DC

DC

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Memphis Mojo I am Not

For weeks, I've been looking forward to playing a decent tournament.  So, earlier this week, I booked a room at the Sheraton Wilmington South and planned on playing the noon Deep Stack at Delaware Park.  $150 buy-in . . . $30,000 stacks . . . 25 minute levels.

Last night, I set my alarm for 8:30 am, with plans to hit the road at 9:00.  I'd take the scenic route west over the Bay Bridge and up route 301 through the eastern shore.  A 2 hour drive, which would put me at Del Park an hour before cards up.   I tried to get to sleep around 10:00.  But, 5 episodes of Catfish later, it was almost 1:00 am.  Damn, you Nev!!!

I awoke at 8:00, not quite as well-rested as planned.  Hit the road, and was registered by 11:15.

I worked my stack to $42,000 by the first break.  Feeling good.  Then . . . . . . . . . nothing.  Two hours of crap.  63, 82, K3, A4, T6 . . .  Two. Fucken. Hours.  Best hand I had was KJ.  But I was UTG and folded it.

Eventually, I was blinded/anted down to $32,000.  Bored.  Like, really bored.  Blinds were $600/$1,200/$100.  Dude in early position, sitting on about $50,000, opens to $3,000.  Action to me, and I looked down at QQ.  FINALLY!  I re-raise to $8,000.  It folds around to original bettor.  He shoves all in.  Um. Great.  I still have $24,000 chips.  Average stack is $45,000.  If I fold, I'm not crippled.  I think - what the fuck am I beating here?   Kid had played some hands; but he was not splashy.  AK is likely the bottom of his range.  And, why would he not just flat with AK?  Is he risking his stack with JJ?  He must know I have a hand, since I literally haven't played a hand in hours.  It's an easy fold, right?

Wrong.  Perhaps it was a result of playing NOTHING for two hours.  Perhaps my head had been taken out of the tournament.  I'm not sure what the cause.  But the result was a call.  

Shockingly (sarcasm alert), villain flips cowboys and I'm done.

******

I went and grabbed dinner and some beers, and planned on playing the 7:00.  But, frankly, I knew I was not in the proper mental state to play an MTT.  I was still the guy who called off $32,000 with QQ in a four-bet pot.   Instead, I went back to the Sheraton to grab a few more drinks at the hotel bar. And update this blog.

And, as if my horrible call was not punishment enough . . . I'm stuck here with a fuck-load of young kids from a local soccer tournament and their drunk and annoying parents.   I mean, the bartender clearly does not want to make another Shirley Temple for your shitty kid.   Nor does she want to pour any more waters, or place another order of chicken fingers, for your obnoxious brats.  Nor do I want to see this poor woman wasting her Saturday night serving these non-tipping fuckers.  While I don't have frequent contact with this demographic, my impression is that soccer parents are assholes.  Your kids are not adorable.  They are not special.  Even if your kid scored two goals today against 12 other  out-of-shape shits, he's still likely to be a loser at life.  Further, soccer moms are not cute.  Just varying degrees of fatness. And, if you think you are the cutest of the group, just remember -- shit be relative...  And, from what I'm overhearing, personality is no equalizer in this crowd.  As for the dads.  Go fuck yourselves.  Why are your kids/wives hanging out in the bar area annoying me anyway?  Just because your Saturday night is fucked doesn't give you permission to permit your shitty family to poison mine!  Yet, here I sit.  After my performance, I deserve no better . . .  

Vegas Thursday.  Zoom.  The future is bright.

P.S.  Fuck these annoying kids.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Lunch Break Ass Probe Courtesy of SexyCock

Today, during lunch, I log on to Seals and decide to play a few hands.  The only full-ring game going on in my buy-in range is the .01 / .02 no-rake micro.  I buy in for the full 4 chips, thinking playing a few hands in this shit-show is better than spending 30 minutes reading incomprehensible posts on RTP or the comments from Ray ("John Doe") on TBC's blog, which, for the record, have been scientifically proven to actually lower your IQ.  Seriously.  It happens, folks.

First hand played after limping the blinds:

AK off (both black).

Raise to .08.  Two callers, one of whom is a gentlemen who goes by the moniker, "SexyCock."  No doubt a high-power executive in some high rise office in one of this country's power centers who, like me, is just trying to grind some hands during lunch. 

