Lip Singing my Way Through High School

Tonight I went back to high school. I cam rushing back, actually, because tonight was LipSync, a competition held between classes and clubs where they lip sung a song, or a couple of songs stitched together, to create a story. As the sets were changed, the Emcee’s performed sketches, on par with SNL themselves. I also had to come running back because, see, I was an Emcee my senior year and I have to make sure the new kids are keeping up with our legacy.

Can I be a little narcissistic? A little selfish, maybe borderline, douche bag? I’m going to do it anyway. The skits I performed where a little funnier because we made fun of ourselves, and a few teachers. I performed a skit with a bear, not getting into details about the girl who carried this bear around, and we sang “A Whole New World”, horribly of course. Everyone loved it, they were laughing for days and days. It was so good I could’ve gotten the Oscar.

So anyway, LipSync, was fabulous. The classes and clubs were great, the sets were great, the costumes, the lip singing was a little off but who cares. Two stood out to me; the GUTS club and the sophomores. The GUTS club is a club for the gays, to “accept acceptance” whatever. I told my friend, prom date, that “You could literally see the rainbows coming out of their asses,” and that “This is the most movement from a woman these gays have ever seen.” I only liked the sophomores because they had a boy, dancing in the front, to Ariana Grande. I told prom date, “He’s so good we should call him Ariana Pequeno.”

I talk a lot about high school I know. Its just seeing my babies, the ones who were little itty-bitty freshman three years ago, on stage making people laugh, on stage dancing, or acting, makes me cry. I feel like I birthed them, like I’m the mama bird watching them fly. Don’t even get me started about them applying to college. Just tonight I watched as one of them got into her car, I cried for twenty minutes, I also wasn’t that sexually aroused since Les Mis at the Oscars.

Again, borderline douche, everyone, at the end of the show, came up to me. “Joe?” “Is that Joe Russo?”

“Hey fag face get your ass over here.”

“Okay Mrs. Waters.”

The only problem I had tonight was that asshole at the door, taking tickets. “Hi I’ll buy two please.”

“Two? That’ll be fourteen dollars,” he said.

“Fourteen? I’m an alum and past Emcee I should get in for free,” I told him.

“That’s nice. Fourteen.”

“Well I only have ten?”

“Then you can only buy one… NEXT,” he took my money, handed me a ticket and I walked away with a new sense of shame. Now I know why he’s only a sub.