Book Review: How To Get Divorced by 30- My Misguided Attempt at a Starter Marriage

Before I get into my post (seriously- my first paragraph's are turning into fucking monologues. What the hell is up with that???) I have to respond to a comment that was left on last night's post by AaronBillyMacHarlan. He mentioned that he did a post about me, and USUALLY that means someone is a pervert trying to link me to asian porno or a reader is giving me an award. I mean both are appreciated in their own way, don't get me wrong. (I'm not really into asian porn folks, so if you want to switch it up, feel free.) no- Aaron said he wrote about me and I, as I always am when people post me little tidbits like this, was interested.

So I go there. Thankfully, Aaron wasn't selling porno even though his title "Confessions of a Massively Overweight Prostitute" kind of scared me. I can't even lie about this. And then I thought (as page was loading) maybe he's offering me a job. Except I'm not massively overweight, so I don't know if I'd meet the needs of his clientele. But then I wonder who that clientele might be and then I felt like throwing up my breakfast.

Anyways. He did a bang up job on the article, which I, as your lambwhore and goatslut leader, am telling you to check out. HERE. And Aaron- I live in Wisconsin but like 5 minutes from Minnesota, and even though you don't like chicks I'm glad you like me. You might not meet me, but I might actually be blogging in the bushes near your house. But the fact you think I'm on par with Chelsea Handler? King of the Goat Sluts. I swear to you that if I had like a crown with goats and stuff...I'd give it to you. Or put it in your driveway. Whatever. And he ends by calling me a neglected housewife which I think is a fabulous description which is a great tie in to...

(drum roll, bitches)

My book review of Sascha Rothchild's How To Get Divorced By 30: My Misguided Attempt at a Starter Marriage. Now, I need to tell you the reason I bought the book. So about two weeks before my whiner post I was at Barnes and Noble. I'm walking through with Matt and the kids and BAM! This book literally falls at my feet. So obviously because I'm fantastic citizen, I go to pick it up and see the cover.

I'm pretty sure it sang to me. Not only is the cover the fucking hotness as far as looks (because I judge books by covers. Sue me.) but the title? Is my life. I obviously took a picture on my phone and sent it to a few people who all thought I was crazy. So I didn't buy it.

Fast forward to a week ago and while I'm moping around being all pissed off and wanting to spend money on shit I don't need, I thought of the book. So I drove 20 minutes to Barnes and Noble and bought the book. And a Member Rewards card thingie. Whatevers- the cashier was hot and I'm pretty sure I was hypnotized.

So I read this book in two nights flat and Sascha needs to be my marriage coach. The book is broken up into steps on how to get divorced. And it was funny because I related to every chapter.

STEP ONE: Jump from your horrible early-20s relationship right into a mid-20s relationship without learning or growing or pondering what you really want out of a mate — then marry that person. By your late 20s, you’ll realize you were merely over-correcting the first person’s flaws and that the one you married is just as wrong for you as the one you didn’t, but in very different ways.

Not only is this step relevant to just my marriage but it's basically describing all three relationships I've had. Another line in the book that struck a chord was "But although fading fervor is normal, there also has to be a little jealously, a little insecurity, and a little possessiveness." And I agree. Totally. I know really, Matt thinks he can't do any better than me, which may or may not be true, so he wouldn't leave. He'd rather settle and be unhappy forever. Now me on the other hand am the opposite. I may never get married again, but by fucking god I have to think it's possible for me to be in a relationship with someone and not dread coming home. I'm not a jealous person but back in the day- if Matt was eyeing up a chick I'd immediately compare myself. Now I'm secretly begging he'd just cheat so I'd have an excuse out and not look like an asshole. I try very hard to have a social life now because I realized that by not having one from age 19-27 I was killing myself. I missed EVERYTHING that 20 something assholes do. I'm not saying I want to be puking and on the verge of death in the bathroom of a seedy bar and wondering where my underwear went. I just would have liked the opportunity. But now when I go out- if Matt is every jealous I have no idea. I have no idea if he feels anything ever because I don't hear about it. I sometimes feel like I have a better emotional relationship with my gay cat than I do my husband.

