It's been a helluva week in the world of your favorite blogger (I am your favorite blogger, right?). Aside from the birthday buffoonery on Wednesday night, the celebration just keeps on chuggin' along. Besides a few random birthday cards, the UPS man has been at my door every day this week. Thanks to you wonderful folks who've hit up the Amazon Wish List, I got a new set of pyrex kitchenware, that Excel for Dummies book, some cool new sandals (which I'm trying to break-in as I type this), another book or two, and last but not least, three bottles of bacon salt from Lisa Lisa The One I Adore...
The bacon salt was the last to arrive, and as of yet, I don't have anything to put it on except maybe applesauce or yogurt. Which I'm a bit hesitant to do. I'm out of chicken salad, which I thought would be a perfect bacon salt delivery vessel, and I'm also out of hashbrowns, grillable veggies, and popcorn. Looks like I'll need to hit the grocery store pretty soon.
Crawling back to work on Thursday evening was a chore, especially after an alcohol-fueled and sleep-deprived birthday on the previous day. I wasn't assigned to my 'home' tables, which I don't mind so much on Thursday or Friday night, because you-know-who isn't delivering drinks in that pit on those nights either.
I still had a couple of tables in Chinatown, but I actually spent most of my night dealing blackjack, which, thankfully, doesn't happen very often. It's not that I don't like dealing blackjack, it's just that I don't like listening to all the whining and bitching when I come down on somebody like a soul-crushing tidal wave of bad beats. I'm constantly amazed by people who feel like they truly deserve to win every hand of blackjack. And what makes it even more entertaining is watching them slowly devolve from a normal human being into a foul-mouthed prick when I deliver body-blow after body-blow, beating them over and over again.
I'd rather deal Pai Gow--for the most part, everyone is pleasant and fairly low-maintenance. It's a great game to deal because of all the 'dead' time where I can be silly, crack jokes, flirt with the waitresses, and catch up on all the scores from the big screen TVs in the bar. It only sucks when you have a table full of non-speaking, non-blinking Asian chainsmokers.
Anyhow, since my favorite lady was not delivering drinks in my area, the consensus pick for hottest waitress on swing shift was bringing the cocktails. What nobody around the casino knows is that I'd gone out with her a few weeks ago, too, and we had a helluva good time. (I think I've somehow managed to get into 'the club' with our cocktail waitresses, kinda like that Seinfeld episode where George got a date with a supermodel--once you're in with one, you're pretty much accepted by all of them). Anyhow, out of the clear blue, in front of a couple of my buddies and a few players, she busted out with Hey Mikey, when are we gonna go out again?
Talk about the ego boost. Of course I had to look around to see who all heard that, and luckily a few people did. All I could do is grin and say, Whenever you want to, just let me know...
Other than that, my only enjoyment from the evening came from beating the shiat out of one of our more well-known stiffs. That, and getting the twenty-minute early push.
Tonight, I'm back on my home-turf, dealing Pai Gow and chillin' in Chinatown all night. But I'll have none of my three favorite ladies to flirt with--all three of them have the night off--so I'll probably make no mistakes at all, due to the lack of eye candy. I'm just hoping to avoid the big, black, non-tipping, nasty-perfume-wearing, blue-Hawaiian-drinking, transvestite hooker that's been following me from table to table all week. But that's a story for another time...
Mikey
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