Fuck pool, we got Karaoke

So, pool didn't work out very well.
My partner in the scotch doubles pool tournament and I didn't fare too well.

We were eliminated fairly early. Not first, but early.

However, I returned home to find Dave not there.
Gave a call to his cell and who should answer? Sarah. A good friend, partaking in beer with him at the local bierstube, full of some much needed levity in the form of caustic yet appropriate sarcasm. (One must remember, I grew up marinated in sarcasm and it was only after living in Minnesota, then moving to Chicago that I realized just how very much I missed it).

Off I went. In a foul, loser's mood. Still sober and pissy.

Had a couple there and then arised the notion of Karaoke.
Oh yeah.

It was good. Nothing like a spur of the moment cab ride north to the Hidden Cove where, although they were supposed to have Karaoke, no Karaoke was present.
Well, it being 10:30 and we being inebriated and craving some serious sing-a-long, instigated.
And Karaoke was afoot.

Love is a Battlefield.
Son of a Preacher Man.
Every Rose Has it's Thorn (a la Dave)
Me and Bobby McGee (a la Sarah)

Among others.

Dave and I wrapped up with Draggin' the Line.

The crave was quenched.

I'm happy. I'm tipsy. It don't matter. Yankees lost.
Never mind the Red Sox JV team implosion.
I'm ready for tomorrow.

Good Night, my precious lovelies. I'm off to dreamland.