Ok, its really just a post about poker.
So I took a small mental pause to play one of my favorite play money games - the fine 45 person NLHE SNG. I end up in the last two tables with a big mouth who got mad because I took to long on one hand (potty break). He took to calling me "Mrs. Dildo". I know. Real original.
Kept at it though. I might have had a couple witty responses here or there, the wittiest being "Did I just end up in a 6th grade class room with a bunch of little boys who just learned the word "dildo?" He kept it up. Taunted other players. Even pulled one of those "That's what your mother says" things that guys seem to find so offensive to one of the other players. Who was a chick. Moron.
Then one of the other players types "Moderator". Couple minutes later, Moderator 94 comes on. Reminds all players that constant verbal abuse of another player is inappropriate. Blah, blah, blah. I thanked the moderator. My opponent says "Just kidding moderator. But Mrs. Dildo is playing too slow."
Fast forward to the final table. I go in with middle stack. He chips up a little later and is nearly the chip leader. I wait him out. Chip up. Now I'm the leader. We're down to three. Player three gets knocked out when he went in with his pocket fours against the dildo-sayer who had an AJ offsuit and caught the J.
Now we're heads up, only he has a monster stack . . . nearly 2-1 against me. He kept up the taunting. I just played my cards. Slow played him a couple times. He got tired and lazy and stupid. I finally hit an ace on the flop, but he is first to bet and bets out. I raise him, and he goes all in.
Turns over 10-7. Paired his 10. I'm ahead with the pair of aces. Turn comes an ace, river comes a 10. Full houses all around, but last time I checked, my aces full beats his 10s full.
In the chat box I saw a "gg" . . . couldn't believe he was being gracious. Then I realize it was the player from third place who'd been watching to make sure he got annihilated.
Glad I made someone's day.
The extra play money doesn't hurt either. After starting out with 5,000 play money chips last year when the Dr. was deployed, I have over 97,000 play chips.
I know they are play chips. But its about the discipline, not the money.
Discipline, baby. Oh, and having morons taunt you and call you "dildo" for your play money chips.
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
Showing posts with label Poker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poker. Show all posts
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Friday, August 29, 2008
You Sure are Pretty . . .
. . . said the drunk, as he sat next to me at the poker table.
We were in this total dive casino in South Seattle. A new acquaintance comped us tickets to the Thursday night comedy show, which was awesome, even if the actual venue was less than spectacular. Thanks, Jerry. We invited the dynamic duo of Cayne and Joshua, but we suspect they were either:
a) Having a romantic evening with their new found love (Joshua),
b) Having nasty, raunchy, non-committal sex with whatever single mom they could find (Cayne), or
c) Enjoying each others' company. Read that as you wish.
But Zeem joined us and enjoyed the show, so afterwards, we sat down together and played a little poker with the locals. There were a few players who just really didn't understand the game, the etiquette, or what the betting structure was (yes, you, Mr. "all-in" at the 3-6 limit game). So at times, it was a little like the special Olympics of poker. Which is probably a disservice to the fine athletes in the Special Olympics.
I knew I was in trouble when I smelled the alcohol fumes. He leaned over and opened with the "you sure are pretty" line . . . not even very original. But I was polite.
Poker rooms tend to be cold. I tend to get cold easily. So I sat at the poker table, shaking my legs, in an effort to try to get some circulation going.
"You're nervous," he commented. When I looked at him in a questioning way, he looked down at my leg and said "You're shaking your legs . . . you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet . . . you're nervous." I asked him what I had to be nervous about since I wasn't in the hand. He laughed and said "I just know you're nervous."
He proceeds to talk to me and continues to lean, reminding me occasionally that he thinks I'm pretty, when suddenly he says "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice your wedding ring. I'm sorry - I'm just a horny old man."
I took that moment to say "Well, if you didn't notice the ring, you probably didn't notice my husband, either, sitting right over there, did you?"
He looked up surprised, and then began apologizing to both of us.
A couple hands later, I had QJ in late position. Drunk man had the button. Several folks were in by the time it rounded to me, so I called, and he raises behind me. Everyone made it $6, so I called the extra bet too.
Flop came 10-9-x. Rainbow. I figure I need to be in this one. And there is action all around. Including a raise I call. Drunk man re-raises behind me. Everyone calls.
The turn is a K. Rainbow. A small, but well-timed chorus of angels sounds in my head. At this point, Drunk Man turns to me and says "See, you're nervous, your leg is shaking." I conceded that maybe I might be. Or I might be cold. Like I told him the last time he commented on my shaking leg. There is betting, and I raise, and he says "Not gonna work" and re-raises. The turn gets capped.
