Val: Portrait of a Slotaholic

Casinopalooza was a rousing success! Despite a few bumps in the road. ("Not my fault!" says Hick, "I don't control the roads! What do you want ME to do about it?")

Here was the plan, devised by my sister the ex-mayor's wife, who has been this route several times before. We would arrive in Joplin at check-in time at our hotel, then head out to hit four casinos that night. On Saturday, we'd eat at the hotel breakfast bar, and go to four different casinos, then loop back to a couple that we hit the night before. We ended up leaving off one, because Sis didn't like it the last time, saying it was a little sketchy. But we still went to SEVEN casinos. All within a 30-mile drive from Joplin.

I looked up the player's card comps at the various casinos online. The ones Sis gave me in her list of stops on Casinopalooza. In the previous times Sis and Co. have been to these casinos, they did not get a player's card. The Ex-Mayor uses his at the St. Louis casinos we go to, but Sis won't. She thinks it lessens her payout. Anyhoo...she decided that this trip, she and The Ex-Mayor were going to get player's cards.

Here's a collection of mine. It wasn't easy hiding my name on each one! There are seven we got on this trip, and three from the St. Louis area. I'm pretty sure two of them are obsolete now, since I tried one at Christmas and it didn't work, and the other casino has been under new management for many years now.

Let me tell you...that player's card decision was a scathingly brilliant idea. Here's what we got from those seven Oklahoma casinos we visited this weekend:

The Outpost - $7 new member

High Winds - $10 new member / $10 for seniors / $5 Friday night Money Monkey /
$8 Saturday Money Monkey

This is my Friday night Money Monkey, his picture taken in the car. After earning 50 points playing, you could choose a stuffed monkey with a scratch-off tag on its ear that contained between $5 and $100 in free play. We all got $5 on our Money Monkey, except for Hick, who didn't earn one Friday. On Saturday, we all got $8, and Hick got $5. There's a story about those monkeys in a future post.

The Stables - $10 new member

Buffalo Run - $5 new member

Wyandotte - $5 new member / $5 for everybody between 2:00 and 4:00 Saturday

Grand Lake - $15 new member / up to $50 if your card shows you've lost at least $50 that day

Indigo Sky - $7 new member (but they are associated with The Outpost, and we got ours there)

Downstream - $7 new member / $10 food voucher

In case you don't have a calculator handy...that's $147 in FREE PLAY that we got on this trip! Can't beat that with a stick! Of course, we can only be a new member once. But they'll probably send us some comps in the mail. The Ex-Mayor raked in even more free play, because it is his birthday month.

Of course you have to play a little bit to get your free play to activate, but not all that much. I would have spent that money at Grand Lake, even if they weren't giving me $50 free play for losing. Oh, and when I played the free credits before we left, I won $109 with it. Sweet justice! At Downstream, Sis won over $200 on her $7 free play. Good thing, because she'd been losing for a while elsewhere.

So...how did it all shake out? Let the record show that Val left Casinopalooza with every penny that she took along to play with, PLUS $505.

I can't wait to go again.

On the Road to Casinopalooza

I'm baaaaaack!

Of course you'll hear about the outcome of Val's gambling excursion. But not today! Tomorrow, perhaps. I want to take a picture, and I can't send it to myself until I go back to town and have cell reception good enough.

I have other pictures, though! From the trip. Some planned. One not. Let's start with that one, shall we?

That's Hick's belly. Let the record show that even Val will defend Hick on this one. His belly is not as big as it looks there. He jams that seat up as far as it will go, so his belly rubs against the steering wheel. He does that in every vehicle. Also appearing in this photo are Hick's phone holster on his belt, with the top flap flipped open. His leg in jeans. the earpiece of my sunglasses. The car charger cord for Hick's phone. And that's all I can make out. I did NOT take this photo surreptitiously to get back at Hick. I put my phone down in the center console, and it went crazy. I kept hearing clicking sounds. When I picked it up, Phony was taking video. I guess Genius put a spell on it before he gave it to me in exchange for a brand new phone for himself. Anyhoo...I had six identical pictures of Hick's belly. I deleted five.

On the outside of the car, we saw some big road-blockers again. This time after Casinopalooza, on the way to visit The Pony at OU. I think Hick is a road-blocker magnet. There was this thing.

