Ramblings: Weekend Update

Please excuse the fact that I've been toying with the blog colors. I can't seem to find one that I enjoy when it pops open on the computer.

So, as expected, the Buble concert was fabulous. We didn't know if we could take a camera in, but I managed to snap a few really bad-quality pics with my phone. We had great seats and great snacks--I scored some cotton candy. It was most excellent and I didn't have to wait until we go to the state fair again.

Good thing Jeremy has long arms--he managed to get the phone high enough to snap this one as we walked up to the convention center. And, hello! Everyone of you is in trouble if my makeup always looks this white and no one has told me. I look like an albino, for heaven's sake. Perhaps I will blame it on the poor lighting/camera phone. But Jeremy looks oddly tan next to me, so that can't be it.

Definitely a great and entertaining concert--He's funnier than I expected. But the funniest thing I heard all night was the 55ish year old woman sitting behind us say to her friends (when they announced Buble's entrance), "Oh my gosh! I hope I can keep my clothes on!" Of course Jeremy turns to me and says, "That makes two of us." I'm assuming she did because I didn't see a bra or underwear come flying past my head. But really, I was too afraid to turn around and make sure.

After the concert we went to check out a casino. But if you've ever been to Las Vegas, the casinos of Shreveport can be described only as...hmmm...pathetic. However, I did play some slot machines (as promised) with no luck. But I probably did gain lung cancer from all the second hand smoke I inhaled in the few minutes I was there.

But then we saw the most disturbing and amazing thing of the whole night. We passed a dealer that had the biggest head and neck I have ever seen on a human being. I don't think this picture can do it justice (which I took while pretending to be taking one of Jeremy standing next to him). Look at the dark haired guy just to his left as a size-reference. That guy was standing right up next to him. Really. I mean, it looked like maybe he was wearing one of those prosthetic necks they put on people on Montel or Tyra Banks, you know, right before they send them out with a hidden video camera to document how terrible people treat you when you weigh 400 pounds.

(I will apologize if I've offended you because you know this guy, if you're related to this guy, or if you ARE this guy and stumbled upon this blog--probably because the weight of your giant head got the better of you, it fell forward, and somehow banged this website into your keyboard. And now I'm sorry that you probably need a new keyboard).

The return: We made it back in one piece, grateful for the short vacation. But little did we know, Alex would be the next to catch the stomach flu that night. He spent the whole night and next day throwing up everywhere. I'll probably be next for being so mean to the freak-bighead dealer. Dang that Karma.

Augh!! I can't believe I forgot to mention our star sighting. We were waiting outside the Hilton for the valet to bring our car before the concert, when a SUV pulled up in front of us and Michael Cera got out of the passenger side. He said, "Hey what's up" and then walked in the hotel. We are die hard "Arrested Development" fans, so seeing "George Michael Bluth" was a big thrill. (He was also in Juno--which we saw and was really good; and SuperBad--which I didn't see.) Probably not so thrilling for him was when Jeremy followed him all the way to the elevator to make sure that it really was him. So they had a stare down as the elevator doors closed, but I was right. It was him. What the crap's he doing in Shreveport?