I wonder if I’ve been hacked? One of my long time viewers suggested that. I did notice, that both emails have a misspelling of “automatic” as “automattic” which seems odd.
Here’s the email I got from them.
“Your account has been flagged for an excessive amount of likes and follows.
Please keep in mind our like and follow features are designed to help you keep up with your favorite blogs, give easy feedback to their authors, and nurture direct conversations. They are not to be used as a means of promoting your site through mass notifications.
As such, your ability to use the like and follow functions has been permanently disabled. This decision will not be reversed.
I just received confirmation from WordPress, they are permanently disabling my ability to “like” or “subscribe” to any other blogs.
Well, I guess it’s time I start looking for a better blog hosting site. I apologize to all my readers and I thank you my friends that have been loyal, but there’s no way I can ever grow my blog with what they’ve done to me now.
I looked at the top 10 blogging sites and WordPress wasn’t even one of them. I’ve done everything I can to play fair but they’re not. And I don’t want to start another blog on here and have them do it to me again. 
I promise I’ll leave word before I leave, but I’m definitely not gonna stay here, and I hope you all understand…
I want to think all my readers, subscribers, friends, and everybody on here. Today was quite a milestone. I have over 1000 subscribers now.
Originally my goal was to have up to 300 subscribers by the end of the year. I had that goal when I started my blog in late March.
Obviously, we’ve exceeded that and I want to thank you all because you made it possible. I promised to continue to provide as good of writing as possible mastering new forms of poetry and refining the skills I already have.
I think late next week if I’m not mistaken, I will be hitting the six month mark of my blog and it’s been a lot of fun and I hope it’s gonna be a lot more and I hope you’re all be there to enjoy it. Thank you again for everything I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing if it wasn’t for you. ❤️❤️❤️❤️
I think I am becoming a sentimental old fool at 52. I Happened to catch Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory streaming on TV and was suddenly 6 years old again watching the movie for the first time.
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Relating to Charlie Bucket and the isolation he felt from his peers. His character was such a pure soul and he loved freely and fiercely even in the face of a rejection of the test from his most beloved idol.
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He is then rewarded for his suffering and his family’s as well. That line at the end of the movie always gets me and light tears come down “What happened to the man that got what he always wanted? He lived happily ever after” He then tightly hugs Charlie and I just tear up every time.
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Like I said, a sentimental old fool but I am who I am. The book was good but was more a lesson in behavior than the first film on which it was based. I even believe that I read somewhere that Dahl was initially unhappy with the film but later grew fond of it. It will always be one of my favorite movies somewhere inside I am that same child with older eyes…❤️
Christmas time, gifts family get togethers, warm feelings, all kinds of things going on that time of year. This past year I’ve lived with my family as I perform a life reboot for myself. During Christmas, the neighborhood I live in does ‘Christmas Lights’. It’s quite a spectacle, nearly all of the houses are dressed to the nines in holiday cheer. Lights, more lights, Christmas Trees, Reindeer, and still more lights. Reds, greens, whites, and any other color you can think of dancing about (too music in our display). It’s a lot of fun and a little difficult getting in and out of your house as this goes on with all the cars and whatnot traveling up and down our cul de sac. It’s quite beautiful and generally all who visit love it all. One December night, some who visited our front yard got more than they bargained for: a 50-year-old dancing in his underwear for all to see…
Ok let’s get to that cold December night where I looked the fool in front of a pretty extensive audience. Ritual time, it’s nearly 8:00 PM so: edibles in, music blaring and I’m preparing a bath. In my efforts to prepare to close out my night, I stupidly left the shades open in my room (which has two windows facing the street) I grab clothes and head to my bathroom and crank the water as hot as it’ll go. I disrobe and enjoy an epic hot bath with the music is jamming and singing along rocking to Jeff Beck. Life is great. As I finish my bath and get out dry off, I throw on a pair of my Scooby Doo boxer briefs on. All the while I forget that I essentially have a stage set in my bedroom for the neighborhood to see. I’m really buzzed now feeling relaxed, too relaxed as my guard is totally down now. In my skivvies I grab my Bluetooth speaker and head back to bedroom singing and swinging my torso like an idiot and I realize as there’s sudden shouting and applause and laughter (from outside). Cheeks red and burning, I realized I was apparently performing for a stunned audience of cars and a onlookers. My bedroom light is on and the shades are down it’s like I have a spotlight on me. I didn’t know what to do, my heart sinks to my feet and I had to think fast which was a bit of a challenge in the state I was in.
