The Thousand Dollar Writeup, Part the Second
Things pick up steam now. I promise. As the sharpest of you already figured out, the whole point of Part 1 was not that I had much that was interesting to say, but rather to publicly shame Dawn Summers. Considering I got a "fuck you motherfucker" at our 24-watching party last night, I'd say I was successful. Hearing those words was like feeling the sun on my face on a pleasant spring afternoon.
(Question? Answer.)
What did our first night in Atlantic City bring us?
* We checked into a really nice suite at Fairfield Resorts. Two bedrooms with king beds, two bathrooms, kitchenette, living room with sleeper couch, and balcony with ocean views for the low (by AC standards) price of $175/night. I normally despise staying overnight in AC -- it's such a depressing place and the casinos charge obscene weekend rates -- but for $30/person/night, this place was a steal. Even despite the fact that there were only two elevators for a 30-story building, and neither of them could fit more than six normal-sized people (or ten me-sized people) without everyone having to suck in their guts.
It helped that I got to share a bed with Mary, although claiming that we shared a bed is like saying that Los Angeles is "near" Chicago. I also had to promise that "there will be no Captain Tom action". Now I've always thought that hot chicks who play poker are giving me a standing invitation for a huggle-fest, but since I like Mary, I did my best to respect her wishes. It was much easier in a bed that was so huge there was a gaping chasm between our sleeping forms.
(Note to Mary: sorry if I "kicked" you during the night.)
Sharing a bed with Mary was probably the only mitigating evidence against my Under Suspicion title that was produced all weekend. There was, however, some damning evidence the other way...
* Played 1/2 NLHE for a half hour waiting to get into my 10/20 game at the Borgata, finishing with a $52 profit.
* During the 10/20 game, I walked over to a garbage can to throw out an empty coffee cup (black decaf, thanks). While there, I noticed SoxLover in a nearby 2/5 NLHE game. More accurately, I noticed a stunning Asian woman chatting with SoxLover in a nearby 2/5 NLHE game. A strange sensation swept over me, and it took a few minutes before I realized that the sensation was me wanting to go talk to SoxLover and find out how he was faring at his table.
(Really, she was *that* attractive. Do you think I'd willingly subject myself to SoxLover's poker tales of woe if she wasn't? I may be Under Suspicion, but I'm not insane.)
To his credit, SoxLover attempted to introduce me to his new friend, characterizing her as "another Manhattan lawyer", but she was involved in a hand and didn't respond. Her Borgata card stood behind her impressive stack of chips, and although it was at tilted at an angle, I could make out her first name: CK. I made a mental note and returned to my game. Without huggling her.
Hot Asian chicks who play poker = swoon.
* Six hours of 10/20 at the Borgata for me, to the tune of $495 profit. Overall, a good Day 1 showing. Phone calls were made during the day to Comrade Al не смогит повиснуть and -EV, but they were both MIA.
* Somewhere around 11pm, Dawn suggested that we (SoxLover, Mary, me) meet up with her, Ross, Karol and Jordan at Showboat. Here's a quick AC tip: if anyone you're with ever suggests you go play poker at Showboat, shoot yourself in the head. Or maybe shoot them in the head. Probably better them. The tasteful naked women on the walls of the Showboat poker room are not enough reason to justify the poker room's existence. It sucks, it's so far removed from the rest of the casino that you could easily get lost trying to find it, and ALL THEY SPREAD IS GODDAMN $1/$2 NLHE.
Well, there was a $2/$4 LHE game too. After vainly looking for a cheap paigow table ($25 minimum was all I could find), you know what I did.
"Double Johnny Walker on the rocks and a rack of whites, please."
Mercifully, everyone ejected from Showboat after only a half hour of that silliness.
* We went back to the Borgata to have a few drinks at B-Bar, where I received a phone call from none other than internet celebrity Derek, freshly arrived in AC on a solo trip from the Big Apple. His traveling companion was supposed to have been The Rooster, but the Rooster flaked out, thereby ensuring that he retains his title as Flakiest New York WPBTer, three years running.
Derek quickly made his way to us and we settled in at a table near the bar for some quality boozing and waitress ogling (I may have made a comment at one point about eating off the ass of our waitress, she/it was that lovely), interrupted only by a Jersey Girl catfight that Borgata security broke up disappointingly quickly and the godawful mash-ups that were playing over the B-Bar stereo system. Derek received a text from Sweet, Sweet Pablo "smoking with your brother". I texted Pablo back "getting drunk with Derek". -EV texted me to say he was sick and would probably not make it to AC. Booze was flowing, cracks were being made left and right, and everyone was having a good time, but there was still one question that was nagging at everybody, and the drunker we got, the more it nagged:
Where the hell was AlCantHang?