I Just Got Off the Phone...

...I was talking to my friend. You might know her. Her first name is Barbie. Last name is Doll. Yeah, I thought you knew her too. Anyway, we used to hang way back when I was a kid. Actually, I mostly used to hang with Barbie's black friend Christie (a shout out to Christie! Rock on, girlfriend, wherever you are!). But Barbie and I did a little shopping together, maybe did some skiing, took a few spins in the convertible, spent a couple days in the Malibu crib.

But tonight? Baribie was pissed.

"What," she ranted, "does that Carrie girl think she is doing?"

Yup. Pissed.

Note to Carrie: Barbie called. And she wants her head back.

What is up with Carrie? The big hair, the creepy shiny dress, the scary floral appliques on said dress? Does she actually believe that she is Barbie come to life? Or has reality simply taken a holiday and left her brain on vacation?

All I could do was shake my head.

Thumbs up to Connie who, week after week, continues to use his fabulous swinging hair and bad boy grin to confuse America into thinking he can sing. It's magic, I tell you. Magic. Okay, yeah, deep dark chop the head off a chicken, soul sold to Satan voodoo magic but still...magic.

I want to take a moment to chat with Anthony Fedorov. Anthony, honey, sweetie? GO HOME! GO HOME RIGHT NOW! GET OFF MY TV SCREEN WITH YOUR STUPID SPIKY HAIR AND YOUR BAD DANCE MOVES AND YOUR CHEESY VOICE. TAKE YOUR TRACHEOTOMY CLAY AIKEN WANNBE FLAT BUTT AND GO HOME. GO! GET! GET OUT! LEAVE AMERICA IN PEACE, YOU MORON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I feel better.

Scott...well, Sandie loves him. I don't know why. But I loves my sister so I'll keep my thoughts on him and his Down's head and his stupid facial hair and his lame ass voice to myself. Because Sandie thinks he's adorable. I think he looks and sounds like a hip hop Weeble on crack. But that's just me.

Anwar. Randy and Paula love him. Which goes to show you that Randy's hearing is going and Paula's...well, let's just say somebody took a few too many pretty little pills tonight. He's a nice guy. And he's great on a ballad. He's a balladeer is what he is. But he isn't the American Idol. He's just not. Accept. Live it.

Bo. He continues to slay me with his rocker thang and his excellent voice and his ability to shake the house. But I'd be shocked...SHOCKED...if he won this thing. Why? Because last week, he told America that he didn't care if he won, he was just doing this on a bet. Nobody likes a showoff. The same problem Scott has (remember Scott was Mr. Arrogant who said "at least, I had the guts to get up here and do this, a lot of people are sitting at home too afraid to even try"), Bo has. America isn't gonna stand for someone pointing out what losers we all are for sitting at home on our sofas watching total strangers get to be rich and famous while we simply are getting to be fatter and lazier. Nope. Neither will win.

Who IS gonna win this thing?

Vonzell. Yep. Vonzell. She's adorably cute (older crowd in her pocket). She's got serious booty (men and boys in her pocket). And she feels like the girl next door sans the big Barbie head problem (girls in her pocket). Plus she can sing. Plus, she has a good story. She's a postal worker. A POSTAL WORKER. She carries the mail for a living. She's a mail carrier. How sweet is that? It's so a fairy tale Cinderella thing. People love that.

Connie might win. He might confuse America long enough to walk off with the title. I can dig that. But my money is on the cutie pie with the tacky white tassel cowboy boots and the Daddy that loves her.

She's money in the bank, baby.

Money in the bank.

At least, that's what Barbie told me when she called.

This is Shonda, reporting fatter and lazier from my sofa...