Gloat

The Bend Target draws a totally different demographic than the Hood River Wal-Wart. We have discussed the clientele of the Hood River Wal-Mart before, the shower sandals, the striped tube socks, the pasty hairy legs, the basketball shorts, the "Playah" jerseys. Yikes. And let us not to forget the essential "girlfriend" accessory, who always looks like she was cut out of the most recent issue of Cosmo, complete with a complexion resembling the shiny finish of magazine paper, and a thin two-dimensional nature that, when held up to the light, lets the other side of the page shine right through.

But yow, Bend Target. I have not seen that many hot moms in one location since the Hot Moms Convention we threw at Stadium Apartments last March. Arguably I shouldn’t be looking at hot moms this way, because like, they’re hot moms, but seriously. These gals are a scant few years older than I am and totally have it going on. A guy takes notice of these things.

I’ve gotta start hanging out in the toy department more often.

Today we didn’t do landscaping, but that’s OK because I think the landscaping company has since been fired from the temp agency. I got home, sharpened the edges on my board, detuned the nose and tail, ducked out my stance a bit more to 15 and -7, and gave myself two more notches of forward lean. Totally stoked to try out this new setup I dashed out the door and slid on !DANGER! BLACK ICE !DANGER! all the way to the bus stop.

And then, right as the bus pulled up, I realized I had forgotten my season pass back at home. Disaster. I parted ways with Linux and Simon Says, who headed up to the Mountain to find some powder left over from yesterday, and I went home to read, revamp webpages, take a nap, and pretty much do whatever else you do when you’re stuck at home and your friends are out having sick rides on 56 inches of snow.

So really, I had to do what the rest of you do every day.