"You need to learn how to play low and mid pocket pairs"
-Felicia, commenting on my play in the WPBT at the Aladdin

So sad, yet so true. If I had to choose just one leak in my tournament game, or even my ring games for that matter, it's how to play low pocket pairs after the flop. It is, or was a huge leak. Not that I don't have many others, but this has always caused me problems.

I'd have no idea how to play, say, pocket 7's after the flop even the board had only one over card. Someone UTG would bet out, and I'd immediately put them on top pair, regardless of their action pre-flop because I'm stupid like that. Or, if I were the first to act, I'd check and see what everybody else would do before I decide on my action. So, not only am I giant pussy, but I'm also bleeding chips this way. Playing that timid gave me no chance of coming close to finding out where I stood. I'm positive that my pair was the best hand a far number of times, but I passively let the hand go. Pussy, pussy, pansy-assed pussy. Define your hand, stupid.

Immediately after returning from Vegas, I bought Harrington on Hold' Em Vol. I/II and finished the first in a little less than 2 days, and am close to finishing Eye-Eye. That's a quick read for me, as it normally takes me at least a week to get through any other poker book I've read. I'm just a slow reader. Anybody that's read this book can back me here, but most of what is detailed in the first in the series is, at most, a giant neon sign flashing Common Sense.

While reading them, I found myself nodding and muttering "Duh." under my breath on more than a handful of occasions. Most of it is common sense. Things like position, stack sizes related to the size of blinds and all that fun stuff. I think he(or his writer) puts concepts in such a way that even a retard could follow along. I am living proof of that. The book is such an easy read that it's almost laughable. He talks about concepts that I already knew about, but don't always employ. For example, pushing when you're in the red zone. Yeah, nah doi.

But, one of my worst problems was letting my stack getting bled to a point that doubling up didn't matter at all. Waiting too long for a premium hand is a sure death sentence for your tournament life. So, he advocates pushing with less than optimal holdings when you're first in the pot and a double up actually improves your standing and you still have enough of stack to make a caller crippled should they happen to lose. Again, common sense, but something I was always afraid to do.

A few weeks ago, I had my first final table appearance on Doyle's outside of a freeroll. Oddly enough, I final tabled twice in freerolls the day before I left for Vegas. And then I had my legendary 10th place finish at the WPBT, which just happened to be my first ever live tournament. I should've technically bubbled, but the rest of the final table was kind enough to throw some pity cash my way. For that I was happy, not only because of the ROI, but I kept an Aladdin's Lionel Ritchie chip for my collection. You could say that I was Dancin' on the Ceiling after cashing.

Stop groaning. I assure that I could've come up with much, much worse. Consider yourselves lucky.

Yesterday I stayed home from work because it was Wednesday. I don't need another reason. I played in two MTT's on Doyle's and I cashed in both of them. I make smile now.

The first had 90 people entered, and I came in 8th or 7th, I think. Not that cashing was life altering, because I only received about 3x my buy-in back. But, I played well, and I think that I could've won the damn thing had I not pushed 10's UTG with a decent stack, only to be called by the big blind who woke up with Les Femmes. Whoopsee! Other than that, I played well. My good hands up when the were supposed to, and those that were behind happily chose to suck out at just the right moments.

And then in my final tournament of the night, with 65+ players entered, I took second for a little bit better cash, yet not worth quitting my job over. This was far different than the 2nd place cash I had two weeks ago. In that tourney, I was so happy to get head-up, that I rushed things and lost on a dumb all-in when I could've waited for a better spot.

Last night, though, I was outchipped 5-1when we got to the final two. But, I was patient and outplayed my opponent. Badly. It wasn't even a fair fight, really. He didn't adjust to the speed of the match, and I quickly chipped up to a slight lead. It was amazing just how bad of a heads-up player this guy or girl was. He'd fold to almost any raise, and even a very large portion of the times in his small blind. It's easy accumulating chips when your opponent is giving them up without a fight.

I took a slight chip lead and was dealt pocket 9's in the BB. We got it all in before the flop and he shows A-6o. Booooo. Of course, he caught his ace and I was crippled and went out on the next hand when I pushed without even looking at what I was dealt. Game over. 2nd place. 1st loser, that's me. I didn't even care about the difference in money, I just wanted to win my first damn MTT. I also wish I could make $400 a night playing in these tournaments beause it would leave a lot more time during the day to look at internet porn. I know, I know, there's a lot of readers that make more than that in one hand, but I equate it to how much I make in one day of work. And believe me, $400 is much, much more.

