sing, sing a song...

I received an invitation from Crazy Neighbor to attend a party at an allegedly schmancy restaurant on Tuesday. And by "received an invitation" I mean that I wrote down the name of a guy to ask for at the door and was told to tell him that Crazy Neighbor sent me. The only problem is that I can't remember Crazy's last name but I don't think it's Neighbor. It all started because he dropped a line about borrowing people's mansions to host parties, and I immediately wanted in on that crazy-sounding shit. I wouldn't even know how to go about asking to borrow your mansion, but I want to be people who know people, especially people who work out arrangements like this that walk that fine line between pimping and squatting. As for Tuesday, Carly seemed game to be my date and I have to admit that I'm intrigued; honestly, I can't fathom an event that requires dropping Crazy's name for admittance. And God knows that any party that starts at 6 PM on a Tuesday can only mean one thing: we're gonna rock out like Girl Scouts.

But all that pales, PALES in comparison to something that I found out last night: My TV has karaoke. FREE karaoke. How did no one think it relevant to tell me before now that MY TV HAS FREE KARAOKE? There's even a soft rock category. I really can't describe the feeling you get when you suddenly find out that you can sing Rock the Casbah or Every Rose Has Its Thorn WITH BACK-UP in your own living room: it's like your birthday and Christmas and the anticipation of partying with the elderly on a Tuesday afternoon all rolled into one.