Monday, November 12, 2007
Oh Susanna, Don't You Cry For Me!
Going out of town and not blogging for a week creates several problems. You know what he biggest one is? trying to get back in the swing. I reread the post I put up the other day and I rattled on like a squirrel on crack. Making matters worse I didn't relate have the things I meant to and the ones I did put out there sounded idiotic. I'll try to do better today as I wrap up my Vegas trip and move on to other things starting tomorrow.
Okay, so my wife went along for the first couple of days but she flew back home to Texas early Tuesday afternoon, leaving me and my buddy from work, Kim - yeah Kim is a guy, unchaperoned. I could lie and say that is when the real fun begins or I could do as Cher suggested in the comments and coyly say, What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but actually I can say once my wife left that is when my gambling losses really started. Her departure meant I no longer had to worry about entertaining her so I could full out concentrate on throwing my money away and helping the casinos pay their light bill.
Tuesday night I voluntarily took beatings at poker, blackjack, Let It Ride, roulette, and the table game three card poker. Like a trip to a proctologist named, Knuckles -- it hurt.
Wednesday afternoon started much the same way and there wasn't a drop of Vaseline in sight so I said to Kim, "Let's get a cab and head downtown to Fremont street. Maybe a change of venue will bring Lady Luck around."
So we trudge out front of the Sahara and hail a cab. Msot of the cabbies in Vegas are men. Most are foreign, generally either middle-eastern or asian.
But the cab that pulled up was driven by a blonde. A very pretty blonde I'd say in her early forties. In a sexy exotic accent she asks, "Where you guys headed."
"The Horseshoe I say since it is kind of the mecca for Texas Hold 'Em players. The place where it all began. She chats with us as she drives and of course the tally keeps clicking upward."
Finally she says, "Where are you guys from?"
"I love your accents," she says in her own.
So I ask. "How about yourself."
I kid you not, and I hope you read the old posts if you missed them, she says, "Bulgaria."
I should have gotten out and walked right then and there. First our cab bill was nearly twice as much going as coming back. Down on Fremont I again took a beating, and my luck never improved. I am certain that Lady Luck did in fact send a Bulgarian woman to deliver me to my demise but unlike the hairy weightlifting gal I suspected she sent a pretty one with a cool accent.
What are the odds of me getting in the cab driven by a Bulgarian woman after my earlier posts?
Whatever they are don't bet them. Trust me Lady Luck is a fickle-hearted whore.
On a accent related note here is something else I forget to tell you about.
Not once, twice, or even three times, but on four separate occasions some one looked at me as I was talking and said, "Where are you from, Alabama?"
Now nothing against the fine folks of Alabama, but by the fourth one I wanted to scream "What do I have a banjo growing out of my knee. Hell no I'm not from Alabama."
And for the record I do have a bit, just the slightest, tiniest, of Texas twang in my voice, but Alabama? I bet Lady Luck or Karma put them up to it. Yep, that must be it.