Okay so people are still asking me about the weekend I took the trip out to the Star Trek Capitol of Canada. It was a fun trip, but the company was the best part of course 
Let me tell you about the main event though, being “Name That Tune/Karaoke” night. Now, this doesn’t happen all the time in Vulcan, so it drew the entire town. Generations of families came (but more on that later.) The night started at about 7:30, when the Badger Family and I went to the local watering hole. Being a vegetarian who doesn’t eat anything deepfried, the normal fare of potato skins or french fries was out. Therefore, I opted for some lovely vegetable soup, with a glass of water on the side. One of my party’s friends saw this dinner and asked “Are you pregnant?” Nearly choking on a lima bean, I coughed out “No!” She looked at me appraisingly (sending thoughts of “Oh my god do I look pregnant? HAVE I GAINED THAT MUCH WEIGHT!?” coursing through my mind) and she said “Oh. Well, you’re eating soup and crackers, and only drinking water, so I just figured…” I vehemently shook my head, reassuring her (and anyone else who happened to be listening) that I was definitely NOT under the influence of semen. Badger’s sister said “Don’t do that to me!” and I said “What?! Don’t do that to me!!” I know it’s normal for girls my age (and younger) to be knocked up in the country, but I am a city girl through and through (as evidenced by me not pounding back beers at quarter to eight.)
I just need to mention that I was far too sober for the night that commenced. I did order a double Sex on the Beach (and of course, had to tell the bartender how to make it) and had a nice buzz going on, but it was nothing compared to level of intoxication everyone else had achieved. However, I was having a good time, as I always do when I get to witness the acts of drunks while I am pleasantly slightly-less than sober. In order to speed up the process though, I did pound back a couple of shots of my favourite, rasberry Sour Puss. The affect they had was completely obsolete though, and I never reached that blissful state of drunk. In fact, they seemed to sober me up from my initial SOTB buzz.
Anyway, I’m skipping the action that is happening in between SOTB’s and shots. Name that Tune! The bar was split into four participating groups (I think mine was called the Kittens or something? Who the hell came up with that!?) and the beginning ten seconds were played of random songs, after a genre was picked out of a hat. In between song guessing, there were action rounds were one person from each group had to go up on stage and perform an act as asked from the MC.
The first action round had the mohawked, studded-leather jacket guy from our group go up on stage. None of us knew what to expect, or what the MC would ask of the first group. Leatherhawk (definitely the coolest nickname of anyone I have written about so far) and the rest of the group were asked to do their best “Vogue.” He (being the only male in the group, and also my age) had no idea what the hell he was doing, which made his dancing so much more hilarious. He was running his hands over his body, giving a pouty face, and generally making a fool of himself. The entire bar was in fits of laughter. And, he won! The judge said that he was the best, hands down, and he won t-shirts for the group with his epic Vogue-ing.
At this point I was feeling great, my guard was a down a little from the drink, and I was randomly coming up with song answers in between sips. Second round came and went with an excellent Moonwalk done by the one and only Badger.
Third round, my turn! And this is the first part of the night when I was way too sober for what was required of me. I had to compete against three other women (one being Badger’s sister) in a “Booty Shake” contest. Oh. Lord. So some song related to the topic blasted from the bleachers, I was blinded by the multi-coloured lights beaming directly into my eyes, and I shook my ass like a champion. And, there was a notable difference in the amount of time we were required to shake our butts compared to the first two rounds! Not only was that longer, they demanded a second show. COME ON!!! So finally, the dancing was over, and yours truly won it. Clearly, my skirt did its job that night, and the Back Alley had taught me well. I walked off stage to cheers, and collected my prizes of picture frames, mugs and more shirts. Huzzah!
The rest of the game went well, with an anti-climatic ending in which another team won in an “all-or-nothing” type thing. Our group totally should have won though, we won two out of four action rounds and were tossing off correct answers left and right. Oh well, let the karaoke begin!
When the night of karaoke was still young, I went up to sing. The first time I have ever done karoake in front of anyone but family, and here I was, belting out Leann Rimes in front of the entire population of Vulcan. As I sang, everything in the bar itself was blacked out, and instead I was on stage in front of the American Idol judges. Here is how it went in my head:
Randy: “Yo dawg, I wasn’t feeling that at all. You were pitchy and it wasn’t the right song choice at all. I feel ya, dawg, and you put your heart into it, but the performance was weak.”
Paula (this is the old AI, I should mention): *slurred* “I’ll be straight up with you *teehee* I think you have a lot going for you, but absdfsdfasdf durrrrrrr.”
Simon: “Awful. Bloody awful. That was a performance that will not keep you here.”
Damn American Idol judges, they don’t even have to be there to make me feel like a pitchy fool who chooses bad songs! (In my defense, the song list was terrible. And about 95% country. Pass.)