I didn’t know what to do so I threw myself on the ground (sniper avoidance style) and crawled on my belly to the other end of my bedroom nearest my drawer to grab a pair of pajamas and put them on as fast anyone could that was laying facedown on the floor. I’m so stoned at this point that I’m considering an encore performance (not!). I quickly closed my shades and turned down the lights chuckling to myself as I temper my odd cocktail of embarrassment, adrenaline, and the detached airiness that comes with indica related products when consumed.
Needless to say if it’s Christmas, Kwanza, Ramadan, Presidents’ Day or Groundhog Day for that matter, when my evening rituals take place, the shades are shut and the lamp off. My skivvy gyration was a one-off performance… I’d settle for laughing at myself when I set down phone and attempt to answer my glasses…. 🤣
Single life can get interesting quickly when you need to use a hammer on some frozen articles in the freezer.
Spot checking the refrigerator and freezer for grocery list items, I noticed an issue in my freezer in which 4 zip-locked marinara sauces (I made a big batch last weekend) were stuck to one another and through the freezer shelf.
Here’s where physics comes in, these sauces were originally frozen after cooling were in a liquid state at the time. As a result, some of the bags hung through the grates on the top shelf. When liquids/sauces/etc freeze, they sometimes expand a little as well which definitely happened here. <Physics lesson over>
I first tried to remove (they are adjustable) the top shelf and couldn’t because everything was quite stuck. I tried and tried and was able to pry off one of the sauces without breaking the bag (extra points for that effort). The other three sauces, however were very much lodged into the grated shelf and against the side of the freezer.
I tried, I pushed, I tugged (not too hard or I’d rip the ziplocks) I swore every bad word I could think of in English, Spanish, and Italian (we are multicultural at Anthony’s Place) but they wouldn’t budge. Then I thought to myself, “what will MacGyver do?”
Opening my tool drawer, I found my toolbox, took out a hammer and proceeded to hammer up (under the grate) on the frozen bags of marinara (I’m sure my neighbors love me 😝) until finally I was able to pop the shelf out. I then removed it from the freezer with the sauces still stuck to it.
We have a second challenge again of physics and common sense. I want to defrost these sauces just enough to get them clear of the shelving grate so I can place them back in the freezer without needing to cook them all.
I placed the grated shelf and my lambadad (I’m not sure if the forbidden dance has ever been applied in this manner 😂😂😂) marinara sauces in the sink and ran cold water until the portions that were expanded and stuck, shrunk down enough for me to pull them out. I then immediately placed everything back in the freezer more easily as everything was still frozen (for the most part).
To not have a future repeat of this adventure, I’ll place something flat on top of the grading next time. Lesson learned, and it was truly a cultural event with multiple language swearing, a refresher in thermodynamics, and a little MacGyver, for good measure…😂😂😂
It’s spring 1990 and time for the last concert of my senior year at my alma mater. Thoughts forward and back flooded my mind as my final concert in highschool was about to happen. It was going to be a surreal concert as all others prior for my this year were as I opted out of the orchestras. Having 7 classes a day for 3 years and spending much of that time trying to manage and assist the drumline was tiring on me. So for these concerts I was strictly an usher and stagehand where needed.
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Things are well in hand, the audience is all seated and all stages are set for the elementary and high school bands, I grab a seat in the front row ready to enjoy this final concert as a spectator. Or so I thought.
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As I steady myself in my seat, the band director beckons me over. I sprint over figuring something from the band room was needed which I’d grab post haste. I was handed a folder full of music. The band director explains the snare drummer for the symphonic band was a no show and that I need to site read the concert. He laughed and said “let’s have some fun Anthony, we’re on in five, take a look at the music, the first piece should interest you”.
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I gasped and thought for a moment took a deep breath and made my plan. I’d grab my sticks asap and spend as much time as I can with the music. I sprint to the band room and grab my smallest nylon tips sticks and then back to the gym with the folder under my sleeve. I grab a chair and practice though the first piece noticing at it’s start “solo”. I analyzed it and each subsequent piece noticing the patterns in the notes and the dynamic shifts. The pieces were straightforward and I was ready which was just in time as the concert is about to begin.
