Don't You Want Me Baby
Last night it was Kickass Karaoke at a new place, Ciao Edie on College Street, and if what happened then had happened two months ago, I would have turned tail and fled, but time heals even the greatest of dorking downs, I've learned.
I come down the steps into the bar and the first person I see is The Viking. Now, that's OK, because as I told you last week I am over the crush I had on him. We are buddies. We email each other about karaoke outings, lend each other CDs, and try to one-up each other on knowing artists and songs. I still tease him about his hair, and I suspect that secretly he likes it.
He is sitting on the blue padded bench that runs along the wall on one side of the bar. I am taking in the ambiance and decor, and finding it very groovy — funky orange and red lamps and ceiling fixtures, all filled with coloured light bulbs — so it's not until I've settled into the Jetsonian white plastic chair across from The Viking and spun around in it once (I love chairs that spin) that I notice who's sitting beside him.
It's Donny.
I'll wait a moment, Gentle Reader, while you click on that link and read the story about how just when I thought it wasn't possible to feel any more embarassed than I already did because of what happened with The Viking, Donny proved me wrong.
OK, are you back?
So, I see Donny sitting there and, after supressing my initial knee-jerk reaction
(to flee)
I say hello to him and think to myself, this could be entertaining, and, if I'm really lucky, maybe the joke won't be on me this time.
So you know, Gentle Reader, The Viking knows that he's The Viking, and he knows that Donny knows that he's The Viking. And when The Viking got up to sing, I told Donny that The Viking knows that he's Donny. So now Donny knows The Viking knows that he knows he's The Viking. And both The Viking and Donny know that I'm a clueless dork but they seem to like me anyway.
Then Accordion Guy comes in. Accordion Guy is too diplomatic to let on, but I know that he knows that The Viking is The Viking, and that Donny is Donny.
And now you, Gentle Reader, know everything.
We're having a drink and listening to some of the other bar patrons sing, and as Carson is calling them to the stage he makes a comment about how they're all identifying themselves with initials, rather than first names.
Donny says, "We could all use our pseudonyms."
"Fuck off," I say.
"That'd be a good one," adds The Viking.
"You mean for a pseudonym?" asks Donny.
"No, I just meant for you to fuck off," I say.
Accordion Guy chuckles, and pretends to be figuring out chords on his accordion.
"So are you still reading my blog?" I ask Donny, who hasn't fucked off. When I first met Donny he had pointed his finger at me and said, with the enthusiasm of an investigative journalist cracking a case, "You're Postmodern Sass!"
"Sometimes," he replies, "But not as much as I used to."
Now I know how The Spice Girls must have felt when their fans grew up and moved on to Britney Spears.
"I thought, if you'd been reading lately, you might be trying to figure out where Jack works. What Big Ass American Software Company is."
In March, Donny had been determined to identify Jack.
"I've dropped the case," Donny says.
I am both relieved and a little disappointed.
"See, I have so many blogs to read and keep track of," continues Donny. "When I discover a new one it's like that shiny new toy under the Christmas tree that you play with for hours or days on end, and then you forget about it."
Gee, thanks.
"Your friend has a skill," I say to Accordion Guy.
"Reverse diplomacy," Accordion Guy agrees.
"It's remarkable, really," I continue, "And you can't hold it against him. It'd be like punishing a puppy for chewing your shoes."
It's after midnight when my karaoke buddies arrive. Sparky has just come from a wedding reception and is heads-down for half an hour, organizing his request slips, before he comes up for air to say hello.
Lana and Punky Nerdster aren't there, so I'm the only girl, and I'm sitting at a table with six members of the species.
Now you know why I like karaoke.
Something that my k-buds and I do, which probably annoys everyone around us, is, depending on the song, sing along from our seats as loud as we can. I'm sitting with the three of them when we hear the unmistakeable intro — I can name that tune in three notes! &mdash to Don't You Want Me Baby by the Human League. We all roll our eyes and groan. Comments are exchanged about cliché karaoke numbers... blah blah... we would never sing this one... blah blah... and then...
"You were working as a waitress in a cocktail lounge, when I met you," Sparky, Mo, and Goldilocks sing in perfect unison, at the top of their lungs.
I join in for the chorus, then it's my turn: "I was working as a waitress in a cocktail lounge, that much is true..."
Hanging around with these guys is like being in highschool, but without the teenage angst.
Hanging around with these guys is like being in highschool, but without the teenage angst.
Sparky and I go outside for a cigarette, end up staying out for two, and I realize that he is very, very drunk. Our normally innocent flirtatious banter — the groundrules for which we established in writing many months ago — takes a turn for the serious when he grabs my ass and asks, "What would happen if I kissed you right now?"
No, Gentle Reader I didn't. There's a code. You look after your buddies when they're drunk. Like Mo did for me in March.
It's almost the end of the evening. I sit Sparky down with a glass of water, and tell him I'll drive him home in a few minutes. Then I go to the ladies room. When I come out, he's gone.
Accordion Guy and Donny, and just about everyone else, left long ago. The Viking, however, is still there.
"Sparky's I'm-about-to-pass-out drunk and I seem to have lost him," I tell The Viking. "Can you go check the men's room?"
He does. No Sparky.
"OK, well, he's a big boy, he's got money, and he only lives a few blocks down the street... he'll be OK, right?"
"Just a second," says The Viking. He goes to Carson, to see whether we'll get to sing again. We won't.
"Come on," he says then. "Let's go find him."
