I Smell A Road Trip

If a friend plans a road trip, invites you to go, and then appeals to your analytical side by sending you an itinerary, complete with:

• Pictures of your destination
• Schedules of daily destinations
• Estimated distances and drive times
• Hotel names (all reservations completed)

Are you obligated to go?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Running with the Big Dogs . . .

Since I didn't get promoted this year, I'm back to working on my chops to get promoted next year. Ass-kissing didn't work as well as I expected, so my latest focus has been "business development".

To that extent, I've been working on several requests for proposal (RFP) to deliver services. If you've ever worked on an RFP you know its a cross between marketing and a beauty pageant. Or maybe more like a dating service. One where they line the girls up in a room and say "By the end of the night, I'm going home with one of you . . . you all try to show me why it ought to be you." And just like those girls might do, you put on your prettiest dress, shave your legs, wear your push up bra, and put on a spritz of some expensive perfume . . . its grueling.

So we're working day in and day out to get this proposal put together. I've been measuring success by how many times I get home before midnight. I kind of hoped tonight might be one . . . but then I got the "Hey, we're all working in the war room until its done tonight" speech . . .

I guess this is what it takes to be one of the elite. The boss. The head honcho. The big dog. Since I'm a woman, does that technically make me the big bitch?

Don't answer that honey . . . your patience has been appreciated. Even if you think my breath after a dinner of fiesta salsa sun chips at my desk in the office is rancid . . .

If we win this, I'll be a little bit closer to that promotion. After that, I might have to get my moral compass adjusted . . .



Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

After life . . . afterlife?

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, my 10 year old son is pondering life, and the afterlife, with his 11 year old pal Josh and the rest of the family.

He says "I wonder what happens after we die. I mean, is that just it? Do we come back as angels? People? Do our spirits go in animals? Is there an afterlife?"

We try not to push to much theology on them . . . after all, our kids are starting to turn out as logical as the two of us, so cramming something down their throat is just going to lead to an interrogation later in life.

I piped up. "Well, I think there at least has to be some kind of recycling program . . . "

To which my 10 year old replied, "Well, hopefully not for everyone."

When I questioned him about it, assuming this was going to lead to a discussion about the relative merits of good guys and bad guys, he threw this one out there . . .

"Well, some people are like slinkies . . . not good for anything, really, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down the stairs."

I think I've become his straight man.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Highway Speeds

You've seen them. You know what I'm talking about.


They probably used to be really pretty. Thin. Big eyes, long lashes. If they weren't natural blondes, the blonde in a bottle still looked nice back then, before their hair was tired. If they didn't develop early, they stuffed their bras to look like it. Dated a football player. Maybe three. Got to 3rd based with all of them . . .


Now you see them out there, their too-tight jeans, and tight white t-shirts. Sunglasses cover their eyes. Sun catching the blonde hair and illuminating it. Orange vest. If you're preoccupied, watching the road, they look almost pretty, like when they were 18.

She's styled her hair the same way she did when she was 20. Painted her fingernails. Something silver sparkles in her earlobes. Her lips painted some sort of pink that glistens in the morning sun.


But her sign says "Slow." And if you heed the sign, when you drive by, you notice it. The roots of her hair are a little too dark; the blonde a little too much like dry straw in the sun. The makeup can't hide the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Or the way life has etched every break-up, break-down, or bad break in the creases around her mouth. You can see the chips in her fingernail polish where her hand wraps around the sign. Her diet consists of cigarettes and Diet Coke and a microwave burrito from the gas station across the corner; the soft flesh above the waistband of her jeans, straining against the cotton of the t-shirt. One too many babies; one too many beers. Never could get by on her brains; at a certain age, she can't get by on her beauty any more either. But she's got kids at home, and hasn't seen an alimony check in months. This pays well. Isn't difficult. Only mildly dangerous if she stays behind the cones.

