Bridal Expo Escapade

Tuesday night I took my ladies on an escapade of Bridal proportions when we attended the Bridal Expo at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square.  Really, it was exactly like Janet's video for Escapade and by that I mean a freakin' circus.  Who would have guessed a BRIDAL expo in TIMES SQUARE would be bananaballs??

Where do I even begin?  Marcy and I showed up early just to check out the scene, but upon stepping off the elevator, we were immediately beckoned over by a woman shouting what I thought was, "Bridesmaid?" There were only a handful of people there so my confusion still confuses me.  I just couldn't get a grasp on the goings on.  The barker once again barked at us but this time I understood she was saying, "Are you the bride?"  Or... wait... something like that.  I don't know guys, I was overwhelmed!  I'd also like to point out that she was completely impossible to understand.  Every sentence of hers trailed ofattheendandshestartedmakingupwordsfardonsworthycablirtinroots.  I asked her to repeat herself so many times I almost broke my old ear horn.

 

 I inherited it from my granny.  The hearing loss, that is.

 

The mumbler shoved two pieces of paper in my hand and slapped a "VIB" (Very Important Bitch) sticker on my jacket lapel.  I still have no idea what the papers were, but I was told I couldn't enter the event without filling them out.  If there's anything I hate more than a mumbler it's giving out personal information which I continued to do through the rest of the event.  I'm about to put my "spam" button to good use, Google, so get ready.

Here was my plan of action: avoid conversations and eye contact, fill out forms for free vacations, eat my weight in cake, drink my weight in champagne, repeat (the last two).  I don't need to tell you guys twice that I love me some free shit, but especially in food form.  Mmmm... food shit.  Well guys, I've got news for you!  Those boothies (the ladies and gents running the bridal booths) do not mess around.  They are on you like hoarders on a garage sale!  It's all smiles and more personal information and to be honest it was not my thing.  Thankfully I had the perfect mix of ladies there.  My girls Katina and Sara lead the way scoping out which booths were worth visiting, which booths housed food (for me to house) and which were just worth the visit for the laughs.  Marcy hung back with me sensing my need for flight (or perhaps to cover me should I have an anxiety accident) and kept me sane.

The booths were pretty much what you'd expect.  Lots of jellybeans, teeth whitening and the potential for free vacations.  And a lot of this:

Freeeeeeee stufffff!!!  Come and get some FREEEEEEE STUFF!!!  BAGS AND BAGS FULL OF FREEEEEEEEEEEEEESTUUUUUUUFFF!!!

OMG what I won't do for free shit.  I filled out a form for JoS. A. Bank, for a bag which contained A FLIER and TWO MINTS.  And the mints were shitty!  Those gross white ones you get after a meal that go stale the minute you open the package.  Ug.  I did, however, walk away with a pretty sweet wooden bowl from The Bowl Store and... a tooth brush?  Some candles?  Chapstick?  I don't know, guys, I better win me a g.d. trip.

Our first aisle complete we stumbled upon one of those booths they throw you in with hundred dollar bills, crank up the air and let you go wild.  Before I could say "dolla dolla bill, yaaa" Katina had her earrings off, sleeves up and fists flyin'.  It was truly a sight to see.  I wish you guys had been there.  Oh wait!  I took video!

 

I can't.  I'm still laughing!  Well, I for one, am impressed.  She won hundreds of dollars... nope.  Just a bag.  A bag with the Fiber One logo on it.  Yep, she was catching yogurt tops, not dolla dolla bills, yaaaa'll.  Still, it was the effort and boy did she deliver.  I don't just have any jane shmanes in my wedding party, guys.  True competitors!

After laughing for two days we needed sustenance and sought out the food booths.  We came upon a cupcake counter (my favorite kind of counter) and I enjoyed a red velvet with cream cheese frosting.  Delish.  But where, I wondered, was the booze?  Mind you there was no promise of booze, but the place was filling up and I needed something to take the edge off the bags jabbing in my side and barkers screeching in my ear.  And, you guys, there was none to be found.  Not a drop!  Oh, but there was this delicious fermented soda which I used jedi mind tricks to trick myself into thinking it was pure grain alcohol.  I mean... just a little something to take the edge off?  No?  Christ!

We stumbled upon a photo booth built for two and squeezed all four in which resulted in this:

Yes.  I took a photo booth photo of our photo booth photo.  I am truly at the height of laziness for this morning's blog post.  Anyway, as you can see, we visited a place with clouds, a palmed beach, somewhere with a partly cloudy sky and Las Vegas.  So that was pretty cool.

The best booth at the expo, and god I wish I'd taken a picture of this, was the First Response Pregnancy test booth.  Now, forgive me, but Why?  Aside from the obvious - you want to crack me and my friends up.  Oh wait, I know.  Wedding favors!  Brillz!

My MOH/sister Kelsey and my other Sparkler, Carrie, showed up just before the fashion show was set to begin.  Though I'm having my dress made and letting my ladies choose literally whatever dress they want to wear as long as they feel fabulous in it, I love a good fashion show.  I love a bad fashion show.  I just love a fashion show.  We sat for 45-minutes waiting for this shit and then when it started it was nothing but some man with a bad goatee and even worse hair cut yelling that we weren't pumped up enough and saying shit like, "I can't heaaaaar yooooou!" without irony.  He was clearly there to get the party started and no one, and I mean no one, was having it.  We soon came to realize he was there to tout his skills as a party animal.  Is that what they're called?  The guys with glow sticks and bowler hats?  Well that was he and he was... kinda lame.  Sorry, dude.  Then, instead of a fashion show, we just got a slew of DJs touting their services!  WTF, Bridal Expo!  They weren't even playing music or getting the party stahted, they were just talking about their services.  I'm sorry, but wasn't that what the booths were for??  Though I can't really complain, you guys, because I'm pretty sure I found our DJ.  Listen to this: he offers a service where they can broadcast TEXT MESSAGES from PEOPLE who AREN'T AT YOUR WEDDING on a TV SCREEN.  Right?  Pretty fanc!  So... yeah... that's who we're going with because who doesn't want to tell people who aren't invited to your wedding that they can text their well wishes to you on your big day.  Now dats classy.

Speaking of classy, I would like to bring things to a head here with the single most fabulous discovery of the night.  The double decker PARTY BUS.  Now this is not the double decker tour bus I spoke of earlier.  No my friends, this is that and sooo much more.  We were greeted by Da Dubble Decka upon exiting the Marriott.  "OOOOH MYYYY GAAAAAWSH" I screeched as it caught my eye and we all stampeeded like wild animals to climb aboard.  I'm might have shoved my pregnant sister out of the way to get there first but I can't be sure.  But you guys.  YOU GUYS.  This bus is off DA HOOK!  It's so nuts it makes you say things like OFF DA HOOK!  It's two levels of pure, disgusting, unadulterated sexy fun.  Neon lights!  TV's!  Stripper poles!!

