Had yet another mysterious blog sabotage yesterday. Someone is out to get me. I suck at sleuthing, so we’re enlisting the help of those who are good at it and when I find out who’s behind this…well, I do so love a good feud.
Archive for June, 2008
Old Walter died last weekend. He never did come back to the club.
on the sidewalk. Yeah, on the sidewalk.
Dear God…please please please please don’t let Obama pick Hillary.
Alceste: Someday you’ll have your own Upper West Side penthouse and garage for all your cars.
Me: When I learn how to turn invisible and knock over banks?
Alceste: No. When you’re a world famous author.
Alceste: Mmmm…okay, no. When you learn how to turn invisible and knock over banks.
And that is why he is the new assface.
“Sorry, honey, without proof of ID I can’t let you sit here at the bar.” – Bartender to me! ME! These are the perils of wearing cute powder pink overalls to Vegas poker rooms.
While I would like to think that I’ve drawn the ire of the powers that be for my unrelenting efforts at talking truth to power, I know I’m just not that important. More than likely I’ve been caught at some of the awful things I’ve done in the last couple of weeks, either by my victims or karma and this was payback. Either way thanks to genuis of the genuis known simply as JCN, things are back normal. So let’s go with recommenting all those thousands of comments you tried to leave over the last couple of days.
It’s been fun hanging out with the 130 pounds of fury these past couple of days. I like that we both both share a bitter hatred that Ugarles is funnier than we are. Jerk. F-train is, of course, a shameless gossip and mercilessly honest, but he is much wiser than his girlish figure would suggest. I’m lucky to know him.
Happy Birthday, Original Assface
(Assface confirming conversation from dinner a couple of days ago:
It was at the Seahorse bar that Dawn Summers remembered why I am the original Assface. I believe the comment that did it was when I said, “You know that normally I wouldn’t defend X.” Dawn kept expecting me to say “…but in this instance” or something similar. Nope. I was just pointing out that I won’t normally defend X. Statements like that make me the original Assface.
Ftrain: Look Dawn, you know I would never defend X.
Everyone is quiet.
Alceste: See, normally there would be a but after that sentence.
Me: Yeah, no. I think he’s done.
I am exhausted.
This is how I know I am getting old. I have just finished playing in my first World Series of Poker event, and all I want to do is get into my pajamas and sleep.
I guess it makes sense though, last night all I did was lay in bed staring at the ceiling â€“which has mirrors on it for some reason that I dare not imagine â€“ thinking about this day. Would I really do it? Or would I chicken out? Should I play something else?
By sunrise, I had maybe gotten two hours of shut eye. Luckily, there is something about the sun being out that makes me very sleepy, so I feel asleep for another five hours. Or seven. I got up at noon, went to the gym and worked out for about an hour. And then I saw Jesus.
There I was, about four fifths through my three mile treadmill run, when, out of nowhere, a man appeared and handed me a cold bottle of water. Like POOF. One minute I am alone in a locked hotel gym, the next I am thanking a stranger and gulping down Nestle bottled water like aâ€¦aâ€¦thing that gulps. I didnâ€™t realize it, but I was actually very thirsty. I finished the bottle and turned to say thanks to him again, but he WAS GONE!
I can only assume that I was moments away from passing out from dehydration, hitting my head on the treadmill and slowly dying as my brain filled with blood from the pursuant concussion.
But God had saved me. He had brought me water when I didnâ€™t even realize that I needed it. And why had he saved me?
Because I had a destiny.
A destiny that at one pm, in the Las Vegas desert, four hours before the Stud Eight event had to be to play. Carpe Diem, Dawn.
â€œOkay, Jesus. Thy will be done.â€
I did some weights, went out to the pool and swam a few laps, before toweling off and returning to the indoors. I then saw a sign for massage/spa services.
â€œDo you have any appointments for today? Like in the next hour?â€
â€œSure. We have something at 2:30.â€
â€œOkay. Sign me up.â€
Jesus would want me loose.
I went to the lounge and waited for my masseuse.
Her name was Candy or Jane or Barbara, I wasnâ€™t exactly paying attention. I had a tournament to win!
I finished up with Elaine and headed back to the room to get ready. It was almost four and I wanted to hurry up and register. Jesus might change his mind any minute.
I took a cab to the Rio, and found my way at the registration window.
â€œThis is my first World Series of Poker event!â€
I said to the window agent. Expressing the twin rarities in Dawn Summers land of emotion and talking to strangers.
â€œWell good for you,â€ Jimmy said, not nearly excited about my watershed moment as I was, â€œID please.â€
I had eagerly handed over the cashierâ€™s check for fifteen hundred right away when I got to the window.
â€œHere,â€ my hands seemed to say as I shoved the rectangular check through the cashierâ€™s window, â€œplease, take this from me quickly before I use it to pay my mortgage or health insurance premiums.â€
I pulled out my driverâ€™s license and my Poker playerâ€™s rewards card. I slid these toward Jimmy.
â€œI have to go make a copy. Iâ€™ll be right back.â€
I took a picture of him as he left.
He came back, handed me my cards, and my seat number. Table 48, seat 5. I was playing Stud Eight, a game where you have to keep track of all the cards around the table, so being smack dab in the middle of the table at seat five was a plus.
He asked me to sign over the cashierâ€™s check and a waiver for them to use my likeness.
I cringed at this a little. I didnâ€™t think my event was televisedâ€¦which is good because as far as my mother is concerned, Iâ€™m out here to attend a four day long wedding, and then just staying to hang out for a couple of days after that.
â€œFour days for a wedding?â€ she had asked skeptically.
