A Very Cruiser Birthday Report

This posting is coming way late because, well frankly, it was all I could muster yesterday to get myself clean and dressed for work. Matter of fact, once I got to work yesterday, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, I'd forgotten to wear pants. Luckily, one quick glance downward and I was assured that yes, I can accomplish basic hygiene and dressing while severely sleep-deprived and possibly still drunk at 8:00 in the morning.

Let me say first, to my readers - if I could reach right through your monitor, you'd be getting one of those sloppy, "I love ya, man" hugs from me for all your well-wishes for my burfday. That being said - I guess y'all might want my book report on CruiserMel's b-day bash. You do, right?

Where to start? The good part, you say? Mmmmokay.

I got home from work to find two packages on my front porch....gifts I'd given myself. One was a presh pair of shoes I had been jonesin' for and I love them. I want to walk around the house wearing only these shoes. Girls, only you can understand the power that just the right pair of shoes can do to the female psyche, right? The other package was something Lindy's written about on her blog and well, it's personal.....and for me and only me. Thanks for the recommendation, LindyGirl. That's enough about that. *wink*

SOOOOO, Boy Toy J's best friend from childhood was flying in to Dallas Tuesday night. Yeah, he didn't consult my birth certificate before he made his plans. That was okay with me, I'm all about having two dates for my birthday. And believe me, ladies, if you'd seen his friend, you would've totally dumped Brad Pitt for him! I am not kidding, hubbada hubbada. Tall, dark, commanding, and so very vague about what he does for a living that I started thinking he's the leader of some drug cartel in Florida. Not really, but he was larger than life and I secretly swooned when I saw him and almost thanked Boy Toy J for giving him to me, but I thought better of that.

The three of us went to a Salvadoran restaurant, because not only am I all about having two dashing escorts, but I dig me some ethnic cuisine and we had food I could not pronounce and drinks that I could. Far too many drinks. The guys spoke fluent Spanish with the waiters (did I ever tell you BTJ grew up in Miami?). I just sipped my mojitos and ate plantains and other weird stuff and grinned because I had the two best looking dates in the room. Somewhere along the way, I missed that they were conspiring with the waiters to embarrass me. So after dinner, BTJ's friend was telling boyhood tales of growing up with BTJ and we were laughing hysterically when suddenly I sensed a gathering of waiters behind me and the warmth of the candle on the chocolate flan starting to singe the hair on the back of my head. Um yeah - it was song-time! They sang a birthday song in Spanish, not "she's had too much to drink and wants to take off her panties," but I'm not 100% certain. The waiter kissed me full on the lips and said something about "hayyyyyy, mamasita." I think that was a compliment?

Then BTJ gave me my present - a very sweet, but not too sweet cuz I hate those things, card and tickets to see Patty Smyth & Scandal in August. We all know I loves me some 80's music! Apparently, he's willing to spend an evening in POP hell with me since I've been to METAL hell with him a coupla times. Cool. (When I was younger, I wanted to be Patty Smyth. She was so cute and that girl could sing! Still can.) The boy did good and um, yeah, there was a public display of affection involved. (No, Lindy, not a blow-job. Just sayin.)

We got the boot at 11:00 and somehow wobbled our way across Greenville Avenue to the 7-11. (For those of you not familiar with Dallas, Greenville Avenue is a party street that is usually populated by drunks behind the wheel - so crossing on foot isn't the brightest idea.....) The guys bought some beer, we went to my house since it was closest and we had a blasty-blast with more stories of BTJ's childhood. (Ladies, this is a very good way to glean information about your man. Just sayin.)

Unfortunately, we had to get BTJ's friend to his hotel. I think it was around 2:00, but I'm not sure. We said "hasta la vista" to his friend and went back to mi casa. There was more alcohol and even some sex involved. I think there was an Oriental rug involved, too. Hey, it's my house and I can do it wherever I want! Thwpppppt.

I'm not sure how, but I got up at 7:00, showered, dressed, took CruiserDog outside, woke BTJ up from the dead and sent him on his merry way just in time to find myself running for the bathroom to throw up quickly before leaving for the office. Any normal person would've thought hmm, maybe something's wrong with me at that point....but not me. Nope - I just grabbed my keys, set the burglar alarm, and drove to work. Have you ever been on auto-pilot and done that? Yeah, I'm not normal.

