Ole`

Meet Miguel.

He's my new boo. We met last weekend when I was vacationing in St. Petersburg, Fla. with my girl, Jessie.

We'd just come from Poynter and were on our way to the hotel to get ready for some outing when I spotted them.

*Gasp*

"Look, Jessie -- MARIACHI'S!"

I fumble with my camera to try to get a photo of the group of Hispanic men in small yellow jackets as they crossed the street. By the time I was poised to take the picture, they were almost out of sight.

I pouted for 1/2 a second.

Then Jessie screeches to a halt in a waiting parking spot.

"Go!" she screams and I look at her for a second, dazed. "They're still there. WE CAN CATCH THEM."

This, my friends, is why I love Jessie.

So we scramble out of the car and run toward the mariachi's. They have really crossed the street now and I reason there's no way I can catch up with them.

"He's coming back," Jessie yells.

I look to my left and there he is.

Miguel.

I accost him and ask for a photo. He obliges. Jessie takes one, too.

We scamper back to our car, but not before wishing Miguel and his bandmates a good show.

Back in the car, we grin at our good fortune and vow our love to the one and only Miguel.