She's still kind of pretty. But only at highway speeds.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Probability is For People Who Lack Imagination - Redux

You know the drill with me . . . my favorite practice grounds for poker. Play money (illegal to gamble online in Washington state . . . though you can drive 5 miles from my house and drop all the money you want on the horses or at the Native American casino . . . go figure) . . . 45 person MTT SNG.

I'd been playing conservative ("You Mrs. Chako? Play conservative? Shut. Up."), but hadn't hit anything big or tricked anyone into calling into my stone cold nuts like I usually do. The blinds were getting bigger and my M was slipping below the 4 level.

I woke up with pocket kings in early position. Why not, I say. I raise to 4x the big blind. I get two callers, including the big blind.

Flop comes 5-6-9 rainbow. Can't believe this helped anyone. Big blind bets. My gut says "he caught a piece, thinks I have big slick . . . here is where I make my money." I raise, all-in - don't need him on a straight draw. Guy with position calls. WTF???? BB calls. ?????

Turn card comes, its a J. BB bets big. Now I'm starting to think he might have called with 8-7. Kind of stupid, with as conservative as I'd been playing . . . . but maybe he's one of those "defend the blind" kind of guys. If he's got it, I'm all-in anyway, so I'm hosed. But GWP (guy with position) raises. WTF?????? HE can't be playing the 8-7, can he?

River comes. Its a J. No flush possibility. Again, BB bets half his stack. GWP goes all-in. BB calls off all his chips.

Result of a three way show down? Mrs Chako has two pair, KK - JJ. BB had flopped the nut straight. Flopped.

GWP???? Had pocket Js. Went runner-runner for his quads.

We go bye-bye now.

I wanted to feel bad that my kings got busted. But really, how could I, when BB got sucked out on so much worse?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Fashion (Non) Sense

I happened to read THIS article today.

Regardless of how hot Gisele Bündchen looks in these tube socks, please tell me this fad will die soon. Only person I ever saw that looked cute in tube socks was Betty.

Besides, the strippers at the Rhino already called this one . . . just ask Falstaff. Once it hits the strip club circuit, do you really want to be wearing it in public?

I'm just saying . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

I Could Just Bite Him . . .

Every mother thinks their kids are adorable. I have emperical evidence to back up my claim.

While the man of the house was out driving Ferraris, I was playing mom. A good mom, I think. Ok, I played hot mom the other night at the 'track . . .

So I'm making lunch for the boys. Easy stuff. Mac 'n Cheese and some sweet peas. Son #1 is in a rush - he's got friends to play with and a wicked game of Zelda in progress. So he wolfs down his food. The au pair ate quickly and took off.

I sat there with Son #2, reading the paper, while he struggled to keep peas on the fork.

"Hey Mom, know what?" he asked. "This is kind of like a date."

I snickered at his cuteness. Which made him think that I didn't understand. So he continued . . .

"You know? Like when two people are alone? And they do stuff together like eat and stuff?"

I hid my smile this time.

He's so cute . . . I could just bite him!

But remind me to check out what kind of shows my 5-year old is watching that he knows about dates . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Uh . . . Why Yes . . .

Last night was a birthday party for one of the Seattle poker bloggers. Well, he's more prolific at poker than blogging . . . be he's a nice guy. The Seattle poker bloggers were sadly under-represented . . . just me and our favorite donkey. DrChako is off pretending to make money (but last time I checked, he was driving a Ferrari . . . ) and the others had one excuse or another. But Joshua had a good group of friends from work who joined us at the racetrack, along with his special girl, Betty. Not our Betty, but an actual nice girl . . . so I guess we have to stop teasing him about coming out of the closet.

All I have to say is I SUCK at betting on horses. Although I shouldn't have expected much. I bet on a horse called "He's Always Right" - there is a reason the odds were so big on that one - because it just ain't happening.

But this story isn't about that. Its about the birthday present. I didn't want to arrive empty-handed. But buying for an adult can be tricky. Especially when you don't want to burden them with gifts at a racetrack.

