(no subject)
Oh look! Another place where I can gush about last night! :D
That very last night happened to be the Doug Stanhope birthday present Pan got me. I turned into Delilah when it came to getting dolled-up, 'specially with the makeup just in case Doug's gf Bingo was open-minded enough to say, "Aw heck, why not?" and let me and him run away together.
That's my new favorite dress. I know you can't necessarily SEE it here, but new fave it is. It's covered in birds. :D I'd seen in in JC Penney after I didn't find anything REMOTELY appealing at Lane Bryant when it came to purdy dressy shit. It was chance-y when I picked it up, not sure how it'd look, tried it on, BAM, mine, no one else's. Do. Not. Touch. :) It's def gonna be a dress-summer for me, especially with my work schedule changed to let me have most of the season off for Gavs. Enough of this off-topicness!
It was at Foxwoods, which is a bit of a drive though after a million times going to the area, so what? We still left uber-early; even though I know exactly how to get there, we needed the extra "What the fuck way do we take to get around this torturous, designed-by-escaped-Nazi-war-criminals labyrinth of a casino?!" time, add the fact that--of course, since I usually drive DOWN to this area for Mohegan Sun and the beach where we agree Pan will drive HOME, it was raining like a muckerfuther. And do you think the route we take has streetlights to cut through dense patches of fog, or that even leaving when the sun's still up but the cloud cover's bad and... yea? Pah! So yea, we got there just fine but I kept going into valet-parking areas, and before one could assume he was in for a nice tip, the only reason my window went down was to ask, "I'M SORRY NEVER BEEN TO THIS PLACE BEFORE WHICH WAY TO THE FOX THEATER?!" People all beeping at our ineptitude, me yelling, "Sorry sorry never been here before I suck STFU leave me alone!"...
But yea, we get to where we need to be, only I didn't take us to the covered garage. And it's raining. And there's no umbrella in the car, because why be prepared for stuff like this? But we DID luck in getting a really close spot to the entrance, got on an elevator, pressed the wrong floor, got back on and chuckled with who I believe were French-Canadians then yea, we wanted the casino, not the fifth level of parking. *eyeroll*
We had a ton of time to spare, so we checked in at the box office, got our tickets then ambled around. It doesn't matter if most areas in the place allow smoking, and there are signs saying where you CAN'T; I STILL think "omfg, some security guy's gonna throw me down and arrest me cos' I can't smoke here," and scan the area for other smokers. So we took the safe route and went into the slots area to hang out a while. There's really no seating, but a half-circle of various slot machines was totally empty, and figured if there was a sudden crowd wanting to play, we'd move.
Pan had a moment of concern, asking me if I was "okay". I'm past my eighth month of being gambling-free, shooting for nine (I haven't really talked about that, have I? Lol. Well, I am. Go me. :D) and though there's always that "ooh, shiny!" feeling when it comes to ANY gambling format, casinos were never My Big Thing, mostly just scratchies. So we had a long talk about how it feels, how it DOESN'T feel, how sure, it'd be nice to be able to play safely, normally and wisely like a lot of people can. There are times where I miss thinking I COULD get that Big Fat Win. But at the same time, the "fun" of being around the casino, slots especially (you wouldn't find me screaming at a roulette wheel, that's not "instant" enough for me) mostly came from the sparklyness, cacophony of bleeping and beeping fun people were having and yes--snotty as it may sound--knowing that I wasn't one of the malfunctioning robots staring at a screen and hitting a button every few seconds that we were surrounded by. I got to bitch about the reviews I read for Foxwoods, where people talked about how they just HATE the smoke smell.
