When I woke up this morning, the roads seemed completely clear. Sure, there were several inches of snow on the ground, but it seemed as though Penn DOT actually got their asses in gear over night. I had no fear about going to see the Wings play tonight.
However, after driving for an hour and a half to get to the game we learned that the game was postponed until April 13th because the other team couldn't fly in from Minnesota.
"All dressed up with no place to go," I said to Paul. It seemed like a waste of a St. Patrick's Day. I was now in Philly, hours away from my plans B or C. "I feel like we should do something since we're down here."
"Let's go to Atlantic City," he said. And there he was - the spontaneous guy that I married. I thought it was a good idea. Although, I'm barely Irish, I'd be willing to test my luck.
Next thing I knew we were on the AC Expressway, stopping for Starbucks and then parking at Trump. We lost, then won, then won again, lost, lost, lost. Luck of the Irish, my big fat ass! We went from Trump to Wild Wild West and Bally's. I like the decor Wild Wild West, even if it's a little cheesey. I don't even really mind the country music they pipe in there, although was it really necessary for some country artist to remake that fuckin' Himder song. ENOUGH ALREADY!
Walking back to Trump, I saw a black cat on the beach. I started calling him Lucky. I tried calling him to come to me, but he ran under the boardwalk. At least he didn't cross my path, I guess.
And I didn't drink tonight. This is the first St. Patrick's Day that I can remember in years that I was not drunk. See! You all think I'm an alcoholic. Ha!
We stopped at a diner on the way home and then a cop followed us almost to our door. We were the only car on the road and he was just waiting for us to do something stupid. It didn't happen. Then he pulled off to get gas.
So, yeah, that was my night o' spontaneity. It was fun, but I wish I had won something.
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