I am at a point right now where I'm questioning whether I've just been running really good, or getting lucky. I'm going with the former. In the last month, I've made 5 final tables and I've only played somewhere around 10 tournaments. And a major reasons behind it is not immediately letting go of mediocre hands when experiencing even the slightest bit of resistance. Now if I could only figure out how not to get sucked out heads-up.

Wow, that's dirty.

Yeah, I make smile.

Just a quick Monday morning link dump for y'all.

I'm sure that most of my readers know about Pauly and the incredible job he's doing covering the WSoP in Vegas right now. If you have no clue what I'm talking about, you should be ashamed of yourself. You're a bad, bad man and/or woman. Hey, I don't even discriminate against my transgedered readers.

If you still have no idea what the WSoP is, well, why in the fuck are you reading a poker blog in the first place? Some people. Lucky for you, I'm here to help.

Click on the following links. Go on, don't be shy. Bow before my omniscience. You won't be disappointed.

Tao of Poker--World Series of Poker Live blog. Pauly normally starts his coverage in late afternoon(for us in the midwest and on east coast) and usually doesn't stop until the sun is coming up in Vegas. He's a machine.

2005 WSOP Photo Gallery. Pretty pictures. 'Nough said.

WSoP blog. Recap of each WSoP event. Chip counts, updates, things of that nature. Ya dig?

World Series of Poker Podcast. The best poker related podcast on the web, even if it's produced by two of our Northern Neighbors. Crazy Canucks.

I kid! The show is damn good.

So, I've done my part. It's time for you to do yours. Click the links, go home happy. It's as simple as that.

Granted, I thought played well. And I should've won this stupid tournament. But, I am not happy with the way I played head-up. Stupid, stupid, mother-fucking stupid.

Hello, remember me? I'm the guy that throws shit when he drinks te-kill-ya, yet has drank drunk downed more in the past three weeks, than in the last three years. I like them odds.

I've got plenty of Vegas stuff to mash out on my lovely, black Dell keyboard, but just don't feel like rehashing events that most others have already blogged about. I have some other, non-blogger related Vegas stories that I'd like tell, but those will have to wait until the weather sucks, or something.

Since I've returned over a week ago, the tourney bug has bitten me. Hard. Right in the scrot. Long "o" sound, folks.

It might have had something to do with my short-lived final table appearance at the Aladdin WPBT that has me so charged, I don't know. I think it also has something to do with tournaments being goal oriented. In ring games, it's just a monotonous grind night after night. You're plugging away, trying to make that bankroll higher than the previous night. There is no end. Sometimes it's just not much fun.

Tournaments, though, there's a definite end. It will only last as long as the stacks can outrun the ever-growing blinds. And that end for me lately, has been consistently on the bubble. I can't outrun those fucking blinds!

I suck at tournament poker. Could you not tell?

I hope you're happy that you made a grown man cry. And I just made myself laugh by saying that I'm a "grown man". At any rate, I'm just not seeing the end of this tournament tunnel.

I am continually making it deep into almost every tournament I enter, but when the depth is 2 hours of sitting, waiting short-stacked for the prime double-up moment, it's not good poker. I just can't seem to accumulate the chips necessary to avoid the "Push Poker Syndrome". PPS for short.

Everybody knows the affliction of which I speak. We've all been there before, I just seem to be there more than most. PPS is when you put yourself in a position as the short-stack late in a tournament, and the only move you have is to push all-in in hopes that either you pick up the blinds, or you get lucky and double up. I'm sure I'm not alone in the opinion that it requires very little skill to execute. In fact, anybody not in a coma can headbutt a mouse with enough precision to hit the "max-bet" button. No skill involved.

And godammit, my head hurts.

A week ago I picked up Harrington on Hold 'Em, and we all know what that means, right? WSOP 2006 champion: someone that's still not me. But, it can't be a bad read for someone that's painfully bad at reading others at the table. This poker thing, it's work, man.

I'm halfway through, and unlike all the other 2+2 books I've read(SSH, TOP), it's a surprisingly easy read. Not that other two were all that difficult, but they contained the patented "Up is down. Sometimes it's up, though. But down can be up when the moon is aligned and there's on player to act on your left. Oh, and the dealer is yawning. That part is important" circular bullshit argument that seem to be so prevelant in SklanskySpeak. He normally gives you an answer--a solution to your poker problem--but never tell you why it's that way. Most of the time, they say "For more information, read pg. 225 of
Some Book That Doesn't Exist, by David Sklansky and Mason Malmuth"

Newsflash: Just busted out of a tourney 10 from the money. Again. SON OF A FUCK!

