I believe that writers are at their best when they are fucked up. Hemmingway and Thompson were fucked up the vast majority of the time, which is not to say I think myself comparable to those giants, but then let's not pretend I didn't intentionally take a few cues where I sense them. I'll pass on all the acid though.
I skip ahead enormously with this entry. I have no particular hand histories to report; not because I am at a lack for them, but simply because I cannot be fucked finding them and continuing things in a proper chronological order, though I'll get back to it later. I busted out of my 23rd poker tournament this summer today, making for my fifth cash. In some regards I feel quite good about how things have gone; in others I am less than pleased with myself due to one epic blowup and a greater sense from speaking with my roommates that I still miss so many angles and opportunities in this game of ours. It is an exhausting thing to be surrounded by so much talent, even though it is simultaneously such an appreciated resource and opportunity. A realistic person like myself cannot help but to come home and feel like a fucking idiot so many times I compare my thought process to that of my roommates and it is my hope that in the next six months of work and study I can potentially be on their level, or at the worst, close to it.
I am intoxicated because I went to the Doyle's room party tonight. It was an excellent time, and I had much to drink. I was all over the place as per usual, and in high spirits after "Busting that bloody donkament and getting my evening free to get drunk!" How did I bust? Well I actually thought it was semi interesting, and I ought to put at least one dash of strategy banter in an entry that will be predominately drunken banter:
My stack: ~50,000
Blinds 800/1600 with a 200 ante. I hold QsQd UTG 8 handed.
It was the first hand after returning from dinner break. I'd gone to dinner with online players 'Apestyles' and 'Grafyx'. Grafyx is a good ol' boy online poker player that I've known for years and a frequent poster on 2+2, and as nice as they come. Apestyles is the well known and much beloved Jon Van Fleet, online tournament mega badass who has written two books and quit drinking and the enjoyment of food in order to drop from something like 30% body-fat to 12. The homie is looking smooth. Oh right, I'm trying to talk about a hand here.
Additionally on the table was Kara Scott, who is relevant to the story because:
A. Kara Scott is relevant to all stories in which there is any potential for Kara Scott inclusion.
B. She said something during the hand.
The villain in the hand was a young guy who had been on the table for about 20 minutes prior to the break. He was young, very blond, and stoic; so I assumed he was Scandinavian and like the rest of them, was a sort of terminator-esque, cold, hard, calculating poker machine who would not experience emotion even were he to witness a baby rabbit being hit by a speeding truck. Such is the determination of the Scandi's.
Leading up to the hand the player in the BB had still not returned from break, apparently having ordered food too delicious for his time constraint. I raised things up to 3600 and after a couple players folded Kara remarked "You're just doing that cause the BB isn't here."
Don't think I believe her to be rude. Kara Scott is anything but; an intelligent and personable woman who is stunning both on and off the camera. Imagine the look on my fucking face when I rocked up to the table today and found her waiting two seats over to my right. Having talked with her today I found out she's actually Canadian but spent 10 years in England, leaving her with a similar style of quasi-fake accent that I find myself with after five in Australia. I watched a man tell her in nearly the most certain terms that he had KK today after she 3-bet him, and offered to show when the hand was over. Kara made a slow and painful lay-down with what she said was AK, and her opponent instantly flipped up the kings he promised he'd had. "God I wish I were a hot chick" Ape and I both said instantly. Having spoken with her it's quite clear why she's one of the few women in poker who somehow manages to avoid an avalanche of hate. There's nothing to hate on with her; she's as attractive as she is charming. Norman Chad has excellent taste. I digress from the hand though, again.
Things folded around to the button who counted out the necessary chips and called. I could swear there was some red gleam behind his eyes. The blinds folded.
Flop: 3h Ts Js
I bet 5500, the button calls.
I thought over my options slowly before taking action. I decided that he would likely 3-bet TT or JJ pre given that the BB was missing from the hand and I'm clearly pretty aggressive, so if I bet and he moved in I should likely call since his range will likely be a combination of two pairs, flush draws, occasional straights, strong top pairs, or combo draws; of which there are many he can push with. I counted out a bet of 11,000 (which should be larger) and slid it into the center of the table. My opponent thought briefly and announced that he was all in. "Yea well I told myself if you did that, that I was gonna call...yea I call." My opponent flipped up KQ and had me drawing to three outs for a chop. The river bricked a 7 and I was busted. I made some crack about how I was going to throw my coffee in his face which he laughed about and started shaking hands and wishing people luck around the table, then announced cheerfully "Sweet as! Time to get drunk!" And as my grammar and this entry shows, I made a proper go of it.
Lara Miller had invited me to the Doyle's room party at Blush, and I called up my friend Devo to arrange some company as I knew he was planning on going. As a resutl of recent happenings and study, I find that I am ultra direct when I go out these days. I tell women I am a polyamorist as quick as possible so I can gauge their reaction then continue from there. For those not familiar:
"Polyamory (from Greek πολυ [poly, meaning many or several] and Latin amor [love]) is the practice, desire, or acceptance of having more than one intimate relationship at a time with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved."
So the internet says. Naturally it's Greek because back in the day, well that's just how the Greek's rolled. When I tell people what I am in real life I always get the same response: "Oh, you just haven't met the right girl yet." The right girl for someone like me is the kind of girl who has the same ideas about the whole thing that I do, and the two of us will be so pleased to find someone who isn't fussed about what they do away from one another and can come home to tell each other the story with no dramas. I tell the women that I date that they are free to go out with me and go home with another man; there is always weed waiting for me at the house and it's really not a big deal. I have met few polyamorous women in my day and although there are plenty of girls who will date casually because they're not at a stage to settle, there are very few women are genuine "polys". I knew one, an amazing woman, but some cocksucker went and ruined her by talking her into being exclusive then cheating on her. I told her it was "Like watching the Mona Lisa get kicked in the face, it makes me so angry". She said I was very sweet, and nice that I wasn't being a robot for once.
It is such an awkward thing to be a polyamorist. Women will disqualify a polyamorist because they are certain there is never any potential for an exclusive relationship yet not a guy who pretends that he might consider one despite being a blatant player. Conversely, some women will intentionally seek you out because it's understand that you are absolutely the correct person to have casual sex with and there will be nothing weird after. It is a double edged sword; but the assumption is always made that you're out to avoid intimacy at all costs. This is by no means the case, and I can say that no matter what kind of hell I raise around Vegas I always wind up missing my girlfriend at the end of the day. From what I can tell about speaking to people who have gone through many relationships, there are in fact only a select few people that you really, genuinely click with. As much as I love the physical aspect of it all, it's really the quiet and personal moments that you really remember about someone. Getting blown in the back room of a Starbucks is a better story, but Valentine's day with my girlfriend is the better memory, and to hell with the juxtaposition of it all.
The series is almost over now. I have only the main event left to play, and if I can run good perhaps I'll last longer than the two hours I made it last year. I am so excited for it this time around, and even if it doesn't go well there is still the Bellagio Cup up after. When it's all over there will be no rest for this wicked; I intend to play an enormous volume of both online tournaments and cash games between mid July and January with the only break being in August when I return to Wisconsin to visit family and attend a wedding. I hope to fulfill my dream of being the "Worst Man" at one of my friends weddings. When I return to Vegas I feel like with the combination of an enormous work ethic and the coaching of my talented roommates I just might have the potential to do something with myself other than being yet another drunken writer.