"All these people shoving money into machines and dealer's pockets, it's disgusting! God damned gambling, it's a fucking disease! And I've GOT it! Where's my safe-zone here?!" would've been my reply to anyone sniffing derisively at my puffing. You weren't expecting second-hand smoke? I wasn't expecting all of these annoying machines, this is a CASINO, ffs! And while we're talking about unreasonable, wtf expectations I've been conjuring up to fit my needs while completely ignoring the very identity of a reservation-owned den of iniquity and sin, what the fuck's with all this goddamned alcohol, for real? What if there are alcoholics?! /wry smirk, puff-puff
After a while of this, we head back across the hall to where the theater is... ooh, concessions. I'd worried since it's an off-week re: Pan's bi-weekly pain-in-the-ass pay schedule, and my check was made comatose by the grocery trip we desperately needed, but I found financial-aid in Carrie, who gave me an advance in money for the 3-4 days a week babysitting I've been doing for her (and oh god, that's a Big Fucking Post in its own right; I'll throw out the details of that soon! All positive, no worries!). It assured us not just extra gas money, but FUN money. I'd talked about getting a little tanked for this fun, but we ended up getting popcorn, ginger ale and a $3 bottled water (this is kind of a hint, that maybe only aliensouldream will understand for right now ;)) to take into the theater with us.
We get to our seats, which were pretty danged good. It was in a row of two-seater spots, so we didn't have to cram in with other people and worry if we smelled bad to them. We got to watch drama unfold with people nearby, who worried over other friends who hadn't shown, telling one who did, "I haven't seen ____!", "I have his ticket, but can't find him," etc. When everything came together, me and Pan were watching on smiling, and the guy who'd been trying to get everyone together (and he was in a wheelchair ffs, lol) noticed. We had a laugh, telling him it was interesting to watch their dramaz unfold.
Finally, after a good forty minutes of waiting went by and we could hardly take the volume of the music which kept going up and up and UP and UUUUP the closer we got to show-time (I'll never hear 'Tiny Dancer' by Elton John in the same way again), the announcer comes on and I'm all YESYESYEeeesss... when some guy comes on. I don't know why I never expect opening acts but to be fair, it's rare that I go to ANY performance, and this was my first-ever live comedy show. Don't remember what the guy's name was, and it doesn't matter anyway. He had like, two or three ha-ha-making moments, and the only reason you DID laugh was because it was that brief "Maybe he IS funny!" reaction before he slipped back into talking about hand-jobs JUST to talk about hand-jobs. He didn't stay long, which was fine by me.
Theeeeen ANOTHER guy. He was intro'ed as a friend of Doug's, someone he was trying to promote... but again, he was nobody I'd pay to see--like, "rack up a bar tab at a free show" pay to see. When he hit it, he hit it, well, but he had this trying-to-be-cerebral-fail, along with what COULD have been creative vaudeville if he made 100% understanding of it. He got heckled with a "You're not funny!" call-out at one point, which gave him a reprieve from the strange, slightly-drunken style he was following in his cursing the guy out and getting the crowd on his side. That's kinda my thing; yea, I didn't like him. He was vulgar to be vulgar, SOME-times getting it right. I gave Pan telling looks, hissed crit to the woman who'd been given folding chairs next to us (who ended up REALLY not knowing what kind of act this was, judging by her leaving soon into Doug's set) and felt that embarrassment-empathy for a guy who really wasn't doing much for the crowd. But STILL, hecklers mystify me. Just let the guy knuckle-down his way through his stage-time and move on.
Move on we did when Doug FINALLY got on stage, and we swear--as much as he may see something in his openers, the fact that he was SAVING US from the "who are these unfunny clowns?" probably added strength to the applause. I know it did for MINE. Fave comic live AND no more bad jokes ftfw!!!! Now HE'S a guy who makes vulgarity something worth hearing in Carnegie Hall. Vulgar he was, delivered with the finest of precision, timing and never done for the SAKE of being vulgar. When he went into a tale of his REALLY needing some sleep before a show, but only having an hour and a half, couldn't take sleeping pills as you need 8-9 hours, so to relax he figured he'd have a wank, I made the mistake of going to take a sip of my soda when his line-delivery crept up out of nowhere (not a direct quote), "Jerking-off would help, but I didn't have my laptop... so..." My lips had JUST opened over the rim of the cup and I snorted so hard, I sprayed my face and hair with ginger ale. Pan had to get me a napkin. "Do you still dial... one?" he surmises, going over spank-bank possibilities. Kept snorting, trying to clean soda off my face. Missed spots on my hair, felt tiny drops there about ten minutes later.
