Same old, Same old (tired) situation

A post seen too often lately from friends followed for almost eight years.  "Where have you been?", "why haven't you been posting?", "is this place getting dusty?".

The first one, school has kicked into high-gear, combined with no weekends off for over month plus trying to get up to the cabin every weekend, equals zero time to jot inane markings of my boring suburbanite married life.  Busy does not equal exciting, at least in my world, to others flying around the world in exotic lands and less-than-safe hotels and airports, my path is pretty straightforward with the same 8.7 miles commute in the wee hours of the morning, same return trip and maybe spice it up with a stop at the Holiday gas station, then back home to become either daddy or that one parent trying a little too hard to remind his five year old daughter to keep her hands together while swinging the bat playing T-ball.

Add in the Swedish sauna-like heat over the past three weeks, plus an annual guy's weekend trip that included passing out next to a bottle of Pliny the Elder and getting stacked in a $20 buy-in NLHE game by a chick that had her chair crying for mercy, and you've got one tired blogger.  Hell, Saturday night there was me, myself, and I slumped on a tan sectional all alone when I should have been downtown having a beer on a rooftop with good friends.  But the sirens of the afternoon nap called and four hours later I woke up to Parker Bonn Jr. trying to close out a bowling match on ESPN 26.

Lack of posting is both the above excuses, which really are lame, and lack of desire.  Since my advanced composition professor has decided to make our fingers bleed while banging out long drawn out analytical thesis,  10 to 1 arguments, scouring academic papers for the true meaning within, and becoming conversant while penning the next Moby Dick, my fingers and whatever is left of the magical pixie dust of creativity within my rum-soaked fingers is dried up from the effort.  The challenges are awesome, I mean who wouldn't want to learn how to draft a cost summary for a processing plant while derviving the meaning from a paper that compares tommy girl perfume commericials and corporations exploiting nationalist pride for profit?

Again, exciting life I lead.

The film of non-use on this writing shelf?  Since this is my shelf to place trophies, kids stories, and bitch about when the missus and I have not had sex for weeks, it will be used, abeit sparingly during the summer.  Much like the golden ages when Americans could play quasi-legal online poker for more than points towards a t-shirt or brass bracelet, my fun time online takes a big dip in the months filled with baseball, sweaty boxer briefs, and tall, cold pours of Surly Furious on the deck.  Drunken poker Thursday are no more, as my degeneracy has been diluted to playing slots on Facebook.

See DOJ, you make me cry, turning my hobby night of blank thoughts into an evening of Mark Zuckerberg sponsored pokes and pop-up windows to remind my friends that I'm playing Slot-O-Mania past midnight. No worries about that five page paper and 30 different general ledger entries due by Sunday before getting the low-down on the final two tables of the PokerStars Sunday Warm-up.  Yep, NO FUN FOR YOU! /Soup Nazi

No drawn out rant today as tonight I'll be thumbing through 20 pages of academic writing penis pumping (or titty enlarging?), as the author's of the textbook seemed more concerned with the amount of 50 cent words they could cram into paper-filled vacuum than trying to teach a point to improve my writing skillz (or lack thereof).  Reading while taking my son and 10 other kids to something called "SkyZone" to wear them out playing dodgeball on trampolines. Actaully looking forward to this as we had a blast the first time I took him here, something that the recent stock market roller coaster, riots in London, or moral online gambling zealots won't touch.

And times like these will get my pen here for a few minutes each week.

Wife Knows Best Chapter 10: He WILL Forget

After walking through the front doors after a longer-than-usual commute (a whole 15 minutes!) and missing the fine smell of bacon-wrapped steak that was promised to be pan-searing when I got home, an audiable sigh left my nose. 

"Oh, I can still throw the steaks on" said my wife, at least those were the words from her mouth. 

The actual words were "I got home and did the laundry, vacuumed the floors, pulled your daughter down from the ceiling, and rescued a bus load of 8th grade volleyball players after their driver fell asleep trying to pull an all-nighter so don't ask me to make your fuckin steak".

Calmly, I suggested Leeann Chin's and I would offer to climb right back into the car to retrieve the Sesame chicken goodness with a side of egg-fried rice and gooey cream-cheese puffs. Also, as a bonus, the mystery package I signed for yesterday happened to be a large (for me) check from my musings on PokerStarsBlog and after checking my bank balance, a wire transfer from Full Tilt also went thru so "bet more" at the WPBT may be back on (if the funds clear of course)!

A side trip to the bank was made where a cute Thai teller that would have made F-Train throw out a few suave lines, I however stumbled thru the reasons for the large foreign check and made a joke about giving it to my wife for Black Friday (which isn't entirely false, but don't let her know when she finds some extra cash in her purse from the degen fairy).  Then on to the Leeann Chin's I go to about twice a month noting the usual surly but hot blonde who wears too much makeup and a distaste for people on her face serve up some Sweet and Sour chicken for the kids, Lemon for the wife, and as an audiable, some Mongolian chicken for myself.  Wrapped up with two pairs of chopsticks for the kids to poke their food with, it was back home to a "movie night" (meaning a late-night date with "An Introduction to Literature" for daddy).

pic cred: dan-dare.org

Toy Story 3, and this one lived up to the hype, with a excellent ending, on top of an excellent ending.  Just when you thought it was over with Woody and Buzz saving the day again, it jerks your heart strings for a few minutes more. 

