The Best Laid Plans

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Scott has healed himself and is posting his trip report… it’s a must read.

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Having not played any actual poker in nearly a year, I wasn’t expecting big things for myself in the Venetian tournament Saturday, and simply wanted to avoid being Gigli and have some fun. I found myself assigned to seat 7 at table 27 and figured this was a good omen. I then found Otis on my right and figured this was a good sign too, as I do love me some Otis.

The Mark quickly relieved my worries of being Gigli, so I was free to sit back and relax and play some pretty unimpressive poker and just enjoy my friends. Our table was in the middle of the room, which by all apparent logic would mean it was easy to see… hard to miss… unforgettable… obvious. However to the cocktail waitresses there was an apparent force field surrounding our table rendering us completely invisible. We were being completely ignored, and multiple times Otis would remark of the waitress “She hates us.” Finally we were able to flag one waitress down only to be told that we were not on “her side of the room”.

After the first break, snug and warm in BG‘s borrowed blazer, the dealer Angela joined our table. Angela’s shift was about to be over and it was clear she was feeling a little feisty after a long day. She only needed an outlet. When I spied a waitress entering the room with a tray full of Fiji bottles; I became it. I manage to flag the waitress down and snag a bottle from her, and am delighted for it. Mainly for the water but also because now that I have her attention and have her right here, I can get a drink for my thirsty friends! Now mind you, during this entire process, I am mid debate with Angela. Most of you know me, and therefore know I loves the Fiji. Yes, I pay money for water in a bottle, and yes, it’s probably only 1% from Fiji (Rini) and yes, it’s ridiculous to have it shipped, and yes, it’s expensive, and okay, you say it doesn’t taste any different (does to me) – I quit the debate team in high school; can I just drink my water now? There are a million things going on – she’s dealing, we’re all playing, we’re all talking, she and I are “debating”, everyone is laughing at our little debate, and I’m also trying to get in a damn drink order for our table.

And I get denied. “I’m not your waitress” is the reply. At which point I say (probably a little too loudly, remember I am just a wee bit riled up) “She really does hate us!” and of course this time the waitress hears it. And now I’ve pissed her off. Under normal circumstances I would have dropped everything and righted the situation but cards are being dealt and I’ve still got Angela and you know what? Otis needs a fucking beer. Later I hear Don has had a similar run in so I feel slightly better knowing it’s not just me.

At the second break, I meet up with Betty and JD and his woman and as they mention dinner I realize I haven’t eaten since the Ricky Bobby meal with Speaker and Heather… over 24 hours ago… consisting of about 4 shrimp and some fries. Suddenly there is a huge priority shift. A plan forms. My stack is short, the antes are coming and the blinds are rising – it’s time to push. Blind. They agree to wait for me before heading to eat. “You’re going to double-up, I know it” Betty says.

Betty is a jinx.

I push all-in blind and California Jen wisely can’t resist, and because blogger tournaments are terribly cruel and unkind; I win with a far inferior hand. From outside the poker room Betty hears the commotion, JD comes in to check on me, and I call out to him with the bad news. “Screw it, we’re not waiting for you anymore!

Thinking they’re on to me and no one is going to call me again, I accept my fate and don’t try the blind push again. Falstaff, of course, has Aces the very next hand.

Totally rigged.

I hated to have our table break – to the point where I might have kinda threatened the floor man a bit – but my second table was all girl power. Me in the 10 seat, Katitude in the 9, my twin in the 8, and Mary in the 7 – all of us steadily draining chips from the boys at the other end. The PokerShrink was anxiously awaiting the point at which we’d have no other option but to “eat our own”. Down to three tables with a healthy stack, Scott appeared with fruit salad and faith in my abilities. He does that… believes in me and supports me when he knows I’m going to panic cause math is hard and I don’t have some IRC bot to tell me what my M is or a pretty lobby to check and see if my stack is below average.

I have no idea what place I went out in, but it was in the 30s. Maybe I should stay rusty?