Facebook Friday Crap and Stuff. April 5th Edition.

So the email service that I use to send out all of my blogs to subscribers is being a total ball suck. And basically the whole reason that I even write these Facebook Friday blog posts is so that all of my subscribers who aren't on Facebook can catch up with what they missed over the course of a week. BUT since the whole ball suck thing is going on, I don't know if my subscribers are even gonna get this post since they didn't get my last one. 

The point is, I could be wasting my time writing this for nothing. So I'm totally having a beer while I'm writing it. Because I deserve it. And also because any time spent drinking a Modelo is not time wasted.

It's been a long day today.

"Why has it been a long day?" you might be asking me right now. And if you are, rest assured you look ridiculous. Talking to your computer screen like a nutball. News Alert: I can't hear you. You weirdo.

The reason it's been a bad day is because, like I said, my email subscription service is acting like a dick and it forced me to read a whole lotta technical computery stuff that my brain just does not comprehend. ANY time I have to read technical jargon is a day from hell.

And then I had to go poop. 

Let me set the scene for you:

So I have my 4 cups of coffee and make my way into my church to have my morning constitutional. It's going well. While doing my business I get deeply involved in trying to troubleshoot this whole problem I am having on my blog's subscription site (eff you, Feedburner!) so I sit there quite a bit longer than necessary due to the fact that I finally think I might be figuring something out. Turns out I was wrong. So I finally decide that perhaps spending 20 minutes on the potty for absolutely no reason other than I was busy reading, was dumb. Because my left leg is asleep. More than asleep, actually. More like dead. So I stand up and can't feel a thing and my foot is heavy like a Frankenstein foot. So I turn to exit the bathroom and pull that dead leg with a bunch of force. Too much force. And my dead Frankenstein foot rams into the door frame. I don't feel it because it's dead. But I fall down because the force stopped me so hard in my tracks than I fell. It was like I hit a wall. Because I did. I hit a wall. With my Patti-pooped-too-long dead Frankenstein foot. So I dragged myself to my bedroom to sit down and slowly the numbness wore off and I realized that my foot was swelling. And oh yeah, I also realized that it hurt like a holy mofo. So now I'm sitting around with an ice pack on it, popping Advil like candy, hoping that the swelling goes down and I can stand on it because DUH! I have a freaking Mud Dash tomorrow that I have been looking forward to for months! 

"Hey Patti! Why aren't you competing in the mud dash?" 

"Because I pooped for too long and my leg fell asleep like a dead frankenstein foot then I rammed it into a doorjamb and probably broke it without feeling a damn thing, and then I fell down without any pants on. Duh."

And there you have it. Bad. Day.

And even though the chances are slim to none that my subscribers actually see this post, I decided that i would write it anyways. Because you have missed a few things. And if you see me and you're all like 'Why didn't you tell me about the freaking poop foot injury?" I can say "I DID! I posted it in my blog. If you really loved me you would check my blog every day just in case you missed something. Thanks for outing yourself as a total jackhole"

So here's what has happened this week in Facebooklandia and beyond:

The podcast of my interview on Hines' Side Show from Springfield's US 97 went up on their website. You can listen to it HERE if you missed it. You can see how dumb I sound and also how I end most of my sentences as if they were questions when they are so totally not. Yes. When you listen to yourself chit chat for over an hour you notice lots of things about yourself. You can also learn about my plans to get into The White House, start a rock band, smuggle drugs across the boarder, sing, and imitate what giant tortoise sex sounds like. How could you NOT listen? 