* * *
In the next story, Postmodern Sass is hypnotized by her students. It's many weeks before Sass and Donny encounter each other again, and when they do, it's ironic.
I come down the steps into the bar and the first person I see is The Viking. Now, that's OK, because as I told you last week I am over the crush I had on him. We are buddies. We email each other about karaoke outings, lend each other CDs, and try to one-up each other on knowing artists and songs. I still tease him about his hair, and I suspect that secretly he likes it.
He is sitting on the blue padded bench that runs along the wall on one side of the bar. I am taking in the ambiance and decor, and finding it very groovy — funky orange and red lamps and ceiling fixtures, all filled with coloured light bulbs — so it's not until I've settled into the Jetsonian white plastic chair across from The Viking and spun around in it once (I love chairs that spin) that I notice who's sitting beside him.
It's Donny.
I'll wait a moment, Gentle Reader, while you click on that link and read the story about how just when I thought it wasn't possible to feel any more embarassed than I already did because of what happened with The Viking, Donny proved me wrong.
OK, are you back?
So, I see Donny sitting there and, after supressing my initial knee-jerk reaction
(to flee)
I say hello to him and think to myself, this could be entertaining, and, if I'm really lucky, maybe the joke won't be on me this time.
So you know, Gentle Reader, The Viking knows that he's The Viking, and he knows that Donny knows that he's The Viking. And when The Viking got up to sing, I told Donny that The Viking knows that he's Donny. So now Donny knows The Viking knows that he knows he's The Viking. And both The Viking and Donny know that I'm a clueless dork but they seem to like me anyway.
Then Accordion Guy comes in. Accordion Guy is too diplomatic to let on, but I know that he knows that The Viking is The Viking, and that Donny is Donny.
And now you, Gentle Reader, know everything.
We're having a drink and listening to some of the other bar patrons sing, and as Carson is calling them to the stage he makes a comment about how they're all identifying themselves with initials, rather than first names.
Donny says, "We could all use our pseudonyms."
"Fuck off," I say.
"That'd be a good one," adds The Viking.
"You mean for a pseudonym?" asks Donny.
"No, I just meant for you to fuck off," I say.
Accordion Guy chuckles, and pretends to be figuring out chords on his accordion.
"So are you still reading my blog?" I ask Donny, who hasn't fucked off. When I first met Donny he had pointed his finger at me and said, with the enthusiasm of an investigative journalist cracking a case, "You're Postmodern Sass!"
"Sometimes," he replies, "But not as much as I used to."
Now I know how The Spice Girls must have felt when their fans grew up and moved on to Britney Spears.
"I thought, if you'd been reading lately, you might be trying to figure out where Jack works. What Big Ass American Software Company is."
In March, Donny had been determined to identify Jack.
"I've dropped the case," Donny says.
I am both relieved and a little disappointed.
"See, I have so many blogs to read and keep track of," continues Donny. "When I discover a new one it's like that shiny new toy under the Christmas tree that you play with for hours or days on end, and then you forget about it."
Gee, thanks.
"Your friend has a skill," I say to Accordion Guy.
"Reverse diplomacy," Accordion Guy agrees.
"It's remarkable, really," I continue, "And you can't hold it against him. It'd be like punishing a puppy for chewing your shoes."
It's after midnight when my karaoke buddies arrive. Sparky has just come from a wedding reception and is heads-down for half an hour, organizing his request slips, before he comes up for air to say hello.
Lana and Punky Nerdster aren't there, so I'm the only girl, and I'm sitting at a table with six members of the species.
Now you know why I like karaoke.
Something that my k-buds and I do, which probably annoys everyone around us, is, depending on the song, sing along from our seats as loud as we can. I'm sitting with the three of them when we hear the unmistakeable intro — I can name that tune in three notes! &mdash to Don't You Want Me Baby by the Human League. We all roll our eyes and groan. Comments are exchanged about cliché karaoke numbers... blah blah... we would never sing this one... blah blah... and then...
"You were working as a waitress in a cocktail lounge, when I met you," Sparky, Mo, and Goldilocks sing in perfect unison, at the top of their lungs.
I join in for the chorus, then it's my turn: "I was working as a waitress in a cocktail lounge, that much is true..."
Hanging around with these guys is like being in highschool, but without the teenage angst.
Hanging around with these guys is like being in highschool, but without the teenage angst.
Sparky and I go outside for a cigarette, end up staying out for two, and I realize that he is very, very drunk. Our normally innocent flirtatious banter — the groundrules for which we established in writing many months ago — takes a turn for the serious when he grabs my ass and asks, "What would happen if I kissed you right now?"
No, Gentle Reader I didn't. There's a code. You look after your buddies when they're drunk. Like Mo did for me in March.
It's almost the end of the evening. I sit Sparky down with a glass of water, and tell him I'll drive him home in a few minutes. Then I go to the ladies room. When I come out, he's gone.
Accordion Guy and Donny, and just about everyone else, left long ago. The Viking, however, is still there.
"Sparky's I'm-about-to-pass-out drunk and I seem to have lost him," I tell The Viking. "Can you go check the men's room?"
He does. No Sparky.
"OK, well, he's a big boy, he's got money, and he only lives a few blocks down the street... he'll be OK, right?"
"Just a second," says The Viking. He goes to Carson, to see whether we'll get to sing again. We won't.
"Come on," he says then. "Let's go find him."
In the next story, Postmodern Sass is hypnotized by her students. It's many weeks before Sass and Donny encounter each other again, and when they do, it's ironic.
Labels: karaoke
0 Comments:
<< Home