Going for the gold

Saturday, I did a radio show then I had a latte and screwed around. I didn't think I'd be able to pull myself together for the Blues Posse at Nate and Wally's but:the usual suspects attend.

Here is the band and Fred, my neighbor and bass player, for oh no, not ONE but two by god blues bands.
Furthermore, we were spying on this couple who is the ex-husband of one of our friends, pictured here with his new bimbo girlfriend. Her eyes doth glow with an unholy light. Or perhaps a Bud Light.
Several beers later, I became obsessed with this woman's helmet of hair. It was high, and stiff-looking. I hope it wasn't the best wig she could afford after a long bout with some disease that makes your hair fall out. Then I would feel like shit.
Not really.

Also some drunken guys got me to take their picture and I've promised to send it to them in the email one guy scrawled on the back of a business card. The guy on the right told me his email is mike@aol.com. I said It is not. He maintains that, verily, he was the first mike ever to get an aol account. Hmmmmmmmm....

Then they had their picture taken with this woman. I don't believe that hand is actually touching that breast.
Her theme song: Good girls don't, but I do.

Then we end up at the Corner Grill again.

Oh yeah, that's what 50-year-old women need: cheeseburgers and fries at 1 a.m.

Apparently in an effort to get into the Olympic swing of things, we agreed Saturday night that we would go sledding Sunday morning as soon as Amy ascertained there was sufficient snow on the hill across from her house. That call came about 11 a.m.

In our town, this IS a hill. I know, a lot of places, it would just be a rise or something. Amy races to be the first to break in our new sleds which were left on her front porch around Christmas with decorative bows and a card signed "Santa."

She does the very first run with her arms in the air. Slides all the way to the bottom of the hill without wiping out. What we call around here in August a "full pull."
An evil force field at the bottom of the hill drew us mysteriously eastward in a curve that often left Sherry facing back toward the hill after her descent.
It was big fun.