So, if you read my previous entry, you know we went to the KFC Yum! Center for the first time to go see the George Strait/Reba concert. Below are some of the stories and various observations made while there, some pertaining to the concert and some not.
The KFC Yum! Center is nice. No offense to the home of my beloved Cats, but it puts Rupp to shame. Then again, at least the architecture is nice because God knows the basketball played there isn’t. (*rimshot*)
I posted this on FB, but it’s still true. At all country concerts to which I have been, there are people in cowboy boots and cowboy hats who don’t even know what they are. The fact people are posing as rednecks just cracks me up. It does not make sense.
The girls who don’t dress up in boots and hats dress up like complete hootchies. What the hell? Why go to a concert (especially one in which the tickets cost $90 apiece) to look cheap? Even worse, why do that when you are with someone? I mean, you only dress like a dime-store whore if you’re out trolling.
And seriously, why wear a concert shirt to a concert. (In my younger days, I was a violator of this. Looking back, I see the error of my ways.) What’s the point in wearing a shirt featuring the person you are coming to see other than to advertise, “Hey, I’ve seen this before.” Whoopie do if you saw it before, I don’t give a damn. And congratulations, you had enough money to waste on a shirt that time. Good for you.
Speaking of, do you think these people (particularly shy ones like George Strait) like the fact they are emblazoned on t-shirts, and that you’re wearing his picture on your fake boobs?
George Strait so looks old. Time has not been good to him.
I saw a chick wearing a shirt that said, “Strait Girl.” I think that would be hilarious on a lesbian.
I sent Scott to get a Diet Coke. He comes back with a Louisville Cardinals cup. He apologized profusely and said there were no other large cups. Just holding this cup, I felt my hands starting to burn.
Decorating the arena, there was a banner for McDonald’s advertising the “Official Burger and Fry.” I’m guessing it’s the official burger and fry of Louisville basketball. Which is quite fitting in reality – Louisville basketball is the McDonald’s of basketball. You don’t really want it, but it’ll do in a pinch. (*another rimshot*)
During Reba’s show, LeeAnn Womack was out and about (she said during her set she wanted to watch the show anyway), and, at one point, she was standing in the floor entrance right near us. People were about jumping over the edge of the seats we were in (lower level, fifth row up) to see her or grab a picture. Really? Scott asked if I was going to do that and I was like, “No, I don’t want to be one of ‘those’ people. She just wants to watch the show, dammit.” What the hell? Why are people so rude?
Speaking of that floor entrance, the security guard down there was an asshole of infinite proportions. I watched him stop people for no reason, force them to come all the way back so he could see their tickets, and other bitchy stuff. I mean, I understand looking at the tickets the first time someone goes by. But for a guy who is carrying a fresh beer during the last half hour of the show, is this really necessary? Maybe if you’d just pay attention as he walked out on his beer run, you wouldn’t have to be such a prick. Someone’s just wielding power because he can.
Speaking of that asshole wielding power, he stopped a guy who was wearing the most ugly shirt, ever. Like some weird gray design on blue (okay, though kind of out there), and when you flipped the cuffs up, it was the reverse pattern. It was a reversible dress shirt. Load up your wardrobe now, you do laundry half as much! Winning.
There was this one couple being all lovey-dovey and dancing during one of Reba’s songs. Which was freakin’ hilarious considering it was a break-up song.
So, the George Strait aspect of the show was boring. He is not a showman. So, basically, it gave me plenty of time to look around and people-watch. There was my favorite guy, who was drunk off his ass, dancing like a freaking fool down on the floor. I mean, it was white-boy dancing at its finest, and off-rhythm, so entertaining as hell. At one point, I think he realized I was watching him, because he looked right at me and mouthed something. I’m not sure if it irritated him or flattered him, and to be honest, I don’t care, he was entertaining.
During some George Strait song, this couple in lower level seats across the arena started dancing – he twirled her and everything. I don’t even remember the song they were dancing to, but it was funny to watch, regardless. All I really remember is it wasn’t a song you would expect couples to dance to. Eh. To each drunk ass his own.
There was a guy sitting on the aisle seat and he had his left foot out on the stairs, so you had to maneuver around it, which was hard to do in the dark. What a moron. Really? (Scott said when he went to get the aforementioned Diet Coke, someone fell on the stairs, and he suspects it was someone tripping over that dude’s ill-placed foot.)
The people in front of us made us feel very good about our weight. I didn’t really notice them at first. I saw a chick’s hand messing with the hair of the guy next to her, and I immediately cringed because I’m not a fan of PDA. I noticed how fat her fingers were. I actually kept holding my hands up to compare. Scott put his out, her fingers were the same size as his! Then, after I noticed that, I looked at old boy she was with who put the DA in DAMN! I politely referred to them as “Chunky” and “BigUn” when speaking to Scott all night. And BigUn was texting someone all night. I probably would have too, but my phone didn’t get reception inside the chicken bucket.
As we were walking out of the Yum! Center, a chick screams out “C-A-T-S! Cats, cats, cats.” I screamed, “Yeah,” and she turned and high-fived me. I’m guessing she got some evil glances because right after that she goes, “In Lexington, no one cares when you do that.”
So then we started walking to the parking garage a few blocks down. Only I got all turned around and ended up going down the wrong street. Oops. So, we got lost in downtown Louisville and had to backtrack our way a little bit to find it. My bad. And I wasn’t even drinking!!! About the point we decided to turn around, I realized my feet couldn’t handle the boots anymore, so I started to take them off, I was just going to walk around downtown Louisville in my socks – gross, yes, but necessary, or I was going to kill someone if I had to walk another quarter mile in those things. So, Scott helps me, and these girls in a pickup yelled, “Yeah, help her put her boot on.” I said, “No, he’s taking it off!” There were a few more interchanges with these guys, but they understood why I was doing it. (Side note, this is the second time in three months I’ve walked around Louisville in socks/stocking feet – I did the same thing after the even more painful boots I wore to the Gabriel Iglesis stand-up made me homicidal.) That’s the thing, hot boots are made to complete an outfit, not to walk half a mile in. Shit happens, though. Let’s just say, once the boots came off both times, Scott had to lead me because my eyes were on the ground in front of me so I could avoid stepping in something nasty. (Further side note, this would not have been an option if I were wearing shoes without socks/stockings/tights/whatever. Then again, there are people who don’t have shoes and have to go everywhere and do everything without shoes. That’s why they have One Day Without Shoes - which, had I known about it before it already passed this year, I so would have done it.) … and before you judge me for my altruism for wanting to do this event, I almost had my left foot amputated when I was nine because a bacteria from my shoe was pushed into my foot when I stepped on a nail. Had I been barefoot, I would have been just fine. That’s a rare instance, I know it’s much scarier to not wear shoes … however, I’m just throwing that out there, that wearing shoes can be detrimental to your health too.
I have derailed big-time here.
That was pretty much the end of the night. After that, I let Scott drive my car (which was a mistake) because he backed into a red concrete barrier in the gas station because he wasn’t paying attention. If you know me and how much I love my car, you know that led to silence in the car for awhile. It could have been worse. But, you know, doesn’t make the fact it happened any less irritating. I’m not really pissed, except when I look at my car – and try to figure out when I’m going to be able to set aside some time in the next few weeks to get intimately familiar with the car buffer Scott’s sister bought us for Christmas years ago and we haven’t used yet. But hey, it was made for instances like that, so at least we have it.
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