Questions Answered

If you've been following my blog, or have spent 5 minutes with me, you know about my constantly crying right eye. I've never really known why it's so leaky and I just assumed that I had an overactive tear duct. But a trip to the eye doctor changed all that.

Fasten your seat belts, folks and get ready to have your mind. blown.

My eye waters a normal amount. Then why, you may ask, is it constantly overflowing as if I watch the first ten minutes of Up on a loop? Because the tears have nowhere to go! That's right! I have punctal stenosis! The hole in the eye that allows tears to drain is closed in my right eye so the tears have nowhere to go but down my face (at unfortunate times).

I know you were all wondering. So, you're welcome.

Doppleganger

We all hope that we bear some resemblance to a fantastically attractive star or starlet. Even if we don't think that we look just like so-and-so, we look for features that we think we share--"my forehead is JUST LIKE hers!" "You see that collarbone? Yup, it's just like mine." I of course am not exempt from such fantasizing. Unfortunately, working at Disney World where you have thousands of brief, first-impression only encounters, my "having a beautiful celebrity doppleganger" bubble has been thoroughly and painfully popped.

It started last summer when, on a number of occasions, guests would tell me that I look exactly like Ricki Lake. One such guest even went to high school with "the gorgeous Ricki Lake" (his words, not mine). I hoped I was just having a bad hair year or something. Another thing I got all. the. time. was, "You look like that Hairspray girl!"

Oh, goody.

Anyway, I still got a few of these types of comments from guests this summer. Then, on one of my last days at work, it happened. Every girl's worst nightmare.

"You know that girl from TV, SNOOKI? You remind me of her!"

Maybe she thought my hat was a poof.

On the road

I am currently sitting at the Phoenix airport waiting for my final flight that will take me to Salt Lake. I've been up since 6 and will have touched down in 4 different time zones before I'm through traveling. Since I have all this free time (and the only food place around me is Pizza Hut), I thought I'd catch up with my blogging.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy the word vomit.

To start us off, I thought that I'd list my favorite things about flying. Since I pretty much hate traveling (I will be the first person to sign up for teleportation whenever that happens), I thought this would be a good "count your blessings so you don't go crazy moment."

Things I love about traveling:

1. The final descent of the plane: I love watching the landscape becoming more detailed--seeing mountains, lakes, little cars and houses in far better detail than you could ever see on google earth.

2. Touchdown: the wheels' first contact with the runway is my favorite. You're there! You're finally there!

3. I guess the in-flight beverages are pretty good.

4. When you're lucky enough to travel with friends or family, a trip miraculously becomes an adventure: I've done my fair share of flying by myself. Back and forth from Albany every six weeks to finish up my orthodontia, flying to school and home again, visiting family, it goes on and on. On those rare occasions when I get to have a travel buddy or-gasp!-several, it's the best feeling in the world.

5. The possibilities at the start of a trip, or the relief of coming home at the end.

I think 5 is pretty good for now. Also, I can't think of any more.

Why yes, I was on tv.

In the theater, after seeing the Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular at Studios:

Random man: Excuse me, did you do American Idol?

Me, thinking he meant the American Idol Experience attraction: No, I'm just a regular park-goer...

Random man: Oh, my son thought you were a famous American Idol from TV. Sorry!

Me: ............

That's pretty cool. If I thought a little bit faster, the conversation should have gone like this:

Random man: Excuse me, did you do American Idol?

Me: Why yes, sir! I was on with that guy with the hair. Would you like an autograph?

It's just like Winston says in Ghostbusters: "Ray, when someone asks you if you're a god, you say 'YES'!"

No, it's a Chinese Restaurant.

I was in the preshow today at work and a man walked in that did not speak much english. Our conversation went as follows:

Man: What is going on in here?
Me: Well, this is the line.
Man: When does the show start?
Me: It's not a show, it's the Great Movie Ride and the wait time is less than 5 minutes.
Man: Ohhh, it's a movie.
Me: No, it's a ride. The attraction is called the Great Movie Ride.
Man: What does it do?
Me: You ride through scenes from classic movies.
Man: It's a movie...
Me: No, it's a ride about the movies.
Man: It's a show?
Me. No, it's a ride.

Man nods. And then he opens his water bottle and takes a sip.

Me: Sir, I'm sorry, but there's no drinking in the building.

Man twists the lid on the bottle and walks away.

life at a women's college...

(504): This is absurd. I need a man. Or even a moderately-clean hobo will do at this point.

I'd say this sums it up accurately.

Dazed and Confused

Currently, I'm a little under the weather. As in nose alternating between stuffed and runny, eyes watery and heavy, sinuses stopped up, and ears plugged. And there's some melodious hacking-up-a-lung thrown in there.

