ALCantHang to Pauly in an IM conversation
This just in: in a move that shocked the drunkard community, my liver has filed a restraining order against Al and any part of his crew. From this point forward, Al is verboten from applying any form of drinking peer pressure on me.
Listen up, folks. I am a drinker. The booze and I, yeah, we get along quite nicely. I occasionally enjoy myself by downing a beer or ten on any given night. Not every night, mind you, but any night I tell myself "Hey, a beer sounds like a good idea", I could very well be waking up the next day groggy with a taste in my mouth akin to cat shit. It happens.
But I do not--and I repeat--do not feel that I'm up to the Vegas Drinking Challenge. All through the blogosphere,(what the fuck kind of word is that, anyhow? Blogsphere. Seriously.), WPBT attendees are writing about getting their livers in drinking shape, which isn't a bad idea if you're not much of a drinker. My liver isn't the problem. My liver has been processing alcohol in an almost continous cycle ever since college, so it should be ready for Vegas.
For the past week, week and a half, I've actually been holding back on the booze a bit. Crazy, I know. While others are drinking themselves stupid, and tossing in a well-timed liver punch or two, I've been takin' 'er easy. I figure that this hiatus will lull my liver into a false sense of security, in hopes that when I arrive in Vegas on Thursday morning, it will be so shocked that it has no choice but to bust it's ass to get me through the weekend alive. That's the plan at least. Ha, the image of my liver with a big ol' ghetto booty is slightly humorous.
Just me? Fuck you people.
My only goal that weekend is to remember my name, so that the arresting officers can correctly book me after I'm picked up for unknowingly peeing on the ear of a Mexican Porn Slapper. The ear you say, Chad? What can I say? When you've got a talent, you might as well use it.
If you see me stumbling on Las Vegas Blvd at 3am, holding my crotch like that 6 year old girl on America's Funniest Home Videos that had to pee really bad, it's because I have to pee really bad. Please, please, please stop what you're doing(because I'm about to ruin, the image and the style that you're used to), steer me away from that nice Mexican lady that's giving me a pamphlet full of wholesome, disease-free woman that I might want to marry, and point me towards a urinal. That's all I ask. Thanks in advance.
As for the bankroll goal set earlier this month, it doesn't look like I'm going to quite make it. And looking back, it was a stupid thing for me to do. The whole month of May, I've playing with the mindset that I have to make x amount of money playing poker so that I can enjoy myself in Vegas, and that did nothing but allow me to play scared for fear of losing money. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I wouldn't say that I've been on a slide, really, just sort of plateaued in the last week. I'll have plenty of money in Vegas, and it's probably better that I don't have the extra money to throw around all willynilly, because I goddamn-guarantee that I'd toss it in the air like confetti. Wooohooo, look at me! I'm a low-roller!
Last night I fired up 2 baby NL 6-max tables, and if anybody has a decent strategy guide for these, please let me know. I have a decent idea as to how to play them, but it's so punch-in-the-groin obvious that most everybody else playing them does not. I moved down to 6-max from full ring games, for one, because I was getting bored with the slow play, which resulted in my attention waning. Also, with bankroll worries, I was becoming less aggressive, thereby giving up pots that I could've won had I not been a pussy. 6- max has helped me regain aggression and ultimately helped me not feel like a chip slinging ManGina.
The night started off poorly as I quickly dropped almost two full buy-ins. One was my fault when it was clear that I was beat like a Hennepin Avenue whooooooore, and the other was just bad, dumb luck. I don't know about you, but I probably wouldn't push in my entire stack with bottom two pair on a coordinated board when the initial bettor has showed signicificant strength. But I guess that's just me. It's good that my tilt mechanism is set to "LOW".
Dear Upside of Variance,
Come back, I miss you. It'll be different this time. I promise. The others, they mean nothing to me. You're the one I want. Meet me for a large iced skim mocha, and I swear on all that is holy that you'll see a changed man.
The guy that wants to suck your face,
Well, now that we've got that out of the way, I might as well give the answers to the questions I posed the other day, even though only a few answered. Jerkwads.
Pacifico, no lime. And it's not even close. Sure, I like Miller Lite and High Life, but if I had to choose one beer to drink for the rest of my life, a life that's due to be cut short by liver failure, it would be Pacifico. It's just too bad that it's so expensive in Minnesota.
Better Than Ezra
I hate-hate-hate AC/DC. Kill me with a spork, please.
Pot. Once. I was drunk, and reverse ate all over the bathroom floor. But, my face was numb for about an hour before that, and that was quite neat.
Soccer and Golf. I still play both, and in fact, just had a soccer game last night. We lost. It rained. Fucking springtime in Minnesota.
Smiley, no doubt. However, there is a fine line between smiley, and palsied. Let's hope that none of us witness the latter.
Don't feed me...
Tequila. Specifically, cheap tequila. I know that the WPBT after party is at a cantina, but please keep me away from the Cuervo. It makes me hate the world, and tries to goad me into acting all Doug Flutie with perfectly good tableware. I won't throw anything, but I'll want to. And that's no bueno for everyone involved.