So Whitney, your fearless associate editor, and Michael Phelps, America's latest obsession, gathered in the same room last night and nobody died. That, in itself, is a victory. Nobody got engaged either, which is a slight failure, but the entire evening was one of the best nights of my life, so I'm not sad. Well, maybe a little.
To kick off the evening, my plus one and I arrived at Bowlmor Lanes to celebrate the bowling alley's 70th anniversary. Colie, some washed-up former Real World-er, was taking names at the door and herded us upstairs to the fifth floor, where we were handed glasses of champagne and encouraged to eat ??? and I was in heaven. There was filet mignon, mushroom-stuffed chicken breast, Caesar salad, pasta … and a chocolate fountain. I am, admittedly, a food whore, and this chocolate fountain made my night. I stood in front of it for a good 10 minutes, taking strawberries and dipping and eating them one at a time. The rest of the line had to go around me to get to the dessert tray while my plus one walked across the room because she was embarrassed. I don't blame her.
Once the food portion of the evening was out of the way, I looked for my name at the end of the press line, but alas, it wasn't there. No Whitney, no Whittle, nothing. I didn't let that stop me, so I just crowded toward the red carpet with the rest of the media, most of whom just wanted to ask their obligatory Michael Phelps questions and go home to watch the debate. Aubrey O'Day showed up with her poor, sad dog, then Donnie (another Making the Band loser), then the guy from Cash Cab and a couple of silver medalists from this year's Olympics (photo with them below). At this point security got tight and made sure everyone in line was supposed to be there, which meant I had to beg and smile with my eyes ??? which worked. And then came Michael.
After the entire place exploded with screams and camera flashes, Michael made his way to the end of the press line so everyone could gather around him in a huge crowd and yell out questions. This was not the format I was hoping for; I was anticipating a one-on-one interaction, complete with a ring and proposal. Oh well. We asked if he has a girlfriend, and he refused to answer. We asked about his dog, and he said that Herman missed him while he was in Beijing but recognized him right away. (Aww.) We asked about swimming, and he admitted he hasn't worked out much since he's been back in the states. Someone asked about his favorite thing to do in New York: "Hang out." Good one, Mike.
Overall, he was incredibly nice and charming. One of the girls who stood next to me in the press line said that she had hung out with him a couple weeks ago and he was a great guy. I asked if she could hook me up. No dice. After Mike walked off, Benji Madden showed up to pose for pictures and refuse the press. Nobody was really angered by that, because everyone was heading downstairs to bowl alongside Michael.
Downstairs, I got a rude awakening when I discovered that the open bar was over and I had been charged $1,509.70 for a glass of white wine. I kid you not. This really hampered my ability to stalk Michael, seeing as how I had to stand at the bar for 30 minutes while the manager fixed my bill. Not to worry though: Lipstick Jungle's Robert Buckley, one of my many crushes (and my plus one's potential future husband), walked up to the bar next to me and ordered shots for himself and some random girl. My plus one asked him for a picture, and he was happy to oblige ??? very, very sweet guy in person and even more good-looking, if that's possible (photo below).
And then we were off to bowl a few lanes down from Michael (his lane was heavily guarded), thanks to a crazy girl with big hair who accosted us at the bar and invited us to play with her and her friends. At one point, Mike and two of his friends were led through our lane by a security guard who was taking them to the bathroom. He glanced at me to make sure I wasn't going to throw my ball at him, and I tried to play it cool. On his way back, I knew this was my chance: I accosted him and asked if I could get a picture with him. "No, I can't right now, sorry." He kept walking. I was heartbroken and humiliated. I turned around and felt everyone's eyes on me. "Michael hates me," I pouted as I plopped down on the couch and looked over toward his lane. Michael had sat back down and had his arm around some other girl, adding insult to injury.
Once I finished being overdramatic, we decided to call it a night. I was still really, really happy with the way things turned out, because overall the night was incredibly fun. My mom called me this morning and asked, "Do I have a new son-in-law?" (yes, she is an enabler). It broke my heart to tell her no, I had failed. "He's going to regret that for the rest of his life," she tried to tell me without busting out laughing. I'm not worried though ??? there's always next time.
Whitney, you look gorgeous! And your mom's hilarious. Glad you had a good time regardless of anything Phelpster-picture related.
Why didn't you ask him about the Vegas strippers?!
What kind of jib-jab shop is Bowlmor running to charge you over $1k for a glass of wine???
Aw, don't worry. He looked stupid in his stupid hat anyway.
when he said "no, i can't right now" you should have dropped the ball, squared your shoulders and barked "do you have ANY idea who i work for? whittle little could DESTROY you, bitch!" and gotten your plus-one to hold you back as if you were about to pitch a fit.
maybe not the positive kind of attention, but attention nonetheless.
Look at it this way, Whittle. At least now you won't have to spend several years trying to convince your child that big ears are wonderful, that they are just like daddy's and they give daddy his superpowers. Also, this frees you up for when Lance decides he's straight.
