“Fuck Jennifer Tilly”- June 2008

Another in a long line of work written by Lazers but stolen by "Security out". I would have printed it earlier, but there were problems.....

“Fuck Jennifer Tilly”

- June 2008

WRITTEN BY LAZERS

names edited by Hilts

It had been a good 18 months since my last vacation (I don’t count the trip for O.’s wedding, although I suppose I should), and I was looking forward to 8 nights spread across southern California and, to an even greater extent, the Nevada desert town that I love so much.

Agenda: focus of California was to meet my new little cousin (The Bat), the daughter of the Elgin City Madman. For Las Vegas, the focus was my virgin entry into a World Series of Poker tournament.

Friday, June 13th

Major storms were threatened for overnight, and I was concerned about an on-time departure from O’Hare. United Airlines screwed with my itinerary, adding a plane-change in Denver while slicing 90 minutes off my window of time in Las Vegas to claim my bag then check in for my Southwest flight to Burbank.

I left the Lazlo around 4:00 am in order to catch my 6:00 am flight. It was raining, but not particularly hard. I made my way out towards Clark and Fullerton to catch a cab, and the rain decided to add the description “torrential downpour” to the mix. By the time I finally won my battle for a cab with the crowd of drunks leaving Neo, I was more drenched than Billy E in Lil’ Darlins’.

Despite the weather and a huge amount of travelers already at O’Hare, my flight to Denver left as scheduled. I have never been to Denver, and I had heard that flying into their state-of-the-art airport is cool, as the plane winds its way through the mountains before the airport appears out of nowhere. Are there two Denvers? I thought we were landing in the plains of Kansas.

I scurry over to the gate for my next flight (that gate of course being as far as possible from my arrival gate), and I find myself seated next to two guys each headed to Las Vegas for separate bachelor parties. The buzz has begun. As we land at McCarran, I can’t help but think how much it would suck to have to connect through Las Vegas without having any Las Vegas time on the agenda. I know I would have been mad. Thank God I’m back here in a few days.

As my plane taxied towards its McCarran gate, the thought running through my mind was wonder if airfare was already available for the pending January 2009 trip with Tommy T.

Three flights on two airlines with non-linked itineraries and weather concerns right from the beginning- yet I land at the Burbank airport on time. My sister picks me up and whisks me to the hotel for check-in.

We spent the afternoon checking out some stores with her also running some errands. I have her drop me back at the hotel for a bit while she runs one of those errands. I approach the elevator, where a busty Latina is already waiting. She starts to talk with me, I think primarily about the bad cell phone reception on the lower floors of the hotel. I keep thinking, “too bad this isn’t Las Vegas”- that scenario has a much different connotation when it occurs there. In Burbank, she’s just a friendly tourist.

"The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" and I headed up to Newhall for the evening in order to visit the Madman clan. When still in "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park"’s neighborhood, we encounter an idiotic driver making a very poor attempt at a three-point turn in a driveway. My too-intense sister starts railing on them, and I receive a laugh when the car turns out to be a Jetta- the vehicle well known as my sister’s enemy.

Was good to see the Elgin City mad Mad and Grandy and little At the Bat. She’s only a couple of months old, so there’s not a whole lot she does other than spit up and look like Peter Lorre. Very cool to meet her while I’m still more mature than she is. That situation will change within only a few years.

Saturday, June 14th

First line of business was to pick up Mom, Pop and Aunt Judith at the airport. They all arrived successfully, but only Mom’s luggage joined them. We still go the hotel to get them checked-in, and Elgin stayed on top of the luggage fiasco throughout lunch. Aunt Ju’s bag arrived while we were still eating- for some reason it was taken off the plane at their Las Vegas connection. Two down, one to go.

Aunt Ju, Mom and Elgin soon head out to San Diego, where they would be attending the US Open the next day. Pop, "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" , and I were also going to ride down to spend the evening with them, but Pop’s luggage was still MIA. Thus, we spent our Saturday night of vacation with Pop shopping for clothes and toiletries at Target then laundering them at my hotel. We did then cruise the “nightlife” area of downtown Burbank, stopping for a drink and appetizer at some bar. Pop is then escorted back to his hotel, and I could tell he was sad to be alone for the night (we were at separate hotels).

Sunday, June 15th

In the morning I talk with "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" , and she informs me that Pop’s luggage has been located. Woo-hoo! We head over to the airport to claim the bag as well as reimbursement for the items he had to purchase to get through the first day/night (plus, you know, for the effort). The Southwest employee was nice and helpful, and she had to call a supervisor to approve the vouchers. In the one and only “celebrity” sighting of the California portion of the trip, the supervisor turned out to be the busty Yolanda, one of the Southwest employees prominently followed in the A&E show “Airline”, where she helps out in various customer situations and usually ends up being hit on by the guy passengers. I didn’t say anything until afterwards, and Pop was bumming on me for not pointing this fact out at the time. I guess he wanted to hit on her, too.

The three of us do decide to make a jaunt down to San Diego, although "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" refuses to take Pop to see the Mexican border (probably a wise decision). By the time we arrive, "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" needs to fill the gas tank. She exits in the downtown area and is flummoxed by the lack of gas stations. Duh- has she never been in a downtown area before? So we’re driving around blindly, then when stuck at a light, I ask some passing police officers on bikes for directions. They gladly point us towards the nearest gas station (which sounded like it was still a bit away), but for reasons only she knows, "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" decides to ignore their directions completely. She continues on the road we already were on, stating, “There’s probably a gas station on this street.”

