Obligatory plugs:

Bobby Bracelet comes through with another round of items For Peyton
Go take a look, please.

Autographed Mike Matusow Jersey XL Poker Pro WSOP

Autographed Oval Poker Table 30+ WSOP Pro's Signed!

Autographed Greg "Fossilman" Raymer Fossil Poker TShirt

Bobby Bracelet, Donkey Puncher, AlCantHang HUGE Package
(Anyone want to go 1/8thsies to get them to Minneapolis?)

The Real Old Testament DVD Paul Hannum Poker WPT

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Buddy of the Bloggers, Jason Kirk will be convering the $5K WSOP event from Caeser's Indiana this week in his normal spot in Bluff Magazine. This time through, however, his feed will be picked up by the big shots over at Harrah's official WSOP site. Keep checking back over the next few days and give some hits to the guy that will owe me a giant fucking beer.

Thanks!

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I've been playing most of my exciting brand of poker the last month over at Full Tilt now that many other sites have shown our american asses the door. Seriously, I give myself chills when I play. Suppose I should close the window, huh? Not much to report on that front, other than I still haven't played more than one tournament in the past 5 months. Tournaments are gay.

But I just found out today that I've been retroactively approved(from the beginning of Oct.) for receiving rakeback from Full Tilt, via Rake The Rake. It won't be a lot of money each month, but possibly enough to buy myself a case of beer with what is technically my own money in the first place. Score!

I've got a problem.

No, that problem was cleared up a long time ago with a little penicillin.

The problem I'm referencing is a serious one, especially for a poker player. I'm positive there's a solution because I've seen all two of my readers go through similar circumstances. I figure I'll just outline what the issue is, and then ask for your input as to how you got past it. Not how I should, but how you, yourself, did it.

I have an everyday man's 9-5 job. Boring, to be sure, but a reliable job nonetheless. A year ago I'd come home from work, possibly work out if I hadn't done so the previous night, and the rest of the night was open, more often than not, for poker. There were many weeks in which I played more hours of poker than I worked at my regular job. Obsessed much? Obviously.

About 6 months ago, a female came along and outright tricked me into dating her, and as many of you know, these so-called "friends" that are "girls" require face time. They want to hang out, they ask for--nay, demand--time from you. Fine, I thought, I suppose that's the least I can do for a girl that gets naked for me, willingly. I can't imagine that's easy for her, either.

(Yes, I'm kidding about the girl taking all my time. She's amazingly cool with letting me have my space, whenever I want it. But she still wants some time from me, and that's cool, too. It still leaves less time for the poker, though. Not a bad thing of course, just stating a fact.)

A few weeks ago I took a 2nd job, not because I needed it, but because a friend got me an interview that consisted of "So, you know Rachel? You're hired!" Not only is it easy money, which I dig, but it also gets me out of my apartment when the last thing I want to be doing during the upcoming winter is sitting in my apartment. Not only do I get a touch of the SAD every winter, but the cabin fever makes me want to bang my head on the corner of an exhaust hood. The job is only a few nights a week and it takes away from my free time, mainly my poker time.

So, I'm not married with children, I have a girlfriend that doesn't whine and bitch when I don't see her 15 million times a week, but I work two jobs.

And I still have no time for poker.

When I get home from work I find myself wanting to do other things outside of poker, like figuring out why my fucking Tivo box won't connect to my router. It's running on a week unsolved, and I'm starting to get a little pissed off about it. I still love playing poker, but I find other things taking precedence. And now my brother is on this "You must play BF2142 with me!" kick, so that leaves even less time.

So, I ask for your input here;

How do you people with wives, kids, full-time jobs and a million more responsibilities than have I still find time for poker?

This woman wasn't the kind of woman you bring home to momma, oh no--she was the kind of woman that takes out her teeth before giving an alleyway blowjob. You know, the considerate type.

She spun around on the barstool, sloppily leaned back, propping her elbows on the bar, turned towards me and asked a question.

"Hey man, how oad are you?" she slurred. My eyes fixed on the 1/4" gap between her front teeth, without trying to draw attention to the fact that I was mesmerized. Kind of like when you're trying not to stare at some massive cleavage, only these tits were teeth that didn't quite meet in the middle. I couldn't help thinking about grandma.

"31." My short response was meant to effectively end the conversation before it got up to speed, but she didn't take the hint.

"You gots any kids?"

If I had been a little bit quicker and a little less drunk, I would've spun some lie about how my wife was at home, waiting for her water to break announcing the arrival or our 3rd beautiful baby. But, the only thing I could think of under such pressure was "No." Bright one, this.

I scanned the bar looking for an out, a reason to get the fuck away from this woman without having to tell her to get the fuck away from me. It was bar poker night, but I had arrived late, after the tournament had already started and was unable to use that as an excuse. Also, I couldn't just leave; the bartender had just poured me another hefe, and I wasn't very well going to leave a full beer until it was safe in my stomach.

So, I hunched on my stool, took an enormous, disinterested drink from my pint of Widmer Hefe, and tried to wait her out. Tried not to make eye contact. Tried to look gay.

It didn't work.

"Cuz youse a real nith lookin' man, thath what I'm tryin' to thay. Yee-up." She lithped.

If you've never seen an overweight, drunk, gap-toothed 45 year-old slob try to act coy, consider yourself lucky. Me, I'm not so lucky, never have been. And let me tell you, folks, it ain't pretty. I think the word that popped into my head that night was "disgusting".
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That's just a small portion of my Monday night. After getting all moved into my new place, I decided to go on the hunt for a new bar. A new "my bar" kind of place. I stopped at 5 or 6 bars that night, and I can tell you which bars aren't going to be my bar, that's for sure. It isn't going to be the place with the $5.50 pints of Bud Light. It isn't going to be the place across from a certain local gentlemen's establishment, even though I witnessed one of the talent(a little chubby) stuffing her face, pre-shift, with greasy chicken wings and Grand Marnier, and that might be indicitive of the kinds of stories just waiting to be pulled from there.

On second thought, I'm not going to cross that bar off my list quite yet.

My bar isn't going to be the place with cheap Widmer on tap, either; I'm afraid just too afraid of Gummy The Lush. But the search continues, and it's not going to stop until I find a place where I don't feel like I'm going to get rolled or propositioned for sex on the way to the bathroom.

I save those things for the Girlfriend.