The river is another 10. Makes me a tiny bit nervous. Not about him. About the rest of the crowd. It checks to me and I bet. He raises, there is one caller, a few folds, and I re-raise. Knowing he doesn't have the nuts. He calls and the other person calls. I rake a MONSTER pot with my straight, and he turns over a pair. Not even top pair. Which wins me back the money I lost Monday night, plus the buy in from the Monday night tourney.
As I tried to organize an unwieldy pile of chips, I couldn't help but turn to him and say "I told you I was cold." Then I turned to my husband and said "Honey, you sleep with me . . . tell him how I'm always cold."
DrChako wisely said "No you're not . . . "
I think that was the right thing to say . . .
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
We were in this total dive casino in South Seattle. A new acquaintance comped us tickets to the Thursday night comedy show, which was awesome, even if the actual venue was less than spectacular. Thanks, Jerry. We invited the dynamic duo of Cayne and Joshua, but we suspect they were either:
a) Having a romantic evening with their new found love (Joshua),
b) Having nasty, raunchy, non-committal sex with whatever single mom they could find (Cayne), or
c) Enjoying each others' company. Read that as you wish.
But Zeem joined us and enjoyed the show, so afterwards, we sat down together and played a little poker with the locals. There were a few players who just really didn't understand the game, the etiquette, or what the betting structure was (yes, you, Mr. "all-in" at the 3-6 limit game). So at times, it was a little like the special Olympics of poker. Which is probably a disservice to the fine athletes in the Special Olympics.
I knew I was in trouble when I smelled the alcohol fumes. He leaned over and opened with the "you sure are pretty" line . . . not even very original. But I was polite.
Poker rooms tend to be cold. I tend to get cold easily. So I sat at the poker table, shaking my legs, in an effort to try to get some circulation going.
"You're nervous," he commented. When I looked at him in a questioning way, he looked down at my leg and said "You're shaking your legs . . . you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet . . . you're nervous." I asked him what I had to be nervous about since I wasn't in the hand. He laughed and said "I just know you're nervous."
He proceeds to talk to me and continues to lean, reminding me occasionally that he thinks I'm pretty, when suddenly he says "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice your wedding ring. I'm sorry - I'm just a horny old man."
I took that moment to say "Well, if you didn't notice the ring, you probably didn't notice my husband, either, sitting right over there, did you?"
He looked up surprised, and then began apologizing to both of us.
A couple hands later, I had QJ in late position. Drunk man had the button. Several folks were in by the time it rounded to me, so I called, and he raises behind me. Everyone made it $6, so I called the extra bet too.
Flop came 10-9-x. Rainbow. I figure I need to be in this one. And there is action all around. Including a raise I call. Drunk man re-raises behind me. Everyone calls.
The turn is a K. Rainbow. A small, but well-timed chorus of angels sounds in my head. At this point, Drunk Man turns to me and says "See, you're nervous, your leg is shaking." I conceded that maybe I might be. Or I might be cold. Like I told him the last time he commented on my shaking leg. There is betting, and I raise, and he says "Not gonna work" and re-raises. The turn gets capped.
The river is another 10. Makes me a tiny bit nervous. Not about him. About the rest of the crowd. It checks to me and I bet. He raises, there is one caller, a few folds, and I re-raise. Knowing he doesn't have the nuts. He calls and the other person calls. I rake a MONSTER pot with my straight, and he turns over a pair. Not even top pair. Which wins me back the money I lost Monday night, plus the buy in from the Monday night tourney.
As I tried to organize an unwieldy pile of chips, I couldn't help but turn to him and say "I told you I was cold." Then I turned to my husband and said "Honey, you sleep with me . . . tell him how I'm always cold."
DrChako wisely said "No you're not . . . "
I think that was the right thing to say . . .
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
Thursday, July 24, 2008
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
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
Monday, July 7, 2008
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
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
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Vegas - The Lost Recap
So I kept promising a Vegas recap. Alas, life, gets in the way. Life, and migraines. So since I'm bedridden with the last vestiges of one, I thought I would try to catch up the Vegas recap . . . so I could move onward with the rest of life.
This one I'll do chronologically, skipping the previously rehashed Rhino visit.
Friday - MGM
We arrive at the MGM early. Well, early by Vegas standards. Grab some dinner at Nob Hill. Walk around. Look at the lions. Head over to the poker room, to see if any degenerate gambler bloggers are there. There is interest in a HORSE mixed game - we don't recognize any names, but we put ours on there. Best place, my husband says, to find bloggers. Then we wait.
Friday - MGM (sans DrChako)
DrChako leaves to go to bathroom. Leaves me standing outside the poker room, still staring in, hoping to recognize a face. Seconds after he leaves (really, no more than 30 seconds), I hear a pleasant voice behind me.
"Care to share a drink with me?"