After finally finding a gas station, we head over to Coronado Island. Pop wants to go to the Coronado Hotel, which I gather is at least somewhat famous. Pop has been there before, and he was giving directions from memory, but "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" said she didn’t want to drive around aimlessly looking for it. Didn’t we just spend 20 minutes driving around aimlessly looking for gas?

At some point during all of this, I started wondering how hard it would be to coordinate a trip to see all 5 California baseball teams within a reasonable time period. Hmmm.

After checking out the hotel, we head to some Asian Bistro for lunch. "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" orders an iced tea, which comes with a slice of lemon. Pop orders a diet cola, which comes with a slice of lemon. I order lemonade, which does not come with a slice of lemon. Go figure. We start to question the waitress about this oddity, and she knew exactly where we were headed. She wonders the same thing.

Even though the Padres were on the road, I make "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" park near Petco so that I can check out the ballpark. It was cool to see, and there are several rows of bleacher-type seats outside of the ballpark in the outfield. I assume these must be free on a “first come, first served” basis? Pretty cool if that’s the case. I just don’t see how they could charge money for those and manage to enforce it.

We head back to Los Angeles, where "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" had one surprise in store for Pop. See, back around 1960, Pop moved to California to pursue a job in the entertainment industry. He didn’t last long- maybe as short as a month- before he found himself moving back home. Anyway, "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" took us to the neighborhood where he lived back then, and we looked for his apartment building on La Mirada. He’s pretty sure which one it was, and as "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" kept the car double-parked while he reminisced, I wondered how long it would take for us either to be shot or arrested.

We head out for some late grub, and the US Open crew stops by to drop off Mom and say hello. They had a great time at the Open, getting to see a lot of Tiger Woods (Aunt Ju’s focus for this excursion). At one point, a girl around 12 years old yelled to Woods that she loved him. Aunt Ju yelled that she loved him more, to which the girl responded with a “nyuh-uh.” As this feud settled as quickly as it started, let me just point out that my Aunt Ju is around 60 years old.

I ask "The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" why “Chatsworth, CA” would sound familiar to me. She said that’s the big porn city right now. Wow- I must be living a secret life that I’m bummed not to remember.

Monday, June 16th

"The Only other Punk Rocker in 1980's Marquette Park outside of Hilts" picks me up so that we can meet the parents for breakfast, after which we hung around just a bit before I had to be whisked to the Burbank airport for the next leg of my trip: Las Vegas. One thing I noticed about the Burbank airport: when I message is going to be played over the PA system, it is preceded by a “ting” that sounds like the opening of the “ting” played on Baseball Tonight when there is a game update coming. Each time I’d hear it, I would mentally complete the BT version.

I expected the Las Vegas airport to be somewhat dead, considering it was Monday afternoon. Wrong! It was a madhouse (I would later find out there were three sizeable conventions in town). The line for cabs was huge and enforced with Nazi-like precision. Fortunately it moved fast, and I soon found myself inside my own cab and headed to the Imperial Palace.

My cabbie asked the usual “where you from?” question, and upon hearing my response, he launched a huge anti-Cub tirade that wasn’t particularly clever, but I found it hilarious that he did so unprovoked. He liked using derisive nicknames- “Dumpster” and “Zambrini”. That latter one was poor, and I was happy to pass along the much better “Dumbrano” for his future use. He was a Pirates fan.

Imperial Palace- still a dump, but it’s a cheap dump with a great location. The place doesn’t seem to have changed one drop since I last stayed here 13 years ago. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I used the same towels and washrags on that prior trip. They badly need to renovate- add wall safes, add a bar-lock on the door, put some cans of Drano next to the bathtub. For a nod to an Imperial Palace stay from 16 years ago, I also found a bug in the bathtub one morning; however, it wasn’t a beetle.

Agenda for tonight: dinner reservation at Bobby Flay’s “Mesa Grill” in Caesar’s Palace, then head over to the Rio to check everything out prior to tomorrow’s tournament. I also planned to buy some snacks for the tournament, then get to bed early for a good night of sleep. I must also get back to a poker mindset- somewhere along the way I became horny. This town just brings out Sleazy Don.

With a bit of time before dinner, I head over to Bellagio, just to look around. It feels good to be home.

Over to Caesar’s Palace, where I still have an hour before dinner. I hang around the Sports book. I haven’t been around this much smoke in a while- my mind is blown by how noticeable it is.

Note on Sports book board: “Harrah’s…cannot take wagers on Boston Celtics games because Harrah’s…has an ownership interest in the Boston Celtics. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Time for dinner, and I’m dressed “business casual” as I was told, but it was apparent the dress code is much looser than that. Apparently, I packed my good shoes for nothing. The hostess was cute, as was one of the sommeliers. This might be the first time I’ve ever been in a restaurant that even had a sommelier.

• Appetizer: Tiger Shrimp & Roasted Garlic Corn Tamale, which featured very good pieces of shrimp, and I liked the sweetness of the corn.
• Entrée: spice-rubbed chicken breast with a slight cheese-based breading. The breast had a bone at the end of it. I’ve not seen chicken breast look like that before- the bone confused me. When I reached that end of it, there still appeared to be some meat, but as I tried to cut some off, I loudly clanked my utensil on the plate, so I gave up on that part. As a side, I had a Double-Baked Potato with horseradish, green onions and crème fraiche.
• Dessert: I might as well go all out into being a hog, so I ordered a frozen Chocolate Peanut Butter Mousse with raspberry compote, hot fudge and raspberry gelee. Now and then I would hit a pocket of salt (no doubt from the peanuts)- those bites were particularly joyous. Good dessert, although I think I would have liked to have seen it a bit less frozen.

