The Vixxie Blues

The Vixxie Blues


Learning to play guitar is a straight highway to hell. It’s a moral crusade. It’s taunting the livin’ soul out of me.
But it’s also incredibly fun. Minus those times I’ve wanted to plant an axe in it and stack up on firewood for the winter.

Oh you didn’t know I bought a guitar? Yes sir, I did.
I have insane skill when it comes to playing air guitar on the tunes of my Jon (Bonjovi, fyi). Especially naked. If I’d had a penis at birth; I’m sure I’d be using it as a whammy bar.
So, I figured it was about time to materialize that skill and honestly, how hard could it be on a real guitar when you rock Guitar Hero like a pro? Haha. Myeaaaaaah.

The first real hassle for my indecisive self occurred even before purchasing an actual guitar. Did I want to play electric or acoustic. Everyone knows that Vixxie loves to get her rock on. And hard, at that. But on the other hand, acoustic players probably love their old grandfathers 45 percent more, so I went for the only sensible choice: a guitar that didn’t require an amp that would keep half of my home town awake at night. I went to the music store, met a very friendly salesman who noticed the newbie I really am. He sold me an acoustic guitar for ladies of which I assume was massively overpriced but found out later, after some Google Fu, it actually wasn’t. My Senorita is something else, all right!!


Brand: Salvador Cortez, solid massive cedar top with sapele back and sides. It sounds just about as good as it looks. Unless I’m playing it.

This guitar is called a Seniorita because it’s a tad smaller than the standard variant. 1/8th smaller, to be exact. The neck is slimmer as well to accommodate my midget hands. I swear someone had a field day up there when I was made. For someone with an oversized body like mine, they sure forgot to add in the extra pound of bones on the hands and feet. Seriously, mother (and I know you will read this), how did you and dad manage to create a person so physically incompatible with everything that is fun. I have such small hands that I need to pull my fingers out of their sockets to do a barré. Go figure.

Either way, I was incredibly excited when I first bought my guitar. The man in the workshop even tuned it for me, then sold me the auto tuning device. It’s an invaluable little tool because it shows you just exactly when the sound of your string is in tune… unless you don’t know the name of your strings, of course. So I started playing it, learned my first 4 chords song, felt on top of the world. I was a god. Time for some tuning. After all, it was really easy, just turn the buttons until the light turns green! Let me assure you that things don’t really sound the same when you tune a G to an A and a D to a C. 🙂 Google taught me that chords should be tuned E-A-D-G-B-E. Google saved my ears.

Now, practice makes perfect. Or so I’ve been told. Of course we all know that before you master a certain skill, you have to put in ten thousand hours of hard work. See the thing is, I don’t care much for long hours of being depressed … I JUST WANT TO OWN DAT RIFF. As it turns out, me practising the guitar is a wee bit sad and a big wee embarrassing. And it just got worse when my room-mate picked up the damn music instrument and just comfortably started to shred along with the songs I had been struggling on for hours. Didn’t even matter that he’d never heard the songs before. Sure he played the guitar for a brief little while… 15 years ago.

One capo, two new string sets, a guitar stand, a string winder tool and 5 broken fingers further down the road, I think I’m just gonna revert to my old digital piano.
Hey, maybe if my family chips in some birthday envelopes and I sell my goodlooking piece of firewood, I’ll be able to actually afford a real piano ! 🙂

Man, we’re getting the band back together lol !


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