Opertion Lose That Ass--update--NOT!

So this ought to be an update, telling you all about my magnificent ass and how skinny I'm getting. Instead I'm going to tell you that we took the Honey's mother to the Indian Casino in Lincoln on Sunday for her birthday.

Whenever anyone says they've been gambling, MIL asks if it's fun, and then mentions that she's never been. Then she sighs. Then she sighs again. For her Birthday this year, we took her gambling. We figured it was a safe bet, because if she DIDN'T like the machines, there was always the buffet--and this woman loves her some buffet.

We spent more time at the buffet than we did gambling. I admit that I did not spend all of my money gambling--when we squeak by on a regular basis, it causes me physical pain to throw money away, on the off chance that I will be struck by lightning. Physical pain, people.

But as a result, I had money to buy groceries today!

I don't think MIL was impressed with her gambling experience, and while I enjoyed the sunday brunch aspects of the buffet (give me an omlette bar and keep the mimosas coming), MIL sniffed and said Hometown Buffet had a better selection. Given that she is diabetic who doesn't drink, I could see her point--They had nothing sugar free for our little diabetic, versus a whole range of sugar free desserts at Hometown.

Ye Gods, I hate Hometown.

Originally we were supposed to get all of the siblings to try and come, but favorite fantastic sister-in-law kept changing the launch time from our original noon, so the fliers I printed up sat in my car until Sunday morning, when I finally threw them away as I was clearing space for MIL and SIL to sit. What time did we finally get on the road, you ask? Oh, about noon.

So yes, Nikki, Sayre, and Quinn, along with other OLTA participants, I sat for TWO hours at the all you can eat buffet on Sunday.

I walked the perimeter of the casino while everyone blew their remaining cash, but any possible health benefits were mitigated by the carpet of cigarette smoke that coated the place. In California, you are ostracized and banished to the door next to the dumpsters if you smoke. Actually, 20 feet away from the doors, so that puts you IN the dumpsters, doesn't it? It makes us non-smokers spoiled. All that crazy fresh air DOES things to you, man. Walking into the Indian casinos, with their sovreign authority to let people suck down those ciggys, is bizzarre. They were like human smoke stacks.

Bitchy people watching was fun, though...

Anyway, I wore a pair of pants today that I had to DIG for, because it had been so long since I had been able to wear them. If I have to write poems, I'll write them in smaller pants than I started in, and THAT was my goal.

kiss kiss.