Seriously…
Every man I love, loves karaoke and I have no idea why.
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.
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!
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