A Tenderfoot

And speaking of Gamblers Anonymous...I'm busy packing for Vegas. Going out there with Priscilla for a few days. We'll be staying at Harrah's for the first two nights, because that's where she has a comped room. Then we're moving to Imperial Palace for the next three nights, because that's where she has another comped room. So, in other words, we don't have to pay to stay (as if we won't be giving them money).

Why is it that "comp a room" reminds me so much of "cop a feel"? I think it's because in both cases, it's just a means to an end. When a casino comps a room, they're expecting more from you. When a guy cops a feel, he's expecting more from you.

Anyway.

Things I like about Harrah's:
1. The location. It's right in the middle of a bunch of casinos that I like to go to.
2. The piano bar
3. The poker room
4. McDonald's is right next door, and I like to go there for my morning coffee.

Things I like about Imperial Palace:
1. The location. It's right next door to Harrah's, so it's also centrally located.
2. The dealertainers.
3. The poker room.
4. I can still get to McDonald's for my morning coffee fairly easily from there.

Priscilla likes poker as much as I do, so our plans include playing in one or two tournaments every day. Both of us are early risers, so that always works out well. She won't think I'm nuts if I'm up and ready to roll at 6 a.m. Our experience has been that the slots are the loosest early in the morning. We wouldn't know about late at night. We hit the hay pretty early...unless one of us is still in a tournament. That only happened once...at Caesars Indiana. We both entered a tournament that started at noon and one of us (I'm not saying who, but it wasn't the one associated with Elvis) didn't finish until 2 a.m. Like I said, we're usually sawing logs before midnight. Not that we haven't been known to go to bed early, wake up in the middle of the night, throw on some clothes and head for the tables, play a while, then roll back into bed for a few hours. There are no rules and no schedules...other than the poker tournament schedule, which Prissy printed off the Internet to carry in her purse and refer to no less than forty times a day. Because, hey, if we miss one, there's always another one starting up somewhere else. It's Vegas, baby.

And if I can walk when I get there, it'll all be great. I say "if" because I had a pedicure this afternoon and one of the steps of that particular twelve-step program, which I now wish had been omitted, was the "shave the dead skin off your heel" step. Literally. With a razor. And I just sat there like an idiot and let her do it! Well, the bitch took a few too many layers, because both of my heels feel like I just spent the whole day in an old concrete swimming pool with a really rough bottom. You know the kind. With my feet in this condition, it should make for a fun time in Chicago, where I may have to hike a "fur piece" to change planes, and in Vegas, where nothing is as close as it looks. Especially the jackpots.

Cell Phone Talk

What she said: "He's going to Cherokee every other day now."

What I heard: "He's going to therapy every other day now."

(Which, clearly, he needs if he's going to Cherokee every other day.)

So I said: "What for?"

And she said: "Electronic poker."

To which I said: "Wow. How's it going?"

(Still thinking we were discussing his therapy.)

And she said: "I don't know. He says he's winning."

To which I thought: "Well, at least he's got a good attitude."

Gravity

Sir Isaac Newton "discovered" it. John Mayer wrote a song about it. As we age, we become all too aware of it and mostly, we just hate it. Its constant pull is responsible for the sagging and bagging, growing and crowing. Like it or not, everything we own is plunging earthward. The size of a man's ears can reach dumbo proportions. People's eyelids become eye flaps and the eyebrows just naturally move closer to the cheeks. But lately, I've noticed more and more women with that "surprised" look on their faces. It's that Botox look. You know the one. The eyebrows are arched an inch higher than they should be and they're not budging. And the worry creases between the eyes have magically disappeared. Little injections into the forehead will do the trick. It will seemingly whisk years of gravity's damage away with one or two stabs. Every few months. Forever. Stop the treatments and your eyebrows will become your mustache. I think I may refrain from ever starting the stuff. As much as I hate the effects of gravity, I hate the thoughts of needles in my forehead worse. Needles injecting a deadly toxin, well that's just seems insane.

