If you like The Dancing Housewife, you might like my other blog, Just Another Ordinary Day. You also might find it interesting that when I first launched it, I was obsessed with Dancing with the Stars so there you have it. I was intrigued by ballroom dance way before I ever set foot on a dance floor, but wait. It gets better. For reasons I cannot even begin to explain, I was so obsessedwith Dancing with the Stars, I actually fantasized
I don’t want to brag, but I received a surprising number of messages, comments and emails from folks inquiring about my first ballroom dance competition. So here’s the word: AWESOME.
Those of you who knew me before my career as uber-housewife-and-mother will understand my joy when I tell you hitting the competition dance floor was like reliving my gymnastics days without all the dangerous acrobatics and tumbling passes. Plus I got a snuggy just for entering. As if that’s not
I’ve been a Dancing with the Stars enthusiast since the first episode aired back in 2005 and in all those years of live television I’ve not witnessed a single embarrassing wardrobe malfunction. It’s an awe-inspiring phenomenon that never ceases to amaze me: all those well-endowed females gyrating in skimpy outfits and never an exposed boob or butt cheek to speak of. Then I did it. I said YES to the dress and… Suddenly
Old habits die hard. Even though I am chasing my own mirror ball these days, I can’t seem to get Dancing with the Stars out of my system. I was practicing at the studio until 9 o’clock so I wasn’t able to see the entire season premier last night, but I caught enough to make a prediction. My pick to win it all: Alfonso “Carlton” Ribeiro. No doubt about it, the beloved star of the hit
After making a career of finding whatever job paid the most while supporting my husband through medical school, I gave birth to our first son. Seven cities, three states, a second son, too many tropical fish to count and a dog later, I found myself, on one very dismal February morning, standing catatonically on the back porch of my suburban Atlanta home. A gentle breeze stirred the air and the sound of a fluttering plastic grocery bag, stuck in the branches of a leafless dogwood, caught my attention. That's me, I suddenly thought, a hollow, empty version of the me I used to be...