so will sell their souls to pop.

Besides... it's fun to dance to!

So what's the most shameful pop song on YOUR ipod? (Seriously, I want to know)



Wednesday, September 20, 2006

The Power of Love

The following should be read as James Lipton.

Don't need money...

Don't need fame...

Don't need NO credit card to ride this train.

It's strong and it's sudden. And it's cruel sometimes.

But... it might just save your life.

THAT'S THE POWER... of love.

Oh Huey Lewis you fucking genius. That really is the power of love. And possibly the best song of all time.

Lately, I've been obsessed with love. I like thinking about it, hearing about it, talking about it... it's so lovely. And I'm not even IN love. I just enjoy the idea of love and, well, the power of it.

On the train back to NY from a wedding in DC (at which two people in love professed it in front of everyone. granted, I missed the ceremony because of traffic but I imagine it went a little something like most ceremonies do.) while listening to my NPR podcast, which gives you a little taste of a few stories on NPR that day, I heard a story about The Weepies.

The Weepies (who says they got their name from the name for old movies that would guarantee you a good cry when seen) is a folk band consisting of Deb Talan and Steve Tannen. I'll take this directly from the website because they do it better than I could. And I'm tired of typing.

Girl walks into a bar...

Her name is Deb Talan. She’s an up and coming singer/songwriter who has garnered tremendous word-of-mouth support and critical praise for her debut CD, Something Burning. Boston’s legendary music venue Club Passim has become her performing-home, but tonight she’s there to check out a new songwriter she’s been obsessing over, a musician from New York City named Steve Tannen. She’s been listening to his debut CD, Big Señorita, non-stop for about a month.

Guy walks into a bar...

His name is Steve Tannen. He’s at Club Passim in Boston to play a show supporting his debut release, Big Señorita. He’s been playing rock and roll in NYC dive bars for a couple of years, but since the release of his solo CD he’s garnered tremendous word-of-mouth support and critical praise. He’s nervous because Boston is a new town for him, but he’s even more nervous once he looks out at the crowded room and instantly recognizes the pretty young woman down front as singer/songwriter Deb Talan. In a word, he’s intimidated; he’s been obsessing over her debut CD, Something Burning, non-stop for about a month.

Deb Talan and Steve Tannen began writing together the first night they met and soon formed THE WEEPIES. “We were fans of each other. When we met, there was an electric connection that made us both nervous. After the show, when everyone went home, we stayed up all night playing songs for each other, drinking a bottle of wine and trading an acoustic guitar back and forth in a tiny apartment,” says Talan. "That night has lasted four years so far," adds Tannen.

So that's pretty much the sweetest story ever. Even if they did make it up for publicity, which I like to think they didn't, it's really really sweet. Like they were meant to be together. Like that theory... I can't remember who has the theory about everyone starting as a whole circle and then the circle is split in half and the two parts strewn into the universe until, hopefully, they meet again. Now that's great. And yet, it can drive you a little mad thinking that's the case when you've thought "this is him/her!" a few times and it turned out not to be true.


So I've ultimately decided that there is no circle split in half. That it's all about loving yourself and finding wonderful things in yourself. And then, if by chance you meet someone who shares similar interests, sparks you, makes you laugh and, most importantly, lets you be you, maybe they will share your life.

I can't help but think people are setting themselves up for disaster with marriage. And yet I too want to walk down that isle and make some babies. Hopefully with a few minutes between these two events.

Wait.. I started off talking about Power of Love. Let's get back to that.

No. I don't want to make fun of love right now. Sorry.

The Weepies are greatness.

Have a great day all you lovers. And please enjoy these pictures of me at a wedding for love.



I just wanted you all to see how long my nails are getting. Also I think I look cute in this picture.

First picture of the night. That's how drunk I got fast.

Monday, September 18, 2006


As we all know, Glennis is single. Mama ain't been single in about 8 years (goddamnit I hate when I call myself mama) so this is all new to me.

Well aparently I don't like the single life because I have a new boyfriend. I know, I know. I didn't give all you single boys out there reading my blog a chance to take me out and make me pay for half our meal! I'm sorry! But I really just fell in love, and didn't expect it at all! I guess you can say I was blind-sided. I really need to learn when-to-use-hyphens.

I just want to warn you that if you're sitting there thinking and hoping and wishing that I'm talking about food or my old boyfriend I can assure you I am not. This is a real, true to life man and he loves me back.

His name is Justin. Justin Timberlake. Last night, while stuffing a quesidilla into my face, I placed my headphones into my ears and flipped on his new CD. And Justin made love to me right there. Quesidilla and all.

We started off as most relationships do, hard and fast. He told me he wanted to bring sexy back and I was like "why, did it go somewhere?" So right there we established that I was the funny one and he the looker. He told me how he had trouble dealing with his ex cheating on him and it drew us closer in a way only bitches you used to date can. But the moment he had me was when he laid me down and told me he had written this song for me and my cheese-stuffed tortillas.

