Lift a Glass and Drink a Toast, to the Man Who Cannot Change His Stripes, and Refuses to Hide Behind a Mask

Just when you think he can't get any more eccentric, can't buy anything stranger than a stuffed zebra...

and freaky metal masks...

Hick goes and buys himself some chocolate beer. And cherry, too, I think. This picture in the back of Hick's Trailblazer does not do it justice. Because it's a picture taken by Hick.

Oh, he's not going to drink it! He's going to SAVE it! Display it! Where nobody sees it but himself. I suppose there are worse vices. He could be DRINKING it, and falling off the wagon every night. Even though he's not ON the wagon. He also bought himself a big ol' bottle of...uh...some kind of whiskey. Jameson, maybe. I don't think it's unusual. Don't know why he bought it. That bottle has been sitting next to a half empty (or as Hick would see it, half FULL) bottle of...um...some other kind of whiskey (I'd be a terrible eyewitness if somebody broke in here and stole them) on the kitchen counter for a couple of months.

A little online research showed that a gift pack like this of the cherry lager sold for $20. I also saw the chocolate lager gift pack for $17.99. Hick paid $10 apiece for them. One link showed something about the cherry lager in 2007. Surely they're not THAT old! I don't think they would be any good, do you? Of course, I doubt that Hick will drink them.

They're collector's items, you know...

Weirdo With the Black Box, Black Box, Black Box, Weirdo With the Black Box Drawn

No trip to the casino is ever complete without a weirdo encounter. At least for Val.

Sunday, I had just settled myself down at a Dancing Drums slot in the back of the casino. It wasn't an isolated area. Still by a main walkway. There were three of the Dancing Drums, arranged in a circle. It's hard to find them open, and I snagged one and started playing. I sensed a woman on my right getting up from her slot, but since I'd just started, I didn't consider switching to it. Within seconds, a man sat down there.

Again, I wasn't paying attention to anything other than my machine. I just noticed the action because I don't have tunnel vision, and I've spent a career making myself aware of what's happening on the periphery. I noted that it was a man, dressed in black shirt and black pants, fairly tall, with a beard. All this without looking directly at him.

"Did you get your bracelet?"

Huh? What? Was this guy talking to ME? He seemed to be facing my way. I glanced up.

"What?"

Val is not one to beg someone's pardon. DarkMan should have been begging MY forgiveness for distracting me from losing.

"Did you go through the line back there to get a bracelet?"

What in the Not-Heaven? A bracelet? Like for free food and drink at a PRIVATE PARTY? That's what came to my mind first. A shiny foil-paper bracelet snapped onto your wrist for entrance to a special event. Like we get at one of the Oklahoma casinos during CasinoPalooza.

"No..."

I looked at DarkMan. Breaking my cardinal rule of DO NOT ENGAGE with weirdos. DarkMan held out a black, velvet/velour box the size of a sandwich. One that snaps open, like a ring box. Only way bigger. It had gold piping along the edges that came together. He stopped short of opening the fancy box.

"I don't think I was supposed to get one."

I shook my head, and gave a half-smile. Just to be polite. And then went back to ignoring DarkMan. He pulled the box back, and started playing his Dancing Drums.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

I'm pretty sure I would remember an offer for a free bracelet, unless somebody stole it out of my mailbox. I'm also pretty sure that people with player's cards at a higher level than mine and Hick's get better offers that we'll never hear about.

Then again, what IF...

What if there was no offer of a free bracelet, and DarkMan was some kind of perv? I didn't see anyone else in the casino carrying one of those draped-in-velvet boxes. And believe me, I would have. For cryin' out loud, people don't even take their free gift of giant American Tourister wheeled suitcases out to the car. So I'm sure there would have been plenty of players carrying around this free bracelet for me to see. It's not like it would fit in a pocket, nor likely that a lady could fit both hers and her husband's free bracelet into one purse. Unless it was a really big purse. And nobody I know carries a giant purse into a casino. Just a small, over-the-shoulder gambling purse is the norm, if you take one at all.

Why was DarkMan chatting me up? Am I Everywoman, an archetype people trust and want to befriend? Do I look like I am eager to talk to complete strangers? NOT-HEAVEN, NO! I don't even take my eyes off my slot machine. I swear, DarkMan's rump barely had time to warm the chair before he quizzed me. Do I look like a jewelry appraiser? I don't even wear jewelry!