Like Carlin, he doesn't give a damn if someone thinks what he's doing is offensive. People WERE leaving; not many, but enough to make me cock an eyebrow when they'd stalk by. Me and Pan figured they were season-ticket holders, just coming to a show on a whim. Know what? Do your friggin' research beforehand, SEE who's on, if you'll find him or her funny or if they'll trample upon your delicate fucking sensibilities. If you don't, it's your fault your worldview went dim for a few moments, and despite your distaste toward the guy or girl onstage, you're nothing but horrendously rude and ignorant in stomping off to leave. Me and my husband paid money JUST to see him, no gambling binges, season tickets or being bored so "let's drive almost two hours somewhere" involved. I don't need your grumpy silhouette blocking my view as you go by.
He got a heckler--a guy in the very front row (or thereabouts), as if WE wouldn't have loved being a titch closer. It was in response to Doug's going into his mother's suicide, touchy for sure. Before he could pick up speed, the "you can't say that" response of "Not funny!" was spewed out of this idiot's mouth. Fuck however you feel about suicide, or moms--it's a comedy show, and he's talking about it as PART of that show. It's his fucking act, and if you weren't expecting controversy to reach past your shield of season-ticketed glory when it comes to Doug Goddamned Stanhope, go cry in the lobby's bar. Quietly, silent tears dripping into your beer.
He also attacked things I've been ranting on and on about over the years, even stepping into the Boston bombing mess. It's like he reads my facebook for material (again, not direct quotes, I was too busy being the cheer-and-laugh-track): "this didn't happen TO you, it's not ABOUT you!", "Guy's got his legs blown off... 'oh, hey, I know you got your limbs blown off, I wasn't there, but if it's okay, I'm gonna go whine about how this affects me,", "I'm in the same area code! It's about ME!" Onto the ineffectualness of ribbon-wearing, "causes", the occupy movement, "Get out of the park, pull your dreads back and walk into a bank to waste their time: 'Yes, I need a BILLION DOLLAR LOAN... for... an ant... farm. And if you'd like to deny me and call this frivolous, not letting me go through the application process, I can SUE you...'" He calls for immediate action if you feel so strongly about it. I got a few pieces of the show on video (had to be covert, of course), capturing his bit about speed-walking and getting a quarter for every time he passes the marker. "If they're your FRIENDS, they'll cut you a check. 'Oh hey, my daughter was born with a cleft-lip, y'know, and we're trying to raise money for research and...' *shift* 'Oh really? Heh... how many hard-boiled eggs can you eat, eh??'" It's not that he doesn't see the good intentions, he just wants balls-out action, if you're so inclined. Agree or disagree, like or dislike, imho? He's spot-on and doesn't care what anyone thinks. That's why I'm in ♥ with him.
Ohhhh yes, in BIG ♥ with him.
He ended the show talking about the lucky numbers that never fail (36, 17, 13) and how he could be found at the roulette tables later. Now *I* figure, hey, there's a good chance we MIGHT run into him. So we leave the theater, head out and I snag a few puffs before we move on with the crowds going to the gambling rooms on the other side of the building. Now call me a stalker, but yea--REALLY wanted to meet him, so I'm jotting down mental details. I already know to look for a bonkers, screaming-biebers pink jacket. This isn't a "theater" complete with back alleyways with stage doors. I notice that the theater's a bit insular, the only doors along the hall looking more for employees, where cleaning stuff's kept, security offices, etc. So we go into the main cards, craps and roulette section, light-up again, wander... but I figure, 'No, he's not gonna be here. Not NOW.' So we go around aimlessly for a while then head back out to the main hall full of restaurants, shops--bathrooms, something I needed in a BIG way. I tried mine and aliensouldream's "Just one more minute!", stood still in the middle of the action and looked around. Nothing. We almost stopped at the Dunks to get Pan coffee for the ride home, but no--I ain't done yet. It's then that I think, "Go BACK to the front of the theater area, right where you'd discussed gambling habits at the slots a breath away from concessions." We trot back, easy as you please, round the large island of walled-decor and BAM.
