Thursday Night Ego Boost

Thursday nights are always spent the same way every week. NO, I do not mean watching that completely retarded television show "Friends". ...

Karaoke of course! My friend Jen B. and, her sister Angie (aka lesbiana-she is not gay, well she might be, but that is another topic completely) used to always go to this bar called Harry's Nightclub. They invited me one night and the rest is history. It's not really a nightclub though. It's more like a beach bar with a few regulars and a lot of snotty people who go there to get drunk and hook up with one another. I don't fall into either of these categories though. I belong to a cult. It's not a bad cult really. We don’t harm anyone, unless of course you consider blatantly making fun of the bad singers "harmful". It's not even really a cult. We don't dress alike, we don't shave our heads, and we don't worship any kind of alien life form, or date Katie Holmes. We just sing. To Jen and me it's more than just going out, having a good time and just singing though. It's a show, a performance, and it's all about fame.

It all starts with me trying to get out of work early so I have more time to shop and get ready. If I achieve this task, I then hit a local retail store for yet another purse or fabulous accessory that I could not have before today, lived without. From there I go home and try on everything in my closet knowing full well that I am going to end up wearing the first outfit I tried on. A little bit of paint, and hair product and I am ready to go. The ride down to Harry's is usually filled with Jen texting Craig over and over about something his cat did, while I chatter on and on about something that the crew did. The scales of the accomplishments are just about equal. When we arrive, there is the usual greeting of the host, and possibly his girlfriend who will gush about our shoes. We sit in the same spot each week. It's a well planned out spot. It's close to where you stand to sing, yet not too close to the speakers. It easily accessible for men, yet secluded enough we don't actually have to make eye contact with anyone if we so choose. We agonize over what we will sing first, because if it's too good than we have peaked too early, but if it's bad people will automatically think you suck. The night pretty much continues on that same course unless something magical happens, like one or both of us trying a new song and it really sounding great on the first run through. (This has happened only twice in my lifetime) Now for some reason even, though Jen & I are scantly clad, and the best singers in the room, men rarely approach us. I have a theory that they either think we are lesbians, or they are intimidated by our talents. I am hoping it is the later of the two choices. We have a lot of male friends, but sadly, they are not what we would call "dateable".

Let's just explore why these men fall into the non-dateable area, shall we?

Randy: Aka "Wrestler Randy" Randy is a perfectly nice man, and would move Heaven and Earth for me. However, he is short (we have previously talked about my aversion to midgets), dresses badly, has bad hair, has bad teeth, and sings funny. I left out the most important part. One day Jen & "lesbiana" saw Randy jogging down the road. That's great that he cares about his health and wants to get out and enjoy the sunshine and all, but did he have to dress in one of those little wrestling "onesies"? You know the one piece, spandex jumpsuit slash short set type thing that men on wrestling teams wear? If only I had been able to see that for myself.

Wayne: Wayne would be a good catch, for someone else. He's nice once you get past the cocky exterior that he throws in everyone's face. He's kinda cute too, until he opens his mouth.

Tim: Aka "Baby Powder" Tim is sexy for a short guy (see above), but I think he only dates skinny women with large eyes, that can't dance. He wears this cologne that smells like baby powder, which lingers on everything for days afterwards.

Jen and I will probably wrap up the night by singing something fabulous. People will comment on how amazing we are, and ask us why we aren't on American Idol. We will have to pretend to be flattered and shocked that people want to hear us sing, and go home knowing that for one brief shining moment we were great.

Because tomorrow...I will feel like crap.