The Seven-Beer Itch

Karaoke drew us to Missie B’s, but its cheap drinks kept us going back (to the bar, that is).

We’re huge fans of the weekday drinkfest, so when we heard that Missie B’s usually has something interesting going on every day (except Sundays) — beer busts, drag shows, a leather store — we headed over on a recent Thursday night to check out karaoke with Cowboy Steve.

After arriving with Research Assistant Cece, we got our strong gin and tonics and whiskey and Cokes (wells and domestic longnecks are $2.25 from Monday to Thursday) and settled at a table overlooking the stage. The crowd, which was made up primarily of groups of youngish guys (of course) wearing flip-flops, was really laid-back and friendly. We were enjoying the karaoke performances, which were neither drunkenly obnoxious nor painfully earnest. Cowboy Steve, a hot guy in a black cowboy hat, black shirt and red boots, ventured out of his booth to sing “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” but the most entertaining karaoke highlight occurred when a woman in a flowy blue shirt (the only female performer of the night) was attacked by one of her backup singers, who lifted up her skirt and put his face in her crotch.

Naturally, we had to find out about that, so we went up to chat with the singer. In addition to having a beautiful voice, Mikki, 38, was also incredibly nice. She said she used to live close to Missie B’s (she lives in Gardner now with her husband and two kids), which is why she started going there. She’s a stay-at-home mom who acts and sings part time and also works at Weight Watchers International part time. As if her schedule weren’t full enough, she also performs at weddings and bar or bat mitzvahs.

And she performs on the karaoke circuit. She told us that she frequents Irene’s on Strawberry Hill, Forester’s and Lumpy’s in Olathe, and the Red Balloon. “Jim Bob [at the Red Balloon] was my first KJ. I joke that he popped my cherry,” she said.

We asked what her song of choice was. Without hesitating, she named “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.” She said, “I usually open with ‘It’s My Life.’ People don’t expect it — they see me and think, ‘She’ll do country.’ Then I get up there and rock out. I want to grow up to be a rock star.” She let out a bubbly laugh.

Of course, we had to get back to the guy-up-skirt incident, so we asked her about that. “That was fun,” she said. “He put a dollar in my panties. That’s the first time that happened!” We needed to hear about the logistics of dollar-stuffing; had he placed the money in the leghole or the waistband? It turned out to be the latter.

“Did he, uh, do anything else while he was down there?” we wondered.

“No, no — he’s gay. It’s all good,” she answered. It was only her second Thursday at Missie B’s, but she was having a great time. She told us that even if you went there alone, like she did, everyone was über-friendly. “People are like, ‘Sit with us. Don’t sit alone.’ I’ve met, like, 15 people here already.” Such is the uniting power of song, we suppose.

After that pleasant interaction, we ventured to the dance floor upstairs, which was dark and well-ventilated.

We noticed a couple pawing each other by the bar. The guy was sitting on a stool, and his hands lingered on the woman’s upper abdomen (which was easily accessible because she was wearing denim-overall shorts). Because we are evil and cynical, we wondered if they were swingers. We’re so going to hell, because they’re not. Alili (cool name), 41, and Woody, 42, have been dating for three years; they met through a friend. They go to Missie B’s every couple of weeks to dance.

“Some think we’re Will and Grace,” Alili said. “We’re not Will and Grace.”

“We get that a lot here,” Woody added. Because of that comment, we asked if he got hit on a lot.

“Well, he is gorgeous, but gay guys know he’s with me,” Alili said. She did admit that the most random thing that’s happened to her there was that she was swarmed by a bachelorette party, forcing Woody to rescue her. Hmm. Interesting, but not that titillating. We went back downstairs, where we met LaRon, 24, and Michaelray (“I’m 24 in two days!”). The two friends had just arrived at the bar, and we asked if they were seeing anyone.

“I hate dating, ’cause it’s all stupid. When you meet someone that makes sense, it doesn’t make sense. They’re all weird and stalkeresque,” LaRon said. (“I make words up,” he added. Hey, so do we! Let’s be friends!) “They’re all creepy. They don’t stop calling, they don’t have jobs or cars.”

Added Michaelray: “It’s like — ” he paused and knocked on the table — “‘Can I just stay one night?'”

LaRon: “Then, months later, [he’s still there] … ”

We asked what they looked for in a relationship.

“He’s got to be nice, sort of attractive, fun, must be funny, has to have goals and dreams,” LaRon rattled off. Not a bad list, we thought.

“Don’t settle” was Michaelray’s advice. “If someone said ‘Let’s settle down’ to me, I’d run the other way.” He went on to explain that he didn’t want to be with someone who was complacent. Which is also a good standard, we thought.

“It’s hard to date anywhere. I date myself,” LaRon said. “I get bored so easily.”

So do we (in general), but we’ll just keep drinking those cheap drinks, and all will be fine. Or so we keep telling ourselves.