And The Nominees Are...

The term “douchebag” is not yet listed in the dictionary as an adjective, but when that day comes there is no doubt in my mind it will be a tough decision on whose picture will accompany the entry. Gawker.com loves to point out the myriad of characters earning the esteemed title of "douchebag" who would fit in nicely in a hall of fame, and I’d like to submit my own. I’m pretty sure I haven’t told this story on here before but if I have please just read it again. Bringing that up might be considered a little douchey.

I’m not a fan of the Dave Matthew’s Band (a nomination into the douchey music category?) but two years ago when my boyfriend at the time offered me and some friends VIP passes to the concert in the park I thought, "only VIP makes Dave Matthews worth seeing" and accepted. (Note: I realize there are a lot of DM fans out there and a lot of them are my friends. I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings but I really, really hate Dave Matthews. I can’t even explain where my hate for the band comes from so please, take no offence. I still love you. Just please, if you’re trying to make out with me and want to “set the mood,” you might be better off playing the theme to Hee Haw.)

I rallied up some friends who I knew liked the band which included a few people from work. I told said work friends to meet me downstairs in the lobby at 5:30 and we’d go up to Central Park together. One of these people, we’ll call her Norah, worked for an attorney in my firm who we found out was also going up to the concert. In fact, earlier in the day he had been bragging to Norah about how one of his clients had gotten him tickets. I’m sure he was just casually mentioning it to her, but seeing as Norah was a huge DM fan, it’s probably safe to say there was some face rubbing going on in there. When I told Norah of my passes she, of course, was so excited she had to tell her boss that she too would be attending the concert! VIP style!

The work day was over. Hooray! Time for some Dave Matthews. Hooray? Yes, hooray because I love making my friends happy. Emphasis on friends.

I head downstairs to the lobby of my building and see 4 of my friends waiting. Oh look, there’s Norah’s boss. What’s he doing here? Oh, he’s saying hi to me. And giving me a hug? Wow, we’re best friends now! Cool! And a little weird since we’ve never spoken before. Not once. But there’s no time to suspect foul play... we’ve got a crappy outdoor concert to attend! Norah’s boss says he’s going to ride up to the concert with us so we all get on the train and head up.

We arrive at CP and there’s a mob of people, as you can imagine. Just because I hate DM, doesn’t mean everyone in NY does. I’m trying to take the lead, telling my friends to stick near me as I talk to the woman with the clipboard to get us passes for the VIP tent (which is said to have unlimited drinks and food. Another thing making DM worth seeing).

“Strange,” I think. “Norah’s boss is still here.”

The woman with the clipboard asks me how many people are in my party and I say, “Fi…” and Norah’s attorney shouts, “Six!” I stop talking (because I was interrupted) and whip my head around in his direction. This douchebag lawyer just stands there staring at me with this, “Go ahead. Say I’m not with your party, SECRETARY” look on his face. Had there not been a mob of pissed-off New Yorkers surrounding me, my friends eagerly awaiting a free concert and Dave Matthews in my future, I might have been calm about this whole thing. But no, this is where the anger began. I dug my nails into my palms and said, “Six.”

This alone is not enough to make me categorize someone as a douchebag for the rest of their days, you guys. Oh no.

We get into the park, walk on the red carpet, past the VIP tent and on to the lawn so we can get our spot in the taped off section. And the douchebag attorney is still with us. I say to my friends, “Hey, let’s go to the VIP tent and get food and drinks in two groups so we don’t lose our spot.” 3 of my friends go and oh look! The attorney is going with them!

40 minutes later I’m still standing there in my spot on the lawn. I’ve sent my other friends to look for everyone because it’s taking way longer than it should and I’m in desperate need of a beer.

An hour has passed and 2 friends come back and say, “We can’t take anything out of the VIP tent (meaning they can’t bring this poor desperate lady a beer) and everyone is looking for Norah’s boss because his wife is calling Norah from outside because she can’t get in touch with her husband and she needs him to come get her in the concert.”

You know, since he was supposed to meet her out there with the tickets from his client.

Can I also just add this information… his wife is 7 months pregnant.

So here’s the part where he went from “annoying guy I work with” to “complete and total douchebag asshole.”

I didn’t get food or drinks in the VIP tent because he was off gallivanting around. He left his pregnant wife outside (with the angry mob) so he could stay inside eating and drinking and VIPing. He pissed me off so much that when he finally did arrive, with his very angry, very pregnant wife, I told my friends I was too annoyed to stay and I went home.

Had he asked me from the start if I could get him and his pregnant wife (I mean… you guys she was PREGNANT FOR GOD’S SAKE!) into the VIP section I would have of course said yes, had I been able to!

No. No no no. This is not the way to go about getting stuff, you douchey douchebag with douchey sauce on top of your DOUCHEY HEAD.

I also hear he cheats on his wife.

I’m just saying.

Please, someone tell me you can top that story. I’m forever going to think this guy is a complete and total douchebag and I’d like to nominate him for the Douchebag Hall of Fame.

Love,

Glennis

PS – I think the fact that I said, “VIP” 20 times in this post also nominates me for the HOF. This I know.

Diarrhea

Here is my horoscope for today:

You might be tempted to say something that you would normally keep to yourself, yet you still choose to withhold a secret or two. The problem is that your words could inadvertently slip out faster than you realize and before you know it, you've blurted out something inappropriate. Think about the consequences before you speak.

