10 Days for Tina Fey — Day Four

On this day four of my 10 Days for Tina Fey series, I’d first like to thank GLW for starting a facebook cause to further disseminate my pleas.  Should the facebook cause lead to Tina Fey actually reading my script, I will krump in front of GL.  Too bad I already krumped (aka epileptic chicken dance) at my wedding, but this krump will be far different because I will put myself into costume and pretend that I’m actually auditioning for SYTYCD.  I digress.

Speaking of reality television competitions, the hubby and I were watching a DVR’d episode of American Idol this morning, and it got me thinking.  I’ve always found it strange that a contestant will “sing” to the point of blood actually dripping out my ears, and when they are unequivocally informed that singing is not a career that should ever be pursued, the usual response is to sing again, and even louder.

So I thought to myself . . . what if Tina Fey actually reads my script and tells me something along the lines of, “Oh hell no.  Bitch, you really should stick with the legal profession.”  What would I do?  Would I try, try, and try again until Tina Fey became so fed up with me that she allowed me be a runner for the entire cast?  Would I hang my head in defeat and attempt to find a silver lining by asking if Tina Fey needed any legal assistance?  Would I become confused as to my ultimate goals and respond like an Idol contestant by doing my best version of “Vision of Love,” with a staccato wave of my right pointer finger in the air and shoving my left finger in my ear as if I had a faux-earpiece?

Upon reflection, I now cannot mock the aforementioned Idol contestants, because I too would utterly embarrass myself and my entire family for one more chance at impressing Tina Fey.  Like a broken record, I would break out every joke in my repertoire, hoping that something would stick and change Tina Fey’s mind.  I would moonwalk, do the funky chicken, and make shadow puppets, praying that one of these otherwise useless “talents,” would induce a laugh.  I would not care if the induced laugh was one of discomfort, of Tina Fey feeling pity for the shameless woman baring her comedic soul.  Like Meatloaf circa 1993, I’d Do Anything For Tina Fey (sans the But I Won’t Do That, because I will — believe me, I will).

Savor my devotion.  Discover me, Tina Fey!


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