Four's a Crowd
"Did you hear that? Our baby's all growns up. You're growns up and you're growns up and you're growns up."
There were two watershed moments in my life when it dawned on me that I was an adult. The first was when I filled up the gas tank, instead of just getting five bucks of unleaded. Walking back to the kiosk with my change, my gait was a bit more jaunty, my back was a bit straigher and my self-esteem...ah, who am I kidding, my self-esteem remained just above empty. Still, I remember it like it was yesterday. In fact, it was yesterday.
The second was when I went to Vegas and shared a room with a single buddy, as opposed to eight. Instead of an early morning wrestling match for available blankets and using a wadded up shirt for a pillow, I had a full queen to myself, even if I only used it for two hours per night. One of those events that takes on a biblical quality each time I recall it.
Which brings me to this weekend. Through no fault of my own, there are going to be three other people in my room. The only thing I can think to compare it to that first summer after your freshman year of college when you moved back home with your parents. All your freedom, all the wide-eyed observations and action in your new world are shattered, if only for 10 weeks. Your siblings are annoying the living crap out of you, your out-sized sense of importance is battered on all sides by these people whom you've left behind, whom you've GROWN PAST. So, it is with sense of dread that I approach our soccer weekend in Vegas. Which is not a slight at any of my team/roommates. They are all fantastic fellows, minus the part where they didn't book a room soon enough, so were stuck begging for space on my floor.
Adding to my misery is the fact that I will actually have to get a decent amount of sleep this trip, a Vegas first. With a minimum of four games in two days (and potential for 6 in 3), drinking until incapacitation will not occur. In theory. I'm gonna need at least six hours per night. In theory. I'm going to need to keep hydrated. I'll also be logging serious jacuzzi time.
The plan is to play poker most of the day Friday and I'm getting in relatively early. Unlike blackjack and craps, I can't play poker with any degree of skill when wasted. So it will force me to remain relatively sober, keeping me primed for Saturday's soccer games. Then, depending on our results, I might just drink myself into a stupor on Saturday (if we can still advance, I'll take it easy; if we're out...giddyup). Our last game ends right about the time the NFL playoffs start, so a bar, a sportsbook and an attentive cocktail waitress might just be the spot for the following seven hours. And then I could pass out relatively early for Sunday's games. Or--OR!--I could stay up all night -EV gamb000ling with all my football bet winnings. Theory dis-proved.
Jack Bauer is back on the air. Goddamn I feel verile when I watch that show. It's the yin to my yang.
Strange thing I did regarding this blog. Or, other people think it's strange. See, I didn't tell anyone about it. Not even The Mrs. until about two weeks ago. I guess I wanted to write what I wanted to write without having my friends and family comment on it. I didn't want the knowledge that they would be reading it to cloud what I wanted to write. But the cat's out of the bag. One of my friends found it. And now they all have it. Which I'm fine with. To prove how fine I am with it, I'm linking the friend who found it. A couple things about jules. One, he's not fat. But making fat jokes ABOUT him is funny. You'll have to trust me on that one. Try it in his comments section. Second, he's a great guy and his new blog looks interesting (especially to Bay Area folks), even if he can't spell "restaurant." Still not convinced? He has pictures of Jessica Alba's butt.
That's the end of this post, so don't feel guilty about clicking on jules' link too quickly after that last sentence. Au revoir.