All the pillows and blankets were gathered up as the nightly ritual of getting the kids to brush their teeth without flinging poo at each other began.  But tonight there was no poo, perhaps after-glow from the awesome movie as they settled down quickly, got tucked in as I returned to the porch and found my fat cat Funky rightfully assuming my ass would be on the couch for the next few hours.

Just before cracking open the play "Trifles" by Susan Glaspell and later "The Cherry Orchard" by Anton Chekhov my wife came in to remind me to put away the turkey that had been thawing out in the sink before going to bed.  I looked up and nodded telling her not to worry about it.  But, my wife was not convinced.  She takes out a strategically placed chair which blocked the walkway between porch and living room (the kitchen is in-between the two) and places a pan on it.  After seeing this I raised a middle finger in salute, and got one in return with a smile.

After the required reading I was too tired for the writing portion of the assignment and shut off the lights to the porch which were the last lights on in the house and started stumbling to bed much like I do on later nights.

WHAM!  #!#$&$#!@@

My middle toe rang with pain as I slammed it into the strategically placed chair which filled the lane like Wilt Chamberlain and Shaq standing side-by-side.  As my trudged my bruised toe and ego to the kitchen light and took the medium-sized wet turkey placing it in the fridge, I could almost hear my wife down the hallway laughing in her sleep.

14 days folks.



The first decade of friendship

I posed this question on Twitter, and its relevance is because I will be opening the box tonight for just the second time in ten years...

For those who are or were married:  you pair a lot of money (most likely but not universal) to have a professional photographer come to your wedding and snap photos, including of course the shot of all of the groomsmen trying to get the lace garter off the bride.  How often or how many times have you opened the box or photo album since those nupitals words were read?

Tomorrow, a flashback, and a look forward for two people who have been through a lot and will continue enjoying getting up at 4:30am each morning to see to happens the next day.

I love you Kari, and while I lose myself from time-to-time you are always there to point the way back to where I want to be.

Tenth Time Is a Charm

The Vegas trip report.

Normally I'd fill these pages with regal drunken stories of Las Vegas Boulevard.  It's what Vegas is to me.  To some it's a vacation, an escape, or a place to say "ah, fuck it" and let go of every sane, rational thought in your body to push it to degeneracy levels that could leave a person on Clark County's 10 Most Wanted list. 

The escape route of casino hopping in Nevada happens every December with a group of friends who huddle around the forgotten watering holes of Imperial Palace to pay homage to writing, gambling, and each other.  This is a time for pushing your body to the max, filling it with alcohol and stories of fellow bloggers that might not make their respective pages.  It was during one of these trips, I had an "ah, fuck it" moment in a city where such notions could kill you. 

This past week that weekend nearly ended in divorce, took a 180 and rung in the 10th year of taking vows in a church near her homtown.  While the actual date of our anniversary is still a few months away, due to kids, the impending return to school, and having no time off in August, our decision was to go back to Vegas during Spring Break as we'd done on many occasions before the whole responsilbity part of our union took hold.

Where else can you see a Gene Simmons look-a-like being flanked by Hooters Waitresses or have Jay Leno pose for a picture with your non-sober wife in shopping mall Sbarro's ?  Where else can you sit down with people of different reglious, political, sexual beliefs and orientations and gather up a cheer for the trucker with the beat up John Deere hat from Montana as he hits yet another point erasing the champagne room bill from Cheetah's as the last of the glitter finally falls off the shirt you've worn for the past 56 hours.

It wasn't that kind of trip though.  It was to see if two people in love could brave the elements of zero adult supervision inside America's candy store.  Having just enough money to play and drink without financial reprecussions could have been a receipe for dividing something special as the patches lines of our past rough times started to fade.  Instead we walked away hand-in-hand despite some nasty weather which took from my wife's leisurely pool time.

There was the fullfilment of a 10 year old promise to drop her out of a plane at 15,000 feet.  With prerequisite parachute and studly diving instructor latched on to her of course.  That video in which she manages to say seven words for 2 mins may make YouTube in the future as testimate to her adventerous side, as I sat safely with two feet attached to mother earth as humans were built to do.

While fine foods at overpriced restaurants were not eaten, there were some surprises found in the shape of the improved Treasure Island buffet which last time I remember spending a considerable amount of time in the hotel bathroom after consumming what they claimed was food.  Fresh Cotton Candy as a dessert?  Win.  Orange chicken and chicken dumplings that didn't taste like an unwashed lower female anatomy part.  Worth the price of admission.  Freshly served pasta bar? 

