It’s been almost a month and a half since I have written anything of substance here.
There have been two or three well-meaning writing attempts, but then my undiagnosed ADD combined with my writers block takes over, and all I end up with is a lot of Facebook surfing and hair twirling, as I stare idly into the white glow of my monitor.
This lull in winter is not the best for me. My body yearns for spring and summer, and my mind, in protest, engages in a sort of mental hibernation to compliment my physical one. I am not an outdoor winter person, I am a “I have a serious Netflix addiction” and hot tea person. I’m not anti-social, I just hate the cold, and I’m not really into the traditional Northeasterner Saturday night bar hopping scene. Drunk people annoy me.
I’m not a total recluse though, don’t get me wrong. I like to have fun and I like people, so I force myself to brave the cold long enough to punch my dance card every now and then. I’m not ready for the flannel nighty yet though I have been known to sport some super sexy flannel pajama bottoms adorned with multi-color snowflakes. Hey, I have to keep the goods warm somehow, right? And flannel is cozy, but I digress.
My friend Casandra and I went out for some Saturday night schmoozing. I suggested this one bar that I knew had karaoke. You know, look, if I am going to have to suffer drunk stupid people, they might as well be entertaining drunk stupid people who make my cover charge worthwhile with bad renditions of Carly Rae Jepson songs, ok?
You haven’t lived until you have seen a fat, balding, middle-aged man sing his own version of it, TRUST ME on this one! It might have been the pitcher of Sam Adams we shared that helped me to believe this was the highlight of my evening!
I don’t have a video of that, but I managed to find that EXACT guy doing a Kelly Clarkson song on YouTube, so enjoy. Don’t say I never gave you anything either!
Now to really understand the sheer head-shaking shamefulness of such an evening, you have to know that during each break when someone wasn’t brave or drunk enough to be singing their hearts out, the DJ would play some run of the mill, “par for the course” club music (read Top 40 hip hop) to which all the bedraggled 40 something women dressed like 80’s hookers, and “this is my good tie” insurance salesmenesque bar patrons would run up to the non-existant dance floor corner and proceed to hump and grind like caged zoo animals during mating season, only with less coordination and sense of purpose.
Did I mention this bar can be found at the end of a busy road that is peppered with a minimum of 5 hotels? So the air of desperation permeates the room like a thick, choking, smoke.
I know, it sounds dreadfully dire, but Cass and I were laughing pretty much the whole time. Except the time when we were singing, no wait, we were still laughing through that too!
We sang a duet to Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” because she said it was the one thing she knew all the words to, and although they have a monitor scrolling all the lyrics as you croon away, it doesn’t help much when I : A) leave my glasses at home, and B) am tipsy enough that I really don’t care how accurate I am. I had to redeem myself though because I do love to sing, so I picked a song I love, and prefaced it with this,
“I’m going to sing a sing that most likely none of you know…but I don’t give a fuck” That got an “Ooooh” from the table of 20-something, football fans in the back.
I was not too shabby if I do say so myself, and I got applause, but drunk people are easy like that. I could have sung my receipt from my Starbucks run earlier that afternoon and they still would have loved it. After all, they clapped for Carly Rae “My belly is hanging over my pants” guy too, so I’m not gearing up to try out for The Voice anytime soon. LOL Plus, as well as I know this song like he back of my well-manicured hand, I totally know I made up words and shit that night. Sam Adams Boston Lager, you are such a font of improv creativity!
The table of football-loving wish they were frat boys attempted to call me over to their table after I came down from the mic, but I just kept walking. If I ignited some fire, I sure as hell wasn’t going to go bring my match to the flame! And like I said, drunk people annoy me, and I wasn’t up for faking polite and smiley interest.
Oh yes, and there was the 3.5 minutes of Macarena line dancing that Cass left me on my own for, to be self-appointed ring leader to my own troop of drunken hip-shaking dancers, but hey when I’m called to lead, I have to answer! It’s in my blood, yo. That’s just how I roll.
This is so unlike my 20’s where such escapades would have led to this very same scene just described with me topless except for my lace demi bra, so at least I can marvel how my 30’s have matured me!
Did I mention this was all on the eve of the Daylight Savings Time switch? Thank god I had the day free to sleep in without guilt, or I would have been like Linda Blair for sure!
The moral of this story? I need to get out more, and definitely NOT to this bar!
Coming soon to a blog post near you….
1) My 24 hour experience with online dating sites
2) The continuing “hide and seek” of my libido
3) Just how many partners is “too many”
and the biggie
4) My decision to go back to school to pursue a degree in Sexology!