As I’m standing outside last night my husband pulls down the driveway, just returning from work. He rolls down his window and calls out, “So I’m picking out a bass guitar for you because the new guy at work is an awesome lead guitarist.”
Me, “Huh?” Because obviously I’m missing something here, and obviously my husband is missing the fact that I have no clue on how to play a bass guitar outside of 80’s Guitar Hero and that’s using a Playstation remote, and not the plastic guitar hero guitar because that always seemed way too creepy to me. Well given some time to warm up I might be able to belt out “Hot Cross Buns” or “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the recorder, or “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and a rhythm less version of “Ode to Joy” on a keyboard. But that’s it. And what is he talking about anyway?
Eventually as he finishes flipping through the mail he gets out that this new guy at work plays a lead guitar, and how he told him (my husband told New Guy) how he plays the double bass drums. Which all equals to them being lost soul mates who will be starting a laid back, no intention to ever play a gig, band in our basement. And they need a bass player who they can bring up and won’t try to take over the timing and lead of the band. Which immediately prompted my husband to suggest me… and voila.
I recapped back to my husband, “So you’re saying my abounding musical talents fit the bill?” He ignored me and started calling Craigslist ads for slightly used bass guitars.
I was with a band once. Barely. As in my best friend was a lead singer for her band, and they called me a manager so I could get into all the shows for free, get free drinks, help haul equipment, and apparently (just found out a few months ago) the bass player had a small crush on me.
The thought of joining the band for real fluttered through my mind for about five seconds, the day they were auditioning backup singers. My friend and I sang at karaoke bars several times together and always had gotten applauses, of course those could be thankgawdthatbadsingingchickfinallyhasshutup or theysoundreallyawesometogether or imtoodrunktoevenknowwhatthehellisgoingon applauses. But it was enough to almost tempt me. Until the last audition of the day left, and my friend tried to shove me up to the mike. There were too few lemon drop shots (as in none) running through my veins, and I dug my chicken shit arse deep into my metal folding chair.
Somedays I regret not having guts on that day. Other days not so much.
There could’ve been absolute horribleness as a result of trying out. Like if they all made fun of me. Would I have lost my free ride? I mean what if I had something to do BESIDES selling tickets on a street corner to their last battle of the bands show, by myself, in downtown St.Louis. Or getting screamed at by the old scary guy because he wanted to hear country in Decatur IL instead of what he called, “Rap Crap.” (um the band played rock) Or sitting around in a Buffy-ish looking bar, waiting for vampires to jump off the chandelier, talking to some groupie named “Wolf Man”?????
Who would have wanted to miss out on that fun? (put your hands down)
So now apparently I’m in an almost band. With the husband on drums, “New Guy” (because the husband never did tell me if this guy has a name) on lead guitar, and yours truly who will be holding a bass guitar and air strumming along… because again, I CAN’T PLAY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS. But the good news now is that I can finally dye my hair pink and get away with it, because if I’m going to once again play the rocker chick I have to look the part… right? I wonder if I can still fit into those old pleather jeans? Ohhhh! I bet I could teach the goat to play the cowbell!!!
(my husband is going to regret this, isn’t he?)