Kendra, Hank, and Aspiring Mama (a new reality show)

 3 Responses »
May 262010
 

Kendra Wilkinson

I don’t watch reality TV, nor do I really give a damn who’s next up to have their life filmed for millions to tune into. But judging from the reaction on my Blackberry, my BFF Mel was about to have a coronary.

“Kendra? KENDRA? OMG i LOVE her! Tell her I love her!”

I glanced up at Hugh’s former girlfriend and her husband, Hank Baskett, who had surprised the hell out of me by slumming it back in the sardine-packed coach section of the plane. I think she liked me because I had realized who she was and not made a total ass of myself by screaming, passing out, and then demanding her autograph.

Kinda like BFF Mel was currently doing on the Blackberry.

“Have to turn of my phone now” I messaged back. “But I’ll try to get you a surprise.”

“I hate you” was the response.

“So you don’t want a surprise?” I asked.

“I love you.” BFF Mel shot back.

We were in Albequerque heading to Phoenix. I was leaving the writing conference I’d been at and Kendra and Hank were on their way to catch a connecting flight to Palm Springs. I was sitting in a stranger’s seat who had been kind enough to switch with me after I realized the first row came without purse privileges, and totally caught by surprise when the teeny blonde with gargantuan sunglasses sat down next to me.

“Respect!” she said with a smile.

I just blinked and tried to figure out if we had gone to high school together.

“Why do I know you?” I had asked.

She looked at me, almost daring me to figure it out with the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth. And that’s when it hit me. I was sitting next to a celebrity that I really could only say I recognized thanks to People magazine covers about her recent pregnancy and foray into motherhood.

Which is when I realized I was an old woman at 32 next to Miss Pretty and Perky.

Kendra ended up switching seats with the man who became my new neighbor, and was just across the aisle now, playing Uno with Hank until the flight attendant’s made everyone behave for take-off. And I admit it. Even though I can only claim to having watched maybe five episodes combined of her former and current shows because you all know the choice between sleeping, writing, and all things Social Media is already hard enough, I was still slightly fascinated. So I pretended not to stare.

I’ve lived in Tucson long enough to finally get over my heart-stopping fear of turbulence, but I still stroked my fingers across my religious medallion every time we hit a rough patch on the way up to our cruising altitude. And there were many. With each and every shaky dip, I marveled while not staring of course at the scene unfolding across the aisle.

Did you all know Kendra is deathly afraid of flying? She had folded herself over with her head buried on Hank’s lap as she dug her nails into his skin, and reached out flailing for reassurance whenever the plan shook.  I knew she was terrified, but had to smile. Hank simply covered her body with his while stroking her hair and holding her hands, all the while telling her she was going to be okay. At one point, Kendra looked up and asked him if it was over, but quickly grabbed on for dear life when the plane rocked again.

So I reached around my neck and unclipped my medallion, waiting for Hank’s eyes to catch mine.

“She needs to hold on to this more than I do right now.”

And she did.

When the captain finally declared it safe for the crew to serve our one free beverage, I passed over a notebook with two business cards because I am nothing if not shameless. One was for Kenda to keep. The other was for her to sign for BFF Mel. And she was cool enough to do both.

kendra wilkinson autograph

Every now and then I heard her tell Hank that she would really rather rent a limo to drive the rest of the way. And he’d nod his head, waiting for her to decide if she could handle another flight. Then he fell asleep with his head on her tray table, and she with her head on his back.

Landing was her undoing. As we began to descend, the plane hit one of the roughest patches of turbulence I’ve experienced to date. Hank woke at the first signs of trouble, prepared to calm her. And as she disappeared into him, I sat back and closed my eyes with a smile.

I don’t read the tabloids. I don’t care about reality TV. But when Kendra and Hank handed my medallion back and thanked me for telling me how adorable they are together, I was a little surprised to hear the media is claiming they are divorced over a sex tape scandal.

Whatever, people.

I can’t predict the future. But right here and right now?

They’re in love. Like, the disgustingly cute kind of love.

Remember, I don’t give a rat’s ass about what she does on TV. I just know that what I saw on that plane gave the old married woman in me renewed hope for young love.

Disclaimer #1: I am sitting back now and waiting for the barrage of hits related to Kendra, Playboy, Hugh Heffner, and Hank Baskett. Don’t worry, I’ll still love you all when I’m famous, too.

Disclaimer #2: I’ll hand this over to you, BFF Mel, when you show up on my doorstep for that visit. Just call when your plane lands.

