Suck and Resuck . . .

Work has kept me busy, so I haven't had the chance to play poker - free time is family time, etc.

Tonight I got back to it and played a few SNGs. I'm in one of those Beta HellKats on PP - 15 minutes of play, he (or she) who has the most chips wins.

I wait out the stupids, play decently, slow play a couple good ones, and am up to second place. We get heads up and the chip leader has arrived in his current station through some BIG suckouts.

However, we're down to the last two minutes - heads up, at this point, anything plays.

I am dealt A10 in the BB - my opponent raises 5x. Now A10 isn't awesome, but heads up (and given how loose he was playing), I decide to test him. His raise still leaves him in the chip lead - so I re-raise enough so that if he commits and loses, he loses his lead.

He goes over the top again - and this time I call, all-in (I'm pot committed with only 1 minute 30 seconds and 2 BB left).

He turns over K8 unsuited - I'm in the lead, but two live cards in his favor.

Flop comes KKA, giving him 3 kings and me a pair . . . turn is 9 . . . river an A. My full house beats your full house . . . I take the lead, and never give it up.

His comment? "Unreal."

I agree. Unreal that he raised 5x with K8 unsuited when its that close to the end of the tourney - and two decent cards are going to call at that point - you can't check-call your way to a win at this point if you're the short stack. You can, however, if you are the leader.

Unreal that after I re-raised, and put his lead in danger, he decided to go over the top with his crap. You have to know I'm going to call if I can barely make two more blinds.

Unreal that he didn't respect a re-raise from me - the QUEEN of conservative plays.

I typed in "Hmmm. My crap beats your crap."

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Almost Halloween

After that poke at Drizz and the other fans of the NFC North who are not lucky enough to have chosen to cast their lot with the clearly dominant team, I thought I'd return to a nicer time of family postings.

As DrChako mentioned, Son #1 is not interested in trick or treating - he just wants to scare the crap out of some kids. I made him promise that princesses under the age of six are off limits.

Son #2 is ready with his Spiderman costume, complete with muscles.

Tonight we carved pumpkins - Son #1 had to make the vomiting pumpkin. Not too bad.

Wish the Doc was here to share it.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Go Cheeseheads, Volume II

Green Bay. Brett Farve. OT. 82 yards.

'Nuff said. Or . . . not.

How'd the Vikings do last week, Drizz?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

PS - I had to leave the sports bar early and missed the big OT play - and I had a seat RIGHT in front of the big screen. Does that bite, or what?

Vegas, Baby!

I'm 3/4 of the way there. Here's the checklist so far:

1. Get convinced. Check. Thanks to the warm welcome of the fine blogger community (IT, Waffles, Astin, TripJax, and the rest of you who all chimed in).
2. Convince myself. Check. Never taken a trip by myself before, but if I don't do this now, I'm without a break from work and the kids for another 6 months or more.
3. Get the Dr.'s OK. Check. I knew this one was pretty much a no brainer. He goes to Vegas by himself at least once a year. And he never says "No" to me. Well, except when I considered getting a male au pair. That was a BIG GIANT "NO" in his book. But it is family money funding the trip, so its important that we agree.
4. Get a babysitter. Check. This was probably the biggest hurdle.
5. Decide on a bankroll. Check. Small bonus at work (unexpected, the best kind) will pay for the poker.
6. Practice no limit tourney. Must do more. Been doing the time limited ones, but that's not slogging it out for hours. Must stop playing Omaha, Stud, and all the other variations I've been practicing.
7. Get tourney details. NEED HELP ON THIS ONE. Where and when would be good. Last time we were there it was at the Imperial Palace . . . same stint? Time on Saturday?
8. Pick hotel. Again, suggestions would be helpful. Don't want to blow it all on the Wynn (no fun staying in a swanky hotel when you're sleeping alone), but don't want to stay in the No-Tell Motel either . . . thinking Luxor? Paris? Bally's? Something on the strip.
9. Book the trip. Pending the hotel decision, its nearly done. Getting in sometime around 11 pm. on Friday . . . leaving Sunday afternoon.
10. Arrange to have someone to meet up with Friday night. Offer yourself up - I can trade some juicy DrChako dirt in exchange companionship. Willing to play low limits, go dancing, or just hang out and watch everyone else donk off their money.
11. Convince Instant Tragedy to GO. After being the one who helped motivate the groundswell to help convince me, he's waffling.
12. Pack. To Do. I know you guys are comfortable in the same jeans and underwear for 48 hours - but I'm not. Ladies, do I need to plan for anything other than sitting in the poker room for 2 days? I spend most of my days dressing for either a corporate boardroom or mom errands . . . neither of which is Vegas worthy.

I expect the advice to come POURING in.

Oh, and visit Tragedy's blog and convince him to go!

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Issue Me a New Best Friend

Yesterday, I got some great news at work. Really great - the kind you work a whole career for. The kind you immediately call your best friend about.

Except mine is half a world away without a phone next to his bed.

Stupid war.

They should issue me a new best friend when they deploy my old one.

The Wife

All In . . . All Off!

Poker humor, courtesy of Nana Judy.

Please tell I'm not going to get a call from your condo association some day for inappropriate use of the community center . . .

Completely disrespectfully submitted,

The Wife

A New Day Dawns . . .

In stark contrast to yesterday, the sun was shining bright today.

