take your passion and make it happen.

Many people feel passionate about achieving certain things before they die. Some may even claim they feel called by God to do something. Though working in the field of journalism is something I absolutely love to do, I don’t think it’s quite my purpose here on Earth. As cheesy and 1950’s as it may sound, I’ve felt very strongly as long as I can remember that God created me to be a wife and a mother. But it’s weird, because it makes no sense when I look inside myself. If another twentysomething woman told me she was raised by a single mom with an absent father like mine, I’d assume she’d end up a crazy feminist who carried illegal knives etched with abstract man hatred and shouted obscenities at her uterus each month. “What’s this? Bleeding again? Curse you, weakling!” But somehow, despite being brought up in a broken home exposed to limited examples of healthy marriage, God has molded my heart to be one that bursts with the idea of falling asleep between my sweet husband and child(ren).

August 1, 2009, I married Dan and fulfilled one of the two big callings God has for me in my life. Monday will bring about six months of marriage, and I can honestly say it gets better everyday. I wish I had a camera attached to my brain to capture each little moment of our life together. Each morning I wake to his sleepy face… each squabble that sheds light on an unfamiliar quirk one of us possesses… each chatty dinner in front of Jeopardy… they’re all manifestations of fresh blessings given to me each day. And at the risk of sounding like a pubescent teen with a crush, it’s totally rad.

While we’ve “agreed” on waiting awhile before we start trying for calling number two (read: I say 5 years, he says 3) we’ve been prompted to have many pre-pregnancy conversations on account of a tidal wave of pregnant people in our inner circle. And after much discussion, thought, and prayer, we’ve come to the decision that when we crossover into parenthood, we want to be in a place so that I can be a stay-at-home mom.

Did you know that in the UK, a woman can have up to 18 months maternity leave? That’s incredible! Comparatively, maternity leave in America is (in my opinion) a sick joke that usually ranges between four and eight weeks. If you ask me, that hardly counts. I went out to dinner with my good friend Ashley and her six-week-old baby Kylin last week, and seeing them together struck a chord in my heart. I thought about my life as mom down the road, and  I couldn’t imagine those short weeks flying by and having to go back to work and leave my baby with someone else. Ashley is very blessed as she is a self-employed photographer who works from home. And if life goes the way I want it to, I’d love to be able to do that. I want to be able to still be a journalist and a stay-at-home mom. While I can’t produce the evening news from home, I’d love to be able to write a column from home, or something of the like. A few years down the road, I’ll have a heart to heart with a good friend/mentor of mine (the EP at our station) and see if there is any way I can make that happen.

Of course, that’s all in God’s hands, not mine.

So, surprise! My life does not revolve around news. Contrary to popular belief, journalists love. Journalists have emotions. Journalists actually feel things.

Well, this one does.

you know you’ve made it when…

You know you’ve made it when:

Overheard in the Newsroom #2832
Assignment Editor to 5 p.m. Producer: “Screw the Anchor Desk. The Assignment Desk is the only one that matters in this room.”

That was from my station, by yours truly!

Also: Four days of clean shows today!

third time’s a charm and the producer pants.

Clean show three days in a row! I’m so proud! If I pull off a straight week of clean shows, I may have to throw a party and invite you all over to celebrate. I don’t make enough money to provide you with refreshments, I’m afraid. Sorry. You can bet that high fives will be in abundance, though. But before that, we must discuss day three.

Today I had to rock my producer pants in force. What? You don’t know what producer pants are? You’re telling me you don’t own any producer pants? Everyone needs a pair of producer pants.

In order to be a producer, one must be assertive and authoritative. One must know what one wants, and go for it, no matter what anyone else says, thinks, or does. Despite the job description and my glaring lack of a backbone, I decided that this career was one for me. But it didn’t take this doormat-people-pleaser long to realize that the laid-back passive personality God gave me is definitely not one to mesh with that of a producer. In short, I need to grow some balls.