Flop:  J(h) 5(d) K(h).

Pot: (.44)  SexyCock checks, I bet .30  SexyCock quickly calls.  Other player folds.

Turn: 2(s)

Pot (1.04).   SexyCock check calls .7.  

River A(h).

Pot (2.44).  SexyCock jams for 7+

Was he drawing?  Could be.  But, he could also be one of the many idiots who do incomprehensible things during games of this level.  I find it sort of hard to fold to this bet, given what I've seen players turn over in these spots in the past.  I call with my top 2, and SexyCock turns over a dirty QT.  Well, played, sir. 

I rebuy for 4.  Three hands later I open UTG to .10 with KK.  Two callers and the button raises to .5.  I re-raise to 2.5.  One caller calls all-in for his last 1.5, and button shoves.  I put in the other .5.  As expected:  my KK, callers TT, button's AA.  And a set of TTT takes the main pot, while button takes the side.

5 minutes, two hands, two buy-ins lost.  Fun lunch. 





 

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Zooooom - Postscript

Last night I cashed in some USAIR miles and some SPG points, and zzzzzoooooooooom.

Woke up to this view:


Watched some World Cup highlights from the living room of my suite:



Grabbed some coffee and breakfast at the Executive Lounge (and decided to update this blog):


Spent the day at the infiniti pool . . .


. . . and the ocean:



. . . and Sunday began with am cocktails:

. . . another delightful day at the beach:


. . . followed by dinner on the inter coastal (and a brutal finish to the USA game):


*********

And now for the downside of the quick weekend trip.  Sitting at the airport at 5:30 am.  Slept like shit last night knowing the alarm was set for 4:40am.  Woke up at 2:30 am and never fell back to sleep.   And, of course, got to the airport by 5:15 and breezed through the priority security lines.  So, now I'm an hour early . . . another hour I could have slept (or, not have slept, as the case may be).   Another brutal Monday after on tap.  There is always a price to be paid!

Until next time,

P3

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Trip Report Part Deuce -- The Magical City by the Sea

6:50 am. DING.  A bell wakes me up.  It takes me a minute to realize where I am.  In the air.  Stewardess gets on the horn and tells us we are in preparation for landing.  Several minutes later, a successful controlled crash at Philadelphia International.  Back to where this debauchery all started 6 days prior.

I grab my luggage and find my car in Daily Parking C.  Foggy, I roll down the ramp and merge on to 95.  It's rush hour on a Thursday morning.  Groggy people driving to skyscrapers downtown.  Me, groggy too, and possibly still a little drunk, making my way to Atlantic City to continue this epic bender.

I arrive at Showboat at 8:00.  I brush off the thought of immediately hitting some VP, and decide to see if I can check in to my room and get some sleep.  Success.  I head to a room on the 9th floor of the Bourbon Tower.  It's like a scene from American Horror Story.  A man in a robe, standing by a dirty window in the hallway, smoking a cigarette.  AC on a Thursday morning.

I enter my room and immediately wish I was back in Vegas.  Weird stains on the carpet.  Old, broken furniture.  Blood stains on the window shade.  Who had been here before?  And were they killed in this room?  I plug my phone into the only visible wall socket to charge, which requires me to unplug the lone lamp.  The room is now dark.  I try to get some sleep, but it never comes.  The running toilet is part of the problem.  3 Hours later, my phone rings.  The boys are back in town.  Time to get this show rolling . . . again.

We start with lunch at Whiskey Down at Revel, and then proceed to grind some slots.  Three grown "men" mashing Ms. Kitty.  I guess at some point, you just get so old you no longer give a shit.

Around 4, we hit the road for Philly.  It was a beautiful evening for bases. David Wright looked  amazing.  Here he is . . . rubbing down the shaft of his . . . bat:


Here he is standing:


Where's David Wright?



After a Mets victory, we headed back to Showboat and ended the evening like any group of self-respecting 40-year olds would -- by stuffing our faces with bacon burgers and onion rings at Johnny Rockets.  At 1:00am, thoroughly disgusted, we called it a night.

Friday was much the same.  We started with a trip down the boardwalk to Bally's for lunch and some sweet, sweet VP.   Then the beers started flowing.  And then it was on to the beach bar for some sun and some additional adult beverage.





