I am going to Reno this weekend. My friend, Derek, is an avid University of Missouri fan, and I, along with some of his other friends, are going up to watch the Tigers play the University of Nevada, Reno at football. This sounds like a perfect opportunity to blow off steam with a weekend with the boys, but I am a bit worried.
The guys I am going with are quite successful in the business world. They are all upper level executives at successful companies, with nice houses and cars that probably don’t smell like old sandwiches. They wear clean clothes, shower every day, and are polite to one another. That is what has me worried. 
When I go to Reno with my normal crew, I tend to get just a tad out of control. When there, you will normally find me with a beer in my dirty little hands, a cigarette dangling out of my mouth, and I am constantly making up reasons to take the next shot. And that is all before breakfast. I like to yell at the dealers, do squats around the tables, and if you see me order food that doesn’t start with “chicken fried” then something is wrong. One time, I got an entire blackjack table to rub their nipples every time the dealer busted. I am concerned that I will not be able to control the beast within, and the others will have to ask Derek, “Why is your friend doing shots at the bar with that old Chinese woman?” It’s gonna be tough.
The other potential pratfall will be the blackjack tables. The tables, along with AC Transit buses, are one of the last few places where you can see democracy in action. When sitting at the tables for hours with random strangers, you tend to talk about who you are and what you do. I can foresee going around the table with everyone else talking about their impressive responsibilities and the movers and shakers they have in their contact list. And then all eyes will fall on me. Being a stay at home dad is great, but it is not the kind of awe inspiring profession that lends itself to impressing the general public. In anticipation of the blank stares that I normally get, I will tell people, “I’m in derivatives.” If forced to, I will eventually disclose that this means that I wipe Malcolm’s constantly running nose and that I sponge off of my wife, but I am hoping that I won’t have to.
I am going to approach the weekend like this: I am going to ignore my initial inclination. I will not be going to the strip club with a bag of cocaine and $1,000. I will think about it more closely and go to dinner with the boys. My pants and shirt will stay on at all times in the casino. I will channel my proclivity for taking off my clothes by simply leaving my fly unzipped. If someone makes fun of me for being a stay at home parent, I will buy them a drink instead of spilling one on them. It’s gonna be hard, because when I start drinking, it takes me approximately 1 second between when I think of something and when I start doing it. Wich me luck!
Tags: drinking, gambling, paul does silly things, paul in public
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Um, yeah. That all worked out, minus the shirt staying on…