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I grab my music and sticks and make my way on stage to the snare drum joining the Symphonic orchestra. The band tunes and I double check my instrument, tightening the snares and the muffle to the sound and feel I like. I face forward at the band director with my music and stand just to the right at lowest eye level.
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The band director turns around and introduces the band to the audience to nice applause. I feel and hear my heartbeat a little. This is going to be something to remember. I take a quick glance at my solo to come as the band director turns around and looks square at me a s smiles. He raises his baton and I raise my sticks then the downbeat and my solo. I gently rat-a-tatted my part as the drum responded to everything my hands did. In all honesty It was pretty rudimentary but I tried as always to make it sound good. I guess the way I played it sounded different than the band was used to as they all turned around and looked at me which made me very uncomfortable. I carefully read ahead and played the part flawlessly (thank goodness). We finish the piece and I let out a soft sign of relief. Then the next piece sad next piece my confidence growing from the first to the last.
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After completing the concert the band director patted me on the back and said “Wasn’t that fun Anthony” I responded with “I guess?” as I gathered myself and he laughed again.
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I thought to myself as I headed home later how crazy my last concert really was. I’d never have do that again l, well, until a couple of years later in college. I’d white-knuckle my concerts with the jazz band and chamber singers in where I’d learn the parts to their portion of it the night of the performance…
Now many people use apply the word nerd to others for many reasons. A person wearing glasses, someone who is eccentric and different from others, someone who is intelligent, someone who is ‘out of step’ with the rest of the world or someone others have trouble relating to.
In my younger years it was also used as a derogatory term for a social outcast/misfit or someone low on the social totem pole that others tend to poke fun of to be mean or just belong. Many or most of these applications have been applied to me at one time or another by nearly everyone I know or have known. I even applied it to myself as a negative connotation.
Lately many seem to apply it to others as a ‘term of endearment for their own oddness, “Most of my friends are nerds, I love those people”. The words that I immediately focus on is ‘Those people’ many or most of us cannot get away from singling out others even in our adult lives. I think we all try to categorize people whether we mean to or not. Maybe it helps us organize all the people in the world by classifying I don’t quite know, just that we all do it.
Now what does the word ‘Nerd’ mean to me? I’d like to say that I’m proud to be a nerd but I cannot even finish saying the word before I start to cringe inside. I was either 5 or 6 when the word was first directed at me. I didn’t even know what it meant at the time which is silly since I was reading around 6 years ahead of my age. Part of me thought it was a compliment but of course when laughter was used with the word “What a nerd, hahaha” then the definition became clear at the time. I may not have understood the origins and meaning of the word but, its application was crystal clear. I have since derived meanings and shared them earlier.
Now as a kid there were still kids even in my neighborhood that would play with me and I was very active on the playground at school. However, I was still at the bottom, last person picked on teams (not sure why I was always at least ok at sports), or was forced onto a team. I guess when word gets around that you are different and a little uncoordinated for your age, word gets around and you’re sort of poisoned to others unless they get to know you. And there were some that did and they at least most of the time left me alone and treated me like everyone else. My best friend growing up was unfortunately at the top of the social ladder and eventually we drifted apart as the social caste system takes over in 6th or 7th grade.
Glasses, I mentioned them earlier and I wear ones that could (in the wrong hands) start a fire or murder some ants in the very least. I was without said device until age 8 in third grade I failed an eye exam at school and had to visit an optometrist or ‘optimist’ as I jokingly call them. I remember praying to God very very hard to pass my eye exam. I was pretty smart (too smart for my own good) and knew what would happen if I got glasses. So, I took my test and failed with what would become the best vision of my entire life 20/40. I say that because know my vision is something like 20/600. I remember being inconsolable in the optometrist office. I knew what was coming, worse than I had already been treated and I wish I was wrong but I wasn’t.
I think the term nerd and 4-eyes were applied to me after I added some pretty nerdy looking specs to my ensemble. I guess I didn’t know how to pick glasses as I never wore them before. My parents believed we should all make our mistakes and learn from them and boy did I. Take a harshly honest person (ergo, my wife) with you and have them tell it to you straight, at least you will not look poorly in the glasses they say look ok.
