I Didn't Know How Lost I Was Until I Found...

The mic in my hand. Let me recap that for you. The last thing I clearly remember, I was doing sake bombs at Sushi Deli Two. Fast forward, and I'm onstage at Lamplighter, a bar in Hillcrest with a men's bathroom. Only. I'm up there, standing next to Des, our honorable Retired Sorority President, and we're belting out "Like A Virgin" to a wall-to-wall packed audience. Not singing, BELTING. Like you do in the shower, or in your car when you're on a late-night road trip and are too scared you'll fall asleep. I think I saw some people cringe. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts about this (during the "aw, can't you hear my heartbeat... for the very first time" stanza) -- because next thing I knew, Des was screaming at me -- into her mic [ because if anyone, sorority presidents know how to use those things] to "Sing, Lilly, SING!". I did. Like it was my job. Problem being that I have a totally hoarse voice today (and that's putting it nicely) so I was the real deal -- "Like a (Prepubescent) Virgin (Boy)". Think Peter Brady.

There's something liberating about singing in front of a crowd. It was definitely a test of my starpower, and I'm glad to say that the place was still full when we stepped off. No one threw anything, anyways. Well, nothing that hit the stage. Not that in my numb state I would have felt it. I suppose it's a cost-benefit analysis you do in these situations. Listen to girly girls belt out songs, bopping and looking at each other doing the white girl dance (although neither is white)? Or leave and risk never getting to sing *your* song? We're attention whores, the lot of us karaoke bar goers, aren't we?

We were hoping for Jon to show up so we could set him up by signing him up for "She Bangs", but alas, he was a no-show. That's always how it goes.

In any case, it was a good vibe. A good start to a weekend I wasn't feeling great about. The other day someone observed that San Diego is really a locals' town. You have to know the places to go, or otherwise it doesn't look like much is going on. If you do, it's awesome. That's true. But it's really also a smart peoples' town. Because, 5 years ago, I would have been shoveling a driveway until I cried with frostbite, cursing my life and my crystallized nostrils, all for the love of getting myself over to drink cheap beer in a sleazy local bar with friends. And once there, I'd hear who was pregnant, who'd gotten fat, who was ugly. The good, the bad and the ugly of Highland Park, 60035. Per usual, the highlight would be watching an elementary school friend's mom with an uncanny resemblance to Roseanne and a denim sleeveless shirt (just painting a picture for ya, folks) picking up greasy men in the corner. My how things change.

Let my thankfulness begin right there.