I thought about it a bit and remembered there is a new wine store close to our house. Joshua has decent taste in wine and has graced us with an excellent Spanish wine as a house present the last time he was over. So I thought a gift certificate would be simple and easy to carry in my purse and his wallet. But you never are sure you're getting the right thing.

As I am paying for my purchase, the cashier looks over at my card as I am writing. She says "That wouldn't happen to be for Joshua C, would it?"

I looked up, surprised. "Uh, . . . why yes . . . " Check behind me to see if there are cameras.

"Oh. It's his birthday today. You must be going to the racetrack."

Check for cameras again. "Uh, . . . why yes." (I'm extremely articulate when I am surprised)

"He's a member here . . . "

Hmmmm . . . hope he can use this . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

As the Waters Recede . . .

I was reminded today of the terrible flooding in Iowa. You know, it seems like it gets a lot less press than the hurricanes do . . . but it is no less devastating.

I lived in Des Moines in 1993. When the last "100-year" flood came through. Buried the downtown in standing water. Shut down the city for a week . . . we ran with port-a-potties and no air conditioning for weeks. I was fortunate to live on a hill (read, "dry") and have running water - my colleagues were not as lucky and more than one came over to my apartment to shower. Strange to have co-workers showering in your house. Well, outside of the normal communal showering parties I was known for hosting . . .

I remember driving to see DrChako in Missouri - he was still going to med school. Driving past farms, the fields turned into giant lakes, the water coming up to the roadside, every so often a fencepost or tractor part sticking up out of the water. A bizarre landscape for sure. The feeling of helpless people must have felt - wait for the water to recede . . . salvage what you can . . . hope you are insured for the rest.

It made me stop and say a little "thank you" that my family is safe right now. Take a moment to think about how lucky you are today.

We laugh because every where we live, we have been present for a major natural disaster. So far, here in Washington, so good . . . Although technically, we live near an active volcano. Which stopped activity in January 2008 of this year. Life could still get interesting.

Good thing we live on a hill. I look terrible in hip waders . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Note to Self: Play Real Money

I am an accountant. Ergo, I am risk averse.

Play money poker suits me just fine.

So what is a girl to do while her hubby is away? And she's medicated to the hilt with the latest migraine narcotics?

Little play money SNG.

After a second place finish (Q-3 sucked out on the river against my A-K), I sat and played the next 45 play MTT . . . First Place!!!! If only I wasn't so doped up to where I could actually appreciate the math behind it . . .

Of course, I could start playing like I did two days ago - got into a 5,000 person freeroll. First 99 pays a second round seat. I got up earlier in the game, until I had about double the average chips. Then I sat out for the rest of the game . . . finishing 242. Not too bad for the laissez-faire approach. Still not enough to pay off . . . but far less time wasted.

I think I must sleep. Or hallucinate. Whichever comes first.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Natural Beauty

Washington state is full of it.

Like Mrs. Chako in those fine red shoes on a Friday afternoon in the elevator . . . did not go unnoticed by her fellow passenger. Thank you for the compliment, sir.

But I digress . . .

After a quick call to our friends in Okie-Vegas who seemed to be having a fine time, mi familia and I took the drive to Mt. St. Helens . . . the weather was perfect, we found a great picnic spot, and spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the natural beauty all around us.

Of course the most beautiful things out there were my family . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Busted

Yeah, I saw you.

Working on the roof of the shop as I walked out. You thought the sunglasses hid the glance. But you couldn't hide the double-take. Or the fact that your hands were idle the whole time I walked to my car. I'm guessing they don't pay you to stand on the roof and look pretty.

Yeah, I looked back. But just for the satisfaction of catching you watching. Busted.

It's ok . . . it was a red shoe day.

I understand.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Probability is For People With No Imagination

I know . . . $1 for the bad beat story. But this one is almost too good to believe.