I for some reason in elementary school had a very advanced vocabulary and no one could understand me at times and that did not help. It was like speaking a foreign language that no one could understand and it put more distance between me and others. It was difficult finding pride in doing well in my studies as others were even mocking me for that. All I wanted was to be a ‘normal’ well-adjusted kid like everyone else. But the master builder had other plans for me. I was to be ‘me’ from the very beginning and I was fighting it even back then but I could not suppress who I was. This is a fool’s errand. We are who we are, nothing can change that. We may evolve and improve, but we are who we are. I tried running away from academic success but that only put more friction between my parents and I and as for my peers, well the teasing just went on. I remember there were a few bottom dwellers even lower on the totem pole than me, and I regret teasing them. It was like I was taking out my social rejections on them. It was a crude form of displacement and was cruel and I regret it and am sorry every day for my behavior.
I remember in junior high at Rincoln Elementary (Go Roadrunners!!) I was posed a question seemingly about 700 times a day by seemingly everybody, unfortunately. That great movie (it is pretty funny even today) Revenge of the Nerds came out in 1985 and of course everyone said, “Hey were you in that movie, Revenge of The Nerds? You’d be perfect”. I’d just drop my head and walk away hearing the echoing laughter as I did so.
Leonard Di Vinci was a brilliant scientist, designer, painter and sculptor. Well by the definitions I stated he would be a ‘nerd’ and yet he is an epitome of a Renaissance Man. If he is/was a nerd then that is company I’d like to be in.
I was also born with musical creativity so this made me a band and choir ‘geek’ or nerd while in school as well. But I love music and always will. I was made for music like a swimmer was made for water, yet a swimmer garnered more respect in those days. Of course, anyone in a rock and roll band was cool but that was pretty much it. I just tried to do what made me happy and that was performing music well or singing well. I felt like I was doing something I was meant to do, until the catcalling would start. I remember being pelted with tortillas at every football game my freshman year of high school. For some reason, we got more acceptance as the years went by and my everyone matured.
I remember one personal calling me ‘gauche’ in ninth grade. This of course means “socially awkward’ and though it stung it was highly accurate. I had been shunned for so long by so many that I really didn’t know how to fit in, even with other members of my tribe. It seemed I was even low-lying fruit in band. I would have to glom social skills of the few popular people that would (and still do) talk to me. If they only knew how much I wanted to be just like everybody else. Not unique, safely confirming like others and being treated like others. But that just didn’t happen. People became more accepting of me as I got older and mostly seem to remember me in a positive light from those older days. I sometimes wish I could be who they remember instead of who I am. I guess that is something we all battle in our lives, especially as we approach older age which is right around the corner.
I guilty, I love to read and love science. Many others I know and have known do not. I like science because it explains a lot of the origins of everything. For some reason, I was born with an insatiable curiosity about stuff and science helps spell out a lot of it so I love that. It makes me a nerd, by other people’s definition. There is nothing I can do about this one either as I will always want to know why about a great many things and I read up on them a lot.
One final area to touch on is my tastes in books and movies. I love, literature in all its forms and adore science fiction. This again forces the aforementioned label upon me. I started reading sci-fi, horror, fantasy and classic literature at a pretty young age (10). I still enjoyed the Beverly Cleary, Judy Blume and Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys books at that age too but I became a bookworm and got picked on and at for it.
Nana, where have you gone, why did you have to leave?
You were a huge part of my life since I began to breathe.
You left 8 years before your life ended, as the Alzheimer’s and dementia took your beautiful mind/personality/memory and obliterated it all.
You read all of my poetry and writings when I was a child and then as a young adult and you always encouraged me to keep at it. My first fan ❤️😊
Watching you rapidly disappear from yourself was beyond painful. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
I know if you had a choice you’d remain forever and I wish you could.
A hideous disease took away your memory of me well before that.
I miss your love and guidance.
I miss your laugh, if I try hard I can still hear it echoing in my mind.
I miss your cooking and ever so slightly broken- English.
I miss your stories of the old country.
I miss your calming energy presence in my life as these past 20 years have been challenging.