In all there are 30 steps and each one is funnier and funnier, but more sad. But it's only sad if you are in say, a happy marriage. Or are a newlywed. But if you have hit the 5 year mark in your marriage and wake up 5 out of 7 days hoping that your spouse has moved their stuff out while you were sleeping and left an optional note- you might enjoy this book. If you plan events and kind of hope your spouse backs out so you can bring a kick ass friend and pretend to be hot and single, this book is for you. If you already have at least one marriage under the table by age 30 you will love this book. If you are a guy who never wants to get married you should read this book to know where and when you should start fucking up.

Book Review: Hand of Fate, by Lis Wiehl

What a great book. Normally- I don't know that I would pick this one up if I were out browsing for books. It's part of a series but what's fantastic is that you don't need to read the one that comes before it. It stands on its own.

It's the story of a popular radio talk show host, Jim Fate, who was killed in the studio by a mysterious and poisonous gas. The murder came on the heels of threats and scares of sarin gas and put the city of Portland into a panic. In the aftermath it follows three women, a federal prosecutor, a television anchor woman and an FBI agent who are all friends and all have a connection to Jim Fate and together try to solve his murder.

This book has a ton of twists and turns and really- you have no idea who did it. I thought I figured it out and why, but in the end, I was wrong. It was a page turner and generally very entertaining. It's a good book to read if you are looking to depart from what you usually read.

With that being said, if you want this book- let me know! I will give my copy away to the first person to comment saying "I Want This Book!".

Random Sara and Book Review: ARE YOU THERE VODKA? IT'S ME, CHELSEA by Chelsea Handler

I'm going to be frank. I don't know really what I can say to force you to read this book. This book is a million shades of awesome. I love Chelsea Handler. Chelsea is me in a few years. I am pretty sure that had I not gotten married at 22 and had babies so early this would have been my future. And it would have been amazing. So I am basically going to give a really lame ass review interspersed with quotes from the book.

"...For a woman, being a redhead is a completely acceptable trait. Oftentimes it can be extremely attractive. Conversely, being a redheaded man is pretty much a lose-lose situation. It's incredibly hard to take redheaded men seriously, never mind think of them in any sort of sexual capacity. Obviously, it's not their f...ault that they were born with red hair. However, it is their responsbility to change that hair color once they have access to a convenience store or supermarket. It's one thing to have a harelip, or even a leg that's a couple of inches shorter than the other, but if you're a man with red hair and don't opt to do everything in your power to alter that, then obviously you're not serious about experiencing all life has to offer."

"Red got up and walked out of my bedroom toward the front door. Before he made it out I added one last thing: 'And you might want to think about trimming your bush!' Then I ran back into my room before he could say anything about my beaver.."

This book is hilarious for a lot of reasons other than the fact Chelsea wrote it. First off, she talks about her family's dysfunctional qualities so unabashedly and unapologetically that I only WISH I could do. I have a field of land minds in my family that I could write entire books about. And I'm not even going to touch my in-laws. But what I love about it is when she's interviewed and is blatantly asked how her family feels about this- she's honest when she says they don't care. And that's awesome. Because I'm a firm believer that if you can't make fun of your situation, and see the humor in it, there is something wrong with you. If you can't step back and make fun of yourself or those around you without worrying that you are damaging their self esteem to the point that they may kill themselves, there is something wrong with you. I will tell you if you suck. Sure, I might do it behind your back but if you ask me what my opinion of you is, please be ready for it. It might not be pretty.

Which is what has gone wrong with our society. You wonder why we have people so up in arms about hurting feelings, or being politically correct. Dammit. If you suck you need to know. If you are a rude ass son of a bitch, you need to know. If you are "woe is me" 99% of the time and are driving those around you into alcoholism just to cope with you, you need to know. But don't get it twisted- if you are an awesome person and you are doing kind and great and wonderful things for others, I will tell you that I think you are a million shades of super and I will tell others as well. Because frankly, I'm sick and tired of people being so god damn offended when somebody says something not so nice or points out a flaw of yours. Because guess what? You need to know.

