Monday, October 31, 2005

White russians & cockroaches.

I decided to add some stupid stuff to my profile to make it more entertaining. I realized that under "interests" two of the things I put were: white russians and bowling. These are, in fact, two of my interests. Based on this, you would think I like the movie "Big Lebowski." You would be wrong though. I don't hate it, but I don't like it. I also don't get how there are whole societies of people that are obsessed with it. I mean "Lebowskifest"? Are you serious? Get a life, people.

The only reason I have seen the movie is because every time I ordered a white russian, the server would ask me if I liked the movie "Big Lebowski," so I ended up renting it. I found it mediocre. The best thing about it was John Turturro's cameo.

Speaking of white russians, when you click on "white russians" in my profile, it lists every blogger that has "white russians" as an interest. It seems they are all female or gay. A long time ago I came to accept that my taste in alcoholic beverages fell squarely in the demographic of "female" and "homo". I hate beer & wine. I also do not enjoy whiskey. It tears me up inside. A man should enjoy these things. I cannot help who I am. Now leave me alone and let me drink my Woodchuck in peace.

Last night Ms. Brick found a roach in the dishwasher. I have no clue how it got in the dishwasher. From her screams you would think the roach was four feet long and force-feeding her broken glass. I don't get what her deal is. Every time she sees a bug she flips out like the damn thing is raping her. One of these times something really bad is going to happen, and I'm not going to immediately respond to the situation because I will think it's just another spider. Kidnappers are going to break into the house and take her away, and while she is kicking and screaming, I'll be sitting at my computer in the other room saying: "You can kill the spider yourself, honey."

So anyway, the roach was crawling around the bottom of the dishwasher. I removed the bottom rack of dishes and had a look. Somehow I was able to do this without shitting myself. The bottom of a dishwasher doesn't provide a lot of good surfaces to smash something on, and those fuckers are fast. It would have been a perfect opportunity to use Raid®, except we don't have any. No fucking bug spray in the house. I wish I had thought of this while we were at Sam's Club. They sell that shit by the keg.

Ms. Brick handed me a cup of bleach to dump on it. That only pissed it off. After the bleach failed, I grabbed the only aerosol can I could find. It was Scrubbing Bubbles®. Do you know how ridiculous it feels to spray a cockroach with Scrubbing Bubbles®? I didn't either until last night. It did the trick, though. Actually, I think I drowned it; I drowned a roach in Scrubbing Bubbles®.

Maybe I should have given it a white russian.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

26 pounds of meatballs.

The Bricks decided that the upcoming party was an excuse to join Sam's Club, because the regular grocery store charges too much for meatballs. You can't have a party without 26 pounds of meatballs. Before last Saturday, it had been a couple years since I set foot in one of those places. I had forgotten about the 5-gallon tubs of wine and 10-pound cans of peanut butter.

Actually, it was only 6 pounds of meatballs. Only. That, along with 4 pounds of cocktail weenies, 5 pounds of mozzarella sticks, a 192-pack of beer, a 10-pack of frozen pizzas, 2 crates of bananas, a 3-gallon jug of cranberry juice, a 124-pack of pitas, 4 pounds of hummus, 82 cartridges for a Gillette Mach3 razor, 500 diapers, and a riding lawn mower. You never know when you might need 500 diapers and a riding lawn mower. And just look at those prices!

I wish I could go back to Saturday morning and say: "You know what? We don't need to join Sam's Club, we can just pay a little bit more for meatballs at the Jewel-Osco." Seriously, the main reason we joined was for the meatballs. We bought a $35 membership so we could buy a 6 pound bag of meatballs for $10. We must really like meatballs. Actually, we do. We love having them at parties and Ms. Brick has a special recipe. Now I am sentenced to do food shopping at Sam's Club for the next year until our membership expires. I'm going to be drowning in meatballs.

All that shit we bought was for party. I sure hope you guys like meatballs, mowing lawns, and shaving.

When we got home I googled "cocktail weenie recipes." Do you know what the standard recipe for the sauce for those things is?

Chili sauce and grape jelly.

Ms. Brick already knew this. I am somewhat perturbed by this. I guess I shouldn't be, though, seeing as when I buy a hotdog and the hotdog guy asks me what I want on it, I always say: "Mustard, relish, onions and grape jelly."

Actually, the fact that that I'm eating grape jelly with weenies isn't what perturbs me. I have consumed this weenie, chili sauce, grape jelly combination before without knowing the ingredients and found it quite tasty. I am in full support of things that are tasty, as long as the ingredients are edible and non-toxic. What I find disturbing, however, is that somebody actually thought of this. Someone was sitting at home with some weenies and thought: "Man, I need some sauce for these...hmm...what will I use? Oh, I know! Chili sauce and grape jelly!"

Seriously. That's like someone saying: "Let's see, what will I put on this trout? I know! Dr. Pepper and mayonaisse!"

That's all.

Next Saturday Ms. Brick will probably decide we didn't get enough meatballs and we will need to go back to Sam's Club. Please think of me when I am surrounded by 55-gallon vats of pickles.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Benefit wankfest.

Our friend Otto is the director of something for some area chamber of commerce. Last night there was some benefit thing for area businesses to raise money for the chamber or something. There were tons of nice appetizers and drinks (upstairs) and a decent dinner (downstairs) after the appetizers. I think it cost about $80 a person, so the chamber charged $100 a ticket.

Otto said we could come for free if we volunteered. Our job was to tell people that "appetizers are upstairs," because upon entering it looked like you were supposed to go sit at your table to eat, rather than go upstairs and get appetizers. The chamber should invest in a sign that says "Appetizers are upstairs," because telling people that "appetizers are upstairs" is just not that fun of a thing to do. The other volunteer job was to sell raffle tickets for $5 (5 for $20!) for a 50-50 raffle, where the winner gets half the money collected. There were also some $50 gift certicates to various restaurants as prizes.

I did not do any raffle ticket selling or tell anyone that "appetizers are upstairs" because I hate talking to people. I just walked around. Matt did a good job of telling people that "appetizers are upstairs" and Ms. Brick and Ms. Otto did a good job of selling raffle tickets. Ms. Matt (they have broken up like six times but they never date anyone else and are always together, but are never straightforward about their "official" status, but for the sake of this blog, she will be known as Ms. Matt) also did a good job telling people to go upstairs.

