On Gambling

First, have you checked out my guest post at Triton Cove yet? You HAVEN'T? Tsk. Well go and read it now. I'll wait.

Are you back? Awesome.

I've never been much of a gambler. Personally, I'd rather stick my money in a cash register and take home shoes.

KACHING! I'm a winner every time!

And my feet look fabulous.

I grew up 3 hours from Las Vegas and have family there. So you'd think spending plenty of time waltzing through casinos growing up, I'd have developed a taste for gambling. But not so.

My mom, she loves the nickel slots. Loves to pull the lever. Thinks she'll hit the jackpot. But slot machines aren't as fun anymore anyway. You don't get piles of coins spilling out from the machine; you can a little receipt to cash in. What fun is that?

For my 21st birthday (after the parties in Los Anegels where my cousin took me out dancing and got me rightfully drunk), I was forced to participate in the family tradition of going to Vegas. My mother made me gamble. Made me. Gave me twenty bucks and threw me at the roulette table. Nevermind that I had absolutely no idea how the game worked. I only bet ten dollars and lost it all in one shot. That was painful.

I spent the rest on a chocolate eclair. That was worth it.

My dad, he likes the blackjack. Has a whole system where he puts his gambling money in one pocket and his winnings in the other. When the first pocket is empty, he quits. Smart man, my pop.

Then there's the poker. What is the obsession with poker? I get the classic game of 5 card stud. My dad taught me as a kid. I know all the different hands and all that jazz. What I don't get is the betting. When to bet. When to call. I totally get when to fold. And what the hell does double down even mean? Totally sounds like a dance step to me.

And don't get me started on Texas Hold Em. I have a childhood friend who deals Texas Hold Em and I have yet to fully get the intricate dance that is that damn game.

And why should I? Whyyyy? Why do I have to learn how to gamble properly? It is not my life's goal to one day be a pit boss in a major casino (or even a minor one). Though if I were, I'd totally spot the underage punks think they can fool me with a fake ID I know your game get out of here, punkasses!

Excuse me, I got a little carried away for a sec.

 However (insert brilliant segue), despite my disdain for gambling (and it's really only a disdain for my own gambling...you all have a blast. I'll be in the buffet.), I am a bit of a gambler sometimes.

I've walked out on careers and started all over from scratch. I've given my heart freely without any guarantee of a return on my investment (and failed, but I don't ever seem to learn). I've tried new things without any instruction except my own instincts. I've packed up my whole life and moved to a new state without anything waiting there but a wonderful friend and the hope for a fresh start.

I may not see the point of gambling with my money. But I've certainly and readily gambled at life.

I don't always win, but I always seem to go back for more. Hrm. That's maybe not the best strategy. Maybe I'm a life addict!

That was way deep, yo!

Are you barfing?

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SO, that was a Word Up, Yo post. 

I think you see me participate in these from time to time. 

I was even dubbed a Made Man in the Nerd Mafia from this post last year.

And now you can be in the Nerd Mafia too AND help me get promoted! 

Plus, I know you SO want to particiapte because it's totally fun. 

Yes! Do it!

Here are the rules:

So, if I recruit one person to join Word Up, Yo! I get a promotion. 

If I recruit two or more people to participate, I am will get a generous bump to Capo 

To have a post count in the recruitment challenge it must:

1. Use one of this week’s words (listed below)

2. Link up to Word Up, Yo!
3. Mention the name and/or blog of the person who recruited them. (THAT'S ME!)

4. (I added this one) Go follow the Nerd Mafia Dons at their blogs:

A Belle, A Bean, and  Chicago Dog

Taming Insanity

Mommy of a Monster (I mean toddler) and Infant Twins

How YOU can get made: use any of the Vegas themed words below. 

As always, the best post gets jumped in to our cozy little Mafia Family.

kaching!

jackpot

winner winner, chicken dinner

roulette

double down

gamble

pit boss

Those Asshat Starving Students

I have my things! Well, most of my things anyway. I have my bed! And last night was the best night's sleep I've had since like July. Ahhhhhhh I love my bed. And my cats are stoked too. They are so happy and have been sleeping and bounding all over the boxes and furniture.

So soft and cozy!

But, like I said, some of my things didn't make it.

And thus it is time to tell the tale of my mountains of crap and the extraordinary logistics of moving it all from So Cal to Portland.

When I decided to move to Portland, I couldn't afford to rent a big truck. I could only afford a trailer. So the plan was to sell most of my stuff off and then hook the trailer to my car (which I want to drive up anyway) and drive it up myself.

My father, however, was extremely worried about leetle ol' me wielding a trailer for 18 hours. And rightfully so. My wielding anything that unwieldy is a frightening proposition. Is the word wield starting to sound weird to anyone else? Wield. Wield. Wield.