Overall, I enjoyed my dinner, plus it had the humorous added bonus of the lady at the next table going on and on about “sticky cilantro”.

I changed back into much more casual clothing then took the shuttle to the Rio. I was able to check in for my tourney, receiving my buy-in receipt, a copy of the same for the dealer, and a $10 off coupon at all Rio restaurants. For reasons I cannot explain, I never used that coupon even though I twice ate at the Rio.

I check out the Amazon Room and scout out the location of my seat (Orange Section, Table 6, Seat 4). The first player I see that I know is Maria Ho, who finished an impressive 38th place in the Main Event last year. I was pleased to see her, and I’m sure you can tell why!



Event #28 (Pot Limit Omaha with Rebuys) was down to four players, and there was a lot of buzz because Johnny Chan was still alive, seeking a record-tying 11th bracelet. However, Johnny was pretty short-stacked and exited soon thereafter. I should have come to the Amazon Room earlier, as this same final table had previously included Phil Hellmuth, Daniel Negreanu and John Juanda. That’s a high-powered table!

Event #31 (No Limit Hold’em Six-Handed) was just coming off of break, and Robert Williamson III is barreling like a freight train towards his table, trying to ensure he wouldn’t miss a hand. Nobody was injured.

Hevad Kahn is seated near the rail in that same event, and an attractive, hooker-ish looking girl wants a photo with him. He says she will have to wait for the next break. If I ever become a professional poker player, I promise not to blow off my attractive, hooker-ish looking fans.

Photos are allowed in the Amazon Room, but no flash photography!

The hallways outside the Amazon Room are bustling with people and booths. All-In Energy Drink is promoting an early July tournament that is somehow tied to Johnny Chan. Promo girl Ashley, a cute brunette, tries to get me to join their tournament, but I won’t be there in July. I tell her I’ll be in tomorrow’s tournament, and she gives me a knuckle-bump for good luck. I think I have another bump in mind for her.

I followed my plan and was back at the Imperial Palace at 10:00 in order to get a good night of sleep. The appearance of Sleazy Don could prove to be a problem. I’ve already said to myself, “you have to earn nudity,” in order to keep him at bay.

Tuesday, June 17th

Event #32: No Limit Hold’em

Despite my best intentions, I did not have a good night of sleep. I was up off-and-on throughout the night. Perhaps there was some nervousness, but I think it was primarily the atmosphere of my room. Words and phrases that apply: dry mouth, dry throat, runny nose, and indigestion. Nonetheless, I stayed in bed until 7:00 am.

The plan: take some notes for myself as reminders; reread “Tournament Day One” thoughts in Gus Hansen’s book (although I don’t really play like Gus, there was still some good advice); head over to the Rio as early as possible, just to suck up the atmosphere.

By 9:00 am, I’m off to the Rio. The shuttle doesn’t start running until 10:00, so I take a cab. I eat breakfast at the Sao Paulo Café (my first missed chance to use my coupon). Sight seen: Humberto Brenes, looking fresh out of bed after a long night, and his brother heading into the spa.

Gavin Smith walks past- what a surprise. He probably looked at me and thought, “does this fucker ever go away?”

I spent a bit of time watching the Poker Road radio show with Joe Sebok, Gavin Smith, and whatever guy is the main host. One topic: who is the worst female player? I hear the name Clonie Gowen mentioned.

As noon approaches, the doors to the Amazon Room swing open, and I soon make my way towards the Orange section. We start with 3000 in chips and blind levels of 25/50. My “M” is 40. Our dealer reminds me of Bill Maher.

At 12:01, World Series of Poker Commissioner Jeffrey Pollack announces, “Shuffle up and deal” and our game begins.

Hand 1: Only 6 of the 10 players at my table are actually here. Second to act before the flop, my very first WSOP hand is 10-8 offsuit. I fold. I’ve beaten the odds by not being eliminated in the first hand. Take that, Oliver Hudson.

(Note: I’ll only mention the hands in which I was involved, leaving out a few insignificant hands where I saw the flop cheaply from the blinds but was only in a “check/fold” mode.)

Hand 2: In an early/middle position, I’m dealt A-K offsuit. I open raise to 4x the blind (nervousness on my part, as my intent was a more standard 3x raise- duh). Everyone folds, and I win my first WSOP pot!

Hand 3: In one of the blinds, I’m dealt K-K. Action prior to me consisted of a raise and one caller. I reraise 9x the blind. One of the players folded but the other called the bet (don’t recall if it was the prior raiser or caller). The flop brings all cards below my Kings, but with 2 diamonds. I bet 500 into the pot of around 1075- a standard continuation bet. The other player calls- is he sitting on overcards or a draw of some sort, or did he actually hit that flop? The turn was another diamond. Let’s keep the pot small- I check, he checks. The river pairs the board. I again opt to keep the pot small, checking with the intention of calling an opponent bet, assuming it wasn’t too outrageous. I check, he checks. I show my Kings, and the opponent mucks. Analysis: I like my preflop reraise- I want to win the pot right here rather than risk being out of position if an Ace hits the flop. My flop bet could have been 50 higher- chalk that up to me not having the total pot flashed atop my computer screen, and my estimate being a shade off. I like my check on the turn, but I think I should have tossed out a small value bet on the river. Nonetheless, the pot is mine.

