Billy Miller is my hero.

Seriously, though. This game was exhausting.

This day was exhausting.

I'm hoarse.

My alarm went off an hour earlier than I wanted: Amanda's parents got off at the wrong exit, and it became a little tricky at the end for them to get to their hotel, where I would meet them last night and again for breakfast.

There was still entertainment: a JP (Jefferson Parish) sheriff's deputy was chewing out a couple of girls who decided to crank-call 911.

Such things never end well.

Anyway, we went to eat breakfast, drove in a couple of circles to pick up a Randazzo's king cake (That's a later entry.), went to the Black & Gold shop, found nothing, and then went to the Saints Hall of Fame.

From there, we went to the Superdome, to City Blueprint & Supply (across the street), and tailgated.

One has to wonder if all that was wrong with the Colts was their "cool dude" kicker.

Fast forward to the game.

I might have been on TV. Omi says he saw me, but others said they didn't.

When the Saints kicked a field goal in the first quarter, one might have noticed a pink jersey on the left in the upper deck, in between the goal posts. I was seated, well, standing, right behind her.

Anyway, the Saints won 27-24, again. And everyone is a Seattle fan tomorrow. Or, well, today.

I need a shower.

-KIE