Dancing With the Stars

For the record, when my blog is discovered and I am offered a book deal and a column in Glamour magazine, I would accept an invitation to compete on Dancing With the Stars.



The outfits, the glitz, glamour and the tackiness of the whole thing excites me, really, more than it should. Beyond the fact that I am not a star (but really when was the last time Melissa Joan Heart was stalked by paparazzi) I would be perfect for the show. I am already a firm believer in fake tans. I wear hair extensions in Rutland VT (who does she think she is?) and if I could get away with wearing glittery suck-me-in pantyhose any other place in the world besides Hooters I would move there. I cant dance- but neither can Jerry Springer, I am too skinny for Biggest Loser (although sometimes I don't feel like it), and my singing would slice wrists- so Idol is out of the question. Really, Dancing with the Stars (should be Dancing with I Used to Kinda be a Star, or Dancing With My Brother Is a Star- in Drew Lachey's case) is really my only option.


I am sure that Bruno will love me, and in his thick (could be fake) Italian accent he will tell me that I am magnificent, and what a beauty! Week after week the judges will score me with perfect tens, all the while my body will be getting closer and closer to resembling Julianna Houghs. I will headline on Entertainment tonight more than the Osmonds (who let's face it..own the show). Okay, maybe I am getting ahead of my self. I have no book deal, no column in Glamour magazine and no DWTS invitation, however I will keep my hair extensions, and spray tan ready for when the opportunity comes waltzing at my door step.