Nah, I’m not cursing. You know I’d NEVER do that.
Nope. Never. My mouth and vocabulary are as pure as the wind driven snow.
Hells Bells is simply a randomly picked song from the list of AC/DC’s greatest hits. Not because I’m a metal head, but because Craig is going to an AC/DC concert tonight. Wha?!? You might be thinking. That’s what I said when he told me.
Craig is a music aficionado. Old rock, new rock, 80’s music, 90’s grunge rock, old school rap and hip hop and whatever he finds on my pink ipod of music awesomeness, However, in the 14 years that I’ve known him, he has never once expressed interest in attending a concert. Not that it matters any; I was just taken aback by his sudden desire to attend this event.
As it so happens, Craig’s friend, and fellow classic metal/rock lover, was the recipient of an early Christmas present: tickets to the AC/DC concert. And Craig, always looking to have a good time while simultaneously subjecting himself to the possibility of bursting an eardrum or two, thought it’d be a rad idea to join him.
I like music, too, even some good old fashioned, head banging rock and roll. And yet, AC/DC is not high on my list of favorite bands. Our Body Pump shoulder track song is to Hinder’s cover of Thunderstruck, and that’s somewhat enjoyable. I also remember a song from step class that mixed together My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas and You Shook Me All Night Long and that was all kinds of awesome. I don’t know, though. I think there is something very creepy and unsettling about watching aging rock stars living and touring like they’re still young and hip. Can the guys from the band stand up for a whole set? They’re all old. What if their arthritis impedes their guitar playing and microphone holding? I feel the same way about the Rolling Stones. Oh, and Aerosmith. Time to pack up your peacocking ways Mick and Steven.
Oh, and you too Ozzy. He’s pretty awesome, I admit, but yikes. Maybe they should build a Assisted Living Center for Aging Rock Stars somewhere in Beverly Hills. They can share stories from the past and receive special medication to undo whatever harm they’ve done to their livers, lungs and vocal cords.
So while Craig is out sowing what is left of his wild oats, Caroline and I will be shopping for birthday presents for the slumber party she’s attending tomorrow evening and for some of the components to her Halloween costume. Caroline wants to be a dog and I need to make dog ears. I’m trying to remain positive, but I have a feeling I’ll muck it up big time. Sewing is a skill that I do not possess. Nevertheless, in the words of the estimable Tim Gunn, I’ll make it work.
Speaking of making things work, I had a light bulb moment yesterday and was able to repurpose an old framed print and create a new picture for my bedroom. I’ve been itching to mix things up lately and have been bothered by a blank wall in our bedroom. I knew I wanted something there to fill the void, but didn’t really want to spend any extra money. Yesterday, I put on my thinking cap and went “shopping” around my house. I have this huge tub in my garage that houses decorative items that I don’t use, probably will never use and should give away, but am afraid I might find a need for someday. In the tub I found a small 8 x 10 picture of a lamp with some French words under it. Perhaps the French word for lamp? My brilliant description is not doing it any justice, so just go with me here. It’s color and simple design would fit beautifully in my room, but I didn’t have an appropriate frame. Well, I had an 8 x 10 frame, but for the space, I needed something bigger. It’s all about scale.
I decided to use a print that I had hanging in our hallway that really just kind of bugged me. It didn’t fit; it was just there. The only problem was that the mat had a blue strip that framed the print and the blue simply wouldn’t go. Would you care to guess what I did with the blue stripe. Well, I grabbed my trusty Sharpie marker and colored over the blue. I know that sounds totally cheapskate and trashy, but it worked. The next problem I encountered was the wrong color frame. To remedy that, I hopped in the car and booked it to Wal Mart for a bottle of black paint.
I painted the frame, matted an old picture I found deep in the recesses of my garage and had a new-to-me picture for our bedroom. All for $1.97–the cost of the paint.
Yay for repurposing.
And so this concludes the most random post I’ve probably ever composed.
Tomorrow, I might tell you why I have a feeling God is going to smite me someday soon.