I have a new distraction… like I NEEDED another distraction!  If work avoidance, slacking and procrastination were art forms I wouldn’t just be Michelangelo, I’d be all of the fucking Ninja Turtles! 

So what is my latest obsession? 
Texas hold ‘em.

The first time I ever played poker was with my cousin Jess and a bunch of his friends a couple of years ago.  He taught me the basics of the game (ha! the very basics since the bastard just wanted easy prey!) five minutes before everyone else got there.  I lost.  Surprise!  The next time they invited us up for a game I did only marginally better.  Once the first four of us were eliminated we started our own side game.  I beat the three drunk guys that went out before me.  It was no great feat, they were shit-canned, one of them threw up down the front of his shirt ten minutes later.  

That was the last time I played the game until four nights ago.  My husband is working this week but he gets his hernia fixed, removed, scooped out with a rusty spoon or whatever they do to it next Monday so he will then be off for six weeks after that.  That will be six very long weeks (for me) since he won’t be able to lift or do anything.  I’ll be cinder-fucking-ella by the time April rolls around.  I’m a very good patient when I am sick or under repair but I am a terrible nursemaid and have no patience and scant sympathy when someone else (my husband) is ill or recovering.  I’m not mean or anything, I’m just not exceptionally nice.  Some people have the Florence Nightingale gene and some don’t.  I don’t.  Anyway, His Highness is starting work at 5 am this week which mens he kicks me out of the bedroom at 8 pm.  There was a time when I’d watch TV while he slept but apparently I wasn’t able to keep it quiet enough so I was banished from the boudoir.  The volume was his fault, if he didn’t snore like a frickin’ chainsaw then I wouldn’t have had to crank the telly.  Look at me, I am mad at him already and he hasn’t even been for the surgery yet.  The cherry on top will be that he has to go for a colonoscopy four days after his hernia.  That’ll pop his cherry.  He will not be a happy camper and I will be looking for an escape hatch.  But I digress.

I could go downstairs to watch TV after 8 and sometimes I do but it’s a lonely existence down there in the dungeon so usually I come into the office and putter on the puter.  There are plenty of things I SHOULD do with all of this spare time (my office looks like it’s been ransacked) but I have neither the inspiration nor the motivation to bother.  The sad fact is I can’t be bothered with a lot of things right now.  My blog mojo has jumped the shark (again) and my attention span is non-existent for anything else.  I am chalking it up to cabin fever.  It’s been -30C (-22 American) here for the past few days… it’s March for fuck sakes, could someone give the weatherman a frickin’ calendar?!?  And once again I digress.

So it was while in this malaise that I received a notice via Facebleh to come play poker with my old boss.  At first I rolled my eyes and thought, “Fuck that, I suck at poker.”  But then I figured what the hell, it’s not real money and at least it was something to do.  In a few hours I went from 750$ to over ten grand.  I thought I was a damn shark until I dropped back down to five hundred the next day.  Up and down like a whore’s drawers went my chips for three days.  And when I say I played for three days, I mean several hours each afternoon and several more at night.  My former boss has already suggested an intervention and he was my pusher to start with!

While I am really enjoying the challenge and excitement of this game what completely cracks me up is how often I get hit on.  At first it made me very uncomfortable, almost insulted, but now it just makes me laugh.  What kind of man tries to pick up women in phony poker game?  So far as I can see it, he’s the kind of man that wouldn’t have a hope in hell of picking up a woman in real life.  These were my two favorite conversations…

Someguy: “B u r very beutful women.”

Me: (rolling my eyes) “Thank you.”

Someguy: “What is your martial statues?”

Me: “My what?”  

Someguy: “Are you merried?”

I had to fold my hand because I was pissing myself laughing.  Maybe that was his strategy.

Twins: “Hi B you are very preety.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Twins: “How old r u?”

Me: “How old do you think I am?”

Twins: “32”

Me: “You are exactly right!”

Twins: “How old you think I am.”

His profile photo showed two identical men… which would explain his name.

Me: “Which one are you?” 

Twins: “The one in blue.” 

I was howling and he didn’t get it.

Me: “I think you must be about 34.”

Twins: “I am only 28.”

Me: “Oh, I must have been looking at the other guy.”

He still didn’t get it.

Twins: “No, that is my brother!”

It’s cheap entertainment if nothing else.

I’m sure that my poker preoccupation will putter out promptly, I tend to get bored with my obsessions quickly… usually.  I still have a lot to learn about the game though, it’s just too bad that Kenny Rogers wasn’t more specific with that whole knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em thing, I could especially use a lesson or two in the folding part.  Then again after I do all of the laundry for the six weeks while my husband is in recovery (sounds like rehab) I am sure I will never want to hear the word “fold” again… and chances are I won’t just want to walk away, I’ll want to run.