Son #2 greeted me with a pleasant smile this morning as he slipped into the still warm spot in my bed that I had vacated while he watched me pick out jewelry to wear to work.

Son #1 was dressed and ready for breakfast by the time I walked out of the house and was pleasant. He found his shoes. I asked him to look for his lost jacket in lost and found. He cheerfully agreed.

My housekeeper was there - she makes everything cleaner and better.

The kids ate breakfast peacefully - my little guy thanked the au pair for cleaning up after him. When he was frustrated that she asked him to brush his teeth, he didn't scream and yell - he came over to whisper to me that "she does it 'wrong'" . . . meaning that I'm a stickler for brushing teeth at night, but in the mornings, since the kids usually had breakfast at daycare, I didn't make them brush again. He didn't even protest when I said it was probably a good idea.

Traffic was reasonable - I was at work in less than 45 minutes.

I'm waiting for the bomb to drop.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Mean Mom

The last thing I did as I walked out of the house today was yell at my kids.

I hate starting my day like that. I'm a hugs and kisses mom. But today, the littlest one was whining at the au pair (he's in the "Stop! I can do it." mode for EVERYTHING). And the oldest one:

1. Couldn't find his jacket. Swore he wore it home. After much cajoling, realized he took it off at recess and left it on the playground - 2 days ago. This is about the 20th jacket I've purchased for him in the three years we've lived here. I told him he owes me $20 to go buy a new one.
2. Couldn't find his shoes and asked me where they were. By the time I got home from work last night, he was the shoeless wonder. And he has a habit of taking them off in completely random places all over the house (its a big house). But he still thinks my magic mom radar can locate them.
3. Couldn't find his library book. I reminded him he laid it down in the dining room. He fought with me and told me he didn't. I found it in the dining room.
4. Walked away from me when I asked him to come. Swears it was just to look for his stuff, but he's starting to get defiant.

And this morning was a continuation of last night where he was razzing his little brother unmercifully, and caused him to hang up on the good Dr., who was calling in for his nightly call. I mean, the man is calling from halfway around the world and this kid doesn't have the sense to know that the last thing he wants to do is listing to Son #1 making Son #2 cry.

I lost it. I told him his lack of responsibility was really starting to make me angry and that if he didn't improve his "first response" time when I asked him to do something, there would be consequences.

All of which made me cranky, late to the office, and feeling like a mean mom.

So there you have it - comment only if you have sympathy or advice - I already know I was a bitch.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Mrs. Chako Meets DrChako - The First Date

So my friend Sean suggested I share some of my favorite moments with my husband. As our relationship has been filled with numerous comical moments, I thought I would share our first date story.

I'll skip the lead up - it involves him taking 4 months to even ask me out, me having to force his hand, then not knowing if it was really a date (we went with two other people who weren't dating and were mutual friends), having a long protracted conversation with my roommate about who she was interested in (DrChako or the friend) and how we would discern who was interested in each of us (if either one of them was interested that way, at all) . . . I know for a fact the conversation with the men was probably more along the lines of "I think the blonde is hot - you good with the brunette?" End of discussion.

So we decide to see a movie and the good Dr. is wise enough to force our hands - he jumps in the back seat of the car (his friend is driving), leaving the choice of seating arrangements up to us. I climb in the back with him (making my choice clear, but still not sure if that's the direction he was heading), and we head to the movies. The men were gentlemen and bought our movie tickets. However, I'm still not sure if its a date or not, and I want to be gracious and give him an opening to just be friends, if that is his preference.

So we get to the concession stand and order food. Its loud and crowded and we're having to talk loud to be heard. The cashier smiles and says "that will be $X." DrChako starts to pull out money and I say "No, no. You got the tickets - I'll get the snacks." He smiles and says, "Put your money away - I've got it." I smile back and say "No, really - my treat." The crowd is now piling up behind us, waiting for us to finish this transaction. The chatter is making it hard for us to hear each other.

"You know," he says loudly, to overcome the noise in the lobby, "if you pay for that . . . "

(At this point, for whatever reason, there is a moment of silence in the lobby. Kind of like that old EF Hutton commercial ("when EF Hutton talks, people listen"))

. . . "I'll feel obligated to go to bed with you."

I managed to contain my surprise. I'm no prude, but this was a FIRST date. The lobby is stunned into silence, as they look from my face to his and back again, like it's the final match at Wimbledon. Over his should, I see his buddy, Dr. S., and his eyes are wide with shock. I look back at DrChako, and I see the red creeping up his neck and over his ears. For those of you who have the privilege of knowing my husband, you will know that when he is tremendously embarrassed (which can happen easily), his ears turn a beautiful shade of crimson.

I slid my money across the counter to the cashier.

The lobby cheered.

Editors postscript:

Since some of my readers are poker players, would that story be funnier if I ended it by saying "I pushed all-in. He called." ?

Don't Tap the Glass

That was advice my husband gave me early on in my foray into poker. Like the time we were playing in Vegas at a $2-$4 limit table and 4 drunk college guys showed up. I got a little nervous: (1) because I'm not as aggressive as the Dr. and most men play more aggressively than me, and (2) they started pulling out wads of bills.

But then each of them only asks for $40 in chips . . . I almost giggled. DrChako smartly shushed me and we kept our commentary about their donkey play to ourselves. We had to share a few of their chips with some other guy at the table who had marginal skills, but we cleaned them out. It was fun.

