Grandchild Rick just called to remind me to finish the story I was telling all you quiet and lonely readers about the casino trip from hell. It’s little things like that which make me forget that Rick enjoys impersonating a girl throwing a medicine ball whenever we play catch.
Ok, where was I?
The bus left the Shaded Veranda of Oaks With Shade On Them Community Center in the afternoon with only myself and neighbor Harold on it. The blue hairs and other veterans and America-hating neighbors of mine were safely in the center’s craft room/fallout shelter preparing for the storm equivalent of the second coming of His Son as we passed time on the bus asking each other what the other person just said.
We arrived at the Casino and stepped off the hydraulic steps of the bus into humidity that I could have sworn tried to stop short with me. My vinyl jacket was sticking to me in the heat and Harold’s glasses fogged like that time Geri Hatrick, Harold and I snuck into Gladys’ apartment while she showered. Thankfully, we were able to park close since we brought our handicapped parking pass. Next thing you know, we’re inside the casino and on our way to Vanna White’s nurturing bosom of slots.
Two hours, two diet Pepsi’s and two cashed Social Security check later, Harold and I were back on the fun bus waiting for our driver to finish pissing underneath the LeBaron parked next to us. That’s right, he was under the car! He was all worried about security seeing him, but not wanting to run inside since he doesn’t have a license, so I told him to do what we used to do in Korea: crawl under the car, lay on your side, unzip and let it flow. Needless to say, the driver crawled out from under the LeBaron a new man. In much the same way, we were forever changed when the bus pulled out of the parking garage and onto the highway.
I swear I saw more trees uprooted and garbage strewn about the landscape than I ever saw in my ungrateful grandchild Tony’s room. It was a sight!
Shit. Jimmy, my ungrateful son who put me in this place because he secretly enjoys my sadness, is coming over so he can feel better about leaving me alone 6 days a week. We’ll just have to finish this story tomorrow.
Rick, when you’re finished with your Wednesday throwing class please give your gramps another reminder call. And start extending your arm when you throw. You don’t play with sausage-themed dolls like your sister, so stop throwing like you secretly want to set a small table with your finest china and have a damn tea party with those slutty dolls!
