I got wet, spread my legs, and screamed like a banshee

When I'm not doing the author thing, I spend my time . . . wait, I'd better not finish that sentence.

Let me start again.

One of the ways I keep a roof over my head and get my introverted author butt out of the house is through my part-time day job as the PR & Communications Manager for my city's tourism bureau. Sometimes that involves straightforward tasks like writing blog posts or pitching stories to media outlets. Other times it involves going snowshoeing or taking journalists out to drink beer on the Bend Ale Trail.

One the my most memorable assignments turned out to be an odd combination of those things. It happened a few weeks ago when I accompanied a television crew on a whitewater raft trip, followed by a beer tasting.

"We'll  have you mic'd up through the flatwater, and we'll have cameras on us the whole time," explained the journalist asking to interview me about the role of rafting and beer in the tourism industry.

"Oh, of course," I said. "What 38-year-old woman doesn't want to have cameras and microphones present while she's fighting a bikini wedgie and plunging through class three rapids screaming her head off and wondering if her boob just slipped out of her top?"

There was a long pause. "So you'll do it?"

Naturally.

As it turned out, the whole adventure went fine. The required life vest relieved me of the burden of sucking in my stomach for the camera, and I managed to sound reasonably informed about the state of my city's tourism industry. Plus I got beer at the end. Oh, and I didn't die. All good things.

Three weeks later, the piece aired.

The crew did an excellent job with it (ignoring the part where they introduce me as "Tanya" instead of "Tawna"). But watching it was one of those moments I'm conspicuously aware of the odd juxtaposition of my day job life and my author life.

Am I really the only one who noticed I've got my legs spread wide in the first on-camera appearance, followed by a long sequence of me screaming?

Maybe not. When I posted the link on Twitter, a reader responded asking if our guide really says, "porno" at the 3:16 mark in the video. (Answer: Probably not, but I'm going to choose to believe he did, kinda like how I still believe in Santa and the Wine Fairy).

Another reader helpfully pointed out that one of the features of the rapid is called "the tongue," which would have made me much less fearful of falling in the river if I'd thought about it.

At any rate, here it is for your viewing pleasure. Feel free to snicker at the dirty innuendos that probably weren't intended.

I certainly did.