I'm still basking in the glow of my smallish windfall from our casino shenanigans last week. The first evening began like a typical evening in a casino. Bet. Lose. Repeat. Droning monotony. Michael and I had gambled our hearts out, consumed a ridiculous amount of vodka, and were biding our time through the waning hours of the night when we found a skanky bank of 2 cent slot machines tucked away in a dark corner of the noisy casino. We were surrounded by hoards of bussed-in fiesty old ladies sporting crushed velvet sweat suits and matchy-matchy casual wear. Bring it. The bar was nearby. Bonus.
Bottoms up. We were oblivious to everything while we chatted, laughed, and sipped our low brow vodka tonics. In fact, we weren't even paying attention to our 2 cent slot machines. Who cared? Other people always hit the big jackpots, causing their machines to explode into loud symphonies of bells, whistles, and gut-wrenching sirens. Bitter? Hell, yeah. Bottoms up.
That particular night, things panned out differently. While nonchalantly ordering another round of drinks, my machine hit a bonus round. My bouncing ball hit the mark. It hit big. The little white ball landed softly on 50,000 bonus credits. Really? We stared. We screamed. We screamed and stared.
After 30 minutes of counting down 50,000 credits, my total amounted to $1081.51. Not quite a Mega Millions haul, but it was pretty cool for a skanky 2 cent late night drunken bet.
We celebrated quietly (pajama-clad) back in our hotel room with cold take-out chili dogs and dill pickle spears washed down with vending machine soda. Fancy. Living the life. High rollers. Big spenders.
The following night, we took a break from the raucous casino chaos and continued our little celebration with a fantastic meal at Jack Binions Steakhouse. Nestled into a curved over-tufted candlelit banquette, we quietly feasted on succulent pan seared bay scallops bathed in a lemony beurre blanc, deeply charred blood rare filet mignons, and crispy salt-packed buttered baked potatoes washed down with several glasses of soft pinot noir. We stayed away from the casino. Better yet, we stayed away from the free lobster tails offered at The Paula Deen Buffet.
The next morning, we drove home. Through the woods, over the bridge, and back to reality. Click. Click. Click. There's no place like home. Serene and quiet. Perfect.
As our extreme weekend wound down, I wanted to close it out with a final homage to that humble 2 cent bet. Packed with $100 bills, I gave a slight nod to luxuary and picked up a couple of whole steamed lobsters.
Lobster Eggs Benedict.