"While looking at a website for liposuction, I learned that it was six- to eight-week recovery period, the clincher being that, during that time, I would under no circumstances be able to use street drugs. Obviously I had to think of a more realistic approach."

The other thing I love about Chelsea and her books is how she openly talks about sex. Now I have not had a ton of sexual partners, only 3 and I'm married to one of them, and so I when I read her books the first thing I think is "Son of a bitch. I just KNEW I should have whored it up." Because I think I'm missing a lot of experience that I really should have. I mean, I have had a lot of whacked out things happen to me with these three men and in my eleven years of sexual activity that I will tell you was NEVER covered in any sex ed, health class, or OB/GYN brochure. Considering I started reading Cosmopolitan a full year after I lost my virginity I was already way behind. And I'm really sorry- but their pictures? Their directions? Maybe I don't have a firm grasp of the English language but NONE of it makes sense to me. Anything super exciting I've ever done in bed has been complete accidents. That thank god I remember how to repeat. But Cosmo has failed me.

"Although I had developed a serious crush on our plumber that year, I wasn't sure that I was ready for penetration. I had seen my very first penis on a porno tape I stole from my brother, and was completely flabbergasted. While I had heard a lot about size and shape of the penis, no one had ever mentioned that there were going to be balls attached to it. Not to mention that there would be two of them, that they would be covered in hair, and that later in life, they would most likely end up smacking you in the face. I'm really glad I got the heads-up when I did, (a) because if I had found myself in bed with someone and see his two little friends headed toward me with no prior warning, I probably would have lodged a formal complaint with Internal Affairs, and (b) because it gave me plenty of time to shop for the perfect-size chin guard".

I also think that Chelsea gives a lot of pertinent, useful and applicable information to men as well in her books.

"...if you're a guy and you pull your pants down, and the girl you're with immediately starts text messaging her friends, you have a small penis."

I encourage you to check out any of her books. This is her second one, but she also has MY HORIZONTAL LIFE (which is hilarious and makes me angry that I've never had a one night stand) and she has a new one out called CHELSEA, CHELSEA- BANG, BANG which I have and am going to read after I finish up the book I'm on now.

Book Review: WHY YOU SAY IT by Webb Garrison

Before I start my review- let's put up a reminder about the GIVEAWAY happening. Enter or be a loser. Your choice. :)

On with the review! OK so this book was given to me to review through Book Sneeze (link on the right of this post, scroll down a bit). I will tell you that pretty much the only reason I got this book was because of the rubber ducks. And stupid random information I may or may not ever need. I will say that I was just "meh" on the book. If you like to read things that are educational/informational this is for you. If you prefer to read things in novel format, this is not for you. I prefer novel and I don't really like learning late at night since I primarily read before bed so I had a tough time getting through this. BUT this is kind of a fun book to have on a table during a party or whatever. Or if you are one of those that likes to read while pooping, this would be good to have.

The book tells you why we say things such as "moron" "two way street" "lock, stock, and barrel", "ax to grind" etc. Some of them are funny, some are bizarre, and some make no sense to me. Here's an example:

Go Bananas: What makes a person who is normally calm and quiet suddenly "go bananas"? Why do we specify this fruit instead of Granny Smith apples or Bosc pears? No one knows exactly why a person will go wacko in a given situation. But there's a good reason for saying that anyone temporarily out of control has gone bananas. Actions of such a person are a lot like that of a caged monkey in a zoo. The sight of a keeper approaching with a bunch of bananas can make the animal freak out, or go bananas.

Do you feel smarter by reading that? I don't but at least if someone says it I can blurt out this paragraph and sound smart. SCORE.

On a scale I would give this 2 out of 5 stars. Not something I'd see at Barnes and Noble and be like, "'WOW-- I have to have this" but it was mildly entertaining.

