How To Put April On 100% Super Mega Tilt
After spending two hours sitting in the cold rain taking in a UT baseball game (we won), I head home to enjoy the quiet, relaxing Friday evening I have planned for myself. As it all too commonly happens around here, those plans go out the window minutes after I arrive home and I find myself headed to dinner and then to a friend’s house for drinks. It’s a lovely evening, and after a quick stop off for lotto tickets we arrive home, where the DVR has last night’s CSI and tonight’s episode of Las Vegas waiting for me – a perfect Vegas-themed nightcap before turning in early to be rested for tomorrow’s baseball game. At some point during the shows, J tells me to pause it, and when I do I hear the special ring tone I’ve assigned to calls from my mother. It’s late, it’s Friday… I’m putting her on two margaritas at this point and while I do love her very very much, I typically prefer to receive drunken declarations of love via voice mail. I continue on with the programs.
An hour later, as I’m gathering up my things for bed, I notice the Sidekick trackball flashing blue, indicating I have a message waiting. I dial my voice mail and quickly jump back from the phone as my mother’s voice loudly says hello. Immediately I assume my suspicion is confirmed. But as she continues on with her message, I realize in fact she sounds perfectly normal… I continue listening to the message… something about my father and “guess where he is”, and then…
I am speechless; I shriek, my jaw drops, I stammer and step back from my increasingly concerned roommate as I continue to listen to my mother’s message. Stunned doesn’t even begin to define it. It is nothing short of un-fucking-believable.
“Did they win the lotto? Do we need to get married so I can go buy a new house?”
Eyes wide, I shake my head no.
“Are they in Houston?”
“My mother is.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Where’s the one place in the world he could be that would make me react like that?”
My next phone call is to my father, who, not surprisingly, doesn’t answer. I leave him a voice mail, the ends of my sentences punctuated with those annoying high-pitched shrieks that overly-caffeinated teenage girls do so well. My father…has gone to Las Vegas….without me. Me, his only child, his precious baby girl is not only left behind, but finds out about this betrayal after the fact?????? W.T.F.?? It’s not even the middle of the week; I could have taken Southwest flight 2312 and not missed a moment of class… oh sure, I have a midterm on Monday, but who cares??? It’s VEGAS. And he’s never been without me! Who is going to make sure he really, no really, gets up from the slot machine and takes a cab back to the hotel? And then share a cab to the hotel with him when she’s finally ready to leave the poker room at 6am?
It’s the adult equivalent of going to DisneyWorld and leaving your kids behind.
However – this kid has her father’s gold card; a nasty Sephora habit, and a piece of graduation jewelry she was promised. He better hope he wins big…