We don't know what it was, but we passed it on an uphill on I-44 south of Rolla on our way to Joplin. It was movin' mighty slow, but there was that extra trucking lane for it to move over. This picture was two days later.

Our old friend had broken down in Pryor, Oklahoma. Pretty sure that's what happened. I doubt the crew was attending church, or having brunch. It was still there when we came home Monday. Any ideas what this is? I say it's part of a nuclear reactor. I could be wrong. Hick and The Ex-Mayor think it's a pipe. The Ex-Mayor said maybe it couldn't travel on weekends due to state regulations. Or that it was broken down and waiting for a new trailer. Hick said the trailer was special made, and would be repaired roadside, because it would cost too much to make a new one. I can't really prove either one of them right or wrong. So they'll say what they want and hope you believe it.

Not 30 minutes later, Hick and I came upon another giant road-blocker. Two.

Hick says they're crushers of some kind. Maybe rock crushers. I just know they slow down traffic, and might explain why the non-turnpike Oklahoma highways are like driving over a washboard in a hooptie with no shocks.

Anyhoo, now for the story of being trapped in a car riding with Hick for 18 hours, since you don't like two-parters...

Hick takes offense when all the air whooshes out of my lungs when he hits the only hole in the road, or drives over interstate land-jetsam.

"You know your noises aren't helping..."

"What did you just run over?"

"It was just a patch of dark pavement."

"That was a great big jolt for a patch of dark pavement."

"It's the road. I don't know what you think I can do about the road. You don't even have your glasses on, Val. It could have been a dog for all you know."

Leave it to Hick to lighten the mood, huh? Let's hope he could see an actual dog and avoid it. Maybe I left my glasses off because I didn't want to see what he was doing. Like sticking his finger in his ear and twisting it around and taking it out and looking at it, THEN PUTTING HIS HAND BACK ON A-CAD'S STEERING WHEEL!

"I wish you wouldn't do that. I don't want your earwax all over my steering wheel."

"What am I supposed to do? My ear itches."

"You don't have to put your waxy finger on my steering wheel."

"Then what do you want me to do."

"Wipe it on your pants or something."

Which is what Hick did. All the other times he dug around in his ear. With the same hand he used to dig into a mini bag of Lay's Beer n Bratwurst chips. I offered to hold the bag for him, since I did not want a repeat of him tilting his one-eyed head back to eat the crumbs while driving 85 mph.

"Do you have to root around like that? It's like at the movies. You grind your hand down in the popcorn and then crush it against your mouth to eat."

"I can't help it, Val. I can't get my hand in it." Hick said accusatorily. Like I made the bags, not Lay's.

I don't control the size of his hand OR the bag of chips. I didn't think it was a good time to tell him. Just in case a dog wandered across the road.

Like My Mom Always Told Me, "Honey, They're All Alike."

You'd think a man like Hick would know his way around a car. Hick LOVES cars. Always has. His first job, at the age of 13, was working at a gas station for all the soda and candy he could eat. He loves to tinker on a vehicle. A red-letter day for him would be kicking back in front of the TV to watch 12 hours of the Barrett Jackson auto auction. Hick knows his cars. Can tell you the year, make, and model just from looking at a fin or a bumper. Knows the year model changes occurred. And why.

Val knows more about cars than Hick when it comes to common sense. Like when she walked out of the garage to get in A-Cad for the start of Casinopalooza. Yes. Val had to walk through the garage to get into the car. Heh, heh. Surely you don't think Hick built a two-car garage big enough for two cars. Okay. Technically, he did. Unless you expect to have room to open the car doors without hitting the wall.

Anyhoo...I walked out and looked at the front end of A-Cad.

"That passenger side tire is too low."

"Val. The tires are fine."

"Not when the bottom looks flat."

"The tires expand as you drive. Of course they're going to look low when they're cold. I just drove it Sunday. The tires had 25 pounds of air in them when I started. And by the time I got to Genius's College Town, they had 33. See? They heat up as you drive. Just like I told you."

"I understand physics. But it's been 76 degrees. This is not a matter of the tires being so cold that there's a 7-pound difference when they heat up. Besides, 33 ISN'T 35."

"Val. The tires are fine." 