Late afternoon it was back to Citizen's Bank for Friday night baseball.  An extra innings Mets loss.  We were halfway down the AC expressway when Philly knocked in the winning run.  Getting old sucks.  Seven days into the trip, fatigue was taking over.

Saturday started with a trip to Harrah's for lunch and mashing.  From there, it was off to Revel to mash some more.  It was there that CL hit the hand of the trip - a single, self-loathing, $4 Hail Mary over bet on a random slot which produced a $250 payout, earning him a new nickname, "Mr. +EV."  Just look at the excitement:

    

Meanwhile, Jimmy and I discovered the taco truck at Revel and started hitting the proverbial "sauce."  Corona Light after Corona Light.  By 6:00, we had a nice buzz going.  We decided to head to Borgata for dinner.   Izakaya for lobster rolls, sushi and sake.  Delightful.


After dinner, it was time for the petal to hit the metal.  Time to close out the trip with a bang.

We went back to The Boat.  CL called it a night.  Jimmy and I soldiered on.  A stop off at the Tapas bar at Revel for more drinks.  Then, buzzing hard, it was time to throw down on the black jack tables.  Back to Showboat to the House of Blues pit.  3 or 4 hours of beers and bets.  By 2:00 am, things were getting real fuzzy.   Each down about $250, with no intention of stopping any time soon.  And then it happened.  Rather than wait for the waitress, who was breaching her fiduciary duty to Jimmy and I by only coming around once every 20 minutes or so, thereby limiting our intake to 3 beers an hour, I took matters into my own hands and walked over to the bar to order a couple of 20 ounce drafts.  To the table I returned, with liquid gold in hand.  A full table of players place bets . . . the dealer spits out the cards . . . a round of betting begins . . . and, in the midst of it all . . . BOOOM.  Jimmy knocks his full cup over . . . . beer pours over the entire table . . . . soaking the felt . . . covering chips . . . and wilting the cards.  The pit boss comes over and oversees the end of the hand.  Now, I've seen people spill drinks many, many times.  Usually, the roll of towels comes out, the felt is patted down, and the game resumes.  Not this time.  The damage was too wide spread.  The table had to be closed down.  The pit boss was the opposite of pleased.  The fact that Jimmy and I were howling like jackasses the entire time probably did not lighten his disposition.  And, with that, our degeneracy and gaming was over.

But, the evening was not over.  We were hungry.  Ready for burgers.  So, off we went to Johnny Rockets . . . only to find it was closed for the evening.  What the fuck time was it?   A set back, for sure.  But, two raging drunks, hungry for grilled meats and bacon, were not to be denied.  So, we hopped in a cab, headed to Harrah's, placed an order at Bills Burger . . . and grabbed one last beverage while we waited.  Twenty minutes later, with burgers and onion rings in hand, we hailed a cab back to Showboat.

We get back to the room as the sun is coming up.  CL is already awake.   With a mixture of both pity and disdain, he watches as Jimmy and I attack our "breakfast".  Horrifically, after two bites, my burger slips out of my hands, and I watch, in movie-like slo-mo, as it drops to the ground.  Jimmy yells out, "FIVE SECOND RULE!!!"  But, even as drunk as I am (like, too drunk to hold on to a burger), I know I am not eating anything off the blood stained floor of this particular room.  An hour and a half of work to get that burger . . . wasted in one tragic instant.  This is no way to end an epic trip . . . .

The next morning, I awake at 10:00.  CL and Jimmy are already gone.  I stumble down to valet in a haze.  30 minutes goes by, and no car.  Then I see the valet supervisor walking around with an Infinity fab in her hand.  Ugh.  Flash backs of my trip two years ago when Caesars' valet "lost" my key inside my car . . . What now?  Turns out, the valet ran over a nail and my tire was flat.  Perfect.

After changing the tire and throwing on the "donut" (actually, a valet changed the tire . . . I just threw him a $20), I decided to tackle the issue prior to making the journey back to D.C..  The valet supervisor recommended a tire shop in AC and gave me directions.   A short ten minute drive and I arrived.  The shop was in a neighborhood that was . . . um . . . somewhat unlike Bethesda, Maryland.  Like, if I were trying to get hit over the head, this was the type of place I'd go for a walk.  So, there I am, noon on a Sunday, standing on the sidewalk with, let's say, enough hundred dollar bills in my pocket to pay my mortgage for several months, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.  This was no way to end an epic trip . . .

