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At Last, a Hard Eight

I could pontificate about how the past week just flew by, but that would involve actually having to remember it ... which might involve thinking, and since Saturday is the new Sunday, I shall give my addled brain a rest. I do seem to recall there was a lot of work and a lot of laughs.

Instead, let's look to the day ahead. We're off to Connecticut for a quick weekend of relaxation before March roars by like a lion on crack. And what better way to relax than toss some dice while quaffing complimetary cocktails and then sit in a cozy theater, listening to Miss Lauper sing her new album (and hopefully a couple of old favorites). I've already packed the tissues for when she quietly and bravely bares her soul during Walk on By.

And the craps. Yay. Is there really a better game? Free booze, oftentimes cute croupiers (why pick a table unless there's eye candy?) asking me, "Do you want odds on your come?" Strangers, who become instant friends during a hot roll, shouting "Way to go, shooter!" Sometimes I share the love and toss down some chips, offering a "hard eight to the dealer." It's nice to share.

And if the table turns cold, ther's always the option to walk around the casino and check out the latest in track suit couture. Gor. Geous.

I guess I could blather on about all the places I'm going to end up this coming month, but that would spoil the suprise. Suffice to say, Miss Lauer's got nothing on me ... he only goes away for a week.

The dice are calling .... daddy needs a new set of traveling togs.