FYI: Don’t Be This Girl!
So I’m getting married next week, and thought the guests might like a heads-up as to what may go down. It’s undoubtedly gonna be a disaster (we’ll just leave the blogging for later. You know, like once I’m dead…), if my previous attendance at such events is any indication… Anywho, to summarize:
I am SO awesome when I sing the BA.
Bad things happen to me when I sing in public. This is no longer a randomized sample, it is a well-correlated, concrete fact. Case in point: my most recent experience of karaoke involved a well-meaning accomplice (I love you, Susan!) and a sadly put-upon Balinese guitarist who unwittingly invited disaster when he suggested that the two drunk Americanos currently funding the entire bar might want to accompany him onstage. By “stage” I mean the small corner area in which he was (badly) attempting to cover (bad) American rock songs. His “songbook” consisted of a collection of painstakingly hand-written transcriptions of his “favorite” songs, with some minimal musical notation, clearly culled from intensive radio-listening time. His vocal ability notwithstanding, these “translations” were a bit, shall we say, loose, and mainly consisted of a number of choruses without verse. After filling the request / tip jar repeatedly and heckling loudly when the only other patrons in this open-air cantina dared to suggest a different song, I think he just figured it’d be easier to get our drunk asses up there with him. We complied. And we sang. We both, in entirely novel and incompatible ways, forgot nearly every lyric to American Pie. Then we sang our favorite Stones song, which was not in fact the Stones song that he was playing. And then the bar emptied…
Aussie Aussie Aussie!
So I read an interesting travel tale the other day (full disclosure: Aussie Day for foreigners, also it’s a pretty good blog) and thought, dang, I haven’t yet shared my first Aussie Day disasters… With no further ado then, here’s what happens when you drink 24 beers in 12 hours, crash two house parties thrown by people you’ve never met, and otherwise demolish a foreign holiday you still can’t recall the purpose of, in the very heart of its homeland…