The new Aria/CityCenter blew me away sightwise but had a cold feel to it until the beautiful waitress appeared at the Lone Wolf slot machine with a perfectly made Cap'n Coke and vodka collins no more than a few moments after feeding the -EV game a c-note.  Excellent service but the metallic feel of the place was better suited for nightclub versus taking tourists money at $100 a pull.  The poker room looked VERY inviting, but time and marital obligations along with being there during the live poker death hour of 8am there wasn't a chance to check out its comfortable surroundings.

MGM Grand's rooms were comfortable as always but the drink service lacked in it's slots area.  Then again while playing a quarter or more a hand Pai Gow, they were filling my glass faster than I could relay my distaste for Xioa's inability deal me a non Pai Gow in a bloody monring session.  Same with the poker room, where getting me drunk actually has a negative effect on their profit margin yet their wait staff never slowed and professional dealers that our writing group gets to bother every year never missed a beat at all hours.

Gambling-wise the week was break-even as the money "lost" was on the tipping, cabbing, drinking, eating side of the ledger.  This was helped of course by entering the 11am donkfest as the wife tried to direct a few sun rays towards her before hopping on the return flight eight hours later.  Thanks to good cards/bad players, I managed to come 3rd in chips as the chop numbers came down and won back most of the money deposited into Xioa, Yi, and Charles' rack.

But the trip was a complete success as two people were able to be friends with benefits again versus just parents and breadwinners. 

Cautious Splurging

Today I resign the blogging floor to Truckin' since there only so many homerisms I can expell about the Vikings. Actually there's several more paragraphs to fill but people don't come here for Vikings insight as much as to listen to a good hearted rant or about my horrible poker play.

Speaking of which many folks are breaking out their 2010 poker spreadsheets already and recapping last year. My stats? Hell if I know, the most information I'd get is from a place like Official Poker Rankings (and I'm sure its not pretty). Or that I played two live tournaments last year with one lasting 15 minutes and the other 15 hours. There a fancy Excel spreadsheet and tattered notebook I used to use back before the UIGEA came out and there was an actual bankroll online that allowed me to play the stakes I'd become semi-profitible at. Since then, we got a new kitchen, I got bionic ears, and paid off a good chunk of the summer trailer leaving scraps online. Enough to play the very small donkaments and practice bad bankroll management while multi-tabling the $50 NL/PLO8 tables but nothing more.

Sure this summer the bankroll got a hefty boost from the Binion tourney chop, but when my wife earns half as much for three months out of the year that money is better spent on day-to-day things versus shoving a premium hand preflop against the crack-addled regulars at the NLO8 tables who don't even blink at losing five buy-ins from flipping coins. If I ever had to explain to my wife why slim edges in Omaha need to be exploited in the long run after dropping three buy-ins, I'd quit.

Luckily that money is separate from the house funds so if I were to bust, it would hurt the extracurricular activities and life would move on without poker for a while.



Another reason the funds are getting stretched? It's our 10th anniversary this year and I'd like to do something special for the wife as she selected Vegas as our mutual gift (but WE mutually paid with MY winnings, funny our marriage works like that). Since we're staying at the MGM Grand I have heard of something called "Prima" which is account which you plug in $500.00 and get "high-roller perks" including 2 for 1 dinners and drinks, upgraded room, happy ending mutual massages by Jessica Biel look-a-likes, etc...






What Jessica Biel may look like

I don't mind overspending a bit, but is the program worth it or is that money better spent elseware like for lap dances at Sapphire and ice cream at the Gold Coast after? Remember I'm steak and potatoes/Captain Morgan not Steak Frites/Cristal) fine dining isn't something I do without a Nardi brother pointing out wine selections and how good the salmon spread or pork rinds are.

Anyway on with the blogzine from Dr. Pauly!


January 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 1


New year.


New issue of Truckin'.



Let's kick of 2010 with two new faces.



1. Tubes Under Sand by Paul McGuire The massive and elaborate tunnel system was cluttered with insane Vietnam vets eating black widow spiders, heroin addicts shooting up in the darkness, and methheads cooking up a new batch of Nazi crank... More



2. No Era Mi Intención (I Meant No Harm) by Sean T. KellyWe weren't the only local wildlife in that town, population 237. Hawks circled overhead hunting for prey. Iguanas scurried aimlessly across the sidewalks heading for the security of the underbrush... More



3. Unpublished by Anonymous He could look away from the noose he's woven. He could find something else into which he can comfortably slip. He has the power and he's done it before... More



4. Down the Upward Staircase by George TateBebop was one of those guys kind of handicapped in the girl department. He had been shy all his life and never a ladies man. He wasn't strange or picky. He always looked at the girls and when he couldn't go anymore would find his pick in a massage parlor or on his running board... More



5. Dispatches from Miami: The Lot by Paul McGuire Deviant derelicts crawl out of the shadows and invading the parade of freaks. That's when the inmates eventually take over the asylum... More

A Thought Is a Terrible Thing To Waste

I thought when I didn't make the 3rd grade hockey traveling team, life was over.

I thought when I learned I would never hear as well as a normal person, life was over.

I thought when my ex-girlfriend was found face down eating gravel, life was over.

I thought when I broke up with my college girlfriend, life was over.