Then on another day, I had this thought about a Maroon 5 song:

My alarm clock is set to the radio option cuz if I get awakened my a buzzer I want to kick people in the face, and if I get awakened by music I dance and sing. Unless it's Celine or Mariah then I wanna kick people in the face. Anyhoo...This morning Adam Levine woke me up singing about how when the daylight comes he has to go, and I laid there for a minute thinking about making out with him and then my brain got distracted by the lyrics and I started wondering WTF he's singing about. I have decided that there are two possibilities: (1) He is singing to his booty call girl. The girl he wants to get down with in secret but will pretend that he doesn't know if any of his friends are around, or (2) He is a casanova vampire who gets it on with all the ladies at night but has to be back in his coffin when the sun comes up so he doesn't explode. THEN I was thinking that if I was a single dude on the prowl looking for hot dumb girls to get down with, I'd totally pretend that I was a vampire because girls get all hot and bothered over sexy vampires so it would be easier to get women, PLUS you have the excuse to not deal with boyfriend type stuff during the day. BOOM!

I just figured I'd add this picture cuz I'm cranky and I need it right now. 

And The Boy said this about the book "I Just Want To Pee Alone":

"I read your chapter in the book while I was taking a crap. You said that when I was a baby I was an a-hole and you talked about my poop. That is just so wrong. You're getting famous because you invented me. I'm the one who should be famous."

Then yesterday I told this story about how I didn't get any sleep because The Hub is a wanker:

I slept like ass last night.
First of all I went to bed way too early. Like an old person. It was still in the nines for Pete's sake. But The Hub was going to bed and there wasn't anything good on tv and I was totally bored so I thought "Hey. I am way behind on my sleep so I might as well catch up." Which was really responsible thinking on my part. But when I went to the bathroom to do my before bed pee, there was a big spider in front of my closet staring at me so I yelled to The Hub "Help! Spider! HELLLLLPPPPP!" and he said "Just hit it with my shoe." And he said it all monotone and exhausted and annoyed like only a total wanker would say it. He said it like his bride's life was NOT in immense danger. But I found my lady balls and killed it with his shoe. And it was disgusting. Then I yelled "Thanks for your help, a-hole!" Then I was totally effed up for the rest of the night due to the fact that I have major spider issues and if I see one before bed it pretty much means that the zzz's ain't gonna happen because all I can think of is being Gulliver's Travelled by an army of spiders while I sleep. So I didn't sleep. At all. Until about 6 am. Then my alarm went off at 7. So yeah. Happy Thursday. The Hub is a turd-hole.

And I also wrote a blog that none of my subscribers got because of the whole email service being a total dick situation. There is a link to that blog post RIGHT HERE if you missed it. It's called  "Square pegs. We may not fit in round holes, but that's okay. Who wants to be in a stupid old hole anyways? Holes are dark and gross and sometimes there are dead or bitey things in there." And I'm told that it actually ended up being kind of inspiring. Yeah. I wrote something inspiring. Suck on that. 

Actually don't suck on it. Read it and share it if you find it inspiring. 

And if you don't, THEN you can suck on it. 

Patticrest Out.

Psst! My friend Angie is having a contest on her website where you can win some scrapbooky stuff. If you want to enter GO TO HERE.

Square pegs. We may not fit in round holes, but that's okay. Who wants to be in a stupid old hole anyways? Holes are dark and gross and sometimes there are dead or bitey things in there.

Last week I got an email from a woman who wanted to know if I have ever had to deal with stick-up-the-butt moms judging me because I am so silly and off-the-wall, and if so, did I worry that my being different would make them unfairly judge my child.

My answer to that is Hell. To. The. Yes.

Yes. Yes. Yes. 

I have had to deal with that on many occasions. 

Way too many occasions to count, actually.

And if any of the uptight Judgy McBitchholes are reading this right now (which let's face it, they sooooo totally are, because the people who claim to hate you are always the ones that obsess over your every single move) I am sure they are now judging me because I used the word "hell" up in here and in their closed little minds the word "hell" is not a word that a respectable mother would use.

What will the neighbors say???

I can tell you with absolute 100% honesty that I do not ask myself that question.

Why?

Because I don't give a flying fuck.

Yes. I just said "fuck." 

My usual "frick" just didn't seem to capture the essence of just how totally and completely zero I care about what people like that think of me.

