Of course hours after I post a ridiculous blog about disliking karaoke I am unceremoniously dragged out to party with my coworkers and…you guessed it…sing karaoke. I begrudgingly went out and….IT WAS AWESOME. So much fun and a great bonding experience with said coworkers and I didn’t even drink. *sigh*
Karaoke, I take it all back. You are a fantastically wild and majestic beast. I bow down to your greatness.
*Even though I had a great time I’m leaving the post up, mostly because I spent 20 minutes on that graph…that is 20 minutes of my life that I could have been watching Archer or photographing my cats in perfectly accurate turn of the century costumes. Sooo go look at it at least. Geeeeeeez…thank you.
I mean, it’s all fun and games 90 seconds into ‘Eye of the Tiger‘ with the dreamy guy from accounting* who always playfully tosses paperclips in your hair as he walks by ~swoon~ but, by the time Jim from accounts payable slides into the second verse of ‘Rhinestone Cowboy‘ … I’m pretty sure I want to die.
So why do the guys always insist on dragging me out to listen to their rendition of ‘Baby got Back?’ Here are some thoughts**…
A)I need to be drunker. Perhaps the answer lies in chemistry, and by chemistry I mean ethanol, and by ethanol I mean alcohol and by using the word ethanol I mean, I am a huge nerd.
Saying ‘yes’ to getting crazy black-out drunk is a must. This is 90% of my problem. I’m not much of a drinker and I hypothesize that karaoke is exponentially more fun with increased boozahol consumption. So bring on the shots.
You don’t make ridiculous charts at work?..weird.
B) Balls. As a female human I lack the physical man(ha!)ifestation of testosterone that are balls. I mean figuratively, I’VE GOT BALLS… just not the kind that can be wipped out at the company Christmas party to make your co-workers laugh/vomit.
Soooooooo….I’m going to make a scientific leap and assume that they have some magical property that makes people singing off key sound less like screeching toddlers and more like Celine Dion. Maybe some sort of tone modulation, though they seem a bit far from the ears for that. Alas, just adding another veil to the mystery that is the conundrum of male anatomy. Man nipples, I’m looking at you.
C) Shame. I blame it on Disney princesses, those bitches have some serious skillz when it comes to charming men and small animals with song. I, while being in choir my whole life, have yet to have a single sparrow land on my finger breaking into a duet of ‘Once Upon a Dream.’
The men in my life seem to not give a shit, in general. So shame is not really an issue.
Honorable Mention: There’s also something about holding a phallic microphone to my face in front of a room full of strangers that makes me a wee bit uncomfortable. If I just ruined microphones for you forever, you’re welcome.
I should end this by saying that I support the smaller, private-style karaoke venues. The atmosphere is usually a lot more ‘kindergarten sing-a-long’, less night at the Grand Ole Orey.
If you’re ever in Seattle at the Rock Box, I’ll meet you there; alcohol, balls, and shame on my mind. Wait, no…or maybe yes?
*I’m lying, there is no boy from accounting…maybe there would be…if we even had an accounting department! *runs out of room sobbing (R.O.R.S.)
**None of these rules apply to this situation. Paul Rudd, I love you….did things just get weird. Sorry, I’ll ease back on the Rudd crush. I love him so much!
NONSENSE:Valentines Day is around the corner y’all!* And why does this preclude me from having a social life?…because every year I hand make valentines to send to the people I love. This sounds simple, I know. Slap some hearts on some red construction paper and call it good. Right?…WRONG!
As a cardist?..hmm…artard? (card + artist…please comment with better title suggestions) I have to spend hours crafting every card. Well, not EVERY card…just the ones for boys I have crushes on.** This leads to a lack of free time to you know, date said boys. On second thought, I may be doing it wrong…
Nova likes to think she is helping.
IMPORTANT STUFF: Anyway, this means some seriously snappy card tutorials and whatnottery for you guys. Stay tuned.
I am in a long term, deeply passionate love affair with fried dough covered in frosting and sprinkles. I know it bad for me and I should say ‘no’ but…but..I just can’t! Nobody understands me quite like Maple Bar does. Which is why this gluten-free diet has been absolute torture.
I should also mention that there is a doughnut shop across from where I work. Some cruel genius figured out that tech zombies and healthcare nerds have lots of spare cash and an inability to get up early enough to prepare a healthful breakfast. That rich, rich bastard. $$$
Despite the taunting call of my lover every morning (and a freaking work pizza-party…where do I pick up my medal?), I have maintained my gluten free heading! But I don’t think I could have done it without these guys;
Yes I took this picture with my smart phone. Impressed? I think not.
I call them my doughnut replacements because they hit all the same flavor notes that make my brain light up like a rat tasting that first bite of maze completion prize cheese. Nothing tastes quite like saturated fat on the tongue (i.e. bacon and butter), nothing! Warning: they taste awesome but remember they are still full of calories, so take it easy.
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