I hope I'm not rushing into things, but he totes asked me to marry him (in a round-about-cryptic-way-why-do-I-keep-using-hyphens-if-I-don't-properly-know-how-to-use-them?)
but I know what he meant and I said yes. So we're totes getting married! We're registered at the "fucking awesome couples" store.

Anyway, I'm sure it will last so you really do need to hang up your "going after Glennis" hats. I'll have Justin put up a hook for them because he's really good at that. Get it?? Putting up HOOKS?!?!

I cannot be stopped.

Have a lovely day all you lovers.



Thursday, September 14, 2006

Romantic Comedy 101

My life is not only a situation comedy, you guys. It's a romantic comedy as well.

Why, only this morning I was splashed by a cab on my way to work just like countless other starlets throughout history! (I was going to post pictures of these women but I'm just too tired to figure out how to bring up these pictures in a google image search. So please enjoy this picture of Lindsay Lohan and her boobs.)

Still with me? Good.

So the cab zoomed by me and, although I had my umbrella up, the minute it hit that puddle I was soaked. I stopped dead in my tracks with an astonished, "no!" look on my face. I stood there a second more. Where was the handsome man offering his finest handkerchief? One that I'll "accidentally" keep and, thanks to the monogram he had inscribed on this and all his personal possessions, use to track him down and marry. A man rushed past me, looked back and smiled. This could be him! Look shocked! So I did. The man who would be mine winked at me and said, "thanks for blocking me!"

Thanks for blocking me. THANKS FOR BLOCKING ME. What he meant was, "thanks for taking the hit on that one. I've got a hot date tonight with someone taller and thinner than you and it really would have been a drag had I ruined this fuckin' awesome suit. High five."

No bother with him. Who wants to date a man who monograms all his belongings, anyway?

But surely... surely there was a man standing across the street who had seen the entire scene unfold who found me utterly charming in that "Bridget Jones" way. Oh look, there is a man across the street! I see him! He's looking my way! He's waving! To a man. Oh he's gay. Oh... I live on Christopher Street.

Mother of God, Glennis, just go to work!

And so I did. There was no romantic moment then, just as there wasn't one two years ago when I did a literal nose-dive into the sidewalk in almost that exact location. No man stopped to help me up (no man, no woman, no nuthin') and thank goodness because blood was streaming down my face. Who wants to kiss a girl with blood on her face? I don't want to know the man that does (unless I get really desperate).

3 times, while in Times Square, I've been walking over subway grates and had my dress blown up around my ears. I'm pretty sure a few kids saw my business and even more sure my underwear had holes in them.

Liz and I wrote a sketch called "Romantic Comedy 101" in which a crazy old teacher gave lessons on how to perfect the top RC moments. Being splashed by a bus, falling down, the "dancing in your underwear" montage, getting waxed (not sure if that was actually one but having been waxed my first time the other day I can assure you a lesson would have come in handy), etc. I could use this class now, I think. I'm pretty sure I look neither adorable or sexy when stuff like this happens to me. I think lesson one might be: purchase new underwear without holes in them.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006


Before I begin a new rant here's a promised picture from Orlando. I mean, can someone please put out this adorable-fire?

Now, on to the post. (Disclaimer: I know nothing about comic books or superheroes except what is presented to me in movies and on But seriously, if something I'm writing about a comic book hero makes you upset you might have bigger problems.)

I just watched the trailer for Spider Man 3 and oooh is it ever hot. You can watch it here.

Spidey is definitely my favorite of the super heroes. And by favorite I mean the one I'd most likely do it with. We're not talking Peter Parker here. Just Spidey. KEEP THAT MASK ON, I SAY!

You can cry, just don't let me see it.

Now, what does this say about me? I don't want to know the man underneath, just the expressionless sex spider swooping through the air. (Say that 3 times fast.) Batman is just a little to wrapped up in his parents for me. You know he'd be all, "yeah, oh let's do this. Nice, right there. Right there. RIGHT... OH GOD! NO! DON'T KILL MY PARENTS! OH GOOOOOooooooo....d." (squirt)

Total turn off.

And Superman? Come on, you know he'd be SUCH a wimp in the bedroom! All polite and, "would it be ok if I removed your panties?" (Only if you remove yours first, Super Man.) And he seems like such a perfectionist. God forbid something doesn't go right during sex, he'd probably stop in the middle to spin the world backward and start over.

Moving on. Captain America I give a big old thumbs down to but that's solely based on his appearance. First, he is covered in red, white and blue so you KNOW he's a conservative a-hole who hates gay people. I love me my gays and ain't no superhero gonna say otherwise! Also, what's with the shield? What are you hiding from, Captain America?? Stop blocking your goddamn emotions with your supershield!!

And then there's the dude that stole my heart when I accidentally turned on the cartoon network one fateful night in high school and caught the X-Men cartoon. Wolverine. Sigh. Hearts. Bubbles. Kisses. Cuddling. Accidental Impalement.