Otto got mad at Ms. Brick because she went upstairs to get a drink. "You know, you're a volunteer, so you shouldn't be having as much fun as the people who paid the $100." Fuck you, Otto. Of course, he used his "sarcastic but I'm really serious" voice. That's what he always does when he is unjustifiably upset. He is unjustifiably upset a lot. First of all, Otto, I'm not having as much fun as the people who paid the $100, and second of all, I thought part of the deal was I got to take part in the food and drinks if I volunteered.

Later someone asked Matt to show them where their seat at dinner was, because telling someone what table number they are at, and then clearly labeling the tables with numbers isn't enough. Matt ended up getting caught in some volunteer nightmare where people were asking him for extra chairs and to take away salads. He didn't know where extra chairs were, and he wasn't a waiter, so he didn't know what the heck to do with the salads he was taking. He recounted for us his experience of people asking him to find extra chairs & take away salads, and did so in very humorous manner. Otto was there to hear the story, and dropped this gem: "Let's see, I paid $0 to get in here, yes I will do that." Of course, he used his "sarcastic but I'm really serious" voice. One of these days he is going to make one of his "sarcastic but I'm really serious" comments to the wrong person and take a shot to the face. Luckily for him, he lives in a society where physical beatings are considered unacceptable social behavior. Trust me, his little comments are a lot more offensive in real life than I can convey on this blog.

Matt and Ms. Matt left. We stayed for a while.

I would rather have not been there. I ate way too much bad food. I didn't win any raffle prizes. Ms. Brick had six drinks and got sort of drunk. There were these centerpieces with flowers and sticks and Ms. Brick wanted to take home some flowers and sticks. Other people were doing it and it wasn't being stopped or discouraged, so we rode home on public transportation holding flowers and sticks. She immediately incorporated the sticks into our home decor when we got home.

She then went to sleep in a half-awake, half-asleep dream state while trying to have a conversation with me. This is how the conversation went...

Her: "Would you masturbate in front of your friends if you got half the money and then we could have a big party?"
Me: "Good night, sweetie."
Her: "Are you offended that I didn't say 'Hi' to you personally?"
Me: "Good night, sweetie."

She does not recall any of this.

Now I don't know what combination of dreams and reality was running through her head to produce these questions, but as far as I am concerned masturbation, money, and parties are three things that have nothing to do with each other and do not belong in the same sentence. Well, money and parties are associated, I guess, because parties cost money, but throw masturbation in there and it becomes a problem. I know "half the money" was in reference to the 50-50 raffle, and the "have a big party" was in reference to the party we are having, but masturbation? Her comment caused images of me inviting all our friends over so they could pay to watch me spank it. I would then donate half the money to charity or something, like a benefit wankfest.

As far as being offended for not saying "hi" to me personally? No, honey, I'm not offended. Sleep tight, now.

I sure hope Otto never finds this blog. He doesn't take kindly to people pointing out his quirks.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005


It began like any other lunch. And well, it ended like any other lunch.

I left the building to go across the street to the Subway. Six-inch roasted chicken on wheat no cheese lettuce tomato green pepper onion jalaneno honey mustard. I stopped at the ATM on the way there and withdrew $100.

It gave me four $20 bills and two $10 bills.

This was eerily disturbing for reasons I can't comprehend.

Although in a state of shock from my unsettling ATM encounter, I was able to order my sandwich and head back to work. I stopped by the cafeteria to purchase two(2) 20 ounce bottles of soda because I have a ton of "buy one get one free" bottle caps. I get one Diet Pepsi and one Diet Mountain Dew. I got my pop (yes, I am one of those wackos that is not religious about whether I call it "pop" or "soda" ("Coke" for you southerners, remind me to do a post about this)) and went to the elevator. I just put a parenthesis within a parenthesis.

I was the only one on the elevator. I was all psyched to get an express ride up to my floor. The doors were about to close when one of those annoying elevator chain-reaction things happened. Someone stuck their hand in, the doors opened, and the person got on. This opened the door (haha, I'm hilarious) for nine other people to get on, staggered at 2-second intervals, each one interrupting the doors closing at the last second to get on. Great, express just became local. Only seventeen stops to my floor. That's right, I'm bitching about the elevator making stops. I have no idea why, but it is really annoying. I am in no hurry to get back to my desk, in fact I would rather not be at my desk, but for some reason I can't stand an elevator ride with pauses.

I FINALLY got back up to my floor. I will never get those 37 seconds back. I walked down the hallway to my section of the cube farm. There is a door at the end of this hallway that you have to swipe your card to get through (you have to swipe your card to take a piss, for chrissakes). Anyway, as I was opening the door I made the mistake turning my head. I saw someone approaching. This meant I had to hold the door for them. I have no idea what the rule for this is. Whenever I am the person halfway down the hall, and someone opening the door sees me, I think "please just let the door close, I am fully capable of opening it when I get there, and I don't feel like hurrying." Then the person holds the door and I feel like I have to hurry. But then when I am the person at the door and notice someone, I feel some obligation to hold it or else I am being rude.

The party in question was this fat guy Alan who has worked at Hyperglobalmegacorp for like 26 years. Incidentally, he had also just purchased two 20 ounce bottles of soda. I could tell because I saw him holding them. I saw him coming and he noticed me notice him and I picked up a tell. His body language said "Dude, don't hold the door, I'm halfway down the hall. I'll get it when I get there." So I just swung the door open wide so he could catch it before it closed all the way. This way he wouldn't have to swipe his card. For some reason this seemed even more rude than just letting the door close. From now on I will just let the door close. Someone needs to write up some rules regarding door-holding etiquette. Maybe that someone will be me.

I got back to my desk and ate my sandwich. It was good.

Four twenties and two tens. That is going to bother me for the rest of my life.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Party return and other stuff.

That's "party" as in "PartyPoker," not "party" as in "a gathering of individuals." We got DSL back last night and I played on Party extensively for the first time in a few weeks. It felt like home (yeah, I know that's exactly what Ms. Brick wanted to hear); poker home anyway. I got a decent rakeback deal on a Crypto site and a really good rakeback deal on a Prima site, but I just prefer to play on Party with no rakeback. It just felt comfortable, like an old pair of shoes. I also forgot how horrible the players are. I mean, I suck, but I'm freaking Howard Lederer compared to these people. I think there is some disease that infects the Party population that causes them to stay in a hand with any two overcards or single overcard aces, regardless of what the board is. It just doesn't make any sense. "Let's see, I have K-J of diamonds and the board is 6-7-8 of spades and that guy just bet. I clearly have to call."

