Yesterday, in the midst of spinning slots at Wynn, I discovered this -
My first ever broken nail! HOW the hell do these things happen, I would like to know. What seemed like no trouble/pain at all suddenly turned into a big brouhaha over something males would classify as being no big deal. Fuck, it was (made-believe) PAINFUL!
So, I told the concierge to get me some nail clippers and went chop-chop on the little bastard that ruined my life.
Those are the remnants of my first french-ie manicure as well. Then, phoned L and he said, "You should leave it alone, let it heal by itself and then wrap it up with layers and layers of plaster." Ho ho ho, one step too late, are we not!
And, if you were wondering, me and him are fine, albeit stuck huge in poker terms. Grass and fresh air for a living, from this day on, since that day at the airport where limpei WAITED 5 freaking hours for His Majesty to appear. And, we're still being ripped off layer by layer of flesh, testing to see how far we can fall into the deathly gambling never-ending pit.
OKAY MORE GAMBLING SEE YOU BYE
15/10/1989, into fast cars, black/silver/grey, good foie gras, poker, a degenerate gambler. Hooked on appealing visuals and in love with the world's most retarded poker player, Lance.