Eat Shrink And Be Merry

Okay, I’m so psyched because it’s Tuesday night! And that means American Idol! Yeee-haaa! (I think it’s “Country Night” tonight, coincidentally, so that little exclamation is in honor of Dolly Parton’s appearance as guest mentor to the final 9 contestants. Tuesday night is the night I drop everything, cancel any previous engagements, re-arrange my social calendar, get all my work done early, make sure my dog is good and fed and watered, so that at 8 pm Eastern time I can completely give every ounce of every brain cell’s attention to Idol. I know, it’s pathetic! In the bible, don’t they warn against worshipping Idols? Oooh, I’m in big trouble with the Big Guy upstairs!

This is how addicted I am: Last Tuesday, I was staying at my sister Greta’s house. (She’s about as dependant as I am, but is in total denial of this very true fact.) Anyway, there was a raging snowstorm that entire day (with side-ways, blowing snow). At exactly 7:49 pm, we turned on her TV, only to discover that her satellite was down because of the storm. Nothin’! Blank screen! Eeeek! Panic set in as the clock ticked away.

“Whose house could we drive to? What other addict lives no more than 10 minutes by car?” Never mind that vehicles were strewn in ditches alongside the roads and that radio broadcasters were urging everyone to stay home. Didn’t they know that Brooke White and David Cook and Michael Johns were about to perform? Neither rain, nor sleet, nor driving snow would stop us from tuning in to hear what Simon Says and to piece together Paula’s non-sensical sentences. (Actually, we really like Paula a lot. We met her, ya know!)

Brilliant as she is, Greta deduced that I should climb onto the second story of her farmhouse’s metal-shingled roof, locate the satellite dish, and make sure there wasn’t any snow obstructing it. So I did! No hesitation whatsoever. Out the second-story bedroom window I went. It was kinda steep and kinda slippery (well, really slippery, actually), but thankfully Greta was clutching onto my left ankle so I wouldn’t plummet to my early death. Anyway, like some kind of Super Hero-ess, I managed to brush away the offending snow with a lovely mint-coloured bathroom towel while hugging the satellite wiring for comfort and support, snow driving into my face and the wind blowing my hair to smithereens. I looked like Medusa (snake-head) when I tumbled back into the bedroom. And voila! Ryan Seacrest’s voice! It worked! And just in the nick of time!

Greta and I need some help, obviously. Does anyone else suffer from this same American Idol addiction? If so, maybe we can start some kind of support group. Idol-anon, or somethin’. I’m reaching out, and so should Greta.