I Fought Piranhas

What do you mean it's only Tuesday?!?! I can't take much more of this. Time has virtually stopped. It's like Robert Hays and Pam Dawber are hanging around with that stupid watch (I really can't help myself with the '80s references, April).

And then this comes along promising to make the next 9 days even more interminable:

Prophet Yahweh summoning UFOs to Las Vegas.

Prophet Yahweh sounds like a hoot. I wanna party with that cowboy.

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As warned, little to nothing in the way of poker content. Did a little reading last night, and as you might guess, a lot of thinking. I am through-the-roof excited to be playing in a World Series of Poker event. I am also downright terrified. I'm having these huge mood swings where I'm bouncing off the walls one minute and assuming the fetal postion the next.

Bottom line: I don't want to make a total ass out of myself. Not because I am not a total ass at times, but because I don't want my play in the Event to overshadow the rest of the weekend. I tend to obsess about my donkey plays, negatively affecting my mental condition.

If I'm being perfectly honest and pragmatic, I'm at a pretty severe experience disadvantage in this field. Aside from the considerations of play, there are other factors which make this a wholly new affair:

1. The length of the event. To make it through the first day, we're looking at roughly 14 hours, more than twice the length I've ever spent in an online tourney. And online, I can freely move around, even make dinner. Gonna take extra focus.
2. The inability to run to the toilet quickly so as not to miss a deal. Online, I can fold UTG, sprint down the hall, do my bidness and make it back for my BB. It's a gift.
3. Having to wear pants. Self-explanatory.
4. Scary professional poker players staring at me for inordinate amounts of time. I don't even like it when hot chicks stare at me. Well, that's not true. I like it, but not in a "I enjoy being stared at" way. Rather in a "Yeah baby, I know you're diggin' it, but please stop staring at me, you're making me uncomfortable" way. If Lederer fixes his mojo on me for more than 15 seconds, I'll not only blurt out what I'm holding, but I'll probably give him my wallet, too.
5. My wife keeps asking me how much I'm going to win. She did the same thing for weeks leading up to my "Greed" appearance and we all know how that turned out (CHESSMAN, YOU FUCK!). All us bread-winners suffer from Latrell Spreewell Syndrome, so the pressure to feed my family is intense.

Of course, I haven't actually received my confirmation e-mail from the Rio yet. Today should be the latest I'd hear from them. If not today, I'm officially worried.

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Speaking of the dear and patient wife and her unreasonable expetations (though I don't necessarily take them personally since she unreasonably expects to win the Lottery some day, too), I thought I'd list something that SHE does that makes me want to file papers. You know, in the interest of equal time.

She puts kitchen utensils away in a different place every time. It's like a never-ending game of "Where's the Cheese Grater?" When we were house-shopping, her one demand was to have a "big kitchen." I thought it was so she would have more room for her culinary masterpieces. Turns out it was so she could torture me with 6x more drawer space in which to hide the can opener.

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Pauly's running a Freeroll tonight on (Ig)Noble Poker. I won't be home in time from work to participate, but I encourage you all to play and show support for his efforts. And it's a good way to kill a couple hours off the Vegas wait.