So in lieu of said balls, I’ve started envisioning putting on my “producer pants,” an invisible garment that gives me all the confidence and resolve in the world needed for me to be in charge. At the end of the day, I take off the producer pants before I leave work so I can resume my usual submissive demeanor for interaction with my husband and friends.

I noticed a PKG on the rundown that I really wanted to run in my show. However, it was done by a reporter that the 6pm producer ALWAYS runs. So, before today’s afternoon meeting, I donned my producer pants. The 6pm producer picked her first two stories, the 5:30pm producer picked his first two stories, and the PKG was left unselected. Feeling the power of the pants, I snagged that PKG as well as another VO/SV that the 6pm producer wanted but didn’t get to in time! Ha!

But I’ve since removed my producer pants, and am now feeling the ravaging guilt for upsetting the 6pm producer. She’s wonderful and I adore her. Sigh. It’s a good thing we’re still friends!

Anyone have a spare pair of balls? Or should I never take off my producer pants?

before the alarm.

Insomniacs: news is either the best career choice, or the worst, depending on the day. Today, after only about three solid hours of sleep and subsequent fueling up on a black eye and Taco Bell, it’s the worst.

I’ve had sleeping problems since the day I was born. I never took naps as a child, and was never able to sleep all the way through the night. Unfortunately, that never changed, and a career in broadcast journalism has only worsened my situation. Sometimes it’s because I’m physically incapable of shutting off my brain. News is constantly breaking, and a producer’s brain churns incessantly as a result. Last night, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me, and then when I finally drifted off, I woke up minutes later completely positive I’d slept in until 11:something and had no idea how the noon show was even going to happen, or concerned that a certain story wasn’t being followed up on (is anyone checking on that missing boater for Pete’s sake?!) But most of the time, insomnia strikes simply no matter how many thoughts I think or don’t think. My mind can be a blank slate, and I’ll just stare dumbly into the backs of my black eyelids. And let me tell you what, nothing makes me feel more abnormal than this. Nothing. Feeling helpless and lonely, I lie awake in a sea of self-loathing, convinced that no one else on the face of the planet goes through this. I mean really. Who just doesn’t sleep?

And then I remember the year that I worked overnight producing the morning show. I think of all those times my news director called the station at 3:00AM concerned about the comments on the homepage, or when he snuck in the control room during the 5:30 AM show to “check in.” And then, I don’t feel like such a loner anymore. I feel like a journalist.

In other news (punnnnn) I’ve had clean shows two days in a row (Friday and Monday.) I’m pretty stoked about that. I’m probably the only person who remembers though, because Friday was eons ago in news time. But it matters to me! Especially since I had a clean show after zero sleep. That’s pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.

Saturday night we went out for Jessica’s birthday and I ran into a group of my favorite reporters (yes, I have favorites) and the spokesman for the city police department. After we greeted each other with enthusiastic hearty hugs, Policeman asked me what I was up to nowadays. When I told him I still worked at the station, he looked quite puzzled. Oh, beer! It was all I could do to not say, “I called you about a bank robbery yesterday…”

Pillow! I hear you! I’m coming for you!

tardy with a chance of voicemail.

Today lends a perfect example of “it’s the producer’s fault.”

I didn’t mention it in my previous post, but the 2:45pm meeting in which the producers pick the stories for their prospective shows is also the time when the nightside reporters pitch their stories and the weather anchor gives an overview of what we can expect in the forecast (so that we, as producers, can whip out snazzy bump lines and graphics that read teases like “CLOUDS RETURN?” and “WET WEEKEND?” or “IT’S RAININ’ SIDEWAYS!”)

Well today’s meeting was unusually brief since the Executive Producer was off and there was absolutely NO news to report (the curse of newscasts on federal holidays. Thanks, MLK.) The weather anchor scheduled to work was the girl who anchors on weekends. She was scheduled in place of our chief meteorologist who had the holiday off. Said weather girl (can’t call this one a meteorologist, I’m afraid, she’s merely a pretty girl who likes clouds) was noticeably absent from today’s meeting, but based on it’s brevity, none of us thought anything of it. She probably was just late getting into the conference room and upon finding it empty, went back to the weather office to resume building the graphics for the shows.

