Day: January 17, 2014

Thoughts while riding MARTA

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

Since riding MARTA is such a life-sucking sometimes-necessity, I feel like I should write so I don’t lose my mind. For whatever reason, I’ve got a lot of thoughts swirling through my head, so I figured what the hell, write and pass the time.

I used to work with this queen and among the absurd things he told me one thing stuck – how to spot a fake Louis Vuitton. A true Louis Vuitton will never allow the LV logo mark to ever be cut off by a seam, edge or crease.

Today, I experienced possibly the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. If we can’t laugh at ourselves sometimes we are truly humorless, so without getting into too much detail, I’ll just say that there is a mark, thankfully no blood, but it took every restraint in my body to not keep over and lie on the ground and writhe in pain. I was also pretty close to actually crying, it hurt so bad.

I’m pretty sure the impetus for many popular mashup songs comes from people riding trains and hearing at least four “songs” going on at the same time from people deliberately not wearing their headphones correctly so everyone can hear their crappy “music.”

Every time I ride MARTA, I feel like I’m always a hop skip and a jump away from witnessing a World Star Hip Hop video from happening.

The time I felt like Rain Man

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

It’s been a little while since I’ve been back from Vegas, but a combination of getting sick, prioritizing getting photos processed and out the door, and simply catching up with post-holiday/vacation life, I simply neglected to write about it. But aside from the Pedro Griffin trolling story, there was another time at the blackjack tables, where I felt awesome, and remembered a story that I wanted to write about but forgot to, so better late than never.

As is often the case with a Vegas trip, this past one was just the same in the fact that I could have actually made it home having made money – if it weren’t for that last day. It’s pretty typical for me that it’s the last day in which Vegas not only catches up with me, but manages to make sure that I don’t leave with all of the money I brought in which to play with, and this last trip was no exception to that rule. I had been gambling shrewdly up until the last day, and it was naturally on the last night, in which I watched the house money diminish, and then some of my own money subsequently. Regardless, it’s not a big deal, because it’s money that’s accumulated for such frivolous purposes, and it doesn’t affect my bottom line or any financial responsibilities otherwise.

Anyway, aside from Pedro night, it was the night prior in which I was having a particularly good time at a table, and managed to walk away with a little bit of a cherry on top. I was gambling at Paris, where I was pleased to have found a single-deck table that also was being dealt by one of the sexy lingerie-clad dealers that seems to be the fortuitous norm for the Planet Hollywood/Paris/Bally’s troika of casinos these days.

Regardless, as aesthetically pleasing as the view is, being the gentleman I always pretend to be, I’m not one to creep on or unabashedly flirt with and hit on the sexy-clad dealers, because I’m sure they get it enough, and I have no game anyway. To no surprise, such a mentality typically warms most of them up to me, because I’m not such an obvious sleaze, and ultimately my goal is play blackjack, not get reamed, and get as many free drinks as I can in the process; the view is just a bonus.

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