Morgan and I did a girly night out last night. It was her last Saturday night in her apartment before she moves in with her boyfriend next week. So we girled it up. At karaoke of course, because we're not predictable at all. But, what can I say, I love the karaoke. It moves me in my soul.
Except I was all revved up to sing a Save Ferris song and they had not one Save Ferris song. Not one. Extremely disappointing. And I had not planned on a different song (poor planning on my part apparently. blerg.). I pinch hit with Four Non Blondes and I am here to tell you that song is effing hard yo! You don't think it is when you're wailing to it in the car in 1996, but it is. I think I rocked it for the most part, but it was tough. Think I will most decidedly NOT sing that song again. Like ever.
Here is one thing I hate though.
Wait, before I start, back story: you've got to know by now that one of the reasons we love karaoke so much is not just to rock the mic, which we do, but it's to make fun of all the colorful types who come out to karaoke. It's totally half the fun. And last night there was no shortage of new faces (among the regular freaks and geeks of course). My fave was this little guy wearing a backpack who looked like he'd just walked out of the 7th grade and who rocked that mic like nothing else. The whole place was chanting BACKPACK! BACKPACK! Pure awesomeness.
Back to what I hate.
You know when you're in the sight line of someone who is staring at you, how hard it is not to feel their stare and inadvertently catch their eye? Yeah, that happens to me ALL the time. If I feel someone staring, I look. And then they think I'm looking back and I spend the rest of my evening dodging stares. Awkward and exhausting.
So last night this odd couple, which we'll call Creepy Guy and 1982 (so called because she obviously stopped buying clothes after her prom) was a little too PDA for my taste (but whatever, do your own thing) and at one point we were a little frightened that he would just suck on her face so hard she would simply disappear into the vortex of his mouth. Or something like that. We had Scully and Mulder on speed dial at any rate.
But here comes the ick part: between makeout sessions, he'd stare straight at me and Morgan all lasciviously. Seriously, I cannot describe the utter level of creep in his stare. Like he definitely bowed his head a little to give us the maximum predatory effect and I don't think he possessed the ability to blink. And it was ALL NIGHT. I wanted to go tell 1982 to reign in her creep because his staring at us was SO irritating and I was feeling like I maybe needed a shower.
Then I got up to sing my last song (Zombie. And I ruled it, thankyouverymuch).
Wait, forgot one detail: at some point another guy joined their group that happened to look like a much younger version of Douche Who Dumped Me Over The Phone (DWDMOTP) and we dedicated a good half hour to making fun of his face. Good times.
And we're back. So while I was singing, apparently Creepy Guy comes over to talk to Morgan. He asks, "Is your redheaded friend single?" And Morgan is like, "EXCUSE me?" Because clearly he's been making out with 1982 all night in our clear sight line. So he asks again, "Is your friend single?" And Morgan (jeebus love her) is like, "No, uh uh, no, nope." And he goes, "Oh no! Not for ME!" No, no. It was for Younger DWDMOTP.
Is that just fucking perfect?
First of all, just no. Not happening. Not ever. Not in any alternate universe where I hate myself and don't wash my hair. Second of all, did he really think Creepy Guy was a good ambassador? Thirdly, he sends an ambassador to talk to my friend? What was the plan then? That Morgan and Creepy Guy would suddenly see the brilliance of this plan and plot to hook us up for horrifying anonymous sex? REALLY?
Dudes: take notes. You want some tail? You are gonna just have to sack up and do the work yourself. Now, Younger DWDMOTP would have been shot down and rightfully so on SO many levels.
But the story doesn't end there. Nope. No it does not.
After Morgan tells Creepy Guy NO for the hundredth time, he says, "She's dangerous. You can tell."
Now, when Morgan told me this story the exact second I sat down after singing, I could not control my peals of laughter at that. Me? I'M dangerous? BAHAHAHAHA! No. Way. did that come out of someone's mouth in reference to little ol' me. And what did that comment even MEAN? Really? Was that supposed to elicit some sort of primal response to get me to take off all my clothes? Or did my lack of effort in dressing up last night (white T, jeans, hat over my messy hair, and flip flops) imply somehow that I must have a dark side full of danger? Or maybe it was because I was singing the Cranberries. Everyone knows that if you sing about the IRA, danger must be your middle name.
What. The. Fuck?
Anyways, today is Mother's Day. Which puts me in a pissy mood. I know that makes me a bad person in society, but not all of us fit in the perfect mold of daughters and mommies and celebratory brunches. Puke. I may blog about it when I'm in a better mood. Or maybe I'll spare you more of my vitriol.
4 weeks ago