That's it, I'm going to bed. Hopefully I'll wake up on the right side of it tomorrow morning. Either that, or under a brunette with tig ol' bitties. That would be nice.

Ed. note: The author can neither confirm nor deny his love for large breasts, but he did have something to say at press time.

"What in the fuck am I supposed to do with all that extra boob?!"

Goodnight, people.

I am currently watching The Poker Show with Jesse May. Now, I like Jesse May and his enthusiasm on all things poker is unmatched. Sometimes I'm surprised that he's doesn't leak a little pee when he talks; that's how excited he is. But, it is unpossible for the show to be any more painful. I've had Easy Mac with less cheese in it.

Part IV: Early Friday(Good lord, I'm only on Friday?)

It's hard to sleep when the beating in your chest is louder than the Telltale Heart. I have the Redbull from the MGM to thank for that. Fuck you very much, Redbull. Not that sleeping is expected in Vegas in the first place, but I would've liked, oh I don't know, more than 5 hours of uninterrupted nappy-time after being up for close to 24 hours the previous day.

I got out of bed, showered, grabbed a large mocha from the Starbuck's downstairs and was about to set off on the quest for the Holy Grail. Uh, I mean hat. Still hadn't found a fucking hat. By the way, stacking coffee on top of lingering traces of Redbull on an empty stomach is smart. Though you see almost every shape, size and variation of human being in Vegas, nothing instills fear in the locals and tourists alike, than the skinny tweaker shaking his way down Las Vegas Blvd, mumbling something about a stupid hat.

While I was standing in Starbuck's, I witnessed something that I still don't quite understand. There was a homeless man wandering around outside the door. Now, Minneapolis has it's fair share of homeless people, and if not trying to stab you for an AquaNet fix, they're usually pretty harmless. This man made me wonder: At what point do you give up on trying to keep your dignity? He had obviously not reached that point.

His overabundance of bedraggled hair more than made up for his lack of shoes, whatever that means, as he hovered around the coffee shop's large circular garbage can. People would pass by, younger kids and older couples--face it, anyone else up at 9am in Vegas has either been up all night, or is an idiot. I'll let you make the call on which group I should've been lumped in with--and he'd nonchalantly peer into trash bin, but he was behaving as though he didn't want people to notice this. Just scoping things out, I guess.

Finally, during a lull in the pedestrian traffic, the man pulled an Alex mask (inspired by the movie Madagascar) from his back pocket, put it over his wiry beard, and thrust himself shoulder deep into the garbage can. I'm not sure he came out with anything useful, and had I not been so tired and jittery, I probably would've laughed.

I can't imagine the thoughts going through his head.

Coming down from a rubbing alcohol bender is hell. I don't know where my shoes are. I smell like I've been showering in a shit distillery, and I haven't shaved since the Fuad left the Vikings. But, at least I have this Lion King mask to prevent people from recognizing me as I dig through other people's garbage. Hooo boy, that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it? I'd never be able to show my face in this town again.

At what point does this guy drop the mask and admit to himself that things are looking a little bleak?

We interrupt these trip reports to give you the worst..article...EVER.

Go ahead. Read the whole thing. You'll feel more dumber when you finish.

I am proof.

The man behind the MGM poker room desk looked at me with a level of dismay only reserved for out-of-place circus clowns and church-going drunks and said "Are you sure? Table 10?" I was neither painted up like a two-bit whore, nor was I drunk.

"Yup, I'm sure" I replied. A few seconds earlier I had been prepared to sit in the 8 seat of table 10, only to find it being occupied by a small asian man. Not that I need to clarify that he was small. It's like saying "Yeah, that NBA player I'm talking about. You know, the black one." No clarification is necessary.

After a few minutes of waiting around for another seat to open up, I felt awkward holding a rack of those beautiful, new $1 chips, and cashed in and set off in search of the blogger HORSE game. It was listed on the board, but after searching the boomerang shaped room, I didn't see anyone recongnizable.

Ah-HA, there's an upstairs to this place!

I walked up the curving stairs to a private room, and the first person I ran into at the table after sliding past a few people on the railing (Easycure?, Derek?), was a woman with the whitest hair I've ever seen.

