Dear Taylor Hicks:
I'll go ahead and admit this now: I can't find your single at the record store. And not only that, I still can't believe that I went there looking for it anyway. Which can only mean one thing: You're pretty damn close to making my Celebrity Boyfriend list.
Well, okay, so I found you entertaining (at best) during American Idol. I did say I was willing to buy tickets to see you live - but I didn't want you to win, and what I really wanted to do was to wait until you could open your own show on the Strip in Las Vegas so I can finally get an excuse to go there that doesn't involve blackjack or shoe shopping.
But nooooooooooooooooo. Not only do you end up winning the whole shebang, but you won because of a fanbase more rabid than the People's Republic of Clay Aiken in their heyday. (And, dude, I liked Clay, too, before he started getting all weird and stuff.) And that just kills my dreams of you taking over for Danny Gans at the Mirage. Or at least challenging JD Fortune to a karaoke dance-off at the House of Blues in Mandalay Bay.
And here's the thing: 1) We're both the same age, and 2) I happen to like guys with gray hair. But a reigning American Idol? Heck no. I'm not that kind of fangirl, buddy. Not to mention that your song... well, okay, so we can't all be Bono, so I'll stop right there.
But still. You have the voice, the talent, and the je ne sais quoi to back it up. Don't ruin it for us, buddy.
Hugs, Meimei
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