God Is Following Ron

Ah, the rain is back. Ordinarily I'd be unhappy about that. After all, it did rain nonstop for a month...or so it seemed. But right now, I welcome it. Why, you ask? Well, because Ron is attempting to grow some grass in all the bare spots in our yard, and that would be a shitload. We have clumps of straw decorating the front and the back where he fertilized, sprinkled seed and then, not to leave anything to chance, crossed himself and genuflected over each patch...about fifty of them. That was several days ago, and we, of course, have had nothing but sun since then. Therefore, those grassy hopes have probably dried up and withered away because prayer alone will not grow grass. It requires a little water and Ron hasn't given the un-grassy knolls so much as a sip all week. God finally looked down, sighed and Twittered, "Ron is an idiot, but he means well, so I am making it rain."

We're Ruining It For Them

Let's get one thing straight. Things that teenagers do are cool. Things that adults do...not so much. Yes, as I mentioned here, I signed on to Facebook recently, but now I'm seeing why a young person will soon run like hell from the very thing that once gave him/her a reason to live.

It's written in stone. When adults adopt anything from the generation below them, it loses any shred of coolness. It's always been that way, and it always will. I can remember when a neighbor, Mr. Moore, did his version of the twist in front of us kids. I knew right then and there, I never wanted to do that dance again. And so it goes.

Listen up all you adults out there, and you know who you are, Facebook is Facebook. It's not a blog, but more importantly, it's not your own personal blog. So if you want to update "what you're doing" once or twice a day, that's niiiiice. But if you feel the need to write in that space four or five times in a twelve hour period...GET A BLOG (or maybe a life) for Christ's sake! Nobody gives a good goddamn what you're doing every minute of every day. If your life is so fucking interesting, bite the bullet and start a blog. Otherwise, back the fuck off! I don't care that "Christine just opened a can of pinto beans for dinner," nor what effects those beans may have had on her world. That's just Facebook abuse, pure and simple, and it's the main reason why the whole concept has lost it's cool.

March Madness...Let the Games Begin

So many things to look forward to in March:
Enjoying the warmer weather.
Breaking out the shorts and sandals.
Getting back out on the golf course.
Playing a little tennis.
And actually watching college basketball.

In Honor Of St. Patrick's Day...

A line from every GREEN song I can think of (and some of these are really old):

"They've got catfish on the table,
They've got gospel in the air,
And Reverend GREEN be glad to see you
When you haven't got a prayer."

"GREEN-eyed lady, passions' lady,
Dressed in love, she lives for life to be."

"GREEN, GREEN, it's green they say, on the far side of the hill.
GREEN, GREEN I'm going away to where the grass is GREENER still."

"Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the GREEN, GREEN grass of home."

"When GREEN is all there is to be, it could make you wonder why,
but why wonder why wonder, I am GREEN and it'll do fine,
it's beautiful and I think it's what I want to be."

"Jean, Jean, roses are red, and all the leaves have gone GREEN.
When the hills are ablaze with the moon's yellow haze,
Come into my arms, bonnie Jean."

Rambling On

Who decided that eggs and bacon were the right foods for breakfast? When I was young, I ate cheeseburgers and french fries for many-a breakfast and that worked just fine for me.
If you've never seen the movie "Love Song For Bobby Long", then you should see it. It's on my top ten list of all-time favorites.
I wonder how the Jergens lotion people happened upon their original cherry-almond scent. I will always love that smell.
It's only a matter of time before every electronic device we own will be considered obsolete.
I think Ivana Trump was secretly high-fiving her lawyers when she found out that the Donald was having an affair with Marla Maples, because it gave her the grounds she needed to divorce him, get millions, and never ever have to look across the dinner table and see that stupid comb-over again.
If there's anything any better than a tuna salad sandwich made on really fresh bread, with potato chips on the side, I don't know what it is.
Having no money in college had its rewards. I didn't want to spend my limited food budget on cigarettes, so I never started smoking.
These days a lot of out-of-work business people do inventory in grocery stores at night after the stores close. It's a way to make money when you can't find any other job, and the only people who see you working there are the other people who are taking inventory. I personally don't see how they stay awake.
Easter is a month away. Why do the schools have their spring breaks so early? Wasn't the whole idea of spring break originally centered around Easter?
Remember when you bought a cup of ice cream after lunch in the school cafeteria (a privilege reserved for the people who acted okay during lunch), and you got to eat it with a small tongue depressor?
Growing old doesn't necessarily mean maturing, as evidenced by my train of thought at a recent funeral of a friend. When the minister invited the congregation to say aloud the names of loved ones who had passed away, so that they might be remembered in prayer, I listened as sane, caring adults sitting randomly throughout the church thought of relatives and friends and spoke their names aloud. But I had only one imbecilic thought floating through my head: Elvis Presley.