When me and good ol' aliensouldream ran into Elijah, when my eyes fell on him, I'd felt a shaky light burst into my eyes and tremble a titch. And it happened when I spotted my fave-funny standing with his entourage (including the second-unfunny act, lol, poor guy) and girlfriend. No shame--the cam-phone came out and I went over, listening on to Doug talking with a security guard about where the tables were. When I saw the small moment of "in" I stepped forth and very meekly said, "Excuse me, Doug?"
On stage, he's this bitter old man who loves bitching about anything and everything. But here, standing like any wacky kinda guy around, he puts on this sweet smile, "Yea?"
"If it's okay, can I get a picture?"
"Sure!"
So I turn to Pan, ask, "Do you wanna take one of me, then I do you??" but Doug nods to the security guy. "Hey--can ya do this for us?" The guard's all good with it; I go to stand by Doug, who just slides him arm right 'round me, and after giving the guard some instruction, he finally gets it together and Doug puts his hand ON MY HEAD, snap-flash--
--HAPPYPANTS! :D:D:D
He could be the ugliest mofo out there, but as I've always said--if you make me PMSL every time you open you mouth, you may as well be Adonis. I happen to find this fine gentleman more than attractive. Yes.
To quick-end this (wanna post before my lame work-shift of three stupid hours on MOTHER'S DAY, and I SHOULD be getting dressed--like right the hell 4-5 minutes-ago-NOW), I thanked him profusely then walked off with Pan to be completely endorphin-ridiculous. We got our coffees and I swore up and down I wasn't gonna sleep; wasn't too late at this point, so we walked BACK to the theater while I called my dad, who I intro'ed to Doug and made him love him. To gush like that was brill. I remained completely bonkers 'til about halfway home, where I said, "The high's wearing off, along with the mountain-range of caffeine I've downed throughout the day." So after chilling out at home, getting the pic off my phone to post via facebook, I crashed. Hard. For... only about four fucking hours, surprisingly.
So. Yea. I'd say it was a good night.
That very last night happened to be the Doug Stanhope birthday present Pan got me. I turned into Delilah when it came to getting dolled-up, 'specially with the makeup just in case Doug's gf Bingo was open-minded enough to say, "Aw heck, why not?" and let me and him run away together.
That's my new favorite dress. I know you can't necessarily SEE it here, but new fave it is. It's covered in birds. :D I'd seen in in JC Penney after I didn't find anything REMOTELY appealing at Lane Bryant when it came to purdy dressy shit. It was chance-y when I picked it up, not sure how it'd look, tried it on, BAM, mine, no one else's. Do. Not. Touch. :) It's def gonna be a dress-summer for me, especially with my work schedule changed to let me have most of the season off for Gavs. Enough of this off-topicness!
It was at Foxwoods, which is a bit of a drive though after a million times going to the area, so what? We still left uber-early; even though I know exactly how to get there, we needed the extra "What the fuck way do we take to get around this torturous, designed-by-escaped-Nazi-war-criminals labyrinth of a casino?!" time, add the fact that--of course, since I usually drive DOWN to this area for Mohegan Sun and the beach where we agree Pan will drive HOME, it was raining like a muckerfuther. And do you think the route we take has streetlights to cut through dense patches of fog, or that even leaving when the sun's still up but the cloud cover's bad and... yea? Pah! So yea, we got there just fine but I kept going into valet-parking areas, and before one could assume he was in for a nice tip, the only reason my window went down was to ask, "I'M SORRY NEVER BEEN TO THIS PLACE BEFORE WHICH WAY TO THE FOX THEATER?!" People all beeping at our ineptitude, me yelling, "Sorry sorry never been here before I suck STFU leave me alone!"...