Was I always this way? No. Like most of us I have gone through stages in my life where I wanted to fit in. 

When I was in 6th grade and I left my cozy little private school to go to public, I suddenly felt the need to fit in and I wanted to dress like everyone, have hair like everyone, be accepted by everyone, look like everyone, and talk like everyone.

That lasted for about a day.

When your mom forces you to get a new hairdo that "all the cool kids are wearing" and you end up being the new kid at school with the hairdo that nobody but the lunch ladies are wearing, then you know that the whole fitting in thing just isn't gonna work out for you:

So what do you do? You say "fuck it" and you start doing your own thing.

Then you meet kids who also said "fuck it" and are doing their own thing.

Those are your people and you are happy with your people.

I spent the next many years doing whatever the heck I wanted to do no matter what anyone else thought of me. You can ask my dad about that. He will totally back me up.

Then one day, years later, I squeezed a screaming little person out of my in-between. 

That is when I went off the rails. Or back on the rails. I guess it depends on your definition of rails.

If you are a mother then you know what happens when you have your first baby: You get a little cuckoo majuckoo. 

You want to do the right thing so bad that you sometimes overdo it. I was obsessed with being the perfect mom and making sure that The Boy became the perfect boy.

I read all the parenting books that told me all of the things that I had to do so that I wouldn't screw up my kid. I joined all the headachey mommy and me kinda classes and I met other moms and I tried to fit in and be perfect like them. I tried to wear what everyone was wearing and carry the purse that everyone was carrying and feed my family the foods that everyone was feeding their families and push the stroller that everyone was pushing and throw the awesome birthday parties that everyone was throwing for their kids and be accepted into The Sisterhood of Motherhood.

It sucked.

It took me awhile to let it all go. To realize that if I loved The Boy and took care of him then I was a good mom. End of story. Nothing else mattered. I didn't need every other mom in a 50-mile radius to agree that I was a good mom. I knew. The Hub knew. The Boy knew. Everyone else can fuck off.

Oops! I said it again.

After I dragged my ass out of the Stepford Motherhood I started to speak my mind and be my weird little self again.

One day when The Boy was about 4 I took him to a McDonalds playland and he got into a little scuffle with another boy in the dreaded tunnel of germs.

I was sitting at a cluster of tables with a bunch of other moms and The Boy came up to me crying and telling me that some kid was hitting him. I told him to go back into the germ tunnel and tell that kid that it isn't nice to hit people and that he wanted to be friends. A few minutes later he came back to the table and told me that he did what I said and the kid hit him again. I told him to try again. He did. The kid hit him again. And he came to the table to tell me again. So I asked the women at the tables which of them was the mother of that kid. One woman said that she was, so I asked her if she would talk to him about hitting The Boy and she said "Boys will be boys." Okay. Sure. And pissed off moms will be pissed off moms. So this pissed off mom told The Boy to go back in the tunnel and if that kid touched him again he should hit him, kick him, push him, scratch him, do whatever he had to do because that boy's mom says it's ok for boys to do that. 

That's when all the women at the tables let out a collective gasp and that mother said I had problems and I said "No. Actually I don't. I have a super sweet kid who is nice to everyone. You are the one who has a problem, and some day that problem will be bigger than you. So good luck with that."

Even the women at the table who were my friends, were horrified with me. Actually I think they were more embarrassed that I had spoken my mind and stood up to a table-o-bitches, because they wanted to fit in with them. I didn't care about fitting in anymore. I wasn't 16 and trying to get in with the cool crowd like in some John Hughes movie. I'm not a mindless suck-up and I don't care about your Mercedes SUV and your million dollar house and your full time maid. If you're an asshole I really don't mind telling you so.

This was a turning point for me. It made me realize that I was still the person I had always been. I have been an independent thinker since birth (again, ask my parents) and I have never been afraid to go my own way or speak my mind and motherhood didn't have to change that. Trying to fit in with the herd was going to make me a worse mother, not a better one, because that would be teaching my son that it's not okay to be yourself. It would be teaching him that you have to do what the "popular" people are doing. It would be teaching him that you have to fit in. 

