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Not giving a…

On my way home from work today, I rode past some very busy fireworks stands in the West Bottoms. If you know Kansas City, you might know about James Street and the half dozen or so semi-abandond buildings that become explosives emporia in the week leading up to Independence day.

Being as today is The Big Explodey, James Street was a-hoppin’ as I was on my way home. I stopped in Pyro Joe’s to get my traditional box of Smoke Balls for future stress relief and then got back on my way.

Now it was a muggy ol’ day today, so when I was riding home, it was sticky and icky outside. Knowing what the weather would be like today, I dressed for it, in a wicking tee and a lightweight, knee-length plaid cotton A-line that would be reasonably respectable but also well ventilated.

All this back story is to set up the scene…it was hot and nasty outside, there were a zillion people milling around the fireworks stands, and I was dressed fairly unconventionally for a female, American cyclist. When I swung my leg over the saddle of my bike and got ready to take off, I heard several muffled Beavis-ish chuckles, a little bit of “pst-pst” and felt about a dozen pairs of eyes fix upon me.

And I blithely declined to donate even so much as a single rodential posterior.

Not giving a fuck is AWESOME!

Though realistically, I can honestly say that I don’t give a shit much more frequently than I don’t give a fuck. I probably don’t give a shit five times more frequently than I don’t give a fuck.

Not giving a shit, a fuck, or a rat’s ass allows me to do SO many things like ride a bike in a skirt, sleep in a storage room on my lunch hour, wear clothing I found in a dumpster, and set sail down the Missouri river on a raft made out of trash.

Speaking of which, holy schnikeies, the Trashboat Regatta is less than a week away!

I’m spending tomorrow sealing soda bottles with caulk and making fabulous prizes out of fabulous junk I’ve picked up off the side of the road. I have a hard-hat, a luminescent barbie doll dress, a few pressure gauges, some glitter, a crapton of fake flowers, an artificial banana, a 7/8″ box end wrench, and a whole bunch of other rubbish that will become somebody else’s problem after they finish the regatta.

I also need to construct the regalia of the Nominal Commander Of the Royal Theoretical Kansas City Navy, too. Because we will soon have a Nominal Commander, and the Nominal Commander needs regalia in which to protect Kansas City from piratical depredations, don’t you know.

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