Once upon a time, there was a man named Billy Idol.
Billy had some rockin' biceps, a killer snarl and he loved to jump off things when he sang on stage. He likely hooked up with a number of girls in his day, I do not know firsthand. I was not one of them.
But I do know with 99.9% certainty that Billy Idol never once dreamed someday I, Julie Dunlap, would be blogging from my living room while my basement full of dads worked on their cover of "Dancing with Myself."
He probably also did not anticipate these same church-going dads next tackling Poison. (Talk Dirty to Me.)
And those are two things Billy Idol and I have in common.