Friday, Part A, aka “if you want to see me play with both it’ll cost ya fifty bucks.” (1)
Woke up early and headed to Binions for breakfast (I love country fried steak. LOVE IT! But am pretty happy they don’t have it up here in the Great White North. My arteries couldn't take it.), and the 10am tourney. Garth, SoxLover and StatikKling showed up, still working on the drunk of the day before. My GOD those guys were funny! Read the post from Saturday for the quotes.
I love playing Binions. It has no need to tart itself up as an Italian villa, a medieval castle, a sultan’s palace, an Egyptian pyramid. It is what it is, and no more: a gambling hall. The history of the place hits you like a fist as soon as you walk in, carried by the smell of stale cigarettes, dirty bills and hope. The tables are grungy and the chips stick together. But I like it; I’m comfortable there, which says quite a lot about my character frankly. The dealers are excellent judges of character, and will joke around with you as much as you can take – the repartee between Joe the Dealer and Garth was as funny as classic Abbott and Costello. (Now the dealers at the Excal on the other hand, well, they SUCK! Cheerless bastards to a man.)
The tourney has all of two tables, and I just barely make the “final” table. By then Weak and Amy have arrived, so Amy and I jump on a limit game while Garth and Weak play NLHE. Statik? He becomes J’s good luck charm and must stay near her so she can rub him for luck. And no, don't bother going there - we already did. I get no special hands, but I did learn what a straddle was, thanks to Sox. Funny, it’s not nearly as intriguing as I thought - apparently it’s a poker thing. Drat.
Friday, Part B; aka “now I know why I’m so uncomfortable…my bra’s on too tight.” (2)
J finished second in the Binions tourney, and then I “let” her talk me into heading to the Gold Coast for the LIPS Tour Ladies Event Satellite. It was a pretty good playing field for me, challenging without being completely intimidating. I made some good calls, like putting shakey-hand Ipod Asian woman on lower pocket paint when I had pocket Kings – one of the few times all weekend when I was right. An early double up helped me last through some bizarre blind levels, but eventually I fell victim to a suckout and busted around 50th or so out of 180-ish (the top 18 got seats to the Ladies WSOP Event, alas). I outlasted J, but then again, I didn’t have Barbara Enright at my table.
What comes next is an hour’s worth of getting jerked around by the Gold Coast as I tried to find a bank machine that would accept my Canadian debit card or credit card so I could get some cash to take a cab. Add my normal low tolerance for being the buck in a game of Pass-The-Buck to the charm of riding the hormone rollercoaster and you’ll understand why I stood in my hotel room and seriously debated on bailing from heading to the MGM. But I thought to myself, “Self, you need a really fucking big martini first!” and then headed over. Which brings me to..
Friday, Part C; aka “Bartenders are +EV.” (3)
God, MGM was awash in a sea of bloggers. No way was I going to play in the pissy mood I was in (again, ty ever so much, Gold Coast and estrogen, I appreciate it), so I cruised around introducing myself. Veneno, Pauly, Iggy, Maudie, Dawn, Don, Carmen, Hoyazo; time after time I’d put out my hand for a handshake and say “Hi, I’m Katitude” only to get pulled into a huge hug.
I looked over at the bartender and asked for a martini that tasted like raspberries. And this is where the evening goes all pear-shaped.
I’d like to say I have clear recollections of the decade known as the 80’s. But I don’t. There are flashes through the fog as some chemical synapse occasionally fires; a memory is accompanied by a sigh, a smile or a groan (depending on what I did), and then said memory is softly and quietly ushered back into the fog, to live there until Alzheimer’s hits me and I can relive them again in relative peace.
Friday night is like that. I do believe it turned out to be a 5-to-7 martini night, but I could very well be wrong. Asses were grabbed, yes. Not the first time it's ever happened, but definitely the first time an acronym has been coined for the event. I do recall asking someone if they minded being sexually objectified (Garth? Pauly? Both?). I think the answer was “Hell, no!” The talk was lewd and lascivious – of that I’m sure (tends to happen around me, dunno why). And I had a great time. That I so desperately needed – between work (both school and the biz), my grandma’s passing, and a pile of other shit too dear to go into now, I was heading for a time. I’m just glad it was a good time, and that I was around friends. And if not friends, then somewhat likeminded people.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(1) Garth to Joe, the dealer at Binions
(2) Overheard at the LIPS Tour satellite
(3) Iggy at the MGM bar
Woke up early and headed to Binions for breakfast (I love country fried steak. LOVE IT! But am pretty happy they don’t have it up here in the Great White North. My arteries couldn't take it.), and the 10am tourney. Garth, SoxLover and StatikKling showed up, still working on the drunk of the day before. My GOD those guys were funny! Read the post from Saturday for the quotes.
