Will Sing For Beer!

It has been well established that I don’t get out much, so when I do, I need to make it worth my while.  Last week while my girlfriend K and I were escaping dining at a new Irish bar in town, we discovered that they host karaoke every Tuesday night.

Aw, snap.

This kid never had a
chance.  What kinda parents
name their child Mista Fingaz?

A few gals from the neighborhood gathered at the bar after we completed our home-making duties: getting the kids off the bus, entertaining them for a few hours, feeding them dinner, bathing them, reading them stories, and putting them to bed.  Now it’s time for mama to get her groove on.

We arrived at the bar and ordered our drinks, but I'm pretty sure our waiter was thinking we'd never been let out of the house before.  I ordered a beer on tap because, surprisingly enough, I’m pretty low-maintenance when it comes to my beverages.  There’s always one in the group though: she wants to know the specials and how much are the drinks and do you have cocktails.  I gently reminded her that for-the-love-o’-pete-we-are-in-a-bar, of course they have margaritas.  Later in the evening, the same waiter brought us big ole glasses of water.  This is the international signal for slow your sh*t down.

I grabbed the song book and began perusing for my signature song, “9 to 5” by Ms. Dolly Parton.  In my next life I want to come back as a country singer, and specifically, I want to be Ms. Dolly Parton.  She is smart and sassy, and she’s just the kind of woman I like. 

Because I’m known to be reserved, introverted, and shy, I also belted out:

• "Rocky Top" – My girlfriend, a Kentucky native, sang with me.  I assume that as a child she sang this song every day in elementary school, right after they recited the Pledge of Allegiance.  I realize "Rocky Top" is about Tennessee, but jokes about Appalachia are always a hit.

• "Paul Revere" by the Beastie Boys – because who doesn’t want to hear a suburban white woman sing about her posse and her license to ill?  I also perform at weddings.

• "Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw" by Jimmy Buffet – because I’m nothing if not classy.  This is the musical number I sang when I entered the karaoke contest.  And I WON, because I’m THAT talented!  And also because I was the only one who entered.

• "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba – We ended the evening with this catchy ditty, and we may have been getting a little silly . . . “I get knocked down, but I get up again . . . I get knocked down, but I get up AGAIN!  . . . I get knocked down, BUT I GET UP AGAIN!”

Meanwhile, one of the gentlemen sitting next to us moved in for the kill.  He began with me; I think he started with the weakest of the herd.  Alas, his “charm” was no match for my sharp tongue, and I saw free drinks in my future.

“How old are you?” I asked, and I guessed 25.  Ding, ding, ding!  “Really, you’re 25?  Do you live in your parents’ basement?”

“No, I don’t live in my parents’ basement!  I live over by ***** Elementary School.”

“That’s kinda creepy.  Is that where you stalk your prey?”

“Why are you so mean?” he asked.  And yet he kept hangin’ around.  Some people are just gluttons for punishment.

“I can’t help it,” I replied.  “And yet you’re strangely attracted to me, aren’t you.  So, what do you do?  Personally, I'm unemployed.”

“I bought my father’s business, so I own my own business.”

“Is it Microsoft?” I wondered.

“No.  It’s a painting business.”

“If it ain’t Microsoft, then I don’t give a sh*t.”  Seriously dude.  In my younger days I dated a crab fisherman, a fry cook, and a lifeguard.  You’re trying a little too hard to impress us.

I really am mean.

His friend began meandering over to our table, now that his 25-year-old business ownin’ buddy broke the ice for him.  “So how old are you?” I asked.  So polite.

He said he was 38, which made me happy since I could not POSSIBLY have given birth to someone his age, like I could the child who was now making his way around to the other side of the table. 

“Are you his dad?”  I pointed to Mr. Business Owner.

“What? No!!  We’re neighbors!” 

“Okay, okay, pipe down.  He said you’re his assistant.”  I just had to stir the pot . . .

“I’m not his assistant!  I work at Cisco.”  Or something like that.  I wasn’t really listening.  Maybe it was Costco.  No, it had something to do with technology, blah, blah, blah.

“You just sold him out!  You’re the worst wing man ever!” 

Wing Man wanted to help choose my next song, and he chose Jimmy Buffet, which is fine, but when I asked him how he felt about James Taylor he said he was "okay."  Thanks for  playing Wing Man, but that answer was INCORRECT.

And so it continued.  I tried to convince Mr. Business Owner to sing a song of my choosing, but I wouldn’t tell him which song I chose.  I promised that the song I chose was familiar and that  he’d know all the words.  Alas, he didn’t take the bait.  Good thing for him, because my song choice was “Away in the Manger.”

This is the part that will make Hubby proud:  I lifted my drink, snapped at Mr. Business Owner, and pointed to my near empty glass.  Then I waved to our waiter and announced, “this guys buyin’ me a drink.”  I said to Mr. Business Owner, “do you know what my favorite beer is?  FREE beer!”  And . . . that’s how ya gets the free drinks ladies.

We decided to call it a night, and several of us hit the restroom first.  We walked in only to discover a fellow patron, who was significantly younger than we are, barefoot and vomiting.  Our mommy instincts kicked into overdrive as K asked her repeatedly if she was okay and I brought her boyfriend into the restroom to help retrieve her.  I had noticed earlier that she and her boyfriend were doing shots, so I asked if it was her birthday, to which she replied, “no, it’s a Tuesday!”  Oh honey.  Pace yourself.  THIS is why we don’t do no-it’s-not-my-birthday-it’s-a-Tuesday shots.

And in case you’re questioning how much sophistication I bring to the table, I give you this parting shot: