As the guest talent coordinator for a basic cable network, it is often my job to escort B/C-Listers through the doldrums of Hollywood. Typically, on my ever-so taut arm, I am normally ushering supporting sitcom guest stars and Independent Spirit Award nominees; in short, you wouldn't know their name (or their face), but they make a paycheck doing what they love. And although I have a security guard with me at all times, it is rarely necessary; not even the tabloid-reading, celebrity-starved Hollywood vacationers notice the guests on my roster...
...Until Dancing with the Stars! Apparently, I am the only midwest-born American who does not watch this show. Because everyone and their grandmother seem willing to dance kick me in the throat just to snag a picture next to their favorite Wait-Who-Are-You-Again BoxStepper.
If one more fat stretch-pants-wearing trailer-dweller elbows me in the gut to get closer to Joey Lawrence, I'm going to AwesomeBlossom their backfat into next Tuesday!
WeLCuM 2...
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