Child-star karaoke gone wrong
First Posted: 2/16/2015
“This convenient store looks like a pedophile’s dream,” I said to my friend, David.
It was summertime and the livin’ was easy. I was young, wild and as free as a boner in sweatpants while living in California to complete an internship at “Jimmy Kimmel Live.”
I was staying at Oakwood Apartments in Burbank, a large complex next door to Warner Bros. Studios that offers temporary housing programs, perfect for the summer intern or the aspiring child star.
Oakwood is famous for hundreds of child actors taking up residency each year for their customized Child Actor Program, which includes discounted housing accommodation, special activities geared toward kids, acting classes and access to professional studio tutoring services. Some child actors that once lived there include Jennifer Love Hewitt, Josh Hutcherson, Miley Cyrus and Kirsten Dunst. It’s also where Raven-Symone and Lindsay Lohan shared their first apartment together when they were 17.
Every year, autographed head shots of aspiring child actors are proudly plastered around the on-site convenient store.
It’s a way to acknowledge the young, driven talent that hope to become the next Disney star.
It’s also really creepy and looks like what I’d imagine a pedophile’s basement would look like, minus the man at a cash register, of course.
Me and my friend David, who was living at Oakwood while interning for a talent agency in Beverly Hills, were about to spend our Saturday afternoon at the pool. But first, it was time for my typical lunch from the convenient store: a deli pickle and a 40 oz. bottle of Corona. (I was on a budget where alcohol was clearly a priority.)
While standing in line, I noticed a sign promoting a karaoke night in the clubhouse at Oakwood, with free food and drinks available.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked David.
“Pre-game at karaoke before going out tonight?” he asked.
“Hell to the yes,” I replied.
After an afternoon of soaking up the California sun and drinking 40s by the pool, followed by a nap, it was time to pre-game at karaoke.
When David and I entered the clubhouse, more 40s in hand, we realized this wasn’t the karaoke night we thought it would be.
“This is all those wannabe child stars,” I said to David.
“Yeah, but look at all of those hot moms,” David mentioned, walking straight over to their table to flirt with them.
Next thing I knew, I was pre-gaming with a bunch of stage moms.
I don’t know if it was the need to fit in or the wine mixed with the 40s I was drinking all afternoon, but I started wishing I had a child so I could force the little one into show business.
Just when my night was going well, a wannabe child star had to ruin it for me.
Some little girl, about 12 years old, with teased, long blond hair took the stage, wearing a bikini top and ripped jeans, and started singing “I Wanna Be Bad” by Willa Ford.
Nothing about her performance was appropriate, but that didn’t stop the stage mother’s from cheering her on.
“She’s so talented,” one of the mother’s said.
Once she finished a performance that I felt I should have been arrested for watching, she received a standing ovation.
I was not about to let her have that moment.
If her mother wasn’t going to teach her a lesson for that performance, I would, by outshining her.
I then took the stage in front of aspiring child stars to sing a karaoke version of “Like A Virgin” by Madonna. I even crawled on the floor and moaned in all the places. Sorry, Mom and Dad.
For some reason, I wasn’t greeted with a standing ovation after my performance.
“How could you do that? There are children here,” said a mom with a plastic cup of wine in her hand.
“Your daughter just performed in practically a bra. She’s going to be a stripper,” I fired back.
Then I dropped the mic on the ground like a boss.
Then I ran.