Sorry he dissed you. I thought he was supposed to be nice? My crush of many years, Jude Law, came into where I worked about 5 years ago and he said hi to me and smiled. I lived off of that for years.
UGH..The ugly hat and fangy teeth are competing for the #1 reason he looks so retarded.
I bet he still gets laid like crazy.
whittle, i am so not reading all of that.
am disappointed you will not be giving birth to phelps' tadpoles.
also, i begrudgingly admit that he looks 50% less like butterface (butterface light!), but 100% more sideways hat wearing douche… k-fed springs to mind…
whittle, i think you escaped a tragic fate. i'm just sayin'.
At least you sacked up and asked him for a picture together…I swear if I ever meet Depp or Bale I'd clam up and melt through the floor.
You're too good for him anyway Whittle.
Whilst I do not understand your adulation for said mandolphineargoldmedaldude, I am delighted that you had fun :)
Thanks for sharing your experience Whittle Little. I can't believe MP wasn't mesmerized by your smile. Oh well, being single is more fun anyway.
Did I actually say that??? Sorry I mean, having kids and a limited social life is FAB!! So sorry you will be missing out on all the fun that is married with children.
Shit - I need a drink.
Miss Littler you are adorable, if Mr. Olympics can't see that then its his loss, you can do better. Besides, you always have G.But to fall back on.
Buck up little camper, the sun will come out tomorrow.:)
@ #9 STM
I can't believe it's not Butterface? :P
Whitney that is unacceptable behavior on his part. He lives in my hood and I jog past his condo once a week. When I see him, I'll do a run-by bitch slap while screaming, "This is for Whittle Little!"
Wait who am I kidding? My friends and I have a bet going and I so want to win the, "I Phucked Phelps" shirt. I'm just going to flirt and giggle a lot.
If he can't see how beautiful you are then that's his problem. Did that sound like mommy mode? At least if they charge you a grande for wine they could at least give you a pig in a blanket or a baby quiche. At the very least a buy one get one free deal.
Can I get one of those t shirts even if I don't phuck anyone?
Keebs, I totally made that joke last week!!
Have you been renting space in my brain? There are so many hags rattling around up there, I'm surprised you found room!
Commie this week for #5 please " Whittle little could DESTROY you bitch!"
Take it on the chin, Whit. Lord knows Michael Phelps does every time he looks into a mirror.
how much wood would a woodphuck phuck if a woodphuck could phuck wood?
Renting space in your brain, no no no, I just stop in from time to time and poke around.
*Miss Little, damn typo.
I'm telling you, Michael looks like Bigfoot if he (it?) was hairless.
Instead of the jog-by bitch slap, can we go "What Happens in Vegas" on him and ring his doorbell then punch him in the nuts. And when he says "What was that for?" Say, "You know. YOU KNOW."
That part was so funny, it has me giggling right now. :)
@ stm 22, i think it would stop after the phirst splinter.
anyway - as i read this i went through many emotions. anticipation, disappointment, aghastness, the emotion you have when you wonder if someone's plus-one is natalie maines, the confusion i feel when i think about why i like ben bailey (the cash cab guy), thirst, and horror.
let's focus on the horror. to reject whittle's request without sufficient evidence of a cause, or without even apologetically explaining the details of the things that are threatening your life and therefore preventing you from having your picture made with whittle, to behave in this manner is unpatriotic.
corey haim, you tell michael phelps for me: your charm and talent and money can't buy you good taste.
whitney as i finish this ice cream and we all engage in the inevitable post girl talk pillow fight i'd like to comfort you with this wisdom: i totally knew this guy who didnt like this girl at first then then she was all, yes, yuh huh and then he was all no, and then later he was all, yes, marry me ok?
Whitney-next year at this time no one will remember who Michael Phelps is.
I'd like to suggest we all toilet paper his house for this egregious snub upon our Whitney.
keeblerkahn: You're right, the sun will come out tomorrow. It's a hard knock life, but she should remember, you're never fully dressed without a smile.
Sorry, Alice. Speaking of Alice, here's a little irony for you (very little). Every time I read your name it makes me sing lines from a Smokie song (possibly from the 60's) called "Living Next Door to Alice" that goes, "Alice? Who the fuck is Alice?" So you make me spontaneously burst into song. Aren't you happy now?
what did the girl look like?
hopefully better looking than the nasty playboy cocktail waitresses!
Bmore Kate - you should phuck him then bitch slap him and scream "that's for Whittle Little" while you're still on top of him. That would be the best way to handle the situation.
Oh, then you should get up, put on your I Phucked Phelps t-shirt with a grumble, storm out, then lean back inside the door while making a phone with your fingers and whisper "call me!"
Shut up tennischick, you are not welcome here if you diss Whittle.
You can do better than Michael "I'm too busy being a douche to take a photo with you now" Phelps.
Whittle Little? Is that your nickname?