So I'm playing a SNG last night (free, of course) - HORSE. Let a few people donk their way out, played pretty conservatively, and then we got down to the last four - bubble time. I was nearly tied for last with another guy, but the guy in second place suddenly starts jumping in on all the action and bleeding chips like nobody's business. Every hand. I'm sitting there in my house thinking "does someone need to tell this guy to just sit tight and let the two short-stacks battle it out?" But its not a chatty room, and I keep my mouth shut.

End result? He busts himself out, I keep quiet, and hold on for second place.

Like I said - don't tap the glass.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

PS: Waffles, thanks for the official invite. Your underwear commentary and the resulting responses are almost a mini-blog within my blog. And thanks, IT, for getting the word out that I was unsure of my invitation status - now I feel like the dork who had to invite herself. But now that I am OFFICIALLY invited, I may try to find a way to come. 'Cause I've accepted the fact that I'm a dork.

The Panty Saga Continues . . .

In my standard underwear replacement shopping trip (elastic does not have an indefinite life, I've found), I ran across a new type of panty . . . the "Samba" panty.

The box actually describes them as "More coverage than a thong, cheekier" than average panties. No butt double to demonstrate, but they sure got the cheekier thing right. At least with these, I know my ass is supposed to be hanging out.

I know you're all dying to know if they are the perfect mix of coverage, comfort, and no panty lines. So I'm giving them a spin at the office today.

Next time your auditor or accountant shows up, its gonna make you wonder what they're wearing.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Editors Note: Although all the women reading will have figured this out, I will help the male readership understand "cheekier." My favorite dictionary source, Merriam-Webster online, defines "cheeky" as "insolently bold; impudent" . . . ergo, "cheekier" in reference to the panties, means . . . you got it, more cheeks showing! After all, covering them up would clearly be neither "insolently bold" nor "impudent".

And no, IT, I did not send DrChako a picture - that's all I need is to have military intelligence intercept that e-mail. But he knows these cheeks - he's got the image burned in his brain. At least I hope so.

I Hate Omaha

Not the town. Ate steaks there and stayed in a nice hotel with the Dr.

I mean the game. I have renamed it "Screw You on the River." Let me preface by saying that I actually won first place in my play money game that earned the rename. But it was one of those games where I would have something like As-5h-3h-2s . . . double suited, low draws, straight draws . . . and the flop would come 5s-5c-3s. So now I got a full house and the nut low draw. I'm raising and betting with two fists. And then the turn comes 9d. This does not make me nervous . . . I'm still raising and betting. Then the river comes 9s. Moron beside me bets out, so I just call - regardless of how strong my hand is, I hate when the board pairs again.

He was holding 9h-9c-3d-Ks. No flush draw. No low draw. But I guess if you just know your quads are going to hit, you can say in with your pair of 3s and ignore everyone else's raises.

I hung on after crappy blows like that. And then it got down to heads up against a guy who was pretty decent . . . and the river decided to screw him a few times too. At the end, he got a little reckless with raises in an effort to get his money back and I won. But after a very long game, even with the win, I was a little pissy.

Or maybe it was just that I spent my whole day cleaning, doing odd jobs around the house, getting a new battery for the au pair's car, and looking after my children and their friends. Its enough to make anyone a little pissy.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

True Love

Son #1 has a girlfriend. She's "hot", smart, and, to quote, "I actually talk to her". Different from his last "girlfriend" EH ("extremely hot"), with whom the extent of his interactions was a tag on the playground, with a reciprocal tag back.

"I almost kissed her, Mom. We were talking in the ditch, but then the bell rang." I told him 10 year old boys should not be focused on kissing their 10 year old girlfriends. He just laughed.

Yesterday, he borrowed the au pair's phone to send his first text message. It read "I love you."

Actually, it said "I love you, mom." It was to me.

Patience . . .

Today I had a business trip - at the airport for a 7 a.m. flight, supposed to be back on the 5 p.m. flight. I bust my hump at the client's office, and I was like a little Speedy Gonzales auditor . . . I kicked audit ass.

In Portland, I've been taking the Max - light rail from the airport to downtown. It lets me off two blocks from my client, environmentally friendly, and I don't have to battle Avis or Portland's downtown construction. So at 3:11 p.m., I hopped the red line back to the airport.

Five blocks later comes the announcement - offloading at the next stop, transferring to buses, rerouting to another stop on the blue line to avoid a "police action", and then transferring back onto the red line.

Normally I would panic and get really stressed. I want to get home to the kids and my bed. I want to sit in my primo seat I got. I want to get to the airport and not feel rushed. And everyone else was starting to freak out.

Today I chose to accept the fact that I'd put myself in the hands of public transportation and it would all work out. Fast forward - I get to the gate with 20 minutes to spare before departure, and find out the flight is delayed an hour anyway.

Good thing I didn't get my blood pressure up for that non-event.

On a side note, public transportation is always great for people watching. I saw . . .

