And after I forgave you for Batman.

Well. Haven’t I gotten myself into quite the pickle? Thinking I could make wild extravagant promises because I wouldn’t have to follow through on them. Well, George showed me, didn’t he? Never underestimate the power of the Clooney. The Pony is gone and here I am, stuck in a position most of my (so called) friends will gleefully tell you, I am not relishing in the slightest. I have to tell a boy that I like him.

Ye gods.

I don’t have the slightest inkling of a burgeoning sprite of an idea how Bruno will take this. I don’t even know 100% for sure that he doesn’t have an existing girlfriend that I just haven’t heard about because I don’t ask the right questions. Or if he’s gay. Or recently divorced. Or even worse, a scientologist.

I do know this much. He’s funny, clever, enjoys taking the piss out of me, is freakishly knowledgeable about movies I’ve never heard of, has an adorable smile and some of the best forearms I’ve seen outside of an episode of early season three ER. In other words, I find him quite attractive.

But you could fill fourteen Olympic sized swimming pools with the fear inside me when it comes to actively flirting with a boy I like. A boy I don’t like? I am Flirty McSkirtoff. But present me with one who actually makes my heart go pitty pat that little bit faster and I delve fully into my mucho aggressive ‘I’m funnier than you, and clever-er and you don’t impress me one little bit with your beautifully brown eyes’ mode that apparently fails to get across my attraction. Strange huh? Surely my caustic, burning wit coupled with the ability to drop an ace punch line immaculately into the conversation at the pitch perfect moment, followed by stalking away nonchalantly because I don’t care if you have anything to add because can’t you see that I’m done? is the best possible way to meet and attract men. Right?

Apparently not. Apparently, men can’t read my mind and don’t necessarily know that when I’m being a total bitch to them it usually means I’m besotted. Apparently, men have forgotten that they used to be the boys who pushed the girl they liked over in the play yard. Or (and more likely) men have moved on and I’ve been left behind with retarded social skills that would appear to have screeched to a halt at the same time that the rest of me hit puberty.

Yes, this will be a massive step for me. History (mine) says it won’t go well. I’ve never been good at relaying my emotions in the non-written sense. Speaking involves saliva and my tongue seems to swell to three times its normal size and there’s no spell check. Oh and for those who have already been asking how it went, I will be waiting until AFTER the play is finished. We play husband and wife, which involves a lot of handholding and cuddling (no, there’s no kissing. Freaks.) and if I throw open the door of my heart and he hurriedly shuts it (I'd like to formally apologise for that analogy), I would rather we not have to continue performing with any uncomfortable . . . . uncomfortableness. So in under two weeks at the cast party it shall be, regardless of how hideously cliché that is.
To quote Ferris Bueller : Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

So this is me. Trying not to miss it. Ye gods.

I ask that it please be gentle.

Paging Doctor Seuss

An ode to DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee

I do not like him, I do not,
Not on my toast, not on a yacht.
I wouldn’t mind him in a cage,
But will not stand for him on Rage.
He can’t be Idol, not for real?
Does not impress, does not appeal!
I would not, could not let him sing,
He’s just plain bad, and here’s the thing -
If he is Idol, I shall scheme,
And hire a torturer to make him scream.
And if they catch me, “care not” I’ll say
“For he deserved to die this day”
In jail I’ll sit gladly, for my wicked plot
For I do not like him, I do not.


Team Kate
Heaven. Kate is good. Kate hits all the right notes. She sings the absolute bollocks out of this song to the point that Impossible Dream hangs its head in shame and slinks to the back of the Best Songs Kate Has Performed On Idol line. But Mark has his hate-on so very very hard for Kate and I get so angry with him that a cloud of red rage envelops me like PigPen from Charlie Brown. It reminds me of Mark saying on Inside Idol before the Elvis week that if she didn’t get a touchdown from him for Impossible Dream that she should be going home. I scream this in an incoherent manner at Fosse who flinches on the sofa and gets that look on his face, the look that says just agree with everything she says and maybe she won’t kill me in my sleep.

