Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Karaoke Kamakazee

This is non food related - but since I've been so busy lately, I thought I should provide some pre-humpday humour. I hope you enjoy!


I have this friend who is one of the nicest people you could ever meet.

She volunteers for about eight or nine different causes, regularly donates her money to people in need, and attends church almost every Sunday.

But when I say "almost," it's because every now and again this "good cop bad cop" mechanism in her brain resets itself to what I like to call "bad to the bone mode."

And this, otherwise pious, God fearing woman becomes a Karaoke Kamakaze.

What is it about karaoke anyway?

On the take it or leave it scale, most people will, assuredly, leave it.

However, there is a small, but fierce, pocket of the population, who - when in possession of a mike - cannot help but channel their inner Rod Stewarts or Shania Twains, and once started cannot usually be stopped.

Furthermore, give these people a few drinks, and their hidden entertainers not only come out, they will go into fierce competition with every other Karaoke Kamakaze in the room.

I should know.

Because God help me people, I'm one of them.

Don't let appearances fool you.

Your average Karaoke lounge is as vicious and terrifying a place as any biker bar.

And probably more so because your garden variety crooner does not look particularly scary.

But look beneath the surface and you will find someone who will scratch your eyes out to get onto the mike one last time, and would hand over his first born to get an appearance on American Idol.

Just for the record... that scene in My best Friend's Wedding where the female character is cheered for being a bad singer at karaoke... that was completely manufactured Hollywood propoganda.

Hardcore singers, even those with smiles on their faces, hate people who don't take the process seriously because it takes up precious mike time.

Which gets me back to my friend.

It was a Friday night not long ago around eight pm. I was sitting in the family room with the Pool Boy watching Ghost Whisperer when my phone rang.

The PB muttered something about not answering it, but he was too late - I got it on the second ring.

I hadn't heard from my friend in quite some time as she had been in church going mode for about three months.

Pretty much since her last stint at The Quaterway Pub's Friday night Karaoke where she brought the house down with an unforgettable rendition of "Hey There Little Red Riding Hood."

But the bad cop gene had kicked back in that friday night and she was raring to go.

To put it mildly, The Pool Boy was not impressed when I told him I was going out - and particularly when I told him with whom.

"For God's sakes," he bellowed from his chair, "You're already in your pyjamas. Call her back and tell her you can't go."

"I can't do that," I explained - my karaoke launch sequence had now been activated and was fast approaching defcon 5.

"She had a fight with her husband and needs my support."

The PB just rolled his eyes and went back to Jennifer Love Hewitt.

I met her at the lounge about an hour later, and by the time I got there, she was already in full blown kamakaze mode with four song choices and a duet already submitted to the dj.

But she was mad as a hatter.

Apparently that most nefarious of all large groups had come into the bar, The Wedding Party, and all present were sufficiently liquored up enough to want sing.

My friend was already onto her third Alabama Slammer by this time, and in response, had another on the way.

I'll go on record by saying that this is never a good sign with this particular church goer, and I decided to stick with Pepsi.

By last call, she was buying rounds for the bar and was up at the mike with one of the groomsmen singing "I've Got You Babe."

All I could think about was how much the night was going to cost her, and I knew there was going to be a long stretch of church following this one.

When the waitress brought the bill - and after I assured her for the 10th time, that I would, indeed, be driving - my friend went up to pay the tab on the bar's interac machine.

She was up there for quite some time, and when she finally came back to the table she looked frightened.

And for good reason.

Apparently she had forgotten her pin and punched in the wrong number sufficiently enough that her account had been frozen - leaving me with the $350.00 tab.

And let me just say,

The $350.00 bar tab was not fun to explain next month when the Mastercard bill came in...


I loaded her into my car.

And though I may not have mentioned it before, she is not the smallest woman in the world.

Which to me is neither here nor there except that it took a fair amount of hoisting and maneuvering to get her adequately belted and situated.

But when I did, I drove her to my house where the plan was that she would sleep it off.

I was going to drive her to the bank and back to her car in the morning.

Best laid plans and all that.

It was about 2 am when we pulled into my driveway.

To her credit, she managed to get out and halfway up my front walk before the urge to vomit hit.

She hit the deck somewhere in the vicinity of my azalea bushes.

But the ensuing problem became one of gravity.

What went down, did not, unfortunately, want to come back up.

And half passed out by this point, I couldn't get her off my front walk.

The fear of God was in me as I imagined the scene if the Pool Boy woke up and found us out there.

So I tried to hoist her.

First from the front, and then from behind.

It was no use.

The woman had fallen and she wasn't getting up.

Just as I was coming to terms with the fact that I was going to have to wake the Poolboy - afterall, I could hardly leave her lying in my front yard all night - a group of young 20 something guys drove by, spotted us, and came to my assistance.

The first few tries to get her up were nothing short of disastrous.

But it was on try number three that, what is referred to today as The Incident, occurred.

Two guys were hoisting from the front, while a third brought up the rear and pushed from behind.

We're not sure how it happened, but in the next moment, the elastic waist band on her slacks gave way, and before the young man in the back could sufficiently avert his eyes, it was Full Moon over Memphis.

*cue the terror stricken screaming*

To his everlasting credit, though, after he recovered, the young man continued.

It took all three of them, with me directing traffic.

But we managed to get her into the house, onto the couch, and snoring before Pool Boy was any the wiser.

The next morning I was reimbursed, and my friend resumed church the following Sunday.

And how was your weekend?

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  1. oh my gosh! If that was on video you would make a fortune, so funny!
    Does she read your blog I wonder,

  2. Not nearly as much fun as that story! I agree with Laurie, if this were a video you could win a fortune.