Idol Wanna-bes

I misread my American Idol wristband. It didn't say, "I'm with crazy girl." It said, "I'm with not-crazy girl." Birdie wasn't weird 6 a.m. Hula-Hooper. At 6 a.m., Hula-Hooper broke loose from her section of the American Idol street cattle pen to climb the steps to city hall and, on its veranda, perform her Ode to Idol. As she wasn't singing, I would have thought her to be ordinary St. Louis weird, except an American Idol logo covered the front of her long denim wrap skirt. A few bored souls filmed her. I wasn't that bored. I was eyeing Angel Wing. Not because she was winged at dawn, and possibly a vampire, but because she lacked cowboy boots. Nearly everyone got the message, "Let's dress like Carrie Underwood!!!!!" Pepto Girl overdosed on the message. Her cowboy boots were pink. Her skirt was pink, and possibly feathered. Her blouse was pink. And her blonde hair had a big pink bow, which got me wondering why her hair wasn't pink. There's a lot of pink hair in the Idol crowd, and some pink tights, and one six-foot Banana. The Birdie Bunch ignored Pepto Girl, Angel Wings, Hula-Hooper, the Banana and a bunch of really bad practicing "singers." Decked out in tie-dye, they were on Ryan Watch, which brings me to the lie that Birdie told. At 7 a.m., Ryan Seacrest whizzed by on a golf cart. The Birdie Bunch squealed, except for Birdie. She blinked. I blinked, too. Neither of us saw him. But we said we did. In Idol-wanna-be land, Ryan sightings are, well, Ryan sightings. No one worth their Idol salt blinks mid-Ryan. My ears survived, because Birdie didn't squeal; my bladder survived a huge, complimentary Red Bull without waking up any potty-dozers; and no one lost an eye. At 8 a.m., the Scottrade Center opened its doors. Wristbands intact, and tickets in hand, the Birdie Bunch and I, along with Pepto Girl, Angel Wings and everyone else walked in.