I am thankful for all you shared and showed and the mere echo of all of this is nice but nothing compared to your being here.
Thank you for building me up through those awkward horrible teenage years. It took a long time for women to get and frankly most still don’t, but I can hear you still sharply objecting to my self criticism and saying how handsome I was. Thank you for that I always felt like the greatest version of myself when I was around you.
Each time I see someone blog about their grandmother your loss hits me hard again.
So I say to everyone, love the important people in your life because they will not be a part of (in person) forever.
I wish I could hug you one more time and receive what we use to call a “nana kiss” which would leave dents on the jawbone from the shear force. 😂
I never could say goodbye and I never will.
Your love and touches on my life have made the man I am today.
So I thank you and hug you from afar but I cannot lie, it’s nothing compared to hugging you in person.
So “Rosarita Pizza Face” (family nickname) enjoy your eternity (you’ve earned it through love and sacrifice) and your rewards ❤️❤️
I worry that my writing won’t be a success. I put a lot of my heart and soul to everything I write. I want people to feel something with everything they’re right. As I’m obviously feeling tons when I write it.
I just never know how it’s gonna work out. I write many poems every day and get great responses and comments.
Then I release a short story broken down into 9 parts for the first time and I got one single comment.
You just never know you have to be determined and try and do your best and if nobody reads what you’re working on, keep writing anyway.
Another worry is that I won’t be able to enjoy my life until it’s too late. I’ve really really sacrificed a lot of happiness and joy and money for people that didn’t care. I spent 26 years with these people that I’ll never get back.
I’ve rectified that issue but now you know I’m 52 trying to figure it all out and I want to do a lot of fun and great things in this lifetime.
Basking in the warmth of the hot water jets I try and let go. The nagging guilt, someone I was once very close to gently passed away in her sleep from some infection. No chance to say goodbye or share another moment…
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Not even 52 years old, the first woman I was close to after my first exwife at the time. The first woman I knew intimately since my first ex as well.
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She was destroyed since her boyfriend/soulmate passed away 2 years ago (hell of a nice guy). She did what she needed to do to survive and it took a toll likely the ultimate one, her health and life.
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I’d rather remember her as she lived than how she died. She was a brilliant fun sarcastic bubbly gal that kept me on the edge of my toes 18 years ago. Stunning green eyes, gentle fair face with a smile that could melt the ice caps. A passionate lover and all in all great friend.
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We had a lot of fun while we dated for that small fun window in time. I hope you and your beloved are reunited in whatever next awaits us all. Goodbye, gorgeous, and rest in peace. ❤️❤️❤️
Nostalgia aside, we make our way into the gas station where I fill and top off the fuel tank well aware it’s more than enough to get home but not taking any chances.
Grab a few more drinks as I’m still dying of thirst after our enjoyable 2 mile push along interstate 10 in Arizona when it’s about 85°.
My wife looks me in the eyes and softly asks if I could drive the rest of the way home. She was very tired and sore from our misadventure (as was I).
I loved her dearly still on those days so I obliged her and she slept the remaining hour plus until we arrived home. Singing as I always did when I drove soothing her as she rested. It was another of our misadventures that I would never soon forget…
I cranked up my favorite playlist and saying all the way home while she rested peacefully in the passenger seat, our current adventure and misadventure at an end.
After I recover, I get up and help her up, grabbing the full gas can we hike the quarter mile back to our car.
Closing in, we see a state trooper is parked behind our car. We get to the car and I pour gas into the gas tank as my wife speaks to the trooper who promptly chuckles and leaves. As I start the car my wife, looks at me and again says “It looked so close didn’t it” and I sighed and replied to her “Those signs that read the exit as 2 miles away never lie but our eyes can and do”. She shrugs, shakes her head, and puts on her seatbelt as do I and we make our way to the gas station off the interstate.
Now for anyone keeping score that’s a grand total of three times in two weeks we ran out of gas. Two weeks before it had been twice in the same day where my wife had gambled and lost twice on that day…
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
We rotated giving each a short rest as pusher and steerer alternated. I never looked at the speedometer but know we were travelling at 1 mph or lest because it took us two hours to get to the exit. Unfortunately, the exit ran steeply uphill, so we were forced to leave the car off the interstate for the remaining quarter mile so we could hike down to the gas station.
