Or: The seventh circle of hell - Karaoke
After a pretty good Thai dinner to (celebrate?) Tom's leaving for Tucson, the crowd of 10 or so went to a karaoke (bar? hut? establishment?). Not wanting to be a stick in the mud, I go along so I can spend time with Tom and his friends.
The karaoke place had to have been an asian massage parlor previously. The place has a small reception area in front of a long hallyway lit by colored bulbs. The hallway leads you to private rooms that have mirrored walls. Oh, yeah. Ex-brothel, totally.
This is a familiar situation for me. Not the asian brothel bit, but being surrounded by friends having a good time while I am ridiculously uncomfotable. I have always been told that my singing could peel the paint off a wall, so I DO NOT SING. When at baseball games, when everyone sings "Take me out to the ball game" I move my lips, lest I send someone's defibrillator firing in the vicinity. I DO NOT SING.
Shoving myself into a situation where everyone is supposed to enjoy singing is (for me) analogous to hammering bamboo shoots under my own fingernails. I was horribly uncomfortable, a feeling that was exacerbated by the fact that everyone else was having a great time. I hate that. I wish that I could get the stick out of my own ass in situations like that and have fun, but I can't.
I got to see people whom I enjoy the company of (Brian), but don't see too often. I also got to meet people (Brian's DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS and BRILLIANT wife Atsuko, Ann-Marie's RELATIVELY HANDSOME and RELATIVELY WITTY boyfriend Abraham) that I haven't met before whom I enjoy the company of .
The trade-off, however, was the personal hell of karaoke. Everything has its price.
Posted by Jen at July 2, 2005 9:14 AM