I work what I would call grave. The casino I work at calls it swing. 9pm-5am give or take an hour. I no longer wait tables. There is a Hot Black Girl that makes this fact a little sad, but the even sadder reality was that I didn't work with her much when I did wait tables. I don't think anything else makes me sad about not waiting tables. Dealing cards is like pushing pancakes. Maybe when I cure herpes I'll start up a chain of breakfast joint/strip clubs called the International House of Pancake Titties and I'll wait tables every once in a while for fun.
This is all just to explain the whole time thing. It's 3:37am in Vegas, and do you know where your hooker is? This is work time. But I have tonight off. Still, although by my rules it's Thursday, it *IS* technically Friday, and I will daylog as such.
So Thursday was 90210, did you have a party?
Wednesday was 09/01/10. Which doesn't mean anything to most people. To me it meant some girls I now work with sang me Happy Birthday, which I thought was pretty awesome.
I paid a player $1000 on a $1 side bet that night. Yes, I worked on my Birthday. I've only been at this job since 8/16/10 and I'm not about to start requesting days off. The woman that won $1000 reminded me of a childhood friend's mother.
Before work I got bit by a dog. This oldish woman had this little dog with her at the mailboxes in my complex. I went to get my mail because my mother had asked if I had gotten my card. The woman basically warned me. She wanted to get completely clear of the mail alcove before I came in. I started in right as they started to go down the steps just outside of the mailboxes. The dog snapped at me and caught the back of my leg. I was pretty shocked. Beware of little dogs that don't bark when the old woman on the other end of the leash warns you about them. I was afraid it broke the skin. I checked when I got back inside but it only looked bruised and I couldn't detect any blood. Such sharp little teeth.
I was thinking that being bitten by a dog and paying a woman $1000 were good stories, now that I wrote a little about these events I'm not convinced. Still, a woman I know from across the street when I grew up requested stories. Other women were curious enough to ask questions about my little teaser I posted on facebook. Do you see a theme?
A lot of hot drunk women are in Vegas playing cards right now. Just because I'm not working doesn't mean they aren't out there. Believe me, they are.
Oh yes, I have another story, which will be slightly interesting for those who know me. I went to the store and bought a hot water heater today. This is not behavior anyone who knows me would put me on. This is something my dad would do. I'm usually the guy who just pays too much to have someone bring him what he needs and fix things.
The reality is I was with a guy I was going to pay to install the thing, but I consider the guy kind of a friend. Maybe not I friend, but I'd say I know him, and I'd say I like him.
What is right on par with the shit I do is the fact I took cold showers for a week while I slowly moved toward fixing the problem that I eventually realized was a busted hot water heater. I am cheap. I certainly don't care about a lot of things people think I should care about. But in the end I really love who I am. Normally I can't stand it when people say shit like that, because it usually feels like they are trying to convince themselves of something.
Like tonight I was telling Cheesecake about Prom. Back in High School people said, "Brian Sketchwick is going to Prom???" when they found out. Only they used my real last name, of course. (I was talking to another woman and she was saying she wanted to write on E2 but failed to figure it out...she liked the "relative anonymity" of it. Even linked to facebook, it doesn't seem like I should be using my real last name here...which makes since...the people reading it from facebook know who I am, the people who read it from E2 do not, and can't get to where it's linked on facebook...unless they are leet computer hackers.) Prom was just not an activity people put me on. And it wasn't up my ally. But She was. I did it for her, and in the end we just went to get pictures, and then we went straight to the hotel room I rented. Men, if you think for a second I know anything about women, listen to me now, women love an occasion. Make an occasion for them. Now to be far, I would ask that you women give your men sex for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
So yeah, I don't drink, I don't do drugs (except for the time I was paid to, of course) what do I do? Subtle innuendo aside, I have really, really crazy sex sometimes. The stuff that you make HBO series about. Or Showtime, take your pick.
What about the men in my life? What are they doing? Well a couple have been playing Starcraft II with me and for that I thank them. I really play a ton of SC2. It's kept me entertained. Cheesecake and the Tyrant of Fire took me to breakfast on my Birthday, which I also think is awesome. And I've been spouting off this theory lately, and Cheescake told me a long time ago I should write about it, so here that goes.
I've refined it to basically: you need to have belief to be happy, and to be ecstatic you need to be delusional. Now Cheesecake and I are atheists, the kind that think religion has done harm to our world and all that. So we kind of marvel sometimes at the delusional thinking of religious people. But at some point I realized I was delusional when it came to sex. I think it was when I made the comment that I could suck a dick and it would make a Christian woman watching it wet. "Yeah, I thought homosexuality was an abomination before, but watching Brian in action totally converted me!"
Obviously I frequently go for humor over truth sometimes, but I think it's indicative of a confidence (or arrogance, depending on your point of view) I possess. And even if you believe reality is objective, you can't deny how subjective so many areas of life are. I think I'm good in bed. I think I'm funny. How do we know if I'm delusional? All we can do is ask others for their subjective opinion.
The important part is that belief is not the same thing as just lying to yourself. You can lie to yourself, but if you don't believe it, it's not helping. I can say I'm good in bed, and I can say I'm good at finding jobs. But I only believe one of those statements. Perception is reality. I can talk to Mr. Positive about my relationship with my family and feel just fine about myself. If I talk to Cheesecake about it too much I'll feel like a psychopath.
So am I on to something? You tell me, I'll probably believe you.
I have this little 2ish by 5ish inch piece of purple paper here that has some things written on it. It's time to get random.
Hot Black Girl asked me if I had a "f...f...friend" a long time ago. She meant girlfriend. Most beautiful stutter I've ever heard.
When you serve pancakes to gay men you should totally suggest the Boys n' Berry syrup.
That's actually all that's on that paper that I deam worth writing...on the back of the paper I can see what table 31, 23, and 11 ordered. And now it will be crumpled and tossed, preserved only in the ether of 1's and 0's.
Ah yes, another scrap of paper and this one reminds me to get a confirmation from you: pussy is finger food, right? And on the back? the sudoku answers for Monday, April 30th through Friday, May forth. Of what year I don't know. Nor do I play sudoku, nor do I like tear off a page calendars. Give me the whole month to look at, please.
As always, questions or comments are welcome, whether I know you or not, thanks for reading.