I got to work, found out I had pants on and when my boss asked how I was doing I didn't hide my secret. I told him I felt like poop and was quite possibly still drunk. He was leaving at noon for a vacation and said he was hoping HE would feel the same the next day. (Oh hell no, Boss, you know not what you speak of! Don't do it!)

But bottom line - Tuesday was a very great day. BTJ did well. BTJ's friend is a hottie who was a pleasure to meet. [Aside: do I have any eligible female readers in Miami - because I'd hook ya up in a heartbeat.] Mojitos are yummy, but maybe one is the magic number for future reference. Sex on the floor. AND I get to see Scandal. Good times.

The beautiful part about birthdays, besides calories that don't count and funny cards, is that once it's over, you don't have to do that again for a year. Thank God.

Hippo Birdie To Me.......

Happy Birthday to me! I'm taking tonight off to go drink heavily and eat ridiculous amounts of calories. (I mean, it's true that they don't count on birthdays, right?)

CruiserMel will return shortly (or not) with something.....if she can think of something. Or not.

Meanwhile, go have a Little Debbie snackcake or a cocktail in my honor.

What a Wanker

Feeling punie yesterday, I didn't return to work after lunch. It's this nagging, probably allergy-related crud that's grabbed hold of me at least three times since April and knocks the ever-lovin' crap out of me. The past two bouts have led to strep throat, but this time I may have bitch-slapped it into submission by actually hitting the "airborne" tablets and taking to my bed at the first sign of the post-nasal drip. (What? TMI? Sowwy.) I slept all afternoon, evening, and night. I woke up this morning a little groggy and slow, but I felt much better for having taken care of myself this time.

Because I was moving a bit slowly, I called the office and begged for an additional hour or so to clear my head (and nasal passages).

I need to do this more often. I had no idea what happens at my house after I leave for work until today. Within the first 1/2 hour I was at home, my telephone rang. I've got relatives of advanced ages so when the phone rings at odd times of the day or night, my skin tends to cringe and my heart falls a little.

I ran to the phone with dread in my bones and saw 586 as the area code on the caller ID. 586? Where is that? Who is that?

Me: Hello?

586: Hi. You doing good this morning?

Me: I guess.

586: Well, I'm ready.

Me: Who is this?

586: Does it matter?

Me: *looking at the caller ID* Who is this?

586: Aren't you ready to get it on?

("get it on"????? Who says that? Barry White?)

Me: *reading from the caller ID* Gary? Is this you? *pause* This is Gary M____y, isn't it?

586: CLICK.

I snickered to myself a little and thought how sad it was that Gary had reached me instead of some desperate housewife who would've surely appreciated his effort. I went back to my hair drying when I heard the phone ring again.

Me: Hello?

586: You know me?

Me: Of course I do.

586: What a coincidence. Huh.

Me: It is. What do you want?

586: I guess I've called you before. You know what I want.

Me: *putting on my best morning sexy voice, well, as sexy as I can muster with sinus problems* Well, I know what I want, Gary.

586: What's that? If I help you, you'll help me. I'm ready, Baby.

Me: I want your address. I've got your phone number, so I'm planning on calling the police. If I could have your address, it would save them some trouble.

586: Bitch! CLICK.

Now I ask you - who in this day and age makes phone calls like this anymore? Even little children have figured out the concept of caller ID and don't call to see if your refrigerator is running. Even if you want to make a crank call (or perv call) there is a way to make one's self anonymous by dialing a * and then some code before you dial the number. (Obviously, I don't make crank calls or I would know the code.)

Oh well, I can't say I've had that kind of fun in a long time. I think I should be late for work more often. Besides, Gary might just call tomorrow.

Talk About Versatile!

After all the rain we've seen right 'cheer in Texas, the savvy woman would be smart to don these chic beauties for a day in court, that oh-so-important business luncheon, a night out with the girls, or for a special evening out on the town with her gentleman caller.

Metallic Birthday for BTJ

Hiya! Yes, I'm totally detoxed from Thursday's girls' night. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I may have re-tox'd myself on Saturday night, but that wasn't the question, was it?



Saturday night was celebration night for Boy Toy J's birthday. For the next eight days, our ages aren't so far apart. (Though CruiserMel's birth certificate says she'll turn another year older on the 17th, she will continue to lie her ass off to any stranger that asks her real age, as long as possible, but that wasn't the question, was it?)