• Wanna-be coke whore. Can't afford coke. Substitutes diet pills, cold medicine, and cigarettes . . . a few science credits shy of starting her own meth lab.
• Blue-sweat pants guy. Dresses and looks like a 12-year old in a 6'4", 280 lb. frame. Actual quote - "Look Bill, police cars!" Maturity does not appear to be based on any actual disorder, just general unaware-ness.
• Wanna-be Eminem. Same hair cut, pseudo-bad-ass attitude. Asking for $.50 for food - skip the blonde hair dye and hair gel and you could buy a sandwich.
• Friend of the environment. Carrying shopping items in re-usable cloth bag (been used, many times), wearing earth shoes (essentially, non-trendy Crocs) and hemp clothing, hasn't bathed in a day or two (saves water), B.O. slightly masked by scent of compost and pot?
• Nervous business man. Too Republican for Friend of the Environment, wants to make sure W-B Eminem doesn't steal his wallet, thinks he's going to miss his plane, staring at my suit like its a beacon of sanity. Little does he know . . .
• Old hippy guy. Scraggly ponytail, talking too loud, carrying libary books (Simply Einstein?) . . . smells like booze. Can't figure out if this is part of his parole arrangement, or if he just likes to read before starting the night shift down at the local bowling alley.
• Student girl. Doesn't see any cute guys. Wishes she could afford a car. I-Pod headphones sticking out of her backpack and leaving little white trails to her ears. Has tuned us out.
• And Mrs. Chako

All in all, a weird crew.

Hey, the flight might be boarding - wish me luck getting home.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Rainbows and Kittens and Other Nasty Stuff

OK, so the last post was a little bit Sound of Music (thanks Sean) . . . maybe RaisingCayne's comments were a little more realistic. At least they got more of a laugh out of The Sister.

You'll have to forgive me. If I don't focus on things like that sometimes, I'll end up committed to a mental hospital before the new year. You know how your body has that fight or flight reaction at danger, like when you find a bear in your backyard? I kind of feel like that now. Like the moment my Dr. left, my body went into that survival mode . . . I gotta stick around fighting, 'cause if I stop to think about all the things looming ahead, and all the crappy little things day to day, I'll end up running. Sometimes I do that with the Little Mary Sunshine in me.

I could post about the bathroom mirror that's broken and won't get replaced until I find a handyman who can remove the damn decorative mounts.

Or the unnamed cable company (rhymes with Bombast) that can't figure out how to switch my service to the modem in my house and cuts off my Internet now and then.

Or the fact that I've lost key managers on 75% of my client engagements (read, "do it yourself, Mrs. - Senior Manager - Chako").

But all that seems pretty petty when you bump that up against the fact that DrChako and company are carrying weapons to breakfast and tourniquets in their pockets because they are stuck in our favorite hell hole trying to help people who will never really like us that much.

So your stuck with the occasional post about rainbows and kittens . . . and John Cusack. And Edward Norton. And Hugh Jackman.

Speaking of which, Nana Judy sent me a Cusack movie to watch . . . (*sigh*) . . .

Now I must get some sleep - I have a 7 a.m. flight to catch for work tomorrow.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Life Moments

Asking your oldest son to be responsible and get his shower done while you're out filling up the car . . . and coming home to find the house smelling of soap and shampoo, with a sparkling 10 year old walking around with damp hair in his boxer briefs.

Trying to watch your youngest son's soccer game (?) for the third week in a row as he twirls, gets distracted, and trips on invisible obstacles . . . and being there the moment he gets a breakaway play, takes it all the way down, finesses it with some fancy footwork right at the goal, and SCORES!!!!

Dreading the appointment with the garage door repairman . . . and having him quote you a price that is reasonable, fix it inside of 10 minutes, and then tell you don't worry about paying, 'cause he's not charging you.

E-mails from an old friend . . .

Dogs fresh from the groomer, smelling of "pumpkin spice" . . .

When you're dusting the bookshelves and find that picture of you and your honey on that romantic cruise with just the two of you . . .

When your jeans fit a little looser than they did yesterday . . .

When you get a comment from a friend on your blog . . .

Enjoy your life moments!

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

40 is the new 20

In college, one of the non-traditional students (he was 47) in my theater class freaked me out. I was 19 - he sent me 3 dozen roses. I could not have been more horrified. They were beautiful. But he was . . . OLD. It creeped me out.

Once I turned 30, I found myself commenting more and more on the attractiveness about men who were older. One day I found myself commenting on a specific person I knew and it hit me. He was 47.

Last night, I had this semi-erotic dream. I was single. I was on a vacation, cruise, something like that. Four different men were competing for my attention (hey, its my dream - it could happen). During the course of this "vacation" I managed to rule out two of the men - one because he was a complete idiot, and one because he was . . . 20. Too young. I really struggled between the other two men and was in the middle of some great "convincing" when my 5-year old busted in and said "is it time for the birthday party?" After I threw him out, I tried to recapture the gut-wrenching decision when it hit me - I was trying to recreate an erotic dream about two different strangers - both OVER 40.

Baby, looks like you didn't get older - you just moved into my latest category of "hot"!

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

More Proof?

Not as bad as Sean . . .

Embrace Your Inner Geek

Yes, its time people. Own up to it.

In my previous post, I did admit to having read Roberts Rules of Order cover to cover. Not for fun, mind you - I had a competitive purpose. However, I also admitted that it clearly was an indicator of the geek factor in me.

You all have it too - Sean? I didn't score nearly as high as you on the Nerd test. And Cayne, you skipped 3rd grade - there has to be a geek inside of you. And I know DrChako is out leading the pack - I know lots of geek secrets about him.