But yea, we get to where we need to be, only I didn't take us to the covered garage. And it's raining. And there's no umbrella in the car, because why be prepared for stuff like this? But we DID luck in getting a really close spot to the entrance, got on an elevator, pressed the wrong floor, got back on and chuckled with who I believe were French-Canadians then yea, we wanted the casino, not the fifth level of parking. *eyeroll*
We had a ton of time to spare, so we checked in at the box office, got our tickets then ambled around. It doesn't matter if most areas in the place allow smoking, and there are signs saying where you CAN'T; I STILL think "omfg, some security guy's gonna throw me down and arrest me cos' I can't smoke here," and scan the area for other smokers. So we took the safe route and went into the slots area to hang out a while. There's really no seating, but a half-circle of various slot machines was totally empty, and figured if there was a sudden crowd wanting to play, we'd move.
Pan had a moment of concern, asking me if I was "okay". I'm past my eighth month of being gambling-free, shooting for nine (I haven't really talked about that, have I? Lol. Well, I am. Go me. :D) and though there's always that "ooh, shiny!" feeling when it comes to ANY gambling format, casinos were never My Big Thing, mostly just scratchies. So we had a long talk about how it feels, how it DOESN'T feel, how sure, it'd be nice to be able to play safely, normally and wisely like a lot of people can. There are times where I miss thinking I COULD get that Big Fat Win. But at the same time, the "fun" of being around the casino, slots especially (you wouldn't find me screaming at a roulette wheel, that's not "instant" enough for me) mostly came from the sparklyness, cacophony of bleeping and beeping fun people were having and yes--snotty as it may sound--knowing that I wasn't one of the malfunctioning robots staring at a screen and hitting a button every few seconds that we were surrounded by. I got to bitch about the reviews I read for Foxwoods, where people talked about how they just HATE the smoke smell.
"All these people shoving money into machines and dealer's pockets, it's disgusting! God damned gambling, it's a fucking disease! And I've GOT it! Where's my safe-zone here?!" would've been my reply to anyone sniffing derisively at my puffing. You weren't expecting second-hand smoke? I wasn't expecting all of these annoying machines, this is a CASINO, ffs! And while we're talking about unreasonable, wtf expectations I've been conjuring up to fit my needs while completely ignoring the very identity of a reservation-owned den of iniquity and sin, what the fuck's with all this goddamned alcohol, for real? What if there are alcoholics?! /wry smirk, puff-puff
After a while of this, we head back across the hall to where the theater is... ooh, concessions. I'd worried since it's an off-week re: Pan's bi-weekly pain-in-the-ass pay schedule, and my check was made comatose by the grocery trip we desperately needed, but I found financial-aid in Carrie, who gave me an advance in money for the 3-4 days a week babysitting I've been doing for her (and oh god, that's a Big Fucking Post in its own right; I'll throw out the details of that soon! All positive, no worries!). It assured us not just extra gas money, but FUN money. I'd talked about getting a little tanked for this fun, but we ended up getting popcorn, ginger ale and a $3 bottled water (this is kind of a hint, that maybe only aliensouldream will understand for right now ;)) to take into the theater with us.
We get to our seats, which were pretty danged good. It was in a row of two-seater spots, so we didn't have to cram in with other people and worry if we smelled bad to them. We got to watch drama unfold with people nearby, who worried over other friends who hadn't shown, telling one who did, "I haven't seen ____!", "I have his ticket, but can't find him," etc. When everything came together, me and Pan were watching on smiling, and the guy who'd been trying to get everyone together (and he was in a wheelchair ffs, lol) noticed. We had a laugh, telling him it was interesting to watch their dramaz unfold.
Finally, after a good forty minutes of waiting went by and we could hardly take the volume of the music which kept going up and up and UP and UUUUP the closer we got to show-time (I'll never hear 'Tiny Dancer' by Elton John in the same way again), the announcer comes on and I'm all YESYESYEeeesss... when some guy comes on. I don't know why I never expect opening acts but to be fair, it's rare that I go to ANY performance, and this was my first-ever live comedy show. Don't remember what the guy's name was, and it doesn't matter anyway. He had like, two or three ha-ha-making moments, and the only reason you DID laugh was because it was that brief "Maybe he IS funny!" reaction before he slipped back into talking about hand-jobs JUST to talk about hand-jobs. He didn't stay long, which was fine by me.
