Oh. Hello there. It's been a while since we talked, but I want you to know that each night, right before I lay down and pass out cold I think to myself "You didn't blog today. Don't you know your blog is your resume?"
Yeah, I know. Which explains why I am still babysitting and waiting tables - because I need to finish editing my book and get back to my daily blogging habit. However, the endless stream of blog material has evaporated along with my bar tab and rollerskates, and I really hate to bore you with the details of my latest trip to Walmart. But this weekend I did something I haven't done in a long time, and I regretted it before I had even done it. Of course, I didn't let that stop me. Oh no, I went right ahead and made an ass out of myself for no reason whatsoever.
It started out very uneventfully. I woke up, I lay around in serious denial about the fact the my mother is arriving from Rhode Island this week and my house is a mess. I drank tea. I switched to coffee. I went to Starbucks. There was a roller derby game at 4pm, and I had plenty of time to get myself there. I had no plans to skate, no plans to do anything other than maybe sit at the announcer's table and play sidekick and ask stupid questions about rules and procedures and penalties. No stress.
There was one other thing on my agenda however.
The game marked the 5th anniversary of the founding of the Maui Roller Girls, and my plan was to sing happy birthday to them before the game. I had casually mentioned it to someone, and then the idea took hold, and it developed a life of it's own. The Marilyn Monroe dress came out of the closet. I started practicing in the car in the morning when I was alone after dropping everyone off. "This will be bad-ass" I thought. "I love these girls, and they love it when I make a fool of myself on their behalf, so this'll be great."
The one small detail missing in all of this brilliance is that I do not sing.
Well, not never. Just, not very often,. Don't get me wrong, I am a big, big fan of drunk-a-roke. I vaguely remember performing a rousing duet of "The Preacher's Son" last year. My hands always shake like leaves until I have safely returned to my seat, but I force myself to do it every once in a great while, just so I know that I still have the balls. And my balls greatly increase in size in direct correlation to how much alcohol I have consumed. Get enough tequila in me and I will be half naked screeching Pat Benetar along with every other drunk person within ear shot. But sadly, this was an alcohol-free event (very, very different from a "free alcohol event") and I was going to have to do this on my own. Solo. A capella. In front of a lot of people.
When I arrived at the warehouse, the stupidity of my idea hit me full force. Serious concerns about whether I could go through with it wracked my brain. There were several hundred roller derby fans who were there to see some fucking roller derby. They did not buy tickets in order to sit through a middle aged woman in a halter dress singing "Happy Birthday
I tried postponing it to halftime. No dice. I considered just forgetting the whole thing, after all the team didn't know what I had planned. I was making way too big a deal out of this. "Just do it." one voice said. "Do NOT do this" another voice said. My hands were sweaty. My voice was trembling as I made announcements and delivered lei's and gifts to our VIPs. All I wanted was a drink.
But I don't drink anymore. Which is another brilliant idea of mine. Man, I'm just full of good ideas these days.
And then the moment came, and I was stuck. Standing there next to the track, with a bunch of people watching me and a long line of friends waiting for me to shut up so they could skate, I had to do it. Shit.
So I did. I don't remember much, only that I didn't fall over or show anyone my ass. The girls laughed and cat-called and the audience didn't throw anything at me or boo (both of which feature prominently in my nightmares about singing in front of an audience). Thank god it was only three lines, and then I could sit down and let everyone get down to business.
The after party was another exercise in sobriety. As people drank, and warmed up, I sipped a soda and berated myself. The "I love you man" portion of the evening arrived and I hadn't had anything stronger than Pepsi. I thought about leaving early and called home, but Sam encouraged me to stay. I returned to the bar, and the self-flagellation. I do stupid stuff all the time - why was this any different? What was the big deal? No one here cared if I acted like an idiot. I stared out over the water, sitting near a teammate who was enthusiastically making out with a total stranger by the light of a tiki torch, and watched the huge cruise ship with lights blazing, anchored in the harbor. I felt very small. As I turned to go back to the bar, my teammate turned around and started making out with another total stranger. Huh. "She might regret that tomorrow," I thought to myself. "or she might have a three-way." I shuddered, and went back inside.
And just then, it all clicked into place. I finally realized what the problem was. As I stepped over two grown women rolling around on filthy concrete leg wrestling while a crowd cheered them on, I had a revelation. For the first time ever, I can't blame alcohol for the stupid shit I do.
It turns out I am just as much of an idiot stone cold sober as I am when I am falling down drunk.
Let's just keep this between us. I'm not really big on three-ways.