Las Vegas has not been kind to me. Actually it’s the casino that’s been killing me. But that would never stop this Kat. I have 9 lives.
The roulette table was my first nemesis. Roulette means “little wheel” in French, and coincidently I was speaking a little French when my g** d** numbers didn’t show up on that *!* little wheel.
Although the French make a nice plate of crap...like I said, crepe...their wheel didn’t make nice with me. With every spin…Vanna took away my chips, until I was left chip-less. Sometimes it’s best to know when to walk away …know when to run.
8 lives to go.
Anywhooooooooooooo………………………
I decided to try my luck with the one-armed Bandito. The Mexican Slot. It was 10 AM and as luck would have it…PaulA was off at a meeting. PaulA wouldn't have to know about my dealings with the Bandito.
It was interesting to see what folks have their asses planted on a casino seat at 10 AM. Makes you wonder if they were leftovers from the night before. Maybe someone should be in-charge of throwing out the leftovers, like removing spoiled sausage from the frig. Gamblers can be quite rank at that hour…after a night of booze, smoke, and tears.
So what was I doing in the casino at 10 am? Well…Momma needs a new pair of Jimmy Choo's. Why not try my hand at Lady Luck? Just as long as the Lady doesn't bite me in the hand. Question to self: Why do they call Luck a Lady, anyway?
Let me just say…slot machines are as cranky as the rest of us in the morning. Probably hung over from the night before when their parts were worked over. I couldn’t get much going…so I resorted to Musical Slot Machine Chairs.
One slot machine I sat at never made a sound. It was quiet as a church mouse. If I closed my eyes I could have been seated in a St. Ann's pew…but the leftovers next to me reminded me I was seated in Sin City. I wasn’t long in that seat. If I’m going to keep losing, at least give me some freaking bells and whistles.
When you “cash out” …the slots make clamourous sounds of money emptying out into a coin tray…like you just hit the JACKPOT. When I “cashed out” …the lights flashed, bells dinged, sirens whirrled…and printed out my ticket…..$2.50.
No Big Kitty coming to Kat.
7 lives to go.
It’s 10 AM. PaulA, do you know where your wife is?
The roulette table was my first nemesis. Roulette means “little wheel” in French, and coincidently I was speaking a little French when my g** d** numbers didn’t show up on that *!* little wheel.
Although the French make a nice plate of crap...like I said, crepe...their wheel didn’t make nice with me. With every spin…Vanna took away my chips, until I was left chip-less. Sometimes it’s best to know when to walk away …know when to run.
8 lives to go.
Anywhooooooooooooo………………………
I decided to try my luck with the one-armed Bandito. The Mexican Slot. It was 10 AM and as luck would have it…PaulA was off at a meeting. PaulA wouldn't have to know about my dealings with the Bandito.
It was interesting to see what folks have their asses planted on a casino seat at 10 AM. Makes you wonder if they were leftovers from the night before. Maybe someone should be in-charge of throwing out the leftovers, like removing spoiled sausage from the frig. Gamblers can be quite rank at that hour…after a night of booze, smoke, and tears.
So what was I doing in the casino at 10 am? Well…Momma needs a new pair of Jimmy Choo's. Why not try my hand at Lady Luck? Just as long as the Lady doesn't bite me in the hand. Question to self: Why do they call Luck a Lady, anyway?
Let me just say…slot machines are as cranky as the rest of us in the morning. Probably hung over from the night before when their parts were worked over. I couldn’t get much going…so I resorted to Musical Slot Machine Chairs.
One slot machine I sat at never made a sound. It was quiet as a church mouse. If I closed my eyes I could have been seated in a St. Ann's pew…but the leftovers next to me reminded me I was seated in Sin City. I wasn’t long in that seat. If I’m going to keep losing, at least give me some freaking bells and whistles.
When you “cash out” …the slots make clamourous sounds of money emptying out into a coin tray…like you just hit the JACKPOT. When I “cashed out” …the lights flashed, bells dinged, sirens whirrled…and printed out my ticket…..$2.50.
No Big Kitty coming to Kat.
7 lives to go.
It’s 10 AM. PaulA, do you know where your wife is?
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