How to Make an Ass of Yourself Ziplining

So not cute.

Squeezing in all of the wrong places.

While shooting a sizzle reel this past weekend, one of the scenes required yours truly to zipline, which I had never done before. Being a virgin to this activity, I was more concerned with which color of cowboy boot to adorn (naturally), rather than mentally prepping for the hours of hanging by a harness from a rope.

Boot scootin'

The anguish of important decisions.

Upon our arrival to the site, two zip instructors gussied my friend K-bell and I up in their finest attire.

Harness me, please.

Sexiness not included with harness.

While I had no trouble cruising into my adorable harness that made my already ample ass triple three sizes, I made myself vocal (one of my shining qualities) about messing up my ‘do when it came time to wearing the non-fabulous head ornament.

Bitch

Bitching for one minute…

Moan and groan.

…and moaning and groaning two more.

I was wondering if my instructor, Charlie wouldn’t have to wear a helmet because his hair created one for him.

Already had a helmet on. Natural helmet head.

Helmet head au natural.

When I’d gotten complaining out of my system (for the time being), we were ready to conquer this ziplining shit.

Charlie

As you can see, Charlie was not at all excited about devirginizing two celibate zippers.

Then it was time to make the trek to our first destination, which was far enough away that I had to squint to see the platform. And of course I had something to say about it.

You want me to walk where?

You want me to walk where?

Anyone bring a flask?

I’m out of breath. My feet hurt. Anyone bring a flask?

Once we arrived to the top of the shortest mountain in Tennessee, I was beyond ready to swing from the sky like Tarzan.

Hello

Bring it, Bitch.

In case we needed to know how not to land, there was a handy diagram on our equipment.

How not to land.

If you love your knee function, don’t do this.

Once I’d zipped 42 times (which therefore made me an expert on the sport) I had wise words of wisdom in how to accomplish a first attempt for my gal pal…

Don't be a pussy.

“Don’t be a pussy.”

Upon us both conquering the bunny hill of zipping, it was time for different camera angles. And while Ian, my camera dude, was placing the camera just so, I’m pretty sure he was thinking that working with me was a dream come true as I talked at him…

My feet hurt. Every camera man's dream.

My feet hurt, can I sit down?

Watch the 'do.

That’s too tight on my head.

Watch the aviators, Son!

Watch the aviator shades, Son!

When it came time to zip while wearing the lovely head apparatus, Charlie apparently thought I’d be able to hook myself up to the line all by my lonesome since I’d watched him do it for me 926 other times. It was then that I had to clue him in on my fingernail mantra, “Jewels, not tools.”

Jewels not tools.

I’ll just stand here and not break a nail while you hook me up again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

After zipping for four hours straight, not only were my thighs screaming due to overuse, my crotch was numb from being the sole bearer of my body weight.

My crotch is numb. Take 1,479.

Take 1,479. Ice pack, please.

It's a miracle.

It’s a wrap! Hallelujah. Do you think we’ll ever be able to have babies after this?

Making it back down the hill and posing with our studly instructors, Forest and Charlie, I ripped my harness off faster than a dress hits the floor on prom night.

Image 8

Mission accomplished.

We made it.

We did it.

I made an ass out of myself and it’s captured on film.

But, I survived.

Wish I could say the same for my shit kickers…

Dirty

Casualties of ziplining.

Oh, and my crotch is still numb if you were wondering.

CBXB

CBXB!

The Real Housewives of Nashville

You know those reality TV shows where women do nothing but get drunk on cocktails and drama? Well, my gal pals and I recently had an evening full of booze and filming minus the screaming.

After being contacted by a producer to shoot a sizzle reel for a potential reality TV show, I wondered how laborious it really is to be a ‘housewife’ (insert any reality character here). Shooting footage this past weekend I found out first hand that it’s no joke.

For instance, you have to stand and smile with perfect lighting…

Real?

One Southern housewife + one crazy cat lady + one mama-to-be = good TV?

You have to sit and chit-chat endlessly…

Location

Couch work can equate to exhaustion.

We had to document the end of each scene with a photo…

Posers

It’s hard to smile this big.

We had to get our gab on, while trying to look our most fabulous…

Serious phone calls

Serious, serious phone calls.

We were forced to sit and gossip while incorporating a big-headed Teddy Bear

Drinks anyone?

Spotlight on the mighty feline, please!

We were coerced into sitting under hot lights…

Heated discussions

Smoldering trio.

Which forced us to cool off with more libations…

Drinks!

Keeping it classy.

And more cocktails had to be guzzled while setting up between scenes…

Cut! and drink

The grueling process of lounging.

While one of us was hard at work…

Interviewing

Making the magic happen.

The other two of us were very busy bottoming up…

drink our prep away

Seriously prepping for our next take.

To ensure our behavior was within ethical standards, one husband tried to help the producer wrangle three ladies during the evening…

Mr. Husband wrangled us in

Mr. Husband and Miss America (who clearly hates this process).

Of course while we were hurrying up to wait, we had to conduct a selfie photo shoot in the hallway…

Selfie

We hate cameras.

Because being interviewed on film can be compared to forms of torture (obviously), we figured out how to make it less stressful…

Very Serious

Does this martini match my outfit?

Then we had to watch playback of ourselves…

Until playback

Too bad we don’t think we’re entertaining.

As you can see, being filmed is extremely assiduous but we somehow managed to trudge our way through the evening…

Wrap party!

Blowing the testosterone out of the water.

Which led to us to celebrating the only way us Nashville housewives know how…

oh boy

Remnants of a wrap party.

This is obviously serious business.

Which why we can’t wait to do it again.

CBXB

CBXB!

Sizzle It. Just a Little Bit.

My Nashville weekend was filled with lights, cameras and all kinds of action.

Recently, I was approached by a producer who stumbled upon my blog and thought my life (and Teddy’s too) might make for interesting reality TV. So we explored that idea further this weekend by filming footage for a sizzle reel (could it be called anything more appropriate for me?).

Sizzle it. Just a little bit.

Sparkling for the sizzle.

Although I had the time of my life, I’m still in the depths of recuperation from…

The copious amounts of cocktails (in every scene),

One lush of a cat.

My incessant talking (pretty sure I made the camera dude’s ears bleed),

No. I c

My voice will be haunting his nightmares.

Trying to keep the lipstick off my teeth (damn Dracula chompers),

Image 13

Four hours of continuous zip lining (I need a new crotch),

So black isn’t always flattering…

Mascot manhandling (yep, you read that right),

If this isn’t TV gold, I don’t know what is.

Shopping in six inch stilettos for hours (anyone wanna rub my feet?),

Image 15

Seriously. Help.

And filming back-to-back 12 hour days, which caused us to take not-so-flattering selfies when it was a wrap.

Bleary eyed and bushy tailed.

Bleary eyed and bushy tailed.

As you can tell by the look in Ted’s eyes, he’s wondering why can’t all weekends be just like this one…

CBXB

CBXB!