My Mission Statement

Ron and I were talking about our blogs yesterday on the way to my dropping him off at work, which I was doing because his ten year old Buick was on a respirator at the shop. He was saying how hard it is to come up with relevant topics on an everyday basis. Of course it's much harder for him than it is for me. I don't have bosses. I can write about anything I want to. There's no one telling me it's not appropriate to write about my husband's underwear, like I did here, or his smelly dog, like I did here, or his tendency toward perpetual colds, like I did here, or even his in-vain attempt to reel me in, like I did here. Where I'm free to choose any subject and to call it like I see it, he, understandably, has to operate within certain guidelines. I can write about stupid stuff, be politically incorrect, piss people off, or bore them to death, and it won't change a thing. Any limitations would make it a lot less fun.

I don't know why other bloggers blog. I just know why I do. My blog is a writing assignment I gave to myself. It's my journal. I love for everybody to read it, but specifically it's a journal for my grandchildren and great grandchildren, so they won't have to wonder about who I was when I'm dead and gone. They can read this (when they're old enough, of course) and get a pretty good idea. As we used to say in the sixties, I let it all hang out. I hope they (and you) can appreciate and forgive me for that.

Facebook

It's the damnedest thing. I used to make fun of PhillyTwo for constantly getting online to look at her Facebook page. And no matter how many times Ron told me that people were using Facebook as a networking tool, I poo-poohed it. Then one day, I caved and signed on to Facebook. I haven't the foggiest idea why. It just seemed like the thing to do.
Ron made some I-told-you-so remark about it, but I warned him not to get smart with me, or in that little space on Facebook where it asks, "What are you doing right now?" I'd be forced to put, "Phyllis is busy spraying the skid marks in her husband's underwear with Zout." Yeah, I can see where Facebook could be a tool.

You Know The Economy Has Affected You When...

You spend an hour in Big Lots and can't even bring yourself to buy a plastic egg, let alone the outdoor furniture you'd like to have.

When you finally show up at the salon for a dye job, your roots are down to your ears.

Your spring clothes shopping takes place in the close-out aisle at Old Navy, where last year's tee shirts are marked down to $3.49.

You wear your contact lenses less often, so they'll last twice as long.

And the most poignant sign:
You opt to stay home and watch t.v. rather than go to a poker game because you don't want to risk losing the money that you're saving up for Vegas.

Hard times.

Come Help Me Out Of The Car!

I haven't played golf in months, so when Ron said he had made a tee time for us at ten o'clock this morning, I was apprehensive. But I went. It wasn't too bad, actually. I hit about three really good drives on the front nine and my chipping was a little better than usual. It was what went on between the drive and the green that hurt my score. Anyway, we were on the number twelve tee box (on the back nine) when my cell phone rang. I was actually sitting in the cart waiting for the guys (Doug and Bob were playing with us) to tee off, when I answered it. It was someone needing a sub for tennis at three o'clock. I said, "Sure, I'll do it." So instead of finishing up the round of golf, I promptly headed for the club house. I figured I would need to conserve energy for the tennis match. And I was right. The fact that it was mixed doubles helped. I just relied on my partner to run down a majority of the balls. Still, by the last few games, I was dragging serious ass. But we managed to win, and I hobbled out to the car and came home. Now, from there to home was only about a ten minute drive, but honest to God, I had stiffened up like a pair of starched blue jeans by the time I pulled into the garage. I think I may need some sort of work-out plan. I'll get right on that...just as soon as I can move my legs again.

We'll Miss You, Old Friend

It's always nice to see old friends, even if it happens to be at a funeral. I had to drive back to Bristol Wednesday to attend a funeral, and while funerals are not usually uplifting, this one was an exception. The service, while mostly solemn and respectful, took a few turns toward light-hearted humor, something that I think everyone there appreciated. I know that Larry would have enjoyed it. I imagine that he was watching...from a different dimension. As the minister said, Larry loved to laugh and was always ready with a good joke. He would have been so proud to see the overflowing church and to know that so many old friends drove a long way to pay their respects. He would have preferred to be in the middle our group of friends/classmates after the service, when we were hugging and reminiscing and enjoying our brief time together. But not if he had to be there in the pained and ravaged condition that he had come to know. I think he was ready to leave that behind. The minister talked a lot about Larry's extensive library of books on the civil war. He had apparently become quite the historian. Maybe he'll run into some of the old generals in his new surroundings and he can pick their brains. I'm sure he'll have a few jokes for them, too. Some things never change.