"On the side of the door, and in the manual, it says 'Inflate tires to 35 pounds.' Not to 25 pounds because they're going to heat up to 35. Nope. It says 'Inflate tires to 35 pounds.' I'm pretty sure whoever makes the cars has looked into this, and knows that tires heat up as you drive."

"There's no talking to you!"

It didn't help matters when, on the third leg of Casinopalooza, when the ex-mayor was riding right behind me, I said, "Don't you think this tire looks a little low?"

"Not really. It looks okay to me."

You guys always stick together, don't you? I didn't bother trying to reason with him.

I'm Pretty Sure...Or AM I?

Remember when I was pretty sure Hick was trying to kill me? Maybe I was just exaggerating a little. Maybe I have a vivid imagination. Silly ol' Val. That's preposterous, really. HICK trying to kill VAL? No way! Hick doesn't want to KILL Val. Hick just wants to GET RID OF Val.

We weren't 15 miles from home yet, hadn't even met up with my sister the ex-mayor's wife and the ex-mayor himself for the trek to Casinopalooza...when Hick made his true motives known.

"Why don't you just put yourself in the nursing home? Over by the lake."

"WHAT? I can't believe you! You're trying to send me to a nursing home?"

Let the record show that immediately before that, the subject of discussion (other than Hick's driving, a discussion which was kind of one-sided, totally unlike Hick's actual driving penchant of sweaving) had been getting out and doing things, and Val's concerns about her knees.

"Just go get them operated on. While we still have two insurances."

"How would I get around while I recover? I have one knee that can get me up steps. And it's the BAD knee."

"It won't kill you to stay out of the basement. You don't have to go up steps!"

"Um...HELLO! I won't be able to go in the HOUSE! There are four steps up to the porch, you know."

"Three."

"FOUR!" You'd think Hick could remember that. He's the one who built the steps by the front door and the steps by the side porch.

"Okay. Four. Why don't you just put yourself in the nursing home. Over by the lake."

"WHAT? I can't believe you! You're trying to send me to a nursing home?"

"Like where your aunt went after her hip and shoulder surgery. Rehab."

"A NURSING HOME? I'll get that pooping disease and die!"

Wait a minute...I'm pretty sure Hick IS trying to kill me!

Too Bad It Wasn't Snowing or Raining or Gloomy Night...

Because Casinopalooza disrupts the natural order of Val's retirement routine, she had to mail the weekly letters to her college boys on Thursday instead of Friday. You know. Those precious letters full of love and amusing anecdotes, infused with motherly tears, meant to be saved in a two-inch three-ring binder for perpetuity, to pore over when dear Mumsey is long gone...which Genius and The Pony rip open and toss in the wastebasket (or in The Pony's case, under the bed) as soon as they wrest their weekly cash allowance from its folds.

Because the letters would be posted a day early, it didn't matter if I drove them to the main post office hub to make them arrive in a timely manner. The dead-mouse-smelling post office was good enough today. I had every intention of carrying both letters inside and shoving them through the slot in the wall. No need to lose another one, like that time The Pony's letter with his MONTHLY expense check disappeared between Backroads and Norman, that check never to clear the bank, forcing Val into mobile deposit Not-Heaven.

I drove up in front of the dead-mouse-smelling post office to find two cars taking up the four parking spaces in front of the building. A car in slot 1, two old ladies shooting the bull in slot 2, and a car in slot 3 that had its bumper taking up half of slot 4. So much for my good intentions. I wanted to make sure my boys get their letters, but not at the cost of parking around the corner and walking more than necessary. I walk in the evenings, you know. On gravel. With a long furry torpedo launching itself at my thigh. So don't think I'm just lazy. I was conserving my energy.

Seeing that stumbling block in all of my four rightful parking spaces, I turned onto the side street to put those precious letters in the drive-up mailbox.

Hullo! What's this, then?

A dead-mouse-smelling worker was taking the mail out of the box! She had two of those big white opaque plastic tubs. The back of each of the two drive-up mailboxes were open. They were like the butt flaps on the red long johns. Flipped open. Relieving themselves of precious mom-letters for other families' college boyses.