Anyway.

He proposed this (and had to really talk me into it): he wanted to hire movers (my dad is a notorious cheapskate so he obv meant business), but in order to do so, would have to borrow against his 401k. But he couldn't do that until August. I was moving in July. In fact,  I had already given notice on my house and at my job. So we decided to put all my crap (still sold some of it) in storage in So Cal and I drove up without it.

In late August, my dad got the funds, waiting for them to clear in his bank, and about 2 weeks ago, started calling moving companies. We chose Starving Students because they seemed nice and were inexpensive (well, in comparison).

I guess you get what you pay for. Let it be known: never hire an asshat company.

They got squirrely pretty early on. First they said they'd call us with a 2-12 day window of when they would pick up and deliver. Ummmm, not okay with me as we all have lives and things to work around. Never mind that my dad would have to take off work and drive 45 minutes to my storage space to open it for them so it makes it hard if we don't have a specific time.

Then they gave him a pickup time last Thursday at noon. When they didn't arrive at noon, my dad called them and they hemmed and hawed, "aw man, we have another pickup, it'll be at 3." So he waited. Until 3. Nothing. They called him, "aw man, it's going to be tomorrow instead." Excuse me? My dad took off work to come down and they couldn't even make the appointment on the same day? He told them as much and they promised to show up the next day.

They did show up that time. BUT (and a very large but indeed), they had picked up someone else's stuff already. The truck was over half full. So then they squeeze my stuff on, but my couch, TV, books, and book shelves wouldn't fit. For the record, my dad had told them how much stuff I had and the dimensions. And if the truck wasn't mostly full, it would've fit.

Now, if it were me, I would've had them unload the truck and said we'd go with another company. But my dad is not me. He figured it was already loaded, so may as well send it down and he'd yell at the company and they'd send the rest for free.

Now, this sounds like a scam to me. They knew my stuff wouldn't fit. And if they'd picked mine up first, someone else would've been screwed instead. And they load it up and go, oh no it doesn't fit! Like you're gonna unload it after that. Bullshit.

I guess my dad talked to them today and threatened litigation (it takes a lot to piss my dad off enough for him to do that) and they were like, "go ahead and sue." So he's calling the supervisor before anything else. But we may end up in small claims court.

But it's not just that. Now I have to pay another month of storage. And if it was just furniture, I'd say sell it. But it's my books. And my picture albums. And yearbooks. I just can't lose those.

So the moral of the story is? Never hire Starving Students! Spread the word.  I'm starting a boycott. Never hire Starving Students!

Because they're total asshats.

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UPDATE: Starving Students agreed to move the rest of my stuff for free if we pay the weight (which we would have paid anyway). Hooray!!

this random girl

random
–adjective
1. proceeding, made, or occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern: the random selection of numbers.
2. Statistics . of or characterizing a process of selection in which each item of a set has an equal probability of being chosen.
3. Building Trades .
a. (of building materials) lacking uniformity of dimensions: random shingles.
b. (of ashlar) laid without continuous courses.
c. constructed or applied without regularity: random bond.
–noun
4. Chiefly British . bank3 ( def. 7b ) .
–adverb
5. Building Trades . without uniformity: random-sized slates.
—Idiom
6. at random, without definite aim, purpose, method, or adherence to a prior arrangement; in a haphazard way: Contestants were chosen at random from the studio audience.

This week's word of the week is random. Geez, how the hail am I supposed to use that in a new way? I already have a random thoughts post that I churn out randomly (in keeping with the definition). I already pepper my speech with randoms, even when I don't actually mean it was random per se. I really mean it was unexpected or strange.

But then I remembered, I just watched Creation this weekend. That movie with Paul Bettany (swoon) about Charles Darwin. It's not what I thought it would be about, less about the science and more about Darwin's emotional and philosophical struggles when writing Origin of the Species. It was excellent, anyway, I mean Paul Bettany (swoon). 'Nuf said.

But the film has had me thinking about life lately. How up until 150 or so years ago (that rhymed. hehe), destiny was the name of the game. Darwin changed all the rules. Forget about killing god, or whatever, what it came down to was fate, destiny, a plan, versus the random. And for the last century and a half, it's been two camps: religion vs science. Yes? Still with me?

(Oh dear, I fear this post is turning into something frighteningly esoteric and maybe even a little preachy. Sorry about that. I'll try to make my point quickly. Also: I won't pretend to be a Darwinian expert. Just go read about him yourself.)