Guess what? Trying to force yourself to fit in super sucks.

It's much more awesome to find the people who are gonna like you for you. It's freeing to just say what you think and do what you do and not worry about someone getting all butthurt about it. 

I deal with this in my own neighborhood sometimes. I deal with this on my Facebook page too.

There are people who don't like me because I make jokes about something they might not think is funny. There are people who don't like me because I drop an "F" bomb now and then. There are people who don't like me because I talk about nonsense. There are people who don't like me because I talk about poop. There are people who don't like me because I think that sometimes kids are assholes. There are people who don't like me because I act immature or silly or weird. There are people who don't like me because I want gay people to be able to get married. There are people who don't like me because I want women to have the right to choose. And guess what? I don't really mind if people don't like me for those things. Because those are my things. 

And that's what I want to teach The Boy.

That as long as you are being true to yourself, it doesn't matter. 

If people don't like who you are, that's okay. Anyone who doesn't like you for being yourself isn't worth knowing anyway. You will find your people. And they will be people who like you for you and not for the things you have or for the person you are pretending to be. And in the meantime you have to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and be proud of who you see. You are with yourself 24/7 until the day you die so it's kind of important that you like yourself or shit can get old really fast. 

End of story.

Facebook Friday Fal De Ral

Is "Fal De Ral" a real word? Falderal? Whatever? I am way too lazy to look it up. Doing the dictionary thing is way too much Fal De Ral for me. See what I just did there? I used it in a sentence. Seriously though, I have no idea if it's a real word or not. Alls I know is that in my family we use it all the time. It means nonsense or waste of time. I totally think it's the perfect possible word possible non-word to describe my Facebook Friday blog posts. Actually, it's the perfect possible word possible non-word to describe my entire blog. A big pile of nonsense and a waste of your time. Boom!

Why I'm proud of that I have no idea. But I am.

So last Friday Fox News Houston was at my house to do a segment about the book I Just Want To Pee Alone. If you read Monday's blog post (here) or are on my Facebook page then not only do you already know what I'm talking about, but you are totally and completely sick of hearing about it. And I'm sorry. I really am. But you have to comprehend one thing: This is a HUGE deal for us. I'm talking level 8 outta 10 excitement. I mean, it's not Oprah or Ellen or Jerry Springer or anything, but it is exciting. So you're just gonna have to deal with it for awhile. Capish?

Another thing that happened last week is that the letter that I wrote to Felicity Huffman (read it here) about how she was stalking me in L.A. and how I would like for her website to review our book, actually got me somewhere. I received an email from one of the writers on her website What The Flicka who came across the blog I wrote about the letter. She forwarded it to Felicity and to the editor of the website. Guess what? They liked my letter and are most likely going to review the book! I will keep you posted on how all that goes down, but the Felicity email plus the email I sent to Sebastien Million and the blog I wrote about Jason O'Mara all prove that sometimes being weird does pay off. Score 3 points for the weirdos of the world!

Thursday I did an interview with Hines' Side Show from US97 (Springfield's Classic Rock) back in my old town of Springfield, MO. Home of Brad Pitt and Cashew Chicken, and the place where I once got trapped inside my own car for over an hour. It will be available for you guys to listen to via itunes or something like that. You guys know that I really only half listen to the details about these things and never have any clue what's going on. All I know is that it will be available on Monday. I will post the link when I get it. The interview, chat fest, whatever it was, was fun! I really  don't remember a lot of details. It's like a weird dream after too much Mexican food where you only recall bits and pieces such as maybe you said something about smuggling black tar heroin in your butt or possibly mentioned that you wanted to be the first lesbian first lady. It's all a bit fuzzy. But I guess we'll find out on Monday.