The mail-scooper saw me pull up. It's kind of hard to miss T-Hoe. Especially from two feet away. All that separated us was the girth of two U.S. Mailboxes. Even though she saw me pull up, Mail Scooper snatched that white opaque plastic tub out of the Mailbox's rear. So that if I put my two precious letters in the beak of that mailbox, they would slide down onto the bottom, and be covered with the white opaque plastic tub when she put it back in to catch future mail.

Let the record show that the mail goes out at 11:00 from this location. It didn't matter to me if my precious letters went out at that time. They had an extra day, per my usual schedule. I did not, however, want them to fall to the bottom and be covered up and never seen again.

"Oh, can you take my two letters?"

All Mail Scooper had to do was unbend her elbow and close her thumb and forefinger upon my two precious letters. She didn't have to lean. She didn't have to do any heavy lifting. Elbows are made to bend, you know. And unbend.

Well. You'd think I expected Mail Scooper to drive a rickety 1940s model truck up a winding mountain road not big enough for two autos to pass, hanging two tires over the abyss, then, upon reaching the end of the road at the top of the summit, hack her way to the other side with a machete, scale a bare rock face, spend the night suspended in a tent hanging from pitons, then after sunrise, build a rope bridge worthy of Indiana Jones to cross to the next peak to take my two precious letters from my hand.

"After I get this mail out!"

No need to bite my head off. It's not like I was revving the engine, or slapping her across the face with my envelopes. It was a simple request. I guess I was supposed to sit there until she put the mailboxes back together, then drop my precious letters inside so they could lay there for the next 23 hours and 59 minutes.

Is it wrong of me to wish for the trifecta of snow and rain and gloom of night to befall that dead-mouse-smelling wench the next time she performs that well-paid chore?

Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #51 "The Car of Different Colors"

Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday. I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. This week, Val takes inspiration from the esteemed Ms. Dolly Parton, and gives you the story of a lad who set off from humble beginnings to seek his fortune in the music industry. Val herself is seeking a fortune, so cough up some spare fake change to fake-buy her latest fake book. Come on! Dig through the couch cushions. Be brave. Stick your hand up under the seats of the car. Don't be sendin' Val any petrified cheeseburgers! Do without your daily coffee purchase (but not 44 oz Diet Coke) and put that expendable income in Val's virtual pocket.

The Car of Different Colors

Wally Barton just hit the big time. His latest (and only) single is #12 on the country charts. He's been invited to perform at The Brand New Opry. It's a dream come true for Wally. He grew up so poor that the only time he ever got a good meal was Halloween, when kids egged his house.

The day he turns 18, Wally packs up his hooptie and heads for the city. He soon gets a job playing rhythm guitar and singin' the third, and makes friends with a boy named Sue, and a girl whose father toils in the anthracite business.

Wally is a bit nervous about his upcoming performance. He took a few liberties with a well-known classic, and he's afraid somebody from an older generation might recognize it. Will Wally be the next big thing? Or will he be handed his own ass in a plagiarism lawsuit? (150 words)
______________________________________________________________________

Lyrics for Wally's big song:

The Car of Different Colors

Back through old times I go wanderin' once again
Back to the era of my teens
I remember a box of parts someone gave us
And how my daddy put the parts to use

There was parts of different colors, and every one a scrap
I didn't have a car and without one I was crap
Daddy welded the parts together, weldin' every one with love
He made my car of different colors that I was so proud of

As he welded, he told a story from TV, then he assessed
How Dolly wore a coat of rags, but felt that she was blessed
"Perhaps this car will get you laid, or a simple girl to kiss,"
I couldn't wait to drive it, and Daddy christened it with a piss

My car of different colors that my daddy made for me
Made from only junk, but I drove it so proudly
Although I had no friends, 'cause I was stubborn as could be
I revved my car of different colors that my daddy made for me

So with scratches on my bumpers, holes in my floorboards
In my car of different colors, I flipped off those high school hordes
Cause I saw those punks a-laughing, and poking fun at me
In my car of different colors that my daddy made for me

I could understand that, since I sure was nowhere rich
I told them that my daddy was one ol' tough son of a bitch
And I told 'em of my daddy's hopes to help me get a girl
And why my car of different colors might help me make it in the world

They didn't understand it, though I tried to make them see
By backing up over their bikes, and looking out for me

It's true they filed some charges, for some pretty hefty fees
But the car of different colors, that my daddy made for me...
Enabled me to flee

__________________________________________________________________

Fake Reviews for Val’s Fake Book

Dolly Parton..."Something about the theme of this fake book struck a chord with me. It takes a lot of talent to write this bad. I'd say Thevictorian is loaded with talent! Hey, Val! I know you're readin' this. If anybody calls you a sexist egotistical lying hypocritical writer...don't sweat it. We ALL know you're not a writer."

