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.

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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