To Vegas or NOT To Vegas.

Sunday night one of my friends invited me to Vegas this weekend.

I initially didn't want to go since this one friend in particular (let's call her Ms. Beachery) (she likes the beach, I think.) (Everybody likes the beach.) has not been the nicest gal lately and is into the drama like Hollywood is Botox.

However, since said invite a faint chanting of vegas, vegas, vegas... turned into a full on shout, so my weekend is set. VEGAS BABY!

How could I refuse?

I'm sure Ms. Beachery will warm up, it being her birthday and (hello!) being in Vegas! What's not to love!

Right?

Yes.

And if not, whatev. I'll be caught up in a wonderous whirlwind that is Vegas (!) and drunken oblivion where HappyTime is had by all. Or just by me, I can never really tell at that point.

What Happened?

Today is day 4 of no credit/debit cards.

I am a survivor.

Okay, I am surviving off an AmEx gift card that I got for Christmas. Ya, I know, unbelievable right? Nobody, nobody still has gift cards left over from Christmas and especially not one that can be used practically everywhere*. But I do (an exception to the rule? Maybe.) and without it I would be broke out on the streets with a piece of cardboard and an old tin coffee cup that I took from a sleeping Vietnam war vet (or whatever their called) next to the freeway begging for extra change.

Or not. But it’s been tough without my cards. (They’re like my grown-up blanky.)

But I guess you reap what you sowe. (Or something.)

Everybody has their drinks of choice. Mine (lately) are champagne, wine or Margaritas (I love me some Tequila). But Saturday night, already irritated with the meanness of my friend sober was not what I wanted to be, I was getting down to biznaz which (to me) is AMF. Also known as an “Adios Mother F***er” or simply “Adios”, it’s blue, it’s yummy, warms the tummy and well, it’s all in a name, right? Right.

Three (heavy handed) AMF’s later, a shot of Kamikazi, a sudden (turn for the worst)head/stomach change and a flash of realization that I had not eaten dinner and Houston, we have a problem! Immediately started flashing through my mind in big, bright, Vegas-style letters. (Not helping.)

Ugliness ensues…

So anyway, I have a kick ass card case with 4 cards in it: Driver Liscense, Debit Card, Visa, AmEx. In other words, this card case is My World. (Or Grown-Up Blankey. Either way.) Gone. Missing. Shit. Shit. Shit!

Why is it that the most beautiful Sundays gets no love from me because some kind of twisted law of being in your 20’s that I must be hung over in the event of a pretty [Sun]day?

Or does the day just seem pretty in contrast to my mental (read: want to hibernate in a dark cave with my blankey- the non-plastic, non-grown-up, warm, soft and cuddly one.) state?

Either way. This law must be banned. (BANNED!!)

I called my friend. Nothing. I checked all my cards and cancelled them. I freaked out when I heard the balance on my AmEx card. What? Almost $300 I’m only a week into my billing period! Oh. Yeah. All me. (Damn.)

My friends ended up finding my lost goods. (Actually, I’m still missing my Cherry Chapstick but I’m a survivor. I will prevail. AmEx to the rescue!)

Lessons of a Shit-Faced Saturday night:

- Eat before drinking.

- 3 AMF’s is too much for me no matter how much I’ve eaten. Don’t do it.

- Mission: Get Wasted is equivalent to Mission: Fail (oh the irony…). Don’t do it.

- Bitchy friends leads to 3 AMF’s and a Kamikazi which leads to Bad News Bears. Don’t do it.

*I use this term loosely. To my dismay AmEx is not accepted everywhere. Which is a damn shame cuz the card is just so pretty and I get reward points and who doesn't love rewards? (And if you don't love rewards than you are clearly an Alien and I have 29,384,382,028+++ questions for you.)

Closet Blogging

Everyday I go to work. I have an [un]exciting job. My daily highlights are e-mailing KOAM (self proclaimed King of all Mexicans--he nicknamed himself) & Dodger Drinks-a-ton and reading blogs. They're not men of many words. They e-mail me like a sentence or so and I reply back with a full (colorful) paragraph of purely random ridiculousness (complete with my own crazy-creation background). This (and Tapatio) is what spices up my day. I'm exciting.

KOAM started a blog in which he will blog his journey "from fat to fit" and going for his dream of fighting in the MMA. I'm the encourager. He asked me to write his About Me section and he also wants me to post 2-3 blogs a month on his blog. Done and done. I'm honored.

I ask him his progress on the blogging all the time. I recommend blogs to him. We talk blog. I encourage. Except now he has this crazy idea that I should start a blog.

No, crazy boy.

I'm a closet blogger. I'm keeping it that way!

Granted, should he stumble upon my blog, it's not so anonymous. But I still refuse to TELL him about it. I'm embarrassed or something. I don't really have good reason. He has this crazy idea that "it would be so interesting to read through your everyday life". He's trying to have me believe that I'm a good writer and I'm interesting. Sadly, Notsomuch. But he's a good friend.

That's what good friends do, they encourage (and lie to you to pump you up).

I didn't even start this blog with the intention of it being public. I started it because I just like to write and this way if I have internet access then I've got a place to lay down some thoughts (or rants & raves) so all I need is my trusty iPhone and I don't have to carry around a journal and pen. The public thing happened by accident. I set the availability to private and somehow it publicized itself. Leading me to believe that there is a ghost in my computer. Or maybe it's an omen or (dare I say it) a user error? (NO!) I'm going ghost. A cute one, like Casper.

I don't like lying but I really am very self conscious about my bloggy (I like using the word blog. Bloggy. Bloggish. Bloggity.) ways. So until he stumbles upon this piece of work and calls me out. I'm a closet blogger.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

(I just like saying that)