Excuse me, but a man who will get up and sing Karaoke on the second date has got some major cojones.
So Jerry and I left the wine bar about 10 o’clock and headed to a great little hole-in-the-wall near my apartment that I like to frequent when I am bored and the night is young. The female bartender, who is full-bodied-Betty-Paige-esque-and-likes-to-pour-my-drinks-really-strong, always kicks out the old-timer who’s sitting on my bar stool in front to the TOTALLY AWESOME trivia machine.
Yes, I like feed dollar bills into a machine that tests my knowledge about music, pop culture, food, geography and even a word puzzle or two, because I like to throw my money away while getting drunk on martinis.
You know who else likes to do this? Jerry.
And so went the night: Dollar bills in a trivia machine… beers and martinis… and yes, Karaoke.
I’m not a huge karaoke fan. I mean, I don’t mind it and it’s actually fun to watch, but I think I’ve only done it a couple times in my life. However, upon our arrival, it took Jerry all of five seconds to put his name on the list.
Um yeah… I was totally going to stick around for this.
He told me he was going to sing “Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf, and considering that most of the youngsters in the crowd were singing show-tunes and pop songs, I doubted his choice.
But apparently, there’s something about a song that everyone knows the words to and can sing at the top of their lungs that really gets a crowd going. By the end of the song people were standing and cheering. Way to work the room, Jerry, way to work the room…
As for working me, well, that will take a little more time. After another martini and some gratuitous half-drunken public displays of affection, like a good girl, I turned him away at my apartment door.
It sucks being a good girl.
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