Dateline: Las Vegas Paris Sportsbook International Branch Office. Just put my twenty on my team to win over 59 games this season. Usually, I put my twenty on them to win the pennant. Odds 500 to 1. I’m pretty sure the bet taker doesn’t even register my bet. The cashier merely winks at his co-workers and pockets the money. But this time I could bet only on them winning 59 out of 162 games. Happy Dance.
Dateline: The Mon Ami Gabi Restaurant in the Paris, Las Vegas. On a break from horseraces nearby and now stressed like crazy. How did that happen? Well, the hostess here in Mon Ami Gabi has jumped inside my head and made my body go into a stress reaction. Here’s what she did to cause my stress. Okay, I’ll admit I don’t fit the slinky evening gown glamour that used to be Vegas, but the young lady didn’t have to frown as I stepped up to the hostess stand dragging my computer More >
Dateline: Racebook at the Paris in Las Vegas. If you ever have a big project to do that requires hours of concentration and organization, I’d recommend this place. Picture a huge room with forty flat televisions. Across the front is a double layer of theater size babies. Every screen shows a different live sporting event. During the day these are mostly horse races. Now, here’s the good part (not that watching twelve horse races at once isn’t terrific fun, cause it is), the seating is made up of long rows of private carols each with its own screen which you can More >
Dateline: Dateline: the Big Thicket State Forest. Really. I can promise that this retreat spot is “big,” because there is no Starbucks within reasonable driving distance. Pizza delivery is but a distant dream. It’s a “thicket,” because I’m surrounded by tall trees spewing allergens in a bonfire pattern. (Kind reader, as you might suspect, this wasn’t my idea and this will not be the last you hear of this weekend of terror.)
Stress. Get a Grip, More >
Get a Grip, Part 3
Dateline: St. David’s North Austin Medical Center Mobile International Branch Office. Currently I’m waiting to be fitted with one of those hideous, heavy boots. Why do I burden you, kind reader, with this minutia?
Because I am the poster child for the Stress Prone Personality (SPP) of the GET A GRIP Series.
Back in early November, I had an “event” on the first day of a week in San Francisco. I’m at the medical center because I approached the event (stupid jump off a boulder) More >
Dateline: North Austin Medical Center. Not my second home yet. But close to being my second DFW Airport.
Set-up: To bring you up to speed, check the Banquet of Consequences.
So, I’m in the office of the gastro-enterologist. He’s showing me pictures of the ulcers in my esophagus and stomach. (Professional driver. Do not try this at home.) I lean in and brightly ask, “Didn’t you mean to say that a very tiny percentage of people end up with a fatal self-inflicted pizza bomb?”
That’s when he started thumbing through medical books to provide me More >
Set-up: After buying supplies (Must read Nutjob, Part 1, to know exactly the list.) I stop at the end of the checkers counter and prepare to re-bag my groceries. You do that, right?
Because, you know how willy-nilly these baggers can be with their youth and devil-may-care attitude. Kids today.
That’s okay though. I don’t mind re-doing the job at the end of the counter next to the real bagger guy who isn’t, at this point, exactly my friend. (I think it had something to do More >