Here's to you.

So, Lisa and I went to the Rascal Flatts concert Saturday and sat fourth row. That is, until they told everyone to do whatever they wanted and we found ourselves right at the stage -- close enough to snag a couple guitar picks, a drumstick, some star-to-fan contact and some great pictures. Now, neither Lees nor I is the go-crazy type, but we certainly did our share of crazy things. Call it the mob influence... or a couple of country gals just having a swell time.

Oh, and we also came away with some concert injuries. Lisa's was way worse/cooler because it involved a rabbid fan's fingernails and blood. She's my hero. I only took an elbow to the eye and have nothing to show for it. However -- and this is strange -- I've discovered a painful bruise just below my ribs that I'm sure I got at the concert, but not sure how I got at the concert. Mark it up as a Rascal Flatts mystery.

This (totally cool and awesome and great) picture is from our pre-concert Pizza Hut adventure. It makes me smile because a) we're wearing cowboy hats (and boots, though you can't see them), b) we're wearing cowboy hats (and boots, though you can't see them) at Pizza Hut, and c) we're wearing cowboy hats (and boots, though you can't see them) at Pizza Hut after having paid only $4.65 for one of the most delicious meals ever.

Oh, and Lisa taught me how to knit. I'm the Michael Jordan of knitting. Awesome.

Aaaaaand I got to go with my parents, brother, sister-in-law, neice and nephew to the Illini game in Chicago earlier that day. Allie was so stinkin' adorable. She danced, she cheered ("Go I-ny-ny!"), she entertained the surrounding sections. She was a doll. She was the only good part about the first half of the ballgame.


Alright, I'm done. I've got so much to blog about -- so much going on in my mind about Africa -- but absolutely no time.