I asked Boy Toy J what he wanted to do for his bday several weeks ago. I expected to hear something about a home-cooked dinner, perhaps a big juicy steak dinner "out," or "only you, my dear....."



But what I didn't know was that BTJ was completely jazzed-up for a night of hard rock tribute bands at a place called O'Riley's, here in Dallas. Hey, I figured it might actually cost less than dinner at some fancy restaurant (which I hope to collect for my birthday), and as long as there's enough alcohol to occupy me, I could deal with one night in rock and roll hell.



He got to my house all excited and exuberant; I mean, he'd waited for this for what probably felt like forever to him.



He smiled and said "you like my hair?"



I swear, it looked the same it always does......1/4" long pretty much everywhere. "Yeah...."



"It looks different doesn't it?"



I cocked my head, squinted and searched for the right words. "You got it cut?"



He gasped and said "No, I spiked it!"



"Oh, now I see." Between you and me, spiking curly hair that's 1/4" long pretty much turns it into hair that's 3/8" long. But I reached into the depths of my heart and told him it looked great. Evs.



I gave him his official present, a Paul Rodgers tshirt and a dvd of Stevie Nicks. He actually likes her and I can tolerate it, too. He was thrilled. Damn, he's easy.



After prezzies, I secretly grabbed my earplugs that I use when I go to auto races and we were off.



After dinner we went to the club where not three, but now four tribute bands would be playing, and one of those did double duty, which would mean five sets. Ugh. "Weller and Diet, please. Keep 'em coming."



Soon it began - but it was actually tolerable. Barely.



Band #1 pulled the double: one set of Johnny Cash and one of Pat Benatar. Okay, I can handle this. I have a very limited knowledge of Johnny's music, but that guy should take his show to Vegas, baby. He had him pegged. Really good. Pat Benatar was just meh, but at least I knew enough to sing along and remember having an outfit almost identical to this gal's outfit. It was pure 80's and it was fun.



Band #2 - Dokken. Who? "Weller and Diet - make it snappy." Being from a theatrical background, I can look beyond my own personal tastes and spot true talent and the 17-year old bass player had it. Style, looks, presence. Can you say charisma? I thought you could. When they left the stage, I was almost bummed I wasn't going to be able to see him play some more.



Band #3 - Motley Crew. I admit I was a little curious about this one. I mean, I've done my share of head-banging in my sordid past. I had also cheated and listened to a greatest hits cd last week, but don't tattle on me, kay? The band came out in full metal regalia, and much to my surprise - the 17-year old bassist, Taylor, was in this band, too. Bonus. I couldn't help it when I rose to my feet and positioned myself in front of his spot. Here I was, way old enough to be his momma, and starstruck (on a local level - don't worry, Kasim) by this BOY. I found him afterwards and stumbled my way over and told him to "get the f outta this band and go be a star where you should be." He probably took it as an insult, but it wasn't meant that way. I'd love to know what he told his buddies about the middle-aged lady who breathed whiskey all over him. Boy Toy J didn't seem amused. Oh well, I wanted a steak dinner!



Band #4 - Judas Priest. It almost pains me to type that name. All I know of JP is that they wore/wear (?) alot of leather and bondage stuff. And sing about breakin' the law and stuff. NOT my scene. (Hell, I owned a Hanson cd!) "Weller and Diet - make it a double, will ya?" Somewhere along the way, I ended up separated from Boy Toy J, who was in his element. It's okay, I'd told him that would happen. He knows my threshold for metal music.



All in all - BTJ had a "best birthday ever!" and I didn't suffer too much hearing loss. The look on his face after that night was priceless. I'd done good.



But I still want a steak dinner "out" when it's my turn. Just hinting.

The Girls' Night With Merv

Indeed, it was a girls' night of epic proportions, just Merv & me. Usually when Merv comes to visit we can get a few more girls to join in, but being that it was a Thursday, well, it was just us.

There was plenty of TexMex snackies and the adult beverages were plentiful.

There was giggling and talk of boys and sex.

There was music and more talk of boys and sex.

There was the occasional quiet moment of reflection on life's woes.

Then there was more giggling, music and talk of boys and sex.

Then the telephone rang while we were in mid-hysterical laughter, still dipping tostadas in the queso and munching on a veggie tray. It was Boy Toy J.

Me: "Why are you calling so late?"

BTJ: "Late? What are you talking about? It's early."

Me: "It is? God, it feel like it's the middle of the night."

BTJ: "No, it's 8:00 in the morning!"

