And... DIE.

For the three of you that may not know, I kind of, sort of, may be into a few Radiohead tracks.

OK, I can't pull that one off. My obsession with Radiohead, according to my family and most of my friends, borders on "mentally insane." I've been dying to see them live and almost went into a depression when Coachella and their live tour sold out this year before I could purchase a ticket. I own all of their albums, singles, live tracks and B-sides. I've threatened to end friendships with people who either "don't like" them or "don't get their appeal" (no one ever took this seriously, FYI). As soon as my bank statement prints out actual numbers and not "HAHAHAHAHA!" in huge block letters, this is the tattoo I'm going to get:

Without the band name, though, because any guy who knows what
 this is is automatically my future first husband.

Yesterday I got a call from my boss, who has now been elevated to "One of the Most Absolute Exceptional, UnPrecedented People Ever on This Planet and Any Other Solar Systems Ever Discovered in the Future", informing me that he had an extra seat to the Thom Yorke extravaganza in Santa Barbara this Thursday, and of course he knew that I would shrivel up and probably shoot myself if he didn't take me, so the ticket was mine.

Me: .......

I honestly think I blacked out for a good thirty seconds. The protocol for the night was explained to me, in theory, but really, at that point, I could only hear syllables and noises. After I got off the phone with him, I dialed the numbers and hit up the Facebook pages of pretty much everyone I'd ever met since the age of ten, whose reactions ranged from underwhelmed to indifferent to "Oh, that's awesome...for you!"

I can already foresee that this is going to be the most unparalleled day of my entire existence, comparable only to maybe when I give birth to my first child or something monumental like that. I mean, he only has one extra ticket, so I don't get to bring a friend or anything and I have to go with his family, but that's cool. I would attend this show with a bunch of drug-dealing serial killers, as long as they waited until after the concert was over to murder me. Plus my boss' fiancee and brother are awesome and pretty close to my age, so hitting up Santa Barbara with them will probably be pretty fun, if they can find it within themselves not to attack me mercilessly for becoming completely unhinged.

I will definitely, positively cry during this show, especially if they play Karma Police, which is my absolute favorite song of all time from any artist, ever.



And not just one or two rolling tears, either; I'm talking full-on, toddler-like, sobbing tantrums that will disable me from looking at anyone in that car ride home in the face ever again. This is the two-hour period I've been waiting for my entire life. I'm not even sure if I'll get anything from that night on video and/or camera; I may be frozen in place. Seeing Radiohead live for me would have been like Charles Manson not only getting out on parole, but also having the judge say, "Listen, Chuck, go nuts. Kill some people while you're at it. Have fun! Peace out."

(PS- Blogger threw up those little red lines under the words "Thom Yorke," like they weren't in the dictionary. What? How is this even possible? This angers me.)

Anyway, I'll report back afterward, if I don't have a heart attack from my massive delirium first. I hope I don't; I'm also supposed to see Cabin in the Woods this weekend. That movie looks SO GOOD; I want to buy it a luxury hotel suite where I can get it massively wasted and impregnate it with a millionty babies.