The Evils of Gambling

I am reallllllly glad that I have SOME semblance of self-control, or I'd go broke. Harrah's in New Orleans (oops, "N'awlins"--my bad) is a really beautiful place. That being said, it is tighter than a nun's twat.

I set a limit per day on how much I will spend. When that is gone, stick a fork in me. Somedays it lasts through the night. Other days, like today, it is gone in a couple of hours. I wander from machine to machine, sniffing for one that is attractive to me. I feel like a dog sprinkling my money into various slots, marking where I've been.

I used to kick ass in Black Jack, but I just can't remember all of the tricks, like when to stay or when to hit. And the tables move VERRRRYYYY quickly down here. I don't even have time to add up the value of my cards before it's my turn to bet. Heh. I STILL blame it on the chemotherapy I had 8 years ago, no matter WHAT the studies say about it not affecting the brain.

I haven't been able to find the "Black Jack Table for Retarded Folks" yet. I might stand a chance, although I would NEVER be able to tell any of you that I got my ass seriously kicked by tards!

I HAVE, however, found an African American Dwarf Convention down here. No shit! I don't know if there is a formal association, but I have never seen so many tiny black people in one place. Ever. Come to think of it, I haven't seen hoards of that many tiny people EVER, with the exception of "Wizard of Oz." They were all falling-down drunk too, though. How ironic is that?

I really need to get out more.