Now is the winter of our discontent.

I don't know why I always forget it. I don't know why when I remember, I almost pee myself with excitement. The annual Kansas City Shakespeare Festival is here! AND they are featuring King Richard III.

I remember when they used to two plays each festival, and it would alternate every-other-day. Now, they have whittled it down to one play. Oh well. It's still Shakespeare. It's still free. And if you can stand the heat and humidity of the Midwest, it's fun. Not to mention you can bring your own cooler of beverages.

So, grab a blanket, your favorite wine, some cheese, and join me for great literature set in motion.

Hair for a Cause!!

Unless you have been living under a rock, everyone knows that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Out come the pink ribbons. And soup cans. And spatulas. And everything else that is made pink so you don't forget to save the boobies!

November, it would appear, is a Man's Cancer Awareness Month. Instead of coloring everything one color, it was decided that the best way to bring awareness to the cancer of men's dangly parts and internal plumbing, was for the menfolk to grow a porn stache.

Meesha has been chronicling his facial pube journey. Chipotle has thrown his face fuzz into the cause as well.

(On a side note, porn stache's scare me. The Boy had some weird facial hair style thing going on for a while. He looked like an ice cream truck driver. It gave me nightmares. Thankfully, he caved to the online tauntings of his friends and got rid of it. However, the image is forever seared in my mind...)

But it got me thinking. Men will wear the pink to support the boobie cause. What can women do to return the favor in kind?? Not all women were blessed with the power to grow a full stache. I mean, I have one rogue hair that likes to crop up on my chin, but even if I allowed it to grow, you still couldn't see it because it's so dam light. It's not enough to be effective! It lacks impact! It just doesn't convey to the world that I support the men folk in their fight against dangly part cancers!!

Then it came to me. While most women may not grow hair on their faces, we do grow hair in other places.

So, in observance of Men's Cancer Awareness Month, I propose that the women of the world unite and stop shaving for the month of November. Legs! Armpits! Delicate girly parts!! The more hair, the more you can show your support of our brothers in their cause.

And if you have questions about how to avoid shaving, ask our European sisters for pointers.

Hair cuts are still acceptable. We're not total barbarians.

So, toss those razors, ladies! Let Operation: Fuzz for Cancer commence!!! Do it for the health of the special men in your lives!! Fathers, Husbands, Boyfriends, Brothers. Show them we are in the trenches with them, right by their side!!!

Death Magnetic

Unlike The D. I went to the Metallica concert last night. Plans to go to this concert were set the minute they announced they were stopping here. Brother, being awesome, bought the tickets and I arranged my schedule so I could go. We both like Metallica. In fact, while all my other female counterparts were putting posters of New Kids on the Block (or whatever retarded pop star was worshipped at the time) on their walls, I was listening to Metallica.

For the few months preceding the concert, Brother would just randomly burst out with the words "Fuckin' Metallica!" and then go about his business. I guess you could say he was really excited.

So, Brother's friends, 'bert and his wife, uh, Ernie, came to our house. We rode in the Jeep with 'bert driving, and me giving directions from the back seat. We arrived a little over than an hour before the show started, and we found parking right across from the Sprint Center. Sure, we had to pay $15 to park there, but it was still a pretty choice parking spot.

Once inside, I immediately sought out a souvenir stand and bought an overpriced concert shirt, and a beanie for Brother. Because I'm an awesome sister like that.

The Sword opened the show. I'd never even heard of this group before, but I must say they were pretty good. Apparently, they are going to open for Metallica for the entire tour. I might be inclined to buy their cd.

After The Sword, Down took the stage and played. While they were good, they made quite a few comments about buying their crap so they can make money. Whatever. They are not who we came to see.

The layout of the Sprint Center had the stage in the center of the floor, audience surrounding. Standing room around the stage, but we had seats not far from the action. They had smoke machines peppered throughout. I think this was done on purpose for those who partake of "herbal refreshment", so that they would blend in. However, it was hard to miss the thick, green fog that permeated the air. Around the stage, the lighting rigs were set up in large casings that were shaped like the coffin that graces their new album cover. The casings would drop, tilt, and spin. Included was an impressive laser light show, tons of spotlights, and fire. You can't have a hard rock concert without fire.

