This past weekend, we celebrated GTB’s 33rd birthday by having dinner with his family and then going to a bowling alley for Monte Carlo rollin’ and karaoke. Though I didn’t win any money bowling, I did score a 107 on my third game. A personal best.

I wasn’t as successful with the karaoke. After a few beers and a few hours of watching GTB and the Portland Posse make adorable fools of themselves on stage, I decided I’d give it a shot. GTB and I threw in our sign-up sheet and a little bit later, we were dueting “Islands in the Stream.” I was, in a word, terrible. And not just in that, “Oh, her voice is bad, but she’s having fun” kind of way. No, I was bad in the “Wow, she can’t sing, and she seems to have no rhythm, and she apparently can’t read because she’s still fucking up the lyrics even though they are right there on screen for her, and good god, how big is her ass anyway?” way.

Fortunately, this experience taught me a couple of lessons. First, no matter how much you love a guy or how much he begs, agreeing to join him on stage for a duet is not a good way to express your adoration. Second, I can’t for the life of me match Dolly Parton’s high pitch, nor should I try.

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