Sexy face

Listen, we all want to dance on a stripper pole on wheels and NOW WE CAN!  I'm seriously considering this for a joint bachelor/ette party.  Very, very seriously.  It has a toilet AND a urinal, guys.  Now DAS Classy.

Welcome Home!

Shit... I want that bus.

So, there you have it peeps.  Our Bridal Expo Escapade drew to a close with dinner at Junior's where we shared in the joy that is Chicken on a Bun.  What is that you ask?  Oh, it's chicken... on a bun.

(Can you believe I couldn't find a stock photo of a chicken on a butt?)

I'm out.

Love,

Glennis

Ask G: Drama-rama!

Today in "Ask G", TJ writes:

"I am a high school student in Westchester. I sing some. I had a horrible experience last year. I had a minor lead in our high school production of Mame! and forgot some of the lyrics in one of the performances. Afterwards, the director berated me in front of everyone in the show and insisted I apologize to the entire cast. He said I should have known my limitations and never auditioned if I couldn't hack it. He used the understudy for the remainder of the shows. It was very painful and humiliating and I haven't done anything with theater since. Well I do still come into the City some weekends and see recitals and some off-Broadway shows, but I can't imagine performing again. I already had stage fright but now I think I'm scar(r)ed forever."

Dear TJ,

I hope you don't mind cursing because I'm about to do a lot of it.  This shit burns me like the white hot embers in Naomi Campbell's eyes.  How DARE your director humiliate you in front of the entire cast.  How dare that bastard, dickwad, scumsucker!  UG!  MotherFUCKER!


OK, I feel better.

Moving on.  There is nothing at all that justifies this behavior.  Nothing.  But I'm going to say this first and get it out of the way - consider the source.  I may be speaking out of school, but I'm pretty sure that as a rule high school drama teachers didn't set out on that path.  Most of them wanted to be actors and, as awesome and rewarding a career as a h.s. teacher, drama or otherwise, can be, there might just be a little chip on some shoulders.  Him (I'm imagining this is a man so my apologies if I'm wrong) saying "you should have known your limitations" is baffling to me.  Forgetting a few lyrics does not dictate your limitations.  I've seen people on Broadway forget their lyrics.  Hell, I've forgotten my lyrics!  I made up new words to "Look What Happened To Mabel" in front of an audience in a show I produced!  It happens.  And if he was a good director he would have told you just that.  Then he would have told you that being prepared is the most important thing an actor can do.  Everyone gets nerves and knowing your lyrics and lines inside, outside and upside down is really the only way to avoid feeling that sort of embarrassment that forgetting lyrics or lines brings.  He also could have stepped back and realized what sort of embarrassment you had already experienced and avoided bringing you further embarrassment and humiliation by berating you in front of your cast.  WHAT. A. DICK.

Now, let me just say that you can not give this douche the power to scar/scare you for life.  If you love singing, and you must because why would you audition for a musical otherwise, then you must sing.  No, listen to me.  YOU MUST.  If I've realized anything in my life it's that unhappy people want everyone around them to be unhappy, too.  If singing makes you happy then you owe it to yourself to do it! 

Before I left my previous job, I worked for a miserable woman in a law firm.  When I told her I wanted to really take my acting career seriously she said something along the lines of, "you know, it's a very hard business.  The chances of you making it are really slim.  You might as well just stay here until I retire and take over my job."  I get what she was saying, but it still really ticks me off.  How dare she tell me not to pursue my dream because I "might not make it".  The thing people don't understand is that there are many levels of "making it".  I might not ever be in a Vogue spread or on the cover of US Weekly, but I make a living using my talent and I enjoy every single minute of it.  Let me tell you, TJ, you can do the very same thing but you have to try!

I hate this person for robbing you of your confidence, but think of it as a momentary laps.  The best revenge you can take in this case is to pursue what you love, be it singing or otherwise, with all your heart and live the happiest life you can.  Your stage fright will lessen with each performance, but you have to stumble a few times before you soar.  (Wow, I really do think I'm Dr. Phil don't I?)

And let me say lastly, if you give up singing/performing because of this guy I will be really pissed.  I will come and hunt you down and cast you in one of my shows and make you love it again.  Don't make me do that - I'm really busy.

Keep on fighting the good fight!!

xG

Ask G: Terribly Passive

In today's edition of "Ask G, Anonymous writes:

"I am terribly passive. I don't know why my opinion is the slightest bit valid. Other people have no problem drawing boundaries in their life, pursuing what they want, and simply not accepting no for an answer when the situation dictates. Everyone I know seems to believe without question they deserve the finest things in life, and they pursue their goals and dreams relentlessly. They know they are gifted in some way and won't allow anyone to infringe on their talents and happiness. If they see others threatening their well-being, they use all their resources to keep themselves and their loved ones and friends protected. Must I have this sort of personality to be happy? If so, how will I ever develop it? In essence, I just can't stand conflict: there is not a person nor a thing in my life so valuable that I wouldn't acquiesce if someone trying to damage it pressed hard enough."

Dear Terribly Passive:


Let me just say right off the bat - I can completely relate to everything you're saying.  I remember the first day I sat down in therapy I said - and I quote, "I just can't understand those girls who unapologetically ask for what they want."  It was such an outrageous notion - asking for what you want and feeling you deserve it.  And let me be clear - asking for what you want is not the same thing as demanding people buy you ponies and trips to Fiji (though it's fine to want those things - I currently want both of them).  Asking for what you want is asking for what you deserve.  Respect, justice, basic human decency - the same things everyone should feel entitled to. 

I spent most of my life deferring to other people.  I let others make my decisions and, when it pissed me off, I stood by and let the rage burn inside so as to avoid confrontation.  You know what happened?  I became a very sad, very angry and very sick person.  I was willing to sacrifice my own health in order to make someone else happy.  Pretty fucked up when you put it that way, right?  It sounds like you might be doing the same thing.
 
Do you have to be the kind of person who goes to any length to get what they want in order to be happy?  I don't think so.  But I do think when you start to realize how powerful you are you will realize how to harness that power and use it to fairly and justly get what you want while feeling you deserve it.  You need to learn stand up for what you believe is right just like you'd need to learn how to ride a bike.  Changing the patterns, changing the way you react to things - it all takes time and practice.  I know you want to be happy and I'm pretty sure you feel like you don't deserve it.  Well I'm here to tell you you DO.  But you have to do the work.  You're not going to row that boat to shore by throwing out your paddles and wishing for wind. (Said in my best Dr. Phil voice.)  You have to get down and dirty and DO THE WORK and, as I said yesterday, in my case The Work = therapy.  Going to therapy doesn't have to mean you're "sick" or "broken" or any other terrible word associated with getting help.  It's just an hour a week where you get to sit with an unbiased professional to get that stuff out of your brain.  I heard a quote once, and I'm going to mangle it, but the jist of it was "once the lights are on, they can't be turned off."  Basically, once you say something out loud enough times you'll truly be illuminated by it, learn from it and use it to move forward and grow out of that dark, confusing place.


