How a Burrito Got Me On the Travel Channel and Why I Regret it

I’m going to be on television.

And it’s not going to be pretty.

No, really. My face is going to be smeared with oily, red volcano sauce that is the direct result from me taking a bite of a burrito and dragging out kim chi with my teeth.

How did I get myself into this humiliating and nationally broadcasted spectacle?

I’ll tell you.

Last friday, a coworker came up to the office and announced that there was a full camera crew set up downstairs to film a man attempting to eat a 7 lb burrito.

Well, of course, I cry, “Oh my god! We have to get down there. We can be on T.V.”

Boy, did I not know the half of it.

I gather a crew of curious coworkers and we take the elevator down to the first floor to the small, yet totally irresistible corner store that sells these wondrous burritos.

Sure enough, there’s a camera crew, a young man getting ready to eat the monstrous burrito, and his incredibly supportive girlfriend.

So I’m, like, “I’m READY for my 15 minutes of fame!”

Okay, let’s stop here and think about this statement.

Out of everyone on this planet (or at least in this city) I should NOT be the one who’s allowed to have 15 minutes of fame… I recite creepy poems under my breath for god’s sake! And I definitely thought I could talk to whales at one point in my life… NO ONE SHOULD EVER ALLOW ME ON TELEVISION. 

Anyway, we sign release forms for being in the background as they shoot the show and I’m all about it. I’m, like, oh hells yeah! I’m gonna be an extra for a tv show. I’m gonna be the best freaking spectator they ever had spectating ever!

Shockingly, I actually was.

No, I’m serious.

They pulled me aside and asked if I could be interviewed about the whole experience because, well, who wouldn’t want to know my opinion about stuffing tortilla, meat, and spicy sauce into a man’s mouth?

I’m, of course, 100% sure I’m going to be discovered and someone will come and ask me if I want to be in Star Wars VII.

*Side note: I actually considered auditioning for the newest Star Wars in real life. Okay, I more than considered it. I actually started filming an audition tape to send in to the producers… but we don’t have to get into the depravity of that thought process right now.

Anyway, they strap a microphone on me and shove a burrito in my hands and start asking me all these questions.

Then, it’s like i’m drunk or something. Seriously, I don’t know what the hell I was going on about. I start talking about being single and how my ideal boyfriend would TOTALLY be in a contest to win me a year’s supply of burritos.

Then, since I hadn’t embarrassed myself enough already, the crew comes in to add a little more shame to my shaming.

They have me take a bite out of the burrito, juices dripping down my chin, staining my face red. They’re still asking me questions and I’m trying to answer them with a full burrito bite in my mouth. You can just say I was looking goooooooood.

Then the woman is asking me to wipe away the red sauce on my face.

I try to do what she tells me but end up just smearing more sauce across my chin… because that’s just the kind of luck I have.

“One more time,” she instructs me about trying to get the red mess off of my face.

“Am I not cute?” I ask because, honestly, are they really expecting me to be cute at this point?

“You kind of look like a vampire,” she responds.

“… Aren’t vampires ‘in’ these days?” I ask trying to make the best of my first ever television appearance which is quickly falling into shambles.

After a while i’ve sufficiently smeared the red sauce across my face so that it no longer looks like a smudge but instead like the lower half of my face is naturally a bright orange. The woman is ready to ask me her next question: What is the spice level of the burrito?

I tell her honestly: it’s a little spicy but nothing that a person can’t handle.

Dumbest. Thing. I’ve. Ever. Said.

I’m then asked to swallow a spoonful of the sauce…made with ghost peppers mind you AND I agree to it! 

Anything for fame right?

What happens next?

My throat feels like I stabbed it and I’m gasping. Nose running, eyes tearing, sweat dripping across my forehead and all of it’s on film. I can’t get out of this one. My debut on national television and I look like I was just hit by a fucking bus.

She then thanks me for my time and asks me to please go back and watch the rest of the burrito eating challenge. I have to do what she asks because their microphone is still strapped to my body but inside there is a fire raging. A battle. I’m talking Lannisters versus Starks. It’s stabbing my stomach and I know what’s coming…

Did you ever watch that episode of South Park? The one about Chipotle and the bathroom devastation that comes along afterwards.

Oh, ho ho. That episode really touched on the battle that was raging inside of me as I stood obediently watching this man continue to eat and trying not to think about the next hour at work.

FINALLY, relief! A very nice man comes to remove the microphone from my shirt and I BOOK it up the stairs where I down a glass of my coworker’s milk. Then, I know, it’s a waiting game. I have to wait until my stomach decides that it’s had enough of the spice and explodes.

I call it Thundercats! My best friend calls it 911 EMERGENCY.

In the mean time, it’s a different coworker’s last day and she comes to ask me if I’ll be joining them for a drink. All I can do is turn with terror as the thunder hits and respond with a forlorn shake of the head and uneasily stand to make my way to the bathroom.

Now for all of your sakes, I won’t go into detail about what happened next, but what I will say is that there were people primping and having a dandy ol’ time in the ol’ baño while I suffered through the most intense and evil waiting game I have ever played.

I guess that’s the price of fame though, huh?