It was good to be back. I'm playing to accumulate extra starting chips for the PartyPoker Million semi-finals. You start with at least 1,000 chips, but for every 200 raked hands leading up to the tournament you get 200 extra chips, up to a max of 3,000. That can be a big advantage. I will be playing the semi on Nov. 3. So far I have accumulated 1,900 extra chips.

The iPod I won is at the center of a controversy. Ms. Brick says I said she could have it. I say I didn’t.

Apparently with around 80 people left in the tournament, she told me that I was giving her the iPod if I won. I don't recall this, but she says my response was something like: "It's not going to happen, so sure, you can have the non-existent iPod."

Okay, honey, you can have the “non-existent” iPod. I will keep the real one.

It’s not like she even wants one. If she did, I would know, seeing as when she wants something I’m the first to hear about it. She just wants to take it away for the sake of taking it away because of something I may or may not have said. Even if I did say that, she should know that I wasn’t serious. Sarcastic vocal tone when making verbal agreements is legally binding.

So we have decided to act like six-year-olds in the process of arguing about it.

The whole thing reminds me of a time I was at the mall with my mom and sister. I was 6 and my sister was 9. My mom was 39, because I know you were wondering. A woman asked my mom how old we were and if we wanted to take a survey about cookies. My sister didn't fit the demographic they were surveying, but I did so I took it. I got paid $1 for doing so. My sister fucking lost it. She was going nuts right in the middle of the mall. Over a dollar. So I gave the dollar to Mom.

I’m half expecting my mom to jump in and say: "That's it. No one gets an iPod. We're sending it back."

I bet none of the other 19 people that won one have to go through this.

I went to sleep last night craving In-N-Out burgers for some reason. A 3X3, animal style, no mustard. Fries well done.

Why do those burgers have to be so far away?

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Blogger Championship.

I came in 22nd out of 1,473 in the PokerStars World Poker Blogger Championships of the Universe and won an iPod nano. Who wants to touch me?

That is a kickass prize for a freeroll tournament. Yay PokerStars. I was actually going to ask for one of those things for Christmas.

I don’t really remember anything remarkable that happened. I played for about 4.5 hours, and I didn’t really feel worn out or like I had accomplished anything after. I don’t really know how I finished 22nd. I don’t really know anything about no-limit tournaments so I just played my standard weak-tight game. I was never really put to the test or anything.

It seemed like half the people didn’t even show up. It was a freeroll, so I guess you had nothing to lose by not showing up. At about 700 people the no-shows started dropping like flies. The most hilarious thing I saw was when one of the no-shows was in the big blind, and the hand was folded around, and the small blind folded off to the big blind, not realizing he was sitting out. That’s like handing out 1.5 big blinds for free.

I hung around and when it got down to about 200, I didn’t really think I had a chance at making the t-shirts (37-99 got shirts or hats or both or something) because I had a below average stack and was playing really weak. But everyone else was playing weak, too, and before I knew it, the t-shirt bubble had burst. Ms. Brick was hovering over me for a while and got so frustrated with my passive play that she just threw her hands up and left.

At that point I was below average with about 4,000 chips (average was about 15,000). I figured I would just get anted and blinded away and take my t-shirt. But then a few key things happened…

With about 80 people left I called from early position with Q-10 of clubs. Everyone folded. The flop came 8-J-Q with one club. The big blind bet and I went all-in. He had me covered by about 500. He had 9-10. I was done. Except the turn was the 9 of clubs, guaranteeing me a split, plus giving 12 outs to beat him. I missed and we split.

From there I won a coin-flip with 88 against KQ when he missed a 14-outer on the river to put me at 8,000. A short while later picked up 88 again and shoved.

I was called by a 7-2 off. Not kidding. The guy had a huge stack, but geez.

Another big stack with A-Q also called and the flop came…


I wish I had more money because I would have broken the guy with 7-2. Of course if I had more money he would have folded. So I tripled up.

From there I started playing a bit more aggressively and was able to steal some antes and blinds. I busted a few short stacks when they didn’t get lucky and I busted one guy who had a decent amount of chips when I won a coin flip with K-Q against his 10-10. Before I knew it I had 80,000 and there were 50 people left. I decided to just fold my way into the iPods (places 17-36).

I was down to about 60,000 with 37 people to go. I was in the big blind (which was 4,000 at that point I think) with K-8 and a short stack with 3,000 went all-in with Q-10. He hit his Q on the river and eventually got up to over 100,000.

I had about 55,000 when the iPod bubble burst and decided it was time to ram and jam but I never got the cards to do so and I don’t know anything about no-limit tournaments and thus don’t have a clue as to how to properly go about ramming and jamming, so my chips dwindled away with the huge blinds.

With the blinds at 4,000 and 8,000 with a 200 ante, I got 3-2 suited (spades) in the big blind with 22 people left (places 7-16 got an Xbox 360). After posting I had about 21,000 left. An early position player min-raised to 16,000 and it was folded around to me. I decided that I was about a 60-40 underdog, and after folding and posting the small blind I would be down to 17,000, so I decided to take a chance. I shoved and he called with A-9 of hearts. I actually hit two pairs but he hit his flush.

Oh well.

It will be a long time before I get that far in a tournament that big again (seeing as I don’t really play tournaments), but I’m kind of disappointed that I went out with 3-2. I kept thinking after that maybe I should have folded the 3-2 and stayed in for another orbit to try and win an Xbox. But I had so few chips that doubling up at that point wouldn’t have helped me that much. I'm thrilled to get 22nd. I can think of four key coin-flips I won to double-up or at least win a significant number of chips. That’s not going to happen again for a long time.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Fears realized.

I must say Ms. Brick is awesome, has awesome ideas, and I love her very much.

She decided that the party would be a fondue party. She planned the whole thing and designed the invitations with one of her work friends without running the idea past me.

I, apparently, have no say in the matter.

The invitations say: "Do you fondue?" I would not have a problem with this if the invitation did not have my name on it taking responsibility, and the party in question was not taking place at my residence. She refused to put a disclaimer on it saying I had nothing do with the presence of fondue at the party or the design of the invitation. Keep in mind this invitation is going out to my guy friends. "I'm not going to some gay fondue party. No I do not, in fact, 'fondue.' Is that even a verb?"

Now, to follow-up yesterdays post, she has made fondue before, ingredients do not cost $53.76, and I will not have to drive 20 miles to a specialty grocery store to obtain them. Of course, I shouldn't say anything. I can guarantee you that the particular type of fondue will be unlike any she has done before. "I want to do lobster fondue. You need to go to Maine to get fresh lobster." In that case, my trip will be substantially longer than 20 miles, and cost substantially more than $53.76.

