My Lady

Napoleon Dynamite: Stay home and eat all the freakin' chips, Kip.
Kip: Napoleon, don't be jealous that I've been chatting online with babes all day. Besides, we both know that I'm training to be a cage fighter.

”Napoleon Dynamite”

You know, I fail to see what the big deal was about this movie. I thought it was just ok, nothing spectacular – which was probably what it was going for. Our flatmate got all pissy too when I told him this, because he still can’t believe that we didn’t like Hitchhiker’s as much as he did. Moving on…

I have hardly played much poker over the last weekend, maybe due to a severe bout of jealousy at all my fellow bloggers hitting up Vegas. I did have an excellent exchange at the tables a few night ago though.

Early on I limp with cards I can not recall now, and then manage to hit a flush on the turn or river, taking down a medium sized pot – nothing to write home about. Then some ass starts talking. Actually, all he did was type “poofter” in the chat box. For the uninitiated, this is an Australian (and British) word for a homosexual. So this means not only am I being insulted at the table, it is coming from a fellow country men. I choose not to respond, which makes him say “You probably don’t even know what it means”. His stack is at $6 and I plan on taking it.

Unfortuantly, I put him all in when I had A8s, and he had KQs which was good for two pair. He is back up to a healthy sized stack thanks to another small stack who came for the ride. A little back and forth action, and then I am dealt pocket Queens.

My relationship with the pocket Queens goes way back. It first started when I thought I made the move of my life in a live game by laying them down pre-flop against two all-ins. One player had 66, the other had 99 and there was a Queen on that flop. In these live games, I seem to get knocked out by a Queen in someone’s hand or by a Queen hitting the flop more often than not. Even my lovely distraction knocked me out with pocket Queens in one tournament. I have lost countless pots with them, but still I play them like nothing has ever happened. Maybe this is the result of a seasoned poker veteran, or the resolve of a young punk willing to get kicked in the junk by two bitches who will leave him broken and battered without batting an eyelid.

I managed to give myself enough strength to raise 4xBB pre-flop. He re-raises me and I take a deep breathe as I push my chips into the middle. I just know this jack ass is going to call.

After all the cards are dealt, nothing above a ten is on the board and no flush possibilities. I show my Queens, and he shows AQ for ace high nothing. I managed to clean him out and then some, which prompted him to re-type his original insult, only this time in capital letters. He did not re-buy, much to my dismay, and left immediately. I addressed the rest of the table: “Shame he’s gone. I liked him.” I play for another hour without loosing any ground and cash out.

It’s always fun to leave the table at a profit, but it feels even better when it is at the hands of some nimrod like that.

The distraction and I started honeymoon shopping on the weekend, which really means we just grabbed a bunch of brochures. It’s still too early to get in on all the good deals, but when her maid of honour starts working at the travel agents next month, you can bet we’ll be cashing in a few favours.

I’ve always said that if we ran into a bunch of money somehow, we would have our honeymoon in Vegas. I don’t know why she agrees, but that is now our number 1 holiday destination. Sure, we have no plans to go there because it would costs us upwards of $10K to do it, which is about $8K more than we have budgeted for. But you know, if I should maybe get $10K delivered to my hone in unmarked small bills, we’d be in Vegas before the die bomb went off.

Looks like the Pacific Islands are a much more viable option for the time being.