Bright and early this morning, I yanked myself out of bed before the sun even bothered to start shining. Lazy ass. For the next 30 minutes, I stumbled around in the dark, attempting to put myself together for my very first televised interview.
Did I mention this interview would be live?
My mind had been racing for days about what exactly I’d be asked, if I’d have good answers, how many times I would say “like” and want to kick my own forehead, if I would faceplant, if I would look HUMAN (I’ve been plagued with some kind of virus for weeks now and have looked like a walker straight out of The Walking Dead.
Once I got my face on, stuck my ass in a dress and brushed my hair- I thought I was golden. I looked pretty good. I got this. I’m ready. I’m totally prepared! Let’s go!
My friend Brandi had volunteered to come along as my “social media manager” (doesn’t that sound FANCY??)- so we jumped in the car and began our drive to the studio, which is about… 50 minutes give or take.
About 35 minutes into this 50 minute drive, the nerves started setting in. We’re almost there. I’m going to be on TV. I’m going to be LIVE on TV. I’m going to be LIVE on TV and I have a dirty pirate hooker mouth! I’m going to be LIVE on TV with my dirty pirate hooker mouth and I’m going to let a curse slip and get find a bajillion dollars!
Of course, the chances of any of that happening were slim to none. I keep my language under control when it needs to be, believe it or not- but once the brain starts to run away, it GALLOPS, and it usually takes the stomach with it.
Most people, upon feeling pangs of stage fright- relieve it via their mouth. I guess I’m just not as lucky as most people. Mine tends to go the other way. That’s where it wanted to go this morning. Downtown. Far from home. In an area I did not know.
At first I think it’s no big deal. I can hold it until I get to the studio, we were on track to be there early anyway- but as I am sure many of you know “I kinda need to poo” turns into “I NEED TO POO NOW, DON’T YOU MAKE ME PULL A BRIDESMAIDS!”
I pulled into the first gas station that didn’t look like there would be an ax murderer or dirty syringes waiting for me in the bathroom and waddle-jogged inside.
“We don’t have a restroom, soorrrryyyyy”
BITCH I KNOW YOU HAVE A BATHROOM BACK THERE! WHAT DO YOU DO? SHIT IN A PLASTIC WATER BOTTLE?!
Waddle-jog back to the car. Oh yeah… in the rain. As if needing to poo so bad you waddle like you’re about to give birth isn’t bad enough.
Trying to convince myself I could most definitely make it to the studio because I could SEE it with my crappy eyeballs now, I drove on…. and then quickly realized how wrong I was. The GOTTAGORIGHTNOW feeling came back tenfold. And there was a big STUPID truck in front of us that took seventeen years to make its turn and get the hell out of my way, so of course I decide the mature thing to do is yell
“GET OUT OF MY WAY OR I’M GOING TO RAM YOU AND THEN SHIT IN YOUR TRUCK!”
What? I’m not proud of it, y’all- but the force was strong.
Let’s just say that the illegal turn I pulled into the next nearest gas station was well worth it. I’m not going to disturb you with the details, but I felt like a new person.
Brandi and I were escorted into the news building and straight into the studio where I got mic’ed up and awaited my interview- which was about 20 minutes away. Just enough time to get my makeup fixed, make sure no lady parts were hanging out or toilet paper was trailing from my foot… and for my stomach to act like a TOTAL BITCH again. You may want to ask aloud if I have IBS. Don’t give my insides that kind of credit! I refer to it as whorish evilness.
What the hell, stomach? Haven’t even put anything in you today, you stupid twat.
Yes, LANGUAGE! OH DEAR, MY LANGUAGE! But I was mad at this point. I was breathing like I was trying to get through a damn contraction.
Before I could manage to slip away to the bathroom- I was on. Cameras facing me- lights beating down on me… and I totally CRAPPED MYSELF ON LIVE TELEVISION!
Okay, I didn’t. I actually think it went really well; but can you imagine if I did?? I’d be blacklisted! Or would that be brownlisted?
“Don’t EVER let that girl on your set! She’ll shit herself and then you’ll have to replace EVERYTHING! We can’t even have the company Christmas party this year because of the damage her ass did! Our budget is shot for the whole damn year! Damn that mommy blogger. DAMN HER!”
Yeah.. I’m pretty glad my stomach shut the hell up once the cameras started rolling and the interview went a little something like this:
And if you haven’t seen the interview in full?
Now… Onto the book signing tomorrow, two more TV interviews and another signing (and reading!) in the next month… and hopefully no near-pants crapping experiences EVER again.
I want to give a HUGE thanks to Bleue Boutique, who has the CUTEST stuff, for dressing me today! I would have looked like a turd without you!
If you like to be constantly criticized over your peanut butter to jelly ratio on sandwiches, being a parent is definitely for you.
It's called "Mom Tax" and it applies to ALL SWEETS OBTAINED BY CHILDREN pic.twitter.com/VExGwIOdBn
Live now on Twitch! Come hang out! twitch.tv/holdinholden
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