Yeah, baby! We're still rollin' like 20-somethings and living to tell about it, too.

My garbage disposal is another story. Someone needs to clear up how an earring, a sponge and a business card ended up in there.

Nubbins, Mark Wahlberg And The Boy Toy

Sorry, folks, for slackin' off on my blog duties. I guess there just hasn't been much going on in CruiserWorld.

No, I take that back. It's not like I just laze around, eating bon-bons, watching Lifetime movies and reading fan mail. I actually do some things.

Like laundry. And the occasional trip to the grocery store. It's a glamorous life, I know.

Let's touch upon just a few of the incredibly exciting events that have taken place since we last e-spoke, shall we?

It appears I've grown a nubbin. A nubbin, you ask? Remember that episode of "Friends" where it came out that Chandler has a third nipple? Yup. I've got one of those. It appeared this morning after I'd given CruiserDog a little walk in what has become the BAYOU that was once my backyard. Dallas has had more days of rain than I can count on two hands and that makes for some wicked mosquito breeding. Those little fuckers are apparently fucking and not practicing safe sex. So, yeah - one of those little babies made it's way down my shirt in my ample *cough* cleavage and made a feast of my porcelain skin. Needless to say, I've scratched it repeatedly during the day and now it is swollen and pink and kinda resembles the two little pillows on either side. Seriously, the thing is almost an inch across! And of course, I can't keep my hands away from it now. Nothing like reaching into one's shirt in public. I felt a little like one of those old men who can't keep their hands off their package when I was making my way down the aisles of the grocery store.

What else? Oh yeah, some of you have asked for a Boy Toy J story. Let me say that his schedule has changed recently so our time together is seeming more and more like we're having an affair instead of a relationship. It seems our time together doesn't even start until after 9:30 at night. I hate his job. Why oh why can't he have a regular 9-5 job with weekends off? But noooooooo. Grrrrr.

His last day off was Monday. Natch, I had to work and then go to one of my neighborhood association board meetings until about 8:30. He was at mi casa when I got home. Have I mentioned his ADHD lately? Yyyyeahhhhh, about that...... I got home and heard evidence of him before I saw it. He was sitting in his car, smoking a cigar, windows down, blaring something that he calls music. I call it metallic, grating, noise. Did I mention that I've got neighbors? Uh huh. My hackles were starting to stand at attention, but it was good to see him, since it had been several days since we'd seen eachother. He pointed out the stance I take when he's done something to irritate me and it made me giggle, which just pisses me off to no end. He stayed outside to finish his cigar. (at least the boy doesn't smoke those nasty things in my house)

Walk with me as I walk into my house, okay? I entered the kitchen area with no less than 3 cabinets open along with two drawers. This would be the kitchen equivalent of leaving the seat up in my book. Honestly, what's with that? He blames the ADHD. Is that really a symptom? Double grrrrr. I'm no Suzy Homemaker, but I do know to close a cabinet when I'm done with it. It's not so hard to do. Maybe he missed that day in school.

Then I hear music coming from the den. (Luckily, it was something from my collection). As I walk into the den, the television is also on - at the same time as the music. And Boy Toy J is outside? wtf?

It took some fast talking for J to get me to chill out, but we ended up having a fantastic evening and I got a great massage out of it. Bonus. He's so easy that way. Heh.

But I swear, I did not sign up to be his mommy, so this stuff is wearing thin. Do you have any advice for dealing with the un-medicated ADHD person? I hate for this to be a deal-breaker, and I'm not saying it is or isn't yet, but I've never known an adult like that. Seriously, I need advice on how to deal with this.

I saw a fantastic movie yesterday as it was raining (again) and any plans for the 4th of July were gone. It's running on the dish and it's probably 10 years old, but I'd never seen it. "Fear" with Reese Witherspoon and Mark Wahlberg. Oh wow. Is he hot or what?!?!? I don't know how this movie slipped past me the first time around. Dayum.

*excuse me, I have to scratch* *okay, I'm back*

Remember the girl I went to NYC with to see Kasim in December? Merv? Have y'all met? Anyway, she's in town this week and we're having a girls' night tonight. (My weekend begins officially when I finish this post.) There will be giggling and adult beverages. And absolutely no sleeping. Because that's how we gals roll, bro.

Hopefully, there will be something more interesting to write about than this post. Aw hell, there will be.....if I can only remember after killing the remaining braincells I've got left.

