A timeline without any calendar dates: I perused the interwebs, as I am apt to do, and discovered one afternoon the Utah Jazz would be holding national anthem auditions in October. And by perused, I mean I typed “Utah Jazz national anthem auditions” into Google because that is the kind of girl I am. Naturally I decided I needed to head up to downtown Salt Lake City and stand in line at the EnergySolutions Arena with a ton of cute Mormon girls with great singing voices and then, petrified, sing for strangers with a red card.
I hate strangers with red cards.
The point of the red card was to cut people off who
sucked had provided for the judges enough song to make a determination, but naturally it meant nothing. Right. To reiterate, I hate strangers with red cards.
But luckily I wasn’t carded and made it through the entire anthem (all minute and a half of it, which further proves that red card really did mean something — don’t tell me you don’t have time to hear us all sing it because it’s the shortest song ever) and then, wonder upon wonders, I actually got chosen.
Me, little Mary from the block, singing at a basketball game in front of thousands and thousands of people, put up on the Jumbotron for all to see.
The Low Point
First of all, we know how much I do not want to be on the Jumbotron tonight. But then on top of that, I have been blessed with an enormous zit, which you and I both realize will be amplified about a millionfold (give or take a couple thousand), and probably by tonight it will have morphed into a human person because that’s just how my luck goes.
And I was really having a fantastic day till Husband mentioned to me the impending doom of performing in front of thousands of people, with a video camera shoved in my face, and then I became hysterical. Performing always seems like an awesome idea, but the panic attacks always insist otherwise.
Also, I need a haircut.