Karma gets the last laugh.

We were kid-less for the weekend. It called for a night at the casino.

The following are the things you need to know:

  1. I only smoked when I drank.
  2. I rarely drank, but when I did, I thought I was a 20-something year old rock star.
  3. I thought I was hot shit when I started drinking.
  4. I was neither a 20-something or hot shit.
  5. I soon realized my arrogance.

The chain of events, that I recall, started with a few Captain and Cokes, the flashing lights of slot machines, some money lost, odd looks from security, and me running out of my “drunk time” cigarettes.

On my thirtieth pee break of the night, I popped a squat. Even drunk, I do not sit on the seat for fear of God knows what. I reached over to grab some toilet paper. Low and behold, on top of the toilet paper dispenser, was a pack of cigarettes! I closed an eye to confirm my double vision was not deceiving me.

The next thought that went through my drunk mind is quite possibly what landed me where I am today.

“Ha. Ha. Some dumb bitch left her cigarettes in the bathroom. Too fucking bad for her ass.”

I snatched those cigarettes up. I smoked them all, laughing to myself as I thought about how she probably went back to the bathroom. She probably had to spend $10 on new cigarettes as the casino machine. I laughed and laughed at how drunk she must have been.

A little while later, I sat down, smoking a cigarette and drinking my drink. I was playing slots and running out of money. A man sat down next to me. A few more spins later, I cashed out. Reaching for my drink, I saw two cups that looked like the same drink. I was too drunk to remember which drink was mine. The guy next to me had sat down after me, put his drink down, and I did not know which was mine. Without asking him, I just grabbed the one with more and walked off. I laughed and laughed.

The next morning, I woke with a headache. I stumbled from the bed and into the bathroom. My bottom lip felt funny. Glancing in the mirror, I saw a red spot on the bottom of my lip. I didn’t know what it was. I had never had that before. I thought maybe I burned myself with a cigarette.

By the time we got home, I had small blisters on my bottom lip and skin. I knew what it was then. Knowing where cold sores come from, I tried to remember my actions for the night. The cigarettes crossed my mind. Then, I remembered the drink that more than likely was not mine.

I wasn’t laughing anymore.

Every few years, something causes it to surface again. Every few years, I am reminded of what a total dick I am when I party like a rock star. Karma got me. She got me good. She also made sure everyone could see it.