Blues Casino Night Recap

                Last week I posted an update about trying to win a ticket to the St. Louis Blues Casino Night fundraiser by writing a persuasive essay on why I deserved the ticket.   The good news is that I won the ticket.  The great news is that it was one of the coolest experiences of my life.  And the questionable news is that the night had exactly the kind of talking points that you have come to expect from me and I’m fully prepared to tell you all about it.

“Come one, come all to the greatest spectacle

on Earth: Ryan making an ass of himself.”

                Since the theme of the night was “Under the Big Top,” I thought the best option for my attire was my black suit with a red dress shirt underneath to really make it pop (I have a keen fashion sense).  My black suit jacket just happened to be covered in glitter from Halloween (because sometimes I do things).  In my mind, this was not an issue at all because, if anything, the glitter just meant that I would look extra fabulous for the event.   In person, it was clearly glitter and I definitely looked fabulous.  In pictures, the glitter ended up looking like I had some serious dandruff issues.  Lesson learned.

“Hey man, why does your dandruff sparkle?”

                So anyways, I got to my table and made friends with all the people I would be sitting with.  I got myself a few drinks and scoped out the bathroom (because I know how important finding bathrooms are before you actually need them).  As it turned out, the bathrooms for this event were in the visitor’s locker room.  This was interesting because, while I’d seen the home locker room before, I had never seen the visitor’s locker room (nothing spectacular but I’m curious) and also because one of the urinals in there was child-height and it was really amusing to imagine a bunch of hockey players using a pint-sized pisser (I’m immature).  After finding the bathroom, I went back to my table and prepared to gorge on the food that was being brought out, while also silently panicking that I’d spill half of it on my tie (because I know who I am and what I’m about).  It was during this massive caloric intake that I discovered the table right behind mine was chock full of Blues players.  Very exciting!

So I snapped this sneaky selfie. #Creeper

                Once dinner was over with, it was time to hit the floor, do some gambling and rub elbows with the stars.  There was almost no part of this that I was prepared for.  First of all, I’m terrible at gambling.  Each attendee was given $5,000 in Blues Bucks when they walked in the door to gamble with, so at least it wasn’t my own money because it didn’t go well, but more on that later.  As for the rubbing elbows with the stars, I had a real roadblock as to how I was supposed to address these guys.  As I thought about it, I realized that I know all of these guys on the team by first name, last name and nicknames.  But it’s not like I’ve ever been formally introduced to them, so how do I talk to them?  Vladimir? Steen? Mr. Elliott? Shatty? Pauly Walnuts?  What I eventually settled on was just avoiding using names altogether and saying things like “Hello there!” and “Hey dude!”  I also at one point told goalie Brian Elliott’s wife that, “I’m pretty sure he’s a keeper,” because I am equal parts punny and awkward (which I think actually just means I’m doubly awkward).

                And of course, now we get to the gambling part, which I already mentioned that I’m awful at.  I went around to a few different tables but ended up spending most of the night playing craps.  My personal favorite part of gambling was when I stepped away from one of the tables and put a handful of chips in my jacket pocket only to find that said pocket had a hole in it.  Thankfully, the chips didn’t spill onto the floor because they ended up trapped inside the lining of my coat, floating around in some sort of black hole within my clothing.  I was not about to just let $800 in chips disappear inside my suit coat forever, so I spent several minutes awkwardly twirling around the casino floor as I tried to fish the chips one-by-one out through the same hole they had disappeared through.  Hopefully, I looked more like I was just enjoying the music and not so much like a t-rex trying to scratch his bellybutton, but I make no promises.   When gambling was over with, everyone was supposed to use their chips to buy tickets to use in a raffle.  Remember how I said I’m awful at gambling? Well, by the end of the night I actually didn’t even have enough chips to buy a single raffle ticket.  Luckily for me, I must have a pitiful face or something because the lady exchanging chips for raffle tickets felt bad for me and gave me a raffle ticket anyways.  I did not win anything in the raffle.  I expected this.

                After all of this, the night was winding down so I met back up with the people who were sitting at my table so that I could say some more of my trademark stupid shit to make sure that I was imprinted in their memories.  I also got a cupcake on the way out and it was delicious but I waited to eat it until I got home because I was worried about getting icing in my beard, since I already had glitter on my suit.

                And of course, this post would not be complete without a photo dump.  All jokes aside, it was an awesome night and I’m really glad I got to experience it.

 

-Ryan

Hotline Bling?

                Previously, I made a post about a girl who had chlamydia and how I freaked out about it but thankfully have never contracted any STIs myself.  One thing that a lot of people don’t know about me is that at one point in my life, I worked at an STD/STI hotline.  For about a year, I worked for a counseling/testing hotline.  People would call up the hotline, we would have to listen to their symptoms and stories, (usually) calm them down and get them scheduled for testing based on what they were most likely at risk of based on what they told us.  It was certainly not the most glamorous job, but it was decent pay and not particularly difficult. 

                Now, as you would expect, I had to learn a lot about sexually transmitted diseases in order to properly direct the callers to the proper test panel that they’d need.  To be perfectly frank, I learned more than I ever wanted to know about that stuff and for the most part am still terrified of sex, kissing, hand-holding, being in public or even being looked at the wrong way because people in general are nasty and do disgusting things.  To prove my point, I have held on to one particular phone call during my time there as basically the apex of gross ridiculousness.  I think you’ll agree.

