It's Love

That was the song Sugarland opened with on Friday night. They were here in Cleveland along with Keith Urban, and I must admit that while I don't like this song (as in I always skip it on the cd) it seemed so different live. Better. But then again, that's why seeing your favorite artists live is so delightful. Because they are even better than you think they are. And you already think they are pretty darn good. I cannot say enough about how much I enjoyed myself. Every song. I admittedly was there for Sugarland (I think Keith Urban is great, but he doesn't have the charm and heart of Sugarland), which is why my eyes lit up when Keith brought them back out during his half and all of them sang a song together. Rather than progressively ooze about what a great concert it was, I'll limit myself to a funny story.

I went to the concert with J, and after the first half, we ventured out to the eternally long restroom lines. Upon re-entering the venue, we stopped on the cement walkway of the level below where our seats were to watch Keith's grand entrance. J is a huge Keith fan, and he suggested we stay on the walkway for a few numbers. He then whispered (read: shouted) into my ear that Keith has lots of good dancing music, and that there was more than enough room on the walkway to dance. "But remember that I don't know how to dance," I say. (Because J has tried dancing with me before). "Remember you just follow me," he replied. Keith's third number was 'Making Memories of Us," and sure enough, J pulls me in for a slow dance. Right there on the cement ledge, thousands of people surely watching. Half of me thought the whole thing was very sweet. The other half of me wanted to gag a little, mostly for all the people who were probably rolling their eyes at us.

The dance got the attention of a security guard, who told us to stop. And this is the moment when I was reminded that when a man is told what he can or can't do, he becomes 100% irrational. J twirled me around and went to put me in a dip, but I stopped following and said, "The man is still right there. Staring at us." "I don't care," J said. J not caring got the attention of a few more security guards who told the whole lot of us on the ledge to go back to our seats. J led us to the closest open seats, but by now we were the target, so the guard who followed us asked if we had tickets for the seats. Of course we didn't, but someone was in our seats because someone was in their seats because someone was in their seats, and so on. Having everyone move would have caused mass chaos, so they really should have just let us have the open seats. After a very heated argument (I was sure we would get thrown out), we exited via the walkway to head down to the next section, where our real seats were. But the guards continued to follow us. "Do you even HAVE a ticket?" they said to J. Which I think was a little over the top. How would he have gotten in if he didn't? They chased us over to the next section when J finally said, "I know where my seats are, thank you." And that was that. We enjoyed the remainder of the concert away from the guards. Lesson: men can be adorable and then retarded within the same five minutes. Not that we didn't already know that.