Look, it's that there Virginia Skeptor!

Haley here, blogging from the home base in good old Hickory Flat, Georgia!

It's nice to know that no matter how old I get or where I go, I can always come home for a few good ego-blows. Today I've learned that my makeup isn't a good shade and that if I'm not hungry, I shouldn't eat--a jab at my figure that was masterfully subtle in its obviousness. Good form. Nice technique.

It's cool though, I think the mom and pops are going to let me take out a Parental Bank loan for Bonnaroo tickets--even though when asked, "What about drugs, alcohol, and debauchery?" my only answer was, "Well...it's a music festival." Poor form. Bad technique. But it's looking like I may get to go anyway! Then I can blog some lovely concert reviews and everyone will be happy. Because I know our 3.9 million readers will be just itching to know what we thought about it!

Speaking of concerts, I had the pleasure of witnessing Her Utter Amazingness Regina Spektor at the Tabernacle Friday night. This pleasure came only after an hour of driving a mini-van in circles, alone and lost in a sketchy part of Atlanta with a dead cell phone and literally screaming my head off almost non-stop. So I missed about 30 minutes of her set, and when I finally got there, I kinda lost my shit and cried a bit out of stress/relief/the shock of seeing and hearing my beloved crazy Russian idol in person. I felt just like one of those crazed Beatles fans; I should've fainted to get her attention! Maybe she would have given me a shout out!

But yeah, Regina is basically a goddess. Her voice was flawless; it's even more amazing live than in recordings. She debuted a few new songs, went on a cute little ramble about saving whales, and brought out the Only Son guy to beatbox for Hotel Song.

All in all, I would sell my soul for a lock of that her hair so that maybe I could voodoo some of her talent out of it. Bitch is that good.

It is interesting, however, that some concert-goers at the back of the venue seemed to think they had stumbled into a piano bar with a lounge singer and talked the ENTIRE time. It is also interesting to note that the drunken murmurs magically transformed into obnoxious, out-of-tune singalongery during "Fidelity."

"HEY, I DUN HEARD THIS SONG ON THAT THERE VH1 SHOW! IT BREAKS MY HA-HA-HA-HA-HEAAAAAART, WOOO!!!!"

Here's a tip: If you think you can sing better than the singer you paid to see, you should have saved that ticket money to rent some studio space and record a damn cover album. BUTCHER THE SOUNDTRACK OF MY LIFE ON YOUR OWN TIME.