I thought when our firstborn did not get the chance to live, life was over.

I thought when my wife was pregnant on bed rest with bills piling up, and I was disabled, life was over.

I thought when we fought to the point of not being able to be in the same room, life was over.

I thought when my kids took my words for air, life was over.

I realize more and more each day life is to be enjoyed and not weighted against some bad breaks no matter how loud the yelling or how intense the euphoria of the good times. Reading Otis' post yesterday made me reflect a bit on the recent speed of all things parenting and marriage. The summer is heading towards Labor Day and all fried things on a stick await at the Minnesota State Fair with the first day of school shortly behind. The boy will be eating his first official school lunch as a first grader as Kyra will terrorize her first teachers in preschool after the roads get slicked with salt and ice.

The signs they are getting older are heard with every question, seen with every new batch of clothes some Children's Place, but with the daily 4:45am wake up call and seeing their little bodies wrapped up in clutched blankets; the brain's camcorder switches to record and freezes time for awhile as soon they will be arguing about getting enough money and staying over at someone's house that I don't approve of. Soon the immediate hugs and screams of "DADDY!" after work each day will segue into teenager's hormones and possible distancing of the uncool parental units. My thoughts will go back to those mornings and let their current rage drift by.

Someday is now today, as life has opened up for me where it seemed closed in the not-so-distant past. Thanks to friends far and near, my five senses have been opened up to the world (especially my broken ears). Thanks to my kids I have a reason to live for the future. Thanks to my parents for providing the soft mattress that enabled me to get back up after every fall. Thanks to my wife there's someone to live with for today for tomorrow, and although I'm far from the easiest person to live with and understand she is there to ensure waking up is a far better option than become a statistic in a newspaper.

Now that the sappy stuff has flowed to the page, poker will be played this evening with a fine beverage after watching sweaty women play volleyball at Mama G's tonight. Life is good.

Steak and Stakes

Yes the microphone is still on here, just summer/work craziness has my writing time down to beyond nil.

(a side note: has anyone been successful from getting listed on Google again after being de-listed?) Drop me a note.

After nearly a week of watching the kids alone as my wife trucked up north to Duluth for a drinking engagement work conference, came home for a day, then left for her annual “girl’s weekend”, I have a new found respect for those who stay home or interact with little humans on a daily basis in a classroom.

The thirst for adult conversation at the end of the day after listening to your mouth say “please turn left” and they go right for a solid week was near Gobi desert desperation on Saturday. Sure, my little walking genes were adorable and attentive some of the time, but what the hell wires these kids to do everything but what you say to them. It was like talking to women (which I’m sure the fairer sex would say the same about guys)!

Parental learning experience put into the database for later use as the boy’s sixth birthday party in the artery clogging humidity at Elm Creek park on Sunday went as smoothly as possible with the kids enjoying the massive timber structured playground and adults relaxing in the shade with iced down beverages. The real treat was the little ones’ batteries were spent by the time they hit the bathtub a few hours later that not one “GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM!!!11111” was uttered/screamed/threatened.

---

Tell me. If you make millions of American dollars or Euros and enjoy a certain amount of fame due to your athletic ability/acting ability/gag reflex ability would decide that someone deserves a Anderson Silva on Griffin beat-down because the service person lacked enough change to purchase four pieces of Bazooka gum at the dollar store?

Patrick Kane, your karmatic taint punch is coming after mistaking a cabbie who was 20 cents short for Tie Domi. My hopes are the next time you pass out while tipping back too many lime-flavored Zimas at the local Dave and Busters, someone tattoos the word “Asshole” around your mouth.

----

Anyone feel bad for Padraig (cousin of WSOP champ Dan) Harrington for chunking a chip on the 70th hole of the WGC Bridgestone Invitational and literally giving away the tournament to the Phil Ivey of golf?

As if Tiger needed the “help” but what kind of pro hits a chip over a green and into the water from 20-30 feet away (that’s feet, not yards)??? That’s the kind of shot better left for hackers like myself to perfect on exotic locals like Three Rivers executive nine off Bass Lake Road in Plymouth, MN. But I wasn’t hitting the little white ball for a paycheck the size of all my assets put together Indecent Proposal style hoping that red comes up for the fifth straight spin.

Choke.

---

Another choke may be not finishing off my sixth place finish in the $1,000 PLO8 guarantee at Stars after outlasting 692 runners and being 2nd in chips with 14 remaining. A good run for sure, but the sheer horrible play of those near the final table fueled a very easy run to the decent ROI and a hanging head that I didn't finish in the top two.

I’ll save poker-heavy stuff for a post at Minnesota Poker Magazine’s site, but this run of tournament success (I cashed in a 4-max PLO8 tourney at the same time with another deep run) has me thinking about the 2010 WSOP for taking another shot at the big money for this small operator of four card crack. Maybe its false pride and the cards just fell right over the past few years but the itch to take another shot (perhaps with the help of my fellow degenerates as consulted by my financial advisor The Rooster), is definitely getting in my thoughts.