Oh really, myspace.com horoscopes?? Really? I, Glennis McMurray, might blurt out something inapprops!?

Well DUH. I mean, really. That's like saying Dolly Parton might be top heavy.


Come on.

I just can't stop myself. It's as if my mind has OCD... but not when it comes to keeping the fringe on my area rug neat and tidy, only when it comes to blurting out something I know I should not say. All I can do is repeat it over and over in my head.

And it's not like I don't try to reason with my brain. I tell it, "come on, you know asking to drive this man's taxi is a bad idea! Why even ask, Glennis?" and yet some other part of my brain continues to obsess over it to the point where I feel like if I don't get this diarrhea out (of my mouth) I'll explode!

And say I hold it together long enough not to say what I want to say to someone's face I either a) call them, b) email them or c) text them.

It's a disease. I ate some bad ecoli thought-spinach and now my word-diarrhea is at its worst.

Please, someone help me!!

[Insert picture here of me with a piece of poop stuck in my mouth]

Love,

Glennis

PS - I realize my blog seems rather candid and yet I'm leaving out 50% of the stuff I want to write. It's almost impossible. Like plugging a damn with a dick. I just coined that phrase. Seriously, help me. I can't stop.

The Dating Game

Wow, I can't believe I posted that essay. My mom's totes gonna read that you guys. Oh well, can't live in the past. Let's move on.

Since, as I said in the essay, I'm either a serial monogamist or a dirty, dirty man whore, I realized that there's no in between for me. I don't really know how to just "date." So I'm making a set of rules for myself to follow so that when the time does indeed arrive (oh god, please let the time arrive, I'm so lonely! I pretended to trip and fall the other day just so I could lay next to a homeless man for a few minutes. Did I just say that out loud...) for me to "date" someone, I'll be ready.

Step 1:
Stop using quotation marks around the word date. Dating is a real thing, not a "" thing like "disease-free" and "single."

Step 2:
Don't make up cute celebrity-style nicknames for me and my date after 2 hours together. Examples might be: "Glalexander," "Glorman," "Glob," and "Glussell."

Step 3:
Don't tell my date the size of my ring finger. Additionally, don't make a mold of my ring finger out of the leftovers my date intends to take home.

Step 4:
Stop breaking out in tears of joy every time I see a baby and cry, "Oh god! I can't wait!! I can't WAIT!!!!!"

Step 5:
Don't hum the wedding march.

Step 6:
Stop finishing my date's sentences to prove what a strong connection we have. I'm almost never right in my assumption that their sentences will end with, "I want babies."

Step 7:
Stop incessantly talking about babies. (This might be the hardest.)

Step 8:
Don't pay a movie patron to sit near us and comment on what cute babies we'd have.

Step 9:
Don't call his mom to tell her about my day.

Step 10:
Stop winking and saying, "I do!" after every question.

There... I think that's a pretty good start. Of course I have yet to apply these in the real world but it's always nice to have a game plan should you need to play a game. Not that I think dating is a game. I hate games! Know what I love? Babies. I love babies.

Wedding Bedding

I'm not sure how I feel about posting this. I go back and forth and back and forth and then I think, "I read it in front of an audience, why not my blog?" So here you go you lucky, lucky people!

I know a lot of you missed my performance at The Breakup Show (along with the amazingly talented Kimmy Gatewood, Jordan Carlos, Party Central USA! and Nick Stevens) the other night. (And I can only hope you had a good big excuse. You really hurt my feelings, people! Ok not really... I, like Dolly Parton, will always love you. Yes even you, weird creepy dude in the back.)

AnywhoshotJR...

Here's my steamy, scandalous essay fresh off the presses. I hope it fills you single ladies with vigor and gets you off those couches and out there in the game.

Love,

Glennis

(My thanks to Liz Black who helped me write the funny parts.)

"The Wedding"

It's the stuff legends are made of. It's a cliché and an anomaly all wrapped up in one tidy evening. It's the kind of story I'll tell at parties and in salons for ages to come. Not beauty salons, but you know... those old-timey sitting rooms that Dorothy Parker would drink and fuck in. Ladies will tell other ladies about this story! About how a woman, for one evening, behaved just like a man and liked it.

Because I went from one 4 year relationship to another, I'd classify myself as a very monogamous person. What do I know about one night stands? I was like a sex comet that has only orbited around two dicks (and not at the same time), and I started feeling like a black hole.

My last 4 year relationship ended as so many do. I wanted kids, he did not. Things could have lasted a month, seeing as I had that information from the beginning, but I like long, drawn out stories with obvious conclusions.

And hopefully you do too.

It started on a rainy Friday in September as my pals Tara, Andrew and I set off for the land of love; Washington, DC. Glennis being single is a pretty hot topic on the public agenda these days which is why that’s all we discussed on the car ride there. Because I had a captive audience I professed my need to just have sex without, "all the yucky strings" and at that point we knew in our hearts that there would be a man without a plus one at this wedding. And I would make him my plus one. In bed.

I had my mission. Have one night stand. Could I, Miss Monogamy, do this? I’m cute. I’m single. I’ve got all the working parts. Fuck it, I thought. Let’s do this. And so I switched gears in my brain from, “sweet, caring, girlfriend-type” to “dirty, dirty, man whore.”

My friend Kate said two things to me when I told her of my plan. She said that it would be very easy to spot the single men, as everyone's there as a couple, and that I should not begrudge the presence of a swing band as that sort of music would be conducive to being close and touching. I thought, “What better way to get close to someone than having him dip, twirl and swing me thru his legs. (Before I swing him thru mine.)” She added, "You are so getting laid tonight."

