tinsely & bruley

New Years in Times Square Part 1

After much debate about whether or not I wanted to make the trek to NYC for NYE, I thought, “What the hell!”  Working for the network allotted me VIP access passes, which meant I could walk in and out of police barricades at my leisure, check out the scene outside, and escape the crowds inside ABC studios.   Insanely awesome? I thought so, too.  Mother Nature almost ruined my plans.  With these odds in my favor, it looked like a long shot:

Somehow the travel gods were on my side, and I made it out on the ONLY flight of the day.  JetBlue win.  So my night started when I went to meet up with my coworker & friend, Unger, at his hotel.  When I got there, he was sitting with two younger guys and an older lady.  Knowing he had been visiting family, I assumed it was an aunt and cousins.  We chatted for a bit, and when we went to leave, he said, “Nice to meet you,” to the woman.  Huh?  We walked away, and I said, “Hey, I thought that was your family.”  He laughed and told me to look again.  One of the dudes was Jonathan from NKTOB.  My bad.  What can I say, I was a BSB fan.  So Unger and I went to get a drink before heading off to “work.”

And then we made it through barricade and barricade of police. Seriously, the NYPD have that shit UNDER CONTROL.  I didn’t know what to anticipate.  Crowds of millions?  Mass chaos?  Stampeding bulls? Not quite.  There are a lot of people, but it’s pretty well organized.  So we finally made it upstairs to Good Morning America’s studio, and met up with our friend Amy.

One of my best friends (and college roommate!), Kyra, is an event planning extraordinaire.  She threw the party at the Renaissance hotel with Bruno Mars and told me to “swing by.”  Swing by?  There were about 1.2 million people in between 44th St. and 48th St., but Amy and I decided to put our credentials to a test.  Just how far could we make it?  

ALL THE WAY. That’s right.  That bad baby around my neck literally gave me free reign of Times Square.  Absolutely unreal.  We got to walk straight through the middle of Times Square with no problem.  NYPD just waved us on through.  I’ve never felt like more of a bad-ass in MY LIFE.

Thanks to NYC’s finest. 

You know what wasn’t so awesome?  See those blue balloons in everyone’s hand?  Yeah, people behind the barricades thought it was REALLY FUN to beat us as we were walking by.  For the most part, it was all in good fun and made Amy and I laugh.  What can you do.  When Ke$ha performed, we decided to leave the control room and head out to the stage, a few blocks away. All was fine and dandy, until Ke$ha and her entourage (including me, Amy, and Unger at this point) were misguided through the crowd to the wrong checkpoint back to the studio.  The officers would NOT let us through.  Uh, excuse us?  I’m not the biggest Ke$ha fan either Sir, but you can’t leave us stranded in the middle of the crowd.  A bit dangerous don’t you think?

And so some very important person radioed to another very important person and so forth, and we were led back to the studio, no harm done.  Thank goodness. The crowd started to get a bit rowdy when Ke$ha was just standing there, unable to move. (And in all fairness, Ke$ha was very calm and considerate, and she made sure a few little girls that were part of her entourage were not getting trampled.) Okay fine, I like her a little more now.

I wish I had a picture of perhaps my favorite point of the night. I’m a huge BSB fan.  (Shut up, don’t make fun!)  When they were on their way back out to the main stage, I grabbed Nick Carter’s arm and told him they sounded great in sound check.  He smiled, looked me in the eye, and said, “Thanks.”  No Nick Carter, thank you.  And 14 year old Tinsely, you’re welcome.  And that’s all for now. 

Stay tuned for Part 2 tomorrow…

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New Years in Times Square Part 2

In case you need to catch up, click here.

A few things I forgot to mention.  1. The weather could not have been more perfect.  If you notice, I’m wearing nothing but my leather bomber jacket. No scarf, no coat, no mittens, no hat.  It was perfectly comfortable and a nice surprise after that blizzard!  I’ve thanked the travel gods, and now I’d like to thank the weather gods. 2. When Amy and I snuck (sneaked?) out of the control room and went on a little adventure to the Renaissance to see Kyra, we actually went upstairs and took [full] advantage of the open bar and plethora of food. We stuck out a bit at the party.  There were people who paid hundreds, if not thousands to be there, dressed in floor length dresses and tuxes…and then there was Amy and me.  Dressed fairly casual in jeans. Whateves, we rocked it, and hello sushi platters and champagne!  Shhh…we were “working.” Added bonus of the party? No, not Bruno Mars…the dogs!  There were adorable labs everywhere with “explosives” written on their vests.  Thank you K-9 friends for keeping us safe!