After 60 minutes of play, they send us on our first break- about 60 minutes early. They were having computer problems that greatly slowed down the registration process (that’s why my table still had only 6 people- and answered a lot of questions when the dealers were instructed to take the chips stacks for the missing players off the table). The intent was to resolve those problems during that time.

I see Hevad Kahn in the hallway during break- that guy is very tall.

Back in action, and blinds move up to 50/100 with my 3900-chip stack representing an “M” of 26- still in good shape.

Hand 4: In the first hand after the break, I’m dealt A-K offsuit in early position (I may have even been “under the gun”). I made a standard raise of 3x and was called only by the small blind. Rags hit the flop, and I start gathering chips for my continuation bet, but the dealer points out that the action is not to me (at the time, I think I thought it was the button that had called the raise). The small blind checks, and I fire out my continuation bet- 400 into the pot of 700. The small blind raises to (amount I don’t recall). This guy was first or second in chips at our table, and his prior bets seemed to indicate he had something. I see no reason to stay any further in the hand with only overcards. I fold, and he flips over 3-3. That would have put me at around a 3-1 disadvantage (though I don’t recall if there was a 3 on the flop- that would have had me drawing dead). Good fold. Analysis: I consider this hand to be the most crucial one of my tournament. My preflop raise, flop continuation bet, and subsequent fold all are fine. However, my having to be stopped from acting out of turn and then subsequently being check-raised definitely rattled me and affected my play for the next few hands that I played.

By now, I think I was moved to my second table: Red Section, Table 18, Seat 5. One of the big stacks from my first table also moves here, now seated to my left.

Hand 5: Another A-K (I may have been the cutoff)- I open raise 3x. The button player calls and both blinds fold. Nothing on the flop has hit me at all- this is looking too much like Hand 4 only with a different big stack and position switched. Still rattled from that prior hand, I check the flop. The button bets, and I fold. Analysis: Preflop raise is fine, but I should have made my continuation bet on the flop, or at least check/called. Another 300 chips out of the stack.

Hand 6: I’m dealt 7-7 in the cutoff and open raise 3x. The button again calls. The flop hits K-rag-rag. I check. The button bets, and I fold. Analysis: Okay, I need to quit this timid “afraid to make a continuation bet” mode before they tattoo the word “pussy” on my forehead.

Hand 7: I’m dealt A-K on the button and open raise 3x to win the blinds.

Hand 8: I’m dealt A-Q in middle position and open raise 3x to win the blinds.

My second table was not without its entertaining elements. There was a crusty old guy a few seats to my right. I could see him being the old coot in the horror movie who tells the kids not to go down to that campsite or “you’re gonna die!” Whenever he folded preflop, he would fire both of his cards into the muck instead of pushing them forward for the dealer to gather. The problem with that move was that the dealer then had to count all of the cards to make sure he tossed two cards back, so after several instances, she asked him to stop doing it. The old coot felt he was being picked on and didn’t see any problem with his folds. After he vented a bit, that should have been it, except that someone then noticed that the guy sitting on my left had a “dirty stack”- he had one stack with a wrong denomination chip stuck in the middle. Due to the chip colors, it was a reasonable oversight that was quickly fixed by the player. However, now the old coot wants to know why he was picked on for his transgression but the dealer didn’t say anything to the “dirty stack”. Fortunately, our table broke before he could go back to his pickup to grab the shotgun.

I’m now at my third table: Blue Section, Table 25, Seat 8. Just as I arrive, David Williams is being eliminated from the tournament.

Blinds were up to 100/200, and my stack has dwindled to around 1600. My “M” is a paltry 5+, and I’m looking for a spot to move “all in” when Jennifer Tilly is moved to my table, two seats to my right. She is nursing a stack maybe a bit bigger than mine.

Hand 9: I’m dealt K-K in the big blind, and play folds around to Tilly on the button. She just limps into the pot and the small blind (a rather entertaining young guy from South Africa) folds. I move “all in”, and Tilly folds.

Hand 10: Still short, I’m in middle position when Tilly moves “all in”. I look down to see Q-Q and shove my stack “all in” too. I have her covered by a little bit. Play folds around to the big blind, who is contemplating a call, and Tilly flips over her cards, showing A-9 of diamonds. She realizes her error and flips her cards back over. The situations: a) I see that I have her crushed, a good 2-1 favorite over her hand- this is good; and b) the big blind has seen that at least one of the “all in” players isn’t exactly sitting on a monster, making him more likely to call- this is bad. Tilly realizes her error may pull the big blind into the hand, and she apologizes to me. Nonetheless, the big blind decides to sit out the hand, folding a K-J offsuit face up. My take- he thought way too long about calling. Even though Tilly’s hand isn’t that great, it’s still better than his (maybe 3-2 favorite) and there was another “all in” after her bet. Considering we’ve already seen Tilly’s cards, he has to give me credit for a hand better than hers. Only thing I could think is that maybe he also then had me on some sort of Ace hand, meaning we may now have showdown value against him, but the odds of either of us improving that Ace are lowered. Anyway, he folded- no harm, no foul, and let’s see a flop: A-x-x, and I’m in big trouble. My 2-1 favorite has turned into a 9-1 underdog needing one of the two remaining Queens to win (I didn’t even have any runner-runner possibilities). The turn and river are blanks, and I’m crippled, down to less than one big blind.