Hell, any of you poker bloggers are too, for that matter - anyone who speaks a completely foreign language (SNG, UTG, Mookie, Dookie . . .) and can calculate EV, pot-odds and M in the time it takes the action to get around to you - you're just a few wrinkles and wild-ass hairs away from Mike Caro!

So yes, I read Roberts Rules of Order cover to cover. I went to a national competition for accounting because I placed first in my state. Other kids went to summer camp in the woods - I went to Business World, a camp for young business wannabes. Other girls played with dolls - I read The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and discussed its religious symbolism with my mother.

So don't muffle your laughter. Embrace your inner geek. Laugh WITH me. All the way to the bank, baby. Last time I checked, the world's biggest geek lives less than 50 miles from me in a compound so big and so secured, I can only read about it, while his little "garage-based" startup now sprawls across the entire east side of Seattle. Meanwhile, his Microsoft stock is adding a few more "S"'s to his BILLIONS!

I'm married to a geek. I love geeks. I am a geek - are you?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Tagged for the 10 . . .

This tagging business (thanks, Sean) seems to be pretty popular. I've not yet done my 101 things about me like my husband and others, so this will be your first insight into . . .

10 Things You Don't Know About Me

1. I was valedictorian in high school and graduated summa cum laude from college - but I almost failed typing class. A kick-ass final grade and a lot of extra credit got me a "B" and ruined my 4.0 average.


2. I'm a dairy farmer's daughter. Which means I know weird things like how to milk a cow (by hand, and with a machine), help deliver a calf in the breech position, what signals a cow sends when its ready to breed, and how to bale hay.


3. I'm a terrible athlete and pretty girly, but the few physical feats I have excelled at before are pretty non-traditional and relatively manly. In college I was dared to visit the rifle range ("girls can't shoot") and found out I was an excellent markswoman with a rifle. I also took military science instead of regular PE and found out I was pretty darn good at rappelling, too. I was down the tower as quick as the ROTC guys and was the only woman (and only one of 3 in our group) to try and succeed at rappelling "Australian" off the tower - which is jumping face first.


4. I could (and have) eat red licorice until it makes me sick.


5. I love wearing formal dresses and attending black tie events. I always feel glamorous and think men look great in tuxedos.
   
6. I like black tie events even better when my husband is with me in his Army dress blues or mess dress. He captures every one's attention - and I'm with him!


7. I am not a morning person (right love?) and am in love with my snooze button. I can add 9 minutes to any time, adjust my estimated time to get ready, and re-estimate my departure time in under 10 seconds and fall fast asleep for the remaining 8 minutes and 50 seconds better than anyone, I'll bet.


8. My favorite European city is Barcelona - the city was beautiful, the art impressive (Gaudi and Picasso - marvelous), and I never met a dish of paella or pitcher of sangria I didn't like.


9. I sing in my sleep. Not just songs - sometimes the dialogue of my dreams, too. In a really creepy, high-pitched sing-songy voice. Although I more frequently have heard the complaints from roommates or my husband, I've actually awakened myself with the sound. Its disturbing.


10. I once read Roberts Rules of Order (Eight Edition) cover to cover. I was a member of the Parliamentary Procedure team for our local high school chapter of Future Business Leaders of America and took second place in the national Parliamentary Procedure team competition.

I realize certain of these items qualify me for complete geek-dom (I didn't play and D&D, so I'm not fully qualified), but I've come to accept that.

Someday when I have time, I'll post the remaining 91 things about me you don't know.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Editor's Poscript

Sean, I apologize for the posting delay - life has been busy. Hope today's postings satisfy your craving (although, no attractive men who are not my husband, or underwear, today).

Happy Birthday to Son #2 - he's 5 today. He even looked older this morning when I sent him off to preschool. He wants a DS Lite - he's getting it, but doesn't know it. Sunday is the party - lots of 4 and 5 year olds screaming in the house for two hours. We'll video tape it for Daddy.

Check out the Doc's post today - this is why I don't read the news. I just wait for his e-mails. I don't know what I'll do if they stop coming.

Drizz, thanks for the Omaha advice - and a big fat raspberry to my husband, who swore your advice would be raise, raise - RAISE. I believe "limping in" was a suggested strategy. I know you hate it, love, but I'm a good limper.

I have been tagged by Mr. Instant Tragedy, so another post will follow later with "10 Things You Don't Know About Me." As for "Have fun storming the castle," all I can say is "You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means," and "He's only MOSTLY dead."

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Life is What You Make It

My father-in-law often chides DrChako and me about the fact that we live under this blessed little white cloud that seems to protect us from bad things and brings us good luck. His chiding is two-fold, really. First, DrChako is a student of the "it all works out in the end" theory, which makes him not so much of a planner. Second, although I am much more of a planner than my husband, we both tend to procrastinate on things.

However, much to my chagrin, my husband does seem to have it right in that, generally, "it all works out in the end." We've moved six times in 12+ years of marriage, and each time, we find nice places to live, good schools for the children, good daycares, good babysitters, and a great job for me everywhere we've been (all the moves have been at the "request" of Uncle Sam, so the Dr.'s job is never in question). And its not like that good fortune has not been tested. For example, every place we have lived has also had a natural disaster happen during the time we lived there . . . the 100-year flood of '93 in Iowa, the 100-year flood of '98 AND '02 in San Antonio, the mega windstorm in Seattle in '06 . . . each time, our house has been completely untouched (ok, the windstorm threw a branch on our house and chipped out a 2 inch sliver of a board on the side of our roof).

