This just in...
Fat girls can't play guitar. Well, they can, but it's gonna be one hell of a struggle. I mean, if your big belly and ginormous tatas aren't in the way making reaching the damn thing virtually impossible, then your fat frickin' fingers will make things like an E Major Triad a God damn circus act. How do I know? Because last week I got a guitar.
When I first broke out what seemed like an innocent string instrument from the bag with which it came I was naive to it's true colors. I knew nothing about the beast within and sat down to introduce myself and get to know each other. As I plucked at the strings and got a feel for things I quickly discovered that Mary had brought her little lamb and we put it away in a manger. I deemed myself a natural talent...a daggum prodigy. Five minutes in and I have 2 classics in my pocket. That night I put in the DVD that came with it and learned a couple chords. I'll be playing flamenco in no time.
My friends that play had warned me that my fingers would hurt until I built up "calluses." I was pickin' up what they were puttin' down. I was feelin' a little tenderness...a little numbness, but all was good. I was gettin' it. Holy fires of HELL did I underestimate the power of the E Major Triad. I couldn't do it. My DVD introduced it to me a half hour into my practice time tonight (I wanted to recap what I had already learned first) and it was at this very moment that I knew...Fender is just a code name for Beelzebub. Essentially, this chord requires you to have your second and third fingers on the 5th and 4th strings and your first finger on the 3rd string. My first finger couldn't keep it's girth off the second string and the fat on my palm was curling over hitting the first string. I didn't ONCE get it to sound right so I deemed guitar fat girl inappropriate and put it away.
I watched TV for about an hour and the more I thought about it the more it devastated me. Not only because I just spent money on a guitar I might never be able to play, but because I've been dying to play an instrument my entire life. My predominantly Dutch genes gave me more than freakishly large hands good for milking cows, it gave me an unparalleled stubbornness the likes you've never seen. I looked at my fingertips and said, "You're not bleeding so you must still have some fight left" and took the guitar back out. I got my fingers into position and pressed down. I plucked each string individually, blocking out the pain as I contorted myself as necessary to make that one string sound right. I got to the point where each string was in tune and not muted, took one good strum of Beelzebub and then held my fingers in place, pressing down hard, praying that God and muscle memory would be on my side the next time I tried to play it. I took my cramped hand from the neck of the guitar and tried to straighten my fingers. I decided it was no use and just let my lifeless digits fall to the side to rest. Once, at least I got it ONCE. A few minutes later I tried it again and got it once more. Then I tried the A Major Triad and got it a time or two. It was at this point that I determined that, though not bloody, my fingers had nothing left to give.
B.B. King has Lucille and I've got Beelzebub. I got that thing with the intention of not allowing myself to get lessons until I reached my 10%. Because I'm so close to that, I changed it and I am now planning to get lessons when my scale says 299. I haven't been 299 since my 27th birthday. I'll play it every day and ache to be better. I'll have my friends play it or go see bands play to stay motivated. I will reach 299 and I will get my lessons. Stiff, numb, and what I'm sure will be permanently indented by the strings, my fingers have taken one for the team to prove to me that, though difficult, this fat girl will play guitar. You might as well get my autograph now.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.
Fat girls can't play guitar. Well, they can, but it's gonna be one hell of a struggle. I mean, if your big belly and ginormous tatas aren't in the way making reaching the damn thing virtually impossible, then your fat frickin' fingers will make things like an E Major Triad a God damn circus act. How do I know? Because last week I got a guitar.
When I first broke out what seemed like an innocent string instrument from the bag with which it came I was naive to it's true colors. I knew nothing about the beast within and sat down to introduce myself and get to know each other. As I plucked at the strings and got a feel for things I quickly discovered that Mary had brought her little lamb and we put it away in a manger. I deemed myself a natural talent...a daggum prodigy. Five minutes in and I have 2 classics in my pocket. That night I put in the DVD that came with it and learned a couple chords. I'll be playing flamenco in no time.
My friends that play had warned me that my fingers would hurt until I built up "calluses." I was pickin' up what they were puttin' down. I was feelin' a little tenderness...a little numbness, but all was good. I was gettin' it. Holy fires of HELL did I underestimate the power of the E Major Triad. I couldn't do it. My DVD introduced it to me a half hour into my practice time tonight (I wanted to recap what I had already learned first) and it was at this very moment that I knew...Fender is just a code name for Beelzebub. Essentially, this chord requires you to have your second and third fingers on the 5th and 4th strings and your first finger on the 3rd string. My first finger couldn't keep it's girth off the second string and the fat on my palm was curling over hitting the first string. I didn't ONCE get it to sound right so I deemed guitar fat girl inappropriate and put it away.
I watched TV for about an hour and the more I thought about it the more it devastated me. Not only because I just spent money on a guitar I might never be able to play, but because I've been dying to play an instrument my entire life. My predominantly Dutch genes gave me more than freakishly large hands good for milking cows, it gave me an unparalleled stubbornness the likes you've never seen. I looked at my fingertips and said, "You're not bleeding so you must still have some fight left" and took the guitar back out. I got my fingers into position and pressed down. I plucked each string individually, blocking out the pain as I contorted myself as necessary to make that one string sound right. I got to the point where each string was in tune and not muted, took one good strum of Beelzebub and then held my fingers in place, pressing down hard, praying that God and muscle memory would be on my side the next time I tried to play it. I took my cramped hand from the neck of the guitar and tried to straighten my fingers. I decided it was no use and just let my lifeless digits fall to the side to rest. Once, at least I got it ONCE. A few minutes later I tried it again and got it once more. Then I tried the A Major Triad and got it a time or two. It was at this point that I determined that, though not bloody, my fingers had nothing left to give.
B.B. King has Lucille and I've got Beelzebub. I got that thing with the intention of not allowing myself to get lessons until I reached my 10%. Because I'm so close to that, I changed it and I am now planning to get lessons when my scale says 299. I haven't been 299 since my 27th birthday. I'll play it every day and ache to be better. I'll have my friends play it or go see bands play to stay motivated. I will reach 299 and I will get my lessons. Stiff, numb, and what I'm sure will be permanently indented by the strings, my fingers have taken one for the team to prove to me that, though difficult, this fat girl will play guitar. You might as well get my autograph now.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.
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