Bad Mood

It's been one of those days. The kind where you're irritable and stressed out and not so proud of yourself for your behavior. The kind of day where you want to give yourself a 35-minute time-out on the naughty step. Twice. The kind where you just want to go to bed and start over the next day.

But you can't yet. Because you still have a stinking audition show to watch. And we're still not done yet! Oh, the humanity! This is not helping my mood. In fact, this would be the complete opposite of helping my mood. Ellen and Hollywood cannot come fast enough.

The good thing is I've been told that people like my AI reviews better when I'm grumpy. So, today is apparently your lucky day.

Where to start? This. This is why I'm not in bed yet.

I stayed up to watch another annoying intro where Randy pretends to not know which city he's in. We get it, Randy. You're so funny. Ha. Ha.

I stayed up to watch Posh Spice dress and do her hair like an alien from outer space and to wonder if she ever eats at all.

I stayed up to watch four shallow adults who haven't ever quite outgrown high school try to manufacture a sob story where there really isn't one.

And then I stayed up to watch Kara fawn all over every sob story like it's a freaking Lifetime special. "This was very moving." Which part, Kara? That, *sob*, she has been singing karaoke for 3 years? Or the part where that one kid says he lived in Maui (or maybe North Carolina. Potato. Patata)? Or was it the one where the one girl cried when she fulfilled her lifelong dream of meeting Simon? Someone get a screen writer, stat!

I stayed up to fast forward image after image of the Colorado Rockies and gigantic crowds of people chanting what I can only assume was "No, I'm the next American Idol!"

I stayed up to watch Simon call someone lippy and mock her for being a single mother and for wearing a wig.

I stayed up to watch some guy who thinks he looks like Jack Black but didn't really.

I stayed up to hear about twenty "Yes or No, Randy?"s.

I stayed up to watch Dudley Do-Right try out for American Idol. Because you know if that strangely-conceited football player had dressed like a Mountie, he would've looked just like this:


I stayed up to watch some guy with the personality of Bucky Covington do a strip-tease-on-demand for the judges.

I stayed up to watch some kid sing as "community service." A service of what kind, I do not know.

I stayed up to find out that some girl wants to be the "first black pop country mainstream" artist. What? That's about the equivalent of saying you want to be the first Asian rock jazz alternative.

I stayed up because the producers made me think there would be someone naked on the show. Gasp! But no, instead, we got that disturbing bikini boy, not that we had to watch him make out with Ryan. And honestly? In the previews, they had the courtesy to blur out the image. It would've been less nightmare inducing if he'd been naked. I pray I don't remember my dreams when I wake up.

I'm going to bed.