While I am not one to question our good fortune, I have to wonder if our good fortune is nothing more than our ability to accept and make the most out of what life throws at us. I know people who would not handle six moves as well as our family has. Even Son #1 isn't really unnerved that this is his 4th home (and conceivable, not his last). The kids seem to have adopted our attitudes and make friends where ever they go.

Not that we don't have moments - I still remember the tearful explosion when I learned we were moving to Germany . . . I'm pretty sure a "How the hell am I supposed to maintain a career over there?" came out of my mouth at least once (postscript: I was employed for my current firm over there the whole time). And DrChako did almost get sick when he first saw our current house (which I purchased on my own, without him ever seeing it) prior to us having repainted all of the interior walls, which were various shades of pink and mauve. But all in all, we pretty much roll with whatever comes our way. It makes for a lot less stress and ulcers. And looking back on it all, it makes for a pretty interesting life story that might not have been the same had we never taken that crooked path in front of us.

I contrast that with a young person I work with (or used to work with, after recent events). Lets call this person "Misfortune". Misfortune was a complainer. Misfortune had performance issues (I tend to think there is a link between the two). Misfortune was the kind of person for whom bad luck seemed to be around every corner. Misfortune ran out of gas on a remote work-related trip. Misfortune forgot to renew their license before a business trip and almost was not able to return home because they did not have current identification. The stories went on and on and on for Misfortune.

Misfortune requested a five-week "leave of absence" to complete their professional licensing requirements. This is something that the rest of our employees do in their spare time (what little they have). We compromised and worked out an arrangement where for the next five weeks, Misfortune had some unpaid time off to complete Misfortunte's studies and testing. When asked if the arrangement was acceptable, Misfortune replied "Well . . . its an arrangement." One week into the five-week plan, after deviating from the arrangement on multiple occassions, Misfortune announced that "I will be taking the full leave of absence" anyway, to accomplish said goals. We accepted Misfortunte's resignation, naturally.

While I think there are people every day who are struck by tragedy they do not bring upon themselves, I think for most people (Misfortune?) there has to be a point where you stop and ask yourself "Do bad things always happen to me? Or do things happen to me that I can only see as bad?"

At some point, life is what you make it.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Snippets of Life

Just a few observances from my life:

• I've come to accept the fact that I'll never be a supermodel. And a good portion of my wardrobe will never be considered "trendy", "fashionable", "cool", or any other word that might come out of the mouths of your average fashion maven. I'm a CPA, after all. However, today I wore a new blouse (clearance, baby, less than $20) - silky sheer black with big white polka dots - with a little black belt and black skirt, black heels. I got so many compliments at work today (most from women over 40) - I may not be supermodel hot, but I know how to do "office" pretty darn good!
• That being said, today I got some clothes from a dear friend (I love when other people clean out their closets) that didn't fit her anymore. I tried on one of the shirts - a sleeveless low cut thing in black. Not only could I not believe she ever wore this thing, but I couldn't believe what it did for my figure (namely the chest) - I looked like I was about to go for a job as a bartender at Hooters! I left it on as I ran downstairs to get something - and my 10-year old son pronounces "Mom, you look hot!" I beamed. Between this thing and those damn panties, I think I have a show planned for the Dr.'s return.
• I rushed home from work early to watch my 4-year old son's soccer game. The 3-4 year old pee wee league at the Y. Its crazy. Its like herding autistic cats. Between kicking it in the wrong goal, spinning in circles while the other team runs past you on their way to another goal (yes, that was my son), and the general strategy of "just run in the direction of the other children, but try to stay away from that black and white thing," it was alternately hysterical, maddening, and embarrassing. At least my kid didn't have to have a pacifier after the game like some kid's 5 year old sister. And he's one of the most pleasant kids out there.
• I got to talk to my husband. He's been able to call pretty regularly, although the phone service randomly cuts out now and then. He called back - claims someone told him the phone outages are due to solar flares. Huh? Whatever. Great to talk to you baby.
• One of our best managers at work is leaving. As a senior manager, you quickly learn that your quality of work life improves in direct proportion to the talent of the managers below you. He was one of those guys who's apparent primary goal was to try to do everything so that I didn't have to. And he usually succeeded. I'm still reeling from that blow. He worked on the two largest of my four accounts with me. Ouch.
• I have to plan a birthday party for the 4-year old (5 this week!). I'm voting chicken nuggets, french fries, cupcakes, and lots of games that involve running and yelling. What do you think?
• That Brasilian Indy driver on Dancing with the Stars is awesome. He looks like a dancer when he's dancing. My Brasilian au pair expects him to win. I have to admit that in some of my fantasies, I am a ROCKIN' AWESOME Latin dancer - with awesome costumes like the girls wear on the show. That's sandwiched in there between the fantasy where I'm asked to stunt double in all the John Cusack/Edward Norton film love scenes, and the fantasy where the Dr. brings Hugh Jackman home and says "I brought Hugh home to entertain you - I've got to get all the laundry done, bills paid, and I'm thinking of dusting all the baseboards, too. That ok, Babe?"
• Thought about the young soldiers over there with the good Dr. The ones who have to go into the communities to rout out the bad guys and risk getting shot or blown to bits. They've got it rougher than the Dr. in his dark room, waiting for the next scan of some unknown abdominal pain. I hope they have someone to call every day who sends them e-mails and care packages.