Johnny Cash..."This book would certainly make flames lick higher in a burning ring of fire. That's about the best thing I can say about it. I reckon life ain't easy for a writer-gal named Val. Does anybody know if she's going to Reno with her book tour?"

Loretta Lynn..."I know about as much about writin' books as I know about makin' a pie. Ya cain't let it get too salty, or ain't nobody gonna want to buy it. And a book cain't be too full of baloney, either, because...well...ha ha, you know what they say about baloney, dontcha? I don't think this here writer could find the right mix of salt and baloney to make this here fake book work." 

Sue..."Wally Barton is the luckiest guy I know! His dad gave him a car! Sure, it was made out of parts found at the side of the road after an accident, or liberated late at night from the curb of folks who done him wrong...but it's a CAR, man! All my daddy left me was an old guitar and an empty bottle of booze. This was a great story about a father's love for his son. I'm gonna buy a copy for my dad. I'll give it to him the next time I break a chair across his teeth and he cuts off a piece of my ear."

Former Classmate of Wally Barton..."That's my bike! I'll get you, Barton!"

Church Mouse..."The Bartons were poorer than me. I hope Thevictorian's story helps Wally get a nibble from an agent, so he can afford a pot to pee in."

Church Key..."Like myself, I see this fake author as obsolete. The only market for her fake books will be pretentious hipsters who, in wanting to appear different, all fall into the same category."

Casinopalooza is Imminent

I am writing up a storm trying to stockpile material to keep you entertained during Casinopalooza. Like a meteorologist-hyped storm, my writing may be spotty at best. There could be isolated areas of mediocrity, and perhaps a wide swath of damage (which hopefully will not result in broken limbs). I'll still check in at night to put out and answer the comments. WAIT! Let me rephrase that: I'll still check in at night to put out the comments and answer them. I'll be watching you...every single day...every word you say...I'll be watching you.

Of course you will still be treated to Book Blurb Friday! It's already in the can, baby! Perhaps the earliest it has ever been completed. I got it ready on TUESDAY NIGHT!!! All set to post on Friday. Enjoy. [DISCLAIMER: the updated link to Sioux's blurb may or may not be activated in a timely manner.]

We are heading out not-so-bright and not-so early-tomorrow. The weather is supposed to take a turn for the colder, and I'll be missing 1-3 inches of snow here on Saturday. Dang you, Mother Nature! Dang you all to Not-Heaven! Do you know how long I've been waiting for winter? Since NOVEMBER, by cracky! And now I'm going to miss it. Funny how we're heading west, but we're not going to be driving into that weather. It's due to hit Genius in College Town on Saturday, too. I think The Pony will miss it.

Yes, Hick and I are off to meet up with my sister the ex-mayor's wife, and the ex-mayor himself, for a whirlwind tour of the concentrated gaggle of Indian Casinos just across the border in Oklahoma. They must know how much we Show-Me folks love our gambling.

Sis goes there a couple times a year. Hick and I have only been to a casino in Norman, while visiting The Pony. Sis gave me the list of properties they hit. Of course I looked up their player's club cards to see if we can get free play. Aha! IF we join every one of them on that list she gave me, AND we can figure out how to use the free play loaded on the cards...we stand to have $100 worth of free credits apiece. Sure, some places only give $5 worth. But one gives $50 in free play as long as you play $50 of your own money first. Not a problem!

For $5 of free play, I can be a high roller and take one spin on a $5 machine. Or I can play five spins on a $1 machine. Or twenty spins on a quarter machine. Or fifty-five full spins on a penny machine with nine lines...or...well...let's just say that Val may turn into the Bubba Gump of slot machine free play, providing you with endless ways to lose your free money!

Stick around. You'll still have a fresh post every day. And as time permits, or maybe after I return...you're sure to get a full report on Casinopalooza!