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Chapter 1

The Story The Authors

Silently she asked her Higher Power if she would ever find a positive social setting involving something other than weekday evening church basements and bad urn coffee... "You're just making excuses for the fact that what you really want is a drink!" replied her Higher Power. "A gimlet best described as arctic. Triple-distilled Siberian vodka poured through the shavings of a glacier. The veryest dash of lime juice. Consider it, baby..." Inwardly she began to weep and curse while her Higher Power (whose name was Joselito) commenced another of his painfully off-key acapella renditions of 'Free To Be You and Me...'
"Fuck you, then!" she hissed. "I'm having that drink."
"You'll be soo-rreee!" giggled Joselito, continuing: "In a land, la la, where the shining sea, la lee, in a land, where the horsies run free, le loo, in a land where they endlessly play Carole King's Tapestry, and you and meee are free to beeee, loo la, you and meeee..."
By that earplitting point, Barbara had beaten her way through the crowd girdling the bar. "Absolut gimlet!" she spat at the bartender like a threat. "In fact, make it two." Philip

Barbara sat down at a table with Monty and the other guys from Beer Hour. "So who's running in the Urban Iditarod?" asked Claude Clayton, the head of Beer Hour, presently.
"Me!" yelled Monty.
"You need a team to go with you," said Claude.
Monty gave Barbara a strange pleading look from across the table. It was so heart melting that she realized, to her shock, that she was actually considering going with him. And it might be fun after all... Barbara was very fit... No! thought Barbara feircely.
Before she could remind herself of the reasons she couldn't go, the Bartender plopped down a double martini in front of Barbara. Before she could protest that she had wanted two gimlets, Joselito knocked the martinis over.
"That's five dollars extra on your bill," remarked the bartender, "so we can clean up the stain on the rug." Carolyn

"Alright, Joselito -- that one's on you!" She complained to the Bartender, who wasn't sure if any of that martini had passed by her lips on the way to the rug.
"Babs, baby, you know you're too good for one of those alcoholic indulgences," quipped Joselito. "How about a nice Shirley Temple? Mmm, they really quench your thirst!"
"Fuck off, Josefrito! Who died and made you god?" happy boy

"Who are you talking to?" asked Claude.
"Oh, just my higher power who is a little too high for his britches right about now." Barbara said, glaring at Joselito.
"So, Barbara, are you going to join us in the Urban Iditarod?"
"Bartender!" Barbara called, pounding on the bar. "Two double gimlets! And make it snappy!" Barbara turned to Claude. "You know what? I think it's time I let my hair down. Yes. I will join you on the Iditarod."
Claude, Monty and all the others cheered her decision. cuddles

Inwardly Monty was a bit uneasy about it. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to see Barbara Ginchell, his direct superior, with her hair let down. She was in recovery too. The wild stories that she liked to tell (and tell and tell...like the one about "borrowing" the Corvette from the valet parking, driving drunk down country roads, crashing in a cornfield and then trying to call a tow truck. The cops had not been amused.)about her drinking days while fairly amusing (the first few hundred times you heard them) did have a certain pathetic quality about them. And the Urban Iditirod was his baby and mainly involved the comsumption of copious amounts of intoxicating beverages. Although it was ultimately her decision to make Monty wasn't so sure he wanted to be the organizer of her downfall. He eyed her nervously as she lifted the first gimlet to her lips and winced as she sipped. Lanark

It Was One Hell Of a Gimlet. The Vodka Was Frigid With Just a Hint of Rose's Lime Juice. As She Sipped It She Thought About the Times She'd Gone Hunting With Her First Husband Bobby. They'd Sat Up In the Duck Blind Drinking From the Thermoses of Martinis She Had Packed, And Taking Aimless Pot-shots At Any Duck That Had the Misfortune Of Flying By. It Was Freezing Cold Out, But Once They Wre Drunk He'd Insisted She Undress Anyway. He Got On Top Of Her Up There In The Duck Blind And Was Grunting Away RFor Kingdom Come When The Game Warden Arrived. Duck Season Was Long Since Over And They Had To Pay a Fine For the Two Mallards Bobby Had Bagged On the Way In As Well As The Fine For Indecent Exposure. Well, Barbara Had Had To Pay. Bobby Was Broke. Poor Bobby... Six Months Later He Drove His Car Off The Pacific Coast Highway Above Santa Barbara And Into The Ocean With A Blood Alcohol Level Of Just Over 3.7. Jesse Hemingway