If I can extract enough time to play a few more of these (my run ended at 3:00am after starting at 9:30pm), and hit up Running Aces for some $4/$8 w/half kill O8 action, you might see a Captain sailing Drizz at the Amazon Room next year in a playing capacity unless I get tapped for a writing gig to chronicle the 2am $10 min bet blogger Pai Gow game at the Gold Coast.

Time will tell as will my wholely amateur review of Pittsburgh Blue steakhouse in Maple Grove stemming from next week's anniversary dinner is still being pan seared with butter.

When Stress Turns Into Fun

Today I have been married for nine years, I'll reserve judgement and comments on my partnership with my wife until tonight where I'll be expecting a show only seen in Amsterdam's red light district in the bedroom.

Kidding.

Actually, a quiet dinner at Pittsburgh Blue without dashing a three year old to the bathroom while catching a thrown mini corn dog mid-flight before it hits the blue haired lady behind us would surpass five seconds of naked fun.

A sappy marriage post may be in the works, adjust your internets while clicking here accordingly.

----


I hope if StB ever takes a journey south to see his beloved Cowboys that he's holding a winning Powerball ticket.

Original story from Lincoln Journal Star:

Tuesday’s tour took our group into a suite that can be leased for $800,000 a year — which doesn’t include the price of game or event tickets but does offer a large pizza for $90 (no toppings), 12-packs of domestic beer for $66 apiece and a four-pack of Red Bull for $22, among other ridiculously priced items.

The beer price isn't horrible, actually cheaper than most places if you think about it but $90 for a cheese pizza and $800K for suites without being able to get into the stadium? Are these prices you want to trot out during an economically unstable time for the US of A? I wonder if Mr. Jones' merchandising director is Gordon Gekko.

---

Yesterday I got a rare reprive as what stressed me originally actually became a blessing. The US Bank saga continued as I was told 8:30am sharp there would be a super important inspector guy at my doorsteps waititing to take a fine tweezer to my abode that was recently sealed with lavish mountain gray siding to procure a simple signature of a bank that has no rights to the insurance check that holds a final payment to the contractor sitting beneath a pile of coupons and Mr. Potato Head parts on my kitchen counter.

8:30 rolls and my daughter decides that its a good time to see just how much toilet paper our commode can handle after making into the bathroom on time (a win or a push?). But, no Dickies-dressed bank rep.

Call comes a few minutes after with apologies that he'll drop by a little before noon. Now, I'm torn. All dressed up for work but a beautiful day out and two kids that I don't get to spend enough time with. Quick thinking, I check with work and they're covered so Kyra got a daddy to play with for a few hours outside while collecting 67% of the dirt of the backyard on her "Catch Me If You Can" pink t-shirt. And Wyatt got to see Transformers 2 for next nearly three (really?!?!) hours.

(Sidebar about the movie: First film I've seen in a theater in over a year, hearing aids made the action pop out which rocked, but words were still a little difficult to follow. Megan Fox's ass shots however were very easy to gaze at, but they seemed to try too hard to get those shots and it didn't blend with the movie that well, not that I minded the skin of course and what was with that metal tentacle tongue thing coming out of the hot chick's blue lace panties trying to strangle Sam, me thinks the writers spend too much time in Japan recently.)

What started as another bitch-fest at a bank I will never do business with again if I can help it, turned into a day of fun for the kids and a night that would end with me meeting my father-in-law and my wife's half-brothers out at Running Aces for cards and ponies. The poker part I'll probably post here in the next few days. Sadly the $4/$8 w/half kill O8 game was not running so I took my six racks of whites to a $2/$4 LHE table and watched various people with $20-$60 stacks get pissed versus having fun with the overdressed guy in the seven seat seemingly giving away money and drinks.

I made $13 beyond tips, drinks (which you had to pay for), and playing 95% of the hands some blind some not. Entertainment for one I guess despite my efforts to play the part of the drunken gambler in front of an audience that was more suited up emotionaly for a funeral.

Le sigh.

Mid-Summer Dilly Bar Update

Other shinning example of "poker bloggers/media" can't play the game they cover...

I don't know about you but I've heard of Dr. Pauly, Dan from Pokerati, and the lovely LJ who just took down the WSOP Dream Team event for $31K plus individual prizes. Dream Team sent some photos yesterday and I'll get them out tomorrow, but check the link for Mean Gene's excellent photographic eye for capturing degenerates handling bricks of cash.

Seems like we're doing alright on the felt in this part of the interwebs. As sprstoner (who doesn't like to be lumped in with the bloggers but will anyway) and cashed for six figures at the WSOP, is on Day 2 of the Venetian Deep Stack Main Event.

---

If you had to chose between listening to John Madden, Joe Buck, or Chris Berman for an hour which announcer would cause you to rip your pubic hairs out one by one the least?

---

Is there ever a point in marriage where you can sit back and say "yep, we finally get it"?

Not that I'm at that point nor make any claims as to how to get to such a lofty place in matrimonial bliss, but are you in a good marriage when you can blow through getting snapped at and assume an apology is coming by the end of the day?