If you would like a copy of this, comment on this post with your email address. First one to do so will get the book mailed to them by me, for free. Happy reading (or pooping)!

So after Chicago deemed me easy- it just wanted to cuddle.

Have you missed my first two posts on Chicago? (HERE and HERE) Well then you need to catch up. Otherwise you'll be the loser in the class that can't read.

So on my last post I showed you some of what we did on Saturday. But what also happened on Saturday was, apparently, the St. Patrick's Day/Observation Day celebration in Chicago. I always forget when traveling that you should try to go on a holiday. Nevermind what all those travel sites tell you. Because celebrating St. Pats in Chicago is AMAZING.

Why?

Because they dye the mother fucking river GREEN!!

So here is Matt and I in front of the bright ass green river. Which at first I automatically thought "Wow- they should get their sewage under control" but then I thought "Oh wait..I'm so fucking stupid." But yay! I pretty much convinced everyone to purchase these cheap ass shamrock beads because I didn't want to be the only loser in the huge crowd with NOTHING green on. I mean come on. So I made Matt get me two. Because two is my fav number AND because I have to be difficult. But I prefer to label myself as "different".

I will say there was some really atrocious outfits. Fat girls in bright green spandex. A lot of spandex and leggins were happening and I'd say 90% of it was on girls who had no business wearing it. Now I am no where near the weight of these chicks but you will never catch my ass in spandex.

Here's me rocking out with probably the worst hot chocolate I have ever had in my life. Starbucks can maybe make a good coffee (I don't drink coffee so I'll just take other people's word for it) but they butcher a fucking hot chocolate. Bitches.
More green river!

So we walked over, in the rain, to see the parade. Which yeah...wasn't going to happen. For one, we're all short. Like I'm 5'3 and tallest of our group (Matt) is 5'10. So by the time we got to the parade place it was packed. I had the idea of standing on this garbage can but then a 4 year old beat me too it. Brat. But in lieu of that we walked back over to Millenium Park. Which is fabulous.

And I will admit, I'm pretyt damn ignorant when it comes to famous things in cities. I just have no clue. Like I might look stuff up before I go but usually I don't. I pretty much rely on locals. But Dena kept talking about some fucking bean and I'm thinking, "I don't like beans" but then yeah. It's not a real bean. It's a giant mirrored bean shaped thingie. It's obviously reflective so here is me being a dork in the bean. (And some of my followers got a text pic of me in the bean. Apparently nobody cared. Or thought I lost my mind talking about beans)
Then the brothers, Matt and Karl, had to get in on the bean action. Wow- making their momma proud. I sure hope we make the family Christmas card.

And then once the novelty of the bean wore off, Matt took my picture in front of some huge building. Except you can't really see me because he sucks ass taking pictures.

Here's another Sara Fun Fact: I fucking LOVE picketers. I love a good protest. I would have been in my element in the 60's. And not only did Chicago give me a green river and not give me an STD, but it also gave me a good protest. And not just ANY protest. No, Chicago (obviously jockeying for a second date) gave me a SCIENTOLOGY protest! I fucking love it. I knew I had to get my picture taken with the masked crazies. And thank god when I asked this chick she was all eager beaver about it.

So here is Karl and I making friends with the crazy protest chick:

And although you can't see it well in this picture, my hands say "Free Suri" and Karl's says "Free Kate". Yes- that was my idea. And yes, the crazy chick loved it.
But then down the block, and I failed to get their picture which bums me out, were the talented protest guys who could break dance with masks on. They had fab music going and let's be real- anybody using fucking Pac Man images and electrical tape on a sign is awesome in my book.
That was pretty much it for Saturday in Chicago. It was a LOT of walking. I only did my fuckmill one day last week but the amount of walking I did over the two days we were there more than made up for it.

Now before I close out for the evening, pleace check out Amber and Chicken- they got their box from the Sara Awesomeness Giveaway and posted about it. Mr. O tells me he got his so yay! The mail system prevails!