Over the weekend I told everyone on Facebook about this artist that I have loved for years and years named Dolan Geiman. Twice a year every year I stalk him at the Houston Art Festival. I am obsessed with his work and too afraid to talk to him and too cheap to buy anything. Yes. I am afraid to talk to him. I know that shocks people but it's true. Well this year I talked to him. Okay okay. He talked to me first and instead of throwing something at him and starting to cry and then running away like my instincts told me to do, I talked back. And we talked about my favorite piece of his. And then The Hub bought me that piece. And then I nearly peed my pants from giddiness. 

Me and my  new BFF Dolan and my birds. I look calm but I was giving my deodorant a real work-out and trying not to pee my pants.

Moving on...

Popular Facebook Statuses from the past 2 weeks:

-I want to eat all of the Reese's Eggs of the world. I could live on Reese's Eggs. The ratio of chocolate to peanut butter is magical perfection. If Baby Jesus had an angelic chicken in that manger these eggs would have come from that manger chicken. Magical Jesus manger chicken eggs

-So you know you've made the small time when your home town newspaper's online edition gives you a special corner for your blogs to go. Yes. My entire hometown gets to see me write about surprise buttsecksing inanimate objects and having the nervous poopsies. Suck on that all you a-hole girls from high school who were mean to me. And that one boy I liked who didn't like me back and now looks like a hobo. And Dear Mean Math Teacher, I still don't know how to do algebra and things are going ok. xoxo Patti

-Mom, I don't wanna hurt your feelings. But some of the girls at my school have bigger boobs than you. Way bigger boobs.

The Boy
A middle schooler

-The Boy either wakes up happy and ready to roll or totally ticked off and whining about everything and saying things like I wish the whole world would explode because that's better than going to freaking school. One never knows which boy they are going to get on what day. It's a total crap shoot. Five mornings a week I climb up the stairs wondering what fate awaits me. I always sing. I hope against hope that I will get the perky boy so I always sing a song about waking up. Sometimes he throws something at me but I keep on singing. I just change the lyrics to reflect the fact that he's being a turd. I wish there was a way to know which version of The Boy I was getting every morning. Like when my alarm clock goes off it could have a little robot voice say "The Boy is happy" or "The Boy is freaking pissed." I just want a warning so I don't always walk down the hallway looking all nervous and stressy like the Green Mile guy on his way to the electric chair. But less giant. And a bit more pale.

-There was a grey cat in my yard so I went out to meet him. He was very sweet and told me his name was Sam P. Bellyrubbins. So I'm standing there talking to him and The Cat comes up to me and rubs my leg then looks at Sam. Sam was super calm and just laid down and purred. I said "Sam this is Gypsy and you guys are gonna be best friends!" Then The Cat pounced on Sam and he ran into the bushes next door. Then The Cat walked the property line between the yards. Back and forth back and forth, and kept looking at Sam like "I dare you to cross this line you furry mofo." I am very disappointed. I thought we were gonna have a cat party. I thought The Cat was friendly. I had no idea she was the neighborhood bully.


-It's the First Monday after Spring Break. the Boy has spent a week staying up until all hours and sleeping in. The Boy's schedule is all effed up. The Boy's body clock is confused. The Boy does not want to go to school. School sucks. The Boy does not want the kitchen light on. It's freaking killing his eyes. The Boy does not want a cinnamon roll. They are too small and he will be starving to death by lunch. The Boy does not want an orange. The oranges are dry. The Boy does not want chocolate milk. That's a ridiculous question. The Boy does not want The cat to look at him. She looks at him weird. The Boy does not want The Dog to lick him. It's creepy. The Boy does not want those birds outside to chirp. They're too noisy The Boy does not want the earth tp spin on it's axis. That makes us have days which make us have school. the Mom wants coffee. the Coffee is the only chance The Boy has at survival.