I for one will never "get" marriage but rather just try to enjoy the ride no matter how many times my soft head hits the top of the minivan going over the ski mogul-like highway. Worrying about the daily spills has caused so much stress in the past that I've lost sight as to why I help pay the mortgage, take that extra peek, and fold a load of family-sized laundry every other day.

Actually I know why I take an extra peek is because boobies are boobies and they need attention too.

---

The All-Star game was a bit of a bust in terms of excitement. The only moment I took to gaze on extended action was to watch Mo Rivera mow down the National League in the ninth, further cementing his bust in Cooperstown. After all $6 Sit n Gos are much more important than knowing the Twinkies will have home-field advantage for the World Series this year :)

---

I'm buying Dilly Bars after T-Ball tonight, so if you're in Champlin this evening around 7 CST and are faster than my mohawk'd son, the ice cream with chocolate coating is yours.

Not to be confused with the urban dictionary definition of "dilly bar" which sounds like the vagina would invert from the cold shock, unless of course the lady is use to sticking her dildo/partner's man parts in the freezer before use.

One Falls as Two Rise

After attending a funeral this weekend for an in-law relative I have met maybe twice in eleven years the reflective mood switch lit up several times in the past few days while enjoy a cool breeze of a rolled-down window. Mentioned at least a dozen times that the car ride to and from work is my personal creative writing area, a place untouched by whines for heart-shaped commercially processed food snacks, coding errors in the database, and honey-do lists sitting on the refrigerator.

Add in a few days of gorgeous Minnesota springtime weather and there’s spot to sit back and let the adjectives and movie quotes bounce around waiting to drop into their respectively perfect spots. Its also a time to battle inner demons of uncertain things to come, and long lasting battles with depression that can appear to be on the mat staggering to get up after the balding ref yells out “8!” but catches his gloves sturdy enough for the V-shaped swimsuit donning model showing enough side boob to make the asthma sufferer in row 6 dive for his inhaler while bring out a cue card for the drooling masses signifying Round 11.

This weekend my thoughts were on marriage, and my union with someone who has her own fight in a different ring. For several years she was a nurse, a caretaker, a chauffeur. Watching a man she loved lie on the ground in convulsions from an accident, instead of under a bath of lights smacking a 12” softball and rounding first a little too much hoping for the left fielder to jumble the throw just enough to eek out an extra base. No drives to catch a local band and a few cocktails. Her life was not easy prior to the setback, and instead of the man some people have met at a card table writing here, she got an irritable asshole on most days.

There’s no claim that anyone’s life is “easy” or “more difficult” than someone else’s due to physical or mental limitations. Money, profession, sexual enjoyment are all what you make of it and how much your personal being holds those things in the order of life. What made our marriage work for those dark years is that we both had the same idea of money and kids, not sacrificing any little time that I was able to hold a conversation or just to sit down for some meat loaf and whipped garlic mashed potatoes. Call it a phase if you will, but coming out thru the literally dark house due to my light-sensitivity forced us to speak to each other more candidly, shout a little louder, and force the personalities behind that depression wall come out. Instead of marrying a shadow of a person, we both got rid of any bullshit façade and stripped ourselves down to show the true person wearing the skin of their bedmate, for better, for worse. Some couples wait until little Johnny grabs his piece of half-assed paper from the local high school and acceptance letter to State before learning that they real don’t like the person they are sleeping with flushing 18 years potential life down the Home Depot installed granite lined sink.

There will be more disagreements, more fights, but those also come with breaking down more barriers that lied between us since a day almost nine years ago which we stepped out of a church and into the newly defunct PT Crusier and rode towards a little party in downtown Anoka. The new hearing aids may help me catch almost every word spoken, but even without the technological assistance, I can tell by the tone of her voice that happiness is starting to creep more into her life now that she can be a person again versus being locked into a profession she did not ask for.

We watched the life story of her grandfather play out on the screen of the funeral home, a man with little smiles as one son struggled to describe him in good light and the other son decided to keep his words forever silent. His passing away did nothing to touch any personal grief, but lesson of living life with smile and enjoying whatever gifts the people within your grasp are willing to part with make those drives to and from work more enjoyable.

Our marriage is not one that will be feature in the love+sex section of any major publication, nor should it be in an advice episode for Dr. Phil to ponder over. It just is, as universal marital advice is only as good as you can tweak it towards fitting your puzzle.


----

Enough sappiness, tomorrow the bane of my favorite football team yet again waffles his Lazarus-esque return to throwing hail mary passes for money while causing ESPN executives to give each other reach-arounds now that Sportscenter will have a lead story for the next three months. Today's "story": Doctors is are the scary, I don'ts need no surgery.

Want But Don't Want

You have plans.

Line up a nice mix of relaxation and work, time with the kids, and a few beers with the guys.

Your own cocoon of perfect time away from your cube.

Then you got married and brought a woman into your life.

She brings a new way of thinking. OHHHHHHHHHHH SALE LETS GO!

"But honey, that's a great idea and I'm sure that would be fun...." doesn't work, just makes her more determined.

