I GOT you man.

So tomorrow the man I have referred to previously as my platonic life partner flies into visit with me and my roommate. It brings to mind the last time that we got together. The Reno Trip. It was a few years ago. I was living on the Central Coast of California at that point. Pat (who is a Marine) was training in Nevada. Pat had trained before there, and the trip the soldiers usually made on their off time was to Reno. I took an extra day off from work and made the 6 hour trip on a Saturday. Reno is like the white trash second cousin of Vegas. Its smaller, dirtier, cheaper but it is less hot (Thank God). But this was all totally cool. Pat is my boy. We don't need a lot to entertain each other. We used to sit in the tall grass on the slope of a highway overpass at night and just shoot the shit. It was like a 3/4 of a mile walk to get there too. We don't need much. So Saturday I get in, check into the hotel and wait for Pat to show up. I do a little gambling, we get some dinner, then we just spend some time catching up. The calm before the storm.

Sunday, it is on. I am due to drive back Monday during the day so we need to pack as much as we can into Sunday. We are up to the challenge. Team Pat and Andy is raring to go and we are going to tear up the biggest little city or whatever bullshit slogan they have in that town. We start out with sushi. Pat got a recommendation from a friend of his about a little place in a strip mall, so we head out there to begin our day, pounding down some warm sake and delicious raw fish and rice. Back to the hotel, I do a little gambling and we wander a bit, and then we spot our place for dinner. There is a very nice steakhouse inside our hotel, the kind offering table side service of caesar salads and 30-40 dollar steaks. Fuck Yeah. Pat and I hammer down at this establishment, filling up on red meat and good whiskey. After rolling ourselves out of there we head to a tiki type bar where we meet some of the members of Pat's company. Drinks are had and rounds are bought. I had set aside a decent amount for this trip and I am leaving in the morning so we lay it on thick. I am drinking whiskey and ginger like I will catch fire without them. By about 11 we are buzzing something fierce, and there is only one thing to do. Strip Club. Pat had been to Reno before and there was a favorite club already in place. I could be wrong but I believe it was called Fantasy Girls. The fine upstanding and hard working women who labor in the confines of that establishment are a credit to their species.

By this time I am drunk as fuck, and I know a strip club is going to be trouble. I tuck a fifty dollar bill (for gas and food on my way home the next day) behind my license and away we go, cabbing our way over. We party like motherfucking rock stars. We are buying ourselves drinks, dancers drinks, bartenders drinks and its Sunday night and pretty damn slow so we are knee deep in girls. (Yeah, I am well aware all they want is the cash, but still, its not the worst feeling in the world. I certainly paid enough for it.) Pat and I are both glowing, doing the normal "I fucking love you man" drunk bullshit in between lap dances. Bonding occurs. I blow almost every dime I have, partying like I never have before and have not done since, and doing it with my best friend makes it totally worth it. We close the strip club down and stumble out with barely enough money between us to cab back to the hotel. Back in the room we are both still charged up from the night we had so we sit in the dark and shoot the shit some more, until the booze catches up and we both pass out.

Next morning comes, and we are hurting. But we both have stupid happy grins on our face from the night before. That was some shit. I am packing, getting ready to take off. Pat is going to be in Reno for a few more days, and he really wants me to stay one more day. I am down to my last 50 bucks, and 35 of that at the very least is going into the gas tank. I tell Pat there is no way I can afford another night in Reno. Now Pat is better with money than I am (to be honest, just about everyone is better with money than I am) and he has built up some savings since he has been in the military. So out of kindness and generosity he utters the fatal phrase. It is a simple declaration, but it is imbued with utter confidence to go along with his generosity.

"I got you man."

What a guy, simply because we had such a good time last night and he wants to hang out one more time he is prepared to finance one more night for me. How can I say no? After some discussions and some (most likely pro forma) protestations on my part, and many more utterances of the phrase "I got you man." we agree I will stay one more night. Pat is steadfast, he has my back. Fuck yeah. Shit is back on. We head out inside the casino for some delicious sushi (do they not have fish in the Marine Corps?) and then we head to the ATM. Pat attempts to take some money out. Wherein tragedy strikes. Turns out Pat maxed out his daily limit the night before at 1 AM in the strip club. (told you we partied like fucking rock stars) Dismayed but with unbroken will we return to the hotel room to contemplate our next move. It is decided that all we have to do is make it until midnight, a long 11 hours away. We only have my 50 bucks cash between us. Its not really enough to get us lunch and dinner and drinks to get to midnight. Now smarter men then us would have bought a 24 pack, a bottle a whiskey and a bucket of chicken. Then those smarter men would have battened down the hatches until midnight. But we were young and intrepid souls, and a plan that conservative is unacceptable. Now this is one of those times in my life when I am doing some gambling, and I am actually convinced I am pretty good at poker (I'm not). I had won some money the night before, so here is Pat's plan. I gamble with the 50, I make some money, we eat and drink to excess, midnight comes we get back to the strip club. Easy Peasy.

Any gambler will tell you how shitty this plan is. Even pros lose only slightly less than they win, and I was far from a pro. The most likely result of this plan is me losing most if not all of the money and the two of us subsisting on water and Saltines copped from the buffet until midnight. But Pat has faith in me. I can do this. Pat promptly takes a nap and I head down stairs, and buy into a $2-4 limit hold 'em game. This is some of the cheapest poker you can find in a casino and it generally is a crap shoot. I probably would have had a better shot betting the whole 50 on one hand of blackjack. I sit down and play the tightest poker of my life, dwindling my stack down below $30. I am sweating bullets and playing scared poker. This will not end well. Against all odds, and almost certainly because of some form of luck applied only to fools and drunks, I pick up a pot, and then another. I loosen up a little as i go over $60 and I go on a roll, popping up above $130. I am getting greedy now. Cards go cold and I punch out of the game at an even $100. With cold sweat still drying on my face I return to the room triumphant. I wake up my partner in crime. And we are off and running once more. By midnight we have full bellies and are loaded up once more on booze. "I got you man." has passed into the lexicon of our friendship. We count down the minutes gleefully until midnight. At 12:01 Pat has hit the ATM and we are back in the cab to Fantasy Girls. Good Times.