"You're much better looking in person" were the first words out of Felicia's mouth. I embarrassedly said thank you, and perked up as I heard my name called for another 3/6 game. I think she said something about agreeing with the fact that I don't photograph very well, but I was out the door and downstairs too quickly to hear correctly.

I paid for what was probably the same damn stack of chips that I'd just cashed in ten minutes earlier, and headed up to the host stand for my seat assignment. And wouldn't you know it, when I got to the table I was supposed to be sitting at, the table was already full. This is not starting out well.

"Again?" said the large man behind the counter. "Oh, I meant table 5. Sorry" he said as he pointed to the table to my right.

I sat right smack dab in the middle of the table 5, facing away from the railing and towards the center of the room. This provided me a view of every blogger entering the MGM poker room to meet old friends, and many new faces.

"Hey, there's BadBlood.", I thought. "His arms aren't that big."

"Boy, that G-Rob sure does like to smile." I muttered under my breath. "Huh, I wonder why he just stopped smiling?"

It was at that point I realized that I'd rather be up and milling around, drinking, than stuck at a poker table. I'd been sitting all of 10 minutes when I cashed in my chips and railbirded around the new HORPSE game that had just started up in the middle of the room.

I like the MGM poker room. For the most part. The chips are clean, the dealers are above par, and despite the initial fuck-up in getting me seated, the system runs fairly smoothly, and the room on the whole is downright pretty. It's aesthetically pleasing to the eye. But, I'm not a big fan of the granite racetrack tables because it makes it tough to squeeze your cards for a quick peek, and the drink service was slow that night. Too slow for my liking.

I'd been up 20 hours and I was starting to get tired, but that didn't stop me from putting on my drinking boots, and really start in with the booze. At some point in the night--and my mental timeline is a little jumbled right now-- I met Joe Speaker and I noted that I needed bigger boots and had a lot of catching up to do. A lot.

Standing around the HORPSE table, Pauly alerted me to the empty racebook bar directly behind the poker room. With that knowledge, we both set off for a good pint of beer, not that swill I'd been drinking much of the afternoon.

I ordered up a Fat Tire, and had just taken my first sip when I was approached by a shorter man with a ponytail.

"Hey, I'm Grubby. I love your blog." he said as he extended a hand.

I've read Grubby's blog from time to time, but have had absolutely no contact with the guy.

I thought: Grubby doesn't have me listed on his blogroll, and has never commented on anything I've written, so why would he now say that he loves my blog? Something didn't add up.

Also, I never pictured Grubby in my mind the way this man looked at the MGM Thursday night. Not that I think about him in my head a lot...oh nevermind. From reading his blog, I'd always pegged him as being huge. Come on, he talks about fast food all the time. How else am I supposed to picture him?

As I was trying to process all of this confusing information, I heard him say "I think he bought it." to Pauly. I was wary at first, but the "I love your blog" comment rapped me over the head until I finally realized that the man was Iggy, and he was being a dick.

Immediately after admitting that I never bought that he was Grubby, Spaceman introduced himself and I was almost worried that I'd later find out that he was Maudie.

Nope, Maudie was sitting at table 12(wow, now that's a seque), fully entrenched in a raucous HORPSE game. The extra P is for Pineapple, which is the only game in the rotation in which I finished ahead. Sorry for the sucking out on your QQ, BG.

The HORPSE game is being blogged about by many people, and they've done a much better job than I could do considering how late in the evening I joined. I do have a few things that I don't think many people remember.

Near the end of the O/8 rotation, I finally got involved in a hand. I held A2xx and limped along with almost everyone else at the table. The flop came out 8-3-4. Al lead out, someone in middle position raised, I called with that whole "nut low" thing, and the asian kid next to me raised again. Everyone called. The turn was unimportant and the whole cycle was repeated again, only I raised the guy in middle position before being reraised by the asian kid nobody knew.

Poor Al was frustrated. He got up out of his chair, slapped his cards into the muck, and screamed "YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY THIS GAME!" and I think that I even saw a Soco colored tear slowly working it's way towards his upper lip. He promptly pulled his bottom lip up to meet the tear and drank it again before anyone else could be a witness to that level of alcohol abuse.

Who am I to argue with that? He was right, I don't know how to play the game.

Speaking of that asian kid--who was he? He mistakenly joined the game thinking that there was a possibility to make a lot of money from the drunken yahoos, only to walk out of the room at 3am, annoyed, and only $20 left in his stack. How could he possibly think that the game would be anything resembling +EV? You can't play against people that never look at their cards!

