I May Not Have Won a Bloggie, but I did Win a Dance Off and That’s Good Enough for Me.

So, y’all remember how I’m an elite Yelper, right? The other night, I attended a sweet Elite event at my favorite breakfast restaurant, which happens to conveniently live across the street from me…for 17 more days.

At this delightful event, we were served mimosas, crepes and French toast…in our pajamas. And you know how I feel about breakfast. I love me a pajama jammy jam if there ever was one, and any opportunity to wear my sparkle camo slippers in public is a big win.

There are sequins on them, I swear. Also, don’t judge my Polish cankles.

Anyways, so I found out at about 7 that the Bloggies went and lied, saying they were tweeting the winners on March 31, but really they did it on the 30th. Whatevs. I was over it with three swigs of my mimosa. (I was honored to be nominated for THREE flippin’ categories, and it makes my heart happy that y’all supported me in this endeavor. So thank you!)

But THEN the Yelpy community manager, Candice was all, “Hey there’s a dance off!”

And I was all, “Pants on dance off, right? No public pants off dance offs, right?” Because sometimes you have to confirm that shit.

My pal, V, was chanting like “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

And I’m thinking to myself, Fuck. I’m not wearing a bra…

And then I thought…But I have mad dance skillz. 

OBVIOUSLY, I danced anyway…

And tied for first place. It was a great honor for sure, because my dance moves were rocking (not). I did the running man, the twist, the Chrissy (basically bounce around like a fool until someone tells you to sit down before you hurt yourself) and many more. And I looked like an ass. But people think I’m funny…or they feel sorry for me and I got a gift card to go back and get me some corned beef hash bennies (it’s the best corned beef hash ever. Even better than my own corned beef hash recipe!) *drool*

And here’s a video created by one of my favorite Yelpvendors Andres D., photographer/videographer extraordinaire!

Have you ever participated in or won a dance off? What did you win? Would you do it? What would you dooooo for a Klondike bar (or an ice cream sandwich cake)?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

That one time I dressed like a Backstreet Boy

I don’t mess around.

When I lose a bet, make a deal, make a promise, I. Don’t. Mess. Around.

So let me give you the back story. In 2010, I was the President of the Lombard Jaycees. You may remember my previous tale of whoops, I screwed up and didn’t read the fine print when I was president. (BTW, I finally figured out how to acquire the video, so I’ve updated that post as well if you’re interested in more videos of me making an ass out of myself.)  This story is kind of like that. But not at all.

So, I was a cocky son of a bitch when I was president. I had a plan. A plan to be the best in the land. And I made a bet with the National Treasurer. He bet me that I couldn’t increase the membership in my chapter by some random number. And my best friend, Ally and I said, “Screw you, we can TOTALLY do that. When we win. And we will. You will owe us the best cheese party in all the land.”

And so Treasurer said, “Ha! Silly proud ladies! You will not win. When you do not win you shall dress in drag (well, the girl version of drag. So you will dress like boys. And dance. And it will be hilarious.)”

You see, Treasurer had previously lost a bet in which he had to dress like a lady.

I’ve actually experienced this several times in my life. I’m really good at hanging out with people who do really crazy shit when they lose a bet. Note to self: Must find video of different guy singing to Chicago soundtrack in ladies clothing.

Of course, I didn’t really realize how much of a toll student teaching would take on the last 4 months of my presidency or my life for that matter. And we lost the bet.

But Ally and I are good sports if nothing else. And if you haven’t figured out my love for the limelight yet, you’re not keeping up.

So we scavenged Goodwill stores across Chicago land on the hunt for: puffy vests, rip away pants, and muscle shirts. Then we got some giant temporary tattoos from a vending machine, and taught ourselves how to dance.

As we made our way to the year end conference, we were made aware of one thing. The social/mixer where we would be showing off our moves? Was definitely now open to the public. In years past, it was just conference attendees–Jaycees only. But they hired a fancy band to play and were letting the public come on in. So there were going to be a few extra sets of eyes on us.

We weren’t worried.

So that night, after a formal banquet we ran to our hotel room to change.

From this...

From this…

...to this.

…to this.

Backstreet Boys 2 Backstreet Boys 3

Yes. We dressed up like “Backstreet Boys.”

And then we danced our little hearts out. To a crowded room full of people. Some strangers. Some friends. And we rocked the SHIT out of that place. And I FINALLY got a hold of video proof that it happened. And that we were sort of awesome.

Afterwards, Ally and I had our own cheese party in our hotel room. Because life is just plain better with cheese.

Blog Friends, have you ever lost a bet? Did you ever have to publicly embarrass yourself for funsies? What did you have to do? Am I alone in this one?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Sneaking In is WAY Harder than Sneaking Out

I thought I’d talk to you guys about sneaking out. Or in. Or doing some type of “sneaking.” Me? I don’t think I’ve ever snuck out. I was a good kid. My mama raised me right.  (If you didn’t read that one, I highly recommend it.) I didn’t drink or do drugs. I didn’t do too many crazy things. I mean, I was a teenager at some point, so I did SOME stupid shit… (Like piling a lot of kids into my Explorer) but I was overall a pretty good girl.

One weekend, though. Columbus Day Weekend. My senior year of high school. My brother and I were left to our own devices. Sort of. Because there was Felix. Grandpa. G. However you sliced it, our 85 year old grandfather still lived with us. But my brother and I had big plans that weekend. My best friend (who was also my brother’s pal) was going to sleep over. And we were going to go dancing at Zero Gravity (the juice bar that we weren’t allowed to go to-because there were drugs there…even though I had already been there a few times over the previous year. Sleepovers were great.)

Sneaking In

Elizabeth’s mom had a pretty high regard for me among most of her friends, so it was easy to say she was coming to my house. Neither of our parents knew that there would be dancing at the club. (Or should I say in da club? What do the cool kids say these days?) Our other friend Rae came over to join us, though she wasn’t planning on sleeping over.

We got ready by dressing in tiny spandex skorts and skimpy sparkle shirts, said goodbye to G and the four of us hopped into Melba Toast (the Explorer). We made our way to Zero Gravity (which seemed SO FAR AWAY-and really I live like 10 minutes from it now).

We danced our little hearts out. Warded off dirty older (like 19-year-old old) guys by dancing with each other. My brother was falling asleep on the bench, so he took the keys and went to sleep in the car. When the club closed, we made our way out (around one I think), and headed home.

I’ve drawn a little “art” to demonstrate how we got home.

Going out Dancing and coming home to a locked houseSneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...Sneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...Sneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...Sneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...

The stupid dog was going to ruin EVERYTHING.

Sneaky!

Yes, I would leave him to believe I was just in the laundry room…for God only knows why. Real bright, Chris.

Tricky Grandpas and Tricky Granddaughters

He mumbled a lot of shit under his breath about not believing a word I said, but he went back to bed anyways. After I was assured that he was back in his room, I “let the dog out” in order to let my brother and Elizabeth in. We went to bed and all was (sort of) well.

When your grandfather still doesn't believe you

G mentioned it again when my parents came home, but I just kept brushing it off. Hopefully, he knew I still loved him even though I lied through my teeth…and let’s be honest. I’m a TERRIBLE fucking liar.

How about you, Blog Friends? Ever snuck in or out? How’d that work out for you?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!