Last weekend I went down to Hollywood Florida to audition for The Biggest Loser. I went last year and met two women with whom I am still friends. In fact this year I auditioned with one of them as a team. But I've got to tell you, the whole thing was a big fat rip off; pun intended.
We waited in line five hours outside of the Hard Rock Casino, enduring disparaging looks from drunk asses staggering their way home at five in the morning. If you are hammered, shoeless, alone, no purse or phone, with your too tight, I guess you could call it a dress, caught in your cottage cheese ass crack, while your fake boobs bounce precariously out of the top of your hooker red garb, and you stumble past a line of fatties three or four times, while looking for your car or your pimp or whatever, I don’t think you should throw nasty looks. At least the queue of chunks was looking for a way to help themselves.
Then there was the lanky waif who asked what the line was for. Pestered by the reproachful inquiries, on of the portly crew informed the poor witless imp that we were all waiting for the cupcake eating contest to start. This drew only minor snickers until she doubled back and queued up with the rest of us. She did look rather hungry. Her boyfriend soon rescued her and whisked her off in pursuit of a hot sign at Krispy Kreme.
Despite the onlookers, the first three hours in line weren’t too bad. We laughed, told stories etc., but then the sun came over the building behind us. We spent the next two hours standing in the south Florida sun trying to keep our hair and makeup looking good for our audition. Audition…what a load of crap. When we finally did get inside, we waited more and then we were herded into an arena where we had to run a gauntlet of vendors hawking everything from fat burning water to diet programs to sugar free chocolates. (The chocolates were actually pretty good.) All that time in line and then we have to walk through a live infomercial just to get two, regulated by a girl with a stop watch, minutes with a casting person. And, there were eight of us in each group, so that gave you like thirty seconds to “audition”.
At first I was disappointed that we did not get picked, but now that I think about it I am relieved. One day I will be a healthy weight, I will be published and maybe even sort of famous. So, do I really want clips of me in spandex shorts and a sports bra all over You Tube? I think not. Or more realistically; do I want everyone where I or my husband work to know exactly how much I weigh? I’d rather give you my checking account number.
So that’s it for my attempts to humiliate myself on national TV. Unless of course I get the call from Deal or No Deal; I would so take the deal at any offer over $250k.