Night all - keep the Doc in your thoughts and prayers.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Omaha Hi-Lo and Childrearing

Two separate questions to pose to my readership today (unrelated, I think).

Question 1: The Omaha Hi-Lo game. Just to clarify, this is play money, which I'm sure throws a whole other spin on it. But for sake of getting better, I play my play money tourneys like real money. I'm playing Omaha Hi-Lo. I have a love hate relationship with Omaha - its challenging and interesting, but the river ALWAYS seems to screw you. I lost 3 times with the best full house to quads on the river. I also lost three hands with full houses that got trumped by a better random full house on the river. But even though I got screwed innumerably, I ended up heads up against a decent player.

I had approximatley 14,500 chips; he had 4,500. It was a limit tourney and blinds were 300-600. So his "M" is low at this point. He played more agressively than me, but not overly aggressively and usually did not bet without something. The tough part of heads up in Omaha Hi-Lo is that frequently, you are only playing to split the pot, as even a crappy low might stand up. In fact, one of the pots we split was when I had trip queens and was betting aggressively at a time where he had the other queen, but also had a 5 for a full house. However, we still split the pot, as my 86 won the low.

The other part that is tough about heads up is that with an M below 10 and the chances of splitting a pot pretty high, its rare that you can get someone to lay down the blinds. That, and its play money. So I figure with a 2 1/2 times lead, I just need to play smart, and eventually odds hold up. I checked/called a lot, not wasting chips, raised a couple times with good hands . . . but over the course of the game, I split ALOT, and NEVER scooped. He, on the other hand, never raised, always called, and managed to scoop several times (with legitimate hands, not bluffs).

I took second. Now, I moneyed, and part of my strategy is to money. So from that perspective, I'm pleased with my play. However, how would you have played it differently, given the situation, to keep that 2 1/2 times lead? Sean? Drizz? Iggy? Who has advice (or at least an entertaining opinion)?

Question 2: Childrearing. So my 10-year old and the au pair frequently butt heads. In our household, we are not overly rule-oriented. But with the au pair, I thought it best to be more specific, so there was no confusion on her part. So I made a schedule of Son #1's homework time and free time. 90 minutes of each. For a while it was 90 minutes of homework first, and then 90 minutes of free time. However, his friends often had different schedules, which resulted in him not being able to play when they wanted to ride bikes, etc.

So I agreed to a flexible schedule. He could chosed which 90 minutes he spent doing homework between 3:30 and 6:30. However, this appears to have cause more arguments between he and the au pair as she tries to encourage him to do things first. Additionally, his little brother has soccer practice/games, which means twice a week, he can't be flexible and has to get homework done first. The situation is exacerbated by the fact, I think, that her English is not sufficient to find a variety of ways to be encouraging or discuss it with him. As such, she comes off to him as nagging or dictatorial. And Son #1 is partly at fault too. He's not a huge self-motivator, and can tune out the rest of the world in a heartbeat, so sometimes it requires nagging to even get him to hear your request. And he occassionally slips into that "its not my fault mode" - with flimsy 10-year old logic.

If the Dr. was here, I'd throw up my hands once in awhile and say "You sort it out." But I'm the only parent so it always comes down to me having to moderate our little ongoing turf war between the two of them. I may be in an institution by the time he gets home.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

What Do You Wear Under There?

Ah, to be a man, some days. Underwear for men essentially comes in two choices - boxers or briefs. If you like your boys to be cradled in firm but gentle comfort, you're a fan of the essential tighty-whities. If you like the boys to roam freely during the day, you're a boxers man. For those of you who like that close feeling without feeling like you're wearing underoos without the cool characters, I guess there are boxer briefs (I am going to assume that the other 12 of you boys who dare to wear silly bikinis or male thongs won't own up to it for the purpose of my post). Clearly the more fashionable compromise.

But the female gender has a confounding number of choices, none of which ever seem to be perfect. There are your basic granny-panties (too old-fashioned), the high-cut briefs (used to be good, but don't work with the low-rise fashions), bikinis (like the old 1970s kind - very retro), string bikinis, g-strings, thongs, low-rise thongs . . . the list goes on, and don't even get me started on color, fabric, and price. We're always searching for the perfect pair that is comfortable, doesn't ride above your pants, doesn't show panty-lines, doesn't show through, doesn't cut into your soft spots and cause the dreaded "double-cheek" syndrome, doesn't create uncomfortable and unflattering divisions elsewhere . . .

So the other day I was shopping the clearance racks and I decided to try another new style - the low-rise boy short. For those of you not familiar with this style, my butt-double (the resemblance is striking) will demonstrate. Claims of an invisible panty-line. My ass. No, literally, my ass.

Only a few of you may have actually had the privilege of meeting me as I tagged along with DrChako to one of those crazy Vegas blogger tourneys and you may have zero recollection of my butt (or care to, for that matter). It is by no means an oversized butt, but lets say that for my size and frame, God made sure that he filled in as much of the curve as he could. As such (as demonstrated by my superb butt-double here), much of my "junk" hangs well out of the "trunk". And to top it all off, they are low-rise. So I'm not quite sure whether I should be showing crack above the top, or butt below the bottom. Its quite confusing, and as such, I spent more of the day wondering about my undergarment placement than the "strategic market-facing opportunities" I was supposed to focus on during our management meeting.

