4:44 p.m. - 2002-12-31
Life as a House
Final score: Vegas-250 Edgar-0
I came home $250 down from those pesky roulette tables.
I lost $80 of the $250 in one night at the Hard Rock.....actually, it was more like $80 in five minutes. I bet $20 at a time on Red, Red, Red, Red.
It hit Black, Black, Black, 00....
I should've listened to Wesley Snipes in that Passenger 57 movie. "Always bet on black"....
Oh well.
That's life.
I didn't get laid either. Nor did I visit a single strip club to get a lap dance from the lovely young strippers.
I mostly just drank and gambled.
The women in Vegas aren't my style much. They are all looks, and no touch.
They are a bunch of Mona Lisas.
They should be behind glass.
When you go into a place like the Hard Rock, you're surrounded by young ladies baring their cleavage, low-cut jeans falling off their asses exposing their thongs to the world, breast implants, collagen implants, you name it.
A skinny slob like me, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of baggy jeans with frayed bottoms doesn't stand a chance in this environment....not when I'm surrounded by Ricky Martin lookalikes wearing sparkly glitter shirts and Dockers, showing off their bulging pectoral muscles.
The Mona Lisas in Vegas flock to those guys like moths to a flame.
They figure a slob like me must be lost to be in a place like that. They figure I'm there because I'm trying to scrounge money for a taxi.
Little do they know that I have a wallet full of Benjamin Franklins that I've devoted to whiskey and roulette.
Another thing I noticed in Vegas.....If you're a guy, the more fancy-shmancy you're beard/goatee, the more trendy and upper class you appear to be, thus pulling the Vegas bimbos towards you like a fucking tractor beam.
Guys have gay-ass tribal designs and all sorts of shit carved into their beards. Sideburns that come down into spiky points above their lips and what not.
Whatever.
Shaving is a pain in the ass.
I'm not going to spend an hour each morning carving an intricate design into my fucking facial hair.
Let me see a girl shave her bush into a fucking tribal design, and then maybe I'll consider wasting my time turning my goatee into a piece of art. Let me see you shave a happy face into your pussy hair, bitch, and then maybe I'll make some cute design with my sideburns.
Next time I go to Vegas, I gotta remember to take a gay-ass sparkly shirt.
In other news, I actually READ the label of a bottle of my favorite whiskey, while I was sober, and I noticed that it is called Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey, not Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey. And it is brewed at the Jack Daniel distillery......Named after a fellow by the name of Jack Daniel.
Not Jack Daniels, as I had previously thought.
Although, I really could've figured it out earlier if I had thought about it. But I never thought about it.
So, his last name is Daniel. And it's his whiskey. So it's Jack Daniel's whiskey......
Grammar.
I tried to go back and fix my old diary entries where a mistake had been made. That's how anal I am about my diary.
And, by anal, I mean anal-retentive....you sick slobs.
In other news: One year ago today I was in Germany. One year ago to the exact minute, I was having sex in Germany with a beautiful, blonde German girl.
Although it is currently 4:44 p.m. on New Year's Eve here in San Diego, it is 1:44 a.m. on New Year's Day in Germany right now. They are 9 hours ahead of California. So they already rang in 2003. So, last year, when I rang in 2002 over there, it was only 3 p.m. here in San Diego. So, my year actually ended an hour and 45 minutes ago, when the clock struck 3 p.m.....That marked one year since MY 2002 began.
But, now I have to wait till midnight.....to let the rest of California catch up to me. Which makes 2002 one of the longest years of my life....9 hours longer than my average year.
Not counting leap years.
By the same token, 2001 would be the shortest year of my life....nine hours less than my average year.
Not counting 1978....which was less than three months long for me.
Are you with me still?
Jesus...For somebody who figures out unnecessary bullshit statistics, numerological computations, and mathematical calculations in my head, you sure would think I'd be a little better at the fucking roulette tables.
I need to set up my own fucking casino, where people can come and bet money on pointless facts and statistics about my life....
"I bet $20 that you've slept with more brunettes than blondes, Edgar!!"
"Ooooh, sorry....More blondes actually. The $20 is mine."
"Edgar, 40 bucks says the hottest temperature you've ever been in was 118 degrees!"
"Ooooh, sorry....It was actually 131 degrees! Better luck next time, pal."
I bet I'd win every time.
House always wins.
