Karaoke

Like most people, I like to sing.  But I have some stipulations for myself when it comes to singing….

1.       Make it count and sing loud in the car.

2.       Don’t sing in front of people.

That’s it.  I try to stick to those two simple rules.  When your friends won’t stop pestering you and threaten to tell random, handsome strangers about things you’ve done in the past if you don’t sing karaoke with them, however, it becomes increasingly hard to follow rule #2. 

I try to politely tell people that I’m not a fan of karaoke.  And by “not a fan,” I mean loathe.  We’re talking the type of hate you have for the girl who stole your first crush in 2^nd grade.  

When friends mention the treacherous activity I get this blank look on my face.  And, honestly, I try to maintain that look.  My face contains no expression for two reasons.  One, my mind flashes forward to how many people would be keeling over, using both hands to cover their ears if I got up and attempted Miriah Carey’s “Always Be My Baby.”  Two, I feel that if I maintain a straight, expressionless face that no one will see the signs of panic and dread that usually wash over me.   Seriously, I’d rather give a speech or seminar presentation than sing karaoke.

It’s extremely entertaining to watch, but I would never wish for anyone to have to put up with my hideousness of a voice.  William Hung + that “Friday” girl = my voice.  I used to love acting, until I found out that all the fun theater plays are musicals.  

I’m tone deaf, and I’ve accepted that.  If the music is playing and the artist is singing, then I can usually jump in and sound like a 3 on a scale of 1 to 10.  If you make me sing alone, be prepared for a -7. 

I’ve thought about karaoke a lot, and if placed in a situation where I ABSOLUTELY could NOT get out of it, there is only one song I would agree on singing to. 

“Tequila,” by The Champs.