turn on the tape recorder, and step into my dreams nightmares. I can’t help but wonder if the last post brought this one about.

Opening scene – Bellagio’s poker room. It appears that I went there to play but somehow – as dreams go – I was being ushered up to the high limit area to deal Table 4. There was some amount of confusion going on as there were two players – no one that I recognized – and all kinds of debris and left over food items, empty racks, newspapers and clutter on the table in the empty seats.

I called for a set up. Here’s the part I like most about dreams, none of it has to make sense…and mostly it doesn’t so where the hell does it come from…out of what dark recess of the brain…and why? Nate came over with the set up, he glared at me, as if he hated me for making him do his job. And here’s another part of this, Nate hasn’t been at Bellagio as an employee for quite some time – since the big shakedown where more than one floor person left the building – so why was he in this nightmare dream?

As Nate set the new set up down, in the box, and walked away, I picked it up and realized that he had brought me a stack of hand written receipts – they were the yellow copy BTW – and they had been in the card box…cleverly disguised as cards I guess. I called to him to come back, but he didn’t.

For some reason, it seemed unbearably warm and uncomfortable and I had a dark blazer on. I took it off – let’s all die laughing here at granny cellulite city – as all I had on underneath it was a jogging bra. I felt quite comfortable – of course it’s a dream, dumb butt – and didn’t shrink up or huddle down in the seat as I would if I really ended up like that in public.

But for some reason, explainable only in dream nightmare land, I had to get up and walk to table 15 – still in high limit on the raised section – and get ready to deal a game that was going to start there. I knew both of these players – but not – another part of dreams that is too bizarre. I was very comfortable with them and we visited as they waited for their chips and I started trying to look through another box of receipts that were supposed to be cards. The game never started while I was there. Damn good thing because I don’t know how I would have dealt out receipts and then scored the winning hand.

When I got pushed, I carried my blazer with me, still sporting the jogging/sport’s bra look, and went down to talk to Pete Popovich – swing shift manager. Pete didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, just like I was supposed to be there type of thing. We stood outside of Bobby’s Room as I told him that I thought the jogging bra should be the new uniform of the day and he kept watching a TV over my shoulder to see what the latest score was in a sporting event. Pete kept nodding his head and talking to me….

WAKE UP, LINDA!

I have some strange poker related dreams now and then. They are always fragmented and strange, usually having to do with finding the table I’m supposed to deal out of 100’s of tables on different floors that are staggered at different levels, or the cards are all strange shapes and weird like 7 inches long and about an inch wide cut with pinking shears and I can’t figure out how the hell I’m doing to send them through the air to a player’s seat…just weird shit like that.

Maybe it’s a sign to get back into live poker…just for the sheer noisy and heat of it all. Please keep my name off the dealer list though.