I DON'T HAVE A GOLDEN TICKET.

Ever since Paul and I went to Lafayette for that cancelled 3 Doors Down concert September 23, I've been checking periodically on the band's Web site for a makeup date. On Saturday, I finally saw one: Friday, February 13. I then call Ticketmaster to find out how the tickets work for the new concert. Seventeen minutes later, I got an answer.

I'm pretty sure Ticketmaster doesn't want to take any calls. They want everything to go down online. Except you can't get certain answers on that Internet. You gots to do it the old-timers way: on the telephone.

I was on hold for 16 of those 17 minutes, and about 13 times a recording broke into the on-hold music to tell me that I can do everything online: search for events, buy tickets, e-mail questions to customer service, etc. I don't think so, buddy. I'm staying on the goddamn phone until you bastards answer my question, I responded once.

When you first call, Ticketmaster gives you nine options (buy tickets, cancel tickets, etc.). None of them applied to me. So, I got put on hold. The Ticketmaster recording comes on a few minutes into me holding: "Taking your call is our priority. Thank you for your patience." I would have stayed on hold all night if that's what it took.

At the 11-minute mark, an operator comes on. I explain the situation. "Oh, OK, sir. I'm going to have to transfer you to someone in customer service to answer that." Who in the name of convenience charges was I talking to if she wasn't in customer service? The CEO's secretary? If you don't click any of the options, shouldn't that then send you to customer service? Ugh.

I then waited another five minutes to talk to Sergio (you know Sergio?), the customer service person. During my wait, the recording came back. Ah, the beautiful recording voice. "We are experiencing an unusually high volume of calls. The next available representative will be with you. Your call is important to us. ... All representatives are still busy." Look, recording voice lady. I ain't hanging up the phone. So quit it with your bullshit.

After I explain the situation to Sergio (who didn't seem to grasp the concept of a cancelled concert rescheduling), he asks me for my credit card number used to purchase the tickets. He doesn't find the 3 Doors Down tickets on the account.

Sergio: Are you sure you purchased these tickets using this credit card?
Me: Yes. I'm sure.
Sergio: Well, the last thing I have on this account is WWE Smackdown in June.
Me: I used that credit card to purchase 3 Doors Down tickets from Ticketmaster at Major Video in August.
Sergio: You bought them at the rental store?
Me: Yes.
Sergio. Oh. Well, you have to go to that store to handle getting your money back or whatever.

I then thanked him for his time. In the end, he seemed to understand the situation. He couldn't help me, but that wasn't his fault. That is the system's fault. You mean to tell me Ticketmaster's customer service database doesn't record tickets I bought via Ticketmaster if the Ticketmaster is located inside a video store? What kind of bullshit is that?

That's just pathetic. I should have been able to buy new tickets or get some kind of credit toward future purchases on the phone with Sergio. Like Liam said after I told him what happened: "Ticketmaster sucks."

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I tried for most of Saturday to sell mom on the idea of Netflix. At various points in the convo, she said:
1) I don't know what the fuck you did.
2) What you fucking do that for?
3) (After I told her to cancel HBO.) So, what. Now, I'm fucked?

Mom doesn't think she'll get a T-Mobile bill. "I think T-Mobile fucked up and didn't send me a bill. Might be a fuck-up."

Our back door is stuck and needs to be turned just right to open. "It first happened to me the other day. I thought I fucking locked myself out of the house."

Mom is pissed at the guy who won this year's Survivor. He won $1 million and also an extra $100,000 from an online fan vote. She expected him to give the $100,000 to the other two finalists who got squadouche. "I was like, 'What the fuck?' He kept the motherfucking 100 grand. Jesus."

I'm watching the Tar Heels increase their record to 11-0 (only 28 more to go for perfection). "This is a blowout. What the fuck you watching this for?" The scrubs get into the game for UNC. The announcer says that one of the kids is a walk-on. "A senior walk-on? What the fuck he's been doing this whole time?" I then explained to mom how walk-ons and scholarships work. "Fucking sports fucking rules academics every time."

ROADSIDE HUMOR

The Shimmy Shack is a restaurant not too far from my house. I pass it on the way home every night from work. I've never eaten there, though Brick and Derry have said it is good.

What I do get from the establishment is some wholesome, old-fashioned entertainment. They put these jokes (really plays on words, and who doesn't love those?) up on that sign thingy that's usually designated for specials and announcements. There's one on each side of the thingy. Here are the two that are up now:

1) The dentist and the manicurist fought tooth and nail.
2) Police were called to a nursery. A 3-year-old was resisting a rest.

I told these two to Tina. She said: "People have too much fucking time on their hands."

PARTING SHOTS
Marcus fumbles a piece of paper that goes near my eye.

Me: That was close to cutting my eye.
Marcus: Too bad.
Me: Do you really want to go to the hospital with me?
Marcus: Yeah. To get my foot out your ass.

At dinner, Jelly tells us that she thinks Bridget Moynahan got pregnant on purpose to try to get Tom Brady to stay with her. This resulted in a series of jokes relating football terminology to using protection. The best two:

Jelly: They ran the quarterback sneak.
Brick: They ran the two-minute drill.

Jelly is leaving work.

Marcus: Jelly, by this time tomorrow, I'll be wuppin your ass.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
The top five teams that are normally not my favorites that I really got behind.

5) 2008 Philadelphia Phillies.
I picked them to win from the beginning. I cheered for them in the playoffs. You know, once the Cubs decided they'd wait another year to break the curse.
Favorite player: Shane Victorino. aka. The Flying Hawaiian.

4) Gonzaga men's basketball. 1999-present.
Ever since that magical 1999 run to the Elite 8, I've been cheering for this program. I'll watch some of their conference games every year (always on past midnight) and cheer hard for them to advance in the Tournament.
Favorite player: Blake Stepp.

3) 2001 New England Patriots.
Before the playoffs, I picked them to win the Super Bowl. And they did. I thought it was such a terrific story how they lost their QB early, were 5-5 and then upset the Rams for the title. A few years later, they became the team I hate the most. Weird.
Favorite player: Ty Law.

2) 2002 Sacramento Kings.
I loved their style of basketball. On the other hand, I hated the Lakers. A perfect match in the Western conference finals. I watched Game 6 from the NBA themed restaurant in Orlando and Game 7 (overtime) from an Orlando hotel. If the Kings could make foul shots (16-of-30 in Game 7) or Peja didn't airball a wide-open 3 late, the Kings would have won. Great series, though.
Favorite player: Mike Bibby.

1) 2001 Arizona Diamondbacks.
The Evil Empire hasn't been the same since. I ran around the house for about 10 minutes after Luis Gonzalez got the winning hit in Game 7. Mark Grace even started the ninth-inning rally. I bought a World Series shirt. Ironically, this team is now on my shit list.
Favorite player: Besides Grace, Curt Schilling.