Theeeeen ANOTHER guy. He was intro'ed as a friend of Doug's, someone he was trying to promote... but again, he was nobody I'd pay to see--like, "rack up a bar tab at a free show" pay to see. When he hit it, he hit it, well, but he had this trying-to-be-cerebral-fail, along with what COULD have been creative vaudeville if he made 100% understanding of it. He got heckled with a "You're not funny!" call-out at one point, which gave him a reprieve from the strange, slightly-drunken style he was following in his cursing the guy out and getting the crowd on his side. That's kinda my thing; yea, I didn't like him. He was vulgar to be vulgar, SOME-times getting it right. I gave Pan telling looks, hissed crit to the woman who'd been given folding chairs next to us (who ended up REALLY not knowing what kind of act this was, judging by her leaving soon into Doug's set) and felt that embarrassment-empathy for a guy who really wasn't doing much for the crowd. But STILL, hecklers mystify me. Just let the guy knuckle-down his way through his stage-time and move on.
Move on we did when Doug FINALLY got on stage, and we swear--as much as he may see something in his openers, the fact that he was SAVING US from the "who are these unfunny clowns?" probably added strength to the applause. I know it did for MINE. Fave comic live AND no more bad jokes ftfw!!!! Now HE'S a guy who makes vulgarity something worth hearing in Carnegie Hall. Vulgar he was, delivered with the finest of precision, timing and never done for the SAKE of being vulgar. When he went into a tale of his REALLY needing some sleep before a show, but only having an hour and a half, couldn't take sleeping pills as you need 8-9 hours, so to relax he figured he'd have a wank, I made the mistake of going to take a sip of my soda when his line-delivery crept up out of nowhere (not a direct quote), "Jerking-off would help, but I didn't have my laptop... so..." My lips had JUST opened over the rim of the cup and I snorted so hard, I sprayed my face and hair with ginger ale. Pan had to get me a napkin. "Do you still dial... one?" he surmises, going over spank-bank possibilities. Kept snorting, trying to clean soda off my face. Missed spots on my hair, felt tiny drops there about ten minutes later.
Like Carlin, he doesn't give a damn if someone thinks what he's doing is offensive. People WERE leaving; not many, but enough to make me cock an eyebrow when they'd stalk by. Me and Pan figured they were season-ticket holders, just coming to a show on a whim. Know what? Do your friggin' research beforehand, SEE who's on, if you'll find him or her funny or if they'll trample upon your delicate fucking sensibilities. If you don't, it's your fault your worldview went dim for a few moments, and despite your distaste toward the guy or girl onstage, you're nothing but horrendously rude and ignorant in stomping off to leave. Me and my husband paid money JUST to see him, no gambling binges, season tickets or being bored so "let's drive almost two hours somewhere" involved. I don't need your grumpy silhouette blocking my view as you go by.
He got a heckler--a guy in the very front row (or thereabouts), as if WE wouldn't have loved being a titch closer. It was in response to Doug's going into his mother's suicide, touchy for sure. Before he could pick up speed, the "you can't say that" response of "Not funny!" was spewed out of this idiot's mouth. Fuck however you feel about suicide, or moms--it's a comedy show, and he's talking about it as PART of that show. It's his fucking act, and if you weren't expecting controversy to reach past your shield of season-ticketed glory when it comes to Doug Goddamned Stanhope, go cry in the lobby's bar. Quietly, silent tears dripping into your beer.