â€œYeah. White people. Go figure,â€ I said giving the answer that has served me pretty well these last twenty years of immersion in white culture.
Being on TV, with cards in my hands and shades on my faceâ€¦well, that could pose a problem.
Oh well, I said channeling Carrie Underwood, Jesus take the wheel! I signed the form.
Stop judging me. It takes two to lie. One to lie and one to listen.
I went to scope out the room. I saw CK running toward me. She had decided at the last minute to play too.
At the appointed time I took my place in the five seat. I was giddy, nervous, happy—in short, I had to pee.
I got my first handâ€¦oh man, I canâ€™t believe I donâ€™t remember what it wasâ€¦I played it, but lost.
I played the next hand and won.
The guy across the table from me in the ten seat was nicknamed ‘Snake.’ I know this because he had a giant serpent shaped chip protector and a mini sign that said â€œWelcome to the snake pit.â€ He was also wearing a jacket with the name â€˜Snakeâ€™ embroidered on the top left. To top it off, he was reading the NY Post of all things. Snake quickly appointed himself the table captain. He corrected the dealer when the poor kid was going to chop up a pot between a seven high straight and an 86 low.
â€œNah, nahâ€¦itâ€™s a sweeper. Straight gets the whole thing.â€ â€œSweeperâ€ thatâ€™s what he called it when one player won both the high hand and the eight or better low in the game. Usually with split games, two players will each win half. Back at the home games in NY that I play in, we call it a â€œscoopâ€ when one player wins both. Leading Ham Hands to shout â€œwhat flavor?â€ whenever it happens at the Wall Street game.
But I came to like â€œsweepâ€ better because Snake (he and I now on nickname bases) would say â€œgive that girl a broomâ€ when I went on a mini rush to sweep three pots in a row.
This included one hand where I started with a Q showing and a Jack five under. I donâ€™t remember why I played the hand, but on fourth I hit a King and called because now I had two possible flush draws. I bricked on fifth, but it checked around and I hit a ten on sixth. I had missed my flush draws, but now I had an open ended straight draw. The ace came on seventh!
Gimme my broom.
I did not say this out loud.
â€œNice catch,â€ the guy to my right complained bitterly.
I had forgotten to scrunch all my cards up before turning over my hand, so he could see exactly when I hit my straight and he was pissed.
He proceeded to tilt off all his chips and bust about twenty minutes later.
Whew. I am not the first out.
I made it to the first break in really good chip position. I think Mary said she has a screen shot of me in third.
I was actually trying to play super tight. The third level I only played two hands and I won them both.
I was furiously texting with the Crackhouse gang back home â€“ and Alceste, who is in Vegas with me, but has been forced to spend the last few days with the old ball and chain instead of cracking out with the rest of us. Sorry, I mean heâ€™s gotten to spend the last few days with the old ball and chain.
â€œHey, Mary, Annie Duke is over at the next tableâ€¦should I go over and tell her she looks like you?â€ I texted Mary.
KJ kept instructing me not to tilt.
In truth, I was as far from tilting as Iâ€™ve ever been at a poker table. I was winning, having fun and doing something Iâ€™ve been talking about doing since 2005.
It really doesnâ€™t get better than this. Ok, Iâ€™m sure it does, but this was pretty good.
Snake busted early in level four. He reraised himself all-in with A23 and three players called him.
He bricked and pretty much mucked his hand at the end when the Indian guy who was on a crazy heater of pocket aces every hand, had again gotten pocket aces and this time improved to a boat. Last time he just had trips. The third player in the hand, a young kid, who had to fold his two pair was pissed.
â€œWhyâ€™d you raise like that,â€ he accused Snake, â€œwhat the hell were you doing man?â€
Snake, who is probably in his late sixties, fired back.
â€œLook kid, anytime you want to go heads up with me for real money, Iâ€™ll be waiting,â€ he seethed.
â€œOkay,â€ the kid said â€œLetâ€™s go. Meet me in the 75/150 room on Stars.â€
â€œOnline?â€ Snake scoffed. â€œI donâ€™t play online, boy. Letâ€™s get a table here when you bust, which will be soon.â€
The kid didnâ€™t respond.
Snake left the table.
The kid followed him five minutes later.
I made it to the dinner break. Halfway home!
I was playing the best Stud Eight of my lifeâ€¦not that thatâ€™s an extraordinary feat or anything. I am a pretty bad Stud Eight player.
I learned A LOT playing the tournament and when I finally busted in the middle of the sixth round, somewhere in the 300 out of 544, I could pinpoint most of my mistakes. Not folding soon enough after I bricked on fourth, not reraising my made hands before they got run down or before the low could hit and take half the pot awayâ€¦It was nearing midnight, I was losing focus and well I just donâ€™t have an autopilot mode for Stud Eight like I do with NLHE. I went out with an As2s6s when I was super short and the bring in with a deuce showing. I bricked on every street and ended up with a measly pair of twos and no low by the end.
It wasnâ€™t enough.
I made my way out of the Rio and got in a cab.
â€œYou here to watch your man play in the World Series, sweetie,â€ the cab driver asked after I told him my destination.
â€œNo. I was playing.â€
â€œOh yeah? Did you win?â€
I hesitated. I played in the World Series of Poker. Me.
â€œUmâ€¦not moneyâ€¦but sort of.â€
Table 48. Seat Five.
I have the widest shit eating grin on my face. Hmm…what an odd turn of phrase.
No matter what happens it was worth it. Okay, that last note is directed to future Dawn who will be, no doubt, matching the buy-in paying people a dollar to listen to her bad beat story.
I am the happiest I have been in months. Follow your dreams, people. Even the crazy ones that make your friends shake their heads.