Can you tell that I've had the day off? I'm making up for lost time and writing my fool head off, because I don't know when my next day off is gonna be.
I escaped the house around 2:30 this afternoon, and headed 'up the mountain' to that upscale country club and spa where Beth works part time. Just as I was pulling in to park, an unrecognized 702 number was calling my phone. I answered it before getting out of my truck.
Hey... Mikey?
Yeah--who's this?
It's Beth!
Really? Well, I'm here, I just pulled in to the parking lot...
Anyhow, it turns out that she wasn't there--her receptionist insisted that she didn't have any appointments after 1:00 pm, so she went home to pick up her daughter and send the babysitter on her way, but later she remembered that I'd told her I was coming in. So she called the spa back and they realized their scheduling error (which is why I got hassled at the gate--they didn't have my name on the list with security a few minutes earlier), so she got my number from them and called me up to apologize.
No problemo, I told her, I can reschedule as soon as I get my schedule for next week. She felt really bad and offered to do my manicure for free, but I told her that there was no way I'd let her do that. Anyhow, once we ironed out the confusion regarding our missed connection, I sat out there in my truck talking to her for a bit, and she dropped a juicy bomb on me. She told me that now that I had her number, I should save it and give her a call next week when I'm out and about and we'll go do something...
Oh. Hell. Yeah.
Of course, she has that unique gift of turning me into a stuttering mess, and this time was no different. I'm sure that if I listened to a recording of the call from that point on, it would be quite comical, reminiscent of all the smoothness of a nervous eighth-grader when the roller-rink DJ announced Couple skate, couples only...
Anyhow, after that, I wasn't so disappointed in missing my appointment, and I'm looking forward to next week. We talked for a bit more, and then I headed off towards my old neighborhood over by the airport. There were two things I wanted to do over there--drop off a couple of pairs of pants at the alteration shop, and get my truck washed. I made it over to Alterations by George, just across the fence from runway 25-Left at McCarran, and when I got to the door, it was locked and there was a 'Closed' sign hanging in the window. At 3:30 in the afternoon on a weekday. WTF?
Alterations denied!
I should've figured that today just wasn't my day after pounding my head up against the wall time after time this morning in the poker tournament, but some lessons are hard learned. Since I was already down there in the neighborhood, I drove over to the car wash I used to always use to scrub the bird crap off the Ghetto Sled.
You all know what happened next -- the wash bays were roped off with construction zone tape and there was a sign saying that they were closed until tomorrow, as they were replacing a bunch of equipment.
So as far as running my errands went, I was wearing the collar. I didn't get a single thing done that I wanted to accomplish today. Dazed and confused by my lack of success and still thinking about that conversation with Beth, I completely spaced out stopping at my insurance agent's office to get them to update my address information. Yep, I just drove on by like it wasn't there.
By then, I was completely off my game and just came straight home, having accomplished nothing but burning up about a quarter tank of gas.
I came right up to my room, kicked off my shoes, emptied my pockets, and laid down in front of the TV to watch the WSOP coverage. I figure that I'm gonna hole up here for the rest of the night, not leaving until I go to work in the morning. It's not that I'm superstitious, but today is not the day for me to be wandering around out in public. If I did, I'm sure I'd probably spontaneously combust or at least trip over a crack in the sidewalk and fall on my ass, so I'm not gonna tempt fate.
Mikey
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