The main source of my displeasure is that fondue is not something you do for thirty people. It's something you do for six people. I don't need thirty people dripping cheese and chocolate (that's right, one fondue pot isn't enough; she needs to do a cheese one AND a chocolate one) on my floor. For those of you reading this that are invited, I'm not implying you are messy or sloppy. I'm implying that it's fondue. I don't care how careful you are, that shit is getting on the floor. And as more alcohol gets ingested, more shit gets on the floor. I don't have a problem with a mess. Parties are messy and leave a mess, and if it doesn't it was a crummy party. However, what you serve at a party greatly influences the magnitude of the mess. That's why no one serves barbecue ribs at a party, unless it takes place outside, therefore preventing the mess from the infiltrating the inside areas.

She said the party needed a theme. That's something I don't understand. Why fondue, then? And how is fondue a "theme"? If we had a big tray of fancy nachos would the theme be nachos? Would the invitation say: "Do you eat nachos?" If you need a theme why not Batman, then? Everyone likes Batman. We can have Batman decorations, a Batman cake, and Batman games where you pin the bat on the Batman.

Furthermore, isn't the standard theme for parties held by people our age alcohol? Can't the invitations just say "Do you drink?" I can guarantee that the common response will be "Yes. Yes I do. I will be there. Drinking."

So it's a fondue party. I will be there. I will have fun. I will be happy. I will be drinking.

Thursday, October 20, 2005


That's "party" as in "a gathering of individuals," not "party" as in "PartyPoker." The Bricks are having a party in the near future. In fact if you are reading this, you are probably invited. We were going to have a party after we moved into our new place 1.17 years ago. This is it. 1.1 years ago I went out with some people and got drunk and invited them to a party at our place. That party was supposed to be one year ago and never took place. Luckily no one showed up.

Anyway, let's look at a few responses to the initial e-mail invites I sent out. Names have been witheld to protect the innocent...

"Color me boozed!"
We all know who wrote that one.

Moving on...

"Available. I may choose to do absolutely nothing, you know, and you will know a taste of one's own medicine, t'would be."
Okay, this is unnecessary. Attendance is not mandatory. If you want to bypass free liquor and food, by all means, don't come. His response was in response to the fact that I have chosen to sit at home and watch TV rather than go to the last two poker games with him the last two Saturdays. I would have happily gone if no poker was involved. I have already covered that I don't enjoy home poker too much anymore. The stakes aren't high enough to be meaningful, the game moves too slow, and it always devolves into an all-in wild card crap shoot.

"Let's play Alabama Donkey Punch. That's 7 card-stud where tens and threes are wild, but if one the upcards is a black 7, then fours and jacks become wild, and the person with the black 7 gets to punch someone in the back of the head. Let's all put our money in and see who ends up with the best cards and who gets punched in the head."

It's not like this person was inviting me to parties the past two weekends. If he was I would have happily gone. Unless it was to a bar, because I have drinks at home. In fact, I have lots of drinks at home. Drinks that will be at the party. You want a Tuaca Sour? I can do that. Tuaca Sour...that sounds gross.

Number 3...

"Tell us, please, what will make this gathering different than other times we hang out? There will be girls there? There will be $40 appetizers? There will be a beer bong?

I'm going to be late - warning you right now."
Yes, there will be girls there. I also imagine there will be $40 appetizers. No beer bong. College is over. I am also glad you warned me that you are going to be late, as my ability to have a good time hinges on your arrival. Now I am adequately prepared. If you had not warned me, and 8pm on party day were to arrive and you weren't there, well, I don't even want to think about that.

Moving on...

"I will most certainly be there. Its gonna be some party with the anticipation that has been building for over a year!"
Wasn't that a nice response? This came from a person I invited to a non-existent party a year ago. This means I need to make the party especially enjoyable. That means lots of alcohol, tasty snacks, and hot Asian teens.

Those are the four people I have invited so far. I hope they are all still coming.

I also hope the Bricks don't get into too many fights over this. She says I need to replace the sink in the bathroom before the party. It had a crack when we bought the place. What the hell do I know about replacing sinks? I guess we will find out.

I also know we are going to fight over appetizers. I mean snacks. The word "appetizers" implies that a main course will follow. There will be no main course, only appetizers. I mean snacks.

If it was up to me, we would have pitas & hummus, sausage & cheese, and shrimps & that red shrimp dipping sauce. I just know that Ms. Brick is going to want to make some complicated thing that she has never made before. The preparation of this complicated thing will require me to drive to some specialty grocery store 20 miles away to buy some fancy ingredients that will end up costing $53.76.

It will also require three days of preparation, involving the dirtying of every pot, pan, spoon, Cuisinart, blender, mixer, spatula, knife, microwave and stove that we own. She will not make any kind of effort to clean up after herself as she prepares this complicated appetizer thing, because she will be placing the responsibility of cleaning on me and me alone.

Okay, I'm done.

The above post was meant for entertainment purposes only, and does not reflect my true beliefs in any way. I love cleaning up after you, honey, really, really I do. Especially on Sunday night after you made those green pepper turkey gizzard things, and the kitchen looked like a war zone. Yes, I know you have to clean my poop off the toilet. No, I don't know how it gets under the rim. We don't need to talk about this again. Also, for those of you who might be offended by my responses to your responses, a simple "Fuck you, dude" will suffice.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

This sucks.

My tits are still on fire from my gym visit. I walked up 16 flights of stairs this morning. That was a nice punch in the face to remind me how out of shape I am. Ms. Brick has been doing the stairs thing for a couple weeks now. I need to catch up with her.

I had a banana and yogurt for breakfast. My lunch was a mixture of:

Red onions
Green & red peppers

This sucks.

The suckitude should wear off in a week or so, as it becomes routine, and as I start to feel better, have more energy, and my boobs recover so I can blast them again. I remember in college when my diet consisted mainly of double cheeseburgers, steak sandwiches, chalupas, Doritos, 4am pizza, Kool-Aid, and Skittles, I always had that acid "I just threw up a little bit" taste in my mouth whenever I burped. I burped a lot. I also didn't enjoy moving around too much. After I graduated, started detox, and quit eating cheese, the throw-up taste mysteriously went away and I had more energy. One night in early 2001 I went jogging because I had too much energy and didn't know what to do. Then I started jogging every day. After about six months it was like: "Hey this is pretty cool. I'm in way better shape now and can actually do pull-ups." Amazing how that works.