Then, Metallica's little symphonic intro played and the entire arena went nuts. Metallica takes the stage and the show begins. They played some music from their new album, plus plenty of old fan favorites...Enter Sandman, Master of Puppets, Seek and Destroy, Nothing Else Matters just to name a few. How must it feel to have a career that spans decades, to still be relevant to this day, and have arenas full of people singing your songs back to you?

Thankfully, they didn't play anything from St. Anger.

I know Metallica makes a shit-ton of money, but it's very evident that they still enjoy what they do. After 25 years, they still sound good. The energy was electric. All different types of people were there, just enjoying the music...baby boomers, young kids, the trailer park crowd, white collar peeps, and everything in between. No political messages, no talk of elections, economy, or whatever troubles plague the news. Just a good band playing to thousands of screaming fans.

James Hetfield better than ever. Lars Ulrich, still considered a douchebag to many, is probably one of the best drummers I've ever seen. His big, orange drum set was on a lazy-Susan type stage that rotated. So, for a couple songs, I had a really good vantage point to watch how he played. Amazing.

They didn't allow cameras, but everyone was taking pictures with their phones. Myself included. I tried to get a couple sound clips to share, but after the concert, I listened to them and realized that my phone isn't really that great and I should think about upgrading. I know I sent a lot of texts. Lucky you if you got one.

Overall, a phenomenal concert, finally ending just after 11pm. If watching the concert wasn't fun enough, it was watching Brother jump around and play air guitar. There's a guy who really, REALLY loves Metallica.

So now, my throat is raw from yelling and cheering. My ears are still ringing.

All well worth it.

Fucking Metallica!!!!

A Night to Remember...I Think

Just to bring everyone up to speed...Friday was my birthday. I am aware that 33 is not a milestone or anything, like turning 21 or turning 40, but I don't usually kick up a big deal about my birthday. My birthday celebrations have been hit or miss, and usually amounts to a quiet dinner, or an extra nap.

When I turned turned 5, we had a big party. I wore a green dress with a picture of Big Bird on the front. My parents hired Rusty the Clown to entertain.

I had a birthday party when I was in the 4th grade. It was a roller skating party, and I invited a handful of friends. My own personal bully at the time demanded to be invited as well, and I caved. Unfortunately, that little olive branch didn't defray any future torment. That sea cow terrorized all through junior high. Dirty crunt.

Being how this is the year of the H-Train (me), I figured that the birthday ought to go with much fanfare. Or a little fanfare at least. I gathered the night shift posse and made a plan. Much of it didn't come together for until the night before.

I had made a dinner reservation for 6pm at a local Japanese restaurant, and predictably, everyone was late. The restaurant workers were not too impressed. Among us were: Tweener, Smo, Indy, Toph, Brother, No-Nickname Friend, B-Ram, Mom, and Mr. Recommendation.

I guess I should mention I was rocking the Apple Bottom jeans. I also went shopping earlier that day and found a cute, spring-like top with a low cut. Not having a bra that I could wear with said shirt, I also found a bra that would accommodate the shirt (and my boobs). Incidentally, the bra happened to be one of those push-up ones. The Girls were, uhhh, extremely noticeable...even from Gardner, Kansas. I know this because Indy could see them from his porch.

Anyway, we sit at our little table, and the guy at the next table keeps staring at me (or rather, my ginormous boobs). It also doesn't help that Mr. Recommendation keeps referring to me (loudly) as "the girl with big tits". Thankfully, the waitress reminds him that they are in a family establishment (I had only said the very same thing five times already), and he cans the big tits talk.

Mr. Recommendation, while nice and good to my mother, is funny only 25% of the time, and not for his lack of trying. His jokes are often met with that awkward silence. If you can't tell a funny joke, don't tell anything. Policy.