I turn to find a pleasant looking man about my age, my height (sans heels - which means with heels, I've got him by a few inches), standing there smiling at me. I'm being hit on. Wow. I mean, not that I'm not looking fabulous and all - black pleather skirt, silky snakeskin pattern top, 3 inch Franco Sarto patent slingbacks with the peep toes showing off my "ghetto-fabulous" toenails with the flowers painted on them. Lots of leg. But still. We're taking sans husband for under a minute - that has to be a pick up record for me. Only way to beat it would be to have someone try to pick me up while the husband was standing there.
Now, I'm not one of those women to be rude to the "hitter" . . . unless he's a total ass, being hit on is, of course, a complement of sorts. So I smiled politely, and said "Well, that is a really sweet offer, but I'm not sure my husband would approve . . . "
Not to be deterred, my persistent hitter smiles as says "Well, your husband isn't here."
Point taken.
Again, not one to be rude, I strike up polite conversation. Hi, I'm MrsChako . . . nice to meet you John (no, that was his real name . . . John . . . in Vegas . . . bet there are a lot of John's in Vegas). We talk about what he does (pilot), what he's doing here (flying wealthy businessmen in), and what he will do in his spare time (besides try to pick up wildly attractive married women) . . .
At some point, the conversation goes from casual sprinkled with mild flirtation to him telling me he couldn't help but notice my ass in the skirt and that he likes to suck toes. Probably more information that you'll get from most people inside of three minutes. DrChako arrived soon after that - I introduced the two and John, to his credit, owned up to the fact that he had been flirting with me. DrChako, assuming he was a blogger, took this as standard operating procedure and looked completely nonplussed. It was not until after John departed and I relayed the whole story did he realize he should have gone into "I'm gonna kick your ass" mode.
The Mixed Games
The bloggers finally arrived (mildly under the influence of the Hoffbrau House), and we started a mixed game. ORSE. No one liked H. But me. But oh well. Poor dealers . . . every time they switched we had to keep warning them about the table talk, the betting, and the weird rules we were sticking to.
Blogger games are interesting. First, be prepared for completely random betting, and lots of it. I've never seen so many pots capped. Particularly when Falstaff is in blind. I've never seen so much bluffing. So many pots dragged with shit cards. So many suck outs. And so much laughing about it all. What an awesome group of easy going folks.
I got down nearly a whole buy in (my limit - I know, I'm cheap). Bought another rack of chips. I think DrChako got felted too, at one point. But we stuck around long enough (and I managed to stay out of the craziness and only get back in with the good stuff) and it managed to pay off. DrChako ended up dead even (so basically managed to pay the rake and the tips), and I ended up almost a whole buy-in. I considered it a rousing success. Particularly I got a kiss (full on the mouth, not that wishy-washy European crap) from Falstaff and I got a fabulous table massage from CK. Complete with the hair waterfall over my face while she worked on my neck. Yummy. Until she got busted by the floor staff and given a cease and desist order.
We broke up the table and headed for the Rhino.
Saturday - On our own
We took this day as one of those husband and wife days. Got up late. Ate late brunch. Walked around looking and shopping. Played a tiny bit of poker. Had a nice dinner. Went to see "Zumanity". Finished out the night playing poker.
I played a mixed game table again. Up and down some, but never down far. Two hands stuck out in my head. Both pissed the table off.
Omaha 8 or better. I'm dealt A-A-2-8. One suit to the ace. I know this is a hand I should raise. But there are a couple stupid heads at my table who will do that for me. So the betting goes down and the pot is 6 people, two bets a piece. Flop comes out A-3-6. Now I hate this flop. All the low draws are in. I don't really have a good low draw, my flush possibility isn't out there, and I've flopped a set which is bound to get busted. But I gotta stay. Sure enough, there is a ton of action, and I call it all. Turn is a 4. So now I have a 64 low, but the wheel has got to be out there. I mean, really, it just has to be. I've only got one of the 2s.
River? The 6. And its a 6 that fills another flush possibility. A little chorus of angels sings in my head. I am pretty sure I have half of this pot. Rounds of betting, although a couple guys can't pull the raise trigger out there with a paired, flush board.
Moron at the end goes "I got the straight to the seven - who's got the wheel?" Everyone starts shaking their head and mucking. Action comes around to me and I'm looking at the guy. I'm not an Omaha pro, but this board, and he's saying "I got the straight to the 7."????? I flipped over my full house and my 64 low and scooped the whole thing. He spent the next five minutes trying to figure out why his straight to the 7, and his 6543A wasn't the winning hand.