By this time, the entire bar was inebriated. Very, very obviously inebriated. (Other than me, of course. I was too uncomfortable being around a bunch of townie people I didn’t know to let down my inhibitions to that extent.) The only other person I happened to know, Lucachu, was there, and we were laughing at one particularly wasted woman who was stumbling around the dance floor holding a beer bottle (naturally.) Lucachu sipped on Porn Stars and I enjoyed my ice water as Badger sang.
A slow song came on a bit later, and I was left to fend for myself as both boys had left my side. I casually bobbed my head in time to the beat, when I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. I look up to see one of the oldest guys in the bar asking for a dance. I’m down for a good time, though I wasn’t entirely keen on the dance. Nonetheless, I obliged and stood up to be lead to the dance floor by this country Fred Astaire when the song ended. (Phew.) “Next one!” He mumbled and I smiled and agreed, thinking that he was drunk enough to not remember.
Now, let me get into a few details here. There is this one girl who lives in town who hits on Badger whenever he is in her vicinity. I do not like this girl. She (of course) has a child, which is one automatic point in my favour (child-free!). He has told her repeatedly that he is not interested, and she just will not take the damn hint. So prior to this evening of craziness, I told him that he should mention that he would be at the bar to her, knowing full well that she would show up for that reason alone. However, he did not divulge the fact that I would be there. And when she showed up later in the evening (after my victorious booty shaking, unfortunately) I strutted my stuff, proud as a peacock. Seeing this girl in person, seeing her eye my boyfriend lustily, lit a fire in me, and you are damn right that I made it quite clear that he was with me. I didn’t say a thing to this girl, but I didn’t have to. I could feel the daggers from her eyes stab me repeatedly in the back as I jovially danced and sang and had a grand ol’ time. She hung out in the back with her friends, silently praying for the dance floor to turn to flames in order to distract me so she could pounce. (It didn’t happen 
)
Another thing worth mentioning is that Badger’s ex was there, who also has a kid (See? I told you. Country girls) and apparently is married. She happened to be a wonderful singer, though I noticed that B slipped out every time she went up on stage. Whatever. What I found out later that night, however, is Drunkee McWasted, still flinging her way across the dance floor, was said girls mother. And, (ha…ha..) the old guy that asked me to dance was her grandfather. Fun in Vulcan clearly transcends generations!
So anyway, Drunkee staggers her way over to B and I and slurs “Do you mind if I ask your boyfriend to dance?” Being drunk as a skunk himself, I figured that if anything, it would be amusing to watch the two of them. And it was. But that is not the last I heard from Drunkee. Oh no. She managed to find her way over to me a few more times over the period of the night. She said I had really long eyelashes and was so pretty, which was nice. Then, she went on, and on, and on, about her daughter (who was up on stage again, so B was mysteriously MIA again). On how talented her daughter was, and how beautiful, and how her and Adam used to be together, and how her other daughter was the tall one over in the corner of the bar, and her other daughter turned eighteen next month so they would all hit up the bar together, and how they were a very musical family, it never ended. And what am I going to say? “Okay lady, I understand that you are absolutely plastered, and yes your daughter is beautiful and has an amazing voice and it’s wonderful that your entire god damn family goes out drinking and singing together, but I would really appreciate if we wrapped up this conversation”? Or, condensed: “I don’t want to hear about how marvelous my boyfriend’s ex is. It’s enough seeing her here and seeing Boyfriend Poacher over there. Kindly shut up.” Obviously not. So instead, I agreed (repeatedly) with her on how amazing and perfect her daughter is, for what seemed like hours. (This was another part of the night where I felt that I was abotu ten stiff drinks too short to deal.)
So once that lovely conversation was over, of course a slow song came on and Grandpa Ex came over and directed me to the dance floor. Where again I got to here how my boyfriend used to come around their place all the time, and how nice the two of them were together. I could not peel myself away from his drunk ass fast enough as soon as the song was finished.
Annnnnyway… I had grown weary of fending off further conversations on the traits of St. Ex, so I convinced Lucachu to walk down to the gas station so I could get some coffee and tic tacs. He was still riding high off of his very successful rendition of a heavy-metal infused version of “Welcome to the Jungle” so he was agreeable. He was also drunk, so it didn’t take much convincing. Badger came too, and they both giggled like school girls as they recited lines from Monty Python movies. I got my coffee and tic tac fix and we made our way back to Badger’s house. B was still down for more partying, but Luc and I were pretty much done for the night.
On another note, this weekend was a time for me to get to know the family a little better, and for them to inspect me and learn more about me. Try to guage my craziness level, the usual. Although I am terrible with family meetings, and feel anxious enough to warrant large doses of Ativan, I did fairly well. I wasn’t kicked out of the house, at any rate. Also, after I got home from the chaos, I sent Sister B a thank you note on Facebook, telling her that I appreciated her graciously putting up with me for a full long weekend. It turns out that I got the full “Big Sister” stamp of approval. I’d call the weekend a grand success.
Tags: Badger, Jealousy, Love, Vulcan
I am open to suggestions, though!
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