If you have health insurance - great!  You're one of the lucky ones and can find a therapist through your providor.  If you're without insurance and located in NYC there is a great resource available for payments on a sliding-scale called The National Psychological Association for Psychoanalysis (NPAP).  You have to do an intake interview (which they unfortunately charge for), but it's a great option and I have friends who use and speak very highly of this service.  http://www.npap.org/about/index.html


I hope this helped a little, Anonymous.  I know how terrible it can be to feel unworthy of happiness.  You are worth something.  You are worth a lot.  Your opinions are valid and people want to hear them.  It sounds daunting, but take it one session at a time and try to be as honest as you can.  We need more strong, happy, confident women in this world!  Best of luck to you, keep me updated, and remember - you're not alone!!

xG

Ask G

It's always been a dream of mine, along with roller-feet (I will make that happen) to write an advice column.  Not a jokey, "get a face transplant" kind of column, but a real "tell it like it is, Clair Huxtable/Julia Sugarbaker" *snap*, column.  My reasons are twofold - A) I like to hear myself talk and writing is almost like talking and B) I have done the work.

Let's just call a spade a spade, shall we?  THE WORK = Therapy.  I've been in therapy for 6+ years and, if we're being completely honest, I'm about to go into twice-a-week sessions because that's how awesome I want to be.  You hear me barkin, dawgs??  I won't bore you with my sob story, but let's just say I went from a bumbling pile of sad to... well, at the risk of sounding cheeseballs (mmm, cheeseballs), a much more secure person but still a work in progress.  Hey, just like Lindsay Lohan, right??  (Damn I still need to write her an open letter for ruining my financial stability last year... more to come on that another time.)  Not only have I gained insights on what it takes to be a stable, secure and sensational WO-to-the-MAN, I am a fantastic problem solver, big-picture seer and advice doler-outer.

My advice runs the gamut from dating and love, fashion, home decor and organization to gift giving, pets and kids!  Listen, I'm no expert on any of that shit, but I am the perfect mix of logical and creative and, listen, why do I have to explain myself you're the one who asked for advice in the first place!  Gaaawhhdd... just write me already will you?

answermecommag @ gmail . com

(All correspondence will be posted, anonymously, on this blog.)

You'll be making my day, I might make yours and I'll have one more thing to write about in this getting-less-dusty-by-the-minute blog.

Love,

Glennis

Who Are You Wearing?

As I mentioned in yesterday's ELO post (which contained miiinor sprinkles of my disturbance over being called, "ma'am" in Forever 12-year-old-sales-associates-as-far-as-the-eye-can-see), I shop at Forever 21.  It's not something I'm proud of and, like any vice, I'm trying to quit.  True, I've purchased some pretty sweet key items for my wardrobe including blue leggings (market value: .0001/cent) which, if I'm being completely honest make me look like I've stuffed those potato sack babies you carry around in high school to keep you from getting prego, inside.  Guess what else will keep you from getting prego?  Blue leggings.  I mean I try to rock them and certain times I do.  Post-workout?  Boom.  Pre-bedtime?  Nailed it.  Camping trip?  Color me obvious.  Here's the thing - when I wear these blue leggings any other time, say out in PUBLIC, I get the sneaking suspicion that my friends are biting their tongues and thinking, "well, we can't win them all."  Which is why, dear friends, I am vowing right now to stop buying cheap clothing that falls apart in the wash and spend money on sturdy, staunch, republican-style clothing.  Wait, scratch that last part.

I've recently come across a few items of clothing that fall under that category and have kind of changed my life a little, you guys.  First: jeggings.  Now wait, stop, hold up, listen.  I knoooow what you're thinking.  How can I possibly tout something as immature as mashed clothing after the previous paragraph?  I agree... Jeggings are ridiculous.  Mashed clothing is ridiculous (though very convenient)... What's next: Shackets?  The shirt/jacket!  Hairts!  Hair hats!  Gloothbrush!  Toothbrush gloves!  (Wait, that's actually brilliant and yes I realize a toothbrush is not clothing.  Gaawhddd.)  I get it, guys.  I felt the same way.  But the more I said that magical word, "jeggings" the more it grew on me and when I said it with a regal British tongue it really sounded less child-like and more like something a fancy, but not too fancy, lady would wear.  And so I purchased some from H&M which is like Forever 21's still kind of cheap cousin who still goes out to the clubs but is realizing she wants to settle down and find "the one".

You guys, look how cute I look in them!

Shh, shh, shh... of course that's me.

So, yes, I am the proud owner of a clothing mashup and you know what?  They've kind of changed my life.  Regular old jeans are SO two thousand and late!

Next up: Outerwear.  I've been obsessing over this jacket from Esprit for, oh, as long as I can remember (a week).  I walked out of the store without it the first time for two reasons.  One: overly pushy sales associate who literally complimented everything, and I do mean everything, on my body.  Literally everything.  I'm not kidding.  Everything.  I had to pull her out of my butt before I left the store.  (The alarm sounded.)  Don't get me wrong, I love me a Glesbian, but this was just Goldie Hawn-Overboard.  So, to prove my point (I'll show her) I walked out without the jacket.  And might I add that because I'm a chicken in those situations I told her my fiance would come back and purchase it for me for Christmas.  "No, no!  He'll deeeeefinitely be back.  Oh, probably today.  He's such a sweetie!  Always buying me coats and stuff.  OK well... bye!"  And I skulk out the door.  Why is that always so awkward?
Second: though they were advertising 25% off all outerwear (and still are!), the jacket was over $200 and that I just can't justify.  Even when the pushy sales assoshe keeps telling me the sale will probably only last a day.  I think she earned her coffee because she Always Be Closin.  My point is: I walked out without the jacket.  Then a week went by and I came to my goddamn senses (i.e. the weather got colder) and went back in for my baby and nothing has been the same since.

I die.  I die, I die, I die.  The warmest jacket I've ever owned, so adorable and very figure-flattering which is important so you don't feel like a lumpy baby-potato sack all through the winter.  And the best part?  Spending a little more on this jacket assures me it won't fall apart, lump up, lose buttons or fade for a while.  I'm kind of an adult, you guys.  (I say while watching Fraggle Rock.)