Now, it must be said that the lovely Kimmy Gatewood was also at this wedding. And because she too is recently single I eventually realized she would be my competition which meant I had to be bold! Because quite honestly if you were to line the two of us up I'm pretty sure the Gatewood would have Got-wood that night. So, my apologies, Kimmy because in the immortal words of Brandy and Monica, The Boy is Mine.

The boy, was Dan. The only single man at the wedding. He was really tan. And a man! He was Tan Man Dan. He was so tan he was almost magenta, and he was so manly that he was Mangenta. Yes, he was manly, but also easily manipulated.

I introduced myself to Tan Man Dan and within minutes we were out on the dance floor. Just as Kate had predicted, we were indeed touching. Touching is good when you want someone to know you'd like to have sex. But if that doesn’t work, you can always say, “I’d like to have sex.” But that comes later.

Dan spun me ‘round that dance floor like an old pro. And when I tired of dancing I leaned in close and said, “I’d like to kiss you now.” Dan made a face made up of shock and excitement and I grabbed him by the hand and took him behind the building. I pulled out all the stops and gave him an amazing kiss to which he said, “Wait, you’re a really good kisser... let me put down my beer.” That’s right ladies and gents, one kiss from me is like a year of AA meetings.

Our kissing was shortly interrupted by 3 wedding guests walking past us on the way to their car. Had I not been filled to the brim with free Chardonnay, I might have felt self conscious having my hand down his pants. Dan, however, turned a deeper shade of magenta and whispered to me, “Do you think they saw?" to which I replied, "shhhh shh shh, no talking" and continued to suck his face off.

Eventually our make out session came to an end when his sisters called saying they were leaving. I gave him one last kiss and smacked him on the ass as he walked away. (I wish I was kidding.) We made plans to meet up at the "after party" which was the bar downstairs from my hotel. Bingo.

Phil Collins has a song called, “Against All Odds.” I’m pretty sure it was written about my night because in the span of an hour, against all odds, this drunk, 27-year-old man had sex with me twice. To completion. (Think about it.)

He said he wanted to leave before my roommates got back from the bar, but I looked at him and said, “shh shh shh, lay down and go to sleep.” Which he did, his skin chafing to a deep purple hue against the white, 62-thread count hotel sheets. And this is where I could not lie awake just to hear him breathing. I did want to close my eyes. And I did go to sleep.

When I awoke, he was gone... only his Tag body spray lingered letting me know it had not been a dream.

As all good sex stories go, here’s my roommate’s account!

"We came back to the room at 3 in the morning to find you, very obviously naked, under the covers of your bed with Dan fully clothed, laying on top of the covers. I immediately thought something had gone very, very right… or very, very wrong. We tried to be quiet but at one point I knocked something over and it made a loud noise. Dan shot straight up out of bed and said, "Oh shit. I can't believe I fell asleep. This is so embarrassing." He then said it was nice to meet us and ran out of the room."

I haven't spoken to Tan Man Dan since I last "Shh shh shh"'d him and that's just the way I like it. My mission was complete. I did what I had set out to do.

They say some people will meet their soul mate at a wedding and I think I met mine. Dan has never made me cry or made me turn off Project Runway and I’m pretty sure he wants kids.

The End

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

This is Jennifer Aniston and her life changing haircut "The Rachel." Hear me talking about this and other very important hair-related issues tonight!

WE Network (Channel 59 in our neck of the woods.)
10:00 pm
Narrator: Me!

Let me know if you guys see it. I'm so excited! I hope I made talking about Tate Donovan sound important. Rally, I do.

Love,

Glennis

It All Comes Together

I don't know if it was the glass of wine I had, my sister's birthday or Neko Case in my headphones; but tonight on the train home from Queens it all just felt lovely. The movement of the train. The couple across from me who were so very much in love. The amazing voice filling my head with heartache and joy. It was just one of those nights where I felt just right and knew NY was my home. I just wanted to share that.

Love,

Glennis

It's a Fuckin' Shame

You know, a few things in life can truly be categorized as a, "Fuckin' Shame." The time I made eyes with a man on the train, a hot man, who came over to talk to me and yet I didn't take off my headphones because I froze. That was an FS. President Bush being elected into office. FS. People using the term, "LOL." Definitely considered an FS.

But I think the thing I can most say about my life that's a Fuckin' Shame is that I decided, at the age of 14, to stop trying.

When I was little I was gifted. I'm talking reading "The Good Earth" at age 10. I'm talking Independent Studies and reports on Marie Curie at age 11. I was fucking smart. I wanted to be a teacher. Did you know that? Well I did. All up to the point when, at the age of 12, I auditioned for a local production of Annie (I know, what a cliche), got a part and consequently got "the bug." The acting bug. From that point on all I could think about was being in shows, acting, dancing even. And oh god yes singing. Singing every chance I got.

Which is all well and good.

Except that at the age of 14 I just decided to stop trying. I was going to be an actress so really, why bother studying? Why bother reading? Why... bother?

And that, my friends, is a real big Fuckin' Shame.

Because I'm not sure that I'd have picked another career path (I sincerely love acting, singing, dancing even) but it would have been nice to have actually read, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" and "Catcher in the Rye" before the age of 22. And it would be especially nice to know where, oh I don't know, the Middle East was. Or how to spell necessary without looking it up every time. Or what an intransitive verb is. But I didn't know that shit because I didn't fucking pay attention. And it's just a real damn fuckin' asshole bitch of a shame.

