I’m rambling. I have tried – at least 1,000 times – to make people understand that I write for myself. I write because I enjoy it; because it’s therapy; because 20 years from now I’d like to read back over what I wrote and go “WOW!” I wrote that? Where did I find that in my thoughts? Or to have it swing me right back into a time and place that music has a tendency to do. I liken music as to a time machine – all you have to do is hear a song and it drags you back to the clothes you were wearing, who you were with, the smell of the atmosphere, the heat or lack of, your inner yearnings, and exactly how you felt at that time. I don’t write to be rated. I don’t write to be added to your ‘blog roll’ or links or even care if you read me. If you feel the heat and don’t like it, read somewhere else. I don’t write hand histories because my life is not all about poker. My life is about wherever I am at the time, how I feel at the time, and where I’ve been in reflection of my thoughts, and where I think I would like to go. I could be classed as a ‘sick bitch’ or as a person that has it all figured out…it’s just where you are at the time you read me. If you can’t figure out where I’m going with anything, it’s ok; some days I have no idea where I’m ever going to go. If you want to find out where it all ends, you have to follow me as I move through varying cycles. If you don’t care one way or the other – get the fuck out of here. I didn’t ask you stop by. So in my normal manner, I will proceed with what I like to do – write:

A few of my special buddies have sent me queries on my ‘suicide’ post. Believe me kids, it ain’t a suicide post. If I wanted to ‘axe’ myself, I would do it without any noise. It would be a done deal. I do write in self examination, self exploration, trying to improve myself as I move through life and across the earth. I, at times, marvel at my own idiocies and extreme interactions with other humans when I actually know better. Is that defiance? Am I just reaching a point where I have no tolerance or am I at a point where my life is wound tighter than an eight day clock? Is there an answer? Hell no! I just keep on ‘keeping on’. I’ve never been much on taking advice – nor giving it. Everyone has to experience life in their manner and within the boundaries of where they are…not where I’ve been. If there was a manual or USB port we could plug into and experience everything, would we? I think not. Where is this going? It’s going down the road I choose. It’s my blog – remember?

I dealt a $4-8 H game last week in which I listened to the 3s bitch – during my entire down – about Bellagio. He liked The Wynn. That’s where he normally played…but his wife wanted to come to Bellagio tonight. She was in the 8s. She seemed to be at ease with everything, he seemed to be unhappy with everything. He was terribly unhappy that people bumped his chair, voicing more than once that it was ‘the dealers’ that ran into his chair and why couldn’t they figure out a way to go around. He hated the fact that Bellagio didn’t have any jackpots, he hated everything from what I could figure. I dealt – I had no desire to say anything or get into it with him. He may have a few valid points on the lack of space between tables – and perhaps a jackpot – but on the rest of it, if you don’t like it, go somewhere else.

I’ve played a bit more on the clock when I clock in now – yes…we can clock in and play at the same time. A small addition to the ‘notice’ on the wall states that Bellagio may have prop players. No…I can’t remember the exact wording. And I’ve elected to play $4-8 if I play on the clock. I think $15-30 H requires a different time frame and mind set than playing ‘on the clock’.

One of my ventures through dealer/player land, brought me again to Lance. I was standing at the phone desk, speaking with Pete (shift supervisor) and Lance appeared. He went into a monologue about how ‘Linda didn’t think he was a problem like all the floor people thought he was…blah, blah’.

I listened and laughed. I brought up the fact that I knew he could walk out of the room on his hands. He always gets a slightly flustered/embarrassed posture when I bring him back to other times. He told me being in Louisiana (I think it was) when he was a youngster and – not that drinking and driving was cool but it was normal in those days. He said he was pulled over one night by a state patrol and he, Lance, had definitely had too much to drink. The State Patrol told him to walk a straight line, he danced on to his hands and walked the line. The Officer knew he, Lance, was blitzed but told him to go straight home without writing him a ticket. *LMAO*

So…I kibitzed with Pete and Lance, goading Lance to walk on his hands. Hell yes…I want to witness this event in a poker room. Lance looked around, stared at the vacant space between the Page Desk and the Cashier, looked at me, and said, “From here to there.”

Yes…baby…yes!

CRAP! Pete stopped it. It didn’t happen. Crumball. I have to wait for another opportunity to watch Lance dance onto his hands and leave the room.

Why can’t life just happen like I think it should? There would be no misery or heartache or physical pain…I know how to design the perfect world. I just don’t know how to make it happen. But stick around, I might figure it out.

Anyone know where this is? Only one guess and you have to send me an email telling me where. I will post in one week’s time, stating where the picture was taken and if I receive an email – geenen at pokerworks.com – from anyone that knows (Wayne you are excluded), I will immediately post that an answer has been given.