I Tried Out for American Idol. Twice.
It sucked both times.
Maybe I was naïve to think it would be a fun time. My mom and I were turning it into a girls trip, and both of us were just as excited. Even if nothing happened, the experience alone was sure to be worth it, right?
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
Not that it was all bad. The auditions were in New Jersey, not far from Manhattan. My mom booked us a hotel for a few nights in East Rutherford since sign-ups and auditions were on different days, and we planned to spend the day before try-outs roaming the streets of NYC. That was the fun part.
But New Jersey sucked.
You couldn’t pump your own gas, lanes would just end with no road signs to warn you, beer and wine was only sold at liquor stores, strangers walking in your opposite direction would rather barrel you over than step an inch to the side, and most of the drivers seemed to think that pedestrians in crosswalks meant “slam the gas.”
