I stared at my rack of shoes, now displaced in my “office” and wondered to myself about how first impressions could be. I figure I was going to be rejected anyway so I grabbed the comfortable brown shoes with the scuffs on them. If I have to drive down to Jersey City, I’d rather not wear the boots that turn me from 5’6 to 5’8. Either way, that mysterious growth in height is just deceiving marketing.

I went up the stairs to fix my hair. It had already poofed out because I spent too much time playing Rollercoaster Tycoon 2 to calm me down. I plopped in the product as best I could with dry hair and realized I needed a haircut. Before I could make it back to my room my mother reminded me that we’re having Father’s Day dinner tonight and I should get home as quickly as possible. Great, she probably just predicted that I will be lost in New Jersey, my GPS telling me to make legal U-Turns for the following hour.

My only lunch today consisted of reheated McDonalds. I stood over by the oven hoping i didn’t burn the bun. I crisped it, but like an idiot I decided to touch a melted puddle of cheese, stinging my finger. Then I realized that a) my victory/defeat meal consisted of day-old McDonalds and b) I was eating cheese, a big no-no for singers. I crossed my fingers and hoped that for once McDonalds made their cheeses out of oil and FD&C Yellow No. 5.

I got up to pee, set my GPS and headed out. I grabbed my short sleeved shirt that I haven’t worn since last May 2009; it was the shirt I was wearing the time I got rejected on the Disney version of American Idol. Irony. I tried my best to get some sort of comforting message from Mark, but I knew that the combination of his archaic cell phone with my moody BlackBerry I’d get “I *fizzle fizzle* you, so *fizzle*.” I’d hope that fizzle actually meant something about luck, love, or even confidence. I better have confidence. I decided to Rick Roll myself.