So here I am at 27 and I've finally realized, once again, that I am smart. And that I like to learn. And that just because I didn't go to college doesn't mean I can't hold my own in a conversation. Besides, don't they always say funny people are smart? So if nothing else then I'm definitely one of those, "If every A is B and every B is C then every A is C." Right? Whatever.

What I do know is I get pretty fuckin angry at myself when I think about how much time I wasted not learning stuff. Not questioning things. Floating through life as some vapid actress. Disgusting. And that's the trouble with our youth! No one questions anything! We're too fucking involved in Lindsay Lohan's shitty life to care about the war! So kids, if you're reading this listen to me: read something.

Here. I just learned this today. Read this:

Did you know that there are a lot of statues in NY with the face and body of the same woman? Her name was Audrey Munson and she was a model, actress and the first woman to appear completely nude in a film. She died in 1996 at the age of 104 but her career ended, sadly, when she was associated with the death of her landlord's wife after he murdered her trying to win Audrey over. Psycho. She was committed to a mental institution at 39 and isn't that all just beautiful and tragic?



No one lives a life like that anymore!

It's just a real Fuckin' Shame, isn't it?

A Work of Fiction. Kinda.

Listen, I cheated on my diet already. It has been a real struggle! I have forces of evil working against me.

Here's what happened:

I went to Dunkin Donuts this morning to get my regular coffee-in-a-bucket to help kick start my day. I never have a problem in there because I absolutely despise donuts but this morning... there she was. A single, perfect, lovely Pumpkin muffin. Sugar sprinkles adorned her bulbous, crusty head. I tried. I really tried not to buy her but she called to me!

"Gleeeeeenis! Gleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennis! Please don't let that creepy dude behind you buy me! I see him eyeing me. He'll mistreat me! Look at his dirty hands! He doesn't deserve my sugary goodness! HE... HE WON'T FINISH ME!"

"Oh for the love of GOD! Give me a freakin pumpkin muffin already!" I screamed at the Dunkin D cashier.

I heard the man behind me hold his breath. I could feel his body tense up. He knew there was nothing he could do. I was first in line! He wanted that muffin for himself and now here she was, in my bag, safe in my hands.

I briefly felt a wave of satisfaction sweep over me. I'd won.

But it wasn't enough. He had to know this was right. He had to know she was never intended to be his!

I turned around and looked him square in the eyes as I reached, slowly, into the crisp bag containing PunkyMuffster (I'd already named her. I'd only known her for 20 seconds and I'd already named her! Wasn't THAT ENOUGH FOR HIM!!?!?). I slowly, gently pulled her out of the bag... my eyes never leaving his face. Then, without even peeling back the protective muffin cup, I STUFFED Punky into my mouth.

The man looked aghast, almost as if I'd just stuffed an entire muffin into my mouth.

I nodded wildly as if to say, "yes! Yes!! I've WON! She's going to her rightful home! MY BABY IS GOING HOME!!!" and started to laugh uncontrollably. Tiny pieces of Punky flew everywhere. Mothers held their children close to their bosoms and looked away in horror.

My mouth still full of her spicy caked goodness, I wiped a small stream of spittle from my chin and smiled. I swallowed PunkyMuffster and I choked a little bit because let's face it that's a lot of muffin. But I did indeed swallow her and I watched his face turn to defeat. Or disgust. It could have been either. It was really hard to tell because that was a lot of muffin and my eyes were really watery.

Regardless!

As I walked out of that Dunkin D I heard the tiny cheers of Punky's friends. Banana Nut! Coffee Cake! Blueberry! The ones I could not save but who knew I'd done my best.

Perhaps I'll risk another visit to save the others. I doubt I'll see the creepy man with the dirty hands again but if I do, and if you are reading this Sir... hear me now! You will never win! I will eat every last muffin on Earth, my fat expanding to the size of a Buick, before I let you win! DO YOU HEAR ME!!?!??!

That was seriously a lot of muffin. I'm kind of still choking a little bit.

THE IMPORTANT THING IS... PUNKY IS HOME.

Love,

Glennis

PS - I don't have mono.

Recent Developments

According to just about everyone I've talked to lately, I might have mono. I made a doc's appointment for today (how lucky am I to get a same-dayer?) so we'll see. It's very exciting even if I don't actually think I'll ever have a "real" sickness/disease because I'm so twisted inside I actually want it. Although, not in that crazy Munchousins (sp?) way.

I am kind of annoyed because I've just recently decided I could stand to lose 15 lbs. Don't freak out, now... I know it sounds like a lot, but most of that weight's in my ankles so really, its all for the best. The annoyance comes from not being able to go to the gym. I can't even walk up two flights of stairs without getting tired lately. Anyway, I was telling Liz today that all my talk about losing weight ("I'll buy these pants in a smaller size... for when I lose weight." "Let's go dancing!...when I lose weight." "Sorry I didn't call you back...I'm still fat.") is like talking about The Rapture. It takes a lot of faith to think something this fantastical and absurd will Actually happen. (Sorry, God.)

Ug, this typing is even wearing me out. Of course this didn't stop me from going out almost every night this weekend. And I wonder why I'm sick?!

Things to look forward to:
1. My prognosis
2. Weight loss (a.k.a. The Second Coming of My Size 2s)

Have a great day. yawn.