Then poker happened. Now I can't do pull-ups. I want to do pull-ups. That's officially my goal now: do a set of ten pull-ups. That and get good at poker...simultaneously while doing pull-ups. I need to find a way to successfully integrate poker and pull-ups. The last time I successfully did ten pull-ups I didn't know what the "flop" was.

Writing about taking the stairs reminded me of the 400 lb. One Floor Elevator Crew. My last job was at a three story building. I worked on the 2nd floor. Needless to say, I never even thought of taking the elevator. I wish I could say the same for the 400 lb. One Floor Elevator Crew. The group I worked in had a high percentage of morbidly obese members, which were known to me as the 400 lb. One Floor Elevator Crew. Occasionally we would have a meeting on the 3rd floor. Watching them stand there waiting for the elevator to go up one floor while the rest of us headed to the stairs was very sad and motivational.

One morning my 400-lb. boss came in huffing and wheezing like she was going to die. She had taken the stairs. One flight. It reminded me of the Adam Sandler bit "Fatty McGee". I applaud her for taking the stairs that day, though.

If I ever take the elevator to go one floor do me a favor and shoot me in face. Unless I don't have any legs or they quit working. In that case don't shoot me in the face.

As of this writing, I have fully functional legs.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Random stuff.

There was no pumpkin picking. The Bricks and the Scotts just went out for fried squid and beers. I also think that some wine and pizza was consumed. Then we went back to Ms. Scott's place (the Scotts, unlike the Bricks, maintain separate residences) and played Trivial Pursuit (Bricks vs. Scotts) and drank. It was "DVD Pop Culture" edition, so the Scotts basically had no chance. Sports, music, movies. Forget it. You can't touch me. I showed them a lot of mercy keeping the score as close as I did. Ms. Brick is also a master dice thrower. We were getting nowhere with my dice throws, and the Scotts jumped out to an early lead. But then Ms. Brick took over dice duties and started hitting the roll-agains and pie-pieces. After we got all six pie pieces, she nailed the center on her second try. The final question was a laugh. Everyone knows it was Vince Neil who killed the drummer of Hanoi Rocks in a drunk driving accident. At least ask me the name of the drummer, jeez.

Honestly, I know a disturbing amount about pop culture. I wish I could dispose of some of it and fill that part of my brain with more useful information. I don't need to know the year Duran Duran released "Hungry Like The Wolf" (1982).

I got a tiny bit drunk during gameplay and didn't want to drive home. Ms. Scott went to bed and Scott stayed up with us, but we could tell he wanted us to leave so we went and sat in the car. After a while I drove home. Nothing happened. Except driving. And home.

Other weekend happenings...

We went to the gym for the first time in god-knows-how-long. You know it's a bad sign when you get to the gym and they have all new machines. It's a good thing we pay $80 an month for this. I don't know why they needed new machines, as the old ones were pretty damn nice. The last gym I went to purchased their machines sometime in 1974 and isn't about to get new ones. They had one functional treadmill and four broken treadmills, so everytime I went over there I'd be praying the one good treadmill would be open. That place was straight out of a movie. Basically a dank basement with water dripping from the ceiling filled with weights and gnarly hardasses lifting them. Hey, for $200 a year it was a damn good bargain. If you're ever in Chicago at the corner of Clark & Ridge, go check it out and ask for a tour. Just don't ask to see the lockers or showers because they don't have any. Also they have only one toilet and there's no toilet paper so make sure you bring your own. I fuckin loved that place.

On Sunday...I actually played a little poker. I had some freerolls for some single-table qualifiers on there so I played those and won an entry to the PartyPoker Million V semi-finals, woohoo! I will play the tournament on Nov. 3. If I finish in the top 1.85% I win a $13,500 entry to the PartyPoker Million V. If I finish outside of the top 1.85%, I win jack shit. My guess is the latter.

Finally, I finished the band story in the "PB&J" post. It was kind of condensed. I could write a book about high school band.

That's all. Have a nice Monday.

Friday, October 14, 2005


Do you know what the coolest thing about my job is, besides the steady paycheck and health insurance (which I haven't used yet even though I haven't been to a doctor in like, ten years)? 40 cent peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You see, the cafeteria here at Hyperglobalmegacorp has this self-service toast bar in the morning. A piece of toast costs 20 cents. You toast the bread yourself and top it with a selection of jams, jellies and/or butters. One of the butters of choice is that of the peanut variety. I choose to purchase two pieces of raw toast, top one with strawberry jam, the other with peanut butter, and BAM! 40 cent peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Ms. Brick chooses to toast her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Yes I know, she is clearly insane.

That was the most interesting thing I could think of to write about today. I haven't been playing any poker, and I cashed out most of my bankroll. I'm going to try to build up another bankroll by bonuswhoring casino websites using this guide that Scurvydog put together. It seams like it might actually work. You just have to follow the instructions exactly and not let your desire to gamble take over. It will also be mindnumbingly boring. If I can successfully scrounge up another grand or so I might start playing poker again in a few weeks when the dust settles on our internet situation and the partypoker situation. I'll let you know how it goes.

In other news, I need to lose 20 pounds. I am slowly becoming a tub of goo. I have gained about 17 pounds in three years. At this rate I will weigh 330 pounds by the age of 50. That's not a good weight to be at age 50. The outlook is dim. I know exactly what it takes to lose weight and get in shape. In fact, I have lost 20 pounds several times. The problem is finding the motivation. The motivation just isn't there. Maybe I'll change the focus of my blog from poker to weight loss. I don't know if that's a good idea, because then the focus will be trying to please other people instead of myself. The only times in my life when I've ever truly accomplished anything is when I set a goal for myself and didn't tell anyone about it, which reminds me of a story...

I remember when I was a freshman in high school. I joined the band. I wasn't planning on joining (because band in high school is for fags) but I was bored out of my mind the first two weeks of high school and didn't have any friends. So I joined band. I played saxophone in elementary school and junior high. Half the freshman in any high school band enter as saxophone players and most of them suck but think they are good. I was no exception. I noticed lots of the older kids played more than one instrument. I wanted to be cool like them. After marching band ended in the fall, the director suggested I take up French horn. Then all of a sudden this 3-person crew of freshman saxophone playing girls that didn't like me decided they wanted to play French horn too. Those bitches.

