Adventured in Karaoke part 2 (Everybody Loves my Baby)

So, the whole fiasco at Possum Pub was actually meant to be a warm-up for tonight. For the first time since our son was born (5 years ago) we went out singing. Never mind that I am just getting over laryngitis. Never mind that there are presents to be bought and wrapped and a holiday dinner to prepare. I wanted to go, and damn it, we went.

We landed, pretty much by chance, at the Lost Acre bar in Romeoville. It was sort of brightly lit, and didn’t look too promising at first, I must admit. At first we couldn’t locate the karaoke area because it was just on one end of the bar, with some tables pushed aside to make room for the singers.

But . . . what the hell. We sat down and ordered a beer. The “stage” such as it was, featured a decently-voiced Elvis impersonator in a white t-shirt, singing “Love Me Tender.”

No sooner has my butt hit the chair, than Elvis wanders over and starts singing to me. I am with my husband, mind you, who has removed my coat for me, brought me a drink, and in all other respects acted like he is with me, as opposed to having shared a ride with me. Elvis takes my hand, leads me to the stage area, and shoves his mike in my face. Remember the old Stick-Ups air freshener commercials where the lady opens the closet and a giant smelly gym sock comes out? When this guy opened his mouth, giant mugs of beer should have been coming out. Gag! But here we are, at the front of the room, in front of this guy’s friends. I will be singing in front of these people in a few minutes; I don’t want to alienate my audience at first sight. The lyrics for the next verse are coming up; well I need to warm up anyway, so I take a deep breath, get my bearings and belt it out!

As the last notes of “Love me tender” die away, Drunken Elvis tries to plant a juicy one on my lips. I duck and make my way back to my table, where my beloved is laughing hysterically.

My first song is Reba McIntyre’s “Fancy.” It’s a good song, right in the middle of my range, and I do it well. Big, big applause. As I walk to the bathroom, I am nearly accosted by my new fans. I should have brought some business cards to hand out! One man grabs me and tells me how much he liked my singing. A couple more grab me and ask my name, where I am from, etc., and how come they never saw me here before. By the time I make it back to my seat, Ted was laughing at me even more and asking whether he was going to have to fight somebody for my honor.

At this moment, another man gets up to sing. He looks a little bit and sounds a lot like Barry White. Drunken Elvis appears at my side and asks me to dance. I turn to Mr. O’Reilly for help. “Go on,” he tells me, “Have your fun.” I shoot him one last frustrated glance as I am pulled to the makeshift dance floor. Someday, I vow, he will pay for this.” –> –> –>[if gte vml 1]> –>[endif]–> –> –> –>[if !vml]–> –> –> –>[endif]–>

Drunken Elvis Pulls me close against him—too close. I am struggling to breathe. I pull back, only to have him blow some more beer-sodden breath in my face. I glare over Drunken Elvis’s shoulder at my husband, who can’t stop laughing. Drunken Elvis does a pelvic thrust and attempts to grind with me as he is ostensibly slow dancing with me. I am backing away while trying not to humiliate anyone, least of all me. He is thrusting, I am backing. What a sight we must make.

When I get back to my seat, I punch Ted in the arm. “You know what, Romeo?” I hiss in his ear. “That kind of thing wouldn’t happen to me if you would ask me to dance sometimes!” “Oh, you want to dance?” He replies, all innocence.” –> –> –>[if gte vml 1]> –>[endif]–> –> –> –>[if !vml]–> –> –> –>[endif]–>

And the night goes on. We take our turns singing with the dozen or so other singers in the bar. I am just getting over some laryngitis, but still I want to sing. I actually sing until I am hoarse. “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” does me in. I croak the last few notes. Drunken Elvis approaches me again and insists on another dance.

There is no deterring this man. While he is attempting to discretely grind on me (as if I wouldn’t notice) he starts telling me, “You know, you are a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful . . . .” I point out, “And I am also very married!” Did he really think I would bring one man to a bar and then attempt to pick up another one? Dude! What are you thinking?

Apologies ensue. When the song ends, he walks me back to my seat and thanks Mr. O’Reilly for allowing me to dance with him. “Hey, man,: he replies, “She’s her own woman.” Not helping my cause, I think. For once, I do want to look as if I am under somebody’s thumb.

Later, Drunken Elvis will corner my other half at the urinal and tell him all the stuff he already knows, how lucky he is, blah, blah. But now Ted’s song is coming up. He has put in a doors tune, “Break on Through (To the Other Side)” I am watching him sing when a long instrumental break interrupts him. And I mean LOOOOONG—like maybe 16 or 20 measures long. As I watch is face, I can see him start to snicker. When I look to the lyrics screen I see why. I begin to blush, and scrunch down in my chair while the words hang, in large white letters, in front of the bar for all to see. My honey can hardly contain himself with laughing as he belts out:

EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY!

EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY!

DOORS lyrics

Karaoke Adventure part 1 (Why what happens at work should stay at work)

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.

Karaoke Adventure part 3 (The back story: Paradise by the Dashboard Light)

If I have one guilty pleasure, it is definitely karaoke. I would go singing every night, if I could.

To say I am a karaoke slut is almost an understatement. I would be a karaoke whore if I could find a way. Which is to say, I would do it every night for a living, if I could. And I would never get tired of it.

Mr. O’Reilly is the one who got me hooked on it. It started innocently enough, long ago, when we were still “best buds” and I had no idea it would ever come to anything more than that. Mr. O. began dragging me out to sing because he needed a partner for “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” and I was the only fool willing to get up there and embarrass myself. Ted and I did our first Paradise duet maybe 9 years ago or so. We got better than polite applause, I mean people REALLY clapped. I was hooked.

That was, like, 9 or 10 years ago. As we moved through the phases of our lives from “lifelong childhood friends” (to paraphrase the first Mayor Daley) to “misery loves company drinking buddies” to “fuck buddies” to actually dating, karaoke was one of the things that remained a constant source of pleasure, joy, arguments, jealousy, and entertainment

“Paradise” is still the best thing we do. If you don’t know the song, it is really 3 mini-songs that tell a story. It starts out with a teenaged boy, parked by the lake with the prettiest girl in school. As the action gets hotter, he becomes convinced that “We’re gonna go all the way tonight . . . .. Tonight’s the night.” Then the main action cuts to the grainy sound of a baseball announcer as heard over the AM radio. The commentator describes a player’s daring run around the bases, all of which is a double-entendre for the boy’s progress with the girl. Just as the player (and presumably the boy in the car) is about to slide into home, the girl yells out “Stop right there, I gotta know right now, do you love me? . . . And will you love me forever? ” They argue but, of course the girl wins this round and the boy swears he will love her “until the end of time.” The last part is about both of them grown and married, “praying for the end of time, so I can end my time with you.”

MEATLOAF lyrics

Over the years we have refined this 8 ½ -minute song into a mini-musical theater production. I sing almost the entire backup as well as my own part, and we act out the whole song even as we are singing it. The whole make-out scene during the baseball commentary is just a boob-groping, ass-grabbing groin-grinding good time, punctuated with my live moans over the ones on the track. When it comes to the part where the girl cries out, “Stop right there!” I push Ted away so hard he is forced to stumble, even though he knows it’s coming. We pour a ton of energy into this performance. And it is hot! And the audience loves it.