Love,

Glennis

And I'm Feelin...

Once again I think I'm on the wrong track. Ignoring myself, paying too much attention to getting attention. I realized the other day when I auditioned for a short film that it was the first time i'd been on a non-commercial audition in AGES. Not good. I've let myself go too. Gained back the 5 lbs I lost when I was running.

So at least I'm recognizing this and I know I can get back on track.

Also, I really do want to grow my hair out. I'm taking Silica... anyone tried it? A friend recommended it to me and said it made her hair grow super fast. She's got Gorg hair, btw. So we'll see! I think its the same stuff Jen Aniston was reported to have used when she had that super-long hair.

Oh and if you're in NY or near an H&M they have some super cute dresses right now. Very 60s. I didn't buy any but i'm thinkin I might go back and get one. This is all very exciting, I realize.

Of to Dance Dance and Party Party. Let's hope people show up today!!

Have a great Sunday, lovelies.

Love,

Glennis

PS - Friday night I'm doing "The Breakup Show" at 10 at The PIT (Thanks, E). I'll be telling a very naughty story about a wedding I recently attended. See you there.

Revamp

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?

Love,

Glennis

Tiffa-Nos

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!"

Haaaaaaa.

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

Love,

Glennis

Cough

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!

Love,

Glennis

Pop-U-LAR

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.

Anycurds'n'way...

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!!

Love,

Glennis

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.)

Love,

Glennis

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 facial...ist? 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.

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 POP MUSIC.

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)

Love,

Glennis

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.

Siiiigh.

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.

Glennis


Cake!


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.

I mean, why even bother?

JT

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.

Love,

Glennis

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.

Super

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 wikipedia.com. 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.)

Stampede!

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?

Us
New York

CA
Wow! Neato! What do you do?

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

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

Me
Yeah.

CA
WOW!! Are you SAG?

Me
Yes

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

Us
Yep

CA
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!

Love,

Glennis

If by Classy you mean Trashy

I have to say the best part of watching Project Runway last night was Kayne. Kayne... I love you, you (low-fat) corn fed hick. And I can call you that because I, myself, have hick roots. And because you call yourself that. I find you completely endearing and I love the fact that you love every outfit you make in a dear and sweet way (and not a delusional and WRONG way, like Angela. WHAT THE EFF WAS SHE THINKING YESTERDAY!?!)

But I seriously almost choked on my diet coke when you thought the "Trendy, Jet Setting" person they'd be designing for (who I think he also said was glamorous) was TARA REID.

Are we talking about the same Tara Reid here, Kayne? The one that inspires artists to do this?

Oh Kayne, Kayne, Kayne.

Anywho...the show was great and I'm so glad they kicked off who they did!

Dear Ms. Collins

Might I suggest, for future events where there might be photographers present, a high-neck collar?

Sincerely,

Glennis

Let's Move On, Shall We?

Now, I know this is going to break your hearts but try to hold it together ok?

I am not Ellen's new DJ.

I found an article online saying that a Radio DJ from somewhere was one of the final 4 being considered for the job. Also, she starts shooting on Monday.

Here's what kinda blows... I never got a rejection letter! If they never got my submission or I was late... well that's just a bummer.

But oh well, right guys! Life goes on! Whatever's supposed to happen, happens!

Group hug.

Glennis : )

Tonight, 7pm

For those of you who have always wanted to know a juicy Glennis secret, I will be performing a personal essay containing one in a show at the PIT tonight. The show is called "Casting Couch" but really the show we're doing is called "See me, Hear me" and it's from the glorious mind of Kate Tellers.

$8, 7pm, The PIT

See you there.

Secretssssssss...

PS - I like this "share my life with the world" thing. So far it's giving me a kick.
PPS - I bought my new bed and it's DELIGHTFUL! My room is on its way to being inhabited by an adult.

Gawkin

Liz and I have finally been validated by Gawker.com when Liz's recent post "What's the 311" about the domestic abuse posters in NY subways was linked!

We're so famous!

AND SASSY


What more could we ask for?

Just Two Small Town Girls

Liz and I attended the Evolution (Journey Cover Band) concert on Saturday. It was freaking awesome. Liz will be out with another Popmatters.com review on it in a few days to which I'll link you guys. Until then, enjoy the picture. Please note how much Hugo (the lead singer) looks like Steve Perry.



Again... it was an AWESOME show. Check out their website so you can catch one, too.

Step Up!

You guys I just realized that I am a responsible adult because I bought an expensive pair of sunglasses and I've had them for like 5 weeks and haven't broken or lost them!

Anyway, as Tim Gunn would say; Carrying On...

Now, I don't want you guys to be jealous, but I saw "Step Up" last night with Eliza and it was ah-soooome! The movie had it all and I know you THINK you know what I'm going to say about it (that Channing Tatum was H-O-T) and you would be right in that assumption.

Channing Tatum put the Hot in "Let's get a Hotel and you can make sweet love to me."

The man should be featured on the cover of Torso, Butt & Neck magazines. Wow. The only thing taking away from the hotness that is CeeTatum was his RIDICULOUS dancing. The man could dance but looked RIDICULOUS doing it. His neck bobbled and weaved and he was all over the place moving like a bean in a fryin pan!

Oh that reminds me... I just coined three new phrases:

"That's Wayzee Okayzee"
"It's Mighty Alrighty"
"That was Willy Wonkee" (referring to something crazy that's just happened)

Anyway, back to ChanTate...