The last hand that was memorable was, in fact, my last hand. I was up a bit, and DrChako had stopped playing poker and gone off to play craps. I was under the gun in Omaha and had decided I would get up when the blind got to be. My last hand dealt was 2345 three clubs. Not the best low hand. And certainly not a great flush hand. Or straight hand. But I figured, what the hell - I still had more than I came to the table with. I call, and the betting goes around and gets raised a couple times. The small blind is out, but by the time it gets back to me, there are six players including myself in the pot, so I call the raises. Flop comes out all big cards, except for an 8. And two clubs on the board. At this point, I check, because I need to go runner-runner to get a low (and not necessarily nut low), and I can't imagine the flush is good. There is a bet to my left, and one raise, and 3 callers, and I know the guy on my left will call . . . and I'm still playing with money I won from the table. Stupidly, I call. The turn is another high club. I check. Now there is lots of checking, except for one guy who bets. But he's betting big cards, I figure. Total position bet. So I call, and everyone else calls.
The river card comes out and its nothing. Doesn't pair the board, no low possibility. Now I'm rethinking. I'm starting to wonder if the flush is out there. I'm going to find out. So I bet out. I get one caller, one folder, one raise, and everyone calls after that. I figure at this point I'm beat. Until Mr. Raiser turns over Broadway. I turn over my flush with the 43 of clubs and scoop the pot. But not before I get berated for playing a shitty flush and low hand.
"Why would you be in that pot after the turn with no low possibility?" the raiser asked. "You can't have thought your flush was good."
I smiled sweetly, as I racked my chips . . . and said "I guess because I was playing with your money anyway . . . "
I never said I was nice at the poker table.
What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas . . . Unless You Run Into People You Know
I took my winnings over to the craps table to meet my husband. Found him standing next to one of his buddies. Apparently, he'd just randomly selected this craps table in this random casino . . . and found his good friend from Denver. The boys proceeded to lose some cash at craps, found out that I suck at throwing dice, and we all left happy, with plans to meet for dinner on Sunday.
Sunday is Spa Day
Well, not before brunch at the Wynn. God, I love that spread. I can never be a dieter. I really love food too much. And the only thing I love better than food itself? Is when there are so many different kinds ALL IN ONE PLACE. Where else can you have sushi, an omelet, fresh strawberries and cream, and a fajita, all in the same place? I dare to you to find it . . .
Then I ditched the hubby who wandered off to do god knows what . . . and after a short stint at Caesar's pool reading my John Grisham novel, I went to the Qua spa at Caesar's.
I knew it was going to be good when she said "go through those doors" . . . I walked through doors into this long, dark hall, with trickling waterfalls and soft music. Someone did a fantastic job of recreating the womb. It was a long, long walk . . . long enough for you to feel completely mellow at the end. I was shown the facilities and spent the next 30 minutes in the Roman bath before my treatment. I'm going to have a Roman bath in my house. Bubbling warm waters, spilling over the edge, cool bubbles coming up under your seat, lights changing the waters from a sparkling aquamarine to a deep violet purple.
I spent the next 90 minutes getting the Ayurvedic Journey. Which involves some wonderful soul scrubbing your body with some warm, sticky stuff, buffing it off you, wrapping you in warm blankets, dribbling hot oil on your head, massaging your hair and scalp, and cooing over how well your hair is absorbing the oil. After that I showered, did the steam room, the Arctic room (fake snow blowing on you feels AWESOME after a smothering steam), and more Roman bath.
I could have been Roman aristocracy. Totally.
We Go Home
We had time for dinner with our buddy, and then off to the real world. Where our flight was delayed. But all in all, it was a perfect combination of me-time, us-time, and blogger-time.
We can't wait to do it again in December . . .
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
This one I'll do chronologically, skipping the previously rehashed Rhino visit.
Friday - MGM
We arrive at the MGM early. Well, early by Vegas standards. Grab some dinner at Nob Hill. Walk around. Look at the lions. Head over to the poker room, to see if any degenerate gambler bloggers are there. There is interest in a HORSE mixed game - we don't recognize any names, but we put ours on there. Best place, my husband says, to find bloggers. Then we wait.
Friday - MGM (sans DrChako)
DrChako leaves to go to bathroom. Leaves me standing outside the poker room, still staring in, hoping to recognize a face. Seconds after he leaves (really, no more than 30 seconds), I hear a pleasant voice behind me.
"Care to share a drink with me?"
I turn to find a pleasant looking man about my age, my height (sans heels - which means with heels, I've got him by a few inches), standing there smiling at me. I'm being hit on. Wow. I mean, not that I'm not looking fabulous and all - black pleather skirt, silky snakeskin pattern top, 3 inch Franco Sarto patent slingbacks with the peep toes showing off my "ghetto-fabulous" toenails with the flowers painted on them. Lots of leg. But still. We're taking sans husband for under a minute - that has to be a pick up record for me. Only way to beat it would be to have someone try to pick me up while the husband was standing there.
