Pokerama-rama! Now with more beer!

Beer, brewing and poker, with possibly some inane drivel on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

You know, I'm a pretty resilient, unflappable sort of person.

Once you stop laughing, I'll give you a second to clean off your monitors. Ready? Ok.

I can handle that my car doesn't have a huge engine with double-overhead-cam turbo-boost thrust-regulators. I can even handle that I have no clue what a 'cam' actually is, if it's located in my engine, or how I just wrote 'thrust-regulator' without giggling. That's ok.

I was fine when the ride became less than comfortable, even. I don't need 'cushy'. I don't need plush seats. Sure, my car could use an entirely new suspension, but that's the kind of thing that's reserved for people that eat Beluga eggs by the ton, I guess. I don't even like whales.

That Helen Keller would consider my car visually repugnant, well, there's not a whole lot I can do about that. Or willing to do, either. I am in my car all of 15 minutes a day, tops, and I don't need a car that's aesthetically pleasing. Not at all. Hell, aqua is just as manly as pink, right?

All I ask for out of a car is something that reliably transports me from point A to point B, and sometimes C and D, depending on how horny I am. That's it. But I'm not sure how I feel about my latest vehicular development.

I walked out to my car yesterday morning--like I'm apt to do before getting in it and driving to work--and like many of you out there, noticed that my locks were frozen. Not a big deal, as it had rained the night before and the temperature overnight had dropped substantially. It's happened before, and I'm sure it will happen again. I hopped in through the non-frozen passenger side door, assuming that the midday sun would be enough to cause a thaw.

My assumption was spot on, and right I was. I tried the driver's side lock on my way to get animal crackers and a Frappucino from another building a little after noon, and it opened, no problem.

It even unlocked when I left work at 5pm, so I figured that would be the end of it. Wrongly figured, I might add.

"BOOONNNNNNNK!" said the car door as it bounced off the jam without the lock catching.

Hmm, that can't be good, can it? I tried again, with the same result.


Had it been summer, had there been daylight, or, I don't know, had it not been ball-shriveling cold out, I would've gotten out of my car to take a look at the locking mechanism and take the appropriate steps to fix it. But it's winter, when it gets dark at 4:30pm, and it was so cold that my gonads were a foot higher than they should've been. But all I wanted was for my car door to close, like, right away.

When I tried to slam it for the third time, I pushed the lock down to see if that would get the job done. It worked, and I drove all the way home believing that I was the smartest god-damn man in the god-damn universe. I would've been better setting my sights on just being smarter than my car.

Unfortunately I can't even claim the latter, because in my haste to get home in time to watch Reba, it seems I broke my door.

I am now the proud owner of a '95 aqua Geo Prizm(5 speed!) with a faulty clutch, bad suspension, tires that are rapidly going bald(like Grandpa!), and a driver's side door that doesn't open.

Ladies, I know you want a piece of this.

The worst part about this is that it had to happen in the winter. At least in the summer I could spray paint it orange, slap a confederate flag on the roof and jump in through the open window. But there is nothing cool about a grown man with a real job squeezing into his own car through the passenger side door. Not even if he flexes while doing it.

Believe me, I tried.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Forgive me, Bloggers, it's been 28 days since my last confession.

Er, post.

So, what have I been up to? Not that you care, but I'm going to tell you anyhow. That's how lucky you are, you sexy people, you.

I have played exactly one tournament in the last two weeks, and nothing else, and the only reason I played in that was because it was a $7k freeroll on Dream Poker. I like $1k+ for nothing, but unfortunately I got nothing for the 3 hours I wasted trying to outwit the knuckledraggers and mongoloids on that site. Obviously I'm not better than they are, because I came nowhere near making the money.

I still have the 2nd job, the girlfriend, and the unseasonably warm November weather keeping me away from the computer, and right now I'm fine with that. At least I'm making a little extra money, I'm getting fairly frequent sex without being badgered by talks of babies and engagement rings, and being outside keeps me svelte. I'm giddy to be 3 for 3, even though I spend the extra dough as fast as I make it on all things booze and food, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that all the booze has made me sterile. A man with the maturity of a boy can dream, can't he?

I know what you're thinking. Well, besides "Who in the fuck are you and why do I continue to read this drivel?". The answer to that is "because I've been in the presence of greatness.

Yes, I'm talking about Bob

But besides that, you're probably thinking, "but are you going to Vegas, Chad?"

I ain't. I isn't. I am not.

This will be the first time in years that I will be missing a WPBT event in Vegas, which is technically the truth, even though I'm making it sound like a more significant amount of time than it really is. These things have only been going on for, what, two years? I've only missed the inaugural event, though.

I'm not that disappointed to be missing out. I mean, it's not like I like hanging out with any of you fuckers. And it's not like I'd have fun anyhow. How much fun is it to watch Bob get kicked in the taint, repeatedly, by a blackjack dealer at the stanktastic Excalibur before noon on a Friday after being told by the pitboss "Hey, are you sure you don't want to take a break by the pool to look at the pretty ladies?"

A lot.

And ew. I'd rather claw my eyes out with a serrated edge of a scotch tape dispenser than witness those that patronize the Excalibur pool.

I need say no more on that subject. All I ask for is, perhaps, a dial-a-shot, and please make it between the times of noon and midnight CST. Thanks.

And a hooker named Cloe in my Christmas stocking.
I'm obviously at a crossroads in my poker "career". I find myself getting bored easier and easier by online play, but there really aren't any viable alternatives to breaking that boredom. Minnesota has a stupid law that restricts cardrooms from spreading NL, and to bet sizes smaller than $60. Live limit poker is no way to break up the monotony of playing online, especially considering I'd have to pay for drinks at Canterbury.

Fuck that.

And on that note, I've reached my been-typing-for-an-hour-but-only-have-300-words limit for today. Good thing I didn't attempt Nano.