Getting their freak on...

What the hell is it with the freaky guys and karaoke? Okay, I realize that’s kind of a silly question in and of itself but...

Last week, singing at the mike, doing my karaoke thing. Guy who I was introduced to as “so and so’s brother” grabs my ass on his way back from the bathroom. Has the nerve to wink at me as he passes by.

Okay, so, that’s bad enough. Tonight, however, the freaks grew braver.

I’m singing Bonnie Raitt, still feeling a little funky cuz of the residual flu effects. But I’m holding my own.

Suddenly, Freako Boy is leaning into my personal space, like he’s trying to look down my shirt. Strange, since I’m wearing a turtleneck. He’s not looking at the screen, he’s leaning waaaay into me. Then his shorter, weirder, uglier friends sidles up and opens his wallet and shows it to me. WTF?!!!!

I look over at my chick-posse, trying to do the subtle head tilt, look at the freaks thing. They smile and wave at me. I mouth “help me”. They just shrug.

Meanwhile, I can smell Freako Boy’s breath. Not pleasant. They continue to hover.

What I really wanted to do – in such an Ally McBeal moment – was take the microphone and beat them both to death with it. Or take my hand, shove it firmly into the face and push that freak and his sidekick all the way out on to Hollywood Blvd., to be with the other freaks.

But, instead, for some insane reason, I was polite and just tolerated them until I got to the end of the song.

Peter came straight over to me afterwards and said, “Wow, the freaks really do come after you.” Thanks. I didn’t know this.

The girls then apologized and said that they didn’t see Freako Boy and Sidekick. There were that usual bunch of guys hanging out, blocking the front table view. I forgive them – kind of.

All I know is that at this rate, I’m never gonna get laid. And if I do, it’s going to be freaky—and not the good kind.