So he moved like Jar Jar Binks but looked like this:


(Snake in a Hanes! Yeah! Uh Uh! YEAH! Go, Glennis!)

Ahem.

I also hated the outfit he wore through most of the 1st part of the movie. It's so girly that I just said that. But anyway, it was kind of stupid.



And by FAR the best actor of the movie was what we called The Break Dance Girl! from the Missy Elliott video and JC Penney (??) commercials, Alyson Stoner. Wait, her last name is Stoner? So if you just use her first initial and last name she'd be A. Stoner? What if she marries Andrew Crackhead? ANYWAY. She is aaadorable and we both agreed we needed to see more breakdancing from her.



The best part of the movie, IMO, was the audience. Eliza and I kept giggling when people would make comments about what was happening on screen, "Ohhh SHIT! White boy can dance!" and would wait with eager anticipation for the audience to break into applause. It happened once... toward the end... and now for the life of me I can't remember what happened. It must have been the final dance number (all movies should end in a final dance number) which is also the picture above.

Also, is it just me or is ChannyTatey kind of cross eyed? And by cross eyed I mean totally hot with a cobra in his shorts. I need to stop.

Overall the movie was perfect. Exactly what I expected and more. I wasn't surprised once and could have written the movie in my sleep but it really puts you in the dancing mood (which I always enjoy, as we all know) and you can expect me to have purchased the soundtrack by, oh, tomorrow morning.

Speaking of dance, can I just reiterate to you guys (vie my other blog) how awesome the Peaches album "Impeach My Bush" (take out the "My") is? It's awesome to dance and work out to and you should get it.

In summary: "STEP UP" RULEZ!!

MAMA'S BACK!

Is it gross to call myself Mama?

Anyway!!!

I am back you guys. Back in the swing of things, feeling much better, life goes on, obla di, blah blah blah!

I am single now. Isn't that scary and crazy? It is. But also, amazing. And sad and silly and sometimes I can't even wrap my mind around it. Because sometimes you want things to work so badly you'll do ANYTHING to make them work. And sometimes that's not a good thing. But I still love my ex so much, I just realize now that I love myself... too? more? period? And what's better than that? NOTHING. I AM SO OPRAH!

I keep having all these epiphanies lately. And I'm realizing that I have ignored myself to pay attention to guys for way too long. Two long relationships where I completely ignored myself until it got to the point where I could take no more. And now I'm ready to get with myself. Is that gross? I don't care! I need to take care of me. And ladies, read this now and BELIEVE IT... you will never ever EVER EVER EVER change a man. EVER. I heard it and never believed it. But it's true. They are who they are and they TELL you who they are the minute you meet them. So if you're with someone and you're saying, "Oh just a little bit more of putting up with this BS and then he'll be the perfect guy!" STOP RIGHT THERE.

I'm not saying those guys are BAD guys at all! Just... if you feel like you're losing yourself to accomodate someone else's needs... maybe think twice about the relationship.

Also, I'll say it again: therapy is amazing.

So enough about my ridiculous love for myself and life and all that stuff.

Just remember who's most important in your life. And take care of that person. Because honestly, it's gonna catch up with you. Maybe not now, and maybe not in 10 years, but it will catch up with you and you'll regret it.

Bottom line: YOU ARE AWESOME and if you don't think you are, then you're WRONG!

Another Blog

Because I don't have ENOUGH to do in my life (and because I have virtually 30 hours a week in which I spend in front of a computer screen, at a desk, in a large beige box) I've started another blog. Because you all know how much I love music; this is a blog telling you good songs to listen to. It's called:

POINT OUT THE BOUNCE

In other news, I'm still here but not quite as chipper as usual. It will return. Please stand by.

Put. It. DOWN.

Ug you guys!

It's one of those times in my life. I can only explain it by saying that I feel like I'm in one of those snow globes and some little kid keeps shaking it and won't let it settle. Put it DOWN already! I never liked those globes. Boring. Too perfect. I did like those pens where the bikini comes off the girl. Now that's fun.

I have a few things to talk about at 3:18 in the morning.

#1
I am really glad they made the movie "World Trade Center." Because I think we all know how close we were to forgetting that day. Especially those in NY at the time. Phew! Thanks Oliver Stone! That day was almost wiped completely from my mind! Dick brains.

#2
This is a message to Harrison Ford: Harrison! Mel's out of the picture as America's Sweetheart! Let's get on that shit! Ride the wave! Yeeeeeee haw!!

#3
If you didn't listen to my rap you should!

#4
I cleaned house today and talked to myself the entire time as Jackie from "Workout" on Bravo. It might have been a defining moment in my life.

#5
Please check out my other blog because I lurv it.

#6
Sorry Blogger, but Wordpress kicks your ass.

#7
Hello dude from the Raisin Bran Crunch cereal commercials. Welcome to my blog.

#8
I might be taking over Queens, bitches! Let's get it on!

I'm finally tired. Maybe now I can sleep. Or maybe I'll write a new rap.

G

So... How Was Your Trip?

As some of you know, I just got back from 5 days in Puerto Rico.

How was it, you ask?

The trip was... it was...

Hmmm... Why can't I find the words?

Oh I know why.

Because I'm not RAPPING.

(NO SERIOUSLY CLICK ON THAT LINK. YOU WILL NOT BE DISSAPOINTED!)

Commercial Whores!

Hey everyone! I'm baaaaaaack!

