The last time I sang out loud was about five minutes ago. I was singing about much I wanted to be sedated. I can’t help it, I’m a singer. If a song I enjoy is playing, I always chime along. Right now, on my Pandora, a Blink 182 song that I love has just begun and I am pretending to be a member of the band.
When our past winter was starting to come to an end, I had stumbled upon a new group on my Meet-Up page. They were this quiz night/karaoke type that would gather on certain nights of the week. I figured I would give them a go. I have the balls to get in front of a strangers eyes to pretend I know how to sing and I would like to see what theses “Quizzo” things were. I figured they weren’t the ACTs, so I might know some form of history or science.
Depending on my mood for the day, I can sit down with a group of people and never shut up, sometimes a good thing. Other times, I can sit down with them and perhaps say three words the whole night. It all depends on how my brain wants to function. This first night, though, I immediately felt like I was at home. I felt like these were my people. A small piece of the happiness I had been searching for.
These guys have been getting my off of my couch at least once a week; helping me feel like there’s a reason to keep my pants on. Whether I would be playing the overly odd board games or singing some Bruce Springsteen along with all of them. I will be there.
And, of course, this past Sunday, at one of our last minute gatherings, I had to sing my all-time favorite song. I sing this one at every one of my get-togethers. I actually pull out my inner rap goddess more than anything. She is needed to proclaim how much Baby Got Back, after all.