Now, I'm not one of those women to be rude to the "hitter" . . . unless he's a total ass, being hit on is, of course, a complement of sorts. So I smiled politely, and said "Well, that is a really sweet offer, but I'm not sure my husband would approve . . . "
Not to be deterred, my persistent hitter smiles as says "Well, your husband isn't here."
Point taken.
Again, not one to be rude, I strike up polite conversation. Hi, I'm MrsChako . . . nice to meet you John (no, that was his real name . . . John . . . in Vegas . . . bet there are a lot of John's in Vegas). We talk about what he does (pilot), what he's doing here (flying wealthy businessmen in), and what he will do in his spare time (besides try to pick up wildly attractive married women) . . .
At some point, the conversation goes from casual sprinkled with mild flirtation to him telling me he couldn't help but notice my ass in the skirt and that he likes to suck toes. Probably more information that you'll get from most people inside of three minutes. DrChako arrived soon after that - I introduced the two and John, to his credit, owned up to the fact that he had been flirting with me. DrChako, assuming he was a blogger, took this as standard operating procedure and looked completely nonplussed. It was not until after John departed and I relayed the whole story did he realize he should have gone into "I'm gonna kick your ass" mode.
The Mixed Games
The bloggers finally arrived (mildly under the influence of the Hoffbrau House), and we started a mixed game. ORSE. No one liked H. But me. But oh well. Poor dealers . . . every time they switched we had to keep warning them about the table talk, the betting, and the weird rules we were sticking to.
Blogger games are interesting. First, be prepared for completely random betting, and lots of it. I've never seen so many pots capped. Particularly when Falstaff is in blind. I've never seen so much bluffing. So many pots dragged with shit cards. So many suck outs. And so much laughing about it all. What an awesome group of easy going folks.
I got down nearly a whole buy in (my limit - I know, I'm cheap). Bought another rack of chips. I think DrChako got felted too, at one point. But we stuck around long enough (and I managed to stay out of the craziness and only get back in with the good stuff) and it managed to pay off. DrChako ended up dead even (so basically managed to pay the rake and the tips), and I ended up almost a whole buy-in. I considered it a rousing success. Particularly I got a kiss (full on the mouth, not that wishy-washy European crap) from Falstaff and I got a fabulous table massage from CK. Complete with the hair waterfall over my face while she worked on my neck. Yummy. Until she got busted by the floor staff and given a cease and desist order.
We broke up the table and headed for the Rhino.
Saturday - On our own
We took this day as one of those husband and wife days. Got up late. Ate late brunch. Walked around looking and shopping. Played a tiny bit of poker. Had a nice dinner. Went to see "Zumanity". Finished out the night playing poker.
I played a mixed game table again. Up and down some, but never down far. Two hands stuck out in my head. Both pissed the table off.
Omaha 8 or better. I'm dealt A-A-2-8. One suit to the ace. I know this is a hand I should raise. But there are a couple stupid heads at my table who will do that for me. So the betting goes down and the pot is 6 people, two bets a piece. Flop comes out A-3-6. Now I hate this flop. All the low draws are in. I don't really have a good low draw, my flush possibility isn't out there, and I've flopped a set which is bound to get busted. But I gotta stay. Sure enough, there is a ton of action, and I call it all. Turn is a 4. So now I have a 64 low, but the wheel has got to be out there. I mean, really, it just has to be. I've only got one of the 2s.
River? The 6. And its a 6 that fills another flush possibility. A little chorus of angels sings in my head. I am pretty sure I have half of this pot. Rounds of betting, although a couple guys can't pull the raise trigger out there with a paired, flush board.
Moron at the end goes "I got the straight to the seven - who's got the wheel?" Everyone starts shaking their head and mucking. Action comes around to me and I'm looking at the guy. I'm not an Omaha pro, but this board, and he's saying "I got the straight to the 7."????? I flipped over my full house and my 64 low and scooped the whole thing. He spent the next five minutes trying to figure out why his straight to the 7, and his 6543A wasn't the winning hand.
The last hand that was memorable was, in fact, my last hand. I was up a bit, and DrChako had stopped playing poker and gone off to play craps. I was under the gun in Omaha and had decided I would get up when the blind got to be. My last hand dealt was 2345 three clubs. Not the best low hand. And certainly not a great flush hand. Or straight hand. But I figured, what the hell - I still had more than I came to the table with. I call, and the betting goes around and gets raised a couple times. The small blind is out, but by the time it gets back to me, there are six players including myself in the pot, so I call the raises. Flop comes out all big cards, except for an 8. And two clubs on the board. At this point, I check, because I need to go runner-runner to get a low (and not necessarily nut low), and I can't imagine the flush is good. There is a bet to my left, and one raise, and 3 callers, and I know the guy on my left will call . . . and I'm still playing with money I won from the table. Stupidly, I call. The turn is another high club. I check. Now there is lots of checking, except for one guy who bets. But he's betting big cards, I figure. Total position bet. So I call, and everyone else calls.