Fortunately, as you know, your favorite (and only, I think) Mrs. Chako was just playing with the play money. But I usually play the 45 seat, 5 table tourney. The first hand or two is donkeys, but the rest of the time people generally play to win.

So I'm holding my own, but haven't made any headway, really. Which, as the players fall off the tables, means I'm losing ground in the chip stack war. However, in my next big blind, I wake up with pocket jacks.

Across the table from me, the short stack goes all-in. He's got about $400 in chips. It comes around to me and I raise to $800, which is 2/3 of my stack. There were a few limpers that I don't need sitting around with big cards. Everyone folds, and its the two of us, heads up.

He flips over pocket 7s. Whew. Flop is dealt and its A-J-10, all spades. I have trip jacks, but I'm clearly vulnerable to the spades, as one of his 7s is a spade. The turn card brings . . .

A seven. I snicker to myself, thinking how ironic it must feel for him to have gotten that, given that I already have my trips. As the river is about to be dealt, I'm thinking "I just have to dodge a spade, . . . or the case . . . "

You guessed it. River brought the 7. He went runner, runner to get quads and beat my flopped trips.

Not that if I was short-stacked I wouldn't have tried to get all in with my pocket pair either . . .

Probability . . . schmobability . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Mosaic

Now that I am doing "nothing" today - I'm actually catching up on the blogsphere . . .

Thanks, Kat, for the great idea. I love my mosaic! And what an awesome picture of Hugh Jackman . . . I need to go take a cold shower.

The Rules:
a. Type your answer to each of the questions into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker).

The Questions:
1. What is your first name? (If it matters, you know it)
2. What is your favorite food? Strawberries
3. What high school did you go to? Thorp
4. What is your favorite color? Red
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Hugh Jackman
6. Favorite drink? Iced Tea
7. Dream vacation? Barcelona
8. Favorite dessert? Cheesecake
9. What do you want to be when you grow up? Sexy
10. What do you love most in life? Laughter
11. One Word to describe you. Intense
12. Your flickr name. The Wife

Do it. You know you want to.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

1. michelle.jpg, 2. Strawberry, 3. DSC_8789 (Infra Red), 4. Cd Art, 5. Hugh Jackman, 6. Rhubarb "Tea", 7. Casa Batlló, 8. Raspberry - Swirl Cheesecake, 9. Red Heels, 10. Moments of life .., 11. North Narrabeen Rock Pool Before Dawn, 12. For you / Para vosotras (Sant Jordi)

Missing in Action

I know . . . you're all wondering . . . what the heck happened to you, MrsChako?

I thought about various excuses I could give . . .

1. I was abducted by aliens, eager to understand the professional female mind. They were disappointed and, frankly, shocked by some of what they learned and sent me back.
2. I ran away to Mexico, to start over, like some famous, eclectic, American recluse. But then I missed my bed. The grocery store. And I found out I should not say "si" to every question, especially when I don't remember certain vocabulary from college Spanish (or maybe they didn't teach those words . . . )
3. I accepted an undercover assignment for an unnamed, covert security operation. I could tell you what it was . . . but then I'd have to kill you.
4. DrChako put a hit out on me. Except he told the guy "I want you to take my wife out." And when the guy saw how hot I was, he "took me out." But hit men aren't good dates . . . and then I found out DrChako got a job . . . so I came back.
5. I was admitted to the insane asylum. After being there a week, I realized that I work and live with crazy people every day. Who look and smell better. I discharged myself - now I just gotta find someone to dispense my meds . . .

The real story is much less glamorous . . . a busy week of work, out of town. Trying to do two things at once. Coming home to play catch up. Taking over a new client that our previous team had neglected . . .

Today, I found my first bit of breathing room. Still have work to do. But I wasn't expected in the office. So I have essentially done . . . well, nothing.

Nothing sure feels good.

Back in the game!

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife