This is an anniversary for me. Not a pretty one. In 1969, my husband of nine months died, leaving me alone, thousands of miles from family, eight months pregnant with a four year old son from another marriage, and to add despair on grim, I missed $50,000 in life insurance by about 11 days. Hell…I just didn’t have $18 to pay the premium and I never thought he would die at the age of 23. It happened so long ago and so many other events have filled in big chunks of time and space in my life that it’s almost as if it didn’t really happen to me…unless I’m in the mood to shake out all the saddies and saturate myself in sob.

My life has never been ordinary or easy; filled with numerous tragedies when I was younger and the struggle to raise children when money only stretched to a week before payday, and trying to raise myself at the same time (that may have been the hardest part of all of it) at times left me wondering how I would make it another day, let alone to the ‘golden years’. But this isn’t a tale of woe or crying. It is appreciation for learning to appreciate…I am to the nth.

*****

Friday night I managed to sizzle out of the line-up again. *gasp* What is going on? I was actually on hold when I hit the room; a strange experience that hasn’t happened in over a year that I can recall. I was also first on the Play List so within 20 minutes or so, I was looping the room, looking at games, people, the noise and confusion, and had my name on a $15-30 H list. When I did get a seat, I’d already met Michael, a Clan poster and Tango reader. He even managed to snag a seat in my game later in the night…he was in a $2-5 NLH game when I came in to work. By the time he got to my table, I was already clocked out and sucking down a Michelob Ultra. We visited, stacked chips, and played, played, played. I gave up my seat after a few hours, ready to start my weekend with a win, and I left Michael stacking chips too. Some of the greatest people in the world hang out at the poker table. *wonnerfulness*

*****

Saturday – yesterday – was Pan/Big Deuce/Poker night at my house. I had several new people coming, the regulars, and most special of all, Jason and Anah. Jason has returned from San Diego and therapy and arrived to spend a few hours with all of us…where he left off months ago before the motorcycle accident. He’s managing much better than I believe I would. There are no words to describe how great it was to share hugs and have the opportunity to sit and visit.

The card party busted up close to 1 a.m. and I had a hiking date with Chad, Greg, Christoph, and Monika at Mt. Charleston this a.m. And sleep – just what the hell is that? I’m running on empty We hiked the trail up towards Mary Jane Falls and went left – looking for Big Falls. We made it up into the canyon by crossing a raging little stream, run off from snow melting, too many times and finally gave up at a point where the remainder of an avalanche formed a treacherous bridge over the top of the stream. The walls of the canyon became steeper as our journey progressed. Greg took this picture, we are on the far right of the avalanche/ice bridge.

The streams are treacherous and tricky to navigate. The water’s raging, the rocks are slick, and most of the logs and debris that has washed downhill is unstable and won’t hold a person’s weight. We’d been climbing steadly up for well over an hour when we decided to give it up and head back. This is what we faced as we looked up the canyon towards Big Falls.

Perhaps another day later in the summer – the hike won’t be as difficult if the stream isn’t there, unfortunately if the stream isn’t there Big Falls probably won’t be either. But what the hell! It was a great day shared with great friends. Lunch at The Mt. Charleston Lodge and back home, in the desert heat by noon. It just don’t get any better than this! *appreciation in progress*

Thursday night, mass mayhem, heat, and too much noise in the room…somewhere off in the nether regions of poker, players were jumping up and screaming over a beat or a win – that usually would be in the $2-5 NLH game, but it was happening everywhere it seemed. It’s become a common occurrence because, after all, a poker table is like being on stage. You can hold the floor anytime by making the most noise, having the most chips, groaning or screaming the loudest – and you have a captive audience…not only those trapped at your table trying to get their money back or trying to win more, but the whole playing field surrounding your table has to put up with your noise. Sometimes those energetic bursts are funny, other times they are a nuisance and shred the last jangled edge of MY nerves…that happened to be the case. More than once I wanted to scream, “EVERYONE…JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I didn’t. I just kept repeating, over and over, to myself, ‘Deep breath, Linda. D-e-e-e-p breath….’ It must have worked, I made it through the full shift. Even though I was four on the Play List and six on the E/O, there was never a snow ball chance in Hell that I was going to make it out of the line-up.

A thread that always surfaces – it’s $30-60 H, unknown player takes the 5s, a few minutes into game play the discussion of who’s playing in Bobby’s Room comes up. The 5s queries the 2s, “If you were the best poker player in the world, do you think you’d have a chance at beating that game?”

An answer came that wasn’t what the 5s thought he should hear so he rephrased the question and threw in, “I think you’re missing what I’m asking.”

I knew on the first question that he was implying they were all cheating and that you could never beat them. After the 2s replied, “No,” and the 5s continued with more statements, I opened my big mouth. I stated that I just did not agree with that at all…that I’d been dealing to them for years.

He told me they could do it so that I would never notice. He could be right but I still don’t agree with him. I’ve watched them and listened to them for years while dealing to them and I just don’t believe it happens in this day and age in most casino poker rooms. First of all, a cheater is usually the one that can catch another cheater because they know what to look for, and I believe that with poker stepping into the mainstream, survellience, shuffling machines, dealers that can’t even handle a deck – let alone know how to set one up, and random seat changes, games, etc., that it just isn’t happening.

I happen to question why anyone would want to set down in that game. It’s my strange ‘brain twists’ stepping into the forefront right now. I did deal to Bill Gates in a $3-6 H game at The Mirage years ago. I think he has the right idea. He just wanted to play poker. If I were a tri-zillionaire, I would do other things with my time and money. I could see coming in and playing every hand in a $15-30 or $30-60 game upon occasion, but playing with any group in particular…nope…and players in lower limit games have a lot more fun when they play than players in high limit do. There have been a few players though – especially in high limit – that I’ve dealt to over the years that were so mean and gnarly to dealers (including me) that if I were a tri-zillionaire, I would play in a game with them. When I won a pot from them, as I pulled it towards my stacks, I would innocently look at the dealer and ask, “Who was in that pot with me?”

When the dealer replied, I would push it all towards the dealer and state, “Oh…then you keep it!”

I believe that would be the greatest pay back to the jerk/jerkette that I could mete out for all the years of suffering through their ‘mean and ugly’ modes. I might even start belly laughing as I pushed it to the dealer. I do have a mean streak.

But on that side of poker, the jerks/jerkettes are few and far between anymore in comparison to when I first hit the poker rooms in Nevada. It’s really a slice of pie to deal the games if you just do your job and there’s very little player heat. Nice!

On a really nice side, I met Scott from Boston. He was waiting for me when I hit the room and we had a chance to visit for a few brief moments and I dealt to him later in the night. He told me that I didn’t have to write about him…but how could I not. He pumped up my ego so much that it would be a shame to just let him stay tucked away in my thoughts. He manages a restaurant and is entertaining the thought of dealing. He also plays poker and runs a home game. He told me that when he first found my site, he printed out pages of my writing and took it for reading materical on a flight he was making. He went on to say that he thought of me as a rock star. *WOW* And when I left the game he was playing in, he simply said, “Rock on, Linda.”

The cream always does come to the top. And I find most of it…or it finds me!

I’m beyond believing that I ever had the capability to think or function as a human being. My brain is fried. My body doesn’t need a picture of my brain being fried, it just knows that nothing is filtering down from the unit that is supposed to control all the motor senses and desires/wants of this being known as ‘Linda’. I have finally reached the point to where poker makes no sense to me at all…people sitting down armed with chips and what? Good sense? Skill? More money than they have brains? ARGHHHH!!!! I’ve reached ‘tournament burnout’. No…we are not having a tournament (and we are going to have the $10,000 buy-in Bellagio Challenge Cup running Monday-Thursday, July 18-21, starting at noon) but we get high limit players from the overflow of the games of the WSOP. Trying to describe it from the Dealer’s POV is tough. You’d have to sit in the box and fade it, day after day, to get the full gist of what’s going on in that black hole in my brain. And I’m not the only one with the black hole. I truly believe all the employees and the players have it.

