It’s going to snow this weekend!!!!!
While I know that this will likely upset my friend RoadiePig, as he is involved in the removal of said white stuff, I’m totally stoked.
WOOOOOO!!!!
(Weetabix does a little ‘Chubby Snow Bunny’ dance)
Two days ago, as I was walking out of Barnes & Noble with a venti hot Blackberry & Ice tea in my hand, wrapped snuggly in suede and faux fur, it started snowing a little. Weak but stubborn little flakes flurrying with the wind. It only lasted for about five minutes but it was a wonderful thing, standing there with gifts of books and DVDs for my family in my right hand, a big hot tea keeping my other hand warm, my breath swirling white and little tiny flakes hitting my skin with delicious little cold bursts.
Mmmmm&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- love snow!
I’m thinking of getting a snowboard. Now, likely this will not happen as I enjoy my neck as unbroken as it is, but I like toying with the idea of being hot shit on the slopes. In reality, I’d fall on my ass and then probably cry until Esteban came and picked me up. Or, even more likely, Esteban would refuse to go out with me, as he is a grumpy Burgermeister and doesn’t enjoy any sports even though he does enjoy watching his wife make a fool of herself, and then I would cry and lay there, unable to get up. Either way, not a pretty picture.
I just want me some snow. And some hot Tom & Jerrys. And maybe a fireplace. I don’t have a fireplace, but I need some new living room furniture and new carpeting anyway, so I’m thinking about grilling me up my entertainment center instead. Lurve that holiday spirit!
I went to karaoke last night’ at the Ass Splinter bar.
One thing I hate about the Ass Splinter bar’. Aside from the miscellaneous pieces of furniture which find their way into your tender flesh, that is’. is the karaoke hostesses.
The thing is run by this girl and her mom. This wouldn’t be a big issue, but usually, when you’re a karaoke host, you’re generally a pretty fabulous singer. Not a Broadway quality singer’ but you can hold your own. Karaoke Girl and Karaoke Ma are not that great. Karaoke Girl can hold her own on the songs she knows but she’s tonedeaf and hurts my ears whenever she tries anything new. Karaoke Ma, on the other hand, sings in a monotone and sings the mustiest old man songs I’ve ever heard, such as ‘North To Alaska’. And she has a beehive hairdo. And she’s four feet tall’ with the beehive.
That’s not even the main problem. The main problem is that they are microphone hogs. They will sing five to six songs in a row while other people are waiting to sing. The itinerary will go something like this: Karaoke Girl, Karaoke Girl, Karaoke Ma, Karaoke Ma, Patron #1, Patron #2, Karaoke Girl (doing something she claims was a request), Patron #3, Karaoke Ma, Karaoke Ma, Patron #4, Patron #5, Patron #6, Patron #7 and then it will start all over again with Karaoke Girl twice and Karaoke Ma twice.
I hate the Karaoke Ma. Hate. Her. What is it about short round women in their fifties? They all get psychotic or something. She has this fetish about the karaoke song books. They have six of them. Even if you have a table of ten people all wanting to sing songs, Karaoke Ma will only allow you to have one book at your table’ regardless of the fact that there is still a pile of five books up there.
‘One book per table!’ She’ll squeak at you, like a deranged little post-menopausal B-52 girl.
One time, I went up and fetched two books for our table of ten people. Karaoke Ma actually followed me across the bar, grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around, snatching one of the books from my hand. I snatched it right back, not really in the mood for that Karaoke Obsessive Compulsive Bitch. She yelled ‘One book per table!’. I said, ‘I’ll bring it back if you run out of books! Christ!’ She wouldn’t let go of the book and I had to cold cock her down onto the dance floor. Then it was a total cat fight, with nuances from ‘Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon’, with me rising up, hovering six feet off the floor, kicking her in the face while she sang ‘Oooh Eeee Oooh Eeee Baby! Won’tcha let me take you on a Sea Cruise?’.
Or something like that.
She’s hated me ever since.
Last time, Joel hid our karaoke book in the men’s urinal. I’m certain at the end of the night, when she realized it was gone, she was frisking people, strip searching them for her beloved three-ring binder with the songs alphabetized using the White Trash filing system which necessitates that Pretenders, The follows Pat Benetar, Patsy Cline, and Peter Gabriel.
I sang ‘Santa Baby’ and got the first authentic crowd reaction of the night. Karaoke Girl shot me a bitchy look, as she had been singing her mostly-flat versions of ‘I wanna have some fun’ by S-s-s-samantha Foxx and ‘It must have been love’ by Roxette (a theme carried out well by her overly-permed big 80’s hair) to nary a titter from the crowd.
‘Don’t hate me because my voice doesn’t sound like a rusty gate.’ I said as I walked past her.
‘Bitch.’ She said
‘Talentless stage hog’ I countered.
‘Diva.’ She hissed.
Now that hurt. She didn’t have to get personal. Sheesh.
The plus side of the evening was that Born To Run Guy was there and he watched me intently when I was doing the whole Marilyn Monroe act during my song, starting with the whispery little girl voice and ending in full-out Ethel Merman throaty blues voice.
Yeah. Ok. I’m a diva. What’s it to ya?
Well, I was planning on writing about the day Weetabix and Mo were almost killed by a pyschotic school bus driver, but I’m taking a half day today, so I guess you’ll have to wait.
Have a super duper Weekend-Before-Christmas!!!!