Yet, the trip had, indeed, come to an end . . . An hour later, with the tire patched, I was finally on the road.  Liver aching.  Vacation done.  Reality setting in.

In the end , I endured eight days of degeneracy and gambling . . . two fine filets . . .  4 sushi dinners . . . enough beers and cabs to intoxicate a village . . . and lost less than $1,000.  A win in my book!    






Tuesday, June 10, 2014

A Tale of Two Hands -- (Edited to Add Results)

I spent last weekend playing live poker.  No.  Seriously.  I did.  Saturday, after a few hours at the pool, I made the drive up Route 28 and took the scenic way to Charles Town, arriving around 2:00.  Thanks to Maryland Live!, there are no longer crazy waitlists at the Chuck.  I was seated almost immediately as a new table opened up.  I spent the next three hours folding cards.  In all, aside from limping a few blinds, I played three hands:  (1)  I opened from UTG with KQ with a $12 raise, and got two callers.  Flop was J-high, and I lead for $18.  Fold, Fold.  (2)  I raised to $12 with TT, got three callers, saw a flop with two overs, and folded to a donk bet; (3)  After a $5 straddle, I opened to $15 UTG with AA . . . MP shoved a TBC Stack ($35) and got a call from an older guy sitting on around $200.  There was $93 in the pot.  Perhaps a questionable move here, but I decided to make the older guy play for his stack, and shipped two stacks of red.  The older guy tanked long and hard, but eventually folded.  My aces held up to MP's QQ.  After 3 hours, I was starving, and left with $15 profit. 

Sunday was rinse and repeat.  This time, however, after the pool, I drove up I-95 to MDL!.  Here too, there was no wait.  In fact, according to Bravo, there was very little wait at Maryland Live! all weekend.  Perhaps the initial hype is dying down.  I hope so . . . because I'd much prefer to play at Live! but refuse to wait 2 or 3 hours to do so.  Anyhow . . . This session started out in the red after an early hand:

I limped from late position with 9T spades, and we went four to the flop, which was a delightful KTT rainbow.  After it checked around, I led for $12 and got one call from a solid player directly to my right.  The turn blanked and villain checked again.  I lead for $23.  He called.  The river was the Ace.  This time, Villain lead for $45.  Was it possible he had limped with QJ and was chasing the open-ender?  I hated myself, but I made the call.  He flipped KT for the flopped nutz.  Well played, sir.

For the next three hours, I played about $100 in the hole . . . right on the verge of reaching into my pocket to add on the 4 quarters I had purchased at the cage before the session started.  But I stayed patient and did not push things.  And then the rush came.  AA . . . twice.  KK.  44 turned quads . . . and 99 turned quads.  The first AA, the KK and the 4444 did not pay off.  Put I got paid with the 99, which was particularly satisfying, because it was against the solid player my right.  I also got paid with the second AA:

I was in position on the hand.  An older reg opened to $12 and got a call from another middle age reg.  When the action got to me, I re-raised to $38.  The original better called, and the other guy tanked and folded.  The flop was 46J rainbow.  The guy checked to me.  Normally, I'd fire here.  But I decided to check back to create some deception (or, at least I thought that was what I'd be doing . . .).  The turn blanked and the guy fired $55.  I slow-called.  The river dinked and the guy fired $110.  I thought about raising, but I was hesitant of JJ.  So I just called.  Villain flipped QQ and I scooped. 

In retrospect, I'm not sure if my flop check was a good play, or if it simply cost me a street of value.  Thoughts on this one? 

I left after 4 hours with a $290 profit and went to burn my $55 in free play on the double double bonus devils game (which, I actually ended up cashing out . . .).  Solid day.

And now, as for the title of this post . . . yesterday I played my first session in weeks on Seals with Clubs.  My initial 50 chips was sitting at 146 to start the day.  I am still playing the .05/.10 game.   I bought in full for 10 chips.

Very early on I raised three limpers to .35 with AJ hearts from the blind.  I got a call from a player in MP, whom I had already pegged as a LAG Donk.  Another player called from late position.  The flop was A6J rainbow.  I lead for .65 and both called.  The turn blanked and I lead for 2.15.  Lag called and late position shoved for 7.87.  I figure 66 is the only hand I'm worried about.  And that's just Poker Grump's "Monster Under the Bed" . . . So I shove it in and LAG also called to create a big pot.  River is nothing.  I flip my top two . . . Lag flips . . .  A5 . . . Yep.  Story checks out.  And, finally, late position player had ????

