Karaoke is rarely sexually attractive.

A few weeks ago I was in San Francisco, the city of love. And let me tell you, the residents still like to love. I was hit on not once, but THREE TIMES in one evening, which is well above average. In New York, I am hit on about once every four months, and I don’t think that it is only because I am usually with Ken or because I avoid eye contact with the entire city. I think SF just has a different bar scene. One that is really into hitting on the ladies.

The reason I was in San Francisco was to meet up with my college girl friends who were going to see a guy friend and his band perform. Actually, the real reason I was in San Francisco was because I decided to go to California on my way to a family party in Oregon, but the reason I was in the city that night was to see this band. The band was super, but when they finished playing, the night was still young(!) and one of my girl friends had the idea going to a Karaoke bar. Now, I was with friends from my college a cappella group, so presumably we could all sing. I was all for going, but nonetheless, I was scared of singing Karaoke and took my sweet time selecting a song. I enjoy believing that I am capable of singing and spent a while debating whether or not I wanted to risk shattering this illusion by having to prove myself in front of a live audience.

By the time I talked myself into submitting a song to the DJ, my friends had already performed a Kelly Clarkson number. As I was waiting for my name to be called, a young suitor came over and asked if he could look at the book of song choices we had on our table. He then started talking to me because apparently everyone in SF thinks everyone else is far game and likely interested in them. Also, I was looking quite lovely (see below).

He was dorky enough for that I felt in no way guilty talking to him, and he was normal enough for me not to feel uncomfortable. He asked me for advice on what to sing, etc (etcetera being what I did for a living, why I was in the city, blah blah blah), and eventually said he wanted to sing something by Meatloaf. I know exactly one Meatloaf song, so I said, “You should sing ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Lights,’”

“Do you know the girl part?” he asked.

“Yes.” Fortunately, I had named the exactly one Meatloaf song that I knew, and he invited me to sing the duet with him. We continued to talk, which to him was probably flirting. However, nerdy flirting really just comes across as polite chit-chat.

Some time later, I was called up to sing the song I had selected. I asked my friends to dance behind me while I sang Sarah Evans’ “Born to Fly,” a country song that I often sing alone in my car in preparation for my Karaoke debut. “Really,” I asked myself, “how bad could I be?” I have sung all my life, and I wasn’t even drunk! I had only had two drinks the whole night (though one was a Long Island Iced Tea, and let’s face it, that is more like three drinks with a little bit of sand added as garnish). But to my astonishment and despite years of practice on the Interstate, I was not good at singing this piece in the loud bar in front of a live audience. I was appalling, and I made the wise choice to abandon ship before the song was over.

Back at our table, I saw that our friends from the band had turned up at the Karaoke bar, apparently just in time to see me sing.

“Oh God, I embarrassed myself more than I thought.”

Singing poorly in front of two of my close girl friends from college who were far drunker than I was is one thing (and not really a bad thing. They have both seen me embarrass myself far worse than a bad Karaoke night.), but I didn’t really want to embarrass myself in front of additional friends and acquaintances. The band members were polite and told me I did a good job, but oddly, my young nerdy suitor avoided eye contact with me and did not reconvene our conversation. Ashamed, I left without saying goodbye, and he let me leave without putting up a fight for our promised Meatloaf duet.