15 Minutes of Shame
By Lisa Picasso, Jayplay writer
March 2000: My senior year of high school and the rite-of passage spring break trip is in full swing. My overly excited pack of 18-year-old girlfriends and I are doing what else? Running around Cancun, Mexico, with 12-inch Long Island Ice Teas in one hand and our trusty disposable cameras in the other. Fueled by unhealthy amounts of booze served in pink plastic "test tubes," we naturally flock to the MTV booth at Fat Tuesday apply to be on the "Win a Dream Date with Enrique Iglesias" contest. Auditions for the show consist of producers taking a Polaroid of each girl in her swimsuit. "Sober Lisa" would have strayed from a situation with such horrific potential, but no, the "It's our senior year spring break!" chant surfaces. The five of us get "selected" to be on the televised contest. The only parameter? Show up in your bikini. Objective of the game? Dig through the sand to find CDs while covered in foam.
The next day, revved up for my 15 minutes of fame, I find myself surrounded by 24 other aggressive girls. I become mildly anxious. Amid the sea of skimpy string bikinis, myburgundy J.Crew two-piece suddenly seems like something my grandmother bought me. Soon we're handed fluorescent goggles to protect our eyes from the foam, which should have been sign number two that it was time to bail. We're advised to dance to "Bailamos" by Enrique Iglesias, if that's even possible, and before I know it, the contest is under way. The slurred yelling of college boys fills the air and it looks uncomfortably similar to Girls Gone Wild. I'm now separated from my friends and things aren't so fun as overly-tanned girls fight for close-ups. The foam never ceases, pouring out faster with each passing minute. My eyes start to burn at this point. The pain is comparable to Coppertone sunscreen being rubbed in and the stinging sensation starts to feel like pins are gouging my eyes out. My goal is to stop looking for CDs and regain clear vision. I suppose that is when my eyes began to profusely tear and me, the awkward tall girl, was at a standstill. MTV crew members began think-
like pins are gouging my eyes out. My goal is to stop looking for CDs and regain clear vision. I suppose that is when my eyes began to profusely tear and me, the awkward tall girl, was at a standstill. MTV crew members began thinking, "She's ruining our shot."
Arms outstretched in front of me, I manage to make my way to a crew member through smudged goggles and explain over "Rhythm Divine" that I can't see. He looks annoyed. It's bad. Really bad. My 15 minutes of fame are now more like six or seven. As I'm escorted off the set, I think, "This is it. Rock Bottom. Half naked, blind and caught on national television."
I'm what you would call an "unlucky lucky person." Upon being presented with golden opportunities and potentially great situations, I always somehow manage to blow it and thoroughly embarrass myself in the process. I've performed such classic acts as bruising my face the day of a date, rambling to the point of humiliation whey meeting baseball legend George Brett and having my cheek skim the carpet of the Granada stage during yet another contest. Pathetic? Maybe. Funny? Absolutely. Through these events. I've
learned to laugh at myself—albeit a week or two, sometimes months, after an incident. But these stories have made for great conversation starters-or stoppers in some instances.Friends and family plead with me to re-tell the "time that Lisa 'fill in the blank'" story and I'm granted a hearty chuckle from all listening.
When I got home from Cancun that year in high school, one or two random guys came up to me snickering, "Hey, didn't I see you on MTV?" "Yeah, you did," I would bitterly respond. But like every other blunder I've had, it wasn't as bad as I'd conceived it to be. In fact, it was kind of fun(ny).
Illustration: Scott Drummond
— Lisa Picasso can be reached at lpicasso@kansan.com.
3.18.04 Jayplay
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