they shoot blogs, don't they?

Not when you neglect them. Only when they have rabies. And so far, no foaming at the mouth in these parts.

So, I am going to Vegas in a few short hours. Wish me luck. Actually, wish me money. You could say I'd be "lucky" not to get hit by the monorail. So, I want you to wish money for me. Go.

I had planned on trying to stay up late in order to make it easy to sleep on the plane tomorrow. I can plane sleep, but let's not kid, it's not like a California King resting on a cloud in a breezy 68-degree room. It's more like, some dude's elbow is in your side and and maybe has halitosis. He does, not his elbow. I can catch some Zs, but then some yutz is asking me if I'd like a soft drink. Oh, and I'm not accepting anything. We're flying not Southwest so I know all the flight crew moonlight as grifters and pick-pockets. (How does spellcheck not know what a grifter is? Has no one seen Paper Moon? WTF?)

At any rate, I thought I'd check in so you'd know I didn't suddenly become famous. Although, I am going to Vegas. I might end up with a variety show or some such. These things happen, people.

she: Have a good night.

me: Allll right.

You know when somebody says something (aside, you know when you first-born son took off your "a" key somehow. He got his tiny finger under there and pop goes the article!) and it's not right. I mean, there was no way for her to know I wasn't leaving, just going to the bathroom. And it was late, seemingly I should have been going to bed. Not bed, but home.

Allll right. Now the baby is crying (sick). Ah. This is one of those weeks where the baby is determined that I get 8 hours sleep - total. Maybe I'll just pass out on the couch.