I love Karaoke.

I usually get suckered into bringing girls that I'm dating to the bars that I work at.  Not that I'm opposed to seeing them, but rather it cramps my rather trampy bartending style.  I flirt with every girl that comes in, trying to wrangle an extra dollar...or seven, out of the ladies.

But I digress.

One night, a girl that I had recently met had taken it upon herself to show up on our designated karaoke night.  "I love karaoke!" she sputtered excitedly, "Maybe I'll sing a Grease song!"

Two things scared me. 1 - She seems way too excited.  2 - She wants to sing Grease.

To protect the innocent, we're going to be changing names here.  I don't want to receive hate mail.

Elizabeth was a cutie, in the classical style.  Her short hair and button nose, coupled with her red sweatshirt gave off the impression of a less than innocent Little Red Riding Hood.  She was quiet though, which actually fit the mold for girls who find me attractive.  For someone as loud as I am, I always half expected to meet someone as equally obnoxious.  But I seem to draw the quiet ones the same way Rob draws girls with eating disorders.

Back to story.  I was working a quiet Sunday night at Pat's Cocktails.  John and I were listening to some bad tunes, slinging some bad drinks, and telling some bad jokes.  We were having a night, Jimmy G slinging Karaoke like crack on Hollywood Blvd; only the degenerates were biting.

Elizabeth walked in by herself, already clearing her throat for her vocal hijinks.  

"Hey Wil, can I go sign up for Karaoke now?" She asked.  John the bartender just shot her one of those WTF looks.

"Of course you can, here's a woo woo*" I replied, while sliding a pink drink across the counter.  She knocked it back like it was her first time drinking and sauntered over to Jimmy G at the karaoke machine.

Without even flipping through the list of available songs, she immediately tells the Karaoke Host what she wants.  I'm watching this exchange and both John and I note the look of incredulity that passes across his face.

Cut to five minutes later.

"Everyone give a big hand for... Elizabeth!"  Jimmy G shouted.

She quietly made her way up to stage and stood there, hunched over in embarrassment in front of the patrons.  If I didn't know any better, I would say that she was only holding the mike for someone else who was singing.  And then, the song started.

Bass and tom drums.  Dah duh duh da duh.  Dah duh duh da duh.

This song was way louder and harder than the one she picked, obviously.  I look up front to see if she was looking around in panic.  Nope.  Calm as a cucumber.

All impressions of her being quiet were dispelled as soon as she opened her mouth.

"OOOOOHHHH WHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHAHHHHHAAAAHHHHHAAAAAA"

The opening screams from Disturbed's 'Down with the Sickness' ripped out of her throat.  She then continued to flay her vocal chords for the next five minutes, shredding the song with the passion and angst of an annoyed postal worker.

I asked her to marry me as soon as the song ended.

Can we all say don't judge a book by its cover?

*woo woo - terrible.  Cedric Benson terrible.  If anyone ever orders one from me, I will take it as a personal affront.