Before I recap what I've been up to the past 5 days (IN A RAP), I will alert you to a new blog I've started. You all know how obsessed I am with commercials and so I present to you:

And Now A Word From Our Sponsor!

Yes, Liz Black and I are finally, once again, joining forces to bring to you the blog among blogs. All about commercials! You know you love it. It'll feature music from commercials (what's that song?!), infomercials, commercials we love, commercials we hate, and as much hilarity as 30-second commercials can inspire. WHICH IS A LOT.

So check it out. And if you have some commercials you'd like to alert us to, email us at andnowaword at gmail dot com.

Peace!! I'll be back later with a real blog post. And more. Continuious. Never ending. Blog posts. HOORAY!!

Love,
Glennis

Cabbie Wabbie

Cab drivers love me. I don't ever get hit on in NY unless it's by a cab driver. And I get hit on a LOT by cab drivers. Something about my eyes looking out the window avoiding their gaze in the rear view mirror says, "go for it."


I want you. To take me home. And stay in the cab. While I go inside. Alone. Without you.

So I get a lot of weird comments (like that I look like a planet) and propositions. One cab driver recently started hitting on me by saying that I was nice to look at. He then went on to say, "We could spend some time together if you like." I said, "no, no. I have a boyfriend." He replied with, "Oh." (pause) "Is there an engagement?"

If they don't hit on me, they at least ask me if I'm from Russia, Poland, Romania, etc. Some of them are so excited by the prospect of having a conversation in their native tongue that I say, "no" as if they'd just asked me if their mother survived her life-saving operation.

Someone once told me the best time to take a cab is early in the morning, around 6-7am because you can find money in the back seat from the drunkards who didn't realize they'd dropped it earlier that night.

One time I was so drunk I threw up ALL over the back seat of a cab and, from what I remember in my drunken state, the cab driver was really nice to me, grabbed his roll of paper towels from behind the front seat (aaahh that's what they're for) and helped me clean up. Then took me all the way home to Brooklyn. What a nice man! (This was also the night I almost blacked out in a bar, walked out on my friend Kirby and accidentally left our SUPER large tab unpaid at a bar. Green Apple martinis are the devil!! Or not knowing how to drink them in moderation might be the devil.)

One time, when I first moved to NY, I took a cab from my apartment to Grand Central. The cab ride was about 15 minutes and the driver was on the phone the whole time. When we got to GC he got off the phone and said to me, "I found this phone in my cab this morning. What should I do with it?"

I think I'm reaching for straws here with my cabbie talk. So I'll stop. But you should tell me your cabbie stories. I especially like this one from comedian Todd Barry.

Oh wait... I'm not done talking. Who the hell is Chelsea Handler and WHY THE HELL DOES SHE HAVE HER OWN SHOW!? I'm all for supporting women in comedy but honestly her show makes me cringe.

Also, I Eat Pandas did a show this past weekend and ended with a standing O. And someone took a picture! Hooray for that someone!

A Glennis Story

I think writing in this here blog is therapeutic. Even if I have no idea what strangers might be reading the semi-personal things I write, it's somehow comforting to know someone is. And someone cares. Which is probably why people write in the first place. Is it? Maybe not. I'll just say it is.

Lately in therapy I've been working on not being such fakey-fake-fake. Bottling up all my inner feelings and presenting what I think people what to see. Happy Happy Glennis! Always happy! Never a problem!! It's been nice, talking about things. With friends, family, the milkman.

It's good. I highly recommend it. Don't be afraid that people will judge you or hold things against you. Ultimately if they do then they can just sit on it. Because it's all about YOU. Or... ME, in this case.

So, you know when you were a little kid and you had that one thing you REALLY wanted. Like so badly you could taste it? And that's all you ever thought about, every day, multiple times a day. You dreamed about it and sometimes said it without realizing you'd said it. And you tell everyone, simply everyone who will listen, how badly you want this thing. Because you're just sure it will make your life complete. Like Ralphie in 'A Christmas Story,' you have a Red Rider BB Gun sized hole in your 10-year-old heart.

I think people are inherently optimistic. Even if you say you are a pessimist, I think a little part of you always thinks, "But perhaps it will happen! Perhaps I actually will get that part/win that award/get that promotion/not lose my leg!" I like that part of people. I like happiness and optimism, especially when in NY.

In the end of A Christmas Story, Ralphie gets his gun. Which always makes me happy. And I can watch that movie a million times in my life, at least 3 times in a row on Christmas, because of Ralphie's undying optimism.

I'm glad Ralphie got his BB gun, because it would have been a very different movie if he hadn't, but I'm sure he'd have been ok without it in the end.

Was that open enough? Probably not. Oh well, it made me feel better.

(And no, I'm not talking about the Ellen job. If that's what you read into this. I still haven't heard anything, and am still insanely optimistic about it.)

Stat!

As most of you know, I love me some medical dramas. Especially if they're real. But hey, I'm not picky. I still watch ER when I can so you KNOW I'm not picky. So secretly in the back of my mind I've always wanted something truly horrific to happen to me. But not really. You know, how you can be like, "how thrilling would it be to be in a car crash. like a really bad one!?" but of COURSE YOU DON'T REALLY WANT IT TO HAPPEN. I don't REALLY want a flesh eating bacteria, but man that is the coolest thing EVER, right you guys?

Well, I got my dream. Kind of. Maybe not. Just listen.

