we were 'those girls'

First let me say to any doubters out there, karaoke with a live band is much, much harder. There is no monitor, no speaker blaring your voice back at you, and the back-up music is loud and not exactly like what you hear when you are singing over the CD track at home.

I went to the Pontiac last night for said live band karaoke. After careful consideration about the crowd, our own singing abilities and the general mood, Mo and I selected Madonna's Borderline. Anything old Madonna is safe and always a crowd-pleaser. Many songs and many drinks later, our turn is up, and we march to the stage. Here the tragedy begins.

The bassist - who, by the way, so strangely commented that I have his eyes... what does that mean? Are we related? Is that a complement? - said they couldn't do that song, and so why (in a you-are-an-idiot-and-drunk-and-just-don't-understand-how-this-works voice) don't we just choose from the list. Um, I thought we did, dude. So I say, fine, you play whatever you want and we'll sing. We settle on Material Girl.

Meanwhile, some guy who either works there as the MC's sidekick or just loves karaoke way too much, is standing at the foot of the stage, walking us through the song, lyric by lyric. In hindsight, I am sure he was trying to be helpful, but he was just annoying and it was everything in my power not to kick him with my steel-toed cowboy boot.

Half-way through the song, we both knew we should have just jumped ship right then. It was horrid. We couldn't hear ourselves. We didn't know the words (I know there are about three words, so perhaps it was the timing that was off). We weren't cute enough to pull it off. Just drunk. And singing horribly. At one point, I look into the not-so-thrilled crowd and see a woman with her hand over her mouth making that face we have all made when faced with a karaoke tragedy. So, into the microphone I say, pointing at her, "Don't make that face! I know that face, dude! Stop it!" She promptly drops her hand and says something to the dude next to her, with a "Dang that woman is wasted and crazy!" look on her face.

Somehow, the songs finally ends and I am sure the crowd was as elated as we were. The MC takes back the mic, and says into it, "Well if they were really material girls, they would have the money to buy clothes to cover their ... "

Really? Did you just call us sluts? Allow me to pause and describe outfits. Me: short skirt, T-shirt and boots. Mo: jeans and slightly low-cut sparkley shirt. We looked dressed for church compared to some of the women there. Our reactions to the comment were vastly different. Mo blew it off and laughed. I was absolutely humiliated, insulted and fuming, made more so by the number of drinks I had had that evening.

With smoke coming from my ears, I tried - I think - to call him out on stage. He had the mic and before I knew it we were off the stage and he was introducing the next act. So instead, I just grabbed the sheet we chose the song from (to prove I am not an idiot and we HAD selected from the list), and waved in front of the face of Karaoke Cheerleader. "See! We had picked from the damn list you jerks!" He then picks up an entirely different list on the same table and shows it to me. Identical except for one thing: No Madonna. I threw the list down and yelled something to him about organizing their damn lists and not having the asshole list and the correct list.

It was certainly time to go after that.

Not only will I never do live-band karaoke again (which is a bold statement for the All-star American Karaoke Champion five years running), but I am sure I can even show my face in that bar again.