My Poker Story

Because of my love for poker, I keep up with several poker blogs. Not only do I enjoy playing it, I enjoy reading about it, and I learn a great deal about the game from the blogs I read. People who don't play poker probably don't understand the "draw" (pun intended) but it's a great game that has been dissected, scrutinized, analyzed, glamorized, commercialized (t.v.) and condemned since its inception, which some say was in Germany in the 15th century.

My personal journey started in Biloxi in the early nineties. Ron and I went to New Orleans for a few days and then took a little side trip to the gambling boats. One night we went to a free show at the Grand and a somewhat older lady who was sitting beside me started telling me about her new favorite casino game - poker. She told me all about the poker room, how to get started, what to expect and how much fun it was. I didn't even make it to the end of the show we were watching. Halfway through it, I convinced Ron that we should go upstairs and play poker. We each bought in for $40. They seated us at different tables, playing 1,2 no limit. We didn't have a clue what the hell we were doing. Ron busted out after about fifteen minutes. He walked by my table and said, "I'm going to bed." I tore myself away about five hours later, not because I was broke (I had more than doubled my money), and not because I was tired ( I could have played all night), but because I felt guilty about playing so long. I was hooked. We were scheduled to leave the next morning and I begged him to stay one more night, but he was adamant. We had to go home.

It was a long time before I got to play poker again, and when I did, I didn't do so well. It was at least a year later and we had gone to Vegas. I tried my luck in a couple of cash games and failed miserably. I didn't even know about tournaments at that point. I learned about those a couple of years later...online. But the real turning point came when one of Ron's co-workers invited us to come to Bailey's to play in their free poker tournaments. We became regulars. It was a lot of fun and it was a good introduction to "live" tournament play. That's also where I made the invaluable connections that led to "real" poker tournaments, which bore only a slight resemblance to the free games. And soon after that, I took that final leap into full-fledged casino tournaments and sit-and-go's.

Our trips to Vegas changed drastically after that. I'd print out the daily tournament schedule for all of the casinos and we'd plan our time accordingly, usually managing to get into two or three tournaments a day, up and down the strip and, of course, downtown. I'm happy to report that I won several of them.

I made many trips to Caesar's Indiana (now the Horseshoe) to play in their World Series of Poker events before I finally cashed in one. And I've made the drive down to Tunica to play in some small and some big tournaments. So far, I've only cashed in the small ones there. Through it all, my love for the game hasn't waned. I'll play poker 'til the day I die. The only words sweeter than "Shuffle Up and Deal" are "Ladies and Gentlemen, you've made it to the money."

We Give A Whole New Meaning To Potluck

J.C. called last night to tell me that Jerry (her son, my nephew) would be at the Gold Strike in Tunica in two weeks. Ordinarily, that would mean that he was going to be gambling, because, after all, he is a card-carrying member of this wheel-of-fortune-addicted family. But, no, Jerry and his boss - the ever popular one-hit-wonder Lee Greenwood - are booked for a gig there at the Gold Strike. Actually, that's not really fair to call Lee a one-hit-wonder. He did do that "Wind Beneath My Wings" thing. That makes him a bona fide one-and-a-half-hit-wonder, but only because Bette Midler did a little better with that one than he did. Anyhoo, J.C. and I were discussing whether we could be "Band Aids" (a reference to one of my fav movies of all time, "Almost Famous"), meaning, could we make it to Tunica for the show, and as much as I hate to ever turn down a chance to be on the inside of a casino, I had to decline. Sorry, Jerry. I love America as much as the next person, and when Lee spews "From the lakes of Minnesota to the hills of Tennessee" I admit to a golf-ball-sized lump in my throat, but if I go to Tunica, I'd have to gamble and I'm saving up for Vegas in April. However, J.C. and I agreed that since "The Band" appears to be on a casino tour, we can catch up with you guys at the Hard Rock Biloxi in July. I'm sure Suzanne and Priscilla will concur. Other families get together for cook-outs and potlucks. We prefer casino buffets. "God bless the USA!"