To the beat of the rhythm of the night, singing karaoke till the bouncer
intervenes. Pass the mike…
11:00 PM Anticipating my first drink, I laugh at the guy singing “Soul
Provider” by Michael Bolton.
11:15 PM One drink. I poke gentle fun of the woman singing “Hard to
Say I’m Sorry” by Chicago.
11:25 PM Two drinks in, the music starts making sense. I tap my feet to
Abba’s “Voulez Vous” and think, “Hey, I could do that.”
11:35 PM Three drinks. I’m convinced I could fare much better than
the George Michael look-alike singing an impressive rendition of “I Want Your
Sex.”
11:40 PM Four drinks. Slipping into a groove. Finding myself. Singing
along to U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name.”
11:45 PM Five drinks down and I’m bitter. Disgusted by the earnest
rendition of “Endless Love” sung by a drunken couple wearing matching acid
washed jeans. I grab the song list.
11:50 PM Bathroom break. I take a minute to collect my thoughts, but
for some reason can’t stop the tune in my head. “I Will Survive” by Gloria
Gaynor. The song annoys me, but yet, is curiously inspirational.
12:00 PM Six drinks. Dutch Courage warms my veins. I march onstage to
sing “Hound Dog.” Note: All true karaoke singers have at a little Elvis in
their repertoire.
12:30 PM Seven drinks. I am alive. I relive Bruce Springsteen’s,
“Born to Run.”
12:50 PM Eight drinks. Singing to the Bee Gees from a far off corner
of the bar.
1:00 AM While strutting into the bathroom, Travolta-style, I trip and
land face first on the tile. Hmm, I recognize that scent. Urine, perhaps?
1:10 AM Nine drinks. I’m the newest kid on the block, rocking out to
“Step by Step,” working my New Kids moves of yesteryear. Audience members
consider the possibility that I’m the real deal.
1:25 AM Ten drinks. Struggling. While slurring the words to Michael
Jackson’s “Bad,” I grab crotch. Was it my crotch? Hopefully.
1:45 AM Eleven drinks. Still pleasing the crowd. Belting Britney’s
“Baby One More Time” as the bar clears out. When the music stops, I wish I
that I’m wearing a plaid skirt and knee socks, but can’t explain why.
1:59 AM Last call. Afraid to let go so I bust out a little “Cup of
Life” by Ricky Martin as the bouncer personally escorts me and my friends to
the front door and hails us a cab.