Hand 11: Can’t really sit around waiting for a premium hand when one has less than one big blind, so I shove “all in” without looking at my cards. The South African kid says he has a good feeling- don’t look at them at all…I’m in good shape. Nonetheless, I look to see my ultimate stand was being made with 7-2 suited. I don’t even know which player officially eliminated me, but I didn’t even sniff any of those board cards, and I was gone. I wished everyone a “good game” and “good luck” and made my exit.

I lasted around 2:45 hours of play, falling just a bit short of the next break. Tommy T sent a test message indicating that he read the tournament lost around 1,000 players within the first three hours (out of 2,304 total entrants), so I figure I finished somewhere in the 1,300th -1,400th range.

I greatly enjoyed the buzz of the experience and would love to do it again (hell, if I could afford to, I’d love to do it every year). There I was, amidst all of that poker action, hearing a convention hall filled with chips being shuffled and making noise like its full of cockroaches, and I was done. No, this wasn’t online, where I could quickly enter another low buy-in tournament. I’m bummed.

I still hang around the Rio, just to suck up the atmosphere. Random notes:
• Mike Matusow appears at the PPA booth to sign autographs. I get my photo taken with him.
• There are a ton of huge names in Event #33 (World Championship 7-Card Stud High-Low Split 8 or Better), which started at 5:00. Every table looks like a murderers’ row.
• I notice Shannon Elizabeth is sitting near the rail but not drawing much of a crowd. Does nobody recognize her, or has her “babe” star fallen? I also notice that she has a tramp stamp.
• After ducking elimination, Tilly has used my chips to rebuild a decent stack. I plan to try to corner her on break to see if she’ll take a photo with me, or at least let me fondle her breasts. I don’t get a good opportunity to do so, though.
• In the hallway, an older guy (50s)- bald on top but longer hair on the sides- facing into one cubby hole of what looks like it once was a bank of phones- loudly cursing with “fuck you” and other unhappy mumblings. He is not on the phone.
• How can Howard Lederer be a vegan and still be that big?
• After sending a text update on my result, receive the following hilarious text message from Disco Danny B: “Fuck Jennifer Tilly. U need a hooker.”
• I had nothing to do with the robbery and beating of Javon Walker. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
• Two gals looking a lot like hookers floating around the gaming pits- both ethnic, the short blonde in a skin-tight green dress, the taller one in a skin-tight yellow dress. I love this town!
• I get a chance to wish good luck to Phil Hellmuth as he returns from break. He says thanks.
• It looked like Tilly finished somewhere in the 400-500 range.

Back to the Imperial Palace and in bed around 10:30. I’m spent.

Wednesday, June 18th

After a surprisingly good night of sleep, I head over to Bellagio around 11:30. At the Sports book, I analyze that day’s baseball games and decide to wager on two of them:

a) Rangers +110 vs Braves: The Braves are one of the worst road teams in baseball, and as mediocre-bad as the Rangers are, I can’t believe they are the underdog in this game while at home. Both teams are pitching guys I’ve never heard of: Hurley for the Rangers, and Reyes for the Braves.
b) Rays +105 vs Cubs: Rays still getting no love, despite their good start. Zambrano is pitching for the Cubs, and he just hasn’t pitched that well lately (of course, Rays’ starter Andy Sonnanstine hasn’t either). Plus, I like making a bet just for general anti-Zambrano sentiment. With the removal of Barry Bonds from the game, Zambrano easily inherits the mantle of “Don’s most hated player”.

I find a $10 blackjack table with dealer Jay. I slide in at 3rd base, and our 1st baseman (Hee Sop Choi) gets things off to a bad start by hitting a 13/14 against the dealer bust card. Our middle infield was a middle-aged couple who didn’t really know what they were doing but at least had the sense to check their “cheat sheet” when they were uncertain. Even with the “cheat sheet”, they weren’t exactly error-free, and soft hands very much seemed to throw them for a loop. All in all, the table resulted in a quick $100 loss for me, and it managed to disintegrate entirely within the space of three hands.

Why I didn’t head to the famous handicap table in the first place is beyond me, but I manage to slide in at 1st base with dealers Rod and Maria. Our middle infield was made up of a West Virginia bachelor party: bachelor Jason (SS) and his brother Brian (2B), with their crew in the wings. Our 3rd baseman was an older fellow who I hoped would prove to be the cagey veteran. Instead, he proved to be “retire already, old man”.

I liked the people at my table and wanted it to do well. I felt it was appropriate for us to pay tribute to Jason and his upcoming probable mistake, and I suggested the table do a shot of something. As bachelor, Jason selected tequila (I was not happy to hear that choice- I don’t think I’ve had tequila since the infamous night of puking 5 times after the fishbowl of it at Bamboo Bernie’s back in the early 90s). Nonetheless, I partook (since it was my idea in the first place), and it was a quick reminder why I don’t drink tequila. I was pretty fucked up.

The pit boss was named Randy, and this guy wouldn’t shut up- yap yap yap. Brian made the mistake of asking about the Las Vegas housing market, and Randy proceeded to filibuster on the topic. Once, when Brian had to shift attention to an actual blackjack related decision, Randy followed up afterwards by asking if Brian had heard what he said. Randy also managed a filibuster on strip clubs.

The table is eventually whittled down, and I add another $200 in blackjack losses. That’s valuable Sleazy Don money we’re losing here!

I take a walk down to the Hooters Hotel for dinner- it may not be around the next time I make it out to Las Vegas, so I ought to make one last trip. I eat in the Hooters itself, where I had a cute waitress named Andria. There were several cute waitresses- none great, but several good. Plus, it’s a joy to be able to eat wings again.

