Billy Madison to Drizz: YOU BLEW IT!

My daughter's new favorite stuffed animal is a small shaggy purple dog named Barky.  Thanks to the good, quality people at Dave and Buster's the wife has performed minor surgery on Barky several times in the past month but some tears could be attributed to my daughter's not so sugar and spice and everything nice way of getting through the day with those toys. 

"Barky could walk around like Funky!" she exclaims.

The thought of an overweight shaggy purple dog with a belly swishing around like a half drained keg does seem amusing but impossible outside of Mary Poppins dropping in to make the medicine go down and utensils dance.

While her dreams are personal and not probable, mine focused too much on the real yesterday, making my attempt at rising up a rung on the corporate ladder end like this (couldn't find Billy Madison's clip which would have fit the bill better).

Yeah, I blew it.

My normally silver lispy tongue decided to not function yesterday as I stammered thru the HR interview with the wit of a contestant on Hillbilly Jeopardy.  Answers swirling in my head, taking the time to prep for the questions that I knew were coming, and instead approached some epic corporate fail with all the smoothness of a Jersey meathead trying to cold-call a one night stand at a country club.  Maybe the fiscially elite go for that sort of approach, but regardless I sucked, I sucked bad, and if by some small mircle I get the position it will solely on the fact that I'm tall because that's about the only message to cross the room yesterday standing a foot and a half over the lithe HR rep.

Concession on this position, not on the goal however.  That's a good thing.

What's on tap this weekend?  $5 million and a Lambo at PokerStars?  Much like Astin's point on twitter yesterday, I may take half my bankroll on Stars and give a shot at a guaranteed $1 million payoff and finish agonizingly in 13,271st place.  It's not every day a Lamborghini could be parked in the lower-middle income area of surburban Minneapolis.  A plus would be zooming out to Palo Alto for an epic race with Doc's Ferrari.  I'd need a Space Racer helmet and my lucky PokerStars monkey for props.

See it's ok to dream, even if its winning a poker tournament, having sex with (insert obscenely hot actress/porn star here), or having a stuffed animal down some Puppy Chow and piss all over your new iPad2.  It's the real ones that you bank some emotion on that hurt.  Throwing virtual money at cards carries nearly zero emotions at it.  Regardless of how high (like last weekend's drubbing of the Rush PLO fishes) or the lows like the previous three weeks of dusting cash like Dan Shak chasing gold futures, poker carries emotion only when friends are involved (again I apologize for my excitement at the WPBT but it will happen again so ply me with another drink and I'll lose some silly prop bet to you).

Son's mangled digit

The work dream will continue on another day, for now its back to the grind which isn't so bad if you look at how it could be sitting on a couch wondering where that next paycheck is going to come from, or how am I going to pay for my son's double fractured pinky.  Instead I sail on even waters, turning the sail in every direction until some wind catches it just right to start in a new direction.