Throwing excuses at her is like Jim Cramer showing up on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Its a fruitless exercise in debating when you're a toothpick trying to hold up a 15 foot ocean wave.

Personally, I feel like I'm letting people down by not being able to do all the work that I wanted but after the wife spent several hours over the past week looking up flights and hotels for Vegas, I've given up on the deflection techniques I learned at the Miyagi-do karate dojo.

No amount of wax-on wax-off will get my Elizabeth Shue to see this as a "non-optimal" idea. See: last time I went to Vegas with her

"But, this time we're bringing the boy" (yes we have two children, and no the daughter will not be on a plane until Obama is retiring to his estate in Illinois)

Ever wonder when those marital test come up in your relationship with the wife/husband/kids? This is going to be one of them for me. People might be saying "but but but its VEGAS!!!". Yes, its Vegas but is it a place for a five year old who has a greater affinity for blinking lights then his father and can't go throw a twenty into the Star Trek slots?

This is true, my favorite city, my vices, shouting PAI GOW at 4am, "something to look forward to". But I put responsiblity first in my life. I'm a good boy (for the most part) and having to delegate those responsiblities out, hurts (a HUGE thanks to Spaceman for helping me). I want to show I'm realiable yet here I am agreeing to a trip.

Sigh. Anyone have an answer?

----

Side note: Gophers don't deserve to dance. Period.

Happy they're in? No.

Will I wear my gopher colors while they're on? Of course, I am still a fan.

It shows the selection committee looked at Tubby's name on the big screen and knew they'd get ratings. That's it. Texas will beat them 45-32 (no that's not a halftime score). If you want Big 10 basketball in the tourney, you're going to get low scoring games (read: booooooooooooooring)that are dominated by defense with one exception (see: Michigan State).

The Spartans have a shot, maybe Purdue, but if you're filling out a bracket, get rid of those midwest teams immediately if not sooner.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to check out another site for flight times.

Its Always Sunny in Washington

For better for worse.

A tag line for a day filled with white lace, nervous flasks filled with brown liquid being passed around in the men’s bathroom, and cute little nieces all done up with fresh florist picks to drop some “ahhhhhhhhh” bombs before the guest of honor walk down the aisle towards their impending vows. Soon after the drunken dances with cousins twice-removed and seeing your new spouse in a thong for the last time bring: mortgages, new humans being produced, “found money”, nights on the couch after disagreeing Jerry Springer-style on chicken versus steak for dinner, marathon sex while watching NFL Sunday, yard work, credit card bills, quiet hand-held walks through falling leaves and a red wagon being tow'd behind.

Life has these ups and downs whether you’ve made the above vow with other person or not, should the economy be any different? People spend too much, find themselves in debt, reign in the horses to save, build the wealth back up, people spend too much, find themselves in debt… and the circle continues. Right now of course people like the execs at AIG don’t seem to understand its time to either invest in solid companies while their stock prices are low or maybe skip that pedicure and happy ending massage with Suki her lava rocks at some posh resort. If there’s an explanation for their $400K+ splurge that ends with people nodding their heads in agreement, it would be most helpful to avoid the long, icy glare of my better half the next time I try to super-size my skillet at Denny’s (or wherever skillets may be sold).



Is the country going to sit around and point fingers solely at those with the tailored Ralph Lauren purple label power suits and $150,000 Jags with the now near busto E-Trade accounts that make their spokesperson cry? Or should we blame those middle-wage earners who bought that $350,000 “dream home” because they could afford the interest-only loans, only to find out about balloon payments and escalating scale of interest after several months when they didn’t stop the notary public as she explained the 45 page mortgage document because of the stars in their eyes as they got a free set of Ginzu steak knives and bank logo’d stainless steel coffee mug with their purchase.

Pointing fingers while married solves little. Getting down on all fours to pick up the toys and scattered crayons readies the battlefield for tomorrow but does little to prevent a lifetime of pleas for help pick up. Sitting down and working out a plan with all those involved would get things done.

Now, it’s a matter of choosing the right person to take the lead, for better and for worse.

Choose Your Own Ending: Restaurant Edition

The day after returning to the frozen tundra where spit is turned into ice droplets before it shatters off the ground, I figured a dinner with the family at a favorite local restaurant would remind me why I get up at 4:30am every morning when it’s ten below out. Granite City is a blend between a sports bar and nice restaurant, along with a short selection of very good handcrafted micro-brews. The wife and kids were in good spirits as Wyatt decided several intellectually challenging games of Tic-Tac-Toe would keep him busy until my peppercorn bacon cheeseburger with fried onion shavings arrived.

Kyra voiced her concerned about the flat milk she received but turned her attention to the waxy texture of the blue crayon over the red one as she colored ferociously outside of the lines in defiance of the new surrealism art movement. Meanwhile I enjoyed my carefully crafted “Brother Benedict Bock” which was served at a perfect temperature by a local hottie with sparkling blue eyes with some ginger highlights. Yes, I just looked at her face. She may have had a nice ass too but I didn’t take notice.