Tomorrow I'm going to post about Hooters. And not just about MY particular hooters, but the fine family dining establishment. I promise you it will be funny. You *may* pee your pants. (Disclaimer: if you do, I am not responsible for cleaning up after your stank ass). ALSO!!! More FABULOUS news. I am going to be having another giveaway- look for this on Thursday. It's going to be artwork from a fellow blogger who is the shiznit and it's going to be fun! Supa fun! Yay!

After the first night of loving...Chicago loved me some more.

Well now that we all got to read about my adventures in Chicago on the first day/night let's talk about Saturday, shall we?

We woke up from the concert rendezvous at around 9am. Which seemed really early but you know- we had a day ahead of us. We ate dinner at the really nice restaurant in the hotel where Dena promptly stuff her purse full of the really cute jars of ketchup and jelly. Because hi- that's what you do. (AND we stole the Bath & Body Works shampoo, conditioner, lotion, and soap out of our rooms.) Breakfast was really good and we decided that we were going to see what was around our hotel.

That something happened to be the Magnificent Mile. Yes- it was rad. It was everything I thought it would be. I learned how to use revolving doors without getting your foot, purse, jacket or other limbs stuck and without running into the door. But I do think it's weird that EVERY place has a revolving door. I don't know. Are regular doors ghetto or something? Anyways. Before we could go anywhere we realized that we needed our jackets, I needed gloves and Dena wanted her hat. This all required a little walk to the valet parking garage where every floor is themed by an album.

Of course we got the most kick ass floor:

Neil fucking Diamond's "The Best Year of our Lives" album. Now this album is on REPEAT on this floor. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure the parking attendant job is a high turnover position because if I had to listen to the same album over and over again every single day- it sure as hell wouldn't be Neil Diamond. Or any of these other artists. Don't get me wrong, I love me some "America" "Sweet Caroline" "Love on the Rocks" and "Cracklin Rosie" just as much as the next person. But every god damn day?

No spank you.

So we get our winter gear. I'm going to post about the St. Patty's Day stuff and crazies tomorrow- but here are a *few* of the touristy things we saw/did.

Karl was a cowboy. I saw the bull and told Karl to hop on up. What I love about Karl is that I refer to us as the "family rejects" because we are the two that don't really belong in the Strand clan. Which is kind of funny since he's born into it and I'm just kind of there. So I love Karl. Karl is funny, spontaneous, and a god damn dork sometimes. But I love him. And this right here? Proves that he's awesome.

After getting lost and really having no idea where the fuck some place called The Gage was (which was recommended to us by the hotel guy who appeared to be on crack and maybe in need of some more because his shakes were BAD, but instead of just putting a star on the block where it is on the map- he circles a 28 block radius. Yeah- not really helpful) we stopped into the Chicago Art Institute because we figured maybe they would know where the fuck this place was. Because the police had no idea. Which again, handy.

We must have looked like lost white kids (which we would have because we stood there, all four of us, staring at this map like it was the Map from Dora the Explorer and we give us three step instructions) because some really nice guy offered to help. He also had no fucking clue what we were talking about, but gave us the instructions on how to get to the John Hancock building where he promised would have food and more importantly, more shopping. Love you strange guy who was super helpful. But since he worked at the Art Institute he practically begged us to see some Tiffany Dome exhibit thingie. So really- what can you do?

It was pretty. But we couldn't go in the room because it was roped off for some event. It's the largest in the world and I will admit--pretty breathtaking to think what goes into making a Tiffany thing.
But what I have pictures of and am not posting (I will some day, just not today) are quotes about books, libraries, etc that were etched or something into marble on the walls. I'm going to get them printed and framed for around my book case. They were that cool.

So after seeing the dome and discovering that the women's bathroom was closed, we walked the eight blocks to the John Hancock building. It should be noted that at this point, my socks and shoes were soaked and my pants were wet from the bottom to mid calf. It was really sexy. And uncomfortable.