It was left upon Mike, the awesome senior French horn player to teach us how to play (Mike is now a professional piano player, appearing Thur-Sun at Bellagio's Baccarat Bar). The other good horn player was this junior named Brian. He was a bit of an arrogant pretty boy cock. I liked him, though.

So the four of us tried to play horn. During band class we all crowded in a practice room and practiced. We all sucked. That was to be expected. The Three Evil Ones, as I took to calling them, showed no mercy. They constantly made fun of me and told me I sucked, failing to mention that they also sucked. One time one of them spit on me. I also remember one of them trying to draw on me with lipstick, and another time they threw my Suns hat in the mud (actually it was only one of my Suns hats; somewhere in a box in a storage unit in Phoenix there are approximately 12.6 baseball caps featuring the words "Phoenix Suns" acquired by me from 1989-1994).

Circumstances as far as band was concerned were in my favor, though. My schedule had me switching to advanced band second semester, while their schedules had them staying in beginning band. I don't know if this was an accident or what, but that meant I got to sit with my French horn (I didn't do much playing) with the big kids in the concert band. I was 4th chair, behind Michalle (another freshman, and yes, that's how her name is spelled) in 3rd, Brian at 2nd and Mike at 1st. Being in a separate band class meant The Three Evil Ones couldn't harrass me as much. Plus I got the added benefit of sitting with the main band, which improved my skillz. I practiced and slowly improved. Mike helped me a lot. That spring Mike and Brian both made the Arizona Southwest All-Region Band. Then summer happened.

I went to all of the summer band sessions. I practiced mellophone (what French horn players play in marching band; it's like a big, huge, fat trumpet) for marching band. I got better than Michalle during this time. I also took weekly lessons from Mike before he left for college. The Three Evil Ones were strangely absent for most of summer band. It was optional, because the director can't exactly require you to show up at school during summer. I also went to jazz band camp to get better at saxophone. When sophomore year started, The Three Evil Ones were back on their saxes for marching band. You know what? They can just eat it.

While marching band went on I secretly practiced my sax for jazz band auditions and also the audition etudes for the Arizona Southwest All-Region Band for French horn.

I made 2nd alto sax in Jazz Band 2, (our high school's second jazz band; Jazz Band 1 was one of the best H.S. jazz bands in the Southwest U.S. Top players from other schools would actually transfer just for jazz band) beating out those three chicks. In the meantime I practiced the fuck out of those All-Region etudes.

After marching band was finished the concert band horn section looked like this 1st: Brian, 2nd: me, 3rd: Michalle, 4th: Mike's little sister. Where are you, Three Evil Ones? Oh, I see you over there, playing your saxes. Remember how I beat all of you at that very instrument for a spot in Jazz 2? Yeah me, too. You know what? You can just eat it.

Then All-Region auditions happened. One French horn player from our school made it. It was me. You can all just eat it.

That’s the condensed version of the story. I think I had a point. Oh yeah, I didn’t tell anyone I was going for jazz band or All-Region, but I focused and practiced and accomplished my goal. The only times I’ve accomplished goals for myself is when I keep my intentions to myself. Whenever I’ve told someone “Yeah, I’m gonna get better at blah blah blah” I’ve never done it. That’s why I like to keep plans secret. I've also noticed it helps if there is some level of revenge or proving myself to someone involved.

So yeah, I need to lose 20 pounds.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

More work and stuff.

My boss was ready to cry when I got in today. I guess when you have people in four different continents calling asking why the numbers are out of balance it kind of has that effect. She has been working 12 hour days on a regular basis. Every time I get to work she is there. Every time I leave she is there. Monday I got to work at 8:30. I left at 5:30. I went back at 8:30. I left at 9:30. She was sitting at her desk each time. For those who are curious as to why I returned to work at 8:30...Jeanine calls me in tears at about 7PM. A couple of the Mexico numbers got shifted around in my load file. As we discussed earlier, I am the only one in North America that knows how to do uploads. "You don't get it, I promised Bob the numbers would be right!" Jeanine said. Bob is a big important guy at Hyperglobalmegacorp who makes way money than me and Jeanine put together. In fact I know exactly how much he made last year compared to me and Jeanine put together because of my last position required me to know this. Anyway, I couldn't leave her hanging. So I went back to work, missed my co-ed touch football game, and reloaded some numbers. Remind me to teach Jeanine how to do that.

I worked late again Tuesday. Ms. Brick called me at 7:30 wondering where I was.

Her: "I made food"
Me: "I'll be home at 9"

I got home and had some of the shrimp/vegetable thing she made. She has been known to leave the shells on the shrimp in the past. The following exchange preceded my consumption of the shrimp:

Me: "Does the poker still have the shells on it?"
Her: "What?"
Me: "Does the shrimp still have the shells on it?"
Her: "You're sick."

Yeah, so I confused a card game with seafood. Shoot me. In fact, I found it hilarious.

Speaking of poker, my status is kind of in limbo. First of all, we got rid of DSL. That makes it kind of difficult. There is only one unsecured wireless access point I can find and I have to hold my laptop above my head in the living room to access it. Sweet. Also, PartyPoker has made some business decisions that have made playing conditions less than ideal. I don't need to get into details. For you poker people, this issue has been beaten to death on other blogs and boards, and you non-poker people don't care and don't need to worry about it. I am going to have to sit tight and see how the situation works out. Right now it is just big huge clusterfuck. For those who care read Pauly's last post and some of the blogs he links to there.

Since the DSL got cut, I've been playing a lot less poker anyway. It's been really weird. I have no idea what to do. I remember a time in a previous life when I would regularly go on six-mile runs and lifted weights on a daily basis. It was really cool, too, because you could see my ab muscles. Scott, tell them. Maybe I'll revisit that life.

We'll see.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Working late with Chinese people.

It has been firmly established that I do not own the infinite patience and discipline required to be a successful long-term winner at this poker stuff. I'm considering just cashing out my bankroll. However, there is no way I am ever going to quit completely, and I have learned the benefits of keeping poker money separate from other money. However, it seems stupid to have a few thousand dollars just sitting there doing nothing, when I could be spending it on DVDs and pizza. That's all I have to say about poker today.

