Momnesia

TV Prep: A Dance Marathon

I left my notes at work. I have an ear infection that blew out one of my eardrums. I have a notorious tendency to stammer, babble like a maniac and laugh like a hyena when I'm nervous. I know! Let's put me on TV!

Sweet. As if I haven't shown my ass enough in this town.

So this morning, I pluck my eyebrows and jump in the shower. A word to the unwise: DO NOT exfoliate right after you do this. 'Cause ouch.

I dry my hair and panic. It's not working! The hair! I mean, it never works, but at least it only screws off in front of 15 people, not - hey, how many people watch this show, anyway? As hair goes, my headful is the lazy brother-in-law who can't hold a job OR his liquor.

Desperate, I run out and point to my head. "Eh!" I squeak.
Scott turns away and holds up his hand for silence. The cell phone. It is stapled to his ear. Soon, it will be shoved up his... nose.
I run back in the bathroom and hack at my bangs. Meh. MEH! Marginally better.

Makeup. Uhh... where is it? I can't even remember the last time I saw my makeup bag. There! It's in the closet. What IS half this crap, and why did I buy it?!

Let's see... green tinted concealer to hide the weird redness in my whole face. Brown eyeshadow because that's all I have. Eyeliner? Eyeliner? Anyone? Bueller? Nothing. Fine. Moving on. Ooh, the cool mascara that's supposed to make you look like someone glued a squirrel to your eyelids. Hmm. Not bad.

I run out and point to my face. Scott gives me a thumbs up with his free hand.
"Mmmhmm. Mmmhmm. Yeah," he comments into his phone. I'm going to give that thing a name and file a lawsuit against it for alienation of affection.

Perfume (because you never know who is harboring an old Smell-o-Vision) and brush the hair. Gah! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! More hacking at the bangs... ehhhhhhhhh.... Fuck it. I run out and point to my hair. Scott gives me a thumbs up. I'm not sure he even knows what he's approving.

I run in and put on my dress. I run out and model it for him. I'm pretty sure Scott's thumb has been up the whole time (what it's been up, I dunno). Hello? Are you even looking at me? Bootyshake... Macarena... Tap Dance... Hello? Nothing? Cabbage Patch... Dirty Bird... Moonwalk...

Hey! Boobies!
Ha! You're lookin' now aren't you?

I run in and grab pantyhose and run out and hold them up. Hose? Bare leg? Hose? Bare leg? No, boobies aren't an option. Eh, screw it. I'll wear hose.

I run in and grab shoes and run out and hold them up. Red? Black? Red? Black? Thumbs up from Scott. Big help. Red, it is.

I run out the door with more makeup on than Joan Collins and enough support undergarments to fix a bridge in Minneapolis. I get to the station and realize I've forgotten my notes. Fine! I can wing it!

As I get out of the car, the wind blows my wrap skirt open. Great. Thanks. I don't think anyone saw that...

I rush up to the receptionist and give her a winning (red) smile.
"Hi! I'm here to make a fool of myself in front of all of Augusta!"
She doesn't even look up.
"What?" she asks.
"Uh... noon show with Liz Hill," I stutter.
She opens the door and points: "Through there."

I see a friendly face as I enter. But I can't remember her name.
"Hi!" I sing.
"Hey," she says with a slight smile. "Through there," she points and goes back to her work.
Oookay.

A man stands when I enter. He's a nice man, but he thinks his project is the only story in town. He expects us to print every update he has. We spend a long uncomfortable time talking about whether "Angela" will write the story he gave her. That's not even her name.

Liz Hill walks in and schmoozes us for a minute. I'd feel better if she wasn't so fucking pretty. Can I sit next to the ugly anchor, please?

More talking while we watch the monitors of the various studio feeds. The wind is blowing Tina Terry's hair all crazy as she stands in a parking lot somewhere, and Liz actually does a booger check. Yes! Love it!

Oh, crap. I need to do a booger check, too!

Somebody comes out to put on my microphone. But he's afraid to touch my shirt. The boobs are FIERCE! Then I'm walking in the studio.

Wait. I didn't fix my hair for this side! Can I switch? Nope. They're already counting down.
Great. I'll just look bald.
Where do I put my feet? No one can see my cute shoes!
Wait... is she already talking to me? Oh, is it my turn already? Uh...
Mumble mumble "super fun!"
Fuck, what camera am I supposed to be looking into?
Mumble mumble "like..."
Hey, there's the monitor! Jeez, how many chins can one person have? Oh, shit, that's me!
Mumble mumble "awesome!"
And then it's over.

That's it? Seriously?

I crack a joke to Liz. "Hey! No vomiting!"
She's talking to someone else.
No one notices me leave.

I walked in there like some bumpkin wearing overalls and chawin' on a stalk of hay all "Imma beon TeeeVeee" and I left with the certainty that 12 whole people saw me.

Twelve? Sweet! I'm famouser!