Next: Two Boots
The number one clothing item I'm complimented on and asked about are my super awesome kick-ass Frye boots.  Though these were purchased over a year ago I can't say enough about them.  Rain, shine, snow, sleet, even ice, these boots have served me well.  They take about a week to break in, but once you do they can be worn anywhere and with just about anything.  Even jeggings!  In fact, they're the perfect boot for jeggings!  Wait, why don't we all just wear Bants?  Boot-pants?  We've come so far and yet...  Anyway, these boots are number one in my book and Christmas is just around the corner so maybe when you walk out giving the old "it'll be a Christmas gift from my man!" schpeel you won't be fibbing out your face hole.

 

















Well, you heard it here first, people.  From now on I steer clear of that Forever Wasteland of delicates (because they're so poorly made) and blue leggings and start shopping like an adult.  A very broke adult who purchases clothing once a year.

Love,

Glennis

I Prefer ELO

Sing it with me, y'all!

I, too, prefer ELO, Randy Newman!

I'm sure you're all well aware of this from my previous statement, but I'll say it again: I am absolutely ELObsessed with Electric Light Orchestra.  If ever there was a perfect band, IMO it's ELO.  My love is so strong I once created a t-shirt in their honor, but it's more than love, it's LURV...slurpy, sloppy, uncontrollable love.  Well, you guys, on Saturday night my life changed a little bit.  Not in that, "a baby came out of my lady pocket!" kind of way, more like the, "I saw the Loser's Lounge tribute to ELO, ON-J and Xanadu" way. Suck it, babies!  This was way better!  My Xana-date for the evening was Miss Marcy Girt. We've long bonded over a shared love of everything 70's/disco so I knew we'd have fun, but that's not saying a lot since we could have fun brushing Alpacas.  (And we know from experience.)  Aaaanywayzles, I knew we'd have a great time.  But wow, it was better than great... it was Electrifying! We got chills! They were multiplying! We turned to stone! Our joy was raining! All over the world! You have to believe... it was Magic!


The entire night, without hyperbole, was out of this world, but the highlight for me, aside from seeing my (obvious) talent-crush Joe McGinty and almost falling off my stool while dancing to "Physical", was Tricia Scotti's performance of "Telephone Line".  I'm not saying I cried, but my eyes were definitely leaking some sort of liquid and I felt this overwhelming...feeling.  Oh, how can I explain this?  It's kind of how I felt the last time someone called me ma'am (Forever 21, last Tuesday).  It was like that.  LL's version of an already beautiful song was chilling, but Scotti really brought the piece home.  There was something about hearing a woman sing those lyrics that struck a chord with me.  Uh, oh... don't tell my therapist!  (See... I avoid real feelings by making jokes.)  I'm awaiting the addition to their CD section with bated breath.  There's also this little part of me that loves when backup singers, as Scotti is for Loser's Lounge, take center stage.  I'm not sure where it stems from, but I love it, guys.  Oh wait, I know - Adventures In Baby Sitting!  Right guys? (No? Nothing like that? Shhhhh shh shh, let me have this.  I love that movie ALMOST as much as I love ELO.)

Marcy and I tried our darndest to get a table though we didn't have a reservation, but none were open.  The place was packed to the gills, but we snagged a few seats by the front entrance and really that was better than a table.  First because I would have eaten all of Joe's Pub, Second because we were inconspicuously able to dance to the adorable Jack Skuller & Sophie (Just Sophie)'s rendition of "You're the One That I Want".  14-year-old Jack and she's-a-lady-so-we-won't-ask-but-I'm-guessing-the-same Sophie could not have been more adorable.  Don't believe me?  Check Jack:


And Sophie:


(Um... Sophie?  You are amazeballs.)

ADORABLE.  Listen, I'm sure that's the last thing they'd want to hear at that age.  I get it.  But, some day, some day they'll thank me.  And that day will be when they're trying on clothes at Forever 21 and a 12-year-old sales associate calls them ma'am.  Then they'll thank me.  Ahem.  Um... Marcy and I also pretty much made up an entire seated dance to "Do Ya", performed by Mike Fornatale.  The night might have been lacking in one area and that was spontaneous audience choreography.  Ah well maybe next time, folks.

For my fellow ELObsessies, I took a few videos. For Nick Stevens, Sean Altman singing Showdown, as this is our shared ELO-fave:

 

And for Brandy Barber because, as I sat there enjoying myself like a selfish little guppy I realized I was about to witness what was probably her musical wet dream and hadn't even bothered to invite her (some friend I am!), Seth Berkowitz & Michal The Girl singing Suddenly from Xanadu:



The next Loser's Lounge, I'm told, will play in December - a tribute to the Rat Pack.  Let's all go, shall we?  We shall.

Love,

Glennis

Get A, How You Say, Clue

The evening started off innocently enough - a collaboration meeting between me and director at the Manhattan Inn with a smooth transition into piano-oke, McGinty-style, at the strike of 10.

We arrived promptly at 8:30, took our seats - wine in hand - at an empty table and set about talking all things "The Untitled Glennis McMurray Project". (OK, it has a name, but it's far too fabulous to share just yet should all the Glesbians spontaneously combust in a fit of frenetic anticipation.) All shop talk dropped, however, when the sweetest of all papers were dropped into our laps: the karaoke song lists. Had I been holding a baby she might also have been dropped. I said might. I love karaoke, but my passion for the empty orchestra has waned of late. It's too much trouble dealing with divas, screamers and drama just to share my sweet rendition of "Get Low" by Lil' John & The Yin Yang Twins. (Note: it's my jam. Do not steal.) But my love has again been renewed by the discovery of piano-oke. Something I once attempted with my own fingers for my dear friend Girty's birthday until realizing my pinaner playing has the smooth rhythmic tempo of a fish slowly dying on a rock in the blazing sun. Read: No skills. So read: I was excited.

I believe the joyous evening was kicked off with director-Kate's sultry rendition of "Natural Woman" which set the tempo and the bar. It was high and we were planning on hightening it with each song. A little healthy competition if you will. And you will. I was next and I attempted a new jem: "Suspicious Minds" by Elvis. No doubt my favorite Elvis song I had my doubts as to how it would play in this room having never sung it before. It started off well enough, but in the original key it started to fall a little flat. That was when my genius ego kicked in, kicked it up an octave and proceeded to kick every last patron in the proverbial nuts. Someone call the FD cuz this bitch was on fiya.

After my song I excused myself for a visit to the old water closet and, after doin' my biz, zippin' my shizz, washin' the filth and checkin' the smacker, I walked out with a spring in my step for I was ready for more drink and song. I was abruptly stopped, upon exiting the bathroom, by a ponytail-sporting, sunglasses-on-head wearing, European Jagwad. I didn't know he was a Jagwad at the time, it was only following this conversation that I put twos and twos togethsies.


