Birthday

If you weren't at The Common Interest karaoke bar on Burnet Road near 183 last night, you missed a musical experience of such epic grandeur, such profound meaningfulness, that the rest of your life will pass in a vague, gray blur of empty days, until you eventually depart this world bitter, unfulfilled, and alone.

Nah, just kidding.

We went out for Marrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgie's 25th birthday yesterday. You'd be surprised how many people show up for karaoke on a Tuesday night, or at least I was. A couple of them were really very good, many of them sucked, and to be perfectly frank, I suspect most of them were not entirely sober.

I wonder if anyone has ever done a scholarly sociological study of drunk behavior? Margie, her friends and I were bemused by a tableau of four young women sharing two microphones to perform "I Love Rock & Roll." Two of the women politely shared one microphone at the stand, but the tallest, blondest one, clearly the queen bee of the group, held the other one so close to her own mouth, dancing around with it, that the friend she was supposed to be sharing with couldn't get near it. I don't think she even realized she was hogging it, though several times her friend would make a tentative grab for it, or try to move in closer, and the blonde would absent-mindedly pull it away. Later she and her friends got up to sing "I Touch Myself," complete with suggestive dancing, to enthusiastic hoots and whistles from their group. They were terribly cute and knew it, so Margie and I were annoyed, and not being good sports, shouted "Eeeeeeeeewwwwww!" and "TMI!!!!!" at the stage.

I don't think they heard us, but maybe if I'd behaved a little more properly, karma would have been happier with me and I wouldn't have sucked when I got up to sing. Margie and Lauren sounded good, though.

We left before our intended rousing group rendition of "Rock the Casbah" came up in the rotation, which may be just as well. Margie's friend Eric wasn't drinking and therefore was our designated driver by virtue of being flat broke, so I don't think he was really up for it. The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur. I remember Margie offending some guy who was trying to pick us up by speaking to him very rudely and pretending to be Italian, but even she couldn't prevent his buying us a round of tequila shots. We eventually fled, and Margie's friend dropped us off at her place, where I woke up in a chair this morning at 6:20, aching, shivering, and feeling like warmed-over ass.

Partying with 25-year-olds will keep me young, if it doesn't kill me first.