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A few weeks ago I collaborated with my friend (and the designer of my blog banner) Sebastien Millon to create something for a charity auction. My friend Sheila over at Mary Tyler Mom is raising money for a charity called St. Baldrick's which helps to fund research for a cure for childhood cancer. Sebastien and I put our brains together and came up with this:

That's little cartoon me with a little cartoon spork holding hands with a little cartoon unicorn during the little cartoon Zombie Squirrel Apocalypse. I love this long time. It's an 18x24 inch print on archival paper, signed and dated by both Sebastien and myself. It's a one time printing and says 1/1 next to the signatures. It is available for bidding RIGHT HERE and the auction ends this Sunday, March 31st. ALL proceeds go to finding a cure for childhood cancer so it's a good thing!

That's it for this wrap-up. Thank balls. Because The Boy is all up in my bidness right now and my blog is acting up and changing the font style and size on everything I am typing all willy nilly and I feel like stabbing it if only I could stab a website because it's annoying the BeeGees out of me. So I'm out of here, you guys. Have a great Easter Weekend and eat a crap load of those Cadbury Cream Eggs so I don't have to look at them anymore. They truly disgust me. The inside looks like yolk. How is that even appetizing? I don't want my chocolate resembling chicken fetuses. Thank you very much.

Anatomy of a TV interview. AKA how to look like an idiot forever.

So as most of you guys know, I am a co-author of a new book that is out called I Just Want To Pee Alone. And as most of my Facebook followers know, I just had my dorky television debut Friday on Fox News Houston. And as most of my Facebook AND blog readers know, I am not normally a fan of doing things like this. I have a history of turning down everything media-related that ever comes my way. Not that people are banging down my door with one of those big fireman door buster downer things or anything, but I have been asked to do a few things here and there and I always pass. A couple of months ago when that casting agency in L.A. asked to interview me I said yes and actually followed through. That was me forcing myself to do things I don't want to do because I realized that seriously, what's the worst that can happen? You might look like a ding dong for eternity? Your video will get satellite bounced into space and the aliens will watch it and either want to zoom down and kidnap you to be their Queen or zoom down and kidnap you to dissect your brain to try and find out what the hell is wrong with you? Yes and Yes. But really, what's so bad about that? Although I'd rather not have my brain dissected, it IS for Science. Even if it's for Alien Science. Science is Science, you guys.  Alien or not. And is that really so terrible? Well, yeah. I guess it is. But oh well. What's done is done.

So without further ado, I give you "The Night That 3 Muthabloggers Made Themselves Look Like Dorks." You can either watch it on the screen below or click the big-ass "My Fox Houston" link to go to their site. 

 

Ok. Since that all went by so fast (Thank Balls) this is where I break it all down for you. 

First of all, here is what you look like when the reporters are pulling into your driveway. Yes. YOUR driveway. Because they want to do the interview at YOUR house. Which means that you have to clean everything so that everyone watching TV doesn't judge you for being a mess. And since it's at your house, you also have to try to fight the nervous poops that you get while waiting for the reporters to come because if you give in to them at the last minute, your house will not smell good. It's a lot of stress, preparing to have a news segment recorded in your home. And trying to hold in your poopsies. Which is why you look like this:

Yes. I am beautiful. I can read your mind right now so I know that's what you were thinking. There's no use in denying it.

So the reporter and the cameraman came into my house and got right down to business. Cameraman Rodney tells me to go to my office and pretend like I'm writing on my Facebook page. But guess what, you guys? I am not Tori Spelling. I can't "act" like that superstar can. One can only DREAM of having such talents. So I actually slowly wrote a long FB status and did not pretend. I think that's called Method Acting or something. And I think it means that I am actually on the level of a Daniel Day Lewis (which is a few levels under Tori Spelling but is still respectable) and it also probably means that he might want to make out with me if he sees this. 

LEFT: Me pretending to type and actually typing since I suck at pretending to type.

RIGHT: Awkward close-up that no cameraman should ever do to a woman who is 41-years-old. Plus, now everyone can see how big my nose is and I am dying a little bit inside.  (I don't actually have a giant circle and arrow on my face. That is from a still shot of the video. I just wanna clarify that.)

