Terrible Twos

Wito’s 2nd birthday party is this Saturday, and I’m knee-deep in preparation. (You know, if “knee-deep” means watching Paula Deen and her sons make a mighty fine Banana Split Cake while filing my nails.)

Oh, and those Terrible Twos? They have officially made their appearance one week early.

Case in point #1:

What do you MEAN the carousel isn’t open yet? MY LIFE IS A HEAPING PILE OF DOG SHIT.

Case in point #2:

I’m not really fond of this drab wall color. Let me spruce it up a bit.

Send help.

So You Think You Can Dance – Blogher Edition

I had such a fantastic time at Blogher. In a teeny nutshell, I was just so thrilled to be surrounded by smart, hilarious and well-rounded women instead of wiping dookie booty all day. (Can I get an AMEN?)

I think my personal high (LOW! LOW!) point of the weekend had to be “dancing” at the Mighty Haus launch party. Now, one would think that upon being invited to a party hosted by the lovely Maggie Mason, you would keep a certain air of composure about yourself as you navigate through the space and guests. And I did that…for about the first hour or so.

It’s just that people started to dance. And I really didn’t WANT to dance, but bodies were filing onto the dance floor and my adrenaline started pumping, and well, you’ll see.

Lucky for you, after noticing some photos on Flickr (thanks to Greeblemonkey and Mrs. Flinger), I can recreate this atrocity for your viewing pleasure with a mere five photos.

Photo #1:

There I am, making my way onto the dance floor. You can smell the determination in the air, can’t you?

Photo #2:

Here is my trademark warm-up maneuver. I like to walk around the floor, clapping my hands next to my ear, much like the Paso Doble. Look how Heather is rendered helpless by my matador-like movement. There is no denying it, she wants me.

Photo #3:

After the blood starts pumping, I launch into a contemporary performance art piece that Mia Michaels might as well have choreographed herself. Now, to the untrained eye, it seems I’m attempting the Charleston, but check out the back of my shirt. See how it’s airborne? This could only mean I’m at the tail end of David Lee Roth-type jumping maneuver. Leslie and Alana are AMAZED by my dancing prowess.

Photo #4:

Seriously, I have no idea.

Photo #5:

The pièce de résistance. My beloved Sprinkler maneuver. Let’s chat about this photo for a second.

1. Take notice of my face color. No, not reddish purple from embarrassment, but from INTENSITY. The Sprinkler is no joke, people.

2. I wonder, am I actually singing AND dancing at the same time? Or is it more of a guttural grunt, much like Serena Williams playing tennis?

3. My shirt buttons are literally holding on for dear life. Like I said, such is the Intensity of The Sprinkler.

4. The crotch of my pants is halfway down to my knees. This can only mean that the Van Halen jumps have loosened my pants considerably.

5. Will you marvel at my hand form? Mary Murphy would have nothing but praise for my lines.

All in all, I’m wondering about SYTYCD’s age limit for auditions because I am SO THERE NEXT YEAR.

Hat Thursday

Let’s be honest. Who cares about hair when you can wear HATS?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Starstruck at Blogher

Come take a stroll with me down memory lane.

It’s 2:45pm on Saturday. I’ve just run up to my hotel room in an attempt to briefly thaw my corpse-like legs before the next session. I turn on the television set, realize ESPN bowling just isn’t going to hack it and grab the nearest Blogher schedule to skim over. Holy shit! I forgot about the room I’ve been wanting to visit since I arrived! The “celebrity” of all celebrities is in that room!

I grabbed my bag and walked hurriedly to the elevator. My heart seemed to beat out of my chest while thinking of the possibilities. What if I get the chance to have a short conversation? What should I say? Should I go for an awkward hug?

I had no time to think. I needed to get to this room before the next onslaught of people arrived on their break. I weaved through the hallways, staring straight ahead, careful not to catch the glance of anyone who could slow me down.

And then I arrived. The minute I walked into the room, I saw the Blogher VIP across the way and immediately started to cry. CRYING, PEOPLE. “Oh, Jesus”, I thought to myself, “Get it together, Whoorl! What am I, FOUR??”

I couldn’t help it. I was staring at such an inspiration. I wiped the tears off my face and walked straight over to introduce myself and maybe secure a photo or two.

I must say, Grover did not disappoint. I was suddenly a five-year-old again, just thrilled to get a hug from the famous puppet.

Although, Grover, are you attempting to cop a feel?

Let me help you with that hand, Grover. Okay, much better.

For those Sesame Street fans, Eric Jacobson (whose face is in the second photo) has been the only person to puppeteer Grover besides Frank Oz. (Is it just me or do Eric and Grover resemble each other?)

More non-puppet Blogher fodder to come…

Elsewhere

My trip so far – lovely ladies, six hours of sleep, mashed potatoes and gravy.

Elsewhere:

Looking for a stylish laptop bag?

Check out Wito’s debut on ParentDish.

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