At Fry’s Electronics.

Yep, I said Fry’s.

Remember a while back when I blogged about RockBand? You know, drums, guitar, bass and an old, pathetic, washed up ex BQ determined (even if it meant potentially needing hip replacement) to master the above instruments along with that stupid, stupid orange chord on the guitar and the kick pedal.

Do you remember how I said me and BFF Michele Bardsley had a sad/envy because not only do the whiny teenagers hog the damned display of RockBand at Fry’s, but also those thar whippersnappers are purty damned smug about how John Bonham they are? Remember how I said we were gonna go in there one day and show them kids what it was all about?

“One day” came yesterday.

So, I sort of have nothing on my plate at this point. Nothing pressing, that is, and thus–I’ve been PRACTICING while I wait for pressing, ya know? But I haven’t just been practicing RockBand. Nay–I’ve been honing my Guitar Hero World Tour prowess, too. Guitar Hero copped to marketplace pressure and made their own set of drums along with all the bells and whistles RockBand sported. GH’s drums are uber-fab. They’re like almost real or something, and I gotta say, they’re a lot more rad than RockBand’s.

Seriously.

So of course, Michele and I were at the Best Buy when it came out a few weeks ago like total tards, standing in line at midnight with a bunch of kids we could have birthed ourselves, waiting to BUY our Guitar Hero so we could haz said drums.

Anyway, I’ve veered off subject, and I veered off subject because I are old and I forget. 

Here’s the point. Last night my kid and my man go techie shopping. Cam wants some dohickey for his comp, and Rob is ready and willing because it means going to Fry’s. He lurves some Fry’s.

Me? I hatch a diabolical plan. I’m going to march into Fry’s, knock some snotty, angsty teenager right off his drum stool and show these noobs what an old broad can do.

Much to my surprise–they have not the Rockband display of old, but GUITAR HERO WORLD TOUR.

Oh, dude’s–you so don’t know what you’ve gone and done.

So I’m ready, right? I’m going to show off my skillz–’cause I haz them. I’m on the level “hard” on drums now, and on some songs, I’m on “EXPERT”. HAH! 

But there’s a line to play. Being a total adult–I wait my turn. Unlike some other kids who don’t know how to share and play well in a team setting. While I don’t want to call names, “Hey,! Little boy in the blue shirt who needs a haircut and a mother who might consider a spine in his stocking this Christmas! YOU, yes Y-O-U are the suckiest sharer EVAH!”

My Dr. Phil assessment is this–mom’s older (she told me OFTEN while I waited my turn and the mean-boy HOGGED the drums AND the guitar while he whined about how off the store’s drums and guitar were which in turn made his playing sucky. Rolls eyes), and I suspect some over-indulgence occurs with mean-boy because mom is, in fact, older. Just the impression she gave. I don’t know for sure–so older mom’s, don’t be offended. Oh, and she gave me this big long story about how when he originally got Rockband all his friends MADE him play guitar because he was so good at it. But they wouldn’t let him play the drums. Therefore, he absolutely must HOG the Fry’s drums so he can play them minus interruption.

Sorry, Mr. Van Halen.

So I say, “Let? Er, ain’t it yer kids RockBand?” If it was my Rockband, I’d tell my weenie friends to bite me hard, knock the kid on the drums off the stool and whip him with my drumsticks about the head and shoulders, but not before I told him to piss off for hogging MY DRUMS! Helllloooo. And don’t his friends ever go home, thus allowing him personal drum set alone time? Or do they chain that shit up while they’re gone?

She had no answer for that, but she had a whole lot of excuses when the spawn chose Hotel California after he’d already played 5 other songs. Do you have ANY IDEA how long that song is? 

Anyhoodles, when he was done, his mother made him give it up to ME. By now my kid’s shown up and when her mean kid gives me the astonished “She–you mean, as in the old lady–wants to play the DRUMS?” my kid gets a smidge cocky and says, “I don’t want to be disrespectful, but she’s really good, prolly  better than you…”

BUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, and just to prove I’m a good example,  I followed up with a nudge to my kids ribs and a stern expression to make it look like I was chastising him for being mean back.

I know what you’re all thinking. I need a life–a purpose–maybe decoupage as a hobby. Whatevs.

So mean-boy sticks around to watch and I can hear him whispering to his mother how it sucks that she made him give up the drums, and I’ll prolly suck at anyway. Neener, neener, neener.

But guess what? I don’t suck, you, crappy sharer–know why? ‘Cause the hell anyone takes my drums from me, little big man, and that means, ’cause I’m the meanest girl on the block, I get to play the drums ALL THE TIME PLus, I have a CC AND cash and no curfew. Snort.