Here is what I was actually typing while pretending to type but really typing:

I am supposed to be pretending like I am writing a blog right now so they can film me for the news. I am typing. I am typing. I am typing. I am typing. Yay! I think I am doing a great job! I am very proud of myself for pretending to type for so long. This is very difficult. I am running out of things to type. Let's talk about what kinds of beer I like. I like Modelo. I like Pacifico. I like Ruby Red Bird. I like Shiner Blonde. I like Tecate. I like Dos Equis. I like most Mexican beers. Especially with lime in them. I like my rims salted. Especially with that spicy salt that I buy at Specs. I also like Margaritas. I like the skinny ones. I like the spicy jalapeno ones too. Those are good. There is a place here in Houston that makes them with cilantro. It drinks like a meal. Ok I think they are done now. This was vey hard!

Here is what showed up on my computer screen on the news:

So next,  Reporter John wanted to interview me in my green chair because Cameraman Rodney likes the green chair. He likes it a lot. But he also says that he doesn't know why he likes it. I sit here in fear that The Cat is going to pounce onto the back of my head because the back of the green chair is her special place, and sometimes she can be a real bitch about claiming ownership of her special place. Kinda like me and my potty. So I'm sitting here concentrating on staying still, focusing my ADHD brain on the questions and actually answering them correctly, and not ending up wearing a Surprise Cat Hat.

My noggin stayed free of flying feline, but instead she walked around in front of me during this interview giving me the look of death and meowing at me non-stop. The girl was pretty wound up from the time Cameraman Rodney entered the premises cuz he called her fat and it hurt her feelings. Due to all the concentration I was using, I look stiff and serious as hell here. And I could totally hear Kelley in the kitchen telling Rachael that she drank too much. That's a lot of distractions, you guys. Distractions that I managed to ignore. So basically, this little segment used up the entire 2013 allotment of calm, concentratey, seriousness that I have for the entire 12-month period. Thank balls. Cuz I am NOT a fan of it, and Rachael was slightly disturbed by it. My cousin Becky also said that this was the most serious she had ever seen me in the history of my entire existence. It's really quite difficult to watch. 

Next, Reporter John (or actually, Bossy Cameraman Rodney) told us to all sit around the kitchen table to have a drink (or two) and answer some group questions. 

LEFT: This is when Reporter John asks us who we think is the funniest out of the 3 of us. Like we are gonna answer that. Like we are idiots who don't fear for our lives or are unaware that if we answered "me" we would look like egotistical doinks on TV. I mean, we all wanted to say we were the funniest. We were all thinking it. And I guess that Kelley missed the memo on the whole "think it but don't say it" thing, because she said "Patti has the most followers but I just think I haven't been discovered yet." I think you can see the look of pure outrage on my face as I point at her with my shock finger.

RIGHT: This is where Kelley starts making boxes. Like she's a mime or something. A really bad mime because she talks while she mimes and everyone knows that talking while you mime is the first sign of a bad mime. This is also where we all make fun of her for making boxes and Rachael accuses her of being drunk.

LEFT: This is when Rachael started making facial expressions that she hates. Facial expressions that she blames on having had alcohol in her system. But I know Rachael. I know Rachael sans alcohol. Trust me: Rachael always makes these facial expressions. She just doesn't know it because it's not usually on TV.

RIGHT: This is when Kelley keeps making boxes. She won't stop. And I make facial expressions that I hate. But unlike Rachael, I am self-aware and I realize that I make them all the time. Except when I am concentrating on being interviewed in a green chair while The Cat simultaneously contemplates face-raping me. 

This is when Cameraman Rodney sets up a little still life of olive oil and wine and our book. Why? Who knows why Cameraman Rodney does what he does. Maybe he wants the viewers to think that mom bloggers like to get drunk and read while slathered in olive oil. Or maybe Cameraman Rodney is an aspiring painter and he just wanted a screenshot of this so he could paint a watercolor of it later. I don't know. I am not inside of Cameraman Rodney's bald head.

