Riveter pong and why I need a roadie

The ping-pong ball bounced off the top of the light that hung over the impromptu ping-pong table and on to La La's side . She smacked the ball with all her bass-playing force right at KP's face (again). KP defensively slapped at the ball. It ricocheted and hit the kind-of-scary tattooed guy who was playing pool at the next table in the leg (again).

He forced a smile, picked up the ball (again), placed in on the table and said through gritted teeth, "Let's try to keep the ball on the table, ladies."

We all giggled and proceed to play Riveter pong — a game like ping pong but no one keeps score and the only goal is to hit the ball ... at any cost.

We loved this game that we invented Saturday night. The people around us trying to play pool didn't find it quite so charming. We cared, but not enough that we were going to stop. We had hours to kill until our second set and we needed something to do, hence Riveter pong was born.

Saturday was our "Day of two shows."

The best part of the trip was hanging with my girls — who are so awesome, it hurts me some time — and playing Riveter pong. Most of the rest of the trip was "eh" and some of it just downright sucked donkey balls. But that's all stupid and tedious, so I'll just let it be.

I did learn something valuable about loading equipment in and our of my truck over and over and over again over a two day period: I need gloves or a roadie.
My hands are killing me today. I have so many scrapes, scratches and nicks in the flesh on the back of my hands that I feel like I tried to lather up with a cheese grater.

I should be allowed to just sit back and apply lipstick while someone else loads in and out my equipment.

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So I wrote a column that ran in the newspaper Sunday. It's about politicians. Click and read it. Lemme know what you think.