Upon later rumination...what if DarkMan just brought that draped-in-velvet box to the casino to get a woman's attention? I know that I may appear free for the taking, what with not wearing my wedding ring. (I don't like jewelry, remember?) What if there was indeed no giveaway? If he was simply using that "free bracelet" in a box that he never opened, but dangled five feet away from my nose, to lure women? And if so, why would he use it for bait with a cantankerous old Val like me?

There's just no accounting for some people's tastes, I guess.

It's a Wonder That Val Wasn't Arrested for Indecent Exposure

Can I count on any of you for bail money? I don't need it just yet, but I'm getting my ducks in a row for any future incidents. Accidental, of course. Not premeditated. Something like yesterday. Something in the stars.

If I had looked outside the night before, I would probably have see a bad moon a-risin'. As it was, I picked up Hick at his Storage Unit Store on Sunday afternoon, and we headed for the casino. Yes, I was all optimistic. After all, on my last trip to a casino, I won that $100 in a random drawing. Let me tell you right up front...that $100 is gone! Gone, baby, gone!

Oh, well. Easy come, easy go. Val is prepared for her casino bankroll to go bye-bye. It's her entertainment fund. When it's gone, it's gone. And this portion is GONE! Sure, I still have a stash in the safe, and the CasinoPalooza cash set aside. But the daily scratcher and local casino bankroll is depleted. Which means a period of A) saving the weekly cash allowance to build it back up, B) stopping the scratcher purchases, or C) saving some and cutting back on scratchers. Of course I'm choosing C.

Yes, there was definitely a bad moon on Val's horizon. So many signs, unheeded by eternal optimist Val. Let's enumerate them...

On the way into the casino, Hick and I stopped to swipe our player's cards for the Daily Mercedes Giveaway. But the kiosk wasn't working. Neither of the two we were waiting for. In fact, an employee had one of them opened up, trying to diagnose the problem. So we decided to wait and swipe inside.

I stopped by the bathroom, but it was a full house, with women waiting, so I had to go across the casino to the bigger one.

No machines would pay me! None of the seven different slots I played, except for one, which took pity, I guess, and gave me a $30 bonus. So large-scale was the not-paying of Val that I'm surprised the bill-breaker machine gave me anything back for my special, easy-won $100 from last Monday.

Two guys who were not playing ANY machine stood behind me commenting to each other on my game. It was Miss Kitty, and even though both people on each side of me were playing it around the kiosk, these dudes had to zero in on me. And I wasn't even winning or getting a bonus. Their analysis became tiresome. There is only so much, "It's a cat." and "It's a Japanese cat." that one can hear and remain sane. THEN the women on each side of me left, and those guys still stayed behind me. Finally they took a step, and one said, "Do you want to play it?" and the other one said, "No." So all that for nothing.

I wanted to play Dancing Drums, and miraculously found one of the three machines available...but there was NO CHAIR! So I stuck my player's card in it, and went to some unpopular machines, where each one appeared to have TWO CHAIRS in front of them. Do you know how heavy those casino chairs are to push across the carpet?

A weirdo started jabbering at me. I may tell his tale separately later.

At supper, I eschewed the burger (since they have been making mine well-overdone, even though I request MEDIUM) in favor of a big hot dog. I politely asked for pickle and onions on the side. Hick has had the big hot dog several times, and they gave HIM the side of pickles and onions. When he picked up the order, I had a side of pickles and lettuce. Yeah. A pile of dry, shredded lettuce. Not exactly onions. And Hick didn't even offer to take the receipt up there and get my onions!

After supper, we played another half hour. Or until one of us ran out of money. Which wasn't going to be Hick, because he showed me tickets totaling $160 at supper. So I went back to losing money, and called him when I was up front ready to leave. I thought I'd make a quick pit stop in the big women's restroom (no speculation on which word BIG is modifying!), but of course there were two workers in there mopping the aisle between the two rows of stalls.

On the way out, Hick said he was stopping at the smaller restroom, and I went in the women's side, and of course there were four stalls and four women waiting. So I decided to hold it until I got home in an hour.