Oh Wolverine, (from the cartoon. did I mention it's the cartoon version I'm sweating over?) you have my heart. (On the end of your knuckle-blades.)

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


This post might be met with some criticism but it needs to be said in order for you to get a complete picture of who this Glennis person is.

So here it is.

I'm not a huge fan of Disney World. Or Disney in general.

Now before you get all huffy and storm out on me just hold yer horses (this is foreshadowing)!!

Here's what I'll say about Disney. I don't like all that fake happiness. It makes me feel like they're hiding something. Like they have children slaving away underground on bikes that make the rides move. Can you imagine how hard that must be?!?

Also, I don't like that they make people "audition" to work there. Even just to work in the food court! That's what I heard anyway. That's right, I know your secrets, Disney! The people were either WAY too peppy (the man who met us in line while waiting to check in to the hotel had a catch phrase. That phrase was "super cool!" Didn't that make him die a little inside? I ask you.) or just happy enough for you to realize just how truly miserable they were (the woman who took my money in the food court).

I just encountered so many emotions I haven't been met with since leaving the mystical land of Colorado. Which brings me to Captain America.

Liz and I decided it would be possibly the best idea ever to get tickets to Dolly Parton's Dixieland Stampede theme dinner. We were, as always, correct. The brochure recommended reservations so I gave them a little ringle. Of course I put on my finest southern accent which sent Liz and I into a silent fit of giggles between my responses. The man on the other end must have known I was "puttin on airs" for he sounded none to pleased with my accent. (Oh let me say that this theme dinner was not IN Disney, but in Orlando near our hotel.) So we get our tickets and say, despite what he thought my obvious choice would have been, we'd like to sit with the North (not the South. As there is a battle. Between North and South. While you eat.)

I'm not lying when I tell you Liz and I were pretty freaking excited for the campiness of this show. We were so totes in high school when her brother dropped us off in front of Dolly's Stampede in the white mini-van. We were even more totes in high school when we squealed with delight when a stampede of buffalo, bathed in Prince mist, entered the arena before our very eyes! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The man who sold us our tickets to the show was Captain America. Or at least he played him at the Disney park. He was what you'd expect CA to look like: tall, dark, handsome... and straight out of 1950.

Captain America
Where are you ladies from?

New York

Wow! Neato! What do you do?

I'm an actress, Liz is a writer.
(come on, like he wanted to hear we're secretaries)

Oh wow! An actress! A writer! Wow! (to me) So do you have an agent and stuff?


WOW!! Are you SAG?


NEATO MOSQUITO!! (he didn't actually use that phrase)


I'm an actor too. I used to live in Queens.

The End

Ok, so let me get this straight. You just went abs bananas over that conversation and you used to LIVE in NY as an Actor?

Oh sweet, sweet, handsome, naive Captain America. If you're reading this, please email me as I think I’m in love.

And now, back to the Stampede. There was a pre-show show in which they announced that we'd be watching the comedy stylings of Lucas! Yay! He's performed for 3 presidents! Lucas! Oh man, this is going to be good.

Lucas juggled a lot and might have been homophobic (if only for the fact that while juggling scarves he said, "This trick is really popular in San Francisco." The audience, who up to that point had been lukewarm (or Lucas-warm, if you will) just about DIED. Apparently Middle America can be united on masked bigotry. Lucas juggled and "joked" (I use that term VERY loosely) for a while and just as Liz and I thought we'd had enough (our thanks goes out to the lovely people at Corona for helping us get through) he did something that actually did impress us by balancing golf clubs and balls in various positions and the setting the sculpture on chin to balance, yet again. Pretty impressive even if I left wondering why on Earth he would be requested for a command performance from the Queen herself.

So yes, Buffalo stampede. I'm not kidding when I tell you we LITERALLY squealed like children. It was the start to an amazing evening full of baby pig races, ostrich rides, chicken chasing and yes, horses being held. All while we scarfed down a full chicken, ham-hock, corn, biscuit and two free beers (even if they were Bud Light).

I left that arena with a new found respect for the working actor. Doing what you gotta do to get the job done (riding an ostrich) and make ends meet. I actually had the thought, "yeah... I'd totally work here if I lived in Orlando" because... WHY NOT. It sure as shit beats sitting at this computer 30 hours a week bored to bits.

And where did that vary from the fake enthusiasm Disney has to offer? Well, I guess it really didn't. Except it really did look like those people were having fun out there even if, at times, they looked like complete fools (riding an ostrich).

I also spent $30 on a commemorative photograph. Now who's the fool. NOW WHO'S THE FOOL, I SAY!?!

In the end, the South won, but in the words of the on-screen Dolly Parton (you didn't actually think she'd BE there, did you?) "we are not North and South, East and West but one nation, united! So stop being racist assholes, South!" (I shouldn't use quotes when I really can't remember what was exactly said.)

Pictures coming soon!

Have a lovely day you lovely people!