I am writing this post from my death bed. Or, I may just have the flu. Haven’t sorted that out yet.

We went to the No Doubt concert last night, after about a month of steadily building excitement about hearing Gwen Stefani live. My friends and family came from all over, and there was a lot of planning going on between us on facebook. Since everyone was meeting up at my house and then going over to the venue, I decided to stop off at BevMo and get some soda. OK, and beer. Complimenting the wine, sangria and mixers that also fell into my cart. Don’t judge me.

When I checked out at the register… are you listening, readers reader? I got carded! Despite the fact that TheLittles andTheTween were crawling all over me at the time. When I couldn’t find my license right away, I said, “but I’m forty!” and a cranky grampa in line behind me said suspiciously, “She looks 17 to me.” Yeah, because when I was 17 I used to crash the discount liquor stores at 11am with some rent-a-kids in tow.

I found my license, all was well, we got into the car, andTheTween proceeded to tell me that I should think it was cool that I got carded. I didn’t. I had to rush home and clean the house to the point of erasing our very existence, because that’s what I do when we have people over.

I shouldn’t have bothered.

The husband came bolting through the door after work, and ran straight for that sparkling toilet bowl… and proceeded to soil it with mass quantities of “spit up.” Then he crawled onto the bathroom floor, where he remained for the rest of the night.

I was so sympathetic pissed off.

Back out in the kitchen, entertaining our friends, alone, I was stewing. What a baby. Why couldn’t he just suck it up and get with the program? What’s a little barf, especially when you’ve probably expelled whatever was wrong with you anyway? Get on with it man! We piled into the car and headed to the concert, whereupon I got into a pissing match with the gatekeeper over whether my camera could be brought in (it couldn’t), and didn’t she know that I was parked all the way in China (I wasn’t), and could she please update the website with correct information (she wouldn’t).

The lawn seats we found were excellent, because we managed to park ourselves right in the pot smoking section somehow. Internets, these were dedicated pot smokers. They never came up for air, all. night. long. Plus? People who are smoking pot like to sing along at the top of their lungs, whether they know the words or not.

What happened next is best told by showing you the facebook updates I was sending from the concert. OK, the concert bathroom stall.

Shelly Barfed at the No Doubt concert. Am rockstar.

Shelly Am barefoot in ladies room. Barf on shoes.

Shelly Karma.

Shelly Just stepped on random hot dog. Barefoot.

Some of you masochists out there are snickering, and thinking it serves me right.

NO DOUBT.

Shelly blogs over at That Girls Blogs and she’s hilarious. You definitely need to go on over and check out some more of her posts. I mean, we all love a girl who photoshops herself into a picture with a Jonas Brother.