Final Joke

I had an exceptionally vivid dream last night, a rare occurance for me. It was epic, a long and wandering tale of woe, one that likely falls into the category of those "running but not going anwyhere" dreams, though it was not near that literal. It was like the films I hate so much where the solution is an easy one, but first, a million hurdles must be cleared, each one increasing my annoyance level to the point of boiling over. When I woke from the dream, it was all there in my head, but as each second passed, a part of it disappeared. A little frustrating. But I do recall the fact that I was laying out how I was going to blog it. During the dream.

And that...ladies and gentlemen...is just sad. Even my subconscious is Under Suspiscion.

Had a great holiday. As always, watching AJ interact with his cousins is the best part. We've got an age gap in the kids, with my brothers' checking in at 19 and 15, followed by AJ and my two-year-old niece. He follows the older kids around like a shadow (with the added bonus of the 19-year-old's boyfriend this year), pestering and generally trying their admirable patience, while the toddler does the same to him. Suffice to say, he was operating at high rpm all day, and I was again thankful to be able to pass him off for long periods of time in order to eat, nap and make fun of the Lions.

I'm working today, because death never takes a day off. In fact, this is our busy season as the guy with the scythe goes stalking for the holiday depressed and the occasional PS3 buyer.

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Let's see...two weeks 'til Vegas. Surely I have a past memory to share. In 1979, I played a soccer game in the snow. That was awful. Ever try kicking a ball with frostbite? Every swing of the leg was like Tony Franklin trying a 30-yarder with a frozen turkey. In 1997, I walked into the New Frontier ('cause that's how I roll) and the craps dealers called me out by name, like Norm on "Cheers," the highlight of my Vegas experience until Mrs. Head's roshambo domination of Phil Gordon last year, followed quickly by Josh's header, a double-barreled burst of triumph and hilarity that may never be matched in this life or any other. In 1999, we "lost" Big Head who never made it back to the hotel room one night. We found him right where we left him, at the same blackjack table, with the same drink order, but with a new-found love for cigarettes, a fact made all the more funny because he was late picking up his girlfriend at the airport, which he forgot, and I'd give several hundred dollars to have seen the look on her face when she saw him that morning and I'd double it to have heard her reaction to the way he smelled.

In 2005, I final tabled the MGM tourney on Sunday night at the tail end of the WPBT shenanigans (CJ won; I was 4th), a victory minimized because the length of the run caused X and I to miss a promised "nice" dinner. We ended up in a cafe at MGM where she assured me she wasn't pissed (lies), but I still felt horrible about it and, by way of penance, used nearly the total of my tourney profit to buy her diamond earrings for Christmas, a gift I said I'd never again give since she lost the last fucking pair I bought her. Of course, by the time Christmas rolled around, she was already exchanging dopey e-mails and saliva with The Douchebag, a fact which did not inhibit her from accepting my gift. She later told me this Vegas event was "the final straw" (lies), which is funny, because usually people say something before it gets to final straw stage and while I will not exactly defend my behavior (though I blame it mostly on Bobby because he made me lose $300 on blackjack in 20 minutes, which put me on tilt, and the tilt put me into the tournament), I did try to make amends, but my husbandry and love and contrition was not enough to keep me in the running against a guy who thinks "Life is a gift, so wrap yourself well" is a clever motto for living and sends text messages with the frequency of a 14-year-old girl complete with emoticons and liberal use of the word "booty."

At least this year, none of you fuckers will talk about how out of my league she is, which was true, just not in the generally accepted way, because I compete at a high level in the Morally Superior Division and sometimes play winter ball in Anti-Adultery Conference of Greater Southern California.

And in two weeks, I hope to be ready for the SoCo Relays.