It seems that on Saturday, while in Paxil mania, I posted on CCM that I wanted to put together a band and asked my friends (most of whom are already in seventeen bands) to come play with a singer whose experience amounts to drunken karaoke and lullabies. Oddly enough, they volunteered. So now I have to figure out how not to make an ass of myself. Wait, scratch that. I'm totally going to make an ass of myself, but not because I suck. I'm blaming Venus. She keeps telling me I can sing, and seems to think that since I'm not afraid of the stage, I should be on it. I can't argue with that. Especially since I've been craving it. I still want to do burlesque, but my ankle is still kinda jacked, and I have no idea how long it will be before I can really do what I want to do. I won't be half-assing it, that's for sure. Nor will I half-ass this band thing. I really want to make music. I always have, but it isn't easy for me like dancing was. So here's the plan: Lo (bless her heart) is going to give me some vocal coaching cds, and I'm going to drive my kids nuts. Meanwhile, I'm going to write as constantly as the cramps in my wrists will allow. Not just songs - because I don't really know how to write songs - but stories, blog posts, stream-of-conciousness babble, whatever. I'm going to work on the monkeys-with-typewriter's-esque [Oof. That was a little rough, wasn't it?] notion that if I write enough crap there might be a few jewels somewhere in it. Then I will do the best I can and lean heavily on the band, who actually have things like experience. And talent.
I hope the boys are prepared to cover this. (Rearranged, of course... but I would totally wear that dress.)