The Reverse Sundae

 2 Responses »
May 252010
 

sundae

Sometimes, you just gotta live it up. No matter what diet or eating plan you are following, carrots sticks and chicken breasts are going to get boring if you don’t treat yourself every now and then.
So what’s a mama to do?

Live it up, of course! But play it smart.

That’s how I came up with what I like to call the Reverse Sundae. I was up late one night working on my book and decided I wanted to have some ice-cream. Six months ago, that would have meant a huge bowl, ignored serving sizes, and enough sugar to put an elephant into a coma. But things have changed. I’m working with a nutritionist now, eating as clean as possible and learning more everyday, and best of all, I no longer suffer from the All or Nothing mindset that used to doom me and my good efforts the moment I let a pinkie toe off the proverbial wagon.

So I went down to the freezer and pulled out my Haggen Daaz Five Vanilla ice-cream pint and prepped the counter to slice up some fresh berries and a banana. I also made sure to get my dessert bowl out of the cupboard…the huge bowls I used to use are no longer the first thing I reach for.

Once the berries were slices and nearing the top of my dessert bowl (about a cup of fruit, I think), I placed two smallish scoops of Haagen Daaz on top of my fruit. If I had to do this again, I’d probably say I used less than a serving size and may use even less when I make my next Reverse Sundae.

And that’s it! I grabbed a spoon and headed back up to my computer, enjoying every single bite of cooled and creamy fruit as I wrote. I got my fix, a nice serving of fruit to go with it, and felt great about my decision, my new creation, and myself when the last bite was done.

Give it a try and see what you think!

This post originally appeared at Bookieboo.com!

Miniature. Classic.

 3 Responses »
May 242010
 

shakespeare

The Husband didn’t understand. Sure, it was Shakespeare..but they were so…teeny. Wouldn’t my eyes hurt trying to read them? Would I actually read them? Or was I just looking for an excuse to purchase something I had blurted out I thought was cute on first glance?

Ok, so maybe the cuteness factor did play in the decision making process. But I didn’t tell The Husband that.

“I love Shakespeare,” I said, defending my decision as I walked up to the counter to pay for my copies of the unabridged individual works from Miniature Classics. I didn’t mention that I had only read King Lear and Macbeth in high school AP English, furiously flipping back and forth between the play and the cliff notes explanations and then back again with a renewed understanding of what I had just read. ”Besides, it’s a tax write-off.”

The Husband rolled his eyes at me, which is what he always does when I say I want something and have no other justification than to call it a write-off. Which means I won. But he still doesn’t get it.

And he doesn’t have to.

All that matters is the leather-bound inspiration now sitting on my desk. Small enough to fit in the palm of my hand and a larger than life kick in the ass for my Muse when she gets temperamental and needs a nudge.

Perfect.

Hannah the Mexican baby doll

 5 Responses »
May 232010
 

Buttercup's doll

“I love you, Mama!” Buttercup’s eyes lit up as she ran to me when I walked in the door.

Hug, hug, kiss, kiss.

Then…”You got me a surprise? Ok, I close my eyes.”

The second part of that sentence was said without her waiting for an answer. Just chalk that up to the almost three years The Husband and I have spent riding high on our little girl’s smile every time we bring her something home. Even a found penny is considered treasure in her eyes.

But tonight was special.

I just arrived home after five days away at The National Latino Writer’s Conference and made sure to return baring a gift strong enough to erase the Mama-guilt I’d been sporting since booking the damned ticket six months ago.

And I found it. A sweet, hand-made little Mexican girl doll I found at the Hispanic Cultural Center’s Gift Shop. I was so excited at the prospect of actually giving Buttercup a doll that represented a part of her culture that the slightly WTF price tag didn’t stop me. And when I got home and gave her the doll, Buttercup squealed and then asked what to name her.

“Lola?” I said after thinking a moment.

“No, that’s not him’s name,” she told me. She’s been experimenting with pronouns lately and well, it hasn’t been going very well.

“Her, m’ijita. Now, what about Mercedes?” It’s our middle names. The Husband thought that one up and I was secretly hoping she’d pick that one.

“No,” Buttercup said, her finger on her chin. Then her eyes got wide and her mouth broke into a huge smile. “I know, mama! Him’s name Hannah!”

The Husband’s eyes met mine over our daughter’s head. He was trying not to laugh.