Soooo, I'm off to make some queso dip and apply a little benadryl to my nubbin.

Y'all have a great weekend, ya hear?

She Met Todd!

A hearty congratulations to my friend S in Californy today. She got to meet Todd the Godd last night. After a New Cars show out California-way, she boarded his tourbus.

But don't be thinking what you're thinking. She's a good girl, she is.

However, what I'm about to tell you might also send you to thinking what you might be thinking.

She was taken to said tourbus by Todd's wife, who did the introductions.

Way to go, S!!!!!!!!! I knew you could do it.

Um, yeah - have I mentioned that my friends are cool?

Not Very Bad Company At All....

....if you could see past the tshirts that said lovely sentiments about "Save Southern Rock" and "Sexas Tucks." I swear, there were hundreds of be-tank-topped, braless, saggy bosoms laying on blubber bellies. Gross, just gross. And those were the men! Don't even get me started about the women. Oy. There must have been a huge ugly stick that hit many of those people! Seriously.

Yesterday, I headed north on 75 for the 95 mile drive to big, beautiful Durant, Oklahoma. And by big and beautiful, I mean small and dusty. But the stars were shining on the Choctaw Casino and Coliseum when legendary rock and roll bluesman, Paul Rodgers of Bad Company fame took the stage.

My friend S was to go with me, in fact the whole trip was her idea initially, but she had an unfortunate foot incident and bailed. But you know me, not much can deter CruiserMel from her concerts, even travel ghoulies! So, off I went.

I skidded into town with hardly a minute to spare before the show began and I didn't have a ticket! As I suspected, casino shows hold back the really good seats for their high rollers and release them to meager low rollers (or in my case, paying customers) as the show nears. BINGO! 6th row. I so rawk.

He came out on the stage in tight jeans and a muscle shirt. No he's not 30 or 40, he's quite definitely over 60. And it hardly shows a bit. This guy was smooth and sexy as hell with a voice like buttah. And he didn't have man-boobs. Take that, Durant.

Much to the chagrin of Sassy Blondie and Lindystars, try as I might, I couldn't get "Rock n Roll Hor" or "Dirty Bitch" embroidered on my panties in time to throw at Paul's feet, so I elected to blind him with my flashing boobs, (and by boobs, I mean camera), until I got wise and turned the flash off which produced way better photos. Sorry 'bout burning your retinas, dude, but I was excited and went all stoopid with my Canon.

At one point, he asked everyone to "come on down" towards the stage and my feet grew wings as I jumped over several seats and I was in wall to wall male and female boobs. I wriggled my way to the front and soon found myself with my own boobs crushed against the stage. (Would you expect any less of me?) Everyone was trying to touch Paul and though I like to be different, I joined the bandwagon and held my hand up. Soon I felt his hand high-five mine. It was just like his voice, buttah.

Before I knew it, he was at the end of his nearly 2 hour show (3 encores, btw), and I was headed out the door to make the drive back to Dallas. Did I mention this was an Indian reservation? Run by Indians? Indians who like to play tricks on innocent palefaces? There was one, count 'em ONE exit out of the parking lot. There was a Tonto at every turn of the parking lot, directing myself and 1000 others around in what amounted to something like the hedge maze in "The Shining". (And I thought getting out of the John Mayer concert last week was awful!) Our cars looked like they were playing ring around the rosey with all the going around in circles. I was so disoriented and felt like they were either going to force me to permanently become a resident of "the Nation" or were leading me down a path which might lead me to Nebraska, so I leaned out the window to one of the Tontos and said "I need to get to 75 South." To which, he flashed his four remaining teeth at me and tossed his head back in laughter as he waved me once again back into the maze. Dick.

Anyhow, I finally found my way to the highway and headed home. Another night, another concert. And it was so worth it, Rock n Roll Hor panties or not. But I'll be working on that matter for the next concert. Heh.

I Wanted To Be Like The Other Kids

.........so I just had to see what my blog is rated.




Apparently I've used the words "hell" (6 x), "ass" (2x), and whore (1x).

Shit. Fuckity fuck.

That's all?

Can't Get Enough......

Ya know how CruiserMel can't get enough R & R? That's rock and roll, not rest and relaxation.

God, that sounds so cliche'.

My pal S and I are going to ignore the rules of adulthood and drive 95 miles after work Thursday to see the one and only Paul Rodgers. You ones over 30 know who I'm talking about.