We get to the John Hancock, which according to the postcard I bought is a really big black building. True to form, it's big and black. This picture also will get framed for my living room. Anyways- so we got there. Rode the elevator to the 95th floor to the Signature Room. Yeah- Dena used the potty while the rest of us checked out the menu. Guess who is WAY under dressed and broke to eat there? Us.

Plus the view sucked. All you saw was fog.

So we ended up eating at the Cheesecake Factory. Which was fine, I had never eaten there and I had a really good burger. My spicy chicken nachos were even better. We sat at the bar while I chatted it up with the bartender who is originally from Clearwater, Florida. Love you hot bartender guy. He was hot. Seriously. Dena thinks he was gay but there is no way. No way because he totally checked out my boobs. Three times. Because Matt counted. (WHAT?! I can't help I had great cleavage with my sweater/tank top combo. Sue me.)

After lunch we shopped a bit. NOTHING at Lush really pulled me. Like everything smelled like ass, dirt, minty burnt firewood, and urine. I mean really? People pay to smell like this?? Disappointing.

But on the way back I told the group I could not drive home in wet shoes. No way. I couldn't wear my boots because hi- they hurt. So I did what any self respecting shoe lover would do. I went to Nine West and bought a pair of $98 sneakers. Here's me proudly holding my bag. Which I still have. Shut up- you know you'd keep it too.

Here are my sneakers. Now these are the hotness for two reasons.

1. Bright colors

2. Jelly plastic on the toe

I love sneakers, especially comfy ones, and I love jelly shoes. I am past the age where it is socially acceptable to wear jelly shoes so this is the best I can do. I promise you they don't look as retarded on my feet. I'll post pics of that some time. But they are SUPER comfortable.

And you might be saying, "Sara- there totally is a payless right down the street" to which I say- Shut the fuck up. Matt does not need to know that. And who buys Payless shoes on the Magnificent Mile?? Huh?? LOSERS- that's who.

After I purchased my shoes, we went to the hotel and made the valet get the van. I totally forgot to tip the valet. Sorry super nice valet guy. :( SADS. But I did leave my new Ludacris cd in which I think he appreciated because it was on track 2 when I got out and it was on track 13 when we got in. The garage is like 2 blocks away. So there- that was nice of me, right??

Here's the four of us, holding our loot for the day. Matt got stuck carrying the Disney Store bag. He literally lugged that thing around for almost 6 hours. Which really- he had no choice. But I didn't get to put my shoes on until we got out of Illinois because the valet parked the van in the middle of the road and the taxis behind us really didn't seem to care that I couldn't feel my feet because they were soaked. So I was a trooper and waited the almost two hours to change my shoes.

And again, I have to say that despite the yucky weather (rain/mist, fog, wind) my hair and makeup is still holding up decently.

Muse Concert and Chicago Slut

Lambs and Goats I have almost an entire week of Chicago related posts for you so get ready. And by the end of the week you too can be a Chicago slut. Just like me. For my Chicago cherry has been popped, I saw Muse, Chicago traffic is my bitch, I didn't kill anyone, met a midget who would not let me take her picture, ate fab pizza, and made friends with picketers. And cabbies who speaky no English.

A success if there ever was one.

So let's talk about the drive first, mmkay? We left Superior at 7 am, an hour later than I had planned. It's a 9 hour drive (according to MapQuest) from Superior to Chicago. (Look at a map to understand my struggle), with a stop in Chippewa Falls, WI to get Karl & Dena. (Karl is Matt's brother, Dena is his girlfriend). What would *normally* be a 2 1/2 hour drive was done in 1 1/2 hours.

That's right. I'm STILL the champion at driving to places in record speed.

Once we got in Chicago I was worried. Literally EVERYBODY was like, "Oh my god- you are so stupid...Chicago traffic is HORRIBLE." Well, yeah, it sucks because it's like five lanes going the same way and a lot of cars. But it's doable. Please know I was taught how to drive by an over the road truck driver with a totally clean driving record. It helps.

