I don't know if you've been checking Accuweather.com for Key West lately, but ever since Saturday it's been Florida's equivilent of a blizzard. Last night as we hurried into a waterfront hotel bar where a jazz pianist and his miscellaneous musician friends were holding down the joint, just our opening the door sent menus sailing and everyone's hair askew. It's cold and damp outside, and the sun only peeked out for about 10 minutes yesterday, all of which found me shivering in a bikini by the pool giving mean looks to the impending clouds.
It was the bragging, wasn't it? Or the audacity of taking a vacation before I've put in any time to earn it? C'mon, Karma Gods, cut me some slack. (Of course, it's, what, 12 in Boston? And, clearly, the weather on an island in the southern US is all about me. Hey, it's my blog.)
I've decided that if I had to, given the ease of life down here and the sponge-like acceptance of entertainers and artists, I could make a go of it between singing in bars, taking pictures, and mooching. A lovely life, but I think I'll give the masochism of winter up north a little more run for its money.
Kim's birthday was this past weekend, and the party's this Friday. Somehow, we're going to have to out-do her amazing cake from last year, and any ideas are welcome. Should we just make them bigger, better, and more boobaliscious? What do you give the lactation consultant who has everything?