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Airing My Dirty Laundry by Jackie Papandrew Idol worship Now that we are deeply embedded, as a nation, in yet another season of the cultural juggernaut that is American Idol, I have a confession to make. I too am addicted to the show. In fact, I’m a rabid fan. And I am deeply ashamed. Until last year, I was a relatively normal woman living a relatively normal life. I’d managed to resist Simon’s siren call for a full four years. But then, when Season Five started, I took the first step down that slippery slope. I decided to watch one show, just to see what all the fuss was about. And then, with guilty pleasure, I watched another show. And another. All that excruciating self-delusion, broken up by occasional displays of true, spirit-stirring talent, was irresistible. Soon, I was hooked. At first, the obsession was fairly harmless. I eagerly anticipated the program’s tuneful trifecta of days (Tuesday, Wednesday, and sometimes Thursday), rearranging my schedule to ensure I wouldn’t miss a moment of it. I snuck out of an inconvenient PTA meeting, feigning an emergency, so I’d be home in time for Ryan’s affable recap. I avoided chores and ignored obligations, remaining idle as I fed my Cowell craving in front of the television. I sang into my hairbrush when no one else was around, dreaming of myself in the klieg lights and indulging in silly fantasies – that AI would raise its age of eligibility to 50, and that the public would suddenly become enamored of a certain middle-aged mom with a tin ear and the musical talent of a duck. But then my behavior became alarming. I started scolding my children in a snide British accent and addressing my husband as “Yo, dawg…” And when family members sang Happy Birthday to me, I rudely critiqued their technique. “It was a little pitchy for me,” I heard myself saying as their faces fell. Then, feeling remorseful, I gave them a Paula pep talk. “You just need to pick a better song next time,” I said gently. After one especially inspiring broadcast, I was desperate to cast a vote for my favorite singer. But the phone lines were jammed. So I unwisely kept my spouse awake way past his bedtime by hitting the redial button every few seconds on the phone I’d hidden under our bed covers. Each time the button beeped, he’d press his hands to his ears and utter threats that would merit one of those blue AI logo profanity blurbs over his mouth. “I’m just trying to get through so I can vote!” I snapped at him. “This is important!” “You really need to get a life,” he responded blearily, heading for the couch with blanket and pillow in hand. It seemed I was enslaved by this zany slice of the zeitgeist. When I started surfing the Web to read the latest Idol gossip, shelled out $10 for a subscription to American Idol Magazine and downloaded the Soul Patrol ring tone, my loved ones began to wonder whether I was still of sound mind. Fortunately for all of us, Season Five came to an end just in the nick of time. Forced to give up my habit cold turkey, I wandered the house aimlessly for days, gazing forlornly at the TV, and alternately caressing and cursing the remote control. I put away all my Idol paraphernalia and bravely faced the prospect of many long, silent months ahead. And then, magically, it was time for Season Six. And once again, I am all a-tingle with excitement. This year, though, I’m hoping to maintain a certain decorum and stay out of the dawg pound with the members of my family. As long as they don’t try to hide the phone from me. Reading Airing My Dirty Laundry, by award-winning writer Jackie Papandrew, is like diving into a hamper full of hilarity. Jackie airs out her rather soiled sense of humor about everything under the sun – from the comfort of granny panties to the agony of aging gums and sagging, er, gams. She tickles the funny bone with tales of troublesome teenagers, the trials of testosterone and using Formula 409 as foreplay. Jackie's writing has won awards from the Florida Magazine Association, the American Association of Business Press, and the Florida Freelance Writers Association, among others. Her humor columns have appeared in a variety of publications, including the Chicken Soup for the Soul series and the Cleveland Plain Dealer. Please visit JackiePapandrew.com to read additional humor columns and to sign up for a FREE email version of Airing My Dirty Laundry. You can contact Jackie at Jackie@JackiePapandrew.com.
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