So when it finally came time for the ball to drop, Unger and Amy wanted to stay inside the control room.  I debated, but I thought, I’m here ONCE, who knows if/when I’ll ever be in Times Square again on New Years.  Sure, it’s a once in a lifetime experience to be inside the control room too, so it was win-win.  Amy agreed to come outside with me to make sure I was safe and secure behind the barricades. And that’s when we saw him:

See that face in the left corner of the screen? See all those police men and bodyguards protecting him?  Yes, ladies and gents, that’s Prince.  Amy and I both did a double-triple-quadruple take.  “Is that?” “Couldn’t be?” “Oh. Oh my god.”  After a few lingering moments and not so subtle pictures taken, Amy decided to go back upstairs. I decided to stay downstairs within the barricade around the building with Prince.  There were a few awkward stares from people on the other side. More and more people began realizing who I was standing with.  Camera flashes became less and less discreet.  It was just me, him, and the cops/bodyguards.  Surreal doesn’t cut it. Was I really standing in the middle of Times Square on New Years with PRINCE?  Is this REAL LIFE?

And so…the ball dropped.  The crowd erupted.  SO MUCH confetti. Prince then grabbed me and hugged me.  We embraced.  Happy New Year!  He threw confetti in my face; I threw it right back. I asked him what in the world he was doing there.  He said he was there for the party downstairs. We shimmied (with jazz hands!) to “New York, New York.”  One of the most bizarre/amazing/unreal/coolest/out of words moments of my life.  And then……

And then I went back upstairs, and something didn’t feel quite right.  Wait a minute.  Why would Prince be outside the ABC building, alone, on New Years?  Why would he be wearing his most iconic purple shirt?  Wait—no—couldn’t have been—but—why the bodyguards?—were they really bodyguards?—this is too strange—-and then it REALLY occurred to me.

Hi my name is Tinsely, and I just spent New Years with a Prince impersonator.  whomp, whomp.

Or did I?  I talked to a friend who is a Prince fanatic; she informed me the real Prince WAS in New York and HAD been doing shows at the Garden.  There WAS a high baller party in the building.  There WERE bodyguards. The other people in the crowd definitely thought it was him.  So who knows?  Either way, it’s quite a story right?  So I’ll leave you with a few other snap shots of the night.  2011 had one hell of a start, and I feel so beyond grateful for the experience.  New Years in Times Square with Dick, Ryan, & Jenny, Ke$ha, NKOTBSB, a few coworkers turned friends, and Prince (maybe?). Check that off the bucket list!

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Well that’s something new…

When you work in TV, sooner or later you’ll book travel.  I happen to really like booking travel, so it’s no big deal.  I’ve booked a million hotels, found cars in cities where I’m pretty sure they only have horses, and manipulated the shit out of the airline industry.  You find yourself saying insane things like, “Can’t you MAKE a direct flight?”  And the poor person on the other end of the line is sitting there going, “No Ma’am. I’m a housewife in Utah. I can’t make a new route for your ‘very important’ boss.” You know that great scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Miranda/Meryl is bitching about a flight when there is a hurricane outside?  BEEN THERE.  Anyway, I digress. I just called to confirm a hotel reservation at a veryniceandhighend hotel in a major metropolitan city.  The woman legit said:

“I have a reservation arriving tomorrow and derparturing Sunday.”

Derparturing.

Not departing.  Not even departuring.  De-R-par-tur-ing.

I bet she says that 10 times a day.

Amazing.

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The Bach Finale

You guys…it’s finally here.  I’ve been waiting months and months for this day.  I used to call it my Superbowl.  I’m so excited for the speculation to end.  I’m so PUMPED for everyone to see what goes down.  A few things to note: Chantal’s date?  No F’ING WAY.  That’s all I’m saying.  No WAY JOSE, she’s a brave, brave soul.  Also, I haven’t seen the AFR yet, but having witnessed it in person, I think it’s one of the best yet.  It just felt so honest, ya know?  It’s not—wrap it up in a pretty red bow—at all. It’s real life. (Que David after the Dentist. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Youtube it.)  But that doesn’t mean it’s real life bad, at all.