“Awesome. I bring home the most ethnic doll I can find and she names it Hannah.” I put my palm to my forehead.

Buttercup smiled up at me. “Yep, I named him Hannah. And I love him, too.”

End of conversation.

The Elevator Pitch: Round 1

 4 Responses »
May 222010
 

Prologue

It’s been a crazy week and as I sat down to post tonight, I realized I forgot to hit “publish” on the following little gem. I think I wrote it the day before I left for the conference.

Prologue: I did not look like an asshole. Ask my new friend, Craig. Or award-winning writer, actor, producer, and director Rick Najera.

****

I’m going to look like an asshole.

Or rather, I’ll probably look way cute. I did buy some pretty new clothes for the National Latino Writer’s Conference. What I meant to say is this: I’m going to sound like an asshole.

This is my first writer’s conference, and even though I’m brand-new at this I can already see the rapid-fire conversations as the 50 of us writer’s get to know each other.

“Hi! What’s your name?”

I can answer that.

Pauline Campos. Nice to meet you!

“Where are you from?”

Because I know how Latino’s think, I’ll cover all the bases here for brevity.

“My dad was from Nuevo Leon, Monterrey, I was born in Michigan, and I live in Arizona now.”

“What are you writing?”

I can handle this one, but I’m getting nervous because I know what’s coming next. So I take a deep breathe and try not to stutter.

“A memoir called Baby F(ph)at: Adventures in Motherhood, Weight Loss, and Trying to Stay Sane.”

“Wow, what’s it about?”

And this is where I fear I will lose it. I’ll stutter. I’ll trip up. I’ll forget that I just finished my 64 page proposal and a) either won’t be able to say anything at all or b) say so much that the interested smile disappears from Interested Writer or Friendly Agent and they make a nice excuse before moving away to find someone less uninteresting.

I’m great I think on paper. I wouldn’t have gone into journalism or actually gotten hired by any papers or started a damn book if I didn’t have at least the teensiest writer’s ego. But that’s on paper. And frankly, that isn’t enough to bank on for a book deal these days. Because even if you land a deal with just the query and never opening your mouth, there are going to be plenty of times where you speaking about your book is going to be required.

So it’s time to get the elevator pitch together.

The fantabulous Nathan Bransford has a blog post in which he discusses the one sentence, one paragraph, and two paragraph pitches. So let’s fast forward through the previous conversation with the one sentence pitch as my response.

“Wow, what’s it about?”

“Baby F(Ph)at is what happened the day I decided to begin my search for a smaller ass two years after becoming a mother.”

But can I say “ass” in a verbal pitch? I’m thinking “no.”

So let’s try that again, shall we?

“Baby F(ph)at is what happened the day I decided to begin my search for my missing waistline two years after pushing the baby out.”

Ok? Good. Moving on.

Now for the one paragraph pitch.

“Baby F(ph)at is what happened the day I decided to begin my search for my missing waistline two years after pushing the baby out. It’s the Latina Erma Bombeck for pudgy modern women and follows my journey as I try to shake the baby weight I gained, in real time, taking the reader through the realizations about weight loss as they occur.”

After typing it and saying it out loud a few times, I think I’m happier with the written version than the spoken. The last thing I want is to sound like I’m reading when giving the verbal pitch. Then again, social situations call for improvisation to steer the tone of the pitch, so this is a good stepping stone to work from.

Next is the two paragraph pitch.

Baby F(ph)at is what happened the day I decided to begin my search for my missing waistline two years after pushing the baby out. It’s the Latina Erma Bombeck for pudgy modern women and follows my journey as I try to shake the baby weight I gained, in real time, taking the reader through the realizations about weight loss as they occur.

I talk about medical issues that make it easy to gain and hard to lose. I use the “F” word and still consider myself a good mom. And even though the scale didn’t exactly cooperate, moms will relate to the idea that living a healthier life is more important than the size of your jeans. Staying sane while trying to do it is the icing on the fat-free cake.

I especially like my last line in this one.

And thanks to this little and very necessary exercise, I feel slightly less nauseated about pitching my book for the first time to total strangers who are under no obligation to pretend they like what I have to say just to amuse me.

So I’m just going to use that time on the plane to New Mexico to memorize my pitches and pray to God I keep my wits about me when the curtain rises. Which reminds me…who wants to tag along and hold my cue cards so don’t fall on my face?

Epilogue

I did not fall on my face.

Epilogue, part deux

In fact, I kicked ass and rocked it. #thankyouverymuch

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