But you see the car on the left of this picture? With only the window brake light? I almost rear ended her a million times. Because the light would come on only after her brakes had been applied for a few seconds so driving behind her for 45 minutes in bumper to bumper is kind of a nightmare. But I want you to know Chicago traffic became my bitch when I successfully crossed 5 lanes of traffic without hitting anyone, without getting hit myself, no horns or fingers were used and I made my exit on time. That's right folks. Just like this maroon car is doing--you just go. You don't even need a blinker, but it helps psychologically. Like I'm pretty sure nobody saw my blinker, but because I knew I had it on it made me feel better cutting people off.

So once we checked into our hotel, the Wyndham Downtown, we got ready (and I looked hot. I am not even going to lie. The outfit was hot, the boots looked good, my hair and makeup was hot..it was like the perfect storm for hotness) we went to have some authentic Chicago pizza. So we went to Gino's East- and you write on the walls. Or furniture. Unfortunately- we didn't have a sharpie. Or white out. BUMMER.

So here is Karl & Dena at Gino's. I have to say - we had a FABULOUS waiter. And I'm pretty sure we were sitting next to the long lost fourth Jonas brother. Because he had the signature ugly ass hair.

Here's our pizza. It was FABULOUS. It doesn't look good but believe me- it was worth the 9 hour drive.

Matt and I waiting for our bill. Is it just me, or does Matt look like he's either drunk or a creeper? I can assure you no drinky was had. Yet. But there's me--hair and makeup holding out nicely despite the wind.
So then we hopped in a cab to get our asses to the United Center. The cabbie had a bizarre accent but kept referring to us as his friends. Which was weird because he was a terrible driver (but ended up being better than the guy we'd eventually get later on) and I thought we were going to die. I don't know about you, but I try to keep my friends alive.

We got there with 45 minutes to spare. So here is me, getting ready to do the damn thing up in there. You'll see the leg of the chick behind me who was so nice and jammed out with me for like two songs. More on that in a bit.

I know I mentioned to some people that my seats were supposed to be horrible. We were the balcony above the balcony, behind the stage with an obstructed view.

(Moment of silence for the big moment of SADS there)

And when I saw the stage, I texted a pic to Mr. O, who sadly could not be with me because he's like a million miles away, who helpfully replied with "That's great...but isn't that BEHIND the stage?" Um..yes. But I figured it was still going to be awesome because we were by all the sound equipment and you know a concert sucks when you still have full hearing afterwards. I was pretty convinced I'd be deaf. Bonus.

For those of you who follow me on FB you'll notice I posted about drinking. Now, for those who don't know me in real life, I don't drink. I used to, but I don't drink at all now. But for some reason, I felt like maybe I'd need a little drinky drink so I made Matt go get me a drink. He comes back with this fruity thing in a GIANT cup. Two sips later and I realize that this is 90% rum with a little pineapple juice. Two things I hate- rum and pineapple juice. So after two sips (which weren't super small) I was dizzy and I felt like my throat was on fire. Disgusting. So I gave the rest to Karl. Matt, the veteran drinker and former man-whore, couldn't drink it either. Which was nice because I didn't feel like such a drink pussy about that. So there's my two sips of drinkity drink. Lame.

So when Silversun Pickups came on the columns were like TV's. Kind of. We saw their pics on it but basically couldn't see the band because you only saw their face. They sounded good and had GREAT interaction with the crowd. And since Mr. O was the ONLY person to pick up their fucking phone, Mr. O was the ONLY person to hear like a minute of Silver. He guessed which song they had, so it must have been decent enough reception.

They played for about 45 minutes, which was most of their newest album, Swoon. They were really good and they remind me of the Smashing Pumpkins a lot.

After Silver I decided I had to pee. Like bad. So I wait in line for the bathroom for 10 minutes, get in and realize the seat is full of piss. Like someone thought the toilet was a urinal and just pissed EVERYWHERE. And the bonus here is that there is no toilet paper. But never fear- this bitch had her wet wipes and thank god for that. So I peed with the luxury of knowing I was able to wipe up and didn't have to dig for a receipt in my purse. I felt vindicated and that was super.

