Naive, bud weiser

Last night I met a friend at a local bar. It was Tuesday night —aka Karaoke night. Yes, that’s right my friends. It used to be more widely popular, but now the singing fad has evaporated into the bar scene background.

Thankfully, if you are secret wanna be pop singer like me, you are glad a few bars have preserved the activity. I love to sing, and although I perform better in private -- I occasionally like a public appearance. At home, the acoustics in my shower are amazing and I blow Mariah Carey away. You’ll have to trust me on that one.

Anyway, I got to the bar before my friend, and when I walked in I realized there was a Christmas party going on. That explained a packed parking lot in a place that’s usually vacant—especially at the beginning of the week. It was all starting to make sense.

As I waited by myself, several people from the party approached me to say hello and to offer the food that was being served buffet style. Finally, my friend arrived and he and I delved into the song book absorbing every title and artist’s name like sponges.

I couldn’t decide what to sing. Was my voice strong enough for Streisand? Christina Aguilera? Or, would I put everyone to sleep with Cyndi Lauper’s, True Colors? Would I get nervous and start shaking causing my soft voice to slip into vibrato like some opera sensation, or would I remain calm? These thoughts poured through my head as I tried to pick one song.

This girl from the holiday party approached my friend and I to say hello. She was asking us what we were going to sing. She was very cordial and of course, we were friendly back. I figured she was an overfriendly girl that had been drinking. After awhile, she took a seat with us at the large table, and we thought nothing of it.

I asked her if she was going to sing, and she replied, she was waiting for her “partner.” I wondered about her use of the word, “partner,” but I figured she was referring to someone as her singing partner.

Finally, I filled out the slip of paper and got up to sing, True Colors. Boy am I glad only one person knew me—it was hilariously rotten.

Anyway, the nice girl kept talking with us and finally I think her partner arrived. Another girl with a ton of nose, nostril and ear piercings, but I wasn’t intimidated. In fact, she wouldn’t even look at me. Strange.

I finished my amaretto sour and then switched to water since it would be better for my voice if I dared to sing again. As I looked over the book of songs once more, the girl with no name, asked me what I was drinking. I showed her the bottle of water and she said, “because I’d like to buy you a budweiser.”

Whoa, back up please. Did I hear what I think I heard? The chick was trying to pick me up. I leaned over to whisper into my friend’s ear, but he just laughed.

Later as he walked me to my car outside, he said he knew all along! How did I not know? .partner? ….overfriendly?...intense eye contact? No way. So, then I wondered, do I look like I’m into other women? Do I dress boyish like? But then, what is a lesbian supposed to look like? Hmmm. Should I be flattered or insulted? I’ve remained indifferent, but I couldn’t wait to tell my boyfriend. I knew he’d get a kick out of it.

When I got into the car to leave, the smell of smoke in my hair, on my skin and clothes overwhelmed me. It had been awhile since I’ve stepped foot into a bar. And let me tell you, I forgot what it was like to be in a bar with cigarette smoking since the law went into affect banning the stuff in restaurants. Yulch. I couldn’t wait to go home and shower. In fact, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in the bar scene. In just under a year, the rules have changed fast!