This is beautiful. I mean, seriously. Don't look at it too long or you will feel really shitty about yourself. THAT is how awesome I look here. I think that this is what happened after I asked Reporter John who edits this segment. I was just thinking that they could take this footage of 3 lovely mom bloggers and turn it into anything they want. Maybe it would end up being a piece about the "Whore Moms Of Houston" and they could take a shot of me with my legs spread (I am acting that out here) and say I was propositioning the cameraman or something. You never know how these things are gonna turn out. Never trust the media, you guys. You know that the media is responsible for making the Kardashian family look like idiots when in reality they are all shy, demure, and geniusy Neuroscientists.

This is at the end of the segment. This is after Reporter John asked us if we ever get recognized when we are out and about. I was pretending to be Kelley pushing a grocery cart through the market while loudly singing "I'm Kelley! From Kelley's Break Room!" so that everyone would know who she was. I sing pretty, you guys. 

This is a still shot from the segment above that Reporter John sent to me during editing and asked me what I would give him if he didn't use it. I said "Use it! That's the real me. It makes up for the Fear of Face-Rape/Serious interview at the beginning. Use it." I bet he wasn't expecting me to say that. I like to keep people on their toes. Well, that plus the fact that I am way more embarrassed by the serious part of the broadcast than by the crazy parts at the end. In the beginning I was all Cindy Brady on the gameshow episode of Brady Bunch. Minus the awesome crown of braids. And with the addition of a possible face-rape by a cat. Although she kinda does look like she's about to be face-raped or murdered or something. Who knows what was going on behind the scenes of that show. I mean, Mr. B was gay and Mrs. B. was making out with Greg. So maybe there was a face-raping cat in their midst. 

After the filming was over, Reporter John and Cameraman Rodney stuck around for a LONG time to chit chat and tell us stories about how awesome they are. Here is a photo of us with Reporter John. Notice the Zombie Baby and Flat Bieber photo bombs:

This is when we were attacking Cameraman Rodney and he was embarrassed because Rachael had just said "My breasticle is resting on your arm."

Shortly after this, Kelley realized that she was missing a boob. Not a real boob. That would be weird. One of her fake "chicken cutlets" that was shoved in her bra so that her boobies would look perky on TV. That's not weird at all. This marks the first time that anyone has crawled around my house looking for a lost boob under my furniture. I think she was rockin' one boob throughout the entire interview. Or maybe it fell out while she was miming those boxes. You might wanna go back and watch it again to see if you can tell. 

For the sake of The Boy, I would also like to point out that he did get on TV. He was begging me to let him be on the news but I said no. I thought this was enough. He said this wasn't enough. He also said that I was only on the news because I invented him and my invention of him was what made me funny. Then he acted out a whole scene for me and The Hub about how he could get on TV for doing nothing just like I did. The Boy is a gem.

So that's is. That's the breakdown of our TV debut, and our shot at prolonging this exposure as long as we can. I am waiting on a call from Matt Lauer. I know it's coming. I'm sure that it was the singing and dancing at the end that got his attention. I am ready for my Today Show Surprise Buttsecksing of Matt Lauer debut. Dude should prepare himself, too. Cuz like I said, I used up all my seriousness in the first few seconds of this thing. I have none left. It's all singing and dancing from here on out. 

This morning I also played reporter and Reporter Patti asked Reporter John for a quote about his experience with us. He said "I'm just glad I didn't get sporked for asking the wrong things." And "The most fun I've had with 3 women with our clothes on."

A BIG Thank You to John Donnelly and Rodney Cameraman (I don't know his last name and he probably prefers to keep it that way) for being so great. Also, please go check out my fellow Houston contributors to the book I Just Want To Pee Alone (which you can order HERE or purchase at Blue Willow Bookshop in Houston) at Rachriot and Kelley's Breakroom.