The river card comes out and its nothing. Doesn't pair the board, no low possibility. Now I'm rethinking. I'm starting to wonder if the flush is out there. I'm going to find out. So I bet out. I get one caller, one folder, one raise, and everyone calls after that. I figure at this point I'm beat. Until Mr. Raiser turns over Broadway. I turn over my flush with the 43 of clubs and scoop the pot. But not before I get berated for playing a shitty flush and low hand.
"Why would you be in that pot after the turn with no low possibility?" the raiser asked. "You can't have thought your flush was good."
I smiled sweetly, as I racked my chips . . . and said "I guess because I was playing with your money anyway . . . "
I never said I was nice at the poker table.
What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas . . . Unless You Run Into People You Know
I took my winnings over to the craps table to meet my husband. Found him standing next to one of his buddies. Apparently, he'd just randomly selected this craps table in this random casino . . . and found his good friend from Denver. The boys proceeded to lose some cash at craps, found out that I suck at throwing dice, and we all left happy, with plans to meet for dinner on Sunday.
Sunday is Spa Day
Well, not before brunch at the Wynn. God, I love that spread. I can never be a dieter. I really love food too much. And the only thing I love better than food itself? Is when there are so many different kinds ALL IN ONE PLACE. Where else can you have sushi, an omelet, fresh strawberries and cream, and a fajita, all in the same place? I dare to you to find it . . .
Then I ditched the hubby who wandered off to do god knows what . . . and after a short stint at Caesar's pool reading my John Grisham novel, I went to the Qua spa at Caesar's.
I knew it was going to be good when she said "go through those doors" . . . I walked through doors into this long, dark hall, with trickling waterfalls and soft music. Someone did a fantastic job of recreating the womb. It was a long, long walk . . . long enough for you to feel completely mellow at the end. I was shown the facilities and spent the next 30 minutes in the Roman bath before my treatment. I'm going to have a Roman bath in my house. Bubbling warm waters, spilling over the edge, cool bubbles coming up under your seat, lights changing the waters from a sparkling aquamarine to a deep violet purple.
I spent the next 90 minutes getting the Ayurvedic Journey. Which involves some wonderful soul scrubbing your body with some warm, sticky stuff, buffing it off you, wrapping you in warm blankets, dribbling hot oil on your head, massaging your hair and scalp, and cooing over how well your hair is absorbing the oil. After that I showered, did the steam room, the Arctic room (fake snow blowing on you feels AWESOME after a smothering steam), and more Roman bath.
I could have been Roman aristocracy. Totally.
We Go Home
We had time for dinner with our buddy, and then off to the real world. Where our flight was delayed. But all in all, it was a perfect combination of me-time, us-time, and blogger-time.
We can't wait to do it again in December . . .
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Poker? Yeah, I'd Like to Poke Her . . . I Mean Him . . . ???
The internet has created this bizarre, marvelous place. Where you can find anything or anyone, anytime or anywhere.
But it's created this dichotomy of trust/mistrust about the information you receive. Everything so readily available . . . yet in the back of your mind, you're always asking yourself "is this real?"
If you ever saw the movie "Closer" with Julia Roberts, Clive Owen, Natalie Portman and Jude Law, you'll understand. There is a scene where Clive Owen is having an instant message exchange with what he thinks is a woman. He's getting graphic. Really graphic. Like "face-sitting" graphic. The woman he's chatting with? It's actually Jude Law. Now I know you men are starting to squirm at that thought (keep in mind, I happened to go see this movie with my mother . . . ick). You're grossed out at the thought of two guys having this conversation. Either that or you're thinking about that instant message chat you jerked off to last week and are thinking maybe it wasn't a girl . . .
So last night I was playing a free money game on Poker Stars. My little icon is my picture (the one from my profile here). My name is Mrs Chako. And when I chat with people, I'm about as honest as they come.
Middle of the game, like most games, one of the other players puts in a comment:
cgarcia: MrsChako, you look hot.
I thank him, and he continues to make flirtatious overtures. Until another player pipes up.
Myosin: She's probably a dude.
This started a debate. Did I really look like that? Was I really a girl? How could I prove it? They started asking me questions. What size dress do you wear? 6 What cup size are you? (information withheld) What size shoe do you wear? 9 . . . of course this led to a "big feet" comment which further fueled the speculation that I was a man. And probably not even married, at that. I tried to tell them you need big feet to balance this tall drink of water . . .
The conversation continued, even to the point that the original flirter asked to exchange e-mails so we could exchange pictures (I did not). He joked that if I was a girl, I could send pictures of myself, and if I was a dude, I'd just send him pictures of hot women, so he was ok, either way. The original Doubting Thomas, tried to get in on the flirting action too, at this point.
