Just Tell Me I'm Pretty

This is how easy I am:

"Ohmygod! Do you know who she looks like?!
Do you know who you look like! You look like that girl from 90210 - Tiffany something?"

Tiffani Amber Thiessen? OH.
I died a little.
I love Tiffani Amber Thiessen.
Tell me I look like Tiffani Amber Thiessen and you own me, no questions asked.

I turned to the 21 year old twins who were MAKING MY DAY and when they asked me to pleasepleaseplease karoake with them, I totally agreed.

This was the first night I'd met these people, children of a girlfriend of a guy with whom I work.
There was no way that they could have known that for about 4 years, I had every haircut that Tiffani Amber Thiessen had.
Because I loved 90210 and I loved her as Valerie Malone.
And.... I TOTALLY look like her from when she had dark hair!!!!!!!!!

I decided a long time ago that she's going to star in the TV movie of my life. I think Jennie Garth is going to star as Chelsea.

NOW I just need a Jason Priestly look-alike (or Luke Perry, whatevski) to star as the steadfast guy friend who's always been in love with me and who shows up to every practice and who, one night steals a kiss from me on a dare from Bad Betty.
I go through two commercial segments where I am noticing that Jasluke is a GREAT guy and where I am becoming conflicted because of how much I think I am in love with Coffee Man but where's that shmuck?
He's not at practice.
He's not bringing me chicken soup when I am sick.
He's serving coffee TO OTHER WOMEN and Jasluke Preistperry is there when I find out. It all goes down at the Surly Wench, so it's cool and edgy and seperated from the other Lifetime movies.
The movie ends with me doing kick-ass at my derby skills test and Jasluke falling to his knees outside of Bladeworld to ask me to marry him.
Maybe while he's wearing a costume or something funny, like wrap it up at Halloween, just because.
Meanwhile Jennie, starring as Chelsea, would be stumbling into the arms of Bud Weiser because she's a drunk like that. Chelsea, not Jennie. I have no idea if Jennie Garth is a drunk. I just know that she was never as awesome as Tiffani Amber Thiessen.

The point is how much I love Tiffani Amber Thiessen and how, for many years, I have prided myself on looking like her.

For someone who has no knowledge of that to see it is to charm me into pretty much anything.

Including karaoke.
Sober karaoke isn't much fun, I can tell you that.

Here's the thing about karaoke:
I can't sing.
I know this.
Once while I was singing, Namoli turned to me and said "Honey. Please." Aggravated would be a good way to describe the tone of voice she used. To be fair, it was the end of a gig and after several hundred cocktails, my friend Matthew and I found a mic that was still on and I think we were singing our Don Henley-Stevie Nicks duet that we normally saved for when we were driving in the car.
He's my leather, I'm his lace.
It's how some gay man-straight girl loves go, man.

So I'm totally sober because I'm responsible like that and I'm at this East side bar called, no lie, The Sawlty Dawg. I don't know why it's not just plain Salty or just plain Dog but who am I to question why.
It's one of those bars with no vibe at all, no scene. It's not even a bar where people go to drink cheap beer, heavily, which would be a better bar in my opinion than one like this where there's pool tables and dart machines and long cafeteria-type tables.
So my Complimentress/New Best Friend tells me that I look like my icon TAT and then suggests karaoke. Like she knows that flattery works on me and as long as you tell me I'm pretty, you can basically have your way with my money, my vocal chords, and sometimes my kissing prowess.

It wasn't that kind of night, though. No Whiskey Dykes, here.
I save that shit for when I'm downtown.
Here, there were just two 21 year olds looking up to me for my resemblance to a minor 1990s sex symbol.
Usually, I would consider this to be better than drinking a bourbon dinner and making out with the nearest willing party, regardless of gender.

But it wasn't better because I got conned with flattery into singing Ace of Base into a stunned and pained audience of bar patrons.
I saw the sign, alright and it said "You might look like Tiffani Amber Thiesssen but you can't carry a tune on a tray from the Peach Pit, even if your life depended on it."

Some people Drunk Karaoke. They sing off-key party songs like Margaritaville or any number of songs from the Grease soundtrack. They're fun, especially if they are a gang of soccar moms in their mom jeans and their Keds, or if they are balding guys who clearly can't wait to get home to the wife and the grill.
Some people Sad Karaoke. This is never fun. They tend to be guys, and if you hung out all night at karaoke, you would hear at least four different Sad Man versions of Desperado.
Still others go to karaoke and they go because they can sing. Sadly, they sing some Sarah MacLauchlan to show off but I think most of them should save it for the talent show. They make the rest of us look bad and I can make singing look bad all by myself, thankyouverymuch.

And then there are the people like me - unwilling, but blinded by ego. I am a total ego hussy when 21 year old girls tell me that I am so awesome! And so pretty! And it didn't help that as I stood there, the microphone shaking in one hand, and the other shoved nervously in my back pocket like I was grabbing my own ass, this line of drunk guys walked by and one of them did a quick about face, squared himself in front of me and said loudly, "YOU are beautiful."

Uh thanks!
But you just single-handedly gave me to confidence boost I needed to blow out a few eardrums and to generally make life miserable for the listening audience. Hint: You're gonna wanna leave before you hear what's about to happen when I open my mouth to sing.

In the end, I'm sure I haven't learned that being a sucker will only result in embarrassment and possibly cause physical pain to the people who are forced to listen to me sing. I'm sure that the next time strangers tell me I am pretty, I will run, not walk, to the karaoke book, scan through the pages until I find Cyndi Lauper's mega-hit Time After Time and laissez les bon temps roulez.


arizonasarah at 10:39 a.m.

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