Wherein I realized that it’s almost impossible to say BLOG without throwing up on national television

Yesterday a crew from “Good Morning America” invaded my house and sucked out my brain. They kept asking me if I was going to write about them on my website and I kept answering, “Only if I can say that you were all wearing nothing but underwear, on your heads.”

Hi, guys!


I have no idea how people do the television/movie thing on a daily basis because after the 10 hours they spent in my house (the majority of time was spent just setting up the shots) Jon and I got drunk on one glass of wine and passed out before the nightly news. I changed shirts fourteen times because the black was too dark and the red bled into the walls and the turtleneck I eventually ended up wearing for the actual interview clashed with the blue skirt I was wearing. For the shots they got of me and Leta playing at the park and pretending to get along I wore a bland gray t-shirt because there was nothing left in my wardrobe. When Jon’s mother sees the segment air she’ll have grounds to say that I do, indeed, appear homeless.

They got shots of everything, of Leta eating and sleeping and burping after finishing off her morning bottle. I walked up and down our street pushing Leta in the stroller as the camera guy followed us and in one segment Chuck ran ahead of us and pooped in the neighbor’s flowerbed. It wasn’t just any flowerbed, however, it was the Premier Flowerbed on the Whole Street, the yard that is worked on every day and looks like the grounds of a royal palace. And the whole fiasco, the crouching and the Dog Poop Face, all of it was caught on tape.

And because I know that Barbara, Caretaker of the Premier Flowerbed, occasionally reads this site I want to assure her that once the street shots were finished I ran back over to her house and picked up that poop and bowed to the magnificence of her gardening expertise. Please forgive my dog and his poop and our yard that looks like a hooker’s gynecological exam.

And then there was that whole LAPTOP DYING IN THE MIDDLE OF A SHOT thing. I called my father last night and recapped our day for him, and when I told him about the computer and it’s timely heart attack he said, “Oh, Murphy. He’s at work again.” YES, DAD, I KNOW ABOUT MURPHY’S LAW. I REMEMBER THE MURPHY’S LAW TOILET PAPER YOU USED TO KEEP IN THE BATHROOM. BUT JUST GO AHEAD AND SAY WHAT YOU REALLY MEAN, THAT ALL OF THIS RECENT WORK MURPHY HAS BEEN DOING IN OUR HOUSEHOLD, IT’S JUST GOD’S WAY OF SAYING, “SUCK IT.”

We don’t know when the segment is going to air or if the local Utah affiliate will even carry it, or if the cameraman is going to send in the part where I was talking to Jon on the phone while the microphone was still hooked to my shirt and I said, “Of course I’m okay. I just had two shots of tequila and a handful of Xanax.”