I'm not known for giving out reliable life advice but I think it's safe to say that when you've just met a group of people that you'll be spending the whole summer with, you should probably not start your night at a bar that serves 99 cent sangria (especially when the cheap sangria actually contains alcohol). Even though it sounds like a gem of a bar, it's probably more of a social error when you're with people who aren't yet aware of how much of a liability you can be. After less than a mere 5 dollars, we were all lured to an Irish bar with the promise of karaoke. Again, this probably isn't an activity to do with people you've just met. Sometimes sharing really is too caring, especially when your voice makes sitting next to a screaming baby on a plane seem like a good experience.
After little persuasion, I agreed to sing Sean Paul and Blu Cantrell's Breathe because I'm convinced that my previous years on sing-star have enabled me to perfectly impersonate the Jamaican rapper. To my disappointment, it was only the lyrics for Blu Cantrell that were displayed. This meant that I spent the entire song repeating the word breathe in an awful Jamaican accent whilst my friend (who actually sings in a gospel choir) took over. Even though I was only singing one word, the man managing the microphones still deemed it necessary to turn my microphone down.
The man's efforts to silence me did not stop me from trying to launch a depressing solo career with a horrendous version of Stacy's Mom. I knew I would have to make up for my lack of singing talent with a strong stage presence. Luckily, my gospel singing friend is a good sport and held my sunglasses so I didn't have to worry about holding back. Although I probably should have held back on the head-banging given all I achieved was a lot of judgemental looks and very big hair. The only person that seemed slightly impressed by my performance was Steve the local pirate.
After exhausting my collection of questionable dance moves, I agreed to go home. I was pretty surprised to walk out of the bar and find that my bicycle was missing. Turns out that whilst I had been flaunting what my mother gave me, someone had decided to take my bicycle out for a joy ride. Luckily, the joy rider had left their iPhone 6 behind so I had a way of bargaining the return of my bicycle. Apparently people in Maryland either suck at committing a crime or just have a really generous guilty conscience. Either way, my bike was eventually returned to me.
Before I knew it, I was at the front desk of my living quarters in my pyjamas asking for directions to the snacks. Despite it not being a great night for first impressions or my waistline, I can't wait to go back and reinvent my solo career.