While Jim Rome prattled on in the background about baseball players who decided to juice themselves, my stomach’s radar began beeping loudly as my slab of flipped bovine grew near. Chicken strips for the little one had to be symmetrically prepared and quick parent’s hands used as the manager tried to be cute with younger female at the table with a joke. Jokes are fine, but don’t put an open bowl of syrup dipped fruit in front of an 18 month old unless you enjoy swimming in the sticky substance. Thoughts of implanting my wedding ring and four knuckles into his right eye socket subsided quickly with another sip of the beer and smell of the burger.

After carefully cutting the burger in half for dipping purposes I grabbed the bottle of ketchup sitting in front of me and shook it to loosen the contents. Unfortunately, the contents did not remain in the bottle after the shaking and managed to make my pants and shirt look like I was a midwife just completing my duties of assisting the fairer sex of bringing a new life into this world. Stunned, I wondered which restaurant employee was going to receive the wedgie of fury followed by false declarations of never returning here.

“I left the bottle open” the wife said

“Ok, why would you put the cap back on without tightening it?” I asked while keeping my emotions bottled unlike the sticky Heinz red sauce that lined my clothes

“You should have checked” the wife proclaimed, using her Teflon style of arguing while she looks at her grilled chicken sandwich

Here’s where you the viewer can chime in. What is your reply?

a) “You’re right honey, how thoughtless of me to think that the cap on a bottle of ketchup would be fastened” stated with no dripping sarcasm

b) The same as above but let the sarcasm come out as it should

c) “Could you explain the idea behind leaving the cap on top of the bottle?” “Would you like another demonstration of what happens?” then splatter her new blonde highlights and tight polo shirt with ketchup and look forward to sex with lefty and righty for the next six to twelve months

d) Leave your custom reply in the comments area


Enjoy your day and don’t forget to wrap your condiments! Yes, I laughed at myself the day after but not so much that day.

One More in the Books

They say seven is a lucky number.

Over the past few years one could describe my marriage as calm as Game Seven of the World Series with the home team down by one with bases juiced and two outs with the star player up to bat versus a closer that blows a save about every time Halley’s Comet drops by. Our existence together has not been one without its share of arguments over things large and small. Fun only came into play when our two little bundles of joy were enjoying a day at the park or a cool run in the backyard sprinkler.

The thunderclouds sat over our heads threatening rain with every verbal exchange beyond the “how was your day?”. A co-habitation more then a marriage, roommates versus lovers, our son definitely picked up on it by acting out more often then a two to three year old normally would. “We need to do something” was a theme, a forgotten promise, but never became a reality as the sky would poke some sunrays thru but the clouds would quickly swell up and smother them, pinching off any warmth.

Long nights behind the dim light emitted from my Gateway laptop, blinking numbers and virtual chips being thrown across a pixelized felt. Fold, raise, call, easier decisions to make then how to tell your wife that life together can’t go like this. Bluffing someone off their hand sedated my competitive spirit for the evening, but unable to enjoy the spoils of another night in the black (or red like this weekend) on my spreadsheet, made even poker become part of a routine to get by.

Could things change?

Would things change?

Is it worth it?

After a long session due to final tabling a low buy in tourney, I snuck in to each of their rooms just watch how peaceful how family was, and how much they meant to my happiness, thus decided to be selfish and fight for that peace. Ultimatums were not passed on, but the discussions between the holders of the rings were a little more serious then turning down my son’s requests for a new Hot Wheel supertrack at Target.

She finally saw our lives together thru my eyes, and the mirror image reflected back something she didn’t want to be anymore. That’s when I got my wife back.

Since that day at the doctor’s office someone new comes home with paint laced clothing and a smile about how her day went. The kids have responded by passing on their energy towards having fun versus being burdens. My perception of my family and my marriage has changed, I want to come home at night, I want to get my balls accidentally rattled because I was watching “Survivor” and didn’t see a charging now four year old come at me groin level for a hog pile, because dad is free game if he’s laying down on the carpeted floor in the porch.

Gone are the shards of broken glass around the house, no longer do I require to be Baryshnikov dancing en pointe to hold a conversation with my love not walk away mumbling with anger.

Finally the woman that I married came home, and I hope to see her next to me in Myrtle Beach, at Chuck E. Cheese, and in bed until my body has spent enough time swimming in Cap’n Cokes and decides to give up.

Happy anniversary hon, and I promise to try to be the guy that walked you back down the aisle seven years ago minus the scrapped and bleeding shin from softball because that really hurt as it stuck to my tux.

Thanks for dropping by, now I’m going to try to figure out the meaning behind my wife buying me lotion for an anniversary gift…

Its A New Day

Starting my new job today, so I'm getting a feel for the change (which is welcomed, not to mention this kick ass comfty chair!).

Tomorrow I'd like to broach a subject of marriage for a stroll around my brain which has been on overload lately.

Be back tomorrow folks.

And if you haven't already congratulated the Pokernews crew for landing the WSOP duties, please go do so. Our refresh buttons will rejoice during all events now :)

Congrats guys, you earned it!