I'm not sure what time it was, but I crashed pretty hard near the end of the hold 'em rotation. I quietly removed myself the table, cashed out slightly ahead, said my goobyes and hopped in a cab before I could get wrangled into throwing dice at The Plaza.

No reason to blow my figurative wad right away, I thought.

Day I, Part II

I introduced myself to Derek and after mucking what was probably his 2nd of 35 AKo of the afternoon, he went to grab Pauly, who just happened to be sitting two tables closer to the ringing of the slot machines.

I hate slots. Hate, hate, hate them. The only slot I'll ever play is video poker, and the one thing that I liked about sidling up to a machine and plugging a Twenty in, the evolution of gaming has ruined--the coin cashout.

The last time I was in Vegas, I remember there being no better feeling than hitting the "Cash Out" button, and listening as coin after germ-laced coin fell into the bin below with a brilliant pingpingping. Now that almost every machine is ticket based, and the only sound you hear upon cash out is whir of the paper feed, the experience is ruined. It's not quite as powerful when you walk up to the cashier and allow a dainty piece of paper to fall from your fingers, as it is to slam a bucket full of quarters on the counter and mutter "Take that, Casino Woman!"

I digress.

Pauly took a break from crushing his table, finally found a way to successfully navigate the mountain of chips in front of him, and came over to introduce himself. We BS'ed for a few minutes, after which he requested a table change so that we could BS some more.

I don't know if you realize this, but Pauly was a very popular person last weekend. Of all the time he sat at my table at the Excal that afternoon, I think he played all of about 5 hands because he was constantly getting calls on his cell phone. But, in those 5 hands, he bled his chips back to the everybody at the table, but me. Jerk.

With most of the contingent streaming into town, our table started breaking up. It was also around that time Derek was dealt AKo for the 35th time, and of course whiffed completely when the board looked more like something resembling an Uno discard pile than a hold 'em flop. As he flung his last few chips into the pot, he proclaimed "I've only lost two live buy-ins in my entire life, both of them here". I've heard that he sucks at poker.

The Brothers left to meet up with other bloggers coming in from the airport, and in the first hand after they left, I was dealt AJo and raised it up. The hand gets so much easier to play when the flop falls all aces, does it not? Hello, my first, and only trip to the wheel, and there was only one person in my rooting section; the guy that traveled with me, Jeremy. Unfortunately, I realized that my dream of being a contestant on the Wheel of Fortune will never come to be, as my spin landed on the lowest denomination possible--$20.

Boo, Pat Sajak. Boo you and your hideous letter toucher, too. She doesn't even have to turn the letters anymore, damn it! How hard can that be?

I cashed out of the Excal up $11(woohoo for monster wins), and we headed...somewhere, and I'm guessing it wasn't all that memorable or important to the story, otherwise I'd remember, right? I'm figuring we headed back to the room for a quick shower and then were off to the MGM. I remember almost the whole weekend, and by this time, I'd only had 1/4 of a twelve pack of piss beer sloshing around in my belly, so I'm not quite sure why this chunk of time is eluding my memory. Oh well, not important.

I think that from now on, I'm just going to post amusing stuff that happened. Some of this is even boring to me.

Up Next: The MGM and being tossed into the fray.

Day One:

6am is usually too early for me, but to be up at 6am when, in a mere 5 hours I'd be walking down the strip ogling a plethora of attractive latina women, well, that's damn worth it.

The previous day, after cashing out my Neteteller account, I left work early because of the lack of motivation that was obvious even to my supervisor, and I only talk to her, at most, once a month. Even then, it's not more than a few words.

I arrived at my apartment, grabbed a beer--it was noon--set the laptop up on the deck and entered two freerolls. I final tabled in both, which is what we "writers" call obvious foreshadowing. By the end of the day, I had bumped my empty account to a liittle under $300. Too bad it was a little late to cash that out as an addition to my meager bankroll.

Airports, along with hospitals and nursing homes, depress me. In regards to the former, not only are many people coming down from what was more than likely an incredible vacation, you see all those travelers you know spent hard-earned money to fly to a location when that money would be better spent on baby formula. The toothless, the downtroddenest of the downtrodden, the smelly--an airport takes all kinds. Slots are more important than deoderant after all. And with my flying track-record, they'd be sitting right next to me on the plane.

