2003-03-19
2:59 p.m.

The Dream

Okay, so here's the dream I had last night:

I am one of the Top Twelve, dressed in what Paula and I have oft-described as Wet Seal Hoochie Gear.

(Can someone explain to me why it is that once a woman is firmly ensconced somewhere in the top double digits of this competition, she has to start dressing like a cross between Li'l Kim and Jack Wild as The Artful Dodger? It can't just be to get Paula Abdul to say: "Great look!")

So I'm dressed in this gear, and I honestly don't know if I've performed or not, but I'm watching the rest of the show from the side of the stage, and I see that Clay is escorting each performer on, giving him or her a hug and what looks like a pep talk of sorts. I am suddenly filled with shame. What am I doing besides sitting here on my fat ass? And there's Clay, being as selfless as always. What Would Clay Do?

I suddenly remember that I've left my backpack in the "hospitality room." Curiously, it's the olive drab backpack I used to carry in high school. I am pondering this when I turn around and see that I'm at some kind of a reception. At one table are all my friends who graduated a year ahead of me. They are happy to see me, and had no idea that I was on "American Idol."

At the other table are all the kids in Student Council who didn't like me. Then this girl named Kathy (who, in junior year, actually told me I was "disgusting" for being willing to cut all my hair off to play Anybodys in West Side Story) sneers at me: "I hope you loooooooose."

Then I woke up.

Discuss.

-Lisa