OK. This skiing thing has officially become my biggest obsession. A week after I spent my day off at Seven Springs, dealing with some interesting snow conditions, I took another day trip, this time to Hidden Valley, a smaller area just past Seven Springs in the fabulous Laurel Mountains.

Wow. What a fucking morning. Nearly everything was groomed. The snow was perfect. And until early afternoon, the place was deserted. I bombed blue and black runs all day, and skied right back to the chairs. It was also about 45 degrees and sunny. Jesus Christ. If I win the lottery, I’m buying one of those monster houses back in the woods at Hidden Valley, and you won’t see me from December through March.

To celebrate, we had our annual Mardi Gras dinner and, um, beers … several beers … at Penn Brewery, accompanied by dixieland jazz from the Boilermaker Jazz Band. And many beers, specifically the Penn Marzen spring fesitival beer they release every year. It’s good, and I had several, as I mentioned before.

Which had something to do with the fact that we didn’t go skiing, as planned, Saturday morning. Instead, The Wife and I headed to the Willi’s location in Monroeville, where we had stopped the week before after a couple hours at Boyce Park to check on skis for her. This week, we were buying. K2 Mystery Luv skis, Marker bindings, some kind of graphite poles that bend like they’re rubber bands (oop, sorry, gumbands, as we say around here), and after a great deal of gnashing of teeth, a pair of Head boots.

(Note to HP — I can hear you snickering in Cleveland already. I got myself a pair of Head boots as well. But no more Swallows, OK?)

The boot thing was a little tough, especially after a dirtbag at a little rental place near Boyce (that would be Peak Ski Rental, 640 Center Road, Pittsburgh, where you shouldn’t go if you expect customer service of any kind, and not to be associated with Center Ski & Snowboard, the fine ski shop next door) made The Wife cry because he told her she was TRYING ON THE BOOTS INCORRECTLY. Asshole.

Unlike said dirtbag, the kid at Willi’s asked all the right questions and, after trying on a bunch of different boots, came up with ones that were comfortable and still functional. Nice job, Matt.

And now The Wife is in the same boat I was just after I got my skis in December: Got the stuff, can’t go. For me, weather and our trip to Florida kept me off the slopes for a couple of weeks. For her, it will be our only observation of Groundhog Day — a visit on Friday by hogs from Cleveland (You guys are welcome to pick your own nicknames if you want, but for now we’re going to call you HP and Drunk Dude) and the Grandhog, from Columbus.

This will largely be a cultural visit, at least until we’re done touring the Warhol museum Friday afternoon. Then, the drinking will begin. We have hotel rooms downtown, and I’m predicting a pretty sloppy taxi ride — or several — as we wander around town. I’m thinking the South Side beckons.

Fun, yes, but it’s not going to give us much time to ski this weekend. But that’s OK. It’s been warm and rainy, and we could stand to give our ski areas a few days to recover before we hit it again. But we’re going to get our time in here before we head to Colorado in four weeks from now.

Did I mention that before? Aspen? Drinks at the Woody Creek Tavern? Skiing from the top of the Big Burn all the way down to the bottom of Campground? Oh, sweet Jesus, I can’t wait.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to Friday. HP? DD? Juan? Bring it. Pittsburgh is ready.