yo dos

Sup?

When I was 18 years old I was playing guitar with bands in Vegas bars. When I hit 21, I graduated to casino lounges.  High-end joints like Excal, Stardust and the old Oasis in Mesquite. 

A life to envy.

We also had a weekend gig at Gordon Biersch.  I’d get off work dealing at the Monte Carlo at 7:30pm (yes when I was 21 I was a dealer, obviously I just said that) and I’d rush over to GB for an 8 pm start: 3 sets, done at 12. I had a Mesa Boogie tube amp that was super heavy and no joke, every night after we played I would be lugging this thing to my car while drunk guys hit me up and not once did any of them offer to help.

Which leads me to my next story.

While working at MC I was sexually harassed constantly.  The pencil (scheduler) would tell me I looked good in different demeaning ways every day. I mean that doesn’t sound awful, right?  I’m a wimp?  But every day, every single day dealing with his comments was really frustrating. 

The real harassment came from the top though.  The Ensign family were heavily involved in MGM at one point (family of disgraced cheating husband Senator John Ensign).  John’s younger bro David Ensign ran The Hacienda Casino in Boulder City where I broke in as a dealer a few months before I got the job at MC.  David, who told me he watched me deal from a camera in his office, would come into the pit at MC, where he didn’t even work, get really close to me and tell me I was hot, etc.  Like wtf man, c’mon really?  So one day I go to HR with a complaint about David.  The woman in charge told me, “That’s not sexual harassment.” 

Cool.  #MeToo

My stint at MC didn’t last long after that.

Side note: I was put on the Big 6 a couple days a week, which doesn’t constitute as sexual harassment but it sucked nonetheless.  The pencil claimed the drop was bigger when I was on it so there I stood, spinning that huge wheel, with dread in my soul, wishing I hadn’t dropped out of college, was born rich, or could suck it up, take off my big girl pants and be a dancer.  I would have happily dug ditches those days instead 100%, no question.

You guys, where am I going with all this?

Dunno.

Man, I hate long posts.

I guess I can wrap this baby up by saying in my illustrious AP career I haven’t been harassed, sexually or otherwise, by other APs simply for being female (okay maybe one time by APs, poker players and floor people def a different story).  Yes, some of my opportunities have been different from my male counterparts, like not being able to fire big money (though I’ve had my moments) but it’s much easier for me to feign innocence.  Who actually thinks the young girl at 3rd betting ten bucks, can’t add up her hand and doesn’t know basic strategy is running the table?  Not a lot of people.

K, post too long.  Here’s a song. Es bueno.

Gary

I’m going to tell you a story I’ve NEVER told anyone, ever.  Not my friends, boyfriends, family.

When I was 18 years old I was trying to get a fake ID.  I was supposed to meet up with a guy who was going to make me one, but on my way I got an urgent message on my beeper to call my friend who had set up the meeting.  I knew it was urgent because after my friend’s phone number she added, “911.”

High tech communication going on back then.

I stopped at a 7/11 on the corner of Desert Inn and Maryland, outside the Boulevard Mall, not the greatest part of town, and called my friend on the payphone.  The deal had fallen through.  The guy cancelled.  I stood there on the phone brainstorming with my friend about what we were going to do.  Without coming to a conclusion, I hung up and headed back to my car.

“Hey, I can help you out,” a skinny black dude sitting on a bicycle called out to me.

“I can help you get a fake ID, I have a friend who works at the DMV.”

He had been listening to my conversation. 

I immediately thought, “Jackpot!” 

I mean, what luck, right?!  This guy, who just happened to be eavesdropping on my conversation, knows someone who can get me a “real” fake at the DMV.  Freaking serendipity if there ever was.

“Yea, drive me over there and I’ll set it up,” he said.

“How much?”

“$100”

“I need one for my friend also.”

“No problem,” he said.

“Awesome, lets go!”

This guy, we’ll call him “Gary,” locked up his bike that he told me he had just bought at Sears, hopped in my Honda Civic and we headed to the DMV on east Sahara, also not a great neighborhood. 

“Alright, I’ll go in and set it up.”

He went inside and I waited in the parking lot.  He came out about 15 minutes later and told me it was “all good.”  My friend and I were to go to window 15, tomorrow at 1pm and the deal would go down.  So now, he needed the money.  I handed him $200 and I drove him back to the 7/11.

