Trying to get all sorts of pics here, but Photobucket SUCKS, and Photobucket Beta locks my computer up every time I try to use it.
Saturday morning, I had an experience that would have been extremely enjoyable were I a guy or gay.
We have to go up a very steep set of metal stairs from the lower level of the hotel to the casino floor after we clock in.
I had the joy of going up the steps right behind two cocktail waitresses.
It was necessary to keep my gaze focused on my feet, because otherwise I got a perfect up-the-skirt view of the waitresses' panties. I don't swing that way, and didn't need to have their ass-cheeks in my face.
I get enough of ass-cheeks at work!
When I entered "my" treatment room in the women's spa (not really mine, but mine on Fridays and Saturdays), I was greeted by a sight to warm the cockles of a book-a-holic's heart...
my colleague K., also a reader, had gotten to work before me and left a bag of books for me on the massage table.
I love surprises, and I LOVE new books!
K. and I share a taste for fantasy and SF, especially military SF, and we've been swapping books since we became aware of each other's interest.
When I was headed to lunch, I passed a men's room and three employees came out, giggling hysterically.
I don't want to know.
And if it was anything involving pointing and laughing, I REALLY don't want to know!
At lunch I learned, again, that I should put my book down once in a while, especially if I'm going to be eating pork ribs.
Barbecue pork ribs.
I had the book in my right hand and the rib in my left, when the barbecue sauce caused the rib to slip right through my fingers, onto my chest.
Gravity took over and the tasty, yet stupid thing rolled merrily to the floor, leaving a trail of bright, brick-red barbecue sauce behind, all the way down my khaki uniform shirt.
I knew I had a service a half hour after lunch, so I raced upstairs to the spa and proceeded to strip (hey, I was wearing a sports bra and it's the WOMEN'S spa, so I didn't give a crap who saw me) and scrub my shirt with hand soap and washcloths.
After I had removed almost all of the evidence of my clumsiness, I used the one of the blow-dryers we have available for the guests' use and dried the shirt, too.
I didn't want to look like I was a (non-winning!) contestant in a wet T-shirt contest!
So I was clean, dry, and serviceable (g) when it was time for my next client.
It was only later that I remembered I carry "Tide to Go" in my purse.
Friday night I spent three endless hours at my daughter's high school, watching a horrid football game.
Our team lost, of course, but not quite as badly as last week. Only 35 to 13, not 35 to 6.
I'd insert some frickin' pictures here, but as I said before, Photobucket sucks!
I've been trying to upload twenty pictures, but it's gotten stuck on image number 4, and when I click "cancel", nothing happens.
So I'll stop here until I get the stupid pictures, 'cause I have a lot of pics from our Saturday night bowling excursion with a bunch of old friends of ours.