On Friday I stayed at work until 9:30. Ms. Brick was pissed. The reason for this is because my boss was working on some numbers that needed to be uploaded for global reporting. I am the only person in North America employed by Hyperglobalmegacorp that knows how to do this particular upload. There are other people that used to work for Hyperglobalmegacorp that know how to do this, but I am the only one left. I can't teach anyone else how to do this, because then they will have no use for me. So my boss finally finished and I did the upload. My boss pisses me off. But not because I had to stay for four hours on a Friday waiting. If my last boss at my old job asked me to do that I would pissed as hell. But Jeanine (current boss) totally busts her ass and I do not bust my ass, so being the only person in North America that can do uploads, I felt it was the least I could do (insert Brian Regan joke here). Jeanine pisses me off because she just started this job, busts her ass, and is really smart, but always makes stupid comments like: "God I'm so stupid" or "God I'm so retarded" when she doesn't do something just right or overlooks something. That pisses me off to no end. She is in her early thirties, and she should have realized by now that people hate that shit. I will now put forth my best effort to not make such comments myself. Maybe if I wasn't such a stupid fucking retard I would be good at poker.

So I left work at 9:30 and got on the train. There were two Asian women sitting ahead of me, and a burly black gentlemen sitting across from them. The following exchange ensued:

Black guy: "What time does the train leave?"
Asian lady: "9:35"
Black guy: "Where are you from?"
Asian lady: "Taiwan"
Black guy: "[Chinese]"
Asian lady: "[Chinese]"

So they went nuts in Chinese for the train ride. Now, if you speak Chinese, and you look like you don't speak Chinese, and you run into a native Chinese speaker, do you need to break the ice with "What time does the train leave?" Can't you just start speaking Chinese? I found the guy's opening question more amusing than the fact that he spoke Chinese. Chinese is what they speak in Taiwan, right?

I got home and Ms. Brick and I went out for margaritas and nachos. Then the rest of the weekend happened. That's all.

Scott, I want a full report on your lesbian experiences in the comments.

Friday, October 07, 2005


I went to college. Of the four male humans I spend the most time with, three I went to college with. We went to Small Liberal Arts College in Smalltown, USA, class of '00. Last weekend was homecoming and we decided to go, seeing as it has been five years and all. We spent the weekend hanging out with each other. We can do that at home.

College is 90 miles northwest of the city we live in. Except for one of us who lives 15 miles away. That would be my dancing Mexican friend. Our plan was to go to school and hang around on Saturday afternoon, go to a cookout at our fraternity, then go back to our Mexican friends' house for food and alcohol.

Like I said, college is 90 miles away. The highway occupying this 90-mile stretch has five toll collection things at 80 cents each, except for the last one, which is now a dollar. In college it was 40 cents. Oh, how times change. I decided to dump out my change jar and fill sandwich bags with exactly 80 cents of pennies and nickels, so I wouldn't have to do any counting in the car. "I am so smart for being prepared, Ms. Brick will be so proud of me," I thought. The thing with this is, you have to be careful to actually remove the change from the plastic baggy when paying your toll. Failing to do so will cause much unneeded headaches. At toll booth #4, I let the baggy slip out of my hand and it went down the plastic basket thing. I couldn't get it out. One booth at toll station#4 is now jammed with a bag of change. Luckily traffic was light so I was able to back up and go through a different booth. I happily paid the 80 cents again, carefully dumping the coins into my hand before depositing them. Sorry, next guy to try that booth. I can just picture someone futiley (is that a word? it sure doesn't look like one) tossing coins into the basket with nothing happening, which I'm sure happened seconds after I fled the scene. Later, toll booth employees sent to investigate the jammed machine would discover the bag of change. "Hey there's a bag of change clogging the thing...what kind of moron would throw a bag of change in here?" they would ask. There was a sign on the toll booth as we pulled up that said: "No Dollar Bills." I bet it now says: "No Dollar Bills. Also, if your coins are in a sandwich bag, please remove them from the sandwich bag before depositing them. Do not deposit the sandwich bag."

We got to college okay. There was supposed to be cookout at our fraternity at noon. It got bumped to 6:30. There were about three current members there and our one friend we don't like that graduated with us hanging around. He is a subject for a different post. I can't talk about him now, it would take too long. Let's just say that when he is talking you want him to stop talking. In fact, I actually said that to him once. He was talking at me, I was staring ahead blankly, and I said: "Please stop talking."

So we hung around the house a little bit, it still looked pretty dumpy like I remember. Ms. Brick was thoroughly appalled. "This looks like crap, how did you live here?" she said, or something to that effect. I'll admit, it wasn't too nice (the class of '00 made it a whole heck of a lot nicer while we were there, though; new paint, carpets, new computers, fuck you class of '97 you damn slobs) but I wouldn't trade those 2.5 years I lived in room 315 of TKE for anything. I saw naked boobs for the first time in that room. Okay, so I didn't see real live naked boobs until I was 19. I'm shy. Shoot me.

I was hoping to see more people, but there didn't seem to be anything going on. It seemed like just another random Saturday on a small college campus. We only saw a few people we knew. I saw my sophomore year roommate and managed to avoid him. He was a hairy fellow who thought exercising naked on the floor was a good idea. I didn't feel the need to speak with him. I don't know what his deal was. It's not like our college didn't have a fitness center. Maybe he was opposed to their "clothing required" policy. That reminds me, one time I was working out, and a guy wearing nothing but a Speedo came in and started doing dumbbell curls. The next day there was a sign up that said "Shirt and shoes required." Then the same guy comes in wearing a shirt, shoes, and a Speedo. For some reason I found this more disturbing than just a Speedo.

So we went out to lunch and back to Ubaldo's house (the Mexican, from now on I will cease referring to him as the "dancing Mexican" and call him by his first name. I will not attempt to give him a stupid nickname like "Senor Brick". Stupid nicknames are reserved for me and Ms. Brick). He, Scott, and I played 1-on-1-on-1 basketball while Ms. Brick and Mrs. Ubaldo shopped. Ms. Scott was studying. Scott and Ubaldo each won one game and I won two. I kind of cheated in the last game, though, because it's impossible to guard my baseline jumper.

We went back to Ubaldo's and he made these skirt steak fajita taco things that he always makes. They were good. Even better than tamales you can buy from a random guy in a bar (see Poker Night.) We also tried to make mojitos. That's a hard drink to make. You can't just throw the ingredients together. You have to grind mint leaves and melt sugar and it still doesn't come out right. Hopefully someday I will get it right, as it is quite tasty and I pride myself in the quality of my mixed drinks.

No one got drunk and everyone was in bed before midnight. My God, what has become of us? Is 27 the age at which loserdom sets in?


Thursday, October 06, 2005

Poker hiatus.

