Tuesday, March 28, 2006

I was in Reno last night with five of my coworkers, for our semi-annual night of bonding, blackjack, and boozing.

Al kicked off the gambling festivities by suggesting that perhaps we should adopt made-up personas for the evening. Often when we engage the dealers and fellow gamblers in chit-chat, they ask what we do for a living. The answer "computer programmer" either brings all conversation to a grinding halt, or it opens the floodgates for people to ask questions like, "Why is my computer slow?" or "Have you seen that dancing hamster web site?"

People, I'm in Reno to get AWAY from dancing hamsters. Besides, if I found out that a fellow gambler was a proctologist, I wouldn't be waving my ass in his face, asking for a free exam. My momma didn't raise no proctology-moochers.

So, Al pretended to be a horse whisperer, Pablo was a masseuse, and I became an importer-exporter. Naturally, this was the first trip on record when no one actually bothered to ask us what we did for a living. Too bad. I mean, the comedic possibilities with the importer-exporter thing are practically endless, or maybe beginningless. I get those two confused some times.

I was still able to do one of my favorite blackjack activities though: relentless faux flirting with the dealers. This is satisfying for a number of reasons:

1) Unlike all the other women I've tried to flirt with in my life, dealers are being paid to put up with me. This increases their tolerance of my inane behavior tremendously

2) Almost every single sentence that comes out of my mouth at a blackjack table is a joke. This makes my flirting as harmless as it is annoying.

3) Everyone at the table, including me and the dealer, knows that I'm going to my room alone at the end of the night. Hell, everyone in the casino knows it: the pit bosses, the janitors, and certainly the eye-in-the-sky monitors. I put out that I'm-not-getting-laid-tonight vibe.

When I wasn't busy enthralling the ladies, I was eating a ridiculous amount of food at the buffet. After eating two heaping platefuls of food I was completely stuffed. Only then did I numbly realize that I hadn't had any dessert yet.

I grimaced, contracted my stomach, farted a few times, and made the tiniest amount of space, just enough to cram in two chocolate chip cookies, a slice of chocolate cake, and some weird dense bar with M&Ms in it. None of those were terribly good.

We stumbled back to the table and I moaned about how full I was to everyone who would listen. "Ohhhhhhhh, would you please rub my belly?" I mewed pitifully at an off-duty cocktail waitress. It was a near highlight of my night when she grudgingly agreed, giving my engorged stomach a couple quick rubs.

I still got it.

Our final dealer of the night was the best of the bunch. She was a sassy, smart, and statuesque blonde, who gave us advice on drinks, blackjack, and bears. One day she will either be running that casino, or maybe an astronaut. Her only flaw? Man hands.

Final tally? I won $58! (not including room charges, car rental, gas, or meals).


zelda1 said...

Back when I had perky breasts and was celebrating my divorce from the sperm donor, my friend and I were picked up in a bar in Bakersfield and asked to join two men to Vegas to gamble. That was when I lived in Bakersfield so Vegas wasn't so far and I was drunk, plus I had smoked a lot of pot, and they were old, old, men and seemed harmless. Twenty-four hours later, I was slamming a photo of one of the huge huge old men and me, well he was holding me up and we were at a wedding chapel and we were married, to the same divorce lawyer who got me my freedom from the sperm donor. Anyway, to make a long story short. Too much drink, too much smoke, too little sense and 250 dollars for a quick annulment. Priceless.

Mike said...

Zelda1, you were married to a lawyer without a prenup and you didn't get some dough out of it? Tsk tsk!

Janelle Renee said...

I love Zelda comments: It's like reading 2 blogs at once! (Great story, Zelda!)

What's this dancing hamster thing? Never heard about it.

Mike said...

jr, you haven't seen the hamster dance What do you do with your computer then?

zelda1 said...

Mike, I should have stayed married to him, he was filthy rich. My friend married the other old fart and he died four years later, leaving her one of the richest women in all of California. So, you see, I should have not judged a man by his hanes size. Yes, they were the largest size of hanes I ever saw in my life, and when he rolled over in bed that morning, yes we were in bed, his flesh looked like a huge white snowcapped mountain. I wanted to hurl. Actually when I woke up, I felt his legs and thought oh no, a one night stand, I'm such a slut, and then I slowly rolled over and there he was and I thought, No, hell no. And when I started out of the room, he showed me the picture. Oh it was awful, but no more, really no more.

Mike said...

Zelda1, Vegas is truly a magical place.