I closed down Photoshop and hopped into the shower. There were no luxurious strawberry bath bubbles, only a mad rush to get clean for Patty's birthday. You see, Patty has been bartending at Fred's for twenty-nine years. She never misses a weekend of work, and she and her husband Jimmy always have a cold bottle of beer to hand off whenever your own is empty. She has frizzy black hair and strange eyes. One goes in a northwesterly direction at all times no matter where the other one is going, the effect is like looking dead on at a gecko. I never know if she is looking at me or the ceiling, but she's a nice lady so I just spit the distance and improvise.

Tucker and I picked up Vinyard and his date, AKBmoney at Sheffields, then drove over to Fred's. Vinyard and AKBmoney went to the ATM. Tucker and I went inside.

When we got to the bar, Patty was swaying back and forth on a stool. She gave us hugs and asked if we wanted to do some "Jagerbombers." We agreed. I went and got the karaoke book, shuddering at the overly decadent inflections of a drunk woman attempting Heart's "Magic Man" at the microphone. High school choir has failed America. Vibrato is a gift, not a right. It must be earned.

Tucker and I begged Patty to sing karaoke with me. She declined. I kept suggesting songs, oldies that she knew, and she would shake her head and roll her eye. "Nope. I can't saang for shit. Plus I don't know any of these songs."

Tucker: "But Patty you work in a bar. You hear these songs every night."
Patty: "But I'm workin. I don't got no time to memorize songs."
Tucker: "Bunny will do all the singing. You just have to be her backup dancer. Come on!"
Tucker and I agreed that she just needed some more shots. When she was drunk enough I would take her up on stage and sing "My Girl." I got the little sheet of paper ready.

Milos the Croatian cab driver arrived in his work clothes. He wasn't expecting us to be there, so he left and came back in a suit and beret. Before he took off I told him to drive safely, and he pointed to the sky and replied, "He is always watch out for me and for you."
"Okay hon. But just in case, drive safely."
"NO! He is always watch me. And you too."

I wondered if he remembered the things he said at Reaper's party. He
was rather drunk, so I don't know. He offered me ten thousand dollars to "straighten up" by his birthday on March 11th. I may have found a new way to make money.

Vinyard and AKBmoney arrived. She looked darling in a white wool coat and matching bucket hat. Her neck was wrapped with a pink scarf. It was very Mary Tyler Mooreish. I could see her throwing the hat in the air and singing "I'm gonna make it after all," and I thought for just a minute, maybe I should go shopping. But then the thought drifted away. I get more feminine every day.

The "shopping" thought frightened me, so I went to the microphone and performed "Closer to Fine" by the Indigo Girls. When I was done, I felt normal again. Patty kept buying us beers because she is awesome. We kept telling her "No Patty, it's YOUR birthday. WE buy YOU beers," but she wouldn't let us.

I hit on a cute boy named Austin who was too shy to put together cogent sentences. I abandoned him quickly. I hate shy men; they make me feel like a rapist.

A black guy took to the mic and did Journey's "Don't Stop Believin." This lit the bar on fire. Or at least it lit AKBmoney and I on fire. We began interpretive dancing in the aisles, mouthing the words and spilling my beer and her faggoty pink drink everywhere. This is when I dropped my bottle and caused a huge mess. I dropped a handful of little bev naps into the glass and beer making Vinyard's job of cleaning it all up just a little bit harder. Damn "Jagerbombers."

Tucker kept trying to get Patty to sing with me, and ordered another round of "Jagerbombers" to loosen her up. I went to the DJ and gave him my slip. Patty soon fell off her stool, so we figured our timing was right. In the interim a woman named "Joanne" took to the mic, a regular on karaoke night who was not popular among the staff. Jimmy shoved napkins into his ears. Tucker laughed at her, and I poked him in the ribs and reminded him of the time he lost a bet with Jojo and had to sing "Like a Virgin." It was a far worse performance.

The DJ called me, Patty, and the owner of the bar, Cheryl to the stage. Patty and Cheryl hid behind me and breathed off-key into the mic while I made sweet sweet love to the Temptations' "My Girl," every now and then inserting "Patty" into the lyrics. It was karaoke magic.

More shots, more beer, and more importantly, more interpretive dance. AKBmoney and I were not satisfied with dancing in the aisles any more. We needed to take our brilliance to the stage. A very drunk and angry woman sat in a chair and screamed Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart." We took to dancing around and behind her. The twirling became so intense that buttons were flying off my coat. AKBmoney grabbed me and kissed me. I thought she was straight, but Bonnie Tyler is evidently an aphrodisiac of some sort. I'll have to get a copy of that single, carry a boom box on my shoulder and play it on loop.

The next girl up sang "Criminal" by Fiona Apple, and if there is a more empowering song for two hot women to dance to while drunk and horny, I'm not sure what it is. The DJ handed me the button from my coat. I noticed that his wife was shaking her head in disbelief. I didn't care. I had to express my drunken connection with AKBmoney's spirit in the medium of dance. People had to know how we felt.

The annoyed wife went about collecting the karaoke books. I went back to hitting on Austin, who had a few pitchers in him and crawled out of his shell a bit. He mentioned that he liked Sum 41, and that was all I could take. Why does God waste the prettiness on people with bad taste in music?

Vinyard and AKBmoney left. Sharts arrived. This suddenly made me want to go to a lesbian bar, and I don't know why. We three drove over to BoysTown, hit a burrito place, and then went to a gay bar that had no lesbians. A gogo dancer in white briefs and boots was shaking his stuffed package on a platform. Sharts and Tucker drooled over a hot woman with fake breasts. She was sexy in a trashy sort of way; I decided to follow her and hit on her. She must have been a lesbian if she was in a gay bar right?

I followed her around the corner and into the men's room where she stood in front of a urinal and lifted up her skirt. The shock put me over the edge. The last thing I remember was Tucker saying to Sharts

"God, she looked so womanly. Maybe I did sleep with a tranny," and then laying in the doorway of my house next to Tucker's legs while my dog licked my face. Poor guy. She looked like a woman to me too.

So I woke this morning with a ringing head and sore feet from all the, now humiliating, interpretive dance. And what's worse, I never called TeddyBear. I suck.

Update: At 3am, Sharts called my sister:

"Hi ooooohhhhh shit your probably shleeping cuz you haf to deal with ninety shix little girls tomorrow. Guessh wha? I had my offish chrishmash party and lemme give you a kish in dis phone right now, and I didn't email you back so I'm shorry but I won't call you at a late hour cuz thash wrong. I hope you had a goo night tonight, but you always have goo nights cuz you're FUCKING AMAZING! Kisshes on dis phone. Mwwwaaaaahhhhaaaaammmmmmuuuuaaaaahhhhhh..."