Saturday, January 13, 2007

A Poker Rant for the Saturday Morning

I had a delightful read from the Manolo this morning. I so agree wit him, because I hate long denim skirts. I have hated them ever since the first year of college when I had this girl in my class and all she wore were long denim skirts. *Swishswishswishswish* was the sound she made when she walked and you could hear her a mile away. Not to mention how freakin' difficult it must be to wear them. Ugh. Yeah, I know, I'm a bitch and I shouldn't hate because it is her choice. But seriously, it's so heavy and not practical at all (BAD JUDGMENT) for any season!

And, yes, you read that right. I was up in the A.M. on a Saturday for once, on about 6 hours of sleep. Gah, my aunt from the Far East called me at 10:00 am (it was 11:00 pm over there at the time) and now I'm tired, but I can't go back to bed.

Last night, Dev debuted his homemade poker table. I wish I took pictures but I was distracted because everyone was totally peeving me. Yeah, that's right. Largely because I was made to sit in front of the open window (for the smokers). I even suggested we just shift around (not change spots, just shift around the table) so that the smokers could conveniently have the window and ashtray and I can be warm. But, no. I don't know why, but everyone was bitching at me for everything (even almost-bitched at for fanning the smoke away from me. WTF) and I then remembered why I hate playing Poker. Like, I love playing the game, but there's just a love-hate relationship I have with it. For one, it's a fun game. For another, it brings out the absolute worst in everyone (although everyone says I am the one who brings it out) competitive- and greediness-wise. Whatever. I guess you have to take the best and the absolute worst with everything (and everyone).

And as usual, whenever Poker stops being fun, I'm probably going to take a break from it for a little while (good news for the smokers!) and *gasp* perhaps pick up a book or two for my Friday/Saturday nights. I understand that it is just the way the male species is and I wholeheartedly accept it and I will tolerate it (I have to, if I'm going to have mostly male friends). However, there is a certain extent to how much I think I can take and I guess if I leave a game feeling 'furrowed' and yucky (aside from the smoke. Okay, last time I'll bitch about it), it's a sign that I need to take a break.

HAHAHA, I'm gonna be like those nonsensical couples who don't break up but take 'breaks' from their relationships to 'find themselves' (translation: find better things/people to do). I don't want to break up with Poker, because we've been together for two years and to break up would be a waste of two years (ahh, another nonsensical thing couples do) but it's time for a break from each other. I love you, Poker, but it's not you, it's me. You need to find yourself and see if perhaps if I am worthy of your soft felt surface and shiny cards. And I need to (most definitely) delve into other interests like, um,... hmm,... Strip Poker, anyone?


kathy said...

There was smoking inside? I'm shocked...

melz said...

Second hand smoke = CANCER.

Barf. I feel gross. I couldn't breathe... I felt like I was dyimg. Ugh.

A Concerned Citizen said...

Cigarette smoke is the residue of your pleasure. It permeates the air, my hair and clothes, not to mention my lungs. This takes place without my consent.
I have a pleasure - I like a beer now and again. The residue from my pleasure is urine. Would you mind if I stood on a chair and piss on you without your consent?