I’m sad to see this season end. Brad is a true gentleman in real life—such a nice, nice guy. However, I must warn you, if you are planning to take a shot every time Brad says, “No doubt about it,” you will be shitfaced by 9pm.  It’s Monday kids, take it easy.

I’m happy for the closure the finale inevitably brings.  In a weird way, I’ll miss Brad.  But alas, we are announcing the next Bachelorette on Jimmy Kimmel tonight, so be sure to tune in to that, as well!

Enjoy it East Coast!  You’re up first, obvi. Austin, are you dying yet?

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Back to the Ballroom!

And so it begins.  Dancing with the Stars premieres tonight! Remember when I alluded to it a few months ago?  Personally, I’m rooting for Mike Catherwood.  And I’m guessing the majority of you out there are saying, “Who now?”  Let me tell ya, he’s hot and funny.  I listen to him every morning on the Kevin and Bean radio show on KROQ, here in LA.  He’s also Dr. Drew’s sidekick on Loveline. But again, more importantly, he’s hot and funny.  Psycho Mike FTW.

In honor of the premiere, here are some pictures of last year’s 200th episode party. Also, this party was the day after this night.  KB and I were HURTIN. We affectionately refer to that weekend as “our 48 hour bender.”  In no particular order…

KB and I went straight for the burgers:

And then we found a Fox:

And an Olympian:

A Bachelorette:

Look, Ma, a real life Palin:

And there were dancers:

And they were getting down and dirty:

But we were really all about the food:

And before we went home, we met pure CLASS:

Cheers to the new season!

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Way to blow it, Tins.

Full disclosure?  Yesterday I was hungover.  And tired.  And hungover.  Screw you Jennifer Nettles.

But this isn’t about her or the Sugarland concert on Tuesday. This is about me and my awkwardness.

So there I was at lunch, sitting at a table outside on the studio lot, by myself.  And a group of people from the table next to me were in the process of clearing their plates.  They had to walk passed me to get to the trash, and I was basically just trying to keep it together, so I didn’t really pay much attention to any of them.  Until the lone straggler was left, and I thought to myself, “That’s one, tiny, very blond woman.”  And then it hit me. And I had about .25 seconds to decide if I was going to say anything.  And I blame that last several tequila shots, because I had what can only be described as an almost tourettic reaction.  I blurted out, “I’m a REALLY big fan!”

And Miss Kristin Chenoweth herself stopped, smiled, and touched my shoulder.  She very sweetly replied, “Oh thank you so much. You’re so sweet.”  And then I got awkward. I don’t think I anticipated that she would actually stop and chat. And I don’t really get starstruck, but I really, genuinely couldn’t think of anything to say.

All that came was, I kid you not, “You know, Wicked and the whole thing.”

THE WHOLE THING?!  What is the WHOLE THING?!  What does that even mean?  I could have gone with, “I’ve followed your career for a long time, I think you are immensely talented.”  OR  “I read your autobiography, I laughed every minute.”  OR “I’ve seen the pilot for Good Christian Bitches, I think it will be a hit.” OR “I was lucky enough to watch some of the dailies as they came in last spring, and I love how different you do it in every take.”  But no.  No.  Why say anything remotely comprehensible?  I truly went with, “Wicked, and the whole thing.” 

In all fairness, she was very polite and said, “I got so lucky with that show!  Thanks again.”  And then she walked away.

And I sat there and wondered if she smelled the booze. At least then maybe she got it.  Yes, that’s it.  I hope KChen knew I was hungover, and therefore I really shouldn’t be held responsible for mumbling inane sentences at 1pm on a Wednesday afternoon.  I may say this a lot.  But I’m really never drinking again.  On weeknights.  Or Tuesdays.  Okay fine maybe just Tues-DAYS.  Tues-nights are fair game, in my opinion.

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So check it…

I was cc’d on the below email at work.  I obvi blocked out all the personal details because 1. it’s work, duh, but 2. it’s also kind of funny this way. Thoughts on what they are talking about?  Don’t answer. 

