Why Silence Is Golden

Anyone who has had the pleasure of spending a night drinking with me has also shared the displeasure of hearing me sing. I love to sing. I sing in the car, in the shower, in bars, and even in the rain on occasion. My mother would tell you I came out of the womb singing, only to remark later that the doctor then desperately tried to shove me back in.

I noticed early on that singing would be a life long passion for myself, I didn't realize however that it would be so painful for those around me. For years, around the ages of 11 to 15 I sang proud as if I was Christina Agulera herself. In fact, I received Christina's first CD shortly after it came out for Christmas one year while I was in fifth or sixth grade. I loved that CD and wore it out, I cleaned it constantly and put it on every night as I was going to bed, the dilemma consisted of the fact that I shared a bedroom with two of my brothers. My twin brother Josh and my step brother Jason. I would like to officially apologize now for all of the awful noises coming from my bunk. Also that same apology is meant for my first roommate in college for a separate reason not related to singing.

Late at night I would sing low to myself so that my brother's wouldn't complain. After a while they would steal my only blanket and force me to be cold, I guess they thought if they would have to suffer than so should I. My brother Josh convinced me to record myself and I've never been able to sing with the same confidence that I once had. On almost every occasion I get paranoid like there is a recording device in the room and worry that it will be on you-tube the next day. My singing is about as bad as Lindsey Lohan's addiction to methamphetamine. It's lethal, people wonder why I can't just stop and I am completely addicted and ignorant to the consequences.

My friend Tara and I would sing after late nights of drinking and fought over the microphone on almost every instance. Any particular Disney song or the entire soundtrack to a Taylor Swift album. I'm not particularly violent, but take away my microphone and you'll see the Hulk come out. It was my twenty first birthday, perhaps its the Irish in me that makes me a violent singer, anyways I was singing "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I was midway through the song when any ugly bitch with wide hips, flat chest, perky noise, and a dark hair cut pushed behind both ears at shoulder length came up to me and pleaded for me to stop singing. Her scrunched up forehead and serious feeble lips suggested an intense attitude, she had been drinking and hadn't been laid in a while, it's even possible that she was under the hypnosis of her period. Regardless, it was my birthday and the bitch was in my air space. There we were, standing on what resembled a much smaller version of the American Idol semi-finalist stage in a tug-of-war over the large mic. My twin brother had to pull me off and ever since I've been reluctant to sing on stage in public. Afterward the young lady sang an intense version of "Should've Said No" by Taylor Swift. Apparently she had been in a fight with her boyfriend and had broken it off with hurt feelings, discovering this fact led to bits of empathy for the woman and then I eventually let the scuffle go because after drinking I tend to get more horny than I do violent. Which I deduce is from my Italian side of the family.

I must now take the chance to apologize for any future situation where another human being or even pet dog or cat must hear my huffing off-key tone def rendition of "A Whole New World" from Disney's "Aladdin." I sincerely understand now why so many believe silence is golden.