Both of us very rough for the ware get to the gas station and get a gas can and pay for a gallon of gas. We also both use the restroom and purchase and gulp down several Gatorades each. I think I was wearing some of what I drank and frankly I didn’t care. Then we sat for a few minutes on the sidewalk to catch our wind. I let out a yelp as I experience a double-Charlie-horse in my right and left calves and hamstrings.
The feeling of steel bale wire tightening continues as I do all I can to straighten the muscles and release their vice like group when they finally let go and I gently site back down rubbing my legs.
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
My car refused to restart as the tank was bone dry. This is where the story gets funny, I suggest we call Road Assistance and my wife denies it and says to me “look you can see the gas station it’s not that far away”, I realize in horror of her ideas for the situation.
On the side of the Interstate with cars zooming by at 70+ MPH, I was a little nervous to be pushing this car along the shoulder not to mention I weighed in about 340 lbs. (with an A1C of about 12) in those days and my wife was not in the best of shape either.
At her insistence we’d take turns pushing and steering the car for the two miles to the exit. I cannot imagine what motorists thought of as this portly man (Mua) breathing hard and coughing as he pushes this hulk down the interstate at about 1 mile per hour or so.
I’d get so tired I’d push the card as fast as I could and then just let it roll and walk up to it and do it again. This created the illusion that I was doing less work which of course was not true.
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
We collect ourselves and my car and we begin make our back to the interstate ultimately heading east and back home to Arizona.
Swapping one desert for another, we come up on a nearby gas station and there’s a long line. My wife doesn’t want to wait plus gas was way cheaper in Arizona (it still is by the way) so she wants to get gas closer to home across the state line. I reluctantly agree recollecting the two recent occasions a we’d ran out of gas in the van.
We crank up the music and sing as we head directly into the sun as it’s rising brilliantly in the east we are travelling toward. Traffic is light as are our moods with my big win earlier and the music. After we cross back into Arizona, there is a beep in my car as there is 20 miles left in the take (according to the digital cluster).
We make our way further and I suggest that we exit at the next gas station and top off the tank. This is immediately rejected disregarded by my suddenly irritated wife who wants to move further east.
I again reluctantly agree thinking again of the two times we ran out of gas just a couple of weeks prior. What choice did I have, if I pushed further, she’d turn on me. We come up on Pahrump and see an exit two miles and change away.
This is where we will finally get gas, that is where the car decides that it is out of gas, right then and there. The gage showed 10 miles but apparently those were used up.
The car sputters and slows as the engine stalls out!!!!
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
Five minutes go by then my wife moves over to the machine next to me. I smile and I cherish the time as it’s worth more than all of the monies inside of these gambles. I robotically press “Repeat Bet” buttons (on the aforementioned Caveman Keno game) to bet faster and faster hoping to flush out that elusive jackpot when, it happens.
I watch in slow-motion as 1,4,6,8,9 then 10 out of 10 of my numbers hit, 10,000 nickels or $500.00! I hoot and holler my wife screams and we hug (an unexpected but pleasant surprise and rarity). To cap it off, I order some drinks for us from the waitress and I and I hand over my nights remaining bankroll to my wife. This was no big deal since I had $500 sitting in my machine anyway and it would give her a chance to play more.
My Long Island Iced Tea and her cranberry vodka arrive fairly quickly as is customary in most reputable casinos. We play and play and pay and play hours pass and it’s now 7:00 am. We decide to call it quits, and happily, I pull $250.00 out of the machine. This was more than double what I had brought with me, making the evening a success.
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
Making our way through the endless labyrinth of endless gambling devices and tables, we finally arrive in our favorite part of the casino jaded with shimmering nickel, penny, quarter and other denominations just waiting to take your money.
We make our way to the nickel keno machines which have moved and migrated a lot since we first graced this casino with our money a couple of years prior. We each have our favorite games.
She likes Cleopatra Keno where if the last number hits one of your numbers and surpasses a minimum to win you receive 12 free games with all payouts doubled. I like this game as well and have played it many times before and since. I sit a couple of machines over playing a keno variation of Caveman Keno I like where if the bonus eggs hit the payouts can double or even quadruple.
