On the Cover of the Rolling Stone

The slumber party with my girlfriends Sunday night was a blast. It was a long night of fun and frivolity, which included a whole lot of this:

And it proved several things, mostly that I can only dream of being a rock star.

But also:

A. Despite my lifelong desire to sing like Aretha Franklin and the numerous hours I spend practicing in the car, I cannot carry a tune, even if it’s in a five gallon bucket with a handle that is duct taped to my fingers.

B. I do NOT know the words to Roxanne.

C. The room isn’t big enough for me to get enough distance between me and the TV in order to read those fuzzy Roxanne lyrics rolling across the screen.

D. I should not be allowed to sing Roxanne ever again, unless it’s in the confines of the shower or my vehicle. Even then, it’s iffy. I hurt my own ears.

E. Alex Van Halen need not worry about me taking over his drumming job. I sound nothing like him. I do, however, look as ragged as he does if I stay up way past my bedtime.

F. I CAN play the drums to We Are The Champions, but as Teen Angel says that’s just, Boom, Boom, Thud over and over again.

G. Lord have mercy, I cannot party like a rock star as I do not bounce back from staying up until 3:30am as quickly as I used to.

H. The only chance I have at working in a rock band is to be one of those backup girls who is just supposed to snap her fingers and look good. And frankly, at age 40-something…any career based on looks is not a wise move. But we can all dream can’t we?