But religion is just a code word for the comfort of a plan. I'm not knocking that. It's appealing. We all know I don't believe in a god. But it's not about god, really. Whatever your beliefs, I commend you for sticking to them, but I can bet they contain some element of a plan. It's about not feeling alone in the universe. We as humans have a consistent need to feel safely on a preset path. Whether by god or gods or stars or simply fate or destiny.

(Here is where the believers start condemning my soul to hell. I know. I spent 9 years in a Christian school. And here is where I say: hey, if there is a god, color me corrected. But I prefer to live my way.)

Instead of randomly banging around the universe without any known course other than survival.

What's interesting is that I don't find the latter all that scary. I find destiny scary. I find the idea that everything is laid out before me and I need to read the signs or make the right decisions in order to stay on the "right path." Or whatever. The idea that my choices mean nothing other than deviating from my set destiny disturbs me. Makes me feel imprisoned.

Maybe it's my rebellious spirit, but I've always been drawn to ideas that color outside the lines. To birds outside of cages. To animals outside of zoos.

I like the idea of randomness. I like the idea that my choices mean something. That every step I take makes a change in whatever path I choose. That survival is the one major rule. That maybe survival includes societal mores or normatives, but that's what we work around. I like the connectivity of species and each generation of life affecting the next. I like to think that humans aren't preordained to survive on this rock, but each choice we make changes the next and the next and the next.

I've lived my life in that way, I suppose. On some level, I've bounced around, taking life, as random as it is, as it comes. When I feel the need for change, I decide to change. My personality be damned. I'm organized. Anal retentive. Detail oriented. I should like the set path. No random variables. No haphazard life for me. Right? Bullshit. I'm a complicated being. I'm changeable and moody. I like my clothes organized and my life a series of random events. I chart my own course and I'll deviate at will.

Who I was 10 years ago is not who I am today and who am I today is not who I'll be 10 years from now.

And who's to say that I'm making my own path? That I'm, as Nelson Mandela put it, the master of my fate, the captain of my soul? Who is to say? There's no way to really know. But I like the idea very much.

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shiftless, lackadaisical, slothful. ANTONYM rambunctious

I don't have kids. Nope. Don't. Or hadn't you noticed in all this time reading the asinine words I vomit onto my computer (ew. Okay, so I wanted to write: that I vomit onto paper. But that would've been inaccurate.)? Hadn't you noticed that I never write about children, unless it's my bestie's son Ethan or the baby lust I am stricken with?

You didn't notice?

Weirdo.

So yeah, no kiddos here.

But I was once a child myself, believe it or not (those may be the exact words my dad used many, many times). I did. The crazy lady was once a crazy child. And I totes was a crazy child. A little compartmentalized (which is a nice way of saying it).

I was actually pretty shy, but not allowed to be. I wanted to read or create pretend worlds alone in my bedroom, but instead spent most of my time trying to be my mother's little star.

Wait, how did this post get to be about my mom?

Back on track...I was somewhat shy. But also hyper. Not rambunctious, per se. No. And not ADD either (ADHD hadn't been invented yet). I could certainly focus my brain  to the point of not being able to hear anything going on around me if I so chose.

I just couldn't sit still. A fidgeter. Constantly in motion. It was a good thing I had 5 different dance classes, soccer, swimming, and horseback riding, because I liked to move. But that didn't necessarily get the energy out; it wasn't excess energy that was the problem. In the grocery store, I'd dance down the aisles (you mean they don't make them that long for that express purpose?). At school, I'd tap my feet under my desk or fiddle with whatever I could find. I just couldn't stop.

Okay, so maybe that does qualify as rambunctious. But, I never caused trouble. I was that know-it-all good little girl teacher's pet Hermione-type.

I was a talker though. Notes to my parents from teachers always read: bright but talks a lot.

Are you beginning to understand me a little better? So I was this insane, shy little child who was scared of new things, but once you got me going wouldn't shut up and couldn't sit still if you paid me.

Cut to today: lazy ass biotch who has been lazing in bed until 10 and 11 every day accomplishing jack squat (Who is Jack Squat? Is he cute?). Unemployment is truly delicious. Except for the whole no income part.

But it's enjoyable as all hell.

Today? I am the opposite of rambunctious.

I think that's called getting old.



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Plethora of Periods

I have this chronic condition. It's debilitating sometimes. Interrupts my quality of life. I should get a prescription for medical marijuana for this condition. Or lithium. Do they still prescribe lithium?

I have The Period.

Yeah, so the boys might not want to read on. Just sayin'.

Started my period today, which means I spent a better part of my day at Disneyland yesterday stressing about starting and dealing with the insanity that comes just before I start. Seriously, the time right before I release the craken of blood is what I like to call the Hormone Death Trap Vortex of Insanity and Pain. Not to mention how effing inconvenient it is to have cramps and a case of the crankies and have to keep checking to see if you've started while you're also trying to live your life and even have fun (imagine that!).