Tournaments are a grind. They beat everyone into a mindless mass and there is no recuperation period. When one place isn’t having one, another one is and it just keeps revolving and rotating around in a spiraling vortex – straight into Tournament Hell. I’ve reached a point to where I HATE TOURNAMENTS.

I hit every high limit game in the room…I think. There were probably a few lurking somewhere that I missed. Thank my lucky stars if I did miss a few. I hit Bobby’s Room twice, Table 1 – $4,000-8,000 Mixed, Johnny C. – 1s, David B. – 2s, Gus H. – 3s, Barry G. – 4s, Chip R. – 7s. Woo Hoo! Yup…it’s such an honor to deal to them. Oh please, notice the sarcasm dripping off of each letter…believe me, it’s there.

A $200-400 H game played as fast as a $2-4 H game. Just raise, raise, raise – go to heads-up, more raise, raise, raise. Unreal how fast the high limit games play at times. One player got in two raises with a 5-3 suited and busted off A-A by catching runner, runner to make a straight. Umnnnhhhh!

A $400-800 7 stud game with Christoph in the 1s was a treat to deal…mainly because of him. He’s a long-time friend and hiker buddy. He lives in Europe and hasn’t been in town for around two years. His girlfriend, Monika, is here also and we are planning a hike at Big Falls and Mary Jane Falls at Mt. Charleston this weekend.

As the night moved on and I was mentally beat from the temperature in the room (it’s always like an oven on Thanksgiving Day, never cools off), the noise, the complete mind bending mass of bodies and games, and trying to keep my full concentration on the games at hand, I finally hit a $4-8 H game late in the night in which the 4s was glaring, zinging, and flinging. I did a slight confrontational thing with him when he was waving his hands in the air and mumbling. I looked right at him and said, “Beg your pardon!!!!”

He went into the ‘prayer mode’ – hands together in front of him – looking apologetic…until the next hand was dealt. A few hands later he was sputtering and ready to blow and I looked at him and said, “Deep breath! D-e-e-p breath!”

The 3s cracked up. A few more hands and noise and the 8s opened. The 4s wanted to move there…fine…please go. The Button was in the 7s and the 4s which was now the 8s wanted to know if he could post and be dealt in.

“Yes. Put in $4.”

The 2s loudly informed me that the 8s couldn’t be dealt in there unless he was willing to ‘buy the button’.

Too much high limit and very little patience on my part, I barked, “I work here everyday! I know the rules! And yes, he can put in $4 and be dealt in!”

A moment later I was biting my tongue for going off on this kid. I apologized. He kept his head down and didn’t look up during the rest of my down. Ouch! I hate it when I do that. As I left the game, I reached over and touched his hand, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

I hit my next game which was Table 10 in Bobby’s Room, four handed, $1,000-2,000 and it only lasted about ten minutes. Whew! It was a little after 2 a.m. and I was getting the Double Bust Out. Thank you, GOD!

I’m still not happy with myself for barking at that kid in the $4-8 game. I can use the excuse that I’m brain dead, tournament bashed and beat up, and out of energy for having any rational thought – but the bottom line is that I don’t need to behave that way. Players do it to me all the time but I don’t want to be like everyone else and retort without my brain guiding my mouth. I seriously, always, try to listen to how I sound when I say something. And in that instance, I was rude. There was no softness in my voice. I hate it when I do that.