JAGWAD: Excuse me. What is your name?

ME: (Only slightly put off that an advance is being made outside the ladies bathroom where he has been laying in wait.) Glennis.

Notice my slight hesitation did not stopping me from giving my real name. I was banking on the fact that this advance was only due to my killer set of pipes and that the next words out of his mouth would be "I own a record label..."


JAGDONG: Ahh. Hmm... I feel as if I have, how you say, met you before? What is your name?

He moves closer, I back away.

ME: I told you my name. I don't know if we've met. You don't look familiar.


JAGLOAF: No? It's just your... how you say... (references my ENTIRE BODY) is so familiar to me. I'm sorry, but I saw you up there and I just, how you say, thought I knew you. I had to say hello.

OK, so he didn't really say, "how you say" but he might as well have.

ME: (Only slightly flattered.) Well, thank you. It was nice meeting you.

Exit - stairs.


DINKOFF: Wait, I am so sorry. Are you, how you say, a, how you say, actress?

ME: (Annoyance growing.) Yep. I am. Well, it was nice meeting you.


POOPDRAWERS: Ahhhh yes, I knew it. You are so you have been on the Broadway?

He did say THE Broadway.

ME: No. Well, nice to meet you. I have to get back to my table now.

Exit - stairs.


ASSBALLS: You would have a drink with me?

ME: (Jesus!) No, I'm sorry. I have a fiance.


CREEPDOUCHE: Ahh. I am so sorry. How you say?

ME: What?


DICKBAG: Is your fiance... is he... here?

ME: No. He's not HERE. But he is (pointing to my chest) here.


WANKLOG: I'm sorry?

ME: In my heart. (Boom! High five, McMurray!)


CRAPSOCK: Ahh... I see you say. How? But... he is not... HERE? At the bar?

ME: (I'm pretty sure I visibly recoiled.) OK, WELL NICE TO MEET YOU.

EXIT - STAIRS, QUICKLY. BACK TO TABLE. SIT. Ease disgust by picking new karaoke song.

I recounted the events to Kate and we were both grossed and creeped out. But only slightly. There was karaoke to be sung, you guys! And for my next number? "I've Never Been To Me". Hey, lady? You, lady?

As the night progressed so did our drinking and as I returned to my seat from a not-so-great attempt at "One Night In Bangkok" (hey, they can't all be winners) I saw that the Monstertool was sitting at the table next to ours. Thankfully he didn't make things any more uncomfortable. He just relentlessly stared at my face. How flattering, right ladies? Dude... back it up. I decided it was time for another visit to the ladies room and after my biz, as I exited the stall, Kate walked in saying, "I think he's waiting outside the door. Wait for me and we'll walk up together."

Gimme an S! Gimme a T! Gimme an A! Gimme an L! Gimme a K! Gimme an E! Gimme an R! What does that spell??! No, seriously, Jagoff, tell me what that spells, apply it to yourself and hit the bricks. Thankfully, when we walked out he was nowhere to be found.

Now here's the thing about McGinty-style karaoke. It's awesome. It's so awesome and so great you never, ever want to leave. And the back room at the Manhattan Inn that houses said karaoke is one of those rooms that I dream of having in my future mansion. Exposed brick, tables encircling a white baby grand center stage, strange, moss-like chandelier overhead and, of course, Joe McGinty on keys. I got, how you say, a little caught up. After a third friend joined us and we were on our 3rd bottle of prosecco, the room started to get the spinnzies and I was along for the ride. I excused myself again to splash some cold water on my face. I had a pretty clear head, but felt ill, y'all, and was kickin' myself in the ayz. I carefully walked down the stairs of yee old Manhattan Inn, opened the bathroom door and, when both stalls were taken, slumped in the seat outside the door. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted, who else, F*ckfaceJones again. A stall emptied and I rushed into the bathroom avoiding him even seeing me, or so I thought. I splashed cold water on my face, got my wits about me and went back outside. And there he stood.


JAGOFF: Excuse me?

ME: DUDE. (I screamed.) LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!

Exit - stairs. Two at a time.

I decided it was time to leave and as Kate paid the bill, I joined third-companion, Marcy outside where she told me she'd spoken to Jagoff's friends to find out if, you know, he was just a drunk douche or if he was, how you say, a Total Creepball? Apparently their conversation went:

MARCY: Is your friend... drunk? Or is he, you know, trouble?

JAGOFF'S FRIEND: Do you have a boyfriend?

Sooo... there you go. A creep is a creep is a creep.

As we started walking home together we wondered what we'd do if Jagoff et al followed us. I said that, without hesitation, I'd turn to him/them and, using my best Clair Huxtable impersonation, would say, "If you don't exit my site line immediately I will call the cops and have you arrested for harassment" and if it came down to it, I KNOW how to take care of myself. Thumbs in eyes, knees in groins, man on ground.

Here's the thing, I don't want to be a jerk and ignore any man who tries to talk to me. I do think it's hard out there for a guy as well. I have sympathy for the man just trying to make a move and getting rejected before he even begins. I do believe there are nice guys out there. I really do. And, I mean, listen - if they want to compliment my pipes who am I to stop them? I just couldn't help but wonder if I'd been too friendly when he first approached. I mean the waiting room outside the bathroom was a creepy place to approach me, true, but I figured he was waiting to use the facilities, not stalking his future skin-blanket. I feel like I handled the situation well, but something about that night bothered me more than just the creepy, unwanted advances. I felt really great that night. I mean, I felt really great. I've had issues in the past with hiding, in one way or another, because of unwanted advances from men. In fact that was part of the reason my pal Marcy and I started Dance Dance Party Party. Sometimes, sadly, men just don't get it. My smiling at you does not mean I want your man meat grinding on my lady rump! And after the incident at Manhattan Inn I started to feel like going back into my "hide yoself" shell, but then I stopped and stepped and backed that train up. *beep* *beep* *beep* Why should I stop being fabulous because YOU can't take a hint? Answer: I shouldn't. No woman should. We should all be able to flaunt it, work it, walk it and sass it without a man stalking our shit.

Today I saw this in Jezebel. Well, fuck.

Be great, be fab, be the best you you can be and just know there are going to be a few stinkers out there. Unfortunate, but true.

Love,

Glennis

Zip It!

You guys I've come to the realization that I need to learn to keep my fat mouth shut. Especially when liquored up on 12 gallons of fine, top shelf Magic Hat #9. I've got diarrhea of the mouth anyway, but put a little sweet nectar of the gods in this girl and I've also got diarrhea of the butt which makes me feel like the world owes me something which makes me angry and I go off on a tirade about how a certain comedian is a hack... while he's performing on stage. Granted, I think only the 4 people who know me and were standing in my direct vicinity heard me, but it doesn't make my behavior any lest ghastly.