Side note: I did have fun yesterday! It was just dampened by my fucking period. Yo.

Don't get me started on how much The Period sucks big giant sweaty monkey ass. I can't think of an upside. How to explain for those who don't have The Period (though if those lucky souls are still reading, I'd be damn surprised.)? I've already mentioned how Period is such a wimpy ass title for what it really is. How about the All Consuming Week of Pain and Horror and Blood. Sound right?

This is probably because of the "plethora," or my "morbid condition due to excess of red corpuscles in the blood or increase in the quantity of blood." Or perhaps it's just a plethora of blood itself. Or a plethora of insane fucking hormones. Or a plethora of cranky pants. Or a plethora of pinatas. 

Note: these symptoms differ in type and severity from woman to woman. Beware the man who assumes PMS. I say this for your own good.

This is my experience:

Cranky Pants. Most of the time (though not always), I know The Period is coming (even without a calendar) because I just want to cinch up my cranky pants and settle into a spectacular pout. I want to revel in my snarky nature, make fun of absolutely everything and drip disdain at the rest. I'm really happiest at that point curled up in bed in my fave pink sweatpants with my hair piled on top of my head, watching terrible movies, and eating ungodly amounts of ice cream and chips. Oh the sweet and salty (but I'll get to food in a bit). The Cranky Pants lasts into The Period, but really morphs into something more evil once it's actually begun. Then it's like an entire closet of cranky pants. You could even say I have a...plethora of cranky pants.

Pregnant Belly. I bloat. Like a motherfucking pregnant blow fish. Never mind that I feel fat and unattractive, because I wouldn't want anyone touching me anyway (ew), but the fact that I'm two sizes bigger just adds to the endless discomfort. And with a belly like this, I'd like something to show for it. Something like, oh, I don't know, how about a goddamn fetus? Instead I have water weight. A plethora of water weight. Who wants to coo at that? I'll tell you who. Nobody. Surprising, I know. I know. But, the one upside is my boobs get huge. Well, not huge by normal standards and certainly not by Hollywood standards (as Pam Anderson doubles over in laughter at my "huge" boobs), but huge for ME. Not that that matters, because they're so fucking tender that if someone touched them right now, I might punch him in the Larynx.

Vice of Death, aka cramps. Oh the motherfucking pain! I've had a plethora of horrendous cramps since my very first Period. It's because of some complicated medical reasons I need not bore you with, except to say that they are awful. As a teen, I'd get cramps so bad I'd pass out. Be debilitated for days, walking was difficult. I manage them now, but it still fucking hurts, feel like someone is squeezing a vice around my entire midsection whilst a little Nazi is kicking me from the inside with steel-toed boots. And THAT makes me cranky as all hell. Which brings me to...

The Screaming Banshee. Once I'm in the throes of The Period, I am in so much pain (a plethora of pain) that I cannot deal with any stress or extraneous thinking. Cannot. Deal. So don't bother me with it. Don't bother me with it. Also, don't touch me. Maybe even consider not looking at me. Otherwise I may just transform into the Screaming Banshee and carry your soul to hell.

Then there is hormone brain. I believe I may have mentioned earlier the plethora of hormones? Oh yeah, there's a plethora all right. Of crazy-making, brain-frying hormones. I've heard some women talk about pregnant brain...well, I don't know anything about that (obviously!), but I do know that during my period, an evil little army of hormones starts switching off the synapses in my otherwise brilliant brain and I cannot think to save a dying unicorn. I mean, really. I probably shouldn't be allowed to drive at this point, but how else is a girl to get to work? Where I will need to do things that require more thinking? That will most likely have to do with using my out of service brain?

Right.

It's a miracle of evolution that humanity still exists even with The Period. I'm just saying it's amazing this many men still live into their reproductive years and women actually mate with them despite the plethora of hormones and banshees and cranky pants and vices of death. I really do feel for the men of this world. They have no idea.

No. Idea.

Oh yeah, I was gonna talk about food. Eating. Yup, The Period makes me want to hoover up vast quantities of fat content and salty calories like a hungry, hungry hippo on death row. It's disgusting. And also amazing. There is never a plethora of food in my house so there is also always a level of disappointment when I realize that if I want to calm the hungry beast within, I will have to leave my lair. And that will probably require shoes. And a hat, if I don't want to scar children for life.

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Shout out to the Nerd Mafia! Which I discovered through Taming Insanity. They started this word game WOW! and I couldn't resist participating because of this week's word. Can you guess what it was? It's one of my favorite words of all time.