I was amused, but not to be a winner. I got decimated with my J-10 of hearts, which had paired with the 10 on the board, and gave me an open ended straight draw and a flush draw on the turn, but didn't hold up to the pair of queens. And then I went all in with pocket 4s, which lost to 8-4 offsuit when the 8 hit the board. Out in 7th place.
I left the table open for a minute or two, and was rewarded with this exchange . . .
cgarcia: She's gone.
Myosin: She was a dude.
I guess you'll just have to come to one of the blogger tourneys to find out . . . Or ask BamBam or IT or someone else you trust for confirmation.
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
But it's created this dichotomy of trust/mistrust about the information you receive. Everything so readily available . . . yet in the back of your mind, you're always asking yourself "is this real?"
If you ever saw the movie "Closer" with Julia Roberts, Clive Owen, Natalie Portman and Jude Law, you'll understand. There is a scene where Clive Owen is having an instant message exchange with what he thinks is a woman. He's getting graphic. Really graphic. Like "face-sitting" graphic. The woman he's chatting with? It's actually Jude Law. Now I know you men are starting to squirm at that thought (keep in mind, I happened to go see this movie with my mother . . . ick). You're grossed out at the thought of two guys having this conversation. Either that or you're thinking about that instant message chat you jerked off to last week and are thinking maybe it wasn't a girl . . .
So last night I was playing a free money game on Poker Stars. My little icon is my picture (the one from my profile here). My name is Mrs Chako. And when I chat with people, I'm about as honest as they come.
Middle of the game, like most games, one of the other players puts in a comment:
cgarcia: MrsChako, you look hot.
I thank him, and he continues to make flirtatious overtures. Until another player pipes up.
Myosin: She's probably a dude.
This started a debate. Did I really look like that? Was I really a girl? How could I prove it? They started asking me questions. What size dress do you wear? 6 What cup size are you? (information withheld) What size shoe do you wear? 9 . . . of course this led to a "big feet" comment which further fueled the speculation that I was a man. And probably not even married, at that. I tried to tell them you need big feet to balance this tall drink of water . . .
The conversation continued, even to the point that the original flirter asked to exchange e-mails so we could exchange pictures (I did not). He joked that if I was a girl, I could send pictures of myself, and if I was a dude, I'd just send him pictures of hot women, so he was ok, either way. The original Doubting Thomas, tried to get in on the flirting action too, at this point.
I was amused, but not to be a winner. I got decimated with my J-10 of hearts, which had paired with the 10 on the board, and gave me an open ended straight draw and a flush draw on the turn, but didn't hold up to the pair of queens. And then I went all in with pocket 4s, which lost to 8-4 offsuit when the 8 hit the board. Out in 7th place.
I left the table open for a minute or two, and was rewarded with this exchange . . .
cgarcia: She's gone.
Myosin: She was a dude.
I guess you'll just have to come to one of the blogger tourneys to find out . . . Or ask BamBam or IT or someone else you trust for confirmation.
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
Sunday, February 24, 2008
It Must Be The Shoes
So last night, I decide to play another play-money MTT. 27 people seems to be the magic number. 1 guy is always a dork, the other 26 seem to be there to sharpen their skills.
Like the night before, I play patiently, striking hard with the strong hands, laying off the risky plays. Don't get the strength of cards I had the night before. But by the time we're down to the final table, I have the chip lead and hold it, until we're at three.
Then I'm dealt 94 OS in the BB. Limp from the button, call by the SB. I get to see the flop for free with my POS cards.
Flop comes X-9-9. Score! SB bets out one bet. I min. raise. Button folds. SB re-raises. ???? Hidden pocket pair? I'm not putting any stock in the full house, or the other 9, at this point. What are the odds, three handed? I re-raise, testing. He calls.
Turn is a J. Now he goes all in. I have him covered, but there is a lot of money in the pot at this point. I call . . . turns out the fact that the odds are low doesn't actually matter when your opponent has the other 9 with a better kicker. I hope for a high card on the river, such that we would split, but the river brings something shitty, like a 7 or something. Mrs. Chako is now in third place!
Never fear. Next hand is pocket kings. I raise 4x from the SB. Big blind re-raises me. Presumably thinks I'm on tilt. Button calls. At this point, the blinds are so high and my M is so low, I figure all or nothing and I need to maximize my hand. I go all in. Call, call.
Flops is all low cards - but massive betting ensues between the other two, until BB is all in. Turns over AQ. Button has A-rag. I'm laughing . . . until the turn. A.
Two hands - leader to third place. WTF????
Must be that I forgot to wear the shoes.
Respectfully submitted
The Wife
Like the night before, I play patiently, striking hard with the strong hands, laying off the risky plays. Don't get the strength of cards I had the night before. But by the time we're down to the final table, I have the chip lead and hold it, until we're at three.
