Last night, Beth and I went to karaoke, as we normally do on Thursdays. We saw Craig (Hot Craig, not Craig of the beret and scary moustache) and, while we were getting a table, he asked us to join his group of friends. This may have been a mistake.

Oh, hell, I know it was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake from the moment I saw the group of friends several weeks ago. Let me describe the cast of characters for you.

First, we have Stubes. I’ve mentioned Stubes a few times, with his penchant for sucking the life out of every song he ever sings and too much cologne and no concept of personal space. To say I am not overly fond of Stubes is an understatement.

Then there is Yee. Yee is an attractive Asian man, high spirited and full of personality. I guess he’s what you’d consider life of the party. Not my party, mind you, but I’m sure that he’s very popular at parties filled with young, drunken people.

There is Amanda. Amanda is pretty, dresses to the height of fashion regardless of how stupid the fashion might be (I say this because I absolutely hate the style that calls for really short sweaters that come right underneath your breasts over long shirts or lingerie. I’m not sure if you know what style I mean but it is pointless and annoys me) and has a tendency to squeal. Loudly. She has also been known to do the dance of the Hoochie Mama, a dance that seems to have no point whatsoever but to inflame the loins of every man in the nearby vicinity and scream “Hello! I am drunk! I am also quite possibly a slut! You should buy me lots of drinks and then, if you’re lucky, you can bag me! I might throw up on you but hey, I’m hot and that’s the only way you’ll get me into bed!” And don’t get me started on the whole screaming orgasm thing (the drink. Where you perch the person on the bar, place the drink between their legs and have to drink it without using your hands. Whatever happened to less is more?).

There is Rachel. Rachel is also pretty, dresses in a more laid back, “I’m a rebel” style (when I say this, I mean that she actually is dressing in the style that the cool kids wear to indicate that they are rebels. I’m sure we all went through this phase – ironic or iconic t-shirts, lots of black (clothing, hair, eye liner) and seems to exist only to crawl all over her boyfriend, dance the Hoochie Mama dance and echo Amanda’s squeals.

Then there is Shane. Shane is (well, I’m assuming since of the afforementioned crawling) Rachel’s boyfriend. I have no idea what Shane is like because, shortly after sitting down at this table, I began to lose I.Q. points by the dozens.

What, you may ask, contributed to the loss of I.Q. points? That’s a great question!

Squealing. Over every damn thing.

Stubes singing. He’s not off key, he’s not technically bad, it’s just that he doesn’t put any life into the song at all. Last week, when he was singing something that goes “Swing batter, batter, swing batter, batter” James leaned over and said “I’d like to take a bat to him.” I believe my response was “I love you.”

Craig in a cowboy hat (The guy is hot, okay? Really, really, really hot. And he smells good).

When Yee asked to wear the cowboy hat, Shane said “There aren’t any Asian cowboys.” To which Yee replied “What about Jackie Chan?” I had to echo that with a heartfelt “Yeah!” but, true to form, came up with a better comeback 8 hours after the fact when I thought “Obviously you’ve never heard of Kobe beef.”

Rachel balancing a pen on her nose. I know. And everyone applauded her (well, at her table).

Shane. Something about him just irked me so much that I wanted to grab a fork and start jabbing away. It might have been the fact that he was loud. It could have been him referring to everyone as “Bitch!” But I’m pretty sure it was the “Rock On!” said in the most irritating, aggravating way ever that put me over the edge. At one point, I grabbed my notebook and wrote in small cramped letters “Must kill rock on guy. Must kill rock on guy. Must kill rock on guy.”

Amanda saying that she was done drinking and being told by Shane that she wasn’t. I believe his exact words were “Do you feel like mud wrestling? No? Then you’re not done.” Nice, dude. Especially since she looked about ready to pass out.

Amanda and Rachel singing. Together. The combined screeching of their voices is just hurtful. Bryan has actually turned off their microphones and still, it echoes throughout the entire bar and possibly the county. As Beth wrote, “It’s very much similar to a buzz saw scraping against my spine.”

Toward the end of the night, I looked at Beth and said “The next time Craig tells us we can pull up a table, let’s not.”

At one point, I asked Beth for a fork. She said no.

As usual, Bryan ended the evening with his trademark quip.

Bryan: If you’re drinking, don’t drive. But if you must drive, hit someone you hate.
Beth (B): It’s a good thing you don’t drive. I know who you would hit.
DM: Can I have your car keys?
B: No!
DM: I’m not going to drive the car. I’m just going to back up.
B: That counts as driving.

Later, Bryan walks over. We start talking about the night.

DM: I felt very old sitting at this table. We’ve decided if Craig ever asks us to sit here again, we’ll have to say no.
B: Yes, we’ll tell him it’ll effect the feng shui of the room. The cash flow is much better if we’re seated elsewhere.
Bryan (to me): Yeah, I felt okay saying that about hitting someone you hate because I know you don’t drive. Otherwise I’d be worried.

It was a good night, full of bloggy goodness and spending time with Beth. I got called “Sexy” by Ki after singing “Give Me One Reason (Tracy Chapman)”, my groupie (okay, I can’t really call him a groupie but its fun) asked me to sing “Change the World (Eric Clapton)” for him again and, after singing “Passionate Kisses (Mary Chapin Carpenter)”, Bryan said “Let’s give Dana a hand. And let’s applaud me because I made it sound good.” Which, if you don’t know Bryan, sounds like an insult but is actually a compliment. Whenever someone sings really well, Bryan will usually say something like “Eh, that was all right, I guess” or something to that nature. That is the highlight of my week. It’s like James telling me that I look good.

Which, speaking of looking good, I dyed my hair last week in preparation of adding pink (fuschia) highlights. I thought black would look the best and so I chose an Herbal Essences shade, not realizing it was non-permanent and would wash out in 28 shampoos. Which I am glad of because a) Keem was persuaded to add the highlights and they did not take at all (because apparently “color applied to dyed hair may not be as vibrant” actually means “you just wasted 8 bucks”) and b) I now look like Goth Girl because the H.E. shade I picked is called Midnight and it is very, very dark. Kari is pleased, though. She was not for the fuschia.

Maybe I’ll just get my nose pierced again.

And yes, I am sure this desire to change my appearance has something to do with my birthday fast approaching. Less than two months and I’ll be 40. I think I’m going to go cry now.

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