Well, every so often a girl just has to have fun, right? So I went out with one of the other dancers, Audree, and a bartender Jodi, on Friday night. They wanted to go singing at Possum Pub up the street from the Playpen. Remind me never to go anywhere where people know me, ever again.
Audree, a self-proclaimed Ditzy Blonde and proud of it, had been keeping a good buzz going since I got to work, about 2 pm. By the time we got to Possum, she was even more goofy and talkative than usual. (And that’s pretty damn goofy, believe me!) I saw a whole bunch of people I know slightly from the Playpen, but I really was not going to say anything to them unless they recognized me. I was just there to sing and have fun, right? Leave it to Audree, to go around glad handing every damn person in the place, telling f’ing EVERYONE who we were and where we worked. Guys would talk to her, then “casually” wander over to me and say, “Hey, aren’t you THE Colleen from Playpen?”
My song is coming up soon, right?
Within minutes, our table was surrounded by “admirers,” the way vultures circle and “admire” a dying gazelle. No amount of subtle (or not so subtle) body language could deter them. No comment short of actual rudeness could discourage them. No amount of flashing my frankly extravagant wedding ring could convey the Unavailable message. I could not have been more clear about my status if I had hung a neon NO VACANCY sign around my neck. Apparently they thought I was just playing hard-to-get.
Where is that song?
As our table filled up with unsolicited and untasted beers, and the rabble was filling up with beers as well, all subtlety evaporated. Suddenly everybody was my buddy. Everybody wanted to stand behind me and give me that backwards hug around the shoulders, the kind that exposes the recipient’s chest for, well, whatever and brings her behind into close contact with the hugger’s groin.
NO, I am not going to give you a free lap dance on my time off. And don’t think I am not on to you. Just because the bartender cards me to be polite, does not mean I was born yesterday.
I adopted a tactic of walking my feet out in font of me and leaning back so that only my shoulders touched whichever aficionado was attempting to bask in my glory at the moment. I love me some karaoke, but, jeez, is it really worth all this?
One guy, while in this akward position, actually asked me whether I had a boyfriend. “No,” I said, “My husband wouldn’t like it.” He dropped me like I was on fire and beat feet to the bar.
What do you mean, the KJ has gone on break?
I did admit to one of my new friends, Lyle, “I am a karaoke slut. I will sing a duet with anybody.” He put in a request for the Kid Rock/Sheryl Crow number “Picture,” and so I was also waiting for that. Meanwhile, people who had been up to sing after I came in were up again. . . and again . . . .
This is starting to feel personal. What did I ever do to the KJ?
Somehow, with a little help from his beer, Lyle decided that my comment about being a karaoke slut extended beyond singing to other forms of slutdom as well. A seemingly normal conversation about music quickly degenerated to an awkward invitation to crash on his couch. Like I think it’s not going to go beyond that.
*Sigh.* This is seeming too much like work for my taste.
So where were my friends during all this? Jodi was to my right most of the time, defending her own position against the masses. I occasionally caught a glimpse of her. Audree, social butterfly, was off dancing with some guy, whose name I later learned but don’t now remember. He was an excellent dancer.
In due course, Audree got tired of dancing with him and went off to flirt with some other acquaintance. As a way of making a graceful exit, she introduced Dancer-boy to me. The few minutes that followed were by far the best of the night. I love to dance almost as much as I live to sing, and yeah, this guy was good. He also didn’t talk much, thank God.
We may not have looked like Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing, but we did look like we were trying to be them. While we were dancing, two couples came in and sat down at a table next to the dance floor. The larger of the two women glared at me. My partner spun me away, and the next time I saw her the woman, she was still glaring. I got twirled, and the next time she came into my view, she was still glaring. Sheesh, lady, lighten up. I did the most mature thing I could think of at the time. I stuck out my tongue at her.
When I returned to my table, the smaller of the two women came to confront me. This woman was just about the size of a Yorkshire terrier, and had about the same personality. Her sister-in-law, she said, was highly offended by my actions.
“I was highly offended by her glaring. And?”
“Well, she was offended.”
“Sorry ’bout that. If she doesn’t want to witness people dancing or engaging in childish behavior, she shouldn’t go to a bar.”
“Well, she was very offended,” the tiny woman continued, in classic drunken circular logic.
“Okay, I got that.” I stood up to my full height, which is about 5′9″ in boots, and absolutely towered over this woman. “Do you really want to take this outside?”
Well, of course she didn’t. “Look,”I said to her. This is my table. Your table and your friends are over there. You’ve made your point, why don’t you go sit down now?”
“You need to loose your attitude!” She tells me. I’m bored with the discussion, so I just pick up a beer off the table (I guess this was mine? Oh, well, it looks new.) and go back to watching the singers, who are still not me all the while tuning out this bitch who is delivering a new tirade to my elbow, about what a lousy attitude I have. She comes over to my table, picks a fight on behalf of her sister in law who can’t take a joke, refuses to leave, and then tells me I have a bad attitude? Whatever.
Well, not long after this we all decide that it’s been fun (In a twisted sort f way I guess) but the natives are getting restless and it’s time to go. All I could think driving home was, what a strange damn night.
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