Pop had given me $5 and specific instructions as how to gamble with it: bet it on a roulette table on Red. If doubled, find a $5 slot machine that takes two tokens and run the money through there. If a winner, I think I was supposed to play the winnings until building to a certain level. Fortunately, my forgetting what that level was did not come into play, as the initial roulette bet was for a spin that hit a green zero.

Back to Imperial Palace, and I think I know where all of those old PT’s dj’s retire- they now work in the IP Dealertainer section (“we’re here ‘til 4:00 and we’re going to party!”).

On my way back to the IP, in front of the Flamingo, there are two black gals, blatant hookers, and they seem to have their radar on me. That may have been because I was trying to line up a photo of the massive amount of “escort card” dealers that were in a nice line. I don’t think I’m going to capture the effect I was going for, though.

I shuttle over to the Rio. As we approach, I note that I did not know the Rio had a golf thing right next to it. Then genius Don realizes the sign says “Parking” and not “Par King”.

Just as yesterday, I see an olive-skinned goddess floating around the Amazon Room. She has access to the pro’s break area, and I assume one of them is banging her. My hat’s off to that!

I visit the booth promoting the new Sapphire Pool area at the Rio. The Sapphire Pool is supposed to be a Brazilian pool experience in which strippers from Sapphire’s strip club hang around topless. Mostly babes manned the booth over the past few days. One posed for a photo with me (although she said she doesn’t go topless by the pool). I got into a conversation about the pool with another (a hot brunette). She told me about the pool: “It’s not like a strip club, with a bunch of naked women all over. It’s more of a European feel.” My response: “Of course, there’s something to be said for a bunch of naked women all over.” She didn’t seem to care for that response.

Several other very hot women floating around the Amazon room, also. Did I mention that I love this town?

I take the shuttle back to Harrah’s in order to pick up a cab to the Hard Rock Casino. I had it as an agenda item, as I had read the Hard Rock had some deal with porn star Tera Patrick to open the “Tera Patrick Gaming Pit” on the main floor (with the dealers called the “Hells Belles”).

After entering the cab, the driver (David) immediately launches into selling me on some sex. He had a catalog of “actual” girls for which he could drive me to a massage parlor that was only 10-15 minutes away, I would select one, and he would take the two of us back to my hotel, where she would have sex with me for $150 an hour (he, of course, would get a cut from the provider). No doubt a scam, but I sure enjoyed perusing through his catalog.

David also said he’s available to take me to a strip club. His choices for the best ones right now are Spearmint Rhino and Olympic Garden. Okay, his answer here is quite reasonable and likely accurate. Maybe there’s something to the catalog. I ask about the historically bad relationship between the local cabbies and the Olympic Garden. He indicates things are currently smooth.

David then updates me on the brothels. He said the high price of gas is killing the Chicken Ranch, as truck drivers have not been visiting. He said prices are down to around $300 per hour to lure customers, and it would be a $200 round trip cab ride, if I were interested. I asked if that situation existed at all of the brothels, or only that one. He assumed all of them. Gotta admit that this one intrigued me (although I’d get my own transportation)- if I knew for certain that price was accurate, I’d probably have someone check out the website to give me an idea of the current lineup.

Cripes, David talked about a lot of sex options during such a short cab ride. He gave me his phone number on a cab receipt in case I was interested in any of his options. I’m pretty sure he was gay.

Into the Hard Rock, and although there was no sign of a Tera Patrick Gaming Pit, what a phenomenal collection of women (as expected). I didn’t much want to play any blackjack after the luck at Bellagio, even though they did have some lower betting minimum tables, but I didn’t want to leave either. I instead played some quarter “Wheel of Fortune” machine off-and-on in between taking constitutionals around the gaming and outer area, just for leering purposes. I’m content when I end up “even” at my Hard Rock gaming.

The nightclub at the Hard Rock is currently “Body English”, and I planted myself at a nearby slot machine just to watch the women coming in and out of there. Between the patrons, the waitresses and many of the dealers, I’m surprised I didn’t end up wearing a neck brace.

I was back to my hotel room sometime between 1:00-2:00, much later than the past two nights but way too early by Las Vegas trip standards. I’m not happy about that.

Thursday, June 19th

I decide to spend some time at the Imperial Palace pool in the late morning. Although the hotel itself remains a dump, I still like the pool area. They usually have a babe waitress waltzing around serving drinks in a bikini, and today was no different. My waitress was a blonde, foreign gal (Eastern European?) who was pretty but admittedly could have been in better shape.

I’ve noticed that my chick range has expanded- Sleazy Don is opening up like a player at a 6-handed poker table. I’m horny. The two mediocre Asian gals also at the pool have really caught my eye, but they are with guys. The little one slips and falls on some water (guess she missed that big, yellow “be careful- wet” sign), but the chunky one was the one who really did a great thing. Their group started posing for photos with each other, and for the photo of her and one of the fellows, she did this wonderfully sexy pose-tossing her head back, bending one knee. I liked it a lot.

I stick around only for one Long Island Iced Tea, then I’m gone. After a shower, it’s back to Bellagio. I win my baseball bet on the Rays (5-4) but lose the Rangers (5-2, with the Braves putting up 3 runs in the 9th inning). I should have gone with my third choice, which was Dodgers at Reds. Derrek Lowe was pitching for the Dodgers, and I should have supported my Rotisserie team. No games stand out to bet in today’s short schedule (although my options are further limited by most being afternoon games that have already started).