So, to steal a bit from Poker Meister . . . what would you have done on the turn?


ETA -- late position had 66.  Sometimes, monsters DO exist!

A few hand later, I'm sitting on [xxxx] and I get into it again with the Lag-Tard.  This time, I have AQ and open out of position to .35.  Lag-Tard calls.  Flop is Q68.  I lead for .40 and he calls.  The turn is a K.  I lead for 1.1 and he calls.  River is another K.  I check.  Lag-Tard shoves for 7 + . . .

What's the Play Here?


Results to Follow.
ETA - I rebought following my stacking.  Lag-Tard's line didn't make much sense at all.  He limo-called preflop . . . and called the flop.  It's hard to give him a K in that spot.  KQ, maybe . . . what what else?  So . . . I make the call and he flips Q7. 


I ended the session up slightly 15 minutes later . . .


I'm wondering if you can really learn anything from playing a .05/.1 game on seals.




-P3

PS.  Part Two of the Trip Report will be up Soon

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Paradise, Nevada Trip Report - Part 1

It's Saturday morning.  It's been a week since I returned from vacation.  I slept 12 hours last night.  I'm still not fully recovered.   Yes, it was that rough . . . I spent a full 8 days alternating between (a) pure awesomeness and (b) just hoping not to die.  I'm too old for this type of debauchery.   Seriously.

Friday

I left work around 3:00 Friday afternoon.  Destination -- the Sheraton Suites, Philadelphia Airport.   I decided to try and avoid the I-95 traffic through Charm City, so I headed out through New York Avenue to Route 50, over the Bay Bridge and north down the Eastern Shore.  It was a fantastic drive and a great way to kick off a week long adventure.   I rolled into Philly around 7:00, checked in, and grabbed a burger and a few beers while watching the Silly's game at the airport bar.  I hit the sack around 11:00.

Saturday

The alarm went off at 4:30 am.  Game on.  I made the 2 mile trek to the airport and was at the gate well in time for the 7:00 flight to the desert.  5 hours later . . . Paradise, Nevada.

I was able to check into the MGM at 10:30 am with no wait.  The woman at reception was kind enough to remind me that I had lost my MLIFE Platinum and was relegated to Gold.  I promised to do my best to regain my former status.  But, in my head, I knew 200,000 points was not in the cards for 2014.  My goal was simply to re-up Gold Status with a mere 75,000 points.  After my trip to MGM in January, I was sitting on 26,000, so I had work to do.

After checking in, it was off to Michael Mina Pub for a cold miller lite and some lunch.  From there, I grinded some 100 hand VP for a few hours.  The machine was a total money suck.  I was down $400 or so within two hours.  After another $200 in losses on some single hand machines, I took a breather.    Words of wisdom from a wise man ran through my head: "a gambling addict is someone who repeatedly spends 100% of what he has til he is broke, in no way would any program ever consider me a gambling addict. i dont ever do this."  I am not an addict.  I decided to call it a day on the wagering.

I decided to head over to the Linq.  I love that place.  So, I made the slow walk north down the strip, stopping off at the PH for a beverage at the sports book bar . . . . and at Gustav's at Paris for a beverage.   I checked out the new Cromwell for the first time.  Interesting.  Pretty cool vibe.  Lots of dark colors.  Lots of tables.  Unrecognizable from the old Barbary Coast . . . and the slightly less old Bills.  The place was filled with young kids, likely coming down from the rooftop "Day Club" at the pool.  It looks like Caesars has found it's answer to the Cosmopolitan (or the Revel in AC).  A hip place, filled with lots of young partiers who spend a ton on bottle service and little money gambling.  I'm not sure why Caesars was trying to answer the question in the first place . . .  

I hit the Linq around 4:30 and grabbed a corona light draft at the outdoor bar at the new O'Sheas.  I love this spot.  Somewhere while on my 3rd or 4th corona, I whipped out the iPhone and decided to see whether or not there were tickets left to the Guns and Roses show later that evening at the Joint.  GA floor still available.  Bingo.  I bought a ticket right there at the bar.  And, with doors opening at 10:45, and showtime set for an hour later, I only had 6 hours or so to kill before heading over to the Hardrock.  Having decided to shut down the monkey mash for the day, that left my options limited.  Continue drinking?  Or continue drinking?  I decided to drink some more.  At Ruths' Chris.

