Not that it’s any of your business, but I just turned 49. Being almost dead 50 has forced me to take pills stock and recount the year’s challenges, wrinkles, and empty pill bottles promises. Though my life is great, I thought by this point I’d be well on my way to meeting some big- time goals: learning how to program the PVR, backing into the garage, and fitting into the Sergio Valente jeans I wore in grade 7. Epic fail. However, there was that one goal of becoming a talk- show host that I came ‘this close’ to realizing. Let’s just say Kelly Ripa doesn’t like change.
This may surprise you but Kelly and I are practically twins. Both of us enjoy talking, wearing designer clothes and staring into
her husband’s eyes the camera. Call me crazy but with our eerie similarities, sharing a talk show called Colleen and Kelly was a no- brainer. I imagined us going for lattes at some hip cafe after each taping and joking about how I have a larger rack Twitter fan base than she does. Oh, how we’d laugh! It was going to be perfect…if it weren’t for her ‘boundary issues.’
My hunger for fame goes way back. As a precocious and beautiful child, I was known to ham it up. I penned little plays, performed skits in our kitchen for my parents’ drunken friends, and made several
porn flicks trips to the principal’s office for being a ‘diva’ (Blah. Blah. Blah). There were no talent agents in my small town though, so I gave it all up and like an idiot, became a teacher. I buried my dreams and tried to find fulfillment in the porn industry classroom. Even there I gravitated toward the spotlight: I began each class with, “A funny thing happened on the way to work…”; I hired hair and makeup people for Picture Day; and I insisted on cash applause after each lesson. Though I was an outstanding teacher, something was missing.
Until last spring, that is, when I felt a long-forgotten stirring in my loins soul. I had snagged tickets to LIVE With Kelly and Michael for an upcoming trip to NYC; I kept hearing a little voice saying: “Take your medication show on the road.” The tickets came in the mail with a personalized letter outlining taping procedures; explicit directions to the studio; and a photo of the glamorous set. Well, Kelly might as well have called me herself! It was just a matter of time before I would be incarcerated the spotlight.
On taping day, they made me wait in line outside. When I presented my letter to the NBC doorman, he blew cigarette smoke in my face and said, “Look, lady. I don’t make enough money for this”. Grouch. Once seated inside the studio I knew I was home: lights, cameras and paranoid security guards were everywhere. I waved my lighter Canadian flag with gusto but it didn’t catch Kelly’s attention. Then it happened. She asked if anyone in the audience was celebrating anything special. I shimmied past my row, rushed to the stage and announced, “I’m celebrating my new career! Where should I sit?” She sang out, “Security!” but I heard, “Certainly!” With that, I grabbed the mic, ordered the cameraman to get my best side, and began my demise act. As twelve over- the- top security guards wrestled me to the ground, I managed to blurt out my Twitter address but I think it was muffled. Can you say ‘power trip’?? OMG. (@LandryColleen)
It’s kinda awkward between Kel and I when we see each other
in court. I hate it when she acts all nervous around me. Whatever. Once I realized the camera put on ten pounds, I would have been outta there anyway. I’m over it. I have bigger fish to fry. Mark my words, in my 49th year thanks to the crappy jail food I’ll fit into those Sergio Valente jeans if it kills me. So there.
Here she is trying to pretend she doesn’t notice my lighter: