Today is sweet Kayanna’s 9th birthday. She was born on Friday 13th, 1996, my mother was born on Friday 13th in December also. Kayanna’s my granddaughter. She lives in Missouri with her mom but the good news is she will be here at Christmas to spend four days with me. Better than SWEET! I hope the weather is good enough for a hike at Anniversary Narrows while they are here. I just called her and sang Happy Birthday to her…she was kicking the Sand Girl out of her eyes and thoughts, time to get ready for school. D-A-M-N…I don’t miss those ‘jump up at the crack of dawn when it’s colder than hell’ school days at all. Continue reading Tuesday, December 13, 2005 →

If you haven’t read the beginning of the WPBT, please jump to the previous post. I semi started trying to put some things together but I ran out of steam. It’s extremely difficult for a vampiress to have to survive when the sun is out – even if most of the time is spent in a casino. Continue reading Monday, December 12, 2005 →

Great plans oft go astray. As if we didn’t already know that, it is witnessed almost hourly in a poker room. The plan is to take a seat, win, chuckle all the way to the cash out window, and take your newly acquired funds home with you. It seldom works that way. Generally it takes a lot of sheer determination, strength of will, and a mind that can release the turmoil created from looking at bad hands for hours as you struggle to win the big bucks from the limit you are playing in.

On that note, I watch tournament players come in at the beginning of a big tournament, filled with hope and determination, ready to play satellites, tournaments, and cash games – whatever it takes, to cover expenses and put some cash back in the BR. While TV has been a boon to poker, it also makes it looks so easy. You never witness the hours it takes for the one hand that someone wins and the other player goes broke in.

And to make matters worse, there’s always the Bubble! That’s about the size of it…you were right there, almost within reach of taking home prize money, and the bubble blew up in your face. You’re out of the tournament, one out of the money, and in general – out – out – out!

That old saying, ‘it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game’ could never be more apropos. If you ‘play’ the game, not just sit through session after session but actually ‘play’ the game, and play your best game while you’re doing it, you will end up in the + column over a period of time – no matter how bad you’re running right now. You have to give every session your best effort. No whining! Just play the damn game.

Wow! I’m really glad I got that out of my head. For some reason, it just seemed to be hanging there, needing to be said or written. I’ve listened to so many tales of woe lately about bad beats and dreaded suck outs that I felt everyone needed a refresher course on the play of the game. And I also needed to say it, read it, and think it. I need a refresher course now and then.

Off on another note, Mark (from CO) and his friends, Jason and Gavin, were in about a week ago. I managed to clock out and meet them for a brew in the Sport’s Book in the early a.m. – when it was quiet and no one was around to interrupt our chip/card chatter. They listened to me – I listened to them as the tales unfolded of their $10-20 NLH play. At one point Jason stated that he was sure I heard enough poker stories and saw enough that I didn’t need to hear anymore. On one count, he was right. I do see and hear poker on a daily basis. But it was so much fun just kicking back with them that their side of the stories was the best part. They were animated, excited, and happy that they’d moved up from the $2-5 NLH and all of them appeared to have had a great time. Thanks for sharing guys. And Mark, keep up with the posting – great read.

And back to this weekend, it’s going to rain Bloggers on Las Vegas because Bloggers reign. I’m hustling to put phone numbers into my Treo, trying to make sure I can contact some of them anyway…it’s like a daisy chain. Somehow, someway, we can all find out what the next guy/gal or group is doing and where they are going to meet. It’s going to be a great time. I spent an hour chatting with Michael Craig on the phone – and not only is he going to speak at our ‘meet and greet’, he’s going to play in the tourney. My camera will be armed and aimed, at anyone and everyone. Yoo hoo. Fun is afoot.

Damn the wind! Not only was it windy as hell, it was cold. Within a few short hours, I’d be kicking open my garage door to let the world in – people would be browsing my little collection of life and picking through it, squabbling over prices, and me? I wasn’t really ready for any of it. I wanted my bed – snuggling under a down comforter, my room – quietly tucked away from the rest of the world, but instead I was dialing my son, Darian, to make sure he was up and would be over soon to help me fade through the melee of noise and confusion.

Darian arrived with his son, Riot, and my nephew, Chad. A few minutes later Gordon arrived (long time friend from MT that lives in Vegas, and he and his wife, Carole, were setting up some of their own ‘yard sale’). Darian, Chad, and Riot raced off to a casino to get small change for paying customers and Gordon and I settled in to have a cup of coffee and visit – one last break before it all started.

The sale was set to go at 9 a.m. and at 7:50 my doorbell rang. I looked at Gordon as I went to answer the door. A perky gent asked, “You haven’t cancelled your sale due to bad weather have you?”

“No. It starts at 9 a.m.”

“You don’t have any old casino items do you?”

“Nope, sure don’t.”

He left. I closed the door. To Gordon, “Guess he didn’t read the part of the ad that stated NO EARLY BIRDS.”

Like hell he didn’t. It irritated me. At 8:10, Gordon and me opened the garage, set out a tarp and began loading camping equipment, exercise gear, lawn furniture and more onto it. People started pulling up and stopping. I told two of them that we didn’t start until 9. One of them grumbled that the ad said 8. I said, “Sorry, it’s 9.”

Like hell the ad said 8. These people were on my nerves already and we weren’t even set up. My son arrived with nephew, baby, and change. By 8:30 there were so many people coming into the garage that I gave up. I whispered to my son that I didn’t think I could stand it. His reply, “Ok. Just go somewhere for the day, Mom.”

I handed him the money and milled around, mainly holding the baby, and trying to stay out of the way of the mad rush. Several times I took Riot into the house and just played with him. The wind was still unbearable and while the garage helped slow it down a bit, it was brutal. By 9:10, I felt like the sale had been going on for hours.

At one point I was asked to show a guy how to ride my Trikke…it was for sale. I’d guess he was around 35. After watching me, he declared that that was way too much exercise for what he wanted. Funny. Guess it was supposed to just levitate and spin by itself. Later in the afternoon, a guy about my age (and no, Ten Mile, not elderly), and in much worse shape than the first guy, wanted to know how the Trikke worked. I hit the street again, showing him the leg motion and handle chop to ride uphill. He was interested. I warned him that it took a lot of work to get to where he could do what I just did and that he could get hurt on it. Hell…that must have been the magic he was waiting to hear. He bought it.

About 1 p.m. everything slowed down. Viv had arrived, Carole showed up, Sly (Riot’s mama) came and picked up Riot. I prodded Darian to bring the chimenea from the back yard and put it in the driveway. I cranked up a fire, opened a beer, and parked my tush on a lawn chair while the wind whipped around and blew smoke up everyone’s nose. At that point I really could have cared less. A few people straggled in and several of them wanted to know if the chimenea was for sale. A few that had been by earlier in the morning came back but by 3 p.m. I was done. It was only getting colder. The wind refused to slow down.

Darian and Chad left. Gordon had to go somewhere. Viv, Carole, and me hid in the house with a hot pot of coffee. When a few more people came by, Viv went out to talk to them and eventually Carole went out to help her. I refused to move. I was comatose…cold and tired…and wished I’d just set everything in the street and given it away.

At 4 p.m. Zig came by for Viv, Gordon and Carole started loading up what they had left on the street, I shivered all the way through helping them and when they drove off, I locked my gate, shut myself in my bedroom and jumped on the Migun. Incredible. Then I was off to Sand Woman Land.

I woke up at 11 p.m. and had this hair brained idea that I wanted to drive up to Mt. Charleston, to the old lodge, and have a Bailey’s & Coffee. I cranked up the Silver Steed and hit the highway. I checked the outside temperature when I hit the lodge, 16 degrees. Kee-rist! And to make matters worse, the lodge was closed. It used to be open 24 hours a day and now, by 12:30 a.m. – they were shut down on a Saturday night. Sad. There are a bunch of cabins right by the lodge, rentals, and there was a car in front of every one of them. Go figure! No one drinks at night in the mountains anymore. Just us fish that live in the desert. I headed for home. BTW – it was 44 degrees at my house. S-h-i-v-e-r

Sunday I visited Camping World. There are items to be purchased for the Fifth Wheel, like a washer/dryer, generator, and a satellite for Internet connectivity. And I made an appointment to have the hitch installed in the truck. Lots of things still have to be done before the plan is complete.

On Sunday night I went to Bellagio to find my friend, Christoph. He was in town for a backgammon tournament and we had planned a hike but between his being in the tournament to the final day, and my crazy schedule, we couldn’t arrange a time. So we settled on dinner. He was playing in the $300-600 Mixed game when I arrived.

The room was a screamer. All the tables were open and running and people everywhere. I visited with Carmen while Christoph played the round. Christoph and me headed for Fix. We were starving and it was the easiest and fastest place to get into consider neither of us was ‘dressed’. The company was great, the food was wonderful but the damn music was so loud it was close to more annoying than the wind on Saturday. We had to yell all the way through the meal to catch up on each other’s lives. We finished our meal and headed back to the room. BTW he is one of the best friends anyone could ever hope to have. I love this man.

I escaped the noise of the poker room and headed for the parking garage and my Silver Steed. I was ready for my little, quite slice of heaven. So ended my weekend of the ‘dreaded garage sale’. Kee-rist! I hope to NEVER have another one.

When I’m right, I’m wrong. It just seems to go that way when certain people are around. Of course I have one specific one in mind right now…Jimmy Tran. He always seems to be at war with dealers. It’s a personal war for him. As soon as the dealer breathes, Jimmy’s on the alert and ready to jump down their throat if they double gasp. He isn’t necessarily mean but he can be rude as hell…maybe it’s just me – when I open my mouth – and he’s not that way with the other dealers. Sure…there are other posts about him.

The game is $25-50 NLH. One play-over in the 6s, a seat opens, Jimmy’s name is called and I’m told he’ll be my player. Another seat opens; the play-over is the next person on the list and he acknowledges he will take the seat. Instantly another seat opens. The play-over is moving from the 6 to the 5s and as Jimmy arrives and starts to put his chips down, I motion to the 3 and the 6s and say, “You have a choice.”

His face twists and he demands, “W-H-A-T?”

Without losing my composure, I said, “You have a choice of seats.”

Jimmy looks at me as he slams his chips into the 3s and sits down. Carl (I used to deal to him in Gulfport at the Grand) is in the 7s; he looks at me and shakes his head at Jimmy. Carl gets the picture. I smiled at Carl and said, “I deal with it everyday.”

A few hands later, the 5s left, Jimmy moved over. Jimmy was the SB of $25, Gabriel – 6s had a missed Blind Button – Carl the BB of $50. Two callers, Jimmy folded, Carl raised it to $400 total, I pulled Jimmy’s $50, Carl’s and the other two players $100 bets into the pot. Carl had raised with some $25 and $100 chips. I announced, “Raise, $300 more.”

Jimmy went ballistic. “Wait!” as he grabbed at the pot and started pushing the chips around before I could stop him, “He put too much!”

Carl dryly said, “She ain’t made a mistake since ’01.”

Jimmy did apologize stating that he thought Carl had $50 too much in the pot. That might be the only apology I ever get from him.

Carl lost the hand. Jimmy now had the Button. Gabriel returned and bought the Button. Carl looked at the free hand and decided to rack up. Gabriel was the Button, after Carl left, I announced, “No Small Blind this hand,” and turned to the 8s to let him know he was the BB. I dealt the hand, it finished, and Jimmy reached across Gabriel grabbing the Button and throwing it in front of the 8s. I moved it back, trying my best to keep an even voice, “It’s a dead Button.”

Gabriel jumped in and told Jimmy that Carl had left after his SB and it was a dead Button. Jimmy didn’t say anything; he just nodded. DAMN!!! He was wrong again.

That was the end of my Jimmy experience for the down, except for some glares and a few hand motions because I didn’t deal him anything. But it’s perpetual. He will never believe that I know how to do my job. Maybe he will never believe that any dealer knows how to do their job, so it’s not just a ‘Linda’ thing. I try not to let it get on my nerves…just keep dealing.

My next game was a rock and roll $80-160 H and then off to $150-300 Mixed, with Men Nyugen in the 2s…yup…Men “The Master”. Kee-rist! Of all the games I didn’t want to be noticed in – or do anything to create a disturbance – it was this game. Men can be particularly brutal to dealers…although he’s toned it down a lot over the years of being forced to ‘sit out’ at tournaments.

Not to worry, just like it was written in stone in a cave – that Linda has to make a mistake in this game – it happened. Deuce to 7 Triple Draw. The first two players draw four – Tony 8s (Tony’s Asian and just a little superstitious), and Men draw three. I announce the draws, and then for some lame brain reason (known only to the person who chiseled the stone in the cave) I gave four each to the first two players, two to Tony, and two to Men. As soon as I pushed the two to Men, Tony started barking that he needed three.

Men’s barking was louder than Tony’s. He informed me that he needed three and that I should leave all the cards in front of the players before I begin to give the draw cards. The worst of it is that I normally do, but the way they all pushed their cards in, it was a shamble. He was even exaggeratedly calling me, “Honey!”

I agreed with him – I definitely should have left the cards out in front of the players. That slowed him down. I told him I was sorry and I would call for a decision. He was grandstanding and talked it up for another minute or so and then decided he knew which card was his last card and I would give it back to Tony and then give him three. That is if everyone agreed. Everyone said, “Ok.”

David Levi was in the 3s (Damn I love this guy). He suggested they just chop it up. They went for it. There was one odd $25.00 chip. David grabbed it and said he would give it to the low card of the three, when the game changed to stud. Men wanted it chopped.

David said, “Ok, $8 for each of you and the odd $1 for the dealer.”

Men went for it. David threw me the chip; I chopped it up, and got the odd $1. Holy hell…what is going on here? No heat and a tip on a pot I screwed up!

Don’t think I wasn’t thanking my lucky stars to escape this baby without any scrapes or bruises. When I got pushed, I leaned over, touched Men on the arm, and when he looked up, I thanked him for helping me with that pot. He said, “…I’m a lover, not a fighter, Baby.”

I was off and running to $10-20 NLH. Before I knew it, it was close to 1 a.m. and Jason asked if I wanted to escape. I did. The dreaded garage sale was on the horizon. Dreaded? Hell yes! A lot of work, a lot of stress, and a lot of memories out on the tables with a minute price tag on them and life is shifting into the next chapter.

Thank God for Vivienne. If she and my nephew, Chad, hadn’t helped me pack, swish dust, load up, inventory, and all that other stuff, I think I would have just set it in the street and let everyone take what they wanted.