He came to prominence with Free, Bad Company, The Firm and most recently with Queen.

And he's actually quite hot, for an older guy.

I'm just going as wingwoman for S. To keep her off the stage. After all, she kept me off the stage at John Mayer, who she is responsible for introducing me to. It's the least I can do for a friend.

Sleeping With "Tug"

Thanks, Tug for tagging me today. It's a slow news day anyhow.

6 Weird things I do while getting ready to sleep or while sleeping:

1. I am picky about my pillow. Sometimes I feel like Goldilocks, because most pillows are never "just right." So you'd think I'd be one of those folks who travels with a pillow, sort of like a teddy bear. Funny thing is, I'm not. And I think those people who do travel with their Sponge Bob Squarepants or Dora the Explorer pillows need to get a life. Quit taking up space in the overhead compartment already!

2. I can't sleep nekkid. I'm afraid there will be a fire and I will be so out of it that I'll run out to the street in my birthday suit. My neighbors don't deserve that. Neither do the firemen.

3. I have to set out my skin care, make-up and magnifying mirror for the next day or else I can't sleep. If I wait until the next morning, I'm too groggy to remember the steps of my morning toilette. (Does eye shadow come before or after moisturizer?)

4. One of my favorite things in the world is waking up to see that I've got 2 more hours to sleep.

5. My favorite dirty dream I ever had was about John Taylor in Duran Duran. There was a shower curtain involved. It also oddly mirrored the shower scene in "Psycho." Did you notice I said this was my favorite dirty dream? And I wonder why I could benefit from therapy.....

6. I apparently eat in my sleep. Or maybe I'm having sex. No one has yet to produce a recording of the sounds I make, but more than one person has told me I make yummy sounds. They're just jealous that they're not doing something so that they can make yummy sounds, I'm sure.

I'm supposed to tag some folks - but not all of my readers follow directions or play well with others. So, if you want to tag yourself, have at it. But let me know so I can come snoop into what you do at bedtime.

That's A Good Little Marketer

Four-Time Nascar Champion Jeff Gordon reproduced last week with his wife, Ingrid. The little girl will continue the dynasty in her 2027 Chevrolet at Daytona.

Dear J-May, ...This Time Friday Night.... Love, CM

Just a few more hours......and I'll be seeing this.



Yum.

To Spam Or Not To Spam, That Is The Question

Here is something you may not know about me. When I gradumacated from college (yeah, I actually did gradumacate!), I was given a diploma that said I now had a Bachelor of Arts degree in Theatrical Arts. Not bad for a girl who wanted to major in marine biology but got her first (and only) "D" in her first biology class. Hey, if they wanted me to actually learn something that first semester, they should've scheduled that class some time after 10:00 in the A.

So I punted that whole Jacques Cousteau idea and headed for the play auditions. And I was perdy dang good. I don't want to brag here, oh wait yes I do, but I had a leading role in each and every play for my entire 4 years at school. Okay, except two. Those two I directed. Heh.

After college, I did actually try to make a go of acting professionally for a little while, but I found out that a.) I like food. b.) I like a roof over my head. c.) Did you know there are gay guys in the theatre? Dammit if I didn't figure that out eventually.

So, I tossed aside any aspirations of fame & fortune for a 9:00 to 5:00 career and season tickets to a few area theatres, where I could escape the ordinary for a few brief hours a month. Luckily, Dallas and neighboring Fort Worth play host to some of the better traveling Broadway shows.

Earlier this week I took my dramatic butt to the Dallas Summer Musicals to see "Spamalot." Unless you've been under a rock, "Spamalot" is the musical version of "Monty Python and The Holy Grail."

I was dubious and skeptical. How could they pull off one of the greatest comedic stories ever told? I knew that "Spamalot" had won the Tony award in '05 for Best Musical, so I went with an open mind.

Can I just say...... HYS. TER. I. CAL.

It's got it all. The "not dead yet" guy. The Trojan rabbit. Eric Idle as God. Throw in some coconuts, a few Jews, tongue-in-cheek "Phantom of the Opera" jokes, the black knight who gets "only a flesh wound," and the Grail, and it makes for one hilarious evening's entertainment.

So if you live in a place that "Spamalot" is visiting, go. Even you guys who don't like plays or musicals. Hey, it might even earn you a few points with the missus.

Now go buy your tickets! Runaway!!!!!!!!