Then I'm dealt 94 OS in the BB. Limp from the button, call by the SB. I get to see the flop for free with my POS cards.
Flop comes X-9-9. Score! SB bets out one bet. I min. raise. Button folds. SB re-raises. ???? Hidden pocket pair? I'm not putting any stock in the full house, or the other 9, at this point. What are the odds, three handed? I re-raise, testing. He calls.
Turn is a J. Now he goes all in. I have him covered, but there is a lot of money in the pot at this point. I call . . . turns out the fact that the odds are low doesn't actually matter when your opponent has the other 9 with a better kicker. I hope for a high card on the river, such that we would split, but the river brings something shitty, like a 7 or something. Mrs. Chako is now in third place!
Never fear. Next hand is pocket kings. I raise 4x from the SB. Big blind re-raises me. Presumably thinks I'm on tilt. Button calls. At this point, the blinds are so high and my M is so low, I figure all or nothing and I need to maximize my hand. I go all in. Call, call.
Flops is all low cards - but massive betting ensues between the other two, until BB is all in. Turns over AQ. Button has A-rag. I'm laughing . . . until the turn. A.
Two hands - leader to third place. WTF????
Must be that I forgot to wear the shoes.
Respectfully submitted
The Wife
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Poker and Other Randomness
So in preparation for playing with bloggers in Vegas, I decide to do a few massive freerolls - the 15 minute SNG doesn't replicate what I'll be up against.
I played strong when I had it, waited patiently when I didn't, and only had one lucky break where I pushed with my pocket 7s and got two callers with A-rag and K-rag . . . one who had me outchipped. The king hit the flop, but my third seven hit the river. I ended up out of the money, but 104 out of 12,000 ain't bad. Top 1%, baby!
Still have to make my reservations - the hubby has convinced me to splurge and get a nice room. But a special thanks to Princess Maigrey for the offer of a roommate and others who have given their good advice. I might splurge and try to get close to the Venetian.
Had parent-teacher conference yesterday. Son #1 is doing fine - although has a tendency to make funny comments and outbursts at inappropriate times. Might be a good comedian or actor someday. He thinks in "TV" thoughts anyway. His teacher shared a very funny work of fiction the kids had to write - a dream sequence. His dream was about waking up next to a river and finding he was a beaver. Then it goes on to discuss meeting up with his beaver friends, the conversations they have (such as, "You got any Red Bull?"), and the things they do. At one point, his beaver friend takes him to see "his lady" who is a "hot beaver in a hot spring."
Once I got past my Beavis and Butthead urge to snicker, I said "how did you know the lady beaver was hot?" Reply? "Well, she had long hair, and she came up out of the water and kind of threw her hair back and the water went flying everywhere . . . " Reminiscent of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and the scene with Phoebe Cates, apparently, which he's never seen. That made me laugh even harder.
Funny aside, I made him get his hair cut and now he is totally mad at me for "ruining" his style. Told me he won't be able to concentrate in school because he'll be thinking about all the people laughing at him. Oh, to be 10.
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
I played strong when I had it, waited patiently when I didn't, and only had one lucky break where I pushed with my pocket 7s and got two callers with A-rag and K-rag . . . one who had me outchipped. The king hit the flop, but my third seven hit the river. I ended up out of the money, but 104 out of 12,000 ain't bad. Top 1%, baby!
Still have to make my reservations - the hubby has convinced me to splurge and get a nice room. But a special thanks to Princess Maigrey for the offer of a roommate and others who have given their good advice. I might splurge and try to get close to the Venetian.
*****
Had parent-teacher conference yesterday. Son #1 is doing fine - although has a tendency to make funny comments and outbursts at inappropriate times. Might be a good comedian or actor someday. He thinks in "TV" thoughts anyway. His teacher shared a very funny work of fiction the kids had to write - a dream sequence. His dream was about waking up next to a river and finding he was a beaver. Then it goes on to discuss meeting up with his beaver friends, the conversations they have (such as, "You got any Red Bull?"), and the things they do. At one point, his beaver friend takes him to see "his lady" who is a "hot beaver in a hot spring."
Once I got past my Beavis and Butthead urge to snicker, I said "how did you know the lady beaver was hot?" Reply? "Well, she had long hair, and she came up out of the water and kind of threw her hair back and the water went flying everywhere . . . " Reminiscent of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and the scene with Phoebe Cates, apparently, which he's never seen. That made me laugh even harder.
Funny aside, I made him get his hair cut and now he is totally mad at me for "ruining" his style. Told me he won't be able to concentrate in school because he'll be thinking about all the people laughing at him. Oh, to be 10.
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
Sunday, October 21, 2007
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
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
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