I totally blow at blogging

Yeah. Seriously. I have so SO many Mr. E stories that I am overwhelmed by the task of documenting them all at this point. So here's a highlights reel for you:

Tiki Bob's was ... Thursday night and that was the second night of the That's F*cked Up so that means the next night was the night Mr E started at Baranof, two hours and a few jell-o shots later I still hadn't been called up to sing so I decided to wander across the street to Yen Wor.
That was the right move. I immediately found a couple of people that were excited to find out what this was all about, we shared some food, I thought maybe one of them could potentially be someone I'd actually like to hang out with when I wasn't Mr. E but that was cleared up within a few days. All in all, a fairly unremarkable night. Lowlight of the night? I was SUPER excited by the extensive collection of Fiona Apple songs available so I immediately signed up to sing "Never is a Promise". It's such a good song to belt out in the car. Why not karaoke? Why not? Because for some bizarre reason it was an 11 minute song! 11 minutes! Oh dear lord, it wasn't like they added verses, they just slowed it down to half time. Every sustained note required more than one lung full of air and it's so slow and such a downer that it was incredibly painful for all involved. I PROMISE to NEVER sing Never is a promise at karaoke again.

Saturday night I went to the Crescent Lounge, that was a rough night too. It was really really REALLY weird being a female with a gratuitously false mustache in a gay bar. They had a shitty song list and nobody had any love for Mr. E. I sang my two songs and headed home.
Sunday night I went to Hula Hula. That was a pretty decent time, I had the problem of coming with real friends again though... Mr. E likes to get into other people's business, make acquaintances, and generally stir up some shit. Having people that know me go out with Mr. E is generally a disaster and this was no exception. Drunk people were on stage singing with me, that was pretty fun. Otherwise, very little interaction with strangers.

Monday night was the Last Night of the first Mr. E karaoke tour and he went to the Royal Unicorn in Edmonds. Wow. What a night. It's this little chinese restaurant that has karaoke in the back. I wandered back to where I heard the music coming from and it was such a crazy mix of people. There were really old people, like two years younger than god old people. There were a handful of middle aged folks that sang very heartfelt songs to one another. Then there were the thugs and their ladies. I'm talking, 6'4, solid muscle, backwards baseball caps, tattoos up the back of their necks thugs. I wasn't sure how Mr. E was going to go over at this place. The KJ was super nice so I felt like at least I would have her on my side, right?

So I walk up to the bar and wait for the barmaid to notice me, as she's handing change to one of the thugs she looks over and laughs, which causes the thug to look over and then he shouts "How the fuck did you do that?"

What am I supposed to say to a question like that? "I put on a hat, a green trench coat, and bought a fake mustache at Archie McPhee's"? I decided it was best not to bait the thug so I just gave him the thumbs up and pointed at him with a grin. The barmaid bought my shirley temple. She said she didn't know what I was doing there but she was glad I was. Sometimes all you need is a little encouragement so I filled out my first song slip and handed it in. I went back to my little secluded table to peruse the song book some more but I didn't get a chance because the thug that was yelling at me earlier joined me at my table. So he sits down and says "Seriously. How did you do that?", I tell him I don't know what he's talking about, then he literally reaches across the table and yanks the mustache out of my nose.

I am positively stunned. How the hell do I react to that? I have an angry thug accusing me of doing something I know nothing about and now he's got my mustache. I'm wondering if it's time to go home. By the time I'm done over thinking it he sets the stache on the table and says "I just wanted to make sure you're a chick under there". So I put my mustache back on and he says "Come on. I know you did it. It's a good trick. How did you do it?" So I ask him what he thinks I did and he pulls a $5 bill out of his pocket. Abe Lincoln is sporting a very similar false mustache. Someone sharpied it on there or whatever. It's just funny because I didn't have anything to do with it and the barmaid had already pulled his change out before I got into the bar so it was another total fluke. That thug and I ended up singing The Joker together. It was interesting.

Since the end of Mr. E's karaoke tour he's been to:

Ozzie's- the frat house of karaoke bars. Mr. E danced with a hot chocolate salsa instructor.

Changes Tavern- The way better gay karaoke bar. Mr. E got hit on by the bartenders AND a KJ.

O'Houlie's Pub- In Mt Lake Terc and one of the least friendly crowds I've been around. This was an odd one because I was hanging out with my realtor and a handful of her friends. I mentioned that Mr. E was going to O'Houlie's after we wrapped up and all of the sudden Mr. E has a caravan of drunk women driving more drunk women to go see Mr. E perform... I explain to them that I can't really hang out with them if I'm going to do the Mr. E thing so they grab a table and I showed up a few minutes later. I went to the bar to order my shirley temple and she asks for my ID. I explain that I asked for a shirley temple and she explains that she asked to see my ID. I'm not sure why this surprised me so much... you really should ID the guy with the false mustache.

Unfortunately I only have my fake Mr. E license on me. I do not have my real ID on me and now I'm literally being kicked out of a bar. First Time Ever! My realtor and her friends were trying to smooth things over with the bar staff but it wans't worth it. I should have had my ID and it wasn't their fault I didn't. I was ready to go home anyway. Unfortunately the rest of the crew had other plans. So it boiled down to me driving home (15 minutes) and driving back again just to sing two songs to a bunch of drunk chicks, most of whom I do not know. Do I love my realtor? Yes. We fucking stole this house.

Alright, that brings us to Frances Farmer Organ Karaoke followed by what happened in Lynwood tonight. Those and more stories, waiting for you tomorrow (read 'three months from now') once I've had some sleep...