Title: Stirring the Pot( My Recipe for Getting What You Want Out of Life) Binding: Hardcover Author: JennyMcCarthy Publisher: BallantineBooks Advance praise for Stirring the Pot   “Whether she’s talking about work or play, family or friendships, her sex life or the lack of it, Jenny McCarthy never fails to make me laugh out loud. Who knew she could dish out advice so well, too?” —Andy Cohen, host of Bravo’s Watch What Happens Live Jenny McCarthy is the author of ten books, including the New York Times bestsellers Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth About Pregnancy and Childbirth; Baby Laughs: The Naked Truth About the First Year of Mommyhood; Louder than Words: A Mother’s Journey in Healing Autism; Love, Lust & Faking It: The Naked Truth About Sex, Lies, and True Romance; and Bad Habits: Confessions of a Recovering Catholic . Getting her start as the host of MTV’s hugely popular dating show Singled Out , McCarthy has had a high-profile television and film career and has been a guest on virtually every television talk show, from The Oprah Winfrey Show, Larry King Live, The View, The Ellen DeGeneres Show , and Late Show with David Letterman , to Conan , Hannity & Colmes, and The Howard Stern Show . A co-host of ABC’s The View since September 2013, she also co-hosts Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Ryan Seacrest, writes an advice column for the Chicago Sun-Times, and tours nationally for her Dirty Sexy Funny stand-up show. She lives outside of Chicago with her son, Evan. Baby Steps My Recipe for Success Ingredients: 1 girl with a dream 0 financial resources No time for bullshit Lots of time for therapy A heaping tablespoon of humor 2 cups of hardheadedness Many, many disappointing setbacks A pinch of acceptance of my place in the world A dollop of flexibility Directions: Stir up ingredients and season for taste (learn to balance the sour with the sweet). Don’t overmix the batter (don’t overthink things; put one foot in front of the other). Simmer for life. T his’ll be hard to believe given that I am now best known for being unafraid to grab a microphone and work a crowd, but when I was younger I had a totally crippling fear of public speaking. I’m not only talking about a fear of having to give a speech to the whole school or stage fright the night of the school play. That shit’s obvious . I was also paralyzed by something as simple as a request to read a paragraph out loud to a small class. If a teacher asked me to come to the board and show the class how to do a math problem? Hyperventilation time. Give an oral report on my science project? I’d become totally sick to my stomach and have to run to the bathroom. To avoid getting to the puking stage, I got creative with my excuses. I conveniently “lost my glasses” a lot (even though I didn’t wear any back then). I was pretty convincing with a sudden bad cough or the development of a splitting headache. One time I went so far as to quickly crack a red pen so that I could let the ink dribble down my leg. I don’t know if the teacher thought my leg was bleeding or that I’d had an embarrassing female accident (as you’ll see on page 6, I later became very prone to embarrassing female accidents!), but that was an instant pass to the nurse’s office. I couldn’t really use it more than once, though. Too bad. By the time I got to college, I didn’t think it was too much to hope that oral reports and front--of--class participation would be things of my past. I wanted to be a special--education major (little did I know that my son Evan’s needs would give me a front--row seat in that world a decade later) and didn’t see how my fear of public speaking would cause a problem. I saw myself teaching and playing with kids using blocks and games and crayons, not cue cards. But wouldn’t you know it . . . Public Speaking 101 was a requirement for my chosen major. What the fuck? There was no way around it. I knew I had to bite the bullet or I would have to give up on the thing that really interested me. I was determined. For the moment, anyway. As I walked to class the first day, I began to shake just thinking about the idea of it. I can still see the big auditorium classroom now—-stadium seating sloping down to a classic college lectern and about fifty shaggy students settling in to fall asleep. After introducing himself and giving an overview of the curriculum (all of which sounded terrifying and totally effing pointless to me), the professor announced that he wanted all the students to stand and briefly introduce themselves. Before even the first student had stood to tell us her name and where she was from, I had grabbed my backpack and bolted from the room. I ran straight to the freshman guidance office and busted through the door in hysterics. I was crying so hard the advisor thought I had been attacked, and she jumped up from her chair to console me.