How a Baby Brought Out My Insecurities (and Why I Am Probably Singing Tonight)

Here we are again.

Though I did not repeat past errors and splurge on giant animal pajamas, I am still 7 days from getting paid with only $40 left in my bank account.

How did it happen this time?

I spent all my money on a little ol’ music show. You may have heard of it.

It’s called Outside Lands.

Yes, I was that person who kept obsessively refreshing the early bird ticket page starting from 9:30 am (a full half hour before tickets were actually being sold).

Now, if you’ve read this blog before, you know that little things like ordering a pizza over the phone can send me into panic mode so imagine the anxiety attack I was having at my desk while trying to get my hands on those tickets.

All I’ll say on the matter is that yes, there were tears and I may or may have not told my best friend that I F*cking hated her because she had gotten through while I was still seeing that little processing circle.

Seriously F*ck that thing.

Also, the website tried to lie to me and said, “sorry, there are no tickets available at this time,” But I was not to be fooled! I am smarter than the machine. I ignored it’s false words, refreshed the page, and I got my tickets.

Of course now I’m left with no money a week before I get paid, so perhaps you could argue that I was not, in fact, the smartest person in this scenario. BUT you have to understand…

I really wanted to go to Outside Lands.

Now, I was pretty much ready to make it through these next 7 days. In my possession I have a loaf of bread, an avocado, a bucket of Spring Mix lettuce, and a pizza; pretty good rations if I do say so myself.

But, the music gods heard my stomach growling from the rock and roll/funkadelic heavens, and I got a text message asking if I would babysit tonight.

I was like HELLZ YEAH! Bring on the baby!

Stoked, right? I’d have money for food and drink before the concerts I’m going to the rest of this week because yes…I’m going to three concerts this week—Haim, Neutral Milk Hotel, and a Michael Jackson Cover band.

Anyway, in the midst of this joyous realization that there would be sustenance enough to last me through the week, I remembered what happened the last time I babysat this child.

Now before we start this story, I have to explain: I LOVE babies. Like, I wish I could spend all my time just cruising with the little nuggets. They’re SO weird. They stare at you all the time, think the weirdest sh*t is hilarious, and drool. I LOVE THEM.

My past roommate is the nanny for this baby and she has told me multiple times that he is the happiest baby in the world. I even had proof via Snapchat. And let me tell you something, you can never get enough snaps of babies laughing. Never.

So, when she asked me to sit for him a while ago I was like, “done.”

I got to his mom’s apartment and there was this happy baby smiling and laughing. Just like all his snapchats. I was like, yep! Got the right one!

Then, without any sort of warning his face changed and he started crying. The least he could have done was warn me he was about to freak out. Like, “Hey, Kellen. I know I seem really happy right now, but I’m actually pretty pissed off. I’m gonna start screaming in a second okay? And no, it’s not because my diaper needs to be changed. I’m not gonna tell you the reason. You’re just gonna have to deal with it, but at least I’m warning you, right?”

I would have been like, “Yep. Thanks for the heads-up baby,” and everything would have been good.

Unfortunately, it was not a real-life version of Look Who’s Talking and I was hit with this surprise scream attack.

I’m not sure how many crying babies you’ve been around, but it’s, like, actually the worst sound in the whole world. I mean, we’re biologically programmed to be f*cking miserable when we hear that sound.

So that happened for a while until I was finally able to distract him with his little stuffed giraffe.

…I have never loved a giraffe so much in my life.

Then, his mom went out to her dinner and it’s like I’ve pulled the fire alarm. Giraffe friend ain’t doing anything anymore. Baby is NOT happy with me. I’m convinced that it’s because I’m a tan little hapa girl and his mom and nanny are both tall blonde women, but I won’t put the issue of race onto this little man without proper evidence.

I’m also convinced that sometimes babies don’t like me because I’m so flat chested that when they go to rest their little noggins on me, they get really confused and angry when instead of finding a nice cushion they hit cold hard clavicle…

So, as you can imagine, I was not doing too well at this point. I mean, not only was I dealing with the actual crying baby, but also body issues and racial insecurities as well.

At that point I texted his nanny to tell her about my misadventures and her response was, “What?! He literally NEVER cries.”

…Great. It was definitely me. The little boobless monster.

I used to nanny for a 10-month old and yes he would cry at times, but it’s pretty alarming when a baby who doesn’t EVER get upset starts crying when he’s with you. Doesn’t do much for the ol’ self-esteem, if you know what I’m saying.

Anyway, as the night went on, I came to find out that the only way to stop him from crying was for me to sing to him. Yes, for some reason that I don’t think I’ll ever quite understand, my tone-deaf, pitchy voice (which normally evokes extra shots and pained looks at Karaoke bars) was the only thing that calmed this poor kid down.

So, my night was spent pacing around his rooming singing twinkle twinkle over and over again until I’m pretty sure the neighbors were ready to show that little star where he could put his twinkle.

The little one finally fell asleep and all was well and good, but now, as I remember those past circumstances, I wonder if I am prepared for tonight. Am I confident enough in who I am to babysit this child?

Please, little man. Accept me for who I am.