Red Carpet Confessional: The Hot Mess I Call the Tony Awards

Last Wednesday a glorious email appeared in my inbox saying I was confirmed to cover the Tony Awards red carpet. Keep in mind, I had only four days to prep for my first major carpet event and there was a hefty list of A-listers for me to research questions for (which turned out to be a total waste of time, but I'll get to that later). As a Guilana Rancic fangirl, this moment was exciting and petrifying. Oh, and WTF was I going to wear?

I ended up running through the disgustingly humid city on a wild goose/dress chase. This is what happens when your brain is momentarily sucked into the vast universe of the possibilities of the red carpet. I swung open the Bloomingdale's doors sweating harder than Iggy Azalea at a rap battle, terrifying the employees. But, who cares? I'm covering the Tonys, bitches.

I shelled out $216 without thinking twice, because this is my career, guys. Plus, I have all 826 Insta followers to impress and like, my parents. Will I ever wear it again? Stop asking so many questions.

Now, it's research time, which obviously calls for a bootleg Microsoft Word chart of the nominees and their pictures. To become a future well-respected reporter I need to know what the hell is up.

Let's backtrack a little. My boss isn't convinced that red carpet footage is worth the hassle, so I didn't have a hired camera person. So Saturday I asked my fresh-out-of-high-school-aged cousin to be my shooter. With her personal camera. I grabbed a VH1 mic because I'm super legit and attempted to get some sleep that night. There was no chance in hell I'd be caught with Neil Patrick Harris wearing anything other than glitter under my eyes.

Sunday 4pm, we rolled into the "Talent Check-in" point and security barely questioned us. YAS KWEEN. Did Joe Manganiello casually walk in behind us for rehearsal? NBD.

Before I go on, I want to thank the Tonys for placing a too-high wall on the carpet to separate talent and press. Not only did it make me look like a stalker, it made for awkward interview positioning. So, thanks from the 5'1" girl.

Anyway, I realized the gods and goddesses weren't going to show up for another hour so I made myself comfy.

Super comfy.

Amanda Seyfried strolled through and my adrenaline started kicking in. Unnamed publicist #1 came over to tell me she wasn't doing interviews. Fine. Did Ashley Tisdale just sprint by? Did Vanessa Hudgens do a 100-yard dash, BEHIND the reporters? WTH, GUYS. In heels?

Oh, and did I mention I came up with at least five brilliant questions for each of these stars? FOR EACH?! Kendall Jenner, Bradley Cooper, Rita Wilson, Bobby Cannavale, Rose Bryne, Nick Jonas, Helen Mirren, and Larry David continue this triathlon down the carpet, leaving us peasants in their holy dust. Meanwhile, anxious, gum-chewing unnamed publicist #2 yanked my arm to ask/demand I wrap up the next interview, which I didn't even start yet.

Again, I brush it off. Views of celebs. In person.

In all the fluster of over-preparation, unknown celeb faces, scary publicists, screaming fans, and flashing lights, I got some moments. Like, when I bonded with Transparent's Judith Light over Caitlyn Jenner's badass VF spread.

And I got the chance to have the insanely cool Bryan Cranston tell me my Breaking Bad Broadway idea was the worst thing ever.

Plus, Jennifer Lopez muttered all but three words to me during her grand entrance, but more importantly, we breathed the same air that day. See that mic? That's something I wouldn't trade for the world.

Here's to the next red carpet, where I'll fend off more unnamed publicists as I continue my pursuit of happiness.

PS - I didn't get to interview Joe, but he did eventually make it up to me. Sort of.