Friends don't let friends put their blogs on the shelf. They want you to pass it around like a rental car for people to eat, smoke and perform lascivious acts in with impunity. At least that's what I think Mr Lady was getting at when she told me I should get guest posters. So she's pledged the help of her hubby (better known as The Donor), while I got my mom, Fury and my blogless stalker Carol to promise to pitch in. And then others (who do write blogs) also wanted a turn red-lining the engine. Cool. I can legitimatley call myself the Editor-in-Chief now and sit back and watch this blog become something deserving of the -$12 it earns me each month.
The first one to get their post to me was my Jager-shootin' "internet date" from NJ, Smart Ass Mom. She's like the rebel suburban mom, and she'll nail fools who take this "parenting" thing too seriously. And thanks to her, I'll never look at a fortune cookie the same way again (check out her recent posts, you'll find it. Yes, I want you to work. You thought I'd just link to it? Ain't my style). Anyway, this is the post where she kind of earns her moniker. At my expense. My eyes are still bleeding...
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Hi all, I am Smart Ass Mom, from you guessed it smartassmom.com. I am shocked honored that BusyDad asked me to force his readers to run in terror holding their bleeding ears guest post. It's a tough act and one that I am sure will be bashed abundantly by the others. However, what I lack in great writing ability I make up for in laughs directed at myself.
Here is a little background; as a college freshman, knowing everything there was to know, I decided that I was so awesome I could balance a double major. My passions were dancing and making money. (Clear up your dirty minds, not where I'm going with this.) First up, move to LA where I imagined slipping into pressed Armani suits, reading phonebook style filibusters by day. My nights would be dedicated to choreographing The Jackson 5 comeback and busting a groove at highly paparazzi'd hotspots. What do you mean it isn't possible to major in both Dance/Choreography Instruction and Political Science? Well, that was only until I hit it big and moved to NYC to work for the Philharmonic. Wha? They don't dance? Oh, well no wonder I failed miserably.
Luckily for me, my failure didn't bring me down. Instead forced me to look around for creative answers to my craptacular questions. Instead of the job of professional choreographer and teaching Paula how to shake her money maker, I would instead teach 2 year olds not to spit on the dog. Instead of arguing the peoples right, ala Erin Brokovitch, I would argue both legs into my toddlers pants. So I got crafty. I dropped the lobbiest bit and bid the poli sci degree adieu. And I picked up my own dance routines. I practiced and made up my own stuff. I am more than willing to break that stuff out at a local watering holes. I auditioned for the Houston Texans dance team, and even made it past day 1. I even study too, and by study I mean I catch all the episodes of So You Think You Can Dance?
I am also known to DVR Saturday Night Live when a fav performer is on. Then in the seclusion of my bedroom, during the day when there are no witnesses, I slowmo over, and over until I am a superfluous talent of backup dancing material. With the drapes wide open, for all to laugh at me I will break it down and squeel with glee when I have the first 32 counts down. Usher and Luda's Yeah? I own it. Chris Brown from the '07 VMA's? All minus the standing back tuck. My fav of all time? JT's Sexyback. You don't know the drill? "5, 6, 7, 8. One and two, three four FIVE SIX sevenandeight! Jazz hands!" So I came to the conclusion after logging hours in front of the TV that I had Beyonce's 'Single Ladies' kick line style dance down. And you know what, it was some work. And trying it out in stilettos was a poor choice on my part, or so says my ankles. But lemme tell you; I am about 8 counts away from stealing JayZ. So watch out, B. I have this one, and I am not afraid to vlog about it.