I lucked out, though, and sat next to an older couple that would rather read the Variety section of the StarTrib than try to make idle chit-chat with me. Good thing, too, because I hate all that "How are you's?" and "Where are you from's?", and that left me time to think about--and I'm truly sorry to use a Farkism here--all the hilarity that was about to ensue.

What were my expectations for this trip? Honestly, I had none. I didn't want to meet anyone inparticular, didn't want to corner someone into a conversation, rather I wanted to meet everyone that I read on a regular basis. I didn't plan on lasting through the first round in the tournament, and I definitely didn't plan on having a break even weekend low-limit ring games. In fact, I could've played sufficiently less poker and still had a fun time. I know that I'd be less exhausted had I relaxed a little more.

Flight:uneventful
Check in: whoop-dee-doo
Hotel: better than expected
IP casino floor: depressing.

If the first thing you see when walking into your hotel, the hotel you're to be staying at for the next 4 days, is a guy toting an oxygen tank around on the back of his Lark, indescriminately dumping Social Security dollar bills into each slot he passes, uh, that's a good sign, right? Not so much. By the 2nd day I wanted to bitch slap each and ever Dealertainer I crossed paths with.

After dropping our bags in the room, we headed out in search of some cheap food and a new baseball hat for me. 3 hours later, we'd just finished eating an overpriced "wrap", which was just a glorified burrito, at Caeser's and my head was still covered by my old, greasy DC hat. I've always been told that you can get anything you want in Vegas, but apparently that doesn't pertain to decent headwear. But, I'm picky and I refuse to put anything on my head that requires 2 AAA batteries, or otherwise makes me look like a huge tool. I've got the tool part down without an ugly hat, thank you very much.

From there we grabbed a cab over to the Rio to check out the satellites WSOP event #2. Now, the IP is right next to Harrah's, which was offering a free shuttle service to and from the Rio. But, we were stupid and decided on paying for a cab rather than a free ride. We're not very bright.

My buddy wanted to try his hand at a sat/super sat, but I had no desire to do so. I don't do well in large groups of people in the first place, and the thought of playing poker in front of a large group of people appeals to me even less. Even moreso with the thought that, if I made it far into the tournament, I'd possibly be showcased on every high-definition tv with ESPN from here to Ranco Cucamonga, CA. I'd rather be an anonymous millionaire.

Immediately after walking in the pavillion, I was passed by Mel Judah. I wasn't starstruck, I just wanted to ask him for coiffure advice, possibly something highlighting my bangs and apple-colored cheeks, I don't know. I was open to anything. Unforutately, he seemed more involved in poker than talking hair. Crazy fucker.

The only other "famous" person I saw was Davin Anderson, whom some of you might remember from last year's WSOP Main Event telecast, but I wasn't in awe of him, either. There's nothing that brings a man down a few notches in celebrity status than standing behind him while he pees, waiting for a urinal to open up. Not that he was all that much of a celebrity in the first place, but more than I am, and that's really saying something.

Anyone else hear those crickets? No? Just me then, huh? Ok.

After leaving what seemed to be a very disorganized tournament area, we headed off to the Excal for a little 2-6 spead action. Our first live poker of the trip. I didn't want to Storm The Castle without knowing a little about spread limit, lest I embarrass myself in front a huge blogger showing.

My buddy and I were immediately placed at a table in the middle of the almost empty, slightly filthy Excal poker room. I scanned the seat assignments to see if I could spot the sucker. Ah, there he was, the 7 seat. Might've been the 6 seat, but that's not really that important. I just knew he was a super fish.

"Hey, is your name Derek?" I asked with a little apprehension in my voice. I didn't want to look retarded.

And with that, I've met my first blogger in Vegas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is getting long-winded and my cube, you know, the one that I've been sitting at all afternoon without doing a lick of work, is getting warm. And I'm getting restless to get out of here. So, you get a portion of day one.

I look back at my notes, and I'm starting to realize I took really shitty notes. And I didn't need to take much in the way of notes, I think because I was so concious and aware of what was going on around me for the whole weekend, that I remember most everything that happened. We'll see how much I remember from later on in the weekend.

To be continued...

Soco shots:Zero

Beer:2

Poker hours logged: 2

Hot latina women passed on the Strip that I'd let touch me: all of them

Damn, sounds like you all had a shitload of fun in Vegas. Makes me wish that I could've been there.

What's that? What do you mean "You were there, Chad"?

I think that if I had happened to have been in Vegas this past weekend, I would've remembered such a thing.