He also attacked things I've been ranting on and on about over the years, even stepping into the Boston bombing mess. It's like he reads my facebook for material (again, not direct quotes, I was too busy being the cheer-and-laugh-track): "this didn't happen TO you, it's not ABOUT you!", "Guy's got his legs blown off... 'oh, hey, I know you got your limbs blown off, I wasn't there, but if it's okay, I'm gonna go whine about how this affects me,", "I'm in the same area code! It's about ME!" Onto the ineffectualness of ribbon-wearing, "causes", the occupy movement, "Get out of the park, pull your dreads back and walk into a bank to waste their time: 'Yes, I need a BILLION DOLLAR LOAN... for... an ant... farm. And if you'd like to deny me and call this frivolous, not letting me go through the application process, I can SUE you...'" He calls for immediate action if you feel so strongly about it. I got a few pieces of the show on video (had to be covert, of course), capturing his bit about speed-walking and getting a quarter for every time he passes the marker. "If they're your FRIENDS, they'll cut you a check. 'Oh hey, my daughter was born with a cleft-lip, y'know, and we're trying to raise money for research and...' *shift* 'Oh really? Heh... how many hard-boiled eggs can you eat, eh??'" It's not that he doesn't see the good intentions, he just wants balls-out action, if you're so inclined. Agree or disagree, like or dislike, imho? He's spot-on and doesn't care what anyone thinks. That's why I'm in ♥ with him.
Ohhhh yes, in BIG ♥ with him.
He ended the show talking about the lucky numbers that never fail (36, 17, 13) and how he could be found at the roulette tables later. Now *I* figure, hey, there's a good chance we MIGHT run into him. So we leave the theater, head out and I snag a few puffs before we move on with the crowds going to the gambling rooms on the other side of the building. Now call me a stalker, but yea--REALLY wanted to meet him, so I'm jotting down mental details. I already know to look for a bonkers, screaming-biebers pink jacket. This isn't a "theater" complete with back alleyways with stage doors. I notice that the theater's a bit insular, the only doors along the hall looking more for employees, where cleaning stuff's kept, security offices, etc. So we go into the main cards, craps and roulette section, light-up again, wander... but I figure, 'No, he's not gonna be here. Not NOW.' So we go around aimlessly for a while then head back out to the main hall full of restaurants, shops--bathrooms, something I needed in a BIG way. I tried mine and aliensouldream's "Just one more minute!", stood still in the middle of the action and looked around. Nothing. We almost stopped at the Dunks to get Pan coffee for the ride home, but no--I ain't done yet. It's then that I think, "Go BACK to the front of the theater area, right where you'd discussed gambling habits at the slots a breath away from concessions." We trot back, easy as you please, round the large island of walled-decor and BAM.
When me and good ol' aliensouldream ran into Elijah, when my eyes fell on him, I'd felt a shaky light burst into my eyes and tremble a titch. And it happened when I spotted my fave-funny standing with his entourage (including the second-unfunny act, lol, poor guy) and girlfriend. No shame--the cam-phone came out and I went over, listening on to Doug talking with a security guard about where the tables were. When I saw the small moment of "in" I stepped forth and very meekly said, "Excuse me, Doug?"
On stage, he's this bitter old man who loves bitching about anything and everything. But here, standing like any wacky kinda guy around, he puts on this sweet smile, "Yea?"
"If it's okay, can I get a picture?"
"Sure!"
So I turn to Pan, ask, "Do you wanna take one of me, then I do you??" but Doug nods to the security guy. "Hey--can ya do this for us?" The guard's all good with it; I go to stand by Doug, who just slides him arm right 'round me, and after giving the guard some instruction, he finally gets it together and Doug puts his hand ON MY HEAD, snap-flash--
--HAPPYPANTS! :D:D:D
He could be the ugliest mofo out there, but as I've always said--if you make me PMSL every time you open you mouth, you may as well be Adonis. I happen to find this fine gentleman more than attractive. Yes.
To quick-end this (wanna post before my lame work-shift of three stupid hours on MOTHER'S DAY, and I SHOULD be getting dressed--like right the hell 4-5 minutes-ago-NOW), I thanked him profusely then walked off with Pan to be completely endorphin-ridiculous. We got our coffees and I swore up and down I wasn't gonna sleep; wasn't too late at this point, so we walked BACK to the theater while I called my dad, who I intro'ed to Doug and made him love him. To gush like that was brill. I remained completely bonkers 'til about halfway home, where I said, "The high's wearing off, along with the mountain-range of caffeine I've downed throughout the day." So after chilling out at home, getting the pic off my phone to post via facebook, I crashed. Hard. For... only about four fucking hours, surprisingly.
So. Yea. I'd say it was a good night.