The plan: stay liquored up just enough to do something both stupid and story-worthy.

I should have tossed out a prop bet on the chances of playing the Bellagio handicap table. It would have been a Big Brown-ish 2-5.

Over to the Bellagio handicap table, which is being manned by Golden Girls Sylvia and Gloria. For the second day in a row, the cocktail waitress is weak. In general, the Bellagio seems dead this week.

Anyway, I slide in at 3rd base. Our players at 1st and 2nd base are, respectively, an older Asian guy and a somewhat younger Asian gal (Jamie). For many hours, I will mistakenly assume they are together. Both were solid players. The SS position was the one that had the most turnover:
• Our starting SS was a lady who was overall a decent player but had a few betting quirks- she would not double down, and she would not hit on a 2-card 16.
• The next SS was a Spanish guy that didn’t speak a lick of English and didn’t know what he was doing. Often, he tried to increase his bet in the middle of play by putting another chip atop his current bet.
• Next was a white guy who was a solid player, followed by another white guy who seemed solid but was there only a short amount of time.
• We got saddled with our first mediocre white SS who once was going to hit his soft 19.

Overall, our table is doing well, and another guy comes over and asks if he can get on the table. The dealer points out the only two slots open are the ones actually reserved for someone handicapped (I knew that word “handicap” had some relevance here!). I tell him, “If you can get your hands on a wheelchair, you can slide in there.” His response: “My wife is in a wheelchair, so I don’t think she’d appreciate that.” D’oh!

Well into the day, I haven’t eaten anything but a breakfast bar, and my new task is to get some food from the waitress. Items requested that she would not bring: pizza, potatoes au gratin, Snickers bar, Ho-Hos, Apple Jacks, and panini. Finally, I ask for a “Bar Fruit Salad”. The waitress says that I look like a fruit (BAM!), but she does then provide one- maraschino cherries, olives, orange wedge, pineapple wedge, maybe one or two other things. Good to get some food in me, but not nearly enough to offset the tremendous amount of Rum I already ingested.

Our original chick SS returns, and this time she asks if we mind her little quirk about not hitting 2-card 16. As long as she is consistent, I don’t mind.

Jamie leaves, and our SS (Mary) moves to 2B so that her husband Rob can play SS. They are from Cleveland, where Mary is a personal chef- although don’t blame her for CC Sabathia’s weight. Rob needs guidance to play, but fortunately he is open to receiving it. For some reason, Mary thinks my name is Carl.

Our next change came at 1B, where a busty British gal who was marrying an Australian guy replaced the Asian guy.

Dealer Gloria once dealt for the cast of “Friends”- All were nice except Schwimmer.

Jamie returns to the table and is now our SS. The Cleveland infielders are gone. The British gal and Australian fiancé take turns playing 1B. Their play worsens as the night goes on.

It has been a nice ride, but I can see the team is falling into shambles. I remove myself from the table, and I’m shocked to look at the time to see I had been playing for a good 10-11 hours. After all of that, I’m up $250.

Starving, it’s seems like a good time to hit the Burger King in O’Sheas, but it’s closed. What is this- Iowa? I still haven’t eaten much more than that breakfast bar, and my attempts to get substantial food from the waitress failed miserably. I’m pretty fucked up right now.

I make my way to Harrah’s for dinner at their café. I’m pretty sure my waitress once served Benny Siegel. I’ll bet she was old back then, too. Her name was Doris- now there’s a surprise!

Back to the IP for a shower, and it’s time to see some naked ladies. I take a cab over to the Spearmint Rhino, where the cover charge was obnoxiously high ($30). It’s chaotic and dark in there, with wall-to-wall people, and who knows if I’ll find somewhere to sit. I move into one of the bar areas to get a drink when I was approached by a tall blonde dancer. Her name was Dawson, and she wasn’t really my type, but I decided to go with it and get some dances from her. My heart wasn’t entirely into it- still too fucked up?

Dawson has a cute face and a very nice body, but her dances were only “ok”- nothing noteworthy, and she kept talking and talking and talking. Cripes, maybe she’s the daughter of Randy the Pit Boss. I wish she would just shut up and dance. Then I became very conscious of her using the word “gay” very often as a description, and then I noticed that at certain angles, her face reminded me of my sister’s. Now things had turned creepy.

I got more dance time than I should have taken from Dawson (and it was really frustrating to have her right in my face talking with me at the bar and seeing all of these Asian strippers passing through my peripheral vision), and afterwards didn’t want to spend any more money at Spearmint Rhino. I think that club works better with a group.

Back to the IP, and I head out to see what’s going on in my neighboring casinos. Through IP, Flamingo, and Bill’s- not much. Across the walkway, and I was going to go to Paris and make my way back through Bally’s. However, there was a loud group of guys making their way up the Strip, and I decided to avoid them by rerouting through Bally’s then down to Paris.

Bally’s also was pretty dead, and I make my way to the walkway between it and Paris. It’s very empty except for one person taking a photo of one of the fountains. I did not know if that was a man or a woman.

A bit further ahead, and around the turn comes a very pretty, petite brunette girl walking alone. She wore tight blue jeans and showed a bit of midriff and a bit of cleavage. Her name was Kayla.

SCENE MISSING

Friday, June 20th

The plan: call Kayla. Stay sober beforehand. Let the rest of the night play out itself.