I've been running lately and had been doing really well. All in prep for this marathon thing. Any PATRICK SwayZE (thank you, Liz, for that beautiful pun) I really love running. You're getting somewhere, you are outdoors, you feel great after. I really enjoy it! I even got up to 10 miles and was like "whoa! 10 miles! I've never done that before!" But then, recently, I started running and after about 1 1/2 miles, my hip started to really hurt. Kinda like it was gonna dislocated. COOL! But not cool. So I took a week off. And then ran again in San Fran, ran some hills (omg the HILLS OUT THERE!) and it hurt again. So now I'm all dude, what is going on.

So I went to a sports doctor today and I found out a few things.

First: I could have a stress fracture. COOL! NOT AT ALL COOL. Cuz if that's the case then I have to stop running :(
Second: My left leg is significantly longer than my right (!! How did I go 27 years without knowing that! Everyone go to a sports doctor NOW! You might have an extra ear you never saw!) and therefore my left ankle is hyperextended and rotates when I run which makes my right leg and hip overcompensate. WOW. He had me lay on a table and showed me... my right ankle sits right on top of my left. It's like I have a retarded leg. Which leads me to...
Third: I might have to wear lifts. It's so Tom Cruise!! All I need is a crazy look in my eye and a submissive girlfriend. Oh and a FAKE BABY.

I learned so much today!

So there you have it. I am a walking medical mystery. At least until I get my x-ray and we figure out what it is.

Until then. Ah-dew.

Glennis

Slacker

Wow, I have really been slacking off with these posts!

So have you guys felt it? The world being just a bit "off"? I have... boy have I ever. And I hear it's because Mercury is in retrograde. You know what I'm talking about. Yeah, me neither.

But anywho, it's happening. And I can see it happening too. People are breaking up, getting back together, crying, fighting, crashing, screwing. It's all over the place and it's all because of Mercury. Can't you just let us chill out a little, dude?

Anywho, that's not what my post is about. I don't know enough about that to actually write an intelligent entry.

First thing's first. We had a great time in San Fran (Me, Travis, his fiance, Eliza and her man... my dude was workin so I was solo as usual) and had 3 great shows... but very small audiences. Which was really dissapointing since we flew across the country. And the other weekends had been sold out. But what can you do, right? We made the most of it and had a great time. You don't believe me? Why just look at these pictures!

And can I just talk for one minute about my office again? I need to talk about the "saying hello" thing. There are some WEIRDOS in my office, as I've previously discussed here (in my very subtle sitcom fashion) but why does everyone have to make saying hello in the hallway such an ordeal?

First there's the housekeeper who, every time I see her, every SINGLE TIME throughout the day, stops me to say hello but is not nice about it. She is German, I think, so she doesn't smile, she just says hello. And if I don't say hello she walks over to my eye line and says hello again. WOMAN! I just said hello to you 20 minutes ago!!!

Then there's that weirdo hippy attorney who tried to get $10 back from me for his donation. I say hi to him when passing him in the hallway and he says, "How are you, why not." HOW ARE YOU, WHY NOT?? What the fuck does that even MEAN!?

Then there's a Para who, every single time he sees me, says, "Hey Glennis, what's up, how are you?" EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Like, no, "Hello." No, "How ya doin?" Every single time it's, "Hey Glennis, what's up, how are you?"

I've been here for 5 years, people. It's starting to get to me.

And have I told you about cat lady? She has 2 cats and has 50 framed pictures of them on her desk. I'm not kidding. 50. Framed.

OK that's pretty much all I need to say about this place. Now you know where I'm coming from, eh?

Karate Kitty!

Ding Ding Ding

After a sleepless night because of possibly the most bizzaro dream I'm ever had, I'm sitting at JFK waiting for my flight to San Fran to meet up with Eliza and Travis for the improv festival. I'm tired so I needed my DunkinD and had to wait to get to JFK to get it. I stood in a line that wrapped around itself about 5 times, and ended up waiting 15 minutes for coffee. The whole time I'm waiting, the people behind me are commenting on this long line and the fact that there's only one coffee place in the whole airport!! It felt like one of those games to teach kids to pay attention to details. Look at this scene and say everything you possibly can about it!

"This is a long line"
"I can't believe there's only one coffee place in the whole airport."
"There might be a gourmet one down there."
"We're in NY!"
"Are they ording donuts for the whole plane?"
"Those donuts have jelly in them."
"I have feet!"

Just plain infuriating. If this had been POST coffee drinking, I would have laughed at it. Pre coffee? I wanted to shoot myself.

Oh, so the dream. Pretty much the only thing that's inspired me to write in this blog in a while. Sorry about that, loyal readers.

I dreamed I'd gotten breast implants. I got home and layed in bed and one implant started coming out the side. I took them out and started to put back the stuff that was originally in my breasts. Raspberries. I kept gently placing them back in the skin and then pulled both flaps of my breasts (which were cut from the top) to hold in place. A friend's boyfriend came over to help me out and said he could put the implants back. He took one into the kitchen to boil it in water. I went in the kitchen and smelled something burning and it was my implant. It had been sitting in water for so long the water had boiled out and it was melting. I thought, GREAT, now I have to hold my breasts up like this, filled with raspberries, FOREVER.

I had that dream OVER AND OVER last night. I'm so tired. Can someone please decifer this for me?

My flight is here. Hills and Trollys, here I come!

(I'll always think of Judy Garland when I think of San Fran. I heart you Judy G.)