lucky strikes, unless it involves my boxers

luck - n. the force that seems to operate for good or ill in a person's life. good fortune.

lucky - adj. happening fortunately; marked by good luck

example 1: anyone who wins a half-court shot contest.
example 2: anyone who walks away from a nasty car accident.
example 3: winning the lottery.
example 4: goose's 2007 (thus far)

To some people, you make luck by being in the right spot, getting yourself prepared for that moment when you need to sway all the x-factors in your direction. To others, luck comes like a blessing of an angel or benevolent spirit. And to some, luck not only comes, but sets up shop with you for a while. As lucky streaks go, I am riding one that is perhaps even greater than the time I played roulette at the Mohegan Sun and cleaned up all my chips. I believe Lt. Sherman of the Coast Guard was with me at the time. I don't even remember how much I won, but i did win all of the possible gray chips I was playing. Which I think were worth $1 each. I can't imagine the Sun having roulette tables cheaper than $5, but maybe...

So what is this incredibly lucky streak? Chronologically: 1) 1 January 2007 - I find myself again on Virgin Gorda. 2) During my vacation, I work for UVI, turning a little mint to help offset my vacation costs (and by the way, a 30-day winter vacation in the tropics is pretty darn lucky too!). 3) far away, back in cold New London, my "1000 Club" number comes up for the first time in ages. Was it the silly $10 drawing? NO! $100!!! And my parents were there to witness it! (And I think the good Doctor's number also played that week...) 4) Upon my return to Texas, the airline has lost my big duffel bag of clothes. How is this lucky? Because they didn't lose my dive gear (which is financially irreplaceable these days. t-shirts I have...) But, there were a few nice items in the duffel bag, including some fancy nice shirts from the happiest Quicksilver store in the world (Honolulu, HI) and wooly slippers and my heavy Yale sweatshirt. Not to mention 4 bottles of hot sauce from St. Croix, at least one of which would surely break and ruin my clothes. So for 4 long days, I wait for American Airlines (No. 1 in delayed / lost luggage!) to get my stuff back to me.

Finally, I get the call. And Lo! And Behold! There's a strong smell of pepper sauce coming from my bag! NO! So I open the bag and not a single important/nice/expensive/warm piece of clothing is destroyed. I carefully take out each piece, examining and then placing in a nice pile of "good clothes" on my back seat (if you think that I would miss an opportunity to dramatize in front of the American counter, you'd be wrong. Gotta love regional airports where the departure ramp is five feet from the ticket counters...) and there, at the bottom of the bag, surrounded by 4 pairs of boxers and my Yale hoodie, is said broken bottle. And that's it! Not a drop of hot sauce got anywhere else. How's that for luck!

Though, to be sure, I am beginning to wonder about my odd trevails with boxers. Do note: hot sauce stains a funny color that is increasingly unfunny on light-colored cottons, especially when said cottons are part of your delicates... Why is it always my boxers?

To recap: I've had my gutchey washed away along a tropical current, had them stolen by snivelling laundry ladies, eaten by my dog, forgotten during a week-long trip to Philadelphia, and now irreparably dyed an amusing puce color if puce was a little more shit yellow/brown than purple.

and sorry mom about the swear... I'll go get the Ivory Liquid.

as always (knock on wood),
--goose

luck since then: 1 sick goal in a pick-up soccer game. full volley with right foot from 15 yards, upper 90. 1 night I didn't go out and would have been coming home right at the moment that a really nasty car accident happened around the corner from my house. 1 magical 18 page dissertation proposal that came together over 9 hours this afternoon.

More shout-outs next time. But now I have to get my butt to bed.