I call Kayla around noon. She says she won’t be able to get a baby sitter until around 2:30, and I should text or call back then. I head down to the Flamingo for lunch, where I see a guy wearing a t-shirt that says “I’m right, you’re wrong”- that’s pretty much my sister’s mantra, word-for-word. I have lunch at the Tropical Breeze, where it costs an extra $1 to get a tomato on one’s sandwich. I don’t want one anyway.

Back to the IP, and I call Kayla after 2:30 and receive her voicemail. I leave a message. By 3:30, she still hadn’t responded, so I sent a text message to her. She finally responded sometime between 4-4:30- she had fallen asleep after the early morning court date. She will shower and come down to the IP to meet me.

SCENE MISSING

After hanging around for a bit, Kayla suggests we head to one of the bars for a quick drink. Sounded like a good idea to me. I ordered the drinks while she went to try to find somewhere to get good reception on her cell phone. She never returned.

Kayla tidbits:
• Has a 3-year old son.
• Has a black lab named Elvis.
• Italian/Irish mix.
• Is banned from Bellagio.

So here we are, Friday night in Las Vegas, and I’m in “5 nights is too long” mode, although I probably would have been fine had I some money left, which would have meant playing blackjack at Bellagio or checking up on the WSOP at the Rio instead of calling Kayla this afternoon. I could have hit the cash station again, but at this point, I didn’t want to.

I finish my Friday with some Bellagio Sports book time, then I hit the O’Sheas Burger King for a cheap dinner. I’m ready to go home.

Saturday, June 21st

I relax and read in the room a bit before showering, packing and leaving. After checkout, I haul my luggage up to the IP Sports book to watch some of the Sox/Cubs game. Only caught a few innings, including the 9-run fiasco. Nice outing, Contreras.

Final Imperial Palace thoughts: never say never, but I don’t think I would stay there again without a major renovation. Plus, the room was way to dry. I’m still coughing up some pretty disgusting stuff.

I head to the airport early, with the expectation that it would be smooth with a low volume of passengers. Nope. It was chaos instead. It was me, and thousands of people who apparently have never flown before. The security line was run by schmucks who were not at all enthused by running an efficient operation. The guy in front of me in the security line wasn’t even at the correct one- he didn’t even know at which gate his flight was departing.

I decide upon Burger King for my second meal in a row. The BK I hit in the airport was run by the other two Golden Girls- I can only assume their names were Helen and Bertha.

Would I do it all again?

Regarding the World Series- hell yes. I would have better preparation next time (prior to this time, I hadn’t played poker online in several days beforehand- no California to start the trip if I do it again). I need to be playing online regularly for momentum and feel (although to be honest, with the way I had been playing online lately, a break may not have been bad).

Regarding the Spearmint Rhino- yes, but probably not alone. Or at least have the sense to keep moving or slide into a seat at the stage, somehow and somewhere. It might be time to give OG another spin, though.

Kayla- Very pretty girl- probably an 8 out of 10. I don’t expect I’ll see her again, though.

2008 Prop Bets

I checked the line on the internet, and here are the current prop bets for trip #26:

World Series:
Odds I’m eliminated in the first hand of the tournament: 250-1 LOSER
Odds that I last the whole first day: 9-1 LOSER
Odds that I finish in the money: 25-1 LOSER
Odds that I win the entire tournament: 10,000-1 LOSER
Odds that at some point I’m berated by Phil Hellmuth: 35-1 LOSER
Odds that I lose a big hand with pocket 9s: 4-1 LOSER
Odds that I end up at the same table as Gavin Smith: 2-1 LOSER
Odds that Sam Grizzle kicks my ass: 40-1 LOSER

General:
Odds there will be at least 1 hot cocktail waitress: 1-25 WINNER (THOUGH SUPRISINGLY NOT AT BELLAGIO)
Odds that at some point I’ll see a woman sans clothing: 3-1 WINNER
Odds that woman will be Asian or Polynesian: 1-95 LOSER
Odds that woman is Evelyn Ng: 2,500-1 LOSER

Over/under for total amount of sleep for the trip (5 nights): 22.5 hours EASILY OVER
Over/under for time spent at the pool: 60 minutes CLOSE, BUT I THINK UNDER
Odds I badly burn myself if I spend time at the pool: 1-1 SURPRISINGLY NOT- LOSER

Odds that I make and win a baseball wager: 10-1 WINNER
Odds that I make and lose a baseball wager: 1-3 WINNER

Odds that I eat at the Burger King in O’Sheas at least once: 3-2 WINNER

Odds for most hotel time:
Imperial Palace (where I’m staying): 4-1 ASSUMED WINNER
Rio (where the tournament is held): 10-1 LOSER
Bellagio (home away from home): 3-1 LOSER
The field: 7-1 LOSER

Odds of a beetle crawling through my hair: 12-1 LOSER (UNLESS SOMEONE MADE BATHTUB ADDENDUM)
Odds of my being north of the Wynn at any point during the trip: 6-1 LOSER
Odds of seeing a “Wanted” poster depicting Tom at the Mai Tai Lounge: 4-1 LOSER
Odds Burt Young comes up: 5-2 LOSER
Odds of seeing a celebrity lamer than the ones encountered on past trips (Mark Lynn Baker, Louie Anderson, Weird Al Yankovic, Jay Leno, Chris Noth): 125-1 (hard to get lamer than Mark Lynn Baker) IS YOLANDA LAMER THAN MARK LYNN BAKER?

Odds I see my first Vegas stage show (not including free lounge shows): 250-1 LOSER