The bar at Ruths' Chris is one of my favorite stops on the Strip.  The view is hard to beat, the service is great and the food is fantastic.  I rolled in around 6:00, started with some Franciscan Cabernet and seared Ahi, and moved on to a Filet (medium rare) and creamed spinach.

After dinner, it was off to the Hardrock.  Pre-party.  5 more beers later, it was show time.  And after an hour set from some opening act hair band, GNR (or, more accurately, Axl Rose) took the stage at around 1:00 am and for a played three hours.  Axl may be bloated as fuck, but he's still got the pipes:  


video

I got back to MGM around 4:30 am and passed out.  Day one in the books.

Sunday:

I woke up around 8:30 Sunday morning after a solid 4 hours sleep.  Jet lag sucks.  So does the morning after a 20 beer effort.   And the afternoon as well, for that matter.  I spent most of the day just hoping to live.  I drank water.  And coffee.  And tried to focus on some 100 VP.   Finally, at 4:00, I went back to Michael Mina and ordered a miller lite and the Tuna Poke.  Which was followed by some more sweet, sweet VP.  And then a few more beers at Lobby Bar.  And then another beer over sliders at the new Sports Pub at MGM during the Rangers game.  By 9:00, I felt pretty good.   And, by "pretty good," I mean, confident I'd live . . .  I had tickets for the GNR show again.  But, this time, it started an hour later -- 11:45.  I figure Axl isn't taking the stage to 1:30 am, the earliest.  Sadly, there was no way I was making it two nights in a row.  Instead, by 10:30, I was done for the night.  And down about a grand after two days.

Monday

Monday started off at the pool.  And then to the Burger Bar at NYNY for lunch and the first beverage of the day.  Afterwards, I decided to rack up some sweet, sweet Ceasar's tier points.  I landed in the desert with 14,300 points, and I knew I'd make Diamond at some point during the week.  I was hoping to hit it on my home turf in AC.  I was expecting a cake . . . balloons falling from the ceiling . . . showgirls dancing . . . maybe an appearance by Gary Loveman . . .   Nevertheless, I figured I'd play a bit at the Quad, Flamingo and Harrah's . . .  By 5:00, I was down another $500.

Around 9:00, I went over to Shibuya at MGM for dinner.  I had never been before.  Koi had always been my Vegas sushi joint.  But, I figured I'd branch out and try something new.  And from the Japanese beer, to the sashimi, to the rolls, to the kobe beef . . . dinner did not disappoint:





After dinner (which included three beers and a glass of sake), Monday evening got hazy.  I played some VP at the Whisky Bar . . . a strolled over to the Tropicana . . . and had a few beverages at Hooters.  And then walked back to MGM:



It was 4:00 am when my phone finally died.  And the sun was coming up when I finally got back to the room.  I'd provide more details of my evening . . . if I could . . .

Tuesday

Predictably, Tuesday sucked.  Like, badly.  I was too hungover to hit the pool.  I was too hungover to grind VP.  I sure as shit was too hungover to play the 1:00 PM at Aria as I had intended.  So I walked down the strip over to the mall at PH . . . fading the feeling of passing out . . . When I finally made it to the Miracle Mile, I stopped by the ABC store and picked up a Muscle Milk, which was about all I could eat.  Then I walked some more.  

I got back to MGM around 4:00 and decided to hit the pool.  After two hours floating around, I was back.  It was 6:30 and my day was basically just beginning.  I grabbed a cold beverage and wandered the MGM.  I was looking to head out of the gate slowly.   But how?  And then I saw it.  Wonderful.  Yet awful at the same time.    Who couldn't love it?  I had to play:



 An hour later, I was "down" 4 corona lights, and up $75 in cold hard cash.  The evening was afoot.

Around 8:00, I went back to Shibuya for dinner.  More Japanese beer, yellowtail sashimi, tiger rolls, and beef short ribs.  