Halfway back, Hick stopped to put gas in T-Hoe, but there was a tanker truck with a giant hose filling the underground tank, so I said to forget it, having gotten a clogged fuel filter years ago from such an encounter.

Another 15 miles down the highway, Hick pulled into another station to pump T-Hoe's gas. Oh, and he gave me the receipt for the debit card, and of course there was an issue.

What's that? You don't see the amount of purchase for the gas when Hick paid at the pump? That's because there were no numbers, or anything else, printed on that receipt! Oh, and Hick managed to lock himself out of T-Hoe. How does that even happen? He turned off the ignition, left the key in it, got out, closed the door, and pumped. When he tried to get back in, the door was locked! Lucky for him, I was sitting inside to unlock it.

The evening has definitely arrived. And I'm not talking about the time of day. Even Steven is taking me to task for winning that drawing last week!

Perhaps It's Time for Him to Stick a Fork in Himself

Terrible tragedy in ValWorld last night. During the feeding frenzy that was her dinner time, a trusty old friend bit the dust. Actually...Val bit the trusty old friend.

I have a favorite fork. Not even one of those metal ones that I've had all my adult life, that a careless teen guest THREW AWAY with her plate during Hick's retirement cookout. No, my favorite fork is plastic. Not just any plastic. This fork is the epitome of plastic forks. The zenith. The summit, the penthouse, the highest level of plastic fork available to the general public. I think I got it at Captain D's.

If Captain D's is indeed the origin of my favorite plastic fork, that would mean he's at least two years old, because I haven't been to Captain D's since The Pony left for college. It was a treat for him, and about 45 minutes away. Whenever we were in Bill-Paying Town, he'd ask to go there. Yes, I think my favorite plastic fork is...WAS...at least two years old. That's kind of long-in-the-tooth for a plastic fork.

Anyhoo...I was all settled at my New Delly in my dark basement lair. Hick was away at the auction. I was enjoying a delicious terrible tater. That's what it's called at our old favorite BBQ restaurant. A giant baked potato covered with BBQ pulled pork. Only we were at the bottom of the bag of big potatoes, so this one was kind of mediocre in size. I'd say it was a naughty spud. Not a terrible tater.

Mmm...I like my tater with a little sour cream, and the pulled pork. Hick also adds butter, but not me. No need. I'm not a Butterton like Hick and The Pony. So there I was, enjoying this treat, savoring each bite off my smoooooth white plastic fork. You know the texture of a baked potato, right? Soft and mushy. The BBQ pulled pork can be a little stringy in contrast. But nothing in that bite is hard. Like what I bit down on!

What in the Not-Heaven? You know the first thing you think when that happens, right? "Oh, no! Did I break a tooth?" Maybe that's not what YOU think, but that's what Val thinks. I carefully worked that hard part to the front of my mouth, and removed it. OH, NO! It was white! Was it a part of a tooth? My tongue immediately started searching my teeth. But wait! That fragment was VERY white. Almost as white as...MY FAVORITE FORK!

Apparently, in my feeding frenzy, I had chomped down on the end of my favorite fork, and severed the tip of a tine! Dang it! I LOVED that fork! Now I'd have to use metal. Or those ridged black plastic forks that come free with Hardee's chicken bowls. Even though I had a couple of them waiting in the wings, still in the clear plastic, stashed around my lair...I wasn't giving up on my favorite plastic fork just yet. It would be the fork farewell tour, finishing my naughty spud.

DANG IT! I guess my favorite plastic fork had lost the will to feed me. He snapped off at the neck. Which would have been REALLY hard to continue, holding onto that little nub. Farewell, favorite plastic fork! I shall miss you dearly.

Looks like it's time for Forky to stick a fork in himself. He's done.

Here's a picture. Sorry if he's kind of dirty.

No way am I washing a broken plastic fork, just to take a picture. THAT would be crazy.

He Didn't Give ConCENT

Only one single solitary penny found this week, but I'LL TAKE IT, by cracky! Let's keep this penny train chugging on down the track toward Future Pennyillionaire Town!

I was saved by Orb K on THURSDAY, May 3rd. Almost didn't see it, there under the ice cream cooler while waiting in line to buy scratchers. I guess it's a good thing I taunt myself by looking at ice cream I'm not going to buy. And a better thing that I only look at the OUTSIDE of the cooler, not inside. Or I might have missed this penny that was rightfully meant for me.

