Tenmile, I’m 58 years young. Quit with the elderly crap. You know that’s one of the best parts of poker – your age isn’t a factor unless you’re too young to get into a casino. Hah-hah-ha! But I enjoy your posts and visiting your pages so I forgive you this time…just don’t let it happen again.

*****

I played on shift for a few hours on Wednesday night. Go figure. The third hand I picked up, A-A, was of course beaten by A-2. She flopped bottom pair. Well how the hell could she throw that hand away? Then it was grinding, pitch, pitch, pitch, and finally Wayne appeared. He took a seat in my game and we whiled away a bit of time by gabbing. That always helps when I’m buried in a game because I don’t think about the hands and wonder if I’ll ever get even.

It was one of those odd nights. Wayne came in to visit with me (not a regular occurrence), Dan B., hiking buddy and friend, came in looking for me, and Mike C. appeared, he was going to play anyway but he was looking for me too – strange how it works.

Wayne left around 10:30 or so and the game I was in finally turned into the kind of game I would love to play in forever. I didn’t know a soul. They didn’t know anything. It was perfect. I managed to pick up a pot now and then and got most of my money back when I played J-7 H. The Flop was two hearts, 4-5-8. A 6 peeled off on the Turn. UTG bet $8 and the next player made it $16. I had a vision of 7-9…hell yes I’m gun shy. I’ve missed every straight and flush draw for months and it seems that if a hand would beat me, someone’s got it. I called. So did three other people. A deuce popped off on the River and UTG checked, the next player bet, I called, everyone else folded. He said, “I’ve got a straight,” as he turned over J-3 off.

I stacked a lot of chips, looked at a few more rounds of cards and gave it up for the night. I’m only good for about four hours anymore, then I start getting “WTF are you doing? You have other things to do!” messages that race across dark side of my brain. Only problem is they keep racing until they burn through to the light side of my brain and then I HAVE TO GO! Don’t think I’m not talking to myself about this problem with table hours. How in the hell am I ever going to win a tournament if I can’t stand more than a few hours of table time in a session? *subliminal messaging – You love to sit at the table…you love poker…you love to play…you don’t mind it when dealers are idiots…the Romeo sitting next to you that never shuts up doesn’t bother you…come on, Linda…you can do it!*

I walked past Bobby’s Room with my little racks of chips and stopped by the sliding door on the side (not the main entrance). Eli E. was sitting at the table, facing me, talking to the dealer, as he waited for more players to appear. When I slid the door open, he looked up. I stuck my tongue out and did the, “Plh-ghl-ghg-hlg-hg,” at him. He roared and waved at me. Don’t forget that he’s the guy that pulled my hair one night when I was dealing to all of the ‘higher ups’ in Poker Land. Why? Because he heard there was a dealer there that wore a wig and he wanted to see if it was me. *laughing still* I went on my way for the night.

Thursday night, I waltzed into the office and Pete asked if any of us wanted to just take the night off without clocking in…HELL YES! I had to hang around because a friend of mine was coming in from Texas and we were supposed to touch bases about a drink this weekend. So…hello poker game!

This game started off just the opposite of last night. I did know two of the players but they are fairly quiet and didn’t stay long. I went on a mini heater. Once you have lots of chips the game is a lot more fun. The guy on my right, David, was poker savvy and easy to visit with. The guy on my left managed to maintain a sense of humor even though he barely played a hand and his chips dwindled down to nothing over a few hours. Some of the guys really had no idea how to bet or play and everyone was talking it up and relaxed.

My friend from Texas arrived with a friend of his. We left the poker room to visit for a few minutes and settled on a dinner date on Saturday night. They both wanted to play in the tournament the following day and really had no plans other than that and getting into the ‘Vegas mode’. They went on their way and I returned to my game, ready to dash but decided to play a few more rounds.

Then it happened. One of our regular dealers sat down and the game went into total standstill. He dealt the cards, stared at the ceiling, or at the rack, or across the room, but never once did he tell a player that the action was to him. And since they were all new players, how would they know? It’s not my job to run the game when I’m in the dealer’s seat, so I sat, biting my tongue, for the first 15 minutes of the dealer’s down. We must have seen six hands in those 15 minutes. Each time a player finally figured out that it was up to him, he apologized, and acted on his hand. But our dealer sat there like a stump. I finally looked at the dealer…yes I know him…and said, “Honey, come on. Run your game. Tell them when it’s their turn to act.”

He acted totally indifferent, shrugged, “They are talking,” as he looked away.

Kee-rist! That was enough for me. I know dealer’s can make or break a game and this one lost me. I racked up, told everyone goodnight and how much I enjoyed playing with them, and hit the window.

And I don’t have to work tomorrow. Yeah…these three-day workweeks are killing me.

Oh and my buddy, Nicholas in the 3s, has a new blog address. Check it out!