I love playing Binions. It has no need to tart itself up as an Italian villa, a medieval castle, a sultan’s palace, an Egyptian pyramid. It is what it is, and no more: a gambling hall. The history of the place hits you like a fist as soon as you walk in, carried by the smell of stale cigarettes, dirty bills and hope. The tables are grungy and the chips stick together. But I like it; I’m comfortable there, which says quite a lot about my character frankly. The dealers are excellent judges of character, and will joke around with you as much as you can take – the repartee between Joe the Dealer and Garth was as funny as classic Abbott and Costello. (Now the dealers at the Excal on the other hand, well, they SUCK! Cheerless bastards to a man.)
The tourney has all of two tables, and I just barely make the “final” table. By then Weak and Amy have arrived, so Amy and I jump on a limit game while Garth and Weak play NLHE. Statik? He becomes J’s good luck charm and must stay near her so she can rub him for luck. And no, don't bother going there - we already did. I get no special hands, but I did learn what a straddle was, thanks to Sox. Funny, it’s not nearly as intriguing as I thought - apparently it’s a poker thing. Drat.
Friday, Part B; aka “now I know why I’m so uncomfortable…my bra’s on too tight.” (2)
J finished second in the Binions tourney, and then I “let” her talk me into heading to the Gold Coast for the LIPS Tour Ladies Event Satellite. It was a pretty good playing field for me, challenging without being completely intimidating. I made some good calls, like putting shakey-hand Ipod Asian woman on lower pocket paint when I had pocket Kings – one of the few times all weekend when I was right. An early double up helped me last through some bizarre blind levels, but eventually I fell victim to a suckout and busted around 50th or so out of 180-ish (the top 18 got seats to the Ladies WSOP Event, alas). I outlasted J, but then again, I didn’t have Barbara Enright at my table.
What comes next is an hour’s worth of getting jerked around by the Gold Coast as I tried to find a bank machine that would accept my Canadian debit card or credit card so I could get some cash to take a cab. Add my normal low tolerance for being the buck in a game of Pass-The-Buck to the charm of riding the hormone rollercoaster and you’ll understand why I stood in my hotel room and seriously debated on bailing from heading to the MGM. But I thought to myself, “Self, you need a really fucking big martini first!” and then headed over. Which brings me to..
Friday, Part C; aka “Bartenders are +EV.” (3)
God, MGM was awash in a sea of bloggers. No way was I going to play in the pissy mood I was in (again, ty ever so much, Gold Coast and estrogen, I appreciate it), so I cruised around introducing myself. Veneno, Pauly, Iggy, Maudie, Dawn, Don, Carmen, Hoyazo; time after time I’d put out my hand for a handshake and say “Hi, I’m Katitude” only to get pulled into a huge hug.
I looked over at the bartender and asked for a martini that tasted like raspberries. And this is where the evening goes all pear-shaped.
I’d like to say I have clear recollections of the decade known as the 80’s. But I don’t. There are flashes through the fog as some chemical synapse occasionally fires; a memory is accompanied by a sigh, a smile or a groan (depending on what I did), and then said memory is softly and quietly ushered back into the fog, to live there until Alzheimer’s hits me and I can relive them again in relative peace.
Friday night is like that. I do believe it turned out to be a 5-to-7 martini night, but I could very well be wrong. Asses were grabbed, yes. Not the first time it's ever happened, but definitely the first time an acronym has been coined for the event. I do recall asking someone if they minded being sexually objectified (Garth? Pauly? Both?). I think the answer was “Hell, no!” The talk was lewd and lascivious – of that I’m sure (tends to happen around me, dunno why). And I had a great time. That I so desperately needed – between work (both school and the biz), my grandma’s passing, and a pile of other shit too dear to go into now, I was heading for a time. I’m just glad it was a good time, and that I was around friends. And if not friends, then somewhat likeminded people.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(1) Garth to Joe, the dealer at Binions
(2) Overheard at the LIPS Tour satellite
(3) Iggy at the MGM bar
0 Responses to “Vegas Redux, Part 2 of 4”
Post a Comment