But the real reason for this nonsensical post? Check out the date the original email was sent. It’s Outlook people…of the future.

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Maybe it’s me…

While I was getting my coffee yesterday morning, I struck up a conversation with a coworker.  I was once again reminded I should never, ever, under NO circumstances engage in conversation before consuming approximately 12 ounces of caffeine. Especially on Mondays.  After a 72 hour bender of a weekend. The conversation went something like this:

Me: How was your weekend?

Coworker: Quiet.  Next weekend is my birthday.

Me: Oh, are you doing anything special?

Coworker: Well, I’ve always wanted to see the sunrise. I’ve seen a million sunsets, but I’ve never seen the sunrise.

Me: Well, hmmm. Where do you plan to do that here?

Coworker: [Insert expensive hotel name here.] Down at the beach.  I’ve just always wanted to see it rise over the ocean.

It was then I realized I had a few options.  I could attempt to explain the laws of physics, gravity, and/or the earth’s rotation.  I could print out a map and show her where Los Angeles is.  You know, where we live. I could call corporate and see if they had any spare Styrofoam balls lying around.  And maybe some spray paint.  I could stare blankly at her and hope something would click.  Or I could just give her some brief advice, which is what I opted for.

Me: Might I suggest checking out the hotel rates in Boston?

Maybe it’s me.  Is it me?  It must be. Can’t make this shit up.

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There’s a title for this post somewhere….

I just don’t know where.  Something about catwalks and fashion week and walking on a different type of catwalk and incorporating the word “meow,” should be happening right about now, but I just can’t get it all together in one witty or smart and not cheesedick kind of way. Sorry kiddos.  Sometimes you got it, sometimes you don’t. I’m bust today.

But I do have some sheisty, grainy, all-around-crap pictures for you!  Who says I’m not a giver?  As most of you know, Bachelor Pad wrapped last week.  Contain your withdrawal symptoms, we start shooting Ben’s season soon. It seems like every season, we shoot the finales at a different stage in Los Angeles.  (Not that you’d ever know, those set designers are on point, I tell ya.)  One of my favorite parts of each finale is exploring the soundstage.  It’s so fun to think about the history of each place.  Some are cooler than others, and this year was definitely one of the best places yet.  Why?  Oh, the ridiculously terrifying catwalk above the stage. 

Hundreds of feet in the air, suspended by wires and chains, was a rickety catwalk. It was hot as balls, totally creepy, and yet so awesome.  I’m not one for heights, but I felt like Angelina Jolie up there.  Hook me up in a harness, give me a prop gun, and I’ll pretend I’m being chased by scary bad guys.  I so badly wanted to run from plank to plank and swing from chain to chain. Instead, my coworkers and I held on to the railings for dear life and took bad cell phone pictures.  Kinda the same, no?

And just in case you’re wondering what the stage looked like from way up there, here ya go.  Can you spot your favorite cast member?

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Pity Party

Late night on Friday, there were extra Emmy tickets floating around work.  It was date night, I was tired, over it all, wanting to go get home, blah blah blah.  When asked if I wanted the tickets, I kind of gave a “meh” response.  I called my date who said he would like to go but wasn’t dying one way or another. So I somewhat passed.  I said I’d take them if no one else wanted to go.  Needless to say, I watched last night on my couch.

But now it’s Monday, and Modern Family won big, and everyone at work went, and they are swapping stories, my facebook newsfeed is a collage of behind the scenes pictures, and I feel like a big fat loser for passing.  What was I thinking? I had a date, a dress, and nothing to do. Yes, there is always next year, and better yet, ABC has the Emmy’s in 2012, but still. 

Note to self: IN LIFE, DON’T BE “OVER IT.”  TAKE ADVANTAGE OF EVERY OPPORTUNITY GIVEN. BE GRATEFUL.  BE HUMBLED. REMEMBER HOW LUCKY YOU ARE. AND GO TO THE GOD DAMN EMMY’S WHEN OFFERED.

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I hear he’s a big deal. To me, he was just big.

But Justin told me it was a REALLY BIG DEAL and had me deliver a very specific message:

You give New Yorkers hope again, and their loyaly lies with you, not Carmelo Anthony.

He laughed. (I had no idea what I was talking about). But here I am, with Amare Stoudemire.

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