No fair, zooming in for a closer look at the guy's buttocks! He didn't give me permission to take a picture of his nether regions. It was just a happy accident, I guess, while trying to capture that penny. Yes, I DID wait until he'd paid and left before I bent over to pick it up.

This was a 1995 penny, discovered FACE UP! So unusual for my finds. Perhaps a change is in the offing. Heh, heh! Get it? A CHANGE, and I'm talking about coins! Oh, my sides!

I actually think there might have been another penny, down by the plexiglass board of scratcher tickets. However...I didn't have my glasses on, and if that was a penny, it was really, really dirty, and kind of blending in with the floor, no head or tail evident. To save myself embarrassment, I did not bend over to try and pick it up, just in case it was a dried drop of soda on the tile. I also saved those people in line behind me a view of my ample buttocks that they might have missed when I picked up the first penny.

Besides, I didn't want someone taking a picture of ME taking a picture of a possible penny. I figure they might have been alerted when I took the first picture, and had their phones ready. They might have even made a video! Val does not want to go viral.

_________________________________________________________________________

For 2018: Penny # 38.
For 2018: Dimes still at  # 8.
For 2018: Nickels still at # 2.

Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 116.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was still Dime # 14.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was still Nickel # 2.
_____________________________________________________________________

Don't Worry, He Wasn't Armed

Hick was up early yesterday, with plans to work on a surveillance system for back-creek neighbor Bev. Her husband bought the system, and had it all ready to go, except for running the wire and attaching the cameras. They have six. Hick says four would be plenty.

Anyhoo...Hick needed his long ladder that was under the porch here at the house, from when we had hail damage on our roof. He needed tools and stuff from the BARn. So he was all over the place gathering equipment.

Later in the day, Hick sent me a text.

The text started with "Big black snake..."

I'm not afraid of snakes. I rather look at pictures of snakes than pictures of feet. Some people are triggered by snakes. They have snakephobia, which I'm sure has a real name, perhaps with herp in it, like a herpetologist studies snakes. But I'm not looking that up right now. Just saying that I was eager to see the snake in Hick's picture.

That's the problem. I looked, and I looked, and I couldn't see the snake. It was like one of those Hidden Objects pictures in Highlights magazine. I looked over the junk. OH! There it was. In the foreground.

I had trouble figuring out the orientation of the snake. It looked like he was standing on his tail. Like Hick had snake-charmed him. Something wasn't right with that picture. I looked closer at Hick's stash of raw material that he simply can't part with. Wire for burning down to copper. Wood for future themed shacks. Metal for whatever you can use metal for. All conveniently piled over by the BARn.

THEN I SAW THE SNAKE!

I should have realized that Hick always puts the subject of his picture in the center, not very big, with a lot of filler around the sides. I re-read the text: "Big black snake in front of barn going under skid pile."

Yep. That was a big black snake. A-slitherin' under that pile of pallets/not-pallets. Hick calls them skids. Maybe they're a stronger version of pallets. Maybe it's a case of couch/sofa...the terms being interchangeable, depending on personal preference.

Anyhoo...I saw the actual snake. I'd been focused on that thing in the foreground. A crowbar, perahps. Or a rusty piece of rebar. Not a snake at all. The actual snake was much bigger!

Don't worry. He wasn't armed. The snake, that is. Heh, heh! Get it? GET IT? A snake doesn't have ARMS! Wheeeedoggie! I crack myself up sometimes!

Oh, Hick wasn't armed, either. He wasn't packin' heat. We would never harm a black snake. They are our rodent-eating friends.

Val Is the Rodney Dangerfield of Casino Patrons

Val is the Rodney Dangerfield of old people casino patrons. She don't get no respect.

On Monday evening, we met up front at the casino at 5:00 to descend upon the FREE buffet like a quartet of starving locusts. We'd eaten a light lunch of pizza, you know, to save room for this FREE feast. Okay, sure, it was pizza, but only a couple pieces each, and it wasn't a pan pizza or Chicago deep dish or anything, just from the Walmart deli. So you know there wasn't a whole lot of topping on there, even thought it was a meats pizza.

