Archive for November, 2005

Yep, today’s the day! I’ve hit the big two-five. For a quarter of a century, I’ve been roaming the earth, making mistakes, and living life to the fullest in a half-assed sort of way. It’s time to celebrate! Time to break open the bottle of champagne and really let loose. Only my golden birthday (the big three-oh) could possibly surpass the glory and splendor of this exciting day.

Hmmm. It’s Wednesday.

All my coworker buddies are out in the field.

*looks around at impending emptiness*

Almost everyone else I know has a regular day job like I do. Celebrating anything with me on a “school night” can prove hazardous to everyone’s health.

*shuffles feet*


Um… okay then. Guess I’ll… keep working. Toodles!

I was waiting in the front entry of our house for Gus to come home when a small spider caught my eye. It was situated at the top of the wall, just below the ceiling. I had noticed it on several occassions before, I’m not sure how long ago. So of course it was dead.

Instead of ignoring it like I always did, I decided to finally get rid of it using the edge of one of those Swiffer mops. But instead of knocking it out of the corner like I planned, I ended up smashing it and smearing its guts everywhere. So now instead of a dead spider, there’s a crusty black streak.

Also, I was taking a shower in our nasty-ass bathtub and noticed a spider hanging out in the corner where we keep all our shower stuff. This one is supposed to be dead (it had also been in its respective corner for ages), but sacre bleu! He had risen from the grave! He was crawlin’ around… doing stuff… I left it alone, but Gus will probably kill it when he reads this. Incidentally, Gus should also call Merry Maids when he reads this because our shower is freakin’ disgusting.

Last night, Gus and I went to the Styrofoam show. The music was good, but it was kind of boring and I was kind of sleepy so I kind of nodded off on the bleachers at Emo’s.

When we got home, I guess I caught my second wind. As we settled into bed to watch TV for a bit before falling asleep, I started laughing like everything I saw was the funniest damn thing I’d ever seen in my life. Seriously, I couldn’t stop laughing to save my life.

Gus was not amused.

Muttering and cursing, he grabbed his pillow and left the room in search of quieter quarters. I thought this was funny too and continued laughing through my failed attempts to shut up and apologize.

Less than a minute later, Gus charges back into the bedroom.

“Fuck this! Go in there,” he gestured to the living room.

“Hahahahaha… Fine… Hahahahaha… Really, I’m hahahaha sorry hahahaha.”

I turned on the Comedy Central show, “Stella.” You know, the one with the three dudes no one’s ever heard of who fancied themselves to be comedians that the station pushed and pushed and then suddenly stopped but chose to rerun its 3 or 4 episodes at 1:30am?

Yeah. Five minutes of that bland garbage and I crawled back into bed as stoic as a rural monk.

San Jose, San Francisco, Las Vegas, Albuquerque, Oklahoma City, Dallas, and then Austin where I threw a huge party. The trip was pretty cool, but seeing all of my friends after six and a half months was a thousand times cooler.

Gus and I had planned our drive back to Austin to be a Katstavo Gambling Extravaganza, but the driving hours superceded the gambling extravaganza hours by a lot. Spending time alone in a car with Gus was nice because we hadn’t seen each other in awhile. However, now that I live 4 hours away from the nearest card room instead of 15 minutes, I could have used some more gambling extravaganzaness.

Prior to my permanent departure from the Bay Area, I ensured that I would not long to return for even a second by getting three tickets in a period of one week. I acquired my first ticket by parking illegally in front of the Pork Store, a delicious Mission diner with a giant pig on the front of it. That pig is giant, I tell you. It’s so giant that we drove around the Mission for 20 minutes looking for the damn place.

My second ticket was administered by a nervous moto-cop as cars whizzed by us on 101. I was indeed speeding, as I was late to pick up my boyfriend from the airport. Instead of batting my eyelashes and apologizing profusely to the young, male police officer, I told him just that. I really had no excuse for being honest with this guy. I was wearing a cute dress and my hair and makeup looked perfect. There was no reason I should have gotten this ticket.

I suspect that I will receive a third ticket at some point, as I managed to trip the cameras above the traffic lights on Van Ness by running a yellow light. If they do send me a ticket, the included pictures will show me clenching the wheel with my mouth forming the fricative as I screamed, “Fuck!”

So, Gus happily drove us through the places I mentioned in my first paragraph. Well, except for when we were leaving Vegas and driving over the Hoover Dam. It was raining and the roads around there are carved out of a mountain with lots of twists and turns. Although the Hoover Dam would look kinda neat with a big red Camaro sticking out of it, our deaths would not be certain nor painless. Also, this country can only handle one broken dam at a time. Actually, we’ve seen that this country can’t even handle a broken dam at all.

Anyway, we arrived to Albuquerque late and missed gambling, but we got a lot accomplished at Winstar. We hit Goldsby first, but there were no games going. We didn’t wait around because we were on a tight schedule. I had a meeting the following day at which I would be offered a stupendous job at a company in North Austin.

At Winstar, Gus and I played 5/10 and 4/8 limit. We took a little bit of roughly each person’s chip stack, and then left. I didn’t mention it before, but we did quite well playing cards at the Mirage as well. The only thing that sucked was breaking even overall because of a severe beating at the blackjack table. Fuck you, blackjack!

We also played craps at the Hard Rock. Now that is something everyone should try once, especially if they are annoyed by the choads and triflin’ ho’s that this place attracts. That makes it all the more fun when you win lots of money, and they’re pulling their last 10 bucks out of their sock to make a field bet.

“Look at my striped shirt!” yelled the dudes.

“We’re crazier than every other group of girls here!” yelled the chicks.

“YO ELEVEN!” yelled… the older man next to me.

And then I rolled it every time he called it. It was insane! How long is his contract with Satan good for? This guy made so much money, he gave me some for being a good shooter. This has happened before. I’m a great shooter! Ha HA!

Being at the Hard Rock Casino is like being in a nightclub that is only bearable for its gambling. I had to go though. We were only going to be in Vegas one night, so I had to book us somewhere that we wouldn’t normally go, just to try something new. It ended up being really fun, like attending a distant wedding full of drunk strangers.

So, that’s my story. I’ll have to account for the other days I was missing some other time. I gots mo’ stories than da bruthas Grimm.

I should really update my blog…