Ron-Ron Juice is what the guys of Jersey Shore drink when they wait approximately four hours for the girls to get ready to go out to the clubs. The basically sit on the couch and drink into oblivion, yelling random and probably obscene nonsense while the gals cake their makeup on and bathe in perfume. This is me, waiting for Pam. Not nearly as long, not even close, but long enough to blog. And this is me, drinking a little bit. Not nearly as much, not even close, but enough to be considered "pregaming." And this is me, blogging, during that time. Ron-Ron Juice Time. CABS ARE HEEYAH.
I actually tried writing one of these last week, when we had two and a half girls getting ready for a night out instead of the usual one, but I thought of an idea too late, and tried to write and didn't even get through the first paragraph before everyone was ready. And now I don't even remember what I was going to write about. I ended up throwing up that night (because of digestive problem, not drinking, I swear - I didn't even make it out that night), so let's pretend the original Ron-Ron Episode 4 was flushed down the toilet along with the turkey burgers and Pam's Famous Pasta Salad.
So what are we doing tonight, I guess is the logical place to start this post. It's Pammy's Going Away Dinner Night with her Sunrise friends. Should be a good time. First it's a Mexican dinner at Diablo's at the Monte Carlo, then it's drinks at The Pub in the same resort. Beers are expensive, but here's the trade-off: I can wear shorts. No jeans in 105 degree weather for me tonight. I'm a happy camper.
Also, it's so great that Pam made some friends at work. I'm sure it made her days go more quickly. They're really nice to be having a night out in her honor.
So we're gonna make the walk down to the Monte Carlo about 40 minutes from now. That's 20 minutes that Pam claims we're leaving in, plus the additional 20 because, c'mon, we're not getting out of here in 20 minutes.
I could talk about a weird experience the other day. So, as you know, there's a buttload of homeless folk around these parts. Which is fine, I mean, they don't bother me personally. Kinda used to a lot of that from Philly, anyway. But it does kind of suck when they try to pull the wool over your eyes. I'll give you my change if you are shaking and drooling. I'll give you a dollar or two if you are really nice about it. I won't do what this one guy tried to get me to do the other day...
I was walking to work to pick up my pay check, and about halfway there, a guy stopped me with a proposition. If I went into this pawn shop right there next to us with him, and used my ID to help him sell his power tools, then he'd give me like 10% of whatever he sold it for.
Which, it's like, I want to help, ya know? And I'd love to do a good deed. But the dude obviously stole those tools. Why wouldn't he have an ID, and would need mine? That doesn't make much sense. If you own power tools, than I'm going to assume you have it together in life enough to own an ID. What was painfully clear was that the dude stole the power tools and wanted me to take the heat if the cops followed the trail back to the pawn shop and saw my name.
So I said, "Ah, sorry man, I gotta head to work real quick, if I see you on the way back, I'll help you." I figured this was a passive way to say no, and I'd just take a different way home to avoid the guy. NOPE. The dude follows me to work.
So I play it cool. The dude has a backpack full of power tools. He showed me the drill. I'd rather not mess with the guy, because who knows what else he has in his pack? A saw? A gun? So I let him follow me to work.
We get to my building. I say, "Wait outside, I'll be right out." Luckily, the shift that day was just ending, and my buddy Joe (last name starts with a K, and hails from Philadelphia, bizarrely) was just getting ready to hit the road. I explained to him my situation, and being from Philadelphia, he can appreciate the situation, and gives me a ride home.
The way the building is set up is like there's a different entrance for pedestrians and for automobiles. You have to walk past the garage to get to the walkway entrance, and from the inside, there's an elevator that goes to the basement-level garage (keeping the cars cool... you'll understand when you move out west). So I just leaned that shotgun seat all the way down and Joe put the pedal to the metal and we left the guy to wait for some other sucker that'll never come.
So that was a little scary, but also a funny story.
Along those lines, I'm officially unemployed as of Monday. The call center treated me really well while I was out here, though. I'll write up something more comprehensive maybe tomorrow.
Looks like Pam is getting to the end of The Ordeal. I have some sunscreen to put on, so maybe I should cut this short. Talk to you soon folks!
OFFICIAL COUNT: 8 days until we leave Las Vegas; 17 days until we get home.
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