Me: “Private Health Testing, this is Ryan, how can I help you?”

Caller: “I have AIDS.  I know it.  I need to get tested.  My life is over.”

Me: “Calm down, sir.  We’ll get you through this and set up with the appropriate test.”

Caller: “I’m ruined.  I’m dead.  I just know it.  I’ve got AIDS.”

Me: “Why don’t you describe what happened and your symptoms that lead you to believe you’ve contracted HIV, sir?”

Caller: “My wife is going to find out.  My whole life is ruined.”

Me: “Sir, what happened?”

Caller: “I…I was in a hotel room.   I rented a porno and I started getting really turned on and….Oh god, I’m so fucked.”

Me: “I’m still here, sir.  Please continue.”

Caller: “I got really into the porno and I put the hotel tv remote up my butt.  Oh god, that thing was probably crawling with diseases.  My wife is going to leave me when she finds out I have AIDS.”

Me: “Well, sir, don’t worry.  That’s not how you get HIV.  But you probably shouldn’t do that anymore.”

Caller: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes.  Other people need to use those remotes, too.”

*click*

                I do regret that I didn’t get a chance to ask if he was able to adjust the volume my clinching his cheeks while the remote was in his butt.  I’m also totally terrified of using any hotel remotes ever again.

-Ryan

Blues Casino Night

I’ve posted before about my love for hockey and,specifically, the St. Louis Blues.  Well, recently (today!) an opportunity came up to attend a very cool Blues event, their annual Casino Night fundraiser, and all I had to do was write a 500 word essay as to why I should be chosen to attend.  I mean, I write things all the time and usually there is no prize involved whatsoever (other than the adoration of my readers, right?), so writing an entry for this was really a no-brainer (my favorite kind of brainer).  I also thought it would be fantastic to post on here because if I’m going to write something I would like to use it as a free update to my blog (also because it probably has a joke or two in it).  I think it's also interesting that I've been slow to write updates lately but I busted this out almost immediately (it's amazing what happens when you dangle a carrot in front of my face). Because I’m a perfectionist (also nerd), I hit exactly 500 words for my essay.  And because I care about you, I went ahead and highlighted those 500 words in gray so you know exactly what my submission is.  So prepare for me to take the podium and present my case:

This is a nice podium.  Also, this is how you pander.

Obviously, you don’t want just any schmuck going to Casino Night, and I can assure you that I’m not just any schmuck.  I’m True Blue (but still a schmuck in my own regard). You want to vet my Blues fandom?  I’m 28 and can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t a Blues fan (and it’s not because I’ve drank too much in my life, probably).

Look at that little Blues fan!

When I was younger, I was once grounded when I was supposed to go to a game. I had my ride pull the car up outside, action-rolled under the garage door, dove into the car and had the driver speed off before my mom had a chance to yell at me.  Consequences were totally worth it, plus I felt like an action star.  My dad once took a trip to Chicago and brought me back a Blackhawks shot glass as a souvenir.  I threw it in the trash right in front of him because that’s where garbage belongs.  I don’t believe there’s any excuse for walking out of a game and not honking your horn 3 times while driving home.  If I leave a game and still have my voice, I consider it a personal failure.  I fall into a deep state of depression in the off-season.  I coerced my favorite bar into creating a Blue Note shot for my friends and I to down with every goal (while I stand on a chair, swinging my shirt and counting them out).

Even my booze loves the Blues.

You’ll also probably want a pretty cool person with you.  And I don’t think I’ve ever actually been a cool person but I can confidently say that I’m fun to hang out with.   Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty hilarious (toot toot!).  You wanna hear some funny stories, jokes and anecdotes?  I got you covered.  You wanna talk hockey, I can do that too (that’s why I’m here!).  You having a bad day and need a hug?  No worries bro, I got you.   Because I’m not the guy the table needs, I’m the guy the table deserves (or maybe the other way around; I never quite understood that quote).

I’ve also done this.  Not sure if it helps my case.

But it’s not just about the fact that I’m a genuine Blues’ fan, either.  You need a sob story to seal the deal.  Since there is only 1 ticket up for grabs, guess who not only doesn’t have to worry about anyone being bummed that he’s going without them but who also couldn’t even find someone to go with him if he tried.  I mean really, I’ve seen more Blues playoff series over the last 4 years than I’ve had dates.  And even though the Blues only won 1 of those series, they’ve had a better success rate than the dates (and I was more devastated by the Blues’ losses).  And you know, in the midst of all that desperation, I still swipe left on Blackhawks fans.   Because I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.  Let’s go Blues!

Look, sometimes I do things. I don’t have to explain myself.

                Naturally, I’ll have to report back on whether or not this submission gets any traction, but I hadn’t planned on abandoning this blog and I’ll probably have to make a post about whatever shenanigans I get into should I get the chance to attend or I’ll write something about how sad I am and how many pints of ice cream I end up eating if I lose.  Either way you win (unless you don’t like reading what I write, in which case, why are you even here?).

-Ryan