Missing Man

Ever watch the Blue Angels do an air show? One of my favorite ones is when they do a missing man formation . . . they fly up in perfect pattern, perfect unison, except there is an obvious gap in the line up. I have military men in my family and specifically military pilots. Each time they do it, it sends chills up my spine.

I have so many good things to report about our last Vegas trip. It's like this weird homecoming where you meet new friends, old acquaintances that become new friends, make better friends of your old friends, and have an amazing time doing everything, nothing, and all things in between (which generally involves some significant amounts of kissing and hugging and lots of Carmex).

But before I report, I want to give a shout out to the "missing man" - those bloggers who for one reason or another couldn't be with us this year. While there were probably too many to name, the few that top my list and who were most missed include:

Instant Tragedy. He was the one who encouraged me to come in the first place back while Dr Chako was still playing in the sandbox. He offered to be my chaperon and welcomed me to the tourney. Called to check on me the night I had the migraine. Organized a signed guitar for my husband that still sits on a guitar rack next to our bed. He's now married and I've yet to meet his lovely better half, but we're still hoping for the day. Dr Chako is storing up a great big man-hug for the guy he's never met but who was one of his fiercest supporters during the war.

Bam Bam and Pebbles. They were missed on a couple fronts. First, they are just an overall great couple. Pebs is a fierce poker competitor, but lover at heart. Bam is the most generous loving man I know (short of the Doc). Bam Bam's first words to me included "beautiful (in reference to myself, just in case you were wondering)" and I haven't forgotten the phrase yet. But just in case, he uses it now and then to refresh me. He's like a brother to my husband, and a dear heart to me. He also looks super-hot in a retro Packer's jersey. Me-ow!

Peaker. *sigh* I start this with a sigh because I kind of have a little crush on him. Not like that forever unrequited farm-boy crush I've developed on that big hunk of a midwest lawyer Grange, or that murky, inappropriate, yet satisfying Otis/Dr. Jeff fantasy vision I drag out on long nights when the Doc is in our other house (I'm sure I've mentioned that to you honey, right?). It's that innocent 13-year old girl crush, when she's like "so he sat that the $1/$2 NL table with me for 8 hours - and he even said 'nice hand'! OMG - do you think he likes me?" He's adorable, he's got a good heart, and he's a lean, mean, running machine. He can bring a tear to my eye, whether its with a personal interest story in Greeley, or because I'm laughing so hard about his kids and poop that I'm crying. *sigh* Did I mention he wasn't there? (Insert frowny-face).

Other poker degenerate friends were missed - from our northwestern poker pals, to the lovely Kirks (Spaceman and Rachel), Bracelet and his lovely sidekick, Riggstad, Schaubs, and so many more that have filled in a variety of WPBT events and are part of the bizarre tapestry of friendship, poker, blogging, and general debauchery that we cloak ourselves in when we need to feel warm and cozy. It's like Joseph's Technicolor Dreamcoat . . . but with a mixed up fashion sense, lack of actual color coordination, worse singing, and smells a little like alcohol and cigarettes. But damn, it sure fits well . . .

I had so much fun. But you, my friends, were missed.

Up soon . . . hot stilettos, hot girls, mediocre poker, and the definition of a "live straddle" in Mrs Chako's book. Sure to "raise the stakes", if you catch my drift.*

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

* For those of you who didn't, it was a phallic** reference.
** For those of you who don't know what phallic means because your brain is too fried from the WPBT weekend, free vocabulary lessons at my house. Next Tuesday. When Doc is in Stockton.