At 4:30pm (30 minutes prior to my show) I called the directors to make sure that they knew that we had a fill-in weather anchor for chyron purposes. But as I reached for the handset, it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen her at all yet today. I asked everyone on the assignment desk if they’d seen her floating about the newsroom, but no one had. So I opted to take a trip to the weather center, which I found dark and desolate and clearly lacking human existence.

My associate producer called her right away only to be greeted by a high-pitched voicemail message. She gently left a message saying, “Hi, we’re down at the station wondering where you are. Call us back. Thanks.”

Weathergirl called back roughly ten minutes later apologizing profusely, explaining that despite an email to everyone in the newsroom and a schedule swap printed and posted on a huge bulletin board in the newsroom, she was unaware that she was working today. She said she was leaving immediately and that she’d make it in time to go on air at 5:00.

Now, the protocol for this type of scenario is that the producer is to immediately inform the news director of the almost-crisis, so that in case said anchor doesn’t make it, everyone is on the same page and a back-up plan can be easily implemented. So after we called her and she didn’t answer, I completed step two, and told my boss.

After telling me to make sure I had several stories on hold, and after telling him that I’d figure out a way to put up the five-day forecast over music so that my anchor could ad-lib, it turned on me.

It was then that I fell at fault for her tardiness because I didn’t realize her absence before 4:30pm.

Um. What?

First of all: None of the other producers knew she wasn’t at work, either. Second of all: I KNOW that if anything goes wrong in my show, the blame falls on me. But if an anchor doesn’t show it’s my fault, too?

I can’t wait to get yelled at the next time food goes bad in the fridge or a reporter quits or something. I really need to get better at this whole, “being prepared for everything” thing.

Tomorrow I’m going to go to work and call every single one of my on-air talent just to make sure they plan on being on TV that day.

You know.

Just checking.

i love you, you’re perfect, now change.

Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag are the most infuriating people on the planet. They should get sterilized and should be banned from all facets of media. They are famous for nothing, they have no talent, and they are polluting the world with filth.

I used to follow the two of them on Twitter. I gave that up because I couldn’t stand having a Twitterfeed that looked like this:

heidimontag: OMG U GUYS PLZZ PICK UP THE NEW PLAYBOY TO SEE MY NEW BOOBS!!! omg jesus is so good to us!!!!!!!! we love jesus!!!!
spencerpratt: RT @heidimontag OMG U GUYS PLZZ PICK UP THE NEW PLAYBOY SEE MY NEW BOOBS!!! ya my wife is hot!!!!!!!!! GOD IS GOOD!!!!!

I’d give my left leg to be exaggerating. But I’m not.

So I stopped following them. For obvious reasons.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, my current gripe is that Heidi is now on the cover of the most recent issue of People displaying her new “perfect” (her words, not mine) body after undergoing TEN plastic surgery procedures in ONE DAY.

There are so many things that piss me off about this. But mainly, I’m just sad for them. They’re missing it. Based on what I’ve watched on “The Hills” and witnessed via several media appearances by the couple, I’ve deduced that their relationship is based solely on conditions and control, and poking at insecurities and stabbing open emotional wounds. It’s backwards and wrong and makes a mockery of love and commitment and the sanctity of marriage as was created by God in heaven.

It’s my opinion, as is that of many people I’ve consulted on the subject, that Heidi looks a million times better before the surgery. And the sad part is, I think that her sick and twisted husband has actually convinced her that if she doesn’t transform her body into what society has deemed “perfection,” that she isn’t worth being married to.

And this? This is marriage? This is what our children are being exposed to?  Through Spencer and Heidi, our daughters are hearing that they can’t be loved just as they are. This is unacceptable and sickening, and I wish that I could do something more radical, something more lasting, something more significant than posting an angry blog.

Women, God created you to be exactly how you are. And he thinks you’re perfect and beautiful. Your worth is found in Him and in Him alone. Screw society, screw the media, screw anyone who makes you feel like you’re not good enough just as you are.

Because you are.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
Psalm 139:13-14