Dinner moves along, with the food being pretty good in terms of Japanese steakhouses. At the end of dinner, Mr. Recommendation and Mom announce they have hired a limo to drive us for the night. Of course, I think they are bullshitting me, but apparently, everyone was in on it.

We stop at Price Chopper for some libations as the limo only provides a bag of ice. I stop in the middle of the parking lot for an impromptu booty shake when Tweener turns up the volume on her stereo. Mom spots this and gasps.

Everyone gets back to my house where go we between my house, and Mom's house, until our ride shows up. A white stretch limo. Everyone piles in and we are off to our first stop: The Drop.

While we were there, more people joined us and fun and frivolity. There was my friend Dub, as well as Sader Mama, The Librarian, and Fate. Dub left his car and joined us in the limo while the others met up with us at our last stop: Tootsies.

Say what you will about it being a dive, but they have a good dance floor, play good music, and drunk men are not slobbering all over you. Drunk lesbians seem to exhibit a little more self control and respect, which make for a very low-pressure, hassle-free dance environment. However, I failed to warn Mom about the unisex bathroom, and she got the shock of her life went she needed to go. Oops. My bad.

Now, here is where I can't really go into what happened there with my roving band of birthday celebrators. I guess you just had to be there to be in the know. Sorry!

After a few hours at Tootsies, we decided to wrap things up and go back to my house. Besides, limo guy was charging by the hour. The limo ride back home was entertaining as there were lesbians making out, and Indy was very, very excited about this not-so-new development. We played a little game of "I've Never..." and I got to know my coworkers very, very well.

At home, drunk nurses aplenty!! And they all want breakfast. B-Ram starts singing about wanting pancakes. I don't want to cook pancakes. So, I toss some pre-made bacon in the microwave. Soon, the smell of bacon fills the house. Bacon makes everyone happy. We run out of bacon and I produce real bacon from the fridge. Indy, who has more experience drunk-cooking than anyone of us combined, starts the task of making breakfast. He gets the bacon started, finds my big bag of hash browns in the freezer and dumps the entire contents into the smallest frying pan I own. At this point, he apparently decides that he has made his contribution to breakfast, and just goes into the living room and lies on the floor.

From here, Toph takes over cooking duties and finishes the bacon and the hash browns. I finish the meal by scrambling a buttload of eggs and tossing cheese into the pan.

Breakfast is served! However, everyone else is now passed out in the living room.

Assholes. Next time, I'm just throwing them a box of frozen waffles.
As the morning went on, people come to and drag themselves home. Only two people eat the massive breakfast that has been prepared. Indy doesn't even touch a plate, but decides barfing in the toilet would be a much better option. Good thing Brother cleaned his bathroom before.

All weekend, those who attended have been rehashing the events of Friday night. Somethings come as revelation to those who can't remember. Indy tried to claim he couldn't remember anything about that night until I called bullshit on him. I have his ass nailed, and he knows it. Hee!

A good time had by all. I don't think I will ever celebrate a birthday in the grand fashion that I rung in my 33rd year, but who knows what 34 will bring?

33! 33! 33! 33!

Thirty-three years and nine months ago, I was conceived on the banks of some little river in Kansas over a 4th of July holiday. When my parents weren't shagging in their tent, Dad fished while Mom passed the time blowing up frogs with little firecrackers.

On the day of my big debut, Mom had a bad sunburn, and I had partially formed hip-joints which landed me in a big plaster cast for the first 6 months of my life. Followed by a year or so in a lower body brace.

Because of that, I can now put both feet behind my head. I'm not sure when this will come in handy, but there is a reason for all things.

Tonight is my birthday festivities. Fun and frivolity will ensue. Some folks will be lucky enough to get late night phone calls. As in me calling and singing happy birthday to you.

So charge up your phones and consider yourselves warned.

Birthday Month!

March is my birthday month. My actual birthday falls on a Friday, of which I have taken off work so I can celebrate accordingly.

If you are interested in joining in the fun...let me know.

Presents optional.

(Party may or may not include drunk dancing lesbians, drag queens, barfing in my rock garden...and a circus midget that moonlights as a stripper...if I'm lucky.)