chicks dig me

must be my golden voice… or my girlish charm

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. My life is never boring.

Last night, I became Madonna.

I’m not really sure when it happened, or how it happened… okay I guess in retrospect I can see sorta how it happened, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

We went to do Karaoke last night, since it was a birthday party. When we arrived we weren’t the only ones there, which is odd, usually it’s just us. But apparently these people were told by the bartender that they should stop by to see us sing, because we are that entertaining.

If the Monks’ don’t make it in comedy, we’ve always got a spot left over in Karaoke.

Anyway, when I got there Cathy had declared that she was taking over the Karaoke selections. “Listen,” she said to me, “we’ve got to beat that other team, so I’ve already written in a few songs that some of you have to sing, and then later, when they are all tired from trying to top you guys I’ll come in for the kill.”

When I got there someone was already doing “I Will Survive,” and someone had already done “There are Worse Things I Could Do” and “Hopelessly Devoted To You.”

Time for “Leader of the Pack.” After my song, everyone from the other group had me give them a high-five, a first in Karaoke Konduct.

I sat back down after my song, but it was my turn again, as Cathy had signed me up before I got there. She had pulled out her trump card: Chuy and I sang “Time of My Life.” The bar was pumping. More high-fives.

And then people from the “other team” started coming up to me to tell me that they really enjoyed my singing. I thanked them, etc., and went back to my conversations. At about this time a woman came up to me to tell me that she really enjoyed my voice and that she thought I was wonderful. I thanked her as well in a way that would make Babs proud. Chuy and Cathy started teasing me that I had a fan in the audience, and that if I wanted to go home with her, they’d understand. I took their teasing, whatever.

Anyway, then the woman came back with a man, and the man said, “I just wanted to introduce you formally to her. This is my friend Amanda.” I shook her hand and went back to my Colorado Bulldog. More teasing, etc.

At this point I realized that she was sitting rather close to the stage with all of her friends, but I knew I wasn’t singing again for a while. I sat back and watched the others sing. “Why are you wearing your Pooh backpack?” Chuy asked.

“Well, it’s kinda crowded in here, and I’m not sure where to put it,” I said.

The man from before came back to talk to me. “I have to ask you a question, and I don’t want you to get offended, okay?”

Please don’t, you don’t have to do this, I’ve never had to answer this question before, why did Eric have to work late–

“Are you straight?”

“Yes,” I said, “I am straight. I have a boyfriend. He’s at home.”

“Okay, I just had to ask. It’s for a friend, you see, not me.”

“I assume.”

“Right. You really have a great voice. I’m in music. Anyway, uh, so, thanks for answering.”

At this point Todd went up to sing a song dedicated to me: “Stand By Your Man.”

Ray’s favorite was



“I could buy some yellow fur and dress up just like Pooh
So why don’t we get drunk and screw?”Don’t be stuck in an unfamiliar situation with a group of comedians. They always find a way. They do.

So, it was about at this point when Chuy and I sang a song we hadn’t attempted before, “The Greatest Love of All.” We actually hit all the notes. I was very proud of us. As we were singing, I noticed that the woman who was interested in me was now clawing the wall above her in ecstasy of my singing. The others around her were fanning her off, as if she were about to swoon.

I felt like Frank Sinatra.

Chuy was laughing. “What is so damn funny?” I asked.

“I can’t wait to see tomorrow’s Squishy!”

As I was going back to my seat (and high-fiving the other team again), they started chanting. “Pooh! Pooh! Pooh!” It was Chuy’s turn to sing. I gave him my Pooh bear. The other team moaned, but Chuy started singing “Purple Rain” with a small twist: “Purple Pooh.” That seemed to quiet the crowd a bit.

Until his song was over. And they started chanting my name. It was time for me to sing “Hopelessly Devoted,” since the other person who sang it earlier had gone home. As I was singing, the other team all got up to slow dance, and they would look at me and shout, “She is totally in love with you! She loves you!” And “she” would just look at me with these doe eyes and smile.

I had never really experienced mass adoration like that before, and although I was flattered, I felt a bit uncomfortable. I felt like throwing my blue warm-up jacket over my head and shouting, “I can’t do no more!” a la James Brown/ Barry Sobel. My song ended, but they demanded more. I sang another song, and another… at this point Chuy rushed the stage, using his cell phone as a walkie talkie he shouted, “We’ve got to take Pam home, now, folks! The show is over! Pam has to leave the building now! Please keep your seats! Thank you!”

And they rushed me out of the building.

I was a rock star.

Kind of funny, kind of flattering, kind of heady. I came to work this morning, passing the still-giggling Cathy, and got to my desk. I had an e-mail. From the woman at the bar. One of the Monks was kind enough to give her my work e-mail address.

She wrote me a poem about how she wants to do it with me.
Now, I don’t usually get these kind of advances from a male or a female, but I didn’t quite know how to handle this one.

Dear Amanda,

Thank you for the poem.

forget that…

Dear Amanda,

Although I am flattered, I have a boyfriend, and he would be upset if I —

I’m not trying to lead her on…

Dear Amanda,

I’m sorry I don’t like you like that.

What am I, in the fifth grade?

Dear Amanda,

Although I am flattered, I am in a serious long-term relationship with a boy

no, “man,” he’s a man…

with a man right now, so I cannot take our relationship any further than it did last night.

Ih… I guess that’ll work..

I hope we see each other again..

Uh.. I don’t want to encourage stalking…

Maybe we’ll run into each other at Karaoke again.

There. Lovely.

I was talking about all of this to my friend David, who pretty much told me that I should get used to it, if I plan on staying in the entertainment industry. A fan is a fan, and they feel like they can make such bold advances with performers. “Treat it like you would if it was some guy hitting on you at the bar.”

“Yeah, but if it was some guy, then we just have a tendency to ignore him, and assume he’s drunk or something. With a woman, well, I feel really bad, like I led her on or something… I don’t want to look like an asshole. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She sent you jokes about munching rugs, I think she’ll be okay.”

So, I hope I handled my first fan crush with the dignity and tact of Madonna or Bette or Cher. I have a feeling I came off like Mariah Carey, though.

But I was a rock star, last night. This morning, I have hives. I don’t know where they came from. Although my life is never boring, it really isn’t glamorous.

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