Around 11:00, I went back to the Whiskey bar to grind some more VP.  This time, I asked for a wine menu.  They had the Stags Leap Artemis at $25 a glass.  I figured what the hell, and ordered a glass.     I was fully expecting to pay, and was shocked when the bartender comped it!  What?  Game on.  This might have been the first time ever bar top VP was going to be +EV.  I played two hours and had 5 glasses.  Fortunately I didn't need the comp drinks to be +EV, as I ended up grinding out a nice $150 profit.  Up $200+ for the day.  Down $1,300 for the trip.

Wednesday  

  Wednesday was my last day in the desert.  I was up at 9:00, and went straight to the pool for a few laps around the lazy river.    Three hours later, it was time to gambooool.  I started out playing a few hours of break even VP at MGM.  Then, around 3:00, I walked over to the Monte Carlo.  I grabbed a beer at the bar, slipped a crisp hundred into the machine, and started to grind double double bonus.  After 50 minutes, I was down about $65.  And then it happened.  33733 for $100.  Then, THE VERY NEXT HAND:


Quads, back to back.  This time, Aces for $200.  Then, 10 hands later, same machine:



Quad 4's for another $100.  After a few more hands, the machine cooled off and I pulled out $300 profit.

I walked back to MGM and grabbed a miller lite at Centrifuge.  I slipped a crisp hundred into the machine and loaded up the double double bonus.  Within 10 minutes - BANG:


This time, Quad Aces with the sweet, sweet kicker for $500.  Up $800 in an hour -- officially a VP heater!

And the heater continued with two more quads over the next hour:




Greatest.  VP.  Heater.  Ever.

Up $1,100 on the day.  $200 from break even.  Just a few hours left in the desert.  I decided to go for it with a bet on the Rangers-Habs game.  The OVER 5 seemed like the play.  $220 to win $200.  I had the push by the end of the first period . . . and cashed the over shortly into the second.  As the game went into overtime, my only concern was being able to cash the ticket prior to heading for the airport.  And, as 9:00 approached, with minutes to spare, the Rangers cashed their ticket to the Cup finals, and I cashed my winner at the book.

I got to McCarran by 9:30, and flew through ticketing and security in minutes.  Flying first class has it's advantages. 

I found a seat at a bar in Terminal C, grabbed one last beer, and reflected on 5 days of flagrantly degenerate machine play.  I didn't touch a single card -- no poker or live black jack.  Just, sweet, sweet video poker.  I ultimately hit 69,500 tier points, falling just short of Gold Status (which will have to wait until the next trip).

I hopped on the plane for a timely takeoff at 10:50, grabbed a single malt (neat) while the common man boarded, and was asleep before the plane left the tarmac.  Next stop . . . AC

[TO BE CONTINUED]

Monday, June 2, 2014

Coming Out

I never thought I'd be doing this on this blog.  In fact, I never gave any thought to doing this at all.  But, apparently, it's time for me to come out of the closet.  Yes, you've read correctly.  I'm coming out.


What lead to this all-important decision?  Had I been unhappy?  No.  Had I been struggling with my identity for a long time?  No.  Did I feel as if I had been living a lie, but was unsure why?  No.  Rather, over the weekend, I received the following in an email from Tony Bigcharles:


"i couldnt care least that we are different, and hold nothing about ur lifestyle (or ur homosexuality) against u."


And there you have it. 


Truthfully, my friends had no idea.  My family had no idea.  In fact, even I had no idea . . . until Tony's email.  

It's been several days now since I found out, and I'm still attempting to process it all.  Trust me when I say this - when you have no idea whatsoever, and then you  suddenly find out, it's a shock (almost as shocking as Tony using the phrase "couldn't care less" - or, at least something close to it - rather than the oft-misstated "could care less").  I don't feel any different than I did last week.  Really, I don't.  Hell, when I got to work this morning, I went on-line and found some screen-caps of a naked Nathalie Emmanuel from a recent episode of Game of Thrones . . . and it made me happy.  So, like, WTF?  That's sort of confusing to me now.  But, perhaps its just a normal part of the adjustment process.

Anyway, there you have it.  I'm officially out of the closet.  Thank you to TBC.  I only hope the rest of you are as understanding.

-P3 

P.S - a complete trip report (including lots of sweet, sweet video poker porn) will be forthcoming, as soon as I've recovered enough to not feel like I'm dying . . . Which, based on how I currently feel, may be a few days away . . .