My kid was so irritated with him, he even offered to play guitar with me. If you knew my youngest, you’d know having anything to do with me in public is like as big as nabbing some one-on-one time with the Pope. Major big. That he was sticking up for me–bigger still. 

And I’m just gonna tell ya now–I don’t care how petty, mean, pathetically lame it sounds when I shout–I plunked my decrepit ass down there and whooped his BUTT!!!!!!

Big. On Lenny Kravitz’s Are Ya Gonna Go My Way? On. HARD. See me stick my tongue out at you, mean boy. LOLLOLLOLLOL.

I truly only wanted to go in there as a kind of milestone–a public marker of the great euphoria I feel whilst I bang out Hot for Teacher. A metaphoric trophy in my vastly empty trophy case to show I’d accomplished a whole lot in just the two and a half months since I’ve owned my own RockBand.

I wasn’t planning on the can of whoop ass, but he WAS mean and really rude when his mother made him hand over the drumsticks by making a meanie-butt face at me. For which I had to show him what’s-what.

On the not so flattering scale–I’m choosing to ignore the fact that a small crowd gathered when I plunked my saggy tuchis down on the stool because, well, I am OLD, and I’m certain to some teens it was like going on one of those dinosaur tours at the Museum of Natural History and seeing them come to life, watching me play. 

But there wasn’t a peep after my fine display of musicality, followed by my extraordinarily deft drumstick skillz, about my age.

Not one.

Score Team Rides in Wheelchair!

LOLLOL,

Dakota

Soooooooo–we had a rawkin’ good time in Tulsa. Big love to Pam Houks, Chris Barton and Emily. Pam organized the whole shindig for Books-A-Million, Chris was the one who suggested Michele and I for the signing, and both Chris and Emily showed up all the way from Little Rock to come and help out. They work for BAM, and did they ever treat us like goddesses. Chris is a fireman and he reads our stuff. He always takes a pic of himself with our books in front of his face with his fireman’s outfit on. Real men, men who got some shazam, DO read romance–and we lubs him

Like seriously. Anyway, we didn’t even have the chance to think a need before it was magically in front of us, and we’re all forever grateful these people can read our mere internal signs of caffeine deprivation

So, it was me, Jaci Burton, Michele Bardsley, and Shayla/Shelley//Sharon/Shoshonna/Bradley/Black/I’ve lost track of her pseudonyms. LOLLOL.

Let me explain. When we first exchanged emails, we heard from Nikki (who also RAWKS!) who I thought was another alias for Shelley/Shayla. By the time I met them, and all of Shayla/Shelley’s personalities, I was utterly lost. I thought Nikki was another pen name for Shayla/Shelley. But she’s not–she’s totally a different person altogether, and she helps Shelley. Alas, I’m old, and by the time Michele explained to me what was going on and who was who, I was too far gone to come back.

Anyway–this is US :) 

Yeah, I know–no pic. Know why? Because Wordpress is forever messin’ with a good thing. I can’t figure out the new way to post a pic! But whaddya wanna bet I gots me some pargraphs now? LMAO. I haz a sad that I can’t figure it out, but you can see a couple at Jaci’s blog if you’re curious. I’d do her URL, but again, I’m techie tard and I can’t figure that out either.

Afterward, we went to Chili’s and had a late lunch with Shayla/Shelley/Shoshonna/Lohanna, Nikki, Greta (what a doll), Chris, Emily, Jaci, and biker dude. No event is complete without biker dude. I’d show you the mean pic of him flippin’ the bird up behind my head, but again–NO PICS.

I taunted poor Shayla/Shelley/Sharon because she’s awesome fun and can totally take a razzin’. Me and Michele told her how stuck up we thought she was because she didn’t answer her emails personally while we were trying to get the giveaway together (we did–we were joking, but we did), but she explained she’d had a family emergency and couldn’t answer them. Dudes, I totally get her family emergency, ’cause I had the same one many moons ago, and it was worse than having your skin peeled off. Here’s a holla out to Shayla/Shelley’s hubby that he’s feeling MUCH better, and a sympathetic whimper from me to him. So we forgave her–plus, she’s got an awesome book out now. Again, I’d show you the pic of it–but you know the drill.

All in all, a good time was had by everyone, ‘cept I had a really BAD hair day–so I figure not being able to put the frickin’ pics up on the blog is some kind of weird blessing because no one will suffer from the making of this signing. I can’t think of anyone I’ve had more fun with recently at an event than those six women, Chris, and biker dude. I say we do it again really, really soon.

But not until my hair is having a better day

Dakota