Ladies and gentlemen,

Since moving to LA, a lot has happened to Hannah in the last month. I've begun referring to myself in the third person, I got a new apartment (complete with a lovely, dare I say, sexy roommate), a car (I own it, I'm a car owner, ownage!!), and a job (however, I'm still in my training pants, so maybe I shouldn't get too cocky).

But something is about to happen tonight that will truly change me. After tonight, I will no longer be using just 10% of my brain.

Tonight, in concert, I will experience ZZ Top.

It's like my Dad, a Vietnam Vet, once said to me at the age of 6. I was 6, he was old enough to be a Vietnam Vet. "Little Hannah," he said, patting me on the head. It was dark in the room (we were trying to save a few bucks on the electric bill) and we also had a dog named Hanna (but without the h), so to this day, I am not quite sure if he knew it was me or if he thought he was talking to the dog. Anyway, that doesn't matter. "Little Hannah," he said, "a war can really change a person," he paused. "But not like a ZZ Top concert."

I was about to ask him to further explain, but my 28 year old cousin Brian, who was living with us at the time, started screaming like a little girl with a leech stuck to her butt.  A candle we had burning in the dark had set fire to an afghan my grandmother had crocheted. Everyone was flustered and angry then, but not because of the loss of the afghan (which was ugly and stitched with puke green and rust colored yarn, rather than love). We had told my 28 year old cousin to move out two days ago, and he got wax all over my mother's dress. He kept wearing them all the time (the dresses).

Friends, the next time we meet, I will no longer have my Z card. I will be a woman.