Haircut 100

Random snippets from a random weekend:

HDouble said the tourneys on Full Tilt were soft and that I should start playing there. I always do what Hank says. You should too. I didn't see anything to dissuade me from his observation, but I went 0-3. Made no dent in the first when the FT RNG did a fair imitation of the Poker Stars RNG and cold-decked me for two hours. I bubbled in the second, as in REALLY bubbled, finishing 19th when 18 places paid, though I had a fantastic time playing that one since I was a) drunk and b) in very groovy, tournament-winning, humorous, drunk, drunk, manic, thought-provoking company.

Then last evening, I played my way into the top 10 in chips with about 100 remaining (54 places paid) and proceeded to dump my entire stack on a single hand which I mis-played so poorly that I still can't even figure what I was thinking. You know, when you make a determination before the flop about how you're gonna play the hand, then completely ignore that correct plan of attack AFTER the flop, then you are, by definition, a stupid fucking idiot.

Raises hand

The first step to positive mental poker health is admitting you have a problem, so let's just move on.

****************************-

I went to a birthday party on Saturday night where a haircut broke out, which not only brought the proceedings to a grinding halt, but resulted in way too many male plumber butt sightings.

No, I will not explain further.

I was talking to the Guest of Honor, an old pal who was one of the first friends I made in the Post-Divorce period of my LA life, when an attractive woman, who carried with her a full tumbler of straight vodka and the air of a rich, bored housewife, heard a snippet of our conversation, the subject being this here little corner of the internets. "You're a writer?!?!" she said, her face opening up. "Not really," I replied. "I have a blog."

She could not have left the room faster if it were on fire.

I still got it, ladies.

The end result of the party was one that often happened to me in days of yore: Sitting around in the wee hours shooting the shit with a good friend and eating deviled eggs. Okay, not so much the deviled egg part, but I had a bit too much to drink. It wasn't exactly the quantity that was a problem, but the variety. SoCo, Tecate, shot of 1800, margarita, Murphy's Irish Stout, SoCo (this one precipitated by one Bobby Bracelet on the line from Sin City where my memory insists he said he was getting a massage from a porterhouse steak), shot of Patron. All of which resulted in me being the Last Man (fortunately) Standing and staking out a spot on the couch.

Thanks very much to C and K for the excellent time and when y'all get a minute could you mail me my cell phone? Thanks.

***************************

Too bad about those Angels. Maybe my asshole neighbor will take down that stupid flag now. He's got a USC flag up too, but I guess that one can stay. What a game! I don't bother much with college football these days, but had it on the tube while puttering around the house and ended up bolted to the couch for the second half. Riveting drama.

***************************

The End.