Wednesday, October 16, 2013


Yesterday I did not post a blog. I would like to say this was because I was doing something heroic, like pulling puppies out of a burning orphanage so that the kids I had already rescued would have their beloved pets. Or maybe because I was doing something really cool. “So, yeah, I didn't really have time to write my blog because Justin Timberlake came by the house and picked me up to go have dinner with him and Jessica Biel right before went backstage at the Maroon 5 concert”. Or even if I could have been doing something noble; for instance I couldn't write because I was feeding the homeless and someone stole my laptop and I said it was okay because they needed it far more than I did. And after I made that declaration, the thief brought the laptop back to me, tears streaming down his face and he apologized for his misdeed. I realized he just needed it to feed his family, so we went together and sold the laptop and I gave him all of the money for it. I would love to say that. The truth however, is, I forgot. I have a really good reason for forgetting though. I spent the first two-thirds of the day goofing off and then fell asleep and then woke up just in time to shower and get ready for... KARAOKE!

I love karaoke. I love the smokey bar (yes, in Virginia people still smoke in some bars), even though I don't smoke anymore I like the smell. I like the people who are having a good time, the guys that flirt with you because they are too drunk to pay attention to your BMI and for now you look like America's next top model. I love the laughing and the dancing and the lights and I adore the loud music. I find karaoke sounds better and better as the night goes on. By the time a person is six green jell-o shots in, everyone sounds good. I don't know why some of these people are not on the radio. Unless! Unless you are so very bad that even drunk people will notice. There are always one of these singers sometimes more, but at least one every time; and God love their hearts, they clap for me every single time I get up there too. For instance, remembering P!nk's performance at the 2011 Grammy Awards Show, I got up last night and sang Glitter In The Air. My rendition would have made P!nk cry. Really. Probably she would have needed puppet therapy. I broke that song, but I had a great time doing it. Had I had the time, I was up to slaughter a perfectly good Evanescence song too, but it was time to go.

You know, for the life of me, I can't figure out what happens when I get out of my car. When I'm in my car, I sound just like P!nk. For that matter, I sound just like Aretha Franklin. I sound even better than she did! Move over girl and give me some R-E-S-P-E-C-T, because I am the greatest singer in the world! What you want? Baby I got it! Whatchu need? You know I got it! Can I sing Cher songs in the car? Honey, if she could turn back time, she'd have turned it back and had me sing for her so that she would get even more famous! I am a rock goddess in the car. All singers bow to me and pay me tribute and worship my vocal cords. I crank the music up all the way and I know in my heart that The Love Shack and my car are both where it's at. But then I get out of my car to go into the karaoke bar and I seem to leave the magical bubble of singing abilities at the car. I think my car must have this musical force-field around it and when one walks out of this force-field, one can no longer sing without the risk of dehydrating someone else's eyeballs. I confidently stride up to the KJ, slip him my piece of paper and wait, giddy with anticipation until he calls me up to entertain the masses. I try to make the cane I have to walk with look cool somehow (Like “Look, she comes with her own mini-stripper pole) and I get the microphone in my hand. My dear KJ, Allen, has learned to turn the microphone off while he's pulling up the song, because if you give me dead space and a microphone I will put the two to use in any way that bounces into my head. “...and here's my Bill Clinton impression!” So, yeah, Allen turns the mic off. Then my song comes on and I am up! This is my moment! I open my mouth and the magic begins! Have you ever heard a cement mixer rotate gravel while someone scratches their nails down a chalkboard in a musical manner? Well, that sounds better than me. But I have so much fun! Nobody cares that I sound like someone being raped by a moose, they buy more drinks, cheer me on and clap like mad when I'm finished. I've never heard one “boo”. Everyone knows the unwritten rules are, if you don't have the guts to get up there and do it yourself, then you don't get to criticize those who do, and if you can do it better, put your money where your mouth is and get up and sing it. But no one gets mean. No matter how many songs I sign up to destroy in one night, I have always left with my self esteem intact and a dob of jell-o shot on my chin.

For now it's back to raising kids and cleaning bathrooms and doing laundry I will never catch up on, but occasionally I am a rock star!

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