Viva Las Vegas
The past weekend I donned my best party dress (read: my only party dress, purchased hours before in a rare gay-free shopping expedition in which I came very close to texting my “Sephora Gay” Kevin with instructions on which store and dressing room in which to meet me so he could help me decide) and headed off to my company party which came complete with overpriced drinks and casino theme.
Once the gaming tables opened it was easy to find Scott, and I took the open seat between him and my 2nd favorite Metsfan. We played a few hands, me catching up with one of the dealers working the party, who is a friend and married to the very first assistant I ever had, and then the three of us moved over to an open table when the COO took the ten seat.
I haven’t played live poker in ages. I love Mookie, but I work long hours and the drive to Leander sucks; I have no bankroll to speak of, instead choosing to spend it on trips and impulse buys. Play-chip poker is no real substitute, but when the word around the office is that you and Scott are both some sort of poker geniuses, and you’re both at the table with your VP boss and his boss (who had been by my desk no less than three times that week to comment on playing poker with me) suddenly those little cheap plastic chips take on a new weight.
I only had one hand of significance, and that was fine, because it was only one I needed. AK offsuit UTG, and I limped because I knew at this table I was likely to see the flop cheap, or worse case get raised with everyone calling. I got to limp, and was rewarded with the beautiful QTx on the flop. I check, COO bets, Mets calls, IT calls, VP calls, Scott calls, I call. Turn is a blank and it’s checked around. River is a lovely Jack and I bet out, COO calls, Mets folds, IT folds, VP calls, Scott folds. I win. “Wait, you were both still in that, right? So I’ve beaten you both in a hand tonight? Okay, I’m good then.” The pressure’s off.
And as we’re laughing and joking and ribbing each other I’m reminded of just how damn much fun it is to sit around a poker table with your friends. When it’s not about the money, when it’s not about the odds, when it’s not about playing optimally, when it’s not about looking good. When it’s just about the fun. I’m a cheap drunk these days thanks to new medication, so with just one empty glass in front of me I’ve reached the silly stage, and clad in a fancy dress, sitting at a poker table in a hotel next to my best poker buddy, well… can you maybe guess what I turned to him and said?
Besides, this one drives a hard bargain. Now to just convince this one that nothing should stand between him and the pass line. NOTHING. (Seriously people, help me out here. Otherwise I’m forced to do something I swore I’d never do again.)
See you on the 6th!