I am currently suffering from “This Obsession With David Cook Might Cost Me My Marriage” syndrome. Common symptoms include recording daytime talk shows, recording nighttime talk shows, spending hours searching YouTube for variations of “American+Idol+David+Cook+MyNewBoyfriend,” preoccupation with anti-aging skin care products, Singin’ In The Rain, neglecting one’s children and swooning at “Hello.”
The night of the American Idol finale, I made my mother and sister hit redial to vote for David Cook for four hours. I was panicked. David Cook is DA BOMB, DAWG, but Archuleta had the better night. In the middle of all the craziness, I emailed my friend (who you and I will call Mrs. Smartypants) and told her I was freaking out.
I’m with my sister and we’re voting for David Cook like mad. I cry when we get through because that means people aren’t voting enough to totally tie up the lines. And then I watch his old performances on YouTube and cry like he was my boyfriend and we broke up and it’s still killing us inside.
We’ve voted way over one hundred times.
Really? We’re voting for David Archuleta, we even had t-shirts made.
(This is where I nearly had a nervous breakdown. I was unable to reply.)
Don’t cry! I was only kidding. We love David Cook.
I about died over the tshirts thing. then I saw, “Don’t cry!” and started breathing again.
My mom is dialing now. She’s getting through almost every single stinkin’ time.
I’m dialing and I’m getting “all circuits are busy.”
Ooh. You get a different message. We get busy signal or “thank you for voting for super awesome baby makin’ machine”.
My sister is still dialing. I’m looking on YouTube for the scene in Raising Arizona where Holly Hunter cries, “I love him so much!”
My sister’s still getting through.
Archuleta sounded the best tonight that he’s ever sounded but DAVID COOK CRIED.
Again.
And I have a shattered little heart. If this was next week, I probably wouldn’t even be voting. I’m ridiculous with hormones this month. RIDICULOUS.
SAVE DAVID COOK!
Clearly, I was out of my mind with worry.
Because my friend’s husband has no concern for my mental health and believes himself to be endlessly clever, he said, “Tell her ‘David is Cooked!’” I told her I’d only forgive his VERY UNFUNNY remark if they made a CD for me.
Yesterday, the CD was waiting for me in my mailbox. I shrieked, shredded the envelope, ripped open the case and crammed the CD into the player. Once I’d pulled myself together a little bit, I looked at the case and thought it was so nice of them to make a cover and include the song list because that wasn’t necessary but totally nice. Mister Smartypants is so totally forgiven.
Later, she asked me if I saw it.
Uh, what was she talking about? Did I see what? Huh?
Oh. Who’s that other guy on the cover? Could it be… MISTER SMARTYPANTS?
WELL AREN’T THEY JUST HILARIOUS.