Anyhoo...we had our cards scanned at the entrance to the buffet, signed our individual receipts, fanned our hands under the automatic hand sanitizer dispenser, and were shown to a tiny table near the buffet. In fact, it was only one table over from the table we had last month. Just across the main walkway. However...this was a square table for four. And last month, we had two of those square tables pushed together as a rectangle. With two chairs on each long side. Whereas our tiny square table had a chair on each of the four sides.

I claimed the chair with my back to the room, and facing the brick wall that started the food bar spreading out to the left. My sister the ex-mayor's wife was on my right, the ex-mayor on my left, and Hick across from me. We stood a minute, marking our territory, laying down our receipts, and then headed to fill our plates.

I had loaded mine up with Orange Chicken, a tiny spoonful of rice, a mini eggroll, a piece of fried chicken, half a baked potato wrapped in foil, some pulled pork, and a dinner roll. I daresay I might have tried the chicken and dumplings, too, if I'd had more room on the plate. In any case, I took it back to our table, with the intention of setting it down, and wandering around the dessert bar to scope out my selection for later.

When I got back to our table, I was confused. You know ol' Val isn't a wizard at spatial tasks, like finding her way out of Dillards at the Battlefield Mall in Springfield in the '80s. I could have sworn I was at the right table, but there was a PLATE at my seat. Huh. I stood there, confused. But here came Sis! "What's wrong?"

"Well, I wanted to make sure this was our table. But I think Hick has put his plate in MY place. It looks like the kind of food he'd get."

"Move it."

"No. I'll just set mine down here beside it."

The waitress came out with our drinks, and was confused by our rearrangement. Thank goodness we had two Diet Cokes, a Sprite, and an iced tea. I went on my dessert tour, and when I returned, Hick was standing there looking at the table.

"Why did you put your plate in my spot?"

"Oh. I was confused."

"Well, take it, and sit over there!" See? I don't get no respect. Even though I'd claimed that chair like Ponce de Leon claiming Florida for Spain...Hick had attempted a takeover.

The Ex-Mayor showed up, and Hick told him, "I think she put your tea at my chair." So we all swapped out the drinks to get them right. Dinner was tasty. Even more so, because it was FREE!!! Oh, yeah. I had some sheet cake that tasted like shortcake, with chocolate ice cream on the side, for dessert. We left a tip, even though mathematically the percent would have been $0, since we paid nothing for our meals.

And now for another exhibit of my NO RESPECT...

The plan was to meet up front again at 7:00 so we could start home. I came out of the restrooms along the back wall. Or side wall. Somewhere not the entrance. I needed to cash out my ticket (it would have been tickets, but this machine only cashes ONE AT A TIME, so I had fed them all into one slot, and printed out a ticket for the total. I knew the general area of the cash machines, because I'd been there already twice, making change for myself from bigger bills.

OH! There was Sis! On the other side of the cash machine. Wait! She was done. Walking away as I got there.

"Sis! SIS! SIS!!!" On the last one, I cupped my hands alongside my mouth to make the sound carry. Seriously. She was only about 10 feet away.

"Oh. What are you doing?"

"Cashing out. Wait for me."

I turned to head for the cash machine. Got my money. Turned back to join up with Sis for the walk to the front. AND SHE WAS GONE! What in the Not-Heaven? I went to stand at the last place I saw her. Walked around the slot kiosk in the direction she was headed. Looked down several off-shoots of not-aisles. No Sis. I started towards the front. Or so I thought. But I ended up in the area of that PROMOTIONS empty stage. So I went back. Towards the front. I hoped. But HERE was the cash machine I'd thought I was at just a minute ago, which had really been a smaller cash machine than this set of 6 that I'd used earlier in the day. Huh. I thought I knew how to get up front from there. But I ended up over by the beverage station. And then followed the wall up to the desk where you get your player's card.

From there, I could see Hick and Sis and the Ex-Mayor standing at a kiosk of slots at the entrance.

"Thanks a lot. I said to wait for me!"

Hick glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not taking the blame for THIS one!"

"No. I saw Sis back there at the cash machine, and told her to wait for me. So we could walk up here together. You've been waiting on me because I was LOST!"

"WHAT? I though you were just hollering at me. To mess with me, and make me turn around."

Yeah. Right. That's what everybody does at a strange casino at meet-up time, right?
I don't get no respect. At least they didn't leave without me.