Familial obligation often leads me down many a strange path. Last Thursday night, that path led to a child’s birthday party that was being held in a smoke-filled bar where a multitude of rednecks were karaoking to gangster rap whilst surrounded by birthday balloons.
The truth of the matter is that I’d rather be beaten to death with a bag of hot nickels than ever relive this event.
You see, this restaurant is seemingly normal during the day. However, at some point when dark creeps in and the creepies crawl out, it turns into a seedy Karaoke Bar. It just so happened that the witching hour at which this transformation occurs was the same hour as birthday party. And that is more or less how I found myself in this place with my child attending another child’s birthday party.
It wasn’t the bar or the drinking at the 6 year old’s birthday party that was as alarming as the atmosphere itself. While I might have grown up in a very small country town, mass quantities of redneck tension all built up in one room always make me nervous–even in the midst of birthday cake! I’m serious. (I have trouble attending Country music concerts, because the mere thought of hundreds of rubes stumbling over me to touch someone’s guitar pick is sort of scary.)
Back to the party:
When I arrived, the lights were still on, giant speakers had yet to be set up, and it appeared as if this was a normal place. Then, not even five minutes after I’d been sitting, it all went to beans.
Not long after I ordered, the karaoke started and a bleached blond gal who called herself Wanda stepped up to the microphone to sing, “Did I Shave My Legs for This?” Aside from her sounding like a dying cat in hail storm, I guess it was an okay performance.
Additionally, 80’s Lady was busy doing the Electric Slide, which I thought had died out in the late 80’s and only still existed in the realm of middle school dances. But have no fear, Electric Slide fans, 80’s Lady is still representing for you all. You can always count on her to attempt to bring sexy back in her own strange little way. (Don’t worry she tried to do the Soulja Boy with all the young kids, also.)
Back to the story again:
Happy Birthdays were sang, gifts were open, and many of people were scarred for life. I had all but died and gone to redneck hell. My armpits were sweating, and I was half nauseous from all of the ‘ain’t’ s being thrown around.
Now that I think about it, I’m sure there were many other things going on around me that didn’t involve my sweating armpits. But when some couple walked with their sleeping baby in a car seat and sat it on the counter of the bar, I was on Mommy-watch and could no longer pay attention to anything else. If you’re a mother, you know what I mean. You probably even know what I mean if you have a pet. Maybe you have neither and know what I mean.
Mommy-watch is the stare you put on when there is an unattended child in an area, and for some reason, you noticed this child and feel completely obligated to his well-being. You have to watch this kid until you can pull yourself away, and hope his parents remember that he exits. It is very difficult to turn mommy-watch off.
Since this child’s car seat was literally sitting right on the bar, and his parents were off doing the Boot Scootin’ Boogy or some other god-awful line dance, I was visually babysitting him from 20 ft.away.
This went on forever. I can’t say I minded, because he was sleeping, and I half expected his mother to come over and ash her cigarette in his soft spot. At which point, I would’ve had to call her out (and I hate calling people out), and she would have stomped my ass, because she had someone’s name tattooed on her arm in Old English.
And well, I don’t mess with a girl that has anything tattooed on her arm in Old English. Unless she had ashed in his soft spot, then it would have been ON.
I kept trying to snap pictures of it with my camera phone, but it was dark, smokey, and once again, if this lady had caught me, I would’ve had to defend myself. And, while I say things ‘beaten to death with a bag of hot nickels’ and talk about poking people in the eye, I am not the least bit violent.
And the tattoo. It was just so manly. If it had a been a butterfly, I would’ve been less concerned. But Old English, man..she is tough. But I am pretty sure I could’ve beaten up the Kenny Chesney impersonator, that sounded more like goat getting hit by a car than a person, that she was carting around with her.
In the end, through out the bad karaoke, the beer soaked floor, my daughter being amazed (and inspired in the scariest way possible) by the karaokers, and the visual babysitting, all I could think about was that scene in ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ where Reese Witherspoon approaches her friend when she is back in her hometown and is all,
“YOU HAVE A BABY…………….IN A BAR!!!”
I love that movie.
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