Like A Prayer. Kate is good. Kate hits all the right notes. She doesn’t so much sing the bollocks out of this song, but she has an awesome time on stage and it as infectious as bird flu. I can’t stop smiling as she sings but say (in a much calmer tone because the judges haven’t started ripping her to pieces yet) that she will never ever get a touchdown from Mark because he’s a complete wanker who hates Kate so very very much. Fosse gets that look on his face, the look that says he thinks it’s a very real possibility that Charles Manson had a child nobody knows about who grew up in a small country town in the north-west of Western Australia and eventually moved to Melbourne, started watching Idol and writing a blog and who one day . . . just snapped.
Kate does not get a touchdown. Kate gets slapped down again and basically told that they don’t want her in the final two. She is ridiculously professional about it all for a nineteen year old being humiliated on national television for being consistently competent and pitch perfect. At nineteen its entirely possible I would have leapt off the stage and started bitch slapping someone. Hell, that’s possible now . . .

DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee
Faith. DtmOtpL sucks all the sex out of this song and somewhere George Michael suddenly decides he might give girls a go for once. He is tuneless and the slow bit is particularly painful so it is almost a relief when he drops George’s version and awkwardly segues into the Limp Bizkit version. He hurts my head and my eyes. I beg him to stop. The judges don’t like his arrangement. I don’t like his very existence any more. I read old blogs where I liked him and it saddens me greatly. Mark calls him a one trick pony and right before my head explodes I scream at Fosse that he’s reading my blog. Fosse just looks pained.

Tainted Love. Pony doesn’t even try to do the Soft Cell version but jumps straight into the Living End one. He actually mimes the lyrics. I am not making this shit up. HE MIMES THE LYRICS. Girls scream, a couple of little boys in the front dance frantically, I cry for the Youth of Today. The judges love it to little tiny pieces. Mark says he wanted something more melodic and the Pony gave it to him. I ask Fosse if I just had a stroke and if I’m still speaking English because obviously Mark and I have different ideas of what melody is. Fosse wearily answers that we are quite simply not the demographic Pony is aimed at. I wish he was aimed out of a cannon into the same shark infested pool that this show is currently jumping.

Emily the Coldly Anointed One
Baby, One More Time. Emily doesn’t suit this song, her lower register is too weak and can barely be picked up by the microphone. She does some weird dance moves and tries to liven up the end by shrieking and wailing and I can’t muster the strength to even hate her anymore. I perk up a little when Kyle disses her, but he is shouted down by Marcia and Mark. I sulkily whisper a Shut Up Marcia under my breath but my heart isn’t in it anymore.

I Will Always Love You. I will always hate this song unless I am watching Best Little Whorehouse in Texas and Dolly is singing it about Smokey and the Bandit and even then by the time she gets to this song I’ve usually flicked to another channel because – Burt Reynolds? Ugh. I thought Emily would actually sing this better than she did, her upper register seems to lack a little control and too much vibrato but she is still a thousand times better than the Pony, I don’t care how entertaining he is. Her IWALY looks down its nose at the Pony’s Ben and sneers menacingly, causing it to whimper and run away. She gets a faux touchdown from Holden. He says he’s going to sit on his hands because he doesn’t want to manipulate or influence the voting in any way, but then proceeds to say Australia should vote in the best singer and barely contains himself from running up on stage and shouting that we shouldn’t continue with this sham of a competition because Emily is the winner, right??!! I hate him with every fibre of my being.

Final Two – I would love the final two to be Emily and Kate, I really would. I don’t particularly like Emily’s style of performing – the constant glorying noting, the humble tears, those RIDICULOUSLY large hoop earrings she wears, I think Emily is my punishment for being allowed Chanel last year – but nonetheless, I think she and Kate deserve to be the Final Two standing. But I’ve tipped Kate to go because, well, my mama didn’t raise no fool and 27 votes last week aside, if Lee actually goes tonight I will be surprised. **

**Fosse made a deal with whatever higher being he believes in (Judy Garland, I think) that he would be a good boy from now on if the Pony left tonight. I made him take it back - because you shouldn’t promise what you can’t deliver, right? – and instead promised the higher being I believe in (George Clooney) that if the Pony leaves tonight and we get Battle of the Diva’s and I get to yell Lets Get Ready To Rumble on the final performance night I will give that boy that I have a crush on that I’m in the play with (lets call him Bruno) my phone number. This is a mammoth step for me.