February, 2013:

What I want to know is, do you still play with your food, like I do?

OK, that’s not really why I called you here today.

Remember in my last post how I told you I was producing a show called Listen to Your Mother?

So, the other day, my co-producer (Nichole) texted me to say we were going to be on one of the local morning TV shows to promote LTYM and after all-capping back to her: “OMG, WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR NOTHING FITS OMG OMG OMG”, I decided to enter a second level of panic because frankly, I do not get up early in the morning. Ever. That means setting four alarms to make sure I can get up three hours earlier than usual.

And then I freak out on a third level because, well, you’re supposed to wear makeup when you go on television and I’ve never worn makeup and I don’t know how to use it and do they have makeup people at the TV station or are you supposed to know how to do all that yourself?

Did I mention that I’d never been on TV before and this was going to be live? Eeek!

I don’t know whether to blame my mother or thank her, but she forbade me to wear make-up in junior high school. So by the time I got to high school I had already acquired friends with similar unmade faces and through laziness or ignorance never got into the habit of it.

I never read all the magazines that instructed you on how to paint yourself like a whore, so thirty years later, when I actually NEEDED to paint myself like a whore, I was in a pickle.

I have a friend who has worn makeup since the age of three and knows her way around a powder counter, so I immediately sent a text message to her that went along these lines:

EMERGENCY NEED HELP STOP.

PLEASE ASSIST IN PURCHASE OF MAKEUP STOP.

THEN PLEASE ASSIST IN HOW TO PAINT SELF LIKE WHORE FOR TV STOP.

The next thing I know, we are at the mall, entering a store called Bare Minerals where I am strapped down to a chair, screaming bloody murder as other customers shake their heads in pity.

The porcelain-faced women in white lab coats assault my face with any manner of weapons and teach me how to assault myself as I beg for mercy because they are telling me too many things. Primer? Really? There’s primer involved? Isn’t that for painting cars?

There are too many steps and do you have a pen because I need to write this down. Is there a video?

And why aren’t all the brushes labeled for each different powder and bronzer and… mineral veil? It’s really called mineral veil?

And they laugh at me and take my credit card and give me a starter kit that is usually reserved for twelve-year-olds.

The next phase requires a visit to the Lancome counter where more lab coats and more face-assaulting occurs and my friend disappears with these women as they confer at the eye shadow drawers and whisper amongst the lip liners to decide the fate of my entire face. I am a toy to them — a blank canvas on which to explore and frolic with colors and brushes.

Four hundred dollars later I walk out of the mall with my friend, heavily laden with an arsenal of little boxes and powders and creams and pencils. And many layers of experimental projects covering my countenance.

I spend the next six days practicing this routine and timing myself to figure out how much earlier I have to get up that fateful day. I can’t believe some of you go through this every day of your life - how do you people do it? How do you afford it?

This is what 400 smackers will get you.

Meanwhile, I’m also worrying about how I’m going to get to see the segment of myself on television. We don’t have a DVR.

I know!

Who doesn’t have a DVR?

We don’t. That’s who. So my husband ordered a DVR. People have been hounding us forever to get one and can’t believe we don’t already have one and blah blah blah shut up already we ordered one, okay?

The fateful morning came and I didn’t poke my eye out or anything while getting ready and I met Nichole at the KCRA 3 station and we waited in the green room, having no idea how this thing worked and by the way, no, they do NOT have makeup people just sitting around waiting to help you not be shiny on TV.

Someone came in and called us in that “The doctor will see you now” way and led us into the studio where the anchors were talking into a camera and did you know they don’t have cameramen, just a bunch of robotic machines that come right up to you and put you on TV? Did I mention this was LIVE?

Deirdre Fitzpatrick came away from the anchor desk as robots whirred and aimed at the weatherman and the traffic girl giving their reports. She sat down with us for a couple of minutes, explained how the segment would go, making us feel a little more comfortable. And then BLAM! we were on. And then BLAM! we were off. One of the crew took a picture of us on Deirdre’s cell and we were on our way.

KCRA’s Deirdre FItzpatrick, Nichole, and yours truly.

While the segment itself lasted five minutes, you see my face for maybe one of them. One minute.

Four hundred dollars for one minute.

And the DVR my husband ordered?

Arrived 3 hours AFTER the segment aired.

And they say makeup expires so now I have to find excuses to wear it because I am not paying four hundred dollars for one minute.

So I’ve decided to start a television show and star in it until all my makeup is gone. Yeah, The Nanny Goats Hunters Extreme Makeover. A reality show about the paranormal encounters of plucky backwoods goats seeking fame as runway underwear models and the dramatic challenges they face when the back-stabbing ancient alien judges undermine their efforts. I’ll be host Ryan Seacrest’s hilarious sidekick.

Link to my big television debut.