Will Sing for Beer, Part 2!

As you know, I am a VERY talented Sing-er.  So talented, in fact, that I won a karaoke contest a few weeks ago.  In case you want to read the first installment chronicling my rocket to fame, click here.  I was the only contestant and won by default, but still.  I won a $25 gift card and received strict instructions to return on Tuesday, September 27 to defend my title.

I gathered up a posse made up of a high school girlfriend, various neighbors, a PTA member, Cub Scout moms, the baseball coach’s wife, (who received a text from said coach stating that kids are "fed, bathed, and in bed."  Whatdya want, a cookie?  It's 10:45!) and the mother of Large’s former classmate.  My babysitter’s parents showed up because someone didn’t read the invitation carefully and missed the reference to "big girl panties" and "fun moms."  This proved useful later, however, as Babysitter’s Dad and I belted out a particularly stirring rendition of "Endless Love."

I carefully considered my song choices and happily took suggestions from my girls.  Some things we discovered during this process:

• I prefer male singers to female because my voice is not soprano.  I will make exceptions for Ms. Dolly Parton, of course.
• This precludes any songs by Bonnie Raitt.
• I don’t feel that the Black Eyed Peas are a logical karaoke choice.
• I am not above singing "F*** You," the dirty version, by CeeLo Green . . . although this led to an uncomfortable conversation about words I will NOT say, like any dirty word beginning with a C or any references to female nether-regions.
• "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" is ALWAYS a hit because it crosses all cultural barriers.  It's the I'd-Like-to-Buy-the-World-a-Coke of karaoke songs.  

There is a gentlemen at this establishment who also competed last time.  He fancies himself quite the crooner.  Unfortunately, for all of us, he is not. 

Let's get one thing straight.  I talk a lot about how talented I am, etc.  This is called sarcasm, folks.  It’s part of my charm.  I don’t think I could complete a sentence without using a little dash o’ sarcasm.  What I say and what I think are two different things.  For example, when I reference my womanly physique, I am WELL aware that I need to lose about 100 lbs.  (50 lbs. at the bare minimum.)  Likewise, when I describe myself as a pillar of strength in emotional situations, I am being facetious. 

So I asked my girlfriends to tell me honestly . . . “do I suck as bad as that guy?  You’d tell me, right?”

I mean, I know I am not the next American Idol.  I do not have the X Factor.  I’m more of a sing-in-the-shower kinda gal.  I can carry a tune, but I don’t want to embarrass myself too badly.  I’m not going to get up there and attempt anything by Whitney Houston, that’s fo' damn sho. 

no pride.

Meanwhile, I have decided that there’s not really a contest.  They just keep giving me $25 gift cards in hopes that I’ll bring back more paying customers as I move up the ladder to imminent stardom.

"Endless Love?"  I am willing to admit that it may have been that bad . . .