Glee - Part Two - In A Less Endearing City

Last year, we set out for New York City to see Glee at Radio City Music Hall. Remember that?

Almost exactly one year to they day, we made our way to Toronto to see Glee again. This time at the Air Canada Centre. To be honest, Toronto is a dank cesspool of rude people and horrible drivers, so you won't
get a gushing review of the food or the atmosphere from me this time.

What I can give you is a tale of a six foot tall brunette and her big haired bestie getting caught on You Tube pushing aside an elderly woman to put her hands on the sexy bad boy of the Glee Cast. With new
quotes!

Actually, that pretty much sums up my weekend right there, no? Lucky for you, I don't know when to shut up.

We hit the road at the buttcrack of dawn and once again, wet our whistles with kazoos. I promise, this is what Christina told her daughter we were playing, when what we were really doing what downing airplane
sized bottles of Bailey's.

Witness:

Cheers!



And Chug!



The ride to Toronto was filled with an awful lot of horribly politically incorrect comments, one so bad that the vehicle went silent and someone uttered "Shit just got real in here, yo!". Know what it was not
filled with? Unscheduled pee breaks. My bladder was not happy, but Lianne didn't have a potty like Christina did and we made good time, so it all balanced out in the end.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Christina unapologetically picked up on the 401. She absolutely did. She managed to spur on a preppy soccer dad driving a white Acura, with his kids in the car! Not only did
he notice us, he actually came up with poses every time we passed him. Poses I like to call "The Pensive Douchebag" and "Stretching So You Can See My Man Boobs Asshat".



Take that, perv!                              

 

We arrived at our hotel and know what we didn't do? Eat.

 

Know what we did do? Drink. And shop.

 

So we were dizzy and broke by the time we got back to the hotel room, which is probably why I lost my bank card in downtown Toronto on a Saturday afternoon, but worry not, I had just replaced the other bank card
I lost the day before. I was covered! Let's never speak of this again, and if you tell John, I might cut you.

 

Let's fast forward through the booze shakes and hairspray as we got dressed for the show and get to the part where we hijacked a limo. And when I say hijacked, I mean, we walked out of our hotel and jumped into a
limo as fourteen Boston Red Sox fans argued over the best way to get into said limo. See ya suckers! But not before we also take the totally endearing Kevin with us.

 

This is Kevin.

 



Kevin was just a baby. Kevin also asked us "So do you girls go to Ottawa University?".

 

And what did we say? Not "Oh, can I have your number you naughty little piece of man-flesh?"

 

No No. We old ladies just sighed and said "Awwwwwww!"

 

Blame the booze and lack of food.

 

Back to our story. The kind of scary, but very lovely limo driver dropped us off at the ACC so that we could pick up our tickets at Will Call. We knew that there would be some sort of goody bag involved, but imagine
our, well, GLEE, when we were handed programs and FANFUCKINGSTASTIC WARBLER TIES!! We were also given our tickets and it turned out, we were being separated into a trio of three and a duo of two, nowehere near each other. We decided to pick tickets out of a
hat at random. This is where I am convinced that the grace of God was with me. I not only had an angel on my shoulder, but said angel was humping a leprauchaun while using unicorn wings to floss her teeth. It was that divine intervention that put me in the
seat I was. Keep that in mind as you read on.

 

On to the show!

 

I reluctantly paid $40 for three beers and decided I was too poor to drink in Toronto, so that's where my boozing ended. Didn't matter, the show was about to start!

 

And what a show it was. For two hours we were entertained with a show that didn't quite kick the intimacy of the Radio City Music Hall show, but it did provide more feast for the eyes and ears. The Warblers absolutely
killed "Teenage Dream" and "Raise Your Glass" - to the point where I'm sure I got whiplash from jumping up and down.

 

Highlight of the show though? Fondling Puck (aka Mark Salling).

 

He began Fat Bottomed Girls from a makeshift stage in the middle of the floor, a few rows back from our fourteenth row seats. I was seated two seats from the aisle and happened to notice that as he stepped off said
stage, he was making his way toward my side of the aisle. I think I actually said to Christina (who was seated next to me) "Where is he going!? Is he on his way here!"

 

And he was.

 

The math was quick and calculated. The speed with which he travelled when applied directly to the ratio of people between me and him forced me to quickly surmise that I was going to have to perform a heinous smackdown
to get my hands on him.

 

To the poor lady who got shoved aside, the lady who tolerated my many bathroom breaks and embarssing Woo-Girl episodes, I apologize. I am sorry that I pushed you aside, climbed on your chair and possibly gave you
a concussion with my elbow. I would do it again in heartbeat, but I am deeply sorry.

 

Then it happened. I reached out and (not-so) gently placed my hand upon his sweaty arm. Like a fool, I just stood there, staring at my hand in wonder when Christina and Lianne yelled out "Look! He's serenading Zizes
RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!"

 

So I climbed back up on my chair, threw my hands in the air and screamed like a girl who has just been given a time machine back to the Beatles appearing on the Ed Sullivan Show.

 

The rest of the night and most of the next day was a bit of a blur, the highlights include almost cutting a bitch who cut in line at Cora's when all I wanted on this earth was a cup of coffee and some pancakes, shopping
my ass off at H&M and pretty much losing my shit (in a very bad way) when we ran into some clowns who were there supporting a downtown Toronto marathon. Thank God I wasn't running - cause it would be uncomfortable and embarssing to run with poopy pants, know
what I mean?