I set denomination to 0.05 and pick my numbers (patterned in the upper northwest quadrant of the board). I set the speed to fast and bet my usual max bet of 12 nickels a pop. I push the button and away we go. Boring as keno of any kind can be, it is all we can afford with our microscopic budget. Besides, we’ve won from time to time on these machines and anything $50 or more from a 0.40 to 0.60 bet is a nice return on investment.
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
We arrive at our destination and park letting valet take our car. Exiting the car, it’s about 11:30 PM and gentle fingers of cool desert night air greet us as we make our way inside.
We first stop at the smoke shop as my wife likes a little gambling with her cigarettes. She always gets a few packs of Native American cigarettes that neither of us have ever heard of but they are at least cheap.
Before we begin our ritual of monetary destruction. we head to the player’s club kiosk as we both lost our cards. Now before you hit me up with “Waste of time” or “they track your play and spy on you blah blah blah…” I’m going to say that they are way more worth their weight in gold and the hassle. Thanks to using those pesky cards, I basically haven’t paid for a standard hotel room in Vegas, San Diego, or Laughlin, NV in nearly 5 years now. Plus, there are a lot of freebies too.
One night a year before at the same Casino they called my name out of a drawing resulting in $500 in free-play. We make our way through the lines fairly quickly, but not quick enough for my wife.
Before I know it, my wife trips over metal corded line queue designators knocking them all down and face planting it. There was a loud clank as they all feel with her. This was a nasty spill even by my standards (king klutz that I am). I rush to her aid shooing away the gawkers and making sure she’s ok and helping her up. She looks at me with serious eyes and relief that I didn’t laugh at her. Something, she had done at my countless falls and spills in the past. I knew she was embarrassed and so I protected her as best I could.
She’s ok and I the metal cords up. I put my arm around her waist and guide her gently through the Casino triple checking that she was ok and making the same light joke I always make when I fall “At least you stuck the landing”.
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
It’s a Friday night around 9:30 PM and my wife whispers “I’m feeling froggy” in my left ear. This is a code that she wants to join me for some kind of gambling adventure away from everyone else in the house. It had been a while since we’d done anything alone together. So, I agree and get ready thankful that I hadn’t had my edibles yet. I throw on some cologne and deodorant and a shirt jeans and shoes and meet her at the base of the stairs. Since the chaotic move to Arizona with a total of 9 people it’s been far from easy and we had lost each other a lot after. She offers to her parents that we “are off to Walmart to shop and will be back very late”.
We get into my red Ford Focus zoom car and she’ll be driving (lest I hear her complain about my driving until we reach our destination). We make a mad dash and are off in a flash to our favorite California casino. It’s 2019 pre-COVID and we’ve moved from Southern California to south Central Arizona. The drive will take close 2 hours each way as luckily the Casino we like is located in far Eastern California near Desert Hot Springs. We enter the narrow two-lane highway and head through several others in the true darkness that only the desert can oblige. No lights barely reflectors on the road guiding our every move. As we reach the interstate, we head west at a feverish pace with my wife’s lead foot. As we journey closer to our destination, she has her own game of Pole Position evidently racking for the high score. I can hear that voice “Prepare to Qualify”. I cherish these moments as they were the rare exception (other than sleep) that we had a few moments together alone.
We catch up on, well pretty much everything. Light idle conversations at first making their way to more important issues. Good things bad things issues with the kids the house my father-in-law and his health issues. It’s sad that these rare moments are all we get anymore. I always tried making the most of these occasions as everyday life diverted my wife’s attention away most of the time. So, these moments were like Christmas at age 9 with a tree full of presents. Getting at least closer to the same page in those moments was the closest to happy that we’d ever be, I think.
Ok digression over, the music plays we sing laugh tell jokes and pass the 2-and-a-half-hour drive rather quickly. These were like the good old days (earlier in our life together) when we lived in north Texas and made our way to Oklahoma and the casinos housed along interstate 35 there. I cherished those times as they were few and far between back then as well. How did we lose each other? It’s hard to say, this little getaway was one of the last ones we’d have save a few in the COVID years to come, despite the challenges we’d face on our return to Arizona.
Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: Out of Gas, Again and Other Misadventures.
Anthony’s Crazy Love and Life Lessons in Empathy 