I decided to over-achieve last night. Yes, the Couch Potato Queen of WV decided to "do stuff." I perched on the edge of my lazy-boy parrot encrusted chair and clutched my baby blue guitar in one hand and the remote in my other, sweaty, hand. The unblinking guy on the dvd casually held his instrument (hee hee) and began instructing me on the E chord. "Okay, now you place your third finger on the fourth string and your second finger on the fifth string and strum and there's E. Okay, now for the A chord." Hold on one freakin' minute blinky, I do what?! With what??
I sometimes think that those who popped out of the womb with a musical instrument clutched in their tiny pink fists, sometimes forget that other people, like, I dunno, ME - have NO FREAKIN' CLUE. I needed this dry-eyed guy to start at the beginning - like "Okay, for you girls out there, here is the proper placement of your boob behind the guitar, oh, and don't forget that you won't be able to see what strings you are playing because this instrument is made with them facing out so you can't see a thing. Got it? Good?"
Does "Guitar for Dummies" come with a dvd?
Then, with sore fingers, I decided I needed brownies. So, I hop down to the kitchen, put my fingers on ice and set about making blondies. I'm happily tossing ingredients in, not measuring ( I watch foodnetwork, after all! EVOO, baby!) and then watch in horror as my too-expensive bottle of vanilla gets dropped in the sugar and egg goo. Now, there is no way to extract the, um, extract out of the mix, so, I think: double it. More crap is thrown in the bowl (is it getting smaller?) and I turn on the beaters. Pulling them out slowly so the goo will come off of them, I ease the beaters out of my uncooked brownies and watch in horror as batter flies from them onto me, the counter, the stove, the bread bin, the salt and pepper shakers and the floor. I never do anything halfway.
Cussing at the globby messes, I pour the rest into two pans, throw them in the oven and slam the door shut. Fifteen minutes later I have two pans of brownies and a slightly sticky counter.
I can live with that.
I should've stopped there. Really, common sense shoulda intervened. But NO - I had to try to conquer "Bellydancing Boogie." Eight reps of "snake arms" and ten "figure eights" later I was thinking that my arms hurt, my back hurt and that I may be kinda sucky at the sex thing considering my hips were not making a figure eight so much as an "O." As in "OH my God - don't EVER do that again."
Tonight - round 2 with unblinking guy on the guitar dvd and maybe, just maybe I'll work my way up to learn the "D" chord. Yeah, baby. Rock on! Hee hee.