The Story	The Authors
Silently she asked her Higher Power if she would ever find a positive social setting involving something other than weekday evening church basements and bad urn coffee... "You're just making excuses for the fact that what you really want is a drink!" replied her Higher Power. "A gimlet best described as arctic. Triple-distilled Siberian vodka poured through the shavings of a glacier. The veryest dash of lime juice. Consider it, baby..." Inwardly she began to weep and curse while her Higher Power (whose name was Joselito) commenced another of his painfully off-key acapella renditions of 'Free To Be You and Me...' "Fuck you, then!" she hissed. "I'm having that drink." "You'll be soo-rreee!" giggled Joselito, continuing: "In a land, la la, where the shining sea, la lee, in a land, where the horsies run free, le loo, in a land where they endlessly play Carole King's Tapestry, and you and meee are free to beeee, loo la, you and meeee..." By that earplitting point, Barbara had beaten her way through the crowd girdling the bar. "Absolut gimlet!" she spat at the bartender like a threat. "In fact, make it two."	Philip
Barbara sat down at a table with Monty and the other guys from Beer Hour. "So who's running in the Urban Iditarod?" asked Claude Clayton, the head of Beer Hour, presently. "Me!" yelled Monty. "You need a team to go with you," said Claude. Monty gave Barbara a strange pleading look from across the table. It was so heart melting that she realized, to her shock, that she was actually considering going with him. And it might be fun after all... Barbara was very fit... No! thought Barbara feircely. Before she could remind herself of the reasons she couldn't go, the Bartender plopped down a double martini in front of Barbara. Before she could protest that she had wanted two gimlets, Joselito knocked the martinis over. "That's five dollars extra on your bill," remarked the bartender, "so we can clean up the stain on the rug."	Carolyn
"Alright, Joselito -- that one's on you!" She complained to the Bartender, who wasn't sure if any of that martini had passed by her lips on the way to the rug. "Babs, baby, you know you're too good for one of those alcoholic indulgences," quipped Joselito. "How about a nice Shirley Temple? Mmm, they really quench your thirst!" "Fuck off, Josefrito! Who died and made you god?"	happy boy
"Who are you talking to?" asked Claude. "Oh, just my higher power who is a little too high for his britches right about now." Barbara said, glaring at Joselito. "So, Barbara, are you going to join us in the Urban Iditarod?" "Bartender!" Barbara called, pounding on the bar. "Two double gimlets! And make it snappy!" Barbara turned to Claude. "You know what? I think it's time I let my hair down. Yes. I will join you on the Iditarod." Claude, Monty and all the others cheered her decision.	cuddles
Inwardly Monty was a bit uneasy about it. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to see Barbara Ginchell, his direct superior, with her hair let down. She was in recovery too. The wild stories that she liked to tell (and tell and tell...like the one about "borrowing" the Corvette from the valet parking, driving drunk down country roads, crashing in a cornfield and then trying to call a tow truck. The cops had not been amused.)about her drinking days while fairly amusing (the first few hundred times you heard them) did have a certain pathetic quality about them. And the Urban Iditirod was his baby and mainly involved the comsumption of copious amounts of intoxicating beverages. Although it was ultimately her decision to make Monty wasn't so sure he wanted to be the organizer of her downfall. He eyed her nervously as she lifted the first gimlet to her lips and winced as she sipped.	Lanark
It Was One Hell Of a Gimlet. The Vodka Was Frigid With Just a Hint of Rose's Lime Juice. As She Sipped It She Thought About the Times She'd Gone Hunting With Her First Husband Bobby. They'd Sat Up In the Duck Blind Drinking From the Thermoses of Martinis She Had Packed, And Taking Aimless Pot-shots At Any Duck That Had the Misfortune Of Flying By. It Was Freezing Cold Out, But Once They Wre Drunk He'd Insisted She Undress Anyway. He Got On Top Of Her Up There In The Duck Blind And Was Grunting Away RFor Kingdom Come When The Game Warden Arrived. Duck Season Was Long Since Over And They Had To Pay a Fine For the Two Mallards Bobby Had Bagged On the Way In As Well As The Fine For Indecent Exposure. Well, Barbara Had Had To Pay. Bobby Was Broke. Poor Bobby... Six Months Later He Drove His Car Off The Pacific Coast Highway Above Santa Barbara And Into The Ocean With A Blood Alcohol Level Of Just Over 3.7.	Jesse Hemingway

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