April 3, 2006

Idle Idol dreams

Last night I dreamed that I was one of the 10 remaining contestants on American Idol. In my dream, I forgot that I can’t sing. In fact, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Tone deaf, I believe is what they call it.

Anyway, I was America’s Sweethart, and I dressed as such. For my performance, I wore a white GunneSax-type dress. You remember, the ones with the poofy sleeves, and half-round faux pearl buttons that graced the center of the lacy bodice. The shoes were sandals, I believe my mom’s old white Yo-Yos. With suntan hose, of course. My hair was longer and blonder and curlier. Oh, and I had big boobs that I kept glancing down at in disbelief (not while onstage, of course).

I can’t remember the song I sang. Some ballad, perhaps by Mariah Carey, who makes my ears bleed I don’t care for so much. It was so realistic when Ryan Seacrest greeted me after I sang, asking how I thought I did. I replied “Awesome! I tried to make it my own.” (Boy, did I.) I don’t remember the judges’ reactions, nor whether the audience greeted my performance with raucous applause, or the silence of a funeral home. But I shaped my fingers to signify the number eight as Ryan recited the phone number to call to vote for me.

As I watched the TV broadcast a few hours later, I thought “Holy crap! I suck wax fruit! Why the hell am I even still on this show?”

Then it dawned on me.

I ran to check the website responsible for keeping Kevin “Chicken Little” Covais on for so long. My fears were realized when I saw this.

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