Will I ever be an adult?

Stay tuned, internet. The transformation might take place before your very eyes.

But most likely I'll just continue to drink my meals and make a fool of myself.

IN OTHER NEWS...

Our landlord who is, if you haven't been following my Facebook rants a total tool/slumlord/dickbag, took the cowardly way out of the sitch we're in right here and told us we need to get out so he can renovate our apartment. I can only imagine his idea of renovation is a fresh role of duct tape, the bastard. Once again, I opened my big mouth about our shitty living situation (screamed at him about once again failing to follow through on his promise to exterminate the building and then reported him to 311) and got us booted out on our booties.

Glenny needs to learn to zip it!!

OR does the world need to learn to get their shit together. I think a little of both.

And that's what's happening on this. Oh and I'm getting married so at least I found someone who loves this big fat mouth.

Love,

Glennis

Tonight!

Come check me out in Dream Role, my baby that I produce with Katina Corrao & Sara Jo Allocco at the 92Y Tribeca, tonight, 9pm and you can see me in a skimpy little number throwing condoms at the audience. AND my performance is a social commentary so there's that for you high-browers.

We've also got some amazing people singing some amazing songs. People like:

Sara Jo Allocco
Bob Barth
Katina Corrao (ft. a SLEW of nuns)
Tim Dunn (ft. Brandon Scott Jones)
Marcy Girt (ft. Jay Bois, Stephen Ruddy & Jason Falchook)
Natasha Price
&
Kate Tellers

It's sure to be a fantastic show and we've got a very special, hilarious opening number featuring my boo, Matt McCarthy, Billy Wood, Jay Bois, Dan Curry & Anthony DeVito.

See you there!

DREAM ROLE
Everybody Plays The Fool
92Y Tribeca
200 Hudson Street @ Canal
$10
Cheap drink specials and a full bar available.
www.dreamrole.net

Love,

Glennis

What are you looking at?

The title of this blog should actually read "At what are you looking?" but that sounds pretentious and if we know anything about Glennis it's that she's not pretentious and she doesn't shy away from talking about herself in the third person.

But the real reason I'm writing is to tell you of my undying love for a few shows on the old telly right now. Please watch these shows, dear readers, all 8 of you. (Literally, I have 8 followers... now are you proud mama!?)

NURSE JACKIE
Nothing makes me happier than this show. I know it's received accolades from people that matter, but I know you're all just holding out to see what I have to say about it before watching. Well what I've got to say is this: watchy! Edie Falco is brillzieballs, but really the entire cast is fabtastic. Merritt Wever makes my toes curl in pure delight whenever she's on screen. What a fantastic character she embodies - it's like nothing else on TV today. Hearts hearts and farts (the ultimate love = farts). God damn, girl. The whole cast is, as I said, amazing. Well worth your time. WATCH IT!

Now, listen guys, I'm writing this in a hurry because I've got to jam into the city for a few audishies (radio voice overs - jealous? Wait you actually might be... and if you're looking to get into voice overs I recommend it. Email me!) so my synopsis and love for these shows might be a bit stinted, but that doesn't mean the love ain't there. I'm trying to write every day so you'll take what I give you and like it! WHIP!

U.S. of Tara
BRILLIANT writing, BRILLIANT performances... I mean do I even need to tell you how great Toni Collette is? My ultimate like the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf... she's that. And, guys, I get it. The show seems like the premise for a bad one-person show. I hear that. But sometimes you go to these shows that are like "a story about how I moved to NY from Colorado and MADE IT!" and it's actually really fucking good (look for my show about how I moved to NY from Colorado and made it! later this year...) and this is like THAT. I can't tell you how tittilating it is to see a strong, beautiful, confident woman on screen KILLING it in the acting department. Toni is... there are no words. I kind of want to do her in the talent. Hearts! And, please, Brie Larson as Tara's daughter Kate. Fabulousballs to the MAX! Now she's embodying this amazing character creation named Princess Valhalla Hawkind who is a strong, both mentally and physically, super-woman of sorts who has no vagina so she doesn't need a man. FINALLY! I mean... I love sex, but that just rocks my socks. God, people, please watch this show.



And last, but not least...

BREAKING BAD
I know I missed this train, but damn I can't say enough about this show. RIVETING. I just want to put that out there in case you're one of the dummies with cable who aren't watching this show.

And that's it for today. I gotta jam, you guys!

Kisses where you pee,

Glennis

I Want 7 on MY Side!

Gosh darn it you guys I'm really ticked off. The United States Postal Service has done it again, those scamps! Here's what's what:

Before I left for Los Angeles for a month I went to the good old usps.com and put my mail on hold thinking that would do the trick and my mail would be put on hold. And it was! End of story, good bye!

Wait! That's how I WISHED it had happened. What actually happened was that I returned to Brooklyn on March 31, went to our local post office on April 1st and they said that woopsies, we don't have your mail!

"So who does?" we asked.

"Well you gotta call this number tomorrow morning before 10am. NOW LISTEN. They get in at 7:30am and take their first break at 8am and at 10am they are out the door for the day and nobody knows where they are or can get a hold of them."

So let me get this straight. Get in at 7:30. Check. First break a half-hour later. Check. Unreachable after 10:30am. CHECK. Yeah that sounds about right, USPS.

So we're walking about to our apartment, my boo and I, and lo! It's our trusty mail man delivering mail!! We'll just go talk to him in person and clear this whole mess up. Maybe he'll even have our month's worth of mail in his satchel!

"Excuse me, sir" I said. "We're looking for our mail and we were told to call our mailman tomorrow, but here you are! So can you help us?"

"What's your address?"

I tell him our address.

"Yeah you don't have a mailman. Your address is an overtime route. Nothin' I can do. Have a nice day, I gotta go deliver mail to every other address in Brooklyn except yours!"

What the WHAAAAAT? We don't have a mailman because WHY? I knew I'd see some punk 17-year-old kid delivering our mail (no uniform... just some kid with a mail cart!) before. This is BULLSHIT. Excuse the language... BULLPOOP.

So I file an official complaint with the USPS and, after about a week, someone leaves me a voicemail saying I should call a 718 # (our local office) and ask to speak to Mr. Lopez.

Oh! Mr. Lopez! My life for a moment of your time!! I've called. And called. And called back. And left messages. And have spoken to people on the phone who tell me I gotta speak to him and would I like to leave a message? No because you see I've left them and I want to SPEAK TO HIM NOW.

And nothing.

My boo has filed a complaint with customer service or the Postmaster General, but I have no faith that will do anything.