So then the lights go out and it starts. Mother fucking MUSE, bitches.

And our seats turned out to be some of the best in the house because the columns? Were part of the stage! So this is during "Uprising" and I called Mr. O who I think heard some of it, but I can't remember or not. I was too busy rocking out and screaming like a freak.

They played so well and every song was so amazing. It is probably my #2 fav concert, right behind Kings of Leon. I say they are only #2 because if I'm going to be honest- their crowd interaction sucked. They spoke MAYBE twice, with 3 words or less, during the entire 2 1/2 hour concert. The other thing that sucked was the crowd. As a avid music whore and concert slut I expect that the rest of the people at the concert are there to jam out. Jamming out means standing up, jumping around, singing, clapping, screaming, etc. I do all of these things when I'm at a good concert. NOBODY else in my section was doing that. Except for the two or three guys in front of Dena and Karl who danced for a few songs. And so here I am, having a blast and jamming out, and nobody around me is doing anything.

Fucking losers. I mean, I was tired. I had been up since 5am, drove 9 hours, had very little food in me, I was dizzy, felt like I was going to puke but I am rocking out. Because that's the purpose of going. If I wanted to be lame and stand there like an idiot doing nothing, I would have just listened to the cd at home.

So that's my rant about that. Anyways. So almost towards the end they dropped some giant eyeball balloons that looked pretty cool.

Overall- the concert was great. Their stage was great and if you ever get a chance to see Muse live, I highly recommend that you do. If their stages are normally anything like the one we had

there is no bad seat despite what your ticket may say.

So after the concert we had to hail a cab back to our hotel. Us and like 4000 other people. Guess who didn't get a cab? Us.

A few people received texts from me describing our plight of walking in the fucking windy, 38 degree, misty rain weather in the middle of the night through the darkened streets of Chicago. Now I have taken cabs in lots of places. I know how to hail a cab and find a cab. At every concert I have ever been to there has been a "cab bank" along one side of a venue. Apparently United Center does not have that unless it was in some top secret location. We tried calling a cab ourselves, calling the hotel to arrange for a cab, etc to no avail. We walked (if I did my blocks converted to miles math correctly) almost 3 miles trying to get a cab. Now, I'm a firm believer that if you are lost or need help you stay the fuck where you are and stop moving around. Moving around does not help. You could walk from one end of Chicago to the next and no cab is going to be like, "Wow- I think they need a ride". No. They drive past your sorry wet ass.

And guess who's wearing really uncomfortable boots that we never made for walking?

Me.

And guess who has 27 blisters total on her feet from this walking?

Me.

We got back to the hotel REALLY late, only after jumping into a very dirty minivan cab decked out with those air freshener trees that no longer smell and driven by a guy who clearly speaks only enough English to tell you how much you owe. This guy could have been making plans to bomb the entire eastern seaboard but we would never know it because he talked so fast in some foreign language in between slamming on his brakes.

The highlight of that ride came when I was sliding all over the fucking backseat and put my hand in some kind of wet puddle on the seat. Let me tell you that it's a damn good thing it was dark otherwise I would have cried while puking. Instead, I wiped it on my already wet and filthy pants along with god only knows what else was on that seat. I got the fuck out of that cab as quick as I could. But how we even made it to the hotel alive I don't even know because driver missed a few red lights and I think he believes that stop signs with a white border are actually optional. Apparently the Illinois Department of Transportation are really lax on the whole "must pass a road test" restriction.

We made it back really late. And I took a great shower despite the fact my feet hurt so bad and my heels were actually bleeding. No good.

OK- so that was Friday night in Chicago. If you want to see ALL of my Chicago pictures including everything from the Muse concert- check out my Facebook page (link to your right somewhere) and they are all up.

Tomorrow we'll talk about Saturday in Chicago. And inadvertently celebrating St. Patrick's Day in the windy city.