Damn, it feels good to be a gambler Last night I had Vegas flashbacks. It was casino night at my gym. I'd worked really hard to collect fitness bucks so I could play it up. So Chrissy, after coming home from Florida with two kids and sans luggage (Um... they FORGOT to put the luggage on the plane. Not just hers. Everyone's. How does that happen? She says no wonder they arrived 15 minutes early.) Anyway. Yeah. Casino night. So we started out with about $60,000 between us. She, god bless her, kept betting high and winning. Me? I'm a chicken. Even when it comes to fake money. I hate losing. She collected quite a pool of yellow chips, which were worth $20,000 a piece. The idea was to win (of course) and then turn in your winnings for chances on prizes. We went straight for the big stuff. We wanted to win the six-course meal prepared for six people in your home by Chef John. (Don't worry. We don't really know who he is either. But hey. Chef. In your house. How bad could that be!?) I won nothing. She won some sad buy-one-get-one-free coupons for a public golf course. The atmosphere was pretty good. But I've only played Blackjack in Vegas, and I kept wondering where the silver was and where were the waitresses with the drinks. And why did she charge me $1 for a Diet Coke? Hey! They're free in Vegas! And how come the dealer doesn't really know what he's doing? Oh yes. Because he's really a tennis instructor. But he was pretty cute. So I guess it all evens out in the end. All except the chips.