On to my reason for this note. I want to find out where the heck our goshdarn mail is and I'd like 7 ON MY SIDE to do it with me! So, does anyone know someone at Channel 7 News who can help?

Lots of love and endless thanks.

Yours,

A slightly miffed Glennis McMurray

Pinky Swears

You know how they say pain is beauty? These shoes must be the most beautiful in the land, lasses and gents because mother of CHRIST are they painful.

I don't cut, I wear DVF

I used to exclusively wear heels, because I'm a fancy lady, and my feet have been toe up (puns!) because of it. It could also have something to do with the fact the heels in my early years in NY were all from Payless (as I mentioned in my blister post), but the old feet aren't what they used to be. You could say that my pinkies were swearing with every step. Eh? Pinky swears? Oh shush.

And now I'm going to stop talking about feet because as much as I'm obsessed with looking at people in sandals for an extra toe or two (I've seen it once), foot fetishists creep me out a little. OK a lot. There's nothing wrong with fetishising feet, but why do they always have to be so creepy about it? Anyway...

Now you might ask: "If they hurt so much then why wear those shoes, McMurray?" Because, you see, Friday night I had a very special, super-secret date with my Boo and I wanted to look fierce instead of "creepy living doll" which is my usual go-to. My current collection of shoes consists of boots, pink heels (used for my stint as Jem) and very uncomfortable, cheap heels, none of which matched the dress I planned on wearing. So, on the suggestion of my pal Claire, a shoe aficionado, I searched Loehman's for the perfect pair of heels. Aaaaand I'm talking about feet again. What I really wanted to talk about was what went on during our super-secret date.

My Boo took me to see a preview of the new musical "Promises, Promises" starring my ab fave Kristin Chenoweth. No one does 'feisty peach' like that girl and I love everything about her. She reminds me of Dolly and we all know how I love Dolly so more of "that"... Yes please! I was SUPESPSYCHED about the show and, well, it didn't disappoint because how can you be disappointed when KC is 10 ft from your face singing Burt Bacharach songs? You can't. It's literally impossible.

The performances were great, natch. This is Broadway not some community theatre production of Peter Pan, folks. And, just like with every other Broadway show I've ever seen, I was in tears within the first 5 minutes. Just being in that huge theatre when the lights go down and everything runs to sheer perfection... it's just too dreamy. And did I mention we were 2nd row, center? I'm pretty sure I left with a few pieces of KC's spiddle on me. Swoon!

That being said...

Promises, Promises is a remake of the 1968 musical which was based on the 1960 film The Apartment starring Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine (another fave) and I get that, being set in the 60's, there are certain standards (or lack thereof) set, but the whole "women as objects of desire" thing is a little played out in this girl's book. I mean honestly it's 2010... why are we looking back? But I'm not going to change the world by writing on yee olde blog and you all get what I mean so let's just call that the end of my feminist rant.

Overall I'd say the standout performance belonged to Katie Finneran as the salty broad who seduces Chuck Baxter in a bar at Christmastime. Katie won the Tony for Noises Off and she deserves another win for this role. She stole the damn show. And though the character has one scene and one song, it won Marian Mercer a Tony back in 1969 so it could happen again. And should! (Did I mention she should win a Tony?)

After the show... or should I say after the curtain call where Sean Hayes and Kristin looked RIGHT AT ME AND MY BOO OMGOMG, we went to Utsav ("Utsav!? That's Vastu spelled backward!") for some delicious Indian with a side of snobbery. We showed up at 11pm, which was the time of our reservation, and they gave us SUCH attitude about the kitchen closing in like literally NOW so get your order in, like, literally NOW even though our reservation was for, like, 11pm, DICKS. Could have made a rezzie for 11 or 11:15 or 11:30 or 11:45... DOUBLE-U TEE EFF. But we put our order in, like, then and enjoyed delicious garlic naan and tikka and oh god it was good. I also had a Lycheetini which tasted more like a virgin Lycheetini, but also didn't compare to my extra dirty Goose before the show at Gallagher's Steak House - oh god so good.

All in all it was a fabulous night only slightly dampened by the fact that my dogs were barking and pinky's swearing. But still... worth every single step. PAIN IS BEAUTY, RIGHT GAGA??

Hope you all had a wonderful Friday night as well.

Love,

Glennis

Decisions

Guess what decisions I'll never make?

1. To do cocaine cuz guess how I know I'm NOT gonna die.
and
2. To make my child a star.

I am staying in Oakwood Apartments in LA and the cup runeth over with youth being wasted away. I don't normally go so black and white on things, but putting your child in the biz is, at least in my book, majorly shittastic. I just want to scream at these mothers, "are you nuts? Have you not seen ANY show on E! News? Have you not seen 'Life After Tomorrow' about the crazyballs Annie girls? Did you not hear of the death of one Mr. Corey Haim which happened TWO FEET AWAY FROM YOU?"

I've, so far, seen kids with 6-packs (and I'm not talking Situation-style abs), a kid by the pool in broad daylight drinking a 40 and to top it all off they're running around unsupervised in bathing suits!

Oh my god, I'm old.

I feel like stage moms think, "well, I fucked my life up... let's see if my kid can do it better" and that's just wrong. But I feel worse for the kids who are here with their showbiz siblings. The kids who have no desire whatsoever to book a national or guest on L&O. The Louise to their Baby June. Anyone?

I mean, who knows. Maybe I'm wrong and they'll all be come well-adjusted adults with billion dollar cars which they'll use to run me and my walker over, but I doubt it. All I know for certain is that I'll never, ever ever, EVER EVER EVER put my kids into show biz no matter how adorably they tap dance while juggling kittens. And let's face it, that's pretty fucking adorable.

Stay classy friends,

Glennis

Knee Deep in LA

Y'all this week has been bananaballs!!

First of all I have to say we had a crazytown good time at Dream Role last night. Sold out the UCBT LA at 11pm on a Tuesday! We'll be back to do the show again and if you'd like to be a part of it here are the submission guidelineballs. Sold out! WHAT THE DINK!?

But srsly y'allz when I say I am knee deep in LA I MEAN IT.

-Lindsay Lohan is suing
-Corey Haim died (RIP)
-Ben Stiller shared my airspace

LA has vomited all over me. (God, Heather bulemia is soooo '87)

First of all, more on Lindsay soon.

Re: Ben Stiller, well his sister was in the show - the FABULOUS Amy Stiller performed as Jane Fonda in Klute (nailed it!) - but the important part is he is famous. And was there. (See how much I've already changed, LA?)

And it really is so sad about Corey Haim, guys. Another soul chewed up by the Hollywood monster. We drove into the apartment complex last night and saw an ambulance and firetruck outside one of the buildings. Who would have guessed that's what was happening. So sad! RIP.

