Move Over, Partridge Family...

...because all we need is a psychadelic bus and a cute little redhead.

Oh wait. We've already got one of the two.

ME!

Most people go out to see live music on Saturday nights.

In the Adams household, we create our own fucking concert.

Remember how I said I was supposed to sing at my stepdaughter Lindsay's wedding last weekend and wasn't able to?

I got home from work yesterday and Chuck said, "You better prepare for a concert tonight."

I assumed Lindsay's husband Mike was going to bring over his guitar, we'd have a couple of beers, and I would sing. We'd film it for blogging (and perhaps humiliation) purposes of course.

My new son-in-law ended up bringing a whole stage set-up with him.

Guitars, PA, a mic, effects pedal...the whole bit.


Chuck jamming with his Mike's son Nathan

Lindsay looking like a hot roadie

It felt weird setting up a microphone in my fucking living room.

"I feel like that thing is a poinsonous snake or something," I told Mike, eyeing the microphone. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of those things."

"Uh...you just sing into it."


"I know! But I'm so loud and obnoxious, I've never needed a microphone for anything!"

I love to sing. But it's usually only in the shower or in my car. Basically I like to sing when I'm naked or driving. Or naked AND driving.

I'm not Mariah Carey or anything, but I can hold a tune. I just have to pick the right songs for my range (which is very, very narrow).

I've done karaoke three times, once when I was forced at a Gaelic Football function (which was a surprisingly decent effort at Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It"), and twice at a bar with friends (both of these attempts were kind of dodgy).

Last night was way more fun than karaoke!

My first song was "Hotel Yorba" by the White Stripes.

This is what it sounds like in case you don't give a shit about The White Stripes (in which case, I must question your musical taste):

And I also decided to do The White Stripes' "We're Gonna Be Friends", which is a really pretty song.

My new step-grandson-in-law (yikes) Nathan makes a surprise cameo at the end. It's worth watching for that even if you don't want to hear me sing another White Stripes song (but I think I sound pretty nice)...

Hilar-i-ouuuuuuus!

Yes, I cheated with a lyrics sheet. Most of the song doesn't change up, so I get confused with the verses.

So sue me.

Did you see the fake laser-glare I gave Nathan? Priceless. He kind of looked Mr. Bean-esque when he wandered in front of the camera. It made the video that much more awesome.

Anyway, here's the original version:

What an awesome night. I don't think I've had that much fun in a long time. 

I totally pretended I was singing to a stadium full of people.

Not really. I felt awkward. But looking at Chuckles whilst I was singing helped. He looked pretty impressed with me, made me laugh and feel good about myself. Like a good husband should.

So anyway, I want opinions, but please be kind. Posting video of myself singing should have been one of the entries on my bucket list.

Because it's taking a lot of balls to do it!

*hides*

I'm A Bloody Idiot

So, the Idiot Gardener jinxed me.

His last post was a step-by-step instructional on how to be an idiot and stab yourself with pruning shears. And there seems to have been some sort of subliminal voodoo-hex towards me embedded in it as well.

I commented about the multitude of ways in which I've been injured (I'm very accident prone), but never through gardening.

Well, I thought I had better stay away from all things sharp in my yard, garage, etc. I knew that after I said I hadn't injured myself gardening, I'd immediately have some sort of trowel accident or something.

There isn't room enough in this world for two Idiot Gardeners!

Thank the Sweet Baby Jesus In The Manger, I remain a gardening genius.

Last night however, I proved that I'm still an Idiot Chef.

I mentioned yesterday that it was Canadian Thanksgiving, and that I was making a huge mammoth feast of magnificently colossal epic proportions. All by myself.

Never. The Fuck. Again.

I wrestled with that damn turkey for at least a couple of hours. It looked like I'd slaughtered the bastard in my kitchen. There was blood everywhere.

It took me forever just to get the fucking neck out. It was as big as some entire turkeys I've seen.

I sweated and yanked and pulled on that thing until it popped and ended up spraying me in the face (yeah, I know...that's what she said). I was so pissed off. I love it when I get raw turkey juice in my mouth.

And this ghetto-ass jive turkey was missing half of its giblets. Still had a big ol' tail hanging off it. Why didn't they just leave the feathers on? Why didn't they just leave the head on it?? Just wrap up a live turkey and stick it in the freezer???

Gobble, gobble, SQUAWK.

*deep breath*

It was a long day.

Ten hours of cooking later, I'm finally slicing some potatoes, one of the last things I have to do before everything's ready to eat...I see the light at the end of the cooking tunnel....

*SLICE* "Fuck!"

I sliced the shit out of my thumb. Luckily we had some gauze pads and surgical tape, because a Band-Aid wasn't gonna cut it (so punny).

I soldiered on with my FrankenThumb, and all that was left to do was carve the turkey.

I asked Chuck if he could at least do that (he was kind of making light of my cut thumb), and he sharpened up a knife.

*STAB* "Fuck!"

Chuck stabbed the shit (notice the italics, his was even worse than mine was) out of the top of his hand (karma's a bitch). His appetite wasn't affected, and we're lucky everyone at the table was good with the sight of blood.

The food turned out to be delicious, and everyone enjoyed themselves (even with injuries).

Chuck's daughter Lindsay and her fiancé Mike were over for the meal, and took advantage of the opportunity to go over a few things with us in regard to their wedding on this coming Saturday.

Lindsay asked Chuck to help her pick out a song for the father-daughter dance. She wanted to pick a Led Zeppelin song, because she knows how much Led Zeppelin means to Chuck.

They were going over a few songs, and tried dancing to a couple of them in the kitchen while I was cooking. (Chuck doesn't like to dance in public, so he's been kind of dreading this)

We put on "What Is And What Should Never Be" to try it out, and I laughed so hard, I almost peed myself (ignore my shrill cackling):




I get to also have a part in the wedding.

Mike walked in the door last night with his guitar and some music and said, "So, I have my guitar. I have music. You're going to sing 'Hotel Yorba' at our wedding while I play. And we're going to practice tonight."

In case you don't know what that song is, it's a White Stripes tune that I love.




I don't think he thought I'd agree so quickly. The first time I sang to Mike playing last night, I could see on Chuck's face that he was surprised I sang so well. He's heard me sing, but not as if I was singing for an audience.

Anyway, I didn't get any video of that last night, maybe I'll get some when I sing at the wedding.

Everyone cross your fingers (and thumbs) that I don't suck at singing like I do at slicing potatoes!