I decided to throw in the towel on 2-tabling 2-4 at 99 hours. I finished with my worst session so far. My final total was $882 for an hourly rate of $8.90. So I finished on a 120bb downswing. Awesome.

Anyway, our internet is getting cut tomorrow because SBC decides to jack up the rates after the one year guarantee. I thought we could just tell them to give us the cheap rates or we will cancel, but they said the only way to get the cheap rates is to cancel and order it again. So that's what we are doing. It will be good because I need to get away from this poker crap and go outside. It will also be a good opportunity for to look at Poker Tracker stats and see what my major leaks are, which I'm sure are numerous.

I started 2-tabling 3-6 last night and that went awesome. Awesome to the point where I decided I need to take a poker hiatus. There comes a time in every man's life when he needs to stop and ask himself: "What the hell am I doing here at 3:30AM passing out money to random strangers on the internet when I need to be at work in 5 hours?" So I'm going to take a few days off and maybe interact with some people.

I'm also a little burned out on this blog. After one damn month. I need to quit posting every day. It was supposed to be mainly for me and to keep track of my poker results and write about it to try to get better. I then wrote a few non-poker posts about random topics I was thinking about. People responded positively to this and now I'm feeling some kind of pressure to write a funny story every day. I took Monday off and I get a "Where's the Monday post?" comment. I like writing but for the past few days my posts have felt kind of forced, like I'm doing it just because people are expecting a new post each day. I'm going to keep writing, but it will because I want to, not because I feel some obligation to.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

I didn't play poker last night.

For the first time in over three months, I got home from work and didn't play any poker. It was very strange for all parties involved. I got home and went and sat on the couch in front of the TV, my standard pre-April 2004 ritual. "Why didn't you go play poker right away?" she said. "I didn't feel like it," I said. I guess I've been pretty burned out. I've played 97 hours of poker in four weeks. During work, I look forward to getting home and playing poker. But if poker was my job, I would probably have to shoot myself in the face. It is just so damn boring if you want to be a winner, which is why not very many people have a successful career at it, and many more people lose all of their money attemping to.

I've come to the realization that there is no way in hell I could do this full-time. I would become even more socially retarded than I already am. Poker used to be a social activity for me. Now it just alienates me furthur from the human race. I seriously need to consider which direction I am going to go in, and what my motivation is. Do I really love poker? Am I learning and getting better at it? These are things I'm going to have to figure out. I definitely think I have made more and improved more during this 97-hour stretch than I have during any other 97-hour stretch during the past year and a half. I hope that means something positive.

I guess that was the main goal of this blog, to figure out what the fuck I am doing playing poker and write about corpses and razors. If it turns out I can make a decent side income from this, is it really worth it? I don't know if it is.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Poker is fun.

I played a $6 sit 'n go last night.

I didn't realize when I started that I had to leave to go play football in about 11 minutes.

I got some good hands early and got up to about 2000 chips (started with 800). In an early hand I hit two pairs, but the river brought a possible straight and flush. I guy in early postion threw out a decent size bet, and I concluded that if he really hit something he would have tried for a check raise. I called, he turned over a big pile of Ace high, and proceeded to berate me.

Him: "Fcuking retard, calling with a flush and straight draw on the board."
Me: "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to fold, next time I will."
Him: "Idiot."
Me: "It's a $6 tournament for chrissakes."

I guess calling with the best hand is the wrong play. Then in the next hand I got 9-7 suited in the big blind, someone min-raised it, the resident pro called, and I had a lot of chips so I called. The flop came 9-high so I bet at it, and the pro went all in with an open-ended straight draw. I called, he missed and I knocked him out. He proceeded to berate me for playing 9-7 off. He actually specified that I played 9-7 off when they were both clubs. Hilarious (To me, anyway, not to you non-poker people who found this blog). I guess cold-calling a raise with 8-7 off is okay. The guy stayed observing the table and kept talking shit. It was awesome. I love when people do that because it makes for a more entertaining game.

But unfortunately, I had to go play football, so I just started going all in, which was fun. I busted AK with K4 when I hit a 4 on the river. I busted AJ with 9-10 when I flopped a 9 and he missed. It was hilarious. I had about 4000 chips when the blinds were 25/50. People started getting pissed at me.

Them: "You're a jerk, not letting people play how you're supposed to play."
Me: "I thought going all-in was how you're supposed to play, like on TV."

I ended up having to leave, so I just left a huge chip stack on the table. I was hoping when I left it would take the chips out of play, but it didn't. I just got blinded off. The next sit 'n go I play I might try the psycho all-in strategy. People get pissed off but it is hilarious watching them get pissed.

As far as the ring games are concerned...

After having a good little run, I had my hourly rate up over $14.50, with 7 hours left to go 2-tabling 2-4. Then the deck decided to butt-rape me last night and now I need to make something like $230 over 4 hours to reach my goal. Oh well. It ended fittingly. I was getting ready to leave and got dealt AA. I just rolled my eyes like I always do with AA. I flopped a set of aces. I lost. Time to go. It was just one of those nights where everyone was hitting their draws and every time I had top pair, top kicker or an overpair someone had bottom set. Twice I had a flush and someone had a higher flush. I took comfort in the fact that people were playing absolute garbage hands and staying with them when the flop missed. One guy cold called a raise and a reraise with K-2, and stayed in on a Q-high flop. No, he didn't have a flush or straight draw. Yes, he won the hand. What would usually be a very profitable situation just didn't work out. That's the way it goes sometimes and you have to accept it. I need to embrace these situations because that's what enables me to be a long term winner. If it never happened, the shitty players would just quit (not that I'm not a shitty player). Like always, I lost more than I should have. I need to learn when bad beats cause me to not think straight, click "Deal me out", get up, drink some water, bang my head against the wall, and sit back down when my head is on straight. Maybe one of these days I'll learn.

My hourly rate is now sitting at about $12/hr, and if I can finish off these last 4 hours and still be at $12, I will be pleased. I don't know if I'm quite ready to move up to 3-6, but I will have more than enough bankroll, so I'm going to do it. If my bankroll hits $1600, I will move back down. I will have to lose more than 300 big bets for that to happen, and in that case, it most likely means I suck and should find another hobby.

Oh yeah, football. Last night I played co-ed touch football with other grown-ups, and I caught a pass and had an interception. I also dropped a pass and a possible interception. We won 27-18. Hooray. Then we went out for pizza. Actually we didn't, but I wanted to.