The next day, we excitedly went to the DMV, found window 15 and when the clerk was free, I told her Gary had sent me.  She had no clue what I was talking about.  Like none.  It took me about two seconds to realize I’d been had.  I was fuming. 

What the fuck!?

I was so, so mad. 

Now what was I going to do?

We were going to go find Gary god damn it!

First stop, Sears.

We went into the store, to the bike section, and I asked the salesman if he had sold a bike the day before to a skinny black dude named Gary.  He said he did. 

“Do you have his number or address from the sale?”

“I can’t give you that information,” the salesman said.

Obviously. 

Not to be deterred, I took my friend to a seedy apartment complex down the street, where Gary had mentioned he stayed.  I was going to find Gary, confront him, and he was going to give me my money back!

My 18-year old self was fearless!

I drove us through the complex trying to spot Gary’s bike.  My friend, wiser than me and not as fearless, told me this wasn’t a good idea and we should go.

After about ten minutes, I gave up, drove off, was out $200, massively angry, and was left with only a lesson learned that I can now share with you, dear reader, in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

Don’t fucking trust someone you meet outside of a 7/11 who says they can hook you up with a fake ID.

Cliffs: I’m an idiot.

RHOLV

I watch two television shows religiously.  One is Real Housewives of Orange County.  The other is too embarrassing to say.  Both are on hiatus so I’ve got an extra hour and a half a week on my hands. 

What to do?

With all this free time on my hands, I've consumed a few books:

Blood Of The Patriots – really well written and highly interesting if you’re into anti-gov’t militia stories

Recovery: Freedom From Our Addictions – worthwhile read, adaptable advice

We The Animals – unique story and writing style, read it without looking at reviews 

Molly’s Game – better than the movie, well-written and full of interesting detail

The Keys – garbage, didn’t get very far and wasted precious minutes of my life reading what I did

I've also been surfing YouTube for "I quit sugar and look at all the weight I lost."  I ditched the white stuff this week and am fully committed to staying clean. 

Sugar-is-as-Addictive-as-Cocaine-Heres-How-You-Can-Kick-the-Habit-1.jpg

 

YouTube has been leaving me with a strong desire to start a vlog for a while now.  My polar opposite significant other half thinks it would be entertaining to watch us talk politics (yawn) and I think it would be cool to document my journey back into good health and prosperity.  We'll see.  He's the tech guy, I'm the idea man but he's been trying to wear both hats and so we've gotten nowhere.  

Here's a video.  

.

lo siento

She was living with me.  I was driving her to work among countless other places because she didn’t have a car.  I might have lent her money, I really don’t remember.  I do remember listening to my boyfriend’s voicemail where she left a message saying, “I can’t stop thinking about you and last night.”  She called to leave him the message 2-minutes after she finished having lunch with me.

I was devastated.  I couldn’t breathe.  I went home, waited on the sofa for her to appear.  When she came in I told her to get the fuck out, and to never speak to me again.  Without any drama, she left.  Then that night, she tried to kill herself.  She was rushed to the hospital and her stomach pumped.  I saw her at work a couple of days later.  “Next time you try to kill yourself, don’t fuck it up.”

What kind of demented, piece of shit, asshole says that to someone?

Me.  I’m that fucking asshole. 

I knew right away how wrong it was.  I called my best friend’s mom and told her what I did.  Ever caring, she called a suicide prevention team with the police and they went to where she was staying, to try and divert another attempt.  She said she was fine.  It was fine.

A handful of years later, I joined Facebook.  I friended this girl, apologized for being a bag of shit and she accepted my apology.  I felt a weight had been lifted.  A year later I saw her at The Sand Dollar on Spring Mountain and she was on what I assumed was an incredible amount of cocaine.  I couldn’t get a word in.  I wanted to leave so badly but she just kept talking, about the old times.  No mention of the horrible thing that I had done.

Fast-forward to a couple of months ago.  She killed herself.  The girl who I told not to fuck it up the next time she tried to commit suicide, successfully killed herself.  Did she think about when I said those terrible, terrible words?  I hope I wasn’t even a passing thought.  That me telling her to get it right didn’t enter her head.  I could feel the weight that had been lifted, seep back onto my shoulders.