In college, I felt more free to pursue my dreams. Or maybe I was just more intoxicated, I don’t know. No really, I don’t know, it’s all a blur. Anyway, in 2004, I was Vice President of my sorority and wielded this mighty power to form a (temporary) alliance with a rival (as if) sorority to apply for a special edition of Trading Spaces. We didn’t even receive confirmation of our application. Oh well, the A-O-Pi’s would have ruined our living room anyway. They couldn’t even design a decent Homecoming sweatshirt.
That same year (2004 for those of you who never took Calculus) I was on a family vacation in Los Angeles and ran into the Street Smarts crew. I chatted with the host, Frank Nicotero, who let me pose for a picture with the microphone. Apparently, despite my most desperate efforts, I wasn’t amusing enough. After 15 minutes of awkward forced conversation I walked away.
In 2007, I made it to the final round of auditions for Wheel of Fortune before they cut me, presumably because I would have cleaned house. I did get a lovely golf pencil that said “I tried out for Wheel of Fortune,” totally making up for the four hours spent in traffic to and from auditions and the three hours of PTO I had to use.
My 2009 letter to the producers of NBC’s The Biggest Loser suggesting a special season for average-sized people to get even smoking hotter remains unanswered.
Jump to present time, where I am awaiting word on my most recent venture: A couple months ago my sister and I applied to the show It’s Me or the Dog on the grounds that my five pound dog Mike is such a menace to society — which he is — that he requires an immediate intervention by a trained canine psychologist. Haven’t heard anything back there, either. Meanwhile Mike continues to terrorize the neighborhood.