I decided to brave my classes today and in my Early Cinema class, some students (all film majors, mind you, not the casual enthusiast/psych major like myself) were sharing with the class their blog entries on certain aspects of early film. I was listening intently, partially wondering how I would pull my own blog post out of my uncultured butt, when my professor stops and remarks, "Gina, you look a little dazed..."

I responded with, "Oh no, I'm just still kinda sick, so I think I just generally look that way right now."

No big deal. I thought she'd chuckle (she did) and move on to the next student (she didn't). Instead she said, "Oh, yes, I guess you generally look dazed chuckle chuckle."

And then she moved on.

Here Come The Waterworks

My right eye waters. A lot. For no reason. And it's just my right eye. It's kind of a problem because people often think I'm crying when I'm just...existing. So, to avoid further confusion, I thought I might post about it.

A few years ago, I did a summer musical program through my school's choir director. I hadn't done chorus or any kind of singing at school, so the kids there had no idea I sang. One of the first things I sang in front of them was a kind of sad song about unrequited love ("There's a Fine, Fine Line" from Avenue Q). I finished the song and I remember a few students coming up to me and saying, "Wow, I really believed that you were sad; I can't believe you can make yourself cry!" As it turns out, I had a single tear falling from my eye. My right eye. I quickly told them that, no, I'm not a fantastic actor who can cry on cue; I have an overactive tear duct.

When school started up again, my friend Laura and I were talking about my eye during bio class. I said something about my contact, and she said, "don't you mean contacts?" and when I revealed that I only wore one contact (for my left, non-watering eye), that seemed to be even more hilarious to her than me saying, "Crying?? Oh, no. I have an overactive tear duct."

(By the way, I now wear two contacts. My left eye still requires a stronger prescription, but now I have two like everyone else...I'm normal).

It still happens, all the time, that my eye gets me into trouble. In my first few weeks at work this past summer, I made some sort of mistake at casting. A coordinator corrected me, and I apologized and it really wasn't a big deal. But apparently my right eye went rogue and made him believe that his correction had made me cry. Then it was my turn to correct him.

Someone once told me that I should use my watery eye to my advantage. Maybe get some free stuff or even just get the chance to mess with people. So watch out! The next time you ask me if I'm crying, I launch into an uncomfortably long story about how my parakeet (I don't have a parakeet) died due to a seed overdose. Or maybe I'll tell you that my eye waters because my parents beat me with bricks as a child and broke my eye.

But don't believe me. I'm messing with you.

Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Strong

Today was a pretty good day, if I do say so myself.

It started out with a trip to Universal to see my friend Sam's awesome Jaws show (or should I say Captain Jake's Amity Boat Tour?) with Laura. We didn't stay at the park long, partially because it was hot and partially because I mentioned getting slurpees and after that, all we could think about was getting slurpees.

So, we left and ventured to the nearest 7-Eleven. Slurpees in hand, we drove home and rocked out to some 90's pop (think Britney, Backstreet Boys, 'Nsync, etc.) After getting off the highway, we opened the windows to enjoy the breeze. However, we didn't adjust our rocking out...

...and then Kelly Clarkson comes on crooning "A Moment Like This" and we were gone. We start soulfully singing along, cheesy hand-choreography included. After Kelly (and Laura and I) sing and motion "One special kiss," I look to my right to the car next to us and see a kid (maybe 12, 13), staring out the window, gaping at us and then telling the rest of his car to look at us. I pause for a moment, being caught doing something pretty embarrassing, but then I thought what the heck, and kept going.

That kid kept his head out the window to look at us until he was out of sight.
We're cool.

Oh, and if you want to get an idea of what he looked like, see below.





Yup.

My First Pat-Down

My first airport security pat-down was bound to happen at Boston Logan. Already they've tried to take away my jar of marshmallow fluff (they did not succeed) and changed my gates so that I had to go through security twice.

Well, on this fateful trip, the line for security was pretty short and I was happy. Instead of going through the metal detector, I went through some new scanner and I really didn't think much about it. However, this shorter line funneled into...a line for pat-downs.

I've never been frisked before. Surprising, right? I mean, with all the petty crimes I commit, it's a miracle it hadn't happened yet (ha. ha.) Anyway, I anxiously waited behind another woman who was getting your standard pat-down--arms out, feet apart, etc., etc--for my turn. Finally, I step up and wait for the (female) TSA agent to give me some sort of instructions. After about a minute of just standing there, she said:

"I have to pat down your hair."

....................................

She proceeded to do just that, gingerly cupping my messy bun and patting the top of my head a few times. After deciding that I wasn't concealing any C-4 in my hair, I was free to leave.

And that is the story of my first pat-down.

yay me!

I got a blog.

Can I get a woot woot?!