If I ever win the lottery, I'm going to get custom made panties that are designed with this butt in mind. Until then, I think there is a lacy pink pair of boy shorts that will have to wait until the doctor comes home to be entertained.

Slightly disrespectfully submitted,

The Wife

The Lighter Side of Language . . .

After such a heavy post the other day (including my indirect rant against the prissy "Bachelorettes"), I figured today you could use something lighter. So, courtesy of my dear sister-in-law, I give you a few twisted definitions (clever author unknown):

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
2. Ignoranus (n.): A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
3. Intaxication (n.): Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
4. Reintarnation (n.): Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stop bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
6. Foreploy (n.): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
7. Giraffiti (n.): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
8. Sarchasm (n.): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
9. Inoculatte (v.): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
10. Hipatitis (n.): Terminal coolness.
11. Osteopornosis (n.): A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
12. Karmageddon (n.): It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
13. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
14. Glibido (n.): All talk and no action.
15. Dopeler effect (n.): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
16. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
17. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito,that gets in to your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
18. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

You're welcome to submit any of your own creation for my amusement.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

True Love, TV Style?

Who watches The Bachelor? I happened upon the end of it the other evening. It was the "rose ceremony, apparently a traditional part of the show where the Bachelor, Brad Womack, chooses which women he will continue dating in his quest for that special someone. If you don't get a rose, you're going home.

So after he hands out roses, the losers pack up and head out. But not before being interviewed. I happened to see the tearful interview of one contestant as she lamented . . . "I came out here to find true love . . . I didn't expect to be out here on the sidewalk."

Let me get this straight . . . you came to The Bachelor hoping to find true love? You're thinking that being placed in an artificial society where there is only one man (not selected by you) that you are competing for attention with 24 other women is where you are going to find true love? You think that by spending time with a man who doesn't have a real job, for the time being, where you don't have any pressures of real life (like your own job?) is the perfect way to find true love?

How about trying to balance college, a full time job, and a brand new boyfriend who's trying to get through medical school? How about trying to arrange a date that is not financed by the network, but rather on two student budgets, that you fit in around all of your other commitments rather than at pre-scheduled intervals dictated by prime time?

True love is not a competition about who impresses him over dinner for with 25 women - true love is taking him to a dinner party with your immediate family, 17 of 21 cousins, 12 aunts and uncles, and an assortment of other relatives and non-relatives, all of whom are trying to determine if he's even worthy of loving you and having him still decide he does. True love isn't a series of pool parties, fashion shows, and exotic entertainment . . . true love is dates which consist of studying for your respective tests, a quick stop at Taco Bell, or 24 hour roadtrips to family and friends, because you can't afford real vacations. True love isn't a ride in the network limousine . . . true love is putting 67,000 miles on your Saturn in three years so you can spend every weekend together when you live 300 miles apart.

True love not trying to start a relationship amidst 24 other catty women; true love is trying to maintain a relationship halfway around the world with an ocean and a war between you.

True love doesn't make good TV . . . but I'll challenge any Bachelor and his final choice to try to to last half of my 15 years with the good Dr.

Wish him home safely . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Go Cheeseheads!

I'm a Packer fan from way back (no cable TV growing up in Wisconsin on a farm, only network television, and a traditional father who commandeered the television every Sunday). I remember Bart Starr (coaching, not playing), Lynn Dickey, "Magic" Don Majkowski, Forrest Gregg, . . . even the brief stint Doug Flutie had as a backup quarterback ( I used to think he was adorable). Every family Thanksgiving was spent watching the special Thursday game with the Packers and someone else from the old "Central" group, before they split it up and made them the "North." But then, being a native Wisconsinite, it would be heresy to NOT like the Packers. Even now out here in Seattle, I have a special fondness for the Seahawks solely because of Coach Holmgren.

I missed Sunday's game, but I read the post-game summary . . . all I can say is . . . 4 and 0!!! And Bret Favre? Say no more, say no more.

In the immortal words of Crush, the Sea Turtle . . . "You so totally rock, . . . DUDE!"

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Editors Postscript: A few points of clarification for my dear husband. (1) I believe the comment "say no more, say no more" was self-explanatory - I did not need to EXPLAIN the major-awesomeness of Favre passing Marino's TD record. I didn't see it, but apparently even Marino has already recognized him for that. (2) I do not find Bret Favre attractive in any greater sense of the word than any normally attractive person. If I am not allowed to name star athletes, most of whom happen to be male, in my few but passionate posts about professional sports (or other males, for that matter, in the course of my blogging) for fear of you assuming I harbor some unrequited feelings for them, this will be a very boring post. (3) If you were referring to Doug Flutie, I was a teenager, every teenage girl found him cute, and I did not know you then. You cannot hold him against me. If it is any consolation, you are taller than him. (4) I will distinguish all males that I find "HOT" by labeling them as such on future posts, so as not to confuse you regarding other named males in my posts who are not you (whether or not they are more attractive than you) that are being mentioned for reasons OTHER than I find them HOT.