*note to self: Always remember it costs nothing to soften your words and show understanding…even if they’re wrong, there’s no right in being right when it’s done incorrectly.*

Some days are just unbelievably ‘not there’. That’s how last night registers for me right now. I had the worst time waking up to poker when I hit the room. For one thing, I dealt a half hour on Friday, took a break, got out to play, jumped into a $15-30 H game, stacked up a sizeable win in 40 minutes, found out I could E/O, and that’s exactly what I did. It was like having a three-day weekend which makes coming back to work hard to swallow…especially when the overall effect of the room, filled with bodies and noise, is almost suffocating to me after hanging out in my own quiet space.

I drifted through a decent line-up, nothing complex, no screamers, and no one dying if they didn’t win. I kept trying to force myself to concentrate on dealing, watching the bets, keeping track of the pots, and all the little nuances that go into my profession. It finally worked…along about four to five hours into my shift.

One $4-8 H game left me chuckling when a Swedish youngster, in the 8s, had a verbal fit with an older gentleman in the 2s. I can’t help it…the personality display of people has me cracking up at times (not necessarily the incident) at how a person must perceive themselves to react to other people the way they do in public places.

It went like this: The 2s was in the BB and called a raise from the 8s…so did a few other people. The pot grew on the Flop and the Turn and the 2s check-raised the 8s on the River. The Board was something like 3-5-6-9-2 rainbow. It was heads-up when the 2s turned over Q-4 for a straight.

The 8s quickly mucked and then went into a tirade. “Stupid fucking old man!” he snorted to everyone around him (I don’t believe the 2s even heard him). I barked, “That’s enough!”

He lowered his voice but continued his tirade to the 7 and 9s. “What an idiot. How stupid is that fucker? Calling a raise with a hand like that?”

I said, “WE are all here to have fun. Let’s just play poker and drop it.”

8s to the 2s, “How could you even play that hand for a raise?”

Me, “Stop it! Let’s just play cards.”

8s, “I’ll say anything I want.”

My voice got a little hard here, “NO you won’t! First of all, he paid for his chips. He’s entitled to play any hand the way he wants to play it and you are not going to say anything about it and you have to stop swearing.”

The 8s countered, “I’m not swearing.”

Me, “Yes you are. You’ve used the ‘F’ word more than once.”

The 7s jumped in and verbally agreed with me.

The noise from the 8s stopped. The 5 and 8s were friends and the 5s left a few minutes later, after telling everyone goodnight. The 8s wasn’t far behind but he gave away most of his chips in the next few hands and left the game shortly after that.

I find it amusing that the world revolves around certain players, new and seasoned, young and old, and they are the only ones entitled to win. The rest of the world should just mail in a check to ease the stress of those ‘certain players’. But coupled with the amusement is the amazement that they want to bash a player for giving action and winning a pot. And while they are bashing, they try to pull the player next to them into their bash and make themselves look good – consequently making the player giving action look like an idiot for even sitting down at the table.

If it wasn’t for the whole world wanting to get in on the action, how could we have the wonderful Poker Buffet running around the world? *Advertisement for Poker Buffet* Come on in and pull up a chair, cards served continuously, chip purchasing available all hours, and when the smoke clears from too much action and you have time to look at the over view, you get a little insight into life…people…and yourself.

See you there!

The 4th of July. A day with meaning…too much for even me to ponder at this moment. I’m happy to be here, in America, and FREE!

I’m sad too! Halil, one of my co-workers at Bellagio, died of a heart attack on his way to work Saturday night. We always crossed paths on our way to Mangia and back to the poker room. The conversation went something like this:

Halil, “What are we doing here again?”

Me, “Hell if I know…no place better I guess.”

*laughing*

The next encounter:

“Honey, what the hell are we doing here?”

Me, “There are worse places to be.”

Halil, “Really? Like where?”

Me, “We’re really pretty lucky to have a job and a life. Where else would you rather be?”

Halil, “I’d rather be in Hawaii, sitting on the beach with a couple of girls.”

*laughing*

Me, “If you’d taken better care of your money, you could be.”

Halil, “No shit, Honey! Don’t I know it.”

Well…sadly for me, and others I’m sure, he is someplace else now. He’s missed already.