Fleetwood Mac in Concert- AKA Mullet Watch, 2009

Ok, I'm not gonna lie- I have the musical tastes of a 47 year old dude. I couldn't give a rat's ass about Beyonce, Katy Perry, or whatever the devil the young kids are listening to these days. However, give me Styx, The Eagles, or Tom Petty, and I squee like a little girl who just saw the Jonas Brothers ordering Dinner in a Denny's.

My kick-ass husband, who knows this, got me tickets to Fleetwood Mac for Xmas- which guaranteed he got some over the holiday season (Happy Holidays!). The concert was last Monday.

We got there early, and within five minutes it became blatantly obvious that the average Fleetwood Mac fan looks like this:

Complete with Mom jeans including front butt.

So, needless to say, I was feeling pretty good. I guess I would liken it to being the thinnest kid in fat camp- you know you may not be wicked-hot, but you'll take the "better by comparison" vote.

All you middle-aged white women, please take note. You're totally my peeps- I can't rag on you that bad, because quite honestly I am slowly morphing into you, one grey hair at a time. However, please, for all of our sake, do not try to dance. SRSLY...because I am on your side, I will be honest with you. When you dance you look like a cross between someone who badly needs to shit and someone who is in the midst of an epileptic seizure. I don't know whether to find you a toilet or call an ambulance.

Although, the scary white girl shuffle wasn't nearly as bad as the dude in front of us, who looked like Cartman from South Park mated with one of the guys from Night at the Roxbury and created an unholy spawn. He was doing the headbop, but not only was he not on time with the music, but he was also not on time with the rest of his body. If there was no music present, I would think he was dry heaving.

Yeah, so needless to sayn even though the concert was fecking awesome (I seriously :puffy heart: Lindsey Buckingham, and want to have lots of sex and babies with him), I spent the majority of the time people watching. But, with that crowd, can you blame me?

This bring me to the chick in the first row who thought it was an awesome idea to wear a minidress and go-go boots, minus the much needed BRA. Ummm....just because you are old and blonde, Stevie Nicks you are not. I don't care how much you twirl around, or how much blow you may have done twenty years ago.

All in all, the concert was indeed awesome. And I will continually salut them in my newly acquired Fleetwood Mac shot glass :)

Ah shit, and so it begins...

*Sigh*.....I am finally biting the bullet and starting a blog. If only for the sake of my husband, because I am sure he is sick to death of me bitching to him about random shit he probably doesn't give a damn about (but smiles and nods, because he knows that if he doesn't he won't be getting any later).



I shit you not, this is a typical evening in our household:

So, for the sake of my husband, I will now rant here, instead of to him at 10pm while he's trying to block my voice out with his pillow.

So....let's see. I'm creeping towards my late twenties. I'm coming to the startling conclusion that, that dark pink spot near my belly button isn't a mole but rather my nipple (thank you pregnancy and nursing). I also have a tendency to be "that" mom in the mall when my daughter decides that she wants something and must have it NOW!! (and by THAT mom I mean the mom pulling along a screaming toddler, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her child's voice has reached such an ear-splitting level that dogs 4 blocks older are hiding under their porch- yeah, that's me, nice to meet you).