I'm staying in bed today.

xo

Glennis

Subterranean Homesick Blues

Hey guys. It's me again.

Coming to you live and direct from sunny Cali...

Oh who am I kidding? I hate it out here right now and I can't for the life of me say why. I woke up this morning, watched some cartoons (Super Hero Squad), some Stooges and then it just hit me. The Subterranean Homesick Blues. Take it away, Dylan.



OK, so maybe I'm not really mixing up drugs in the basement or dealing with anything that song represents, but I like the song and I like the title and I find it comforting to listen to. Definitely reminds me of New York and I've been listening to it on repeat all morning.

I miss you, New York! I promise I'll never, ever leave you again for more than 2 weeks. I'm in LA for a month and that fact makes me want to vom a little.

THAT BEING SAID...

I will make the most of my time here, BUBS! I vow to make every moment count! Like right now I'm going to really put my all into finishing my Ultimate Supreme Blended Coffee Damnation from Coffee Bean. See? I'm already feeling better.

Someone please tell New York I love her and touch her lady parts for me. I'll be home soon.

Love,

Glennis

Profile of a Dick

Hey guys, it's me.

I was just chatting with my friend Carlos* who was asking my advice on approaching a laaaaaaady and it sparked a memory in me.

*Names have been changed to protect the googled.

First of all I enjoy that my guy friends approach me for advice. I had this super-jellin boyfriend before who FORBADE ME FROM HAVING GUY FRIENDS!! and I gave up some pretty awesome friendships. Most of which I've reforged, but HEY that's not cool. Don't do that OK, ladies?

Oh and all my guy friends call my girl friends "Hot _____". I guess I have a lot of hot girlfriends. And no, that doesn't make me jealous because I know they're calling me "SUPER HOT GLENNIS" behind my back.

Right guys?

Guys?

BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

The point is... what was the point. Oh right. Memory!

So I told Carlos that he should ask her out for a drink and he jokingly said, "or a BJ"... and that sparked the memory. I KNOW. Gross. But bear with me.

I was in high school and an acquaintance of mine, a guy I hung out with here and there, but never on our own, went through a very public breakup. You know those high school breakups. THE END OF THE WORLD. So I'm home one day and I get a call from this guy. He says he's really upset and could use a woman's ear. HE CALLED ME A WOMAN, YOU GUYS. OK he might not have, but it's my memory.

The boy, and I do stress BOY, asked if he could pick me up and drive around; he just needed to talk. Why sure, I said. And guys, I was honored. I really was. Out of all the girls in the school he sought my advice. (Jesus this story is kind of depressing me already...) So the boy picks me up and we head up toward the ski resort a few miles out of town to an area where the high school kids would hold a lot of parties. And we chatted and he did ask my advice and I helped as best I could. I was helping, you guys! I love to help.

So eventually, after driving for what was probably 30-minutes, he stops the truck in a wooded area and says he needs to take a leak. I sit in the car as he goes out and relieves himself through what I can only imagine is a very small wiener and then he walks back to the truck he says to me, "I hear you give really good blow jobs."

GA-GA-GAAAAaaaa

WHAAAAAAAAAAAT

Shocked.

SHOCKED.

"I'm sorry, what?" I reply.

"The word around school is that you give really good head."

OK... FIRST OF ALL even if that WERE true (and it wasn't*) that's your ingenious plan to get one from me? What a last place DICK. A real BONEHEAD! A first class DOUCHE! I hope that guy got kicked in the nuts a lot later in life.

*To explain the "good head" rumors we'd need to go into a detailed story about 3 bitches who made a portion of my high school experience HELL because they thought they saw me at a party with one of their boyfriends. They did not. I hope they got kicked in the vag a lot.

And that, my friends, is a profile of a dick. I wish I could impart some warning signs upon you, but as you see there were none.

Seriously though, I have no idea why I just wrote that. Maybe that dick will find it and be ashamed. He'll have to because I have NO idea what his name is now. HAHA FUCK YOUR FACE I FORGOT YOU!

Have a great day and, please, don't be dicks.

xo

Glennis

Awesometown

You know what's awesome? The show Taboo on NGC. You know what's not awesome? Watching the Taboo episode about lepers while you eat your breakfast foods. Had to save that one for later, folks. WOW, that was graphic.

That's all for today. I have to choreograph and dance routine to "9 to 5" for Dream Role on January 27th (9pm, 92Y Tribeca, Tickets here).

Oh! Would you like to see me do some stand up? Great! Come to Beauty Bar this Sunday night where I'll be on Jesse Popp and Vince Averill's show at 9pm. Talk about a good time... I love those boys and I love their show. See you there! (Oh yeah and it's free AND you can get a manicure IN THE BAR after. I'm writing that for all you new 21 year olds out there who read my blog and have not yet experienced this greatness.)

Love,

Glennis

Poor Blarg!

This poor, poor blarg has been all but abandoned! I hardly think one tiny post about how awesome Toni Collette and her awesome dress are counts as blarging. I am ashamed. Truly ashamed. I've probably lost all my readership and, well, that's what counts right? That's what mommy told me growing up... eat your beets, don't touch wieners and keep a consistent blog. Jesus! I haven't heeded any of her advice at all!! That's OK though because wieners are awesome and beets make your poop red. And blogging? What about blogging?


A few of those beets look like wieners. Killing two birds!

Well, kids, blogging was super-fun when I had an office job and I sat there in a foggy haze of sadness and desperation. I looked forward to it amidst my humdrum day full of binders and toner. But, honestly, I look back on those blog posts and they're pretty damn funny. So it was all worthwhile. I guess.

My point is I want to start blogging again and so I'm going to. Do I have better things to do with my time? Sure. I mean right now I need to write 10-minutes worth of material on "resolutions" for my show tonight (Supercream Supreme at Legion Bar) and write all our guests their own theme song.

GUESS WHICH GIRL LIKES TO PUT TOO MUCH ON HER PLATE!!? This girl! (Literally and figuratively. Pass the taters.)

And so, dear reader, if you're out there. This is a promise to you and myself that I will indeed start blogging more. And eating more beets. And touching more wieners. Why not make 2010 GREAT?

Love you. Really I do.

Glennis

Love, Love, Love

Love Toni Collette, Love her dress, Love it all.



Love,

Me

Glinterview

The wonderful Jacki Schklar runs FunnyNotSlutty.com, which has just been revamped, and guess who their first interview of the year was? Little old me! I'm honored to help represent positive females in comedy. And fart jokes. Check out my interview by the equally lovely Gabriella Giarrano. (Photo by Elizabeth Griffin)

Happy New Year!!

Love,

Glennis