Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a reality TV junkie. Before there was Survivor, Real Housewives and So You’re an Amish Little Person and You Think You Can Dance (it isn’t a show yet, but it will be) there were documentaries. I watched those too. Remember Jacques Cousteau? I loved that dude and I don’t even like to snorkel.

When I was in my twenties, Mark Burnett (the creator of Survivor in his pre-CBS days) began airing a program on cable called The Eco Challenge. It was an adventure race that aired for a few days, once a year. It was, quite possibly, the best thing I had ever seen on TV.

I looked forward to it airing each spring.  It was raw and captivating and I knew from the first moment I watched it that I wanted to be a competitor on that show. Unfortunately, Mark Burnett had other plans and discontinued The Eco Challenge when he started Survivor. Dang the bad luck.

Thankfully, another opportunity arose. There was a second-best chance for me to show my endurance, strength and fortitude. It’s been a secret I have kept for a long time.

I was once a contestant on The Amazing Race. This is my story.

My teammate was Melisa from The Suburban Scrawl. We met in blogland, she brought me candy and a sash and we realized we both had the desire to race around the world. Go figure!

People, take my advice…don’t trust someone just because they bring you Lemon Heads.

The night before we left NYC.  Sigh.  I was so excited.

We started in New York and were told our first stop was Paris, France. On the flight over, as I began to study maps (because some U.S. Americans do have maps) and research the places where we might be sent, Melisa grabbed my arm and said, “You can put those things away. I speak fluent French.”

I replied, “Really?  That’s great!”  I couldn’t have been more confident.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

About an hour before we landed, Melisa excused herself from her seat and said, “I’m going to grab my backpack and put on my French clothes.”

I eyed her with furrowed brows. “Your what?”

“I have some French clothes. We’ll fit in better this way. Trust me.”

Heck yes, I trusted her. Until she came out of the airplane bathroom wearing this…

I stared at her. “Uh, Melisa?  Why are you wearing a tutu?”

She replied? “Well, it’s either this or my beret.”

I was willing to cut her some slack. Maybe it was crazy enough to get us noticed. Maybe we would be the first to get a cab.

Or, maybe not.

We were last.

We threw our backpacks in the trunk and jumped into the back seat. In the excitement of the moment, I forgot about Melisa’s tutu and ordered the driver to take us to the Louvre where we would find our first clue. The race was on….for almost two whole miles until traffic slowed to a crawl.

I turned to Melisa. “We need to tell him to get off this highway and find another route.” Then I looked at the driver’s face in the rear-view mirror as I fumbled with my French, “Sir, autre…um…”

Melisa spoke up and said, “I’ll handle this.  Sir!  Au jus!”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Melisa, au jus means with juice.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, silly Momo! It does not. It means faster!” She leaned forward in her seat and said, “Haute couture!”

I whipped my head to the side and looked at her to see if there was a hint of funny business going. That didn’t appear to be the case.

“Melisa…”

She interrupted, “You! Sir! Bonsoir! Hurry up! Filet mignon!”

At this point, I whipped my head in the other direction to see if there was a way for me to escape the car and this crazy woman in a tutu. There was nowhere to run.

I went for the common sense approach instead. “Melisa, you’re not speaking French. You’re just saying French words. They don’t mean what you think they mean.”

“Oh, bidet! For the record, that means nonsense.”

“No, it doesn’t. A bidet is for washing under your crazy tutu after you use the restroom.”

“My tutu is not crazy! It’s French! Duh. Driver! Come on! Yoplait!”

“That’s yogurt.”

She scoffed, “Faux pas.”

“That means mistake…which this obviously is. Monsieur, vous arrêtez.” I looked at Melisa one last time and said, “That means stop. I’m getting out right here. Adieu, Melisa.”

“Bon appetit, Momo.”

All of this was (not) true…well, except for the candy and the sash part.  Oh, and the part about how Melisa and I want to race around the world.  Though I hate flying and we both hate heights and we would probably just end up in a dive bar drinking $3.00 margaritas.  She’s fantastique like that.  Now go read Melisa’s post about our imaginary Amazing Race.

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1. If you spend 13 days in five different cities (and six different beds), you will grow very weary of checking for bedbugs.

2. Manhattan in August is hot, dirty and smells a lot like pee.

3. The Eastern Shore of Virginia in August is hot, sandy and smells a lot like fish.

4. But, that smell is totally worth it when your brother-in-law takes your husband and kids fishing and they come home with fresh crab and flounder for dinner.

5. Busch Gardens Williamsburg is ridiculously expensive. Nine bucks for four mozzarella sticks and a cup of strawberries for the kids’ snack, on top of $55.00 admission tickets and $18.00 parking IS. JUST. WRONG.

6. If you buy a hotel room through Priceline, apparently the staff doesn’t have to guarantee you a room at their hotel…but rather, any room at any hotel. This means you might end up booking at a Hyatt and end up at a Quality Inn.

7. And, you might take your Ambien in the parking lot of the Hyatt just before you (think you’re going to) check-in, only to be told you have to drive 10 miles, through the completely foreign city of Pittsburgh, all while arguing with the staff and watching people who arrived AFTER you get a room because they’re paying full price.

8. You will never use Priceline or stay at a Hyatt again.

9. Then you will use your blog for evil paybacks. Mwah ha ha!!

10. The speed limit in West Virginia through the Allegheny Mountains is 70mph. This is also referred to as the “place where Momo gets itchy armpits and yells at her husband a lot”.

11. After non-stop travel to points in West Virginia, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, and almost Maryland…Ohio will never seem so good.

12. Because that is where your bed is.

13. And you don’t have to check for any bugs.

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If you are getting ready to go out of town to a conference and will be in three different hotel rooms over a course of three nights and you’re an anxiety-ridden-worrier-insomniac who is freaking out about packing and bed bugs and making lists of instructions for home, make sure that the following happens in the two weeks before you leave…

1. Your mom moves…again.

2. You paint the interior of your mom’s new house.

3. Your mom has surgery.

4. You schedule surgery for yourself.

5. Your dog grows some weird lump on her chest and it keeps getting bigger by the day.

6. Your daughter goes to camp for a week.

7. Your best friend’s grandmother dies (not that you actually do anything for her, like make her family dinner or send a card.)

8. Your son starts behavior therapy.

9. Your son gets what you think is a urinary tract infection, but after a doctor visit and a pee sample you find out it’s a too-much-soap-in-his-bath-infection, but he gets a prescription for antibiotics anyway, because he’s that kind of kid.

10. You get chosen to have your writing honored at a gala reception.

11. You struggle to find something to wear to said reception.

12. You make sure to get your Ambien refilled.

13. You still don’t sleep.

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Exactly three weeks from right now I will be on my way to New York City. By myself. On a train.

I will have nine hours to do as I like. I can listen to music, get a drink from the dining car and write. I can even read a book without interruption. Gasp!

Maybe the clickety-clacking will sing me to sleep. Though, I hear the scenery is beautiful on this trip. I may not want to miss it.

I am thrilled for the opportunity to travel through small towns and end up in one of the biggest cities in the world. From the mid-west to the east coast. From apple orchards to the Big…well, you get the idea.

As much as I would love to share this ride with my family (my son would likely explode due to overwhelming joy) I am excited to have an extended amount of time to decompress and relax. I picture myself leaning against the window and watching the hills roll by. Sigh…

And, so help me, if there is a talker sitting next to me I’m going to have to throw them off the train.

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