Bad Beats & Big Tits

The hell with poker.  Poker sucks.  I’m giving up poker.  It’s a stupid, stupid game.

I hate poker.

The way I feel about poker right now, as I write this, can be summed up nicely by the title of this post here from fellow blogger Pete P. Peters, and for similar reasons.  And it’s no coincidence that I mention PPP right now.  He actually makes a cameo appearance in this post, although he was not around for the hand that started me on the downward spiral that got me hating a certain card game.

So I can’t blame him for my woes, but I need to blame someone or something.  The game itself?  The so-called “poker gods”?  The bad waitress who kept me at the table for one more orbit waiting for my god-damn diet coke?  Hmm….getting closer.  Or do we blame the casino that hired her?  Do we also blame that same casino for keeping the temperature in its poker room so low that you could store ice cream right at the poker table?  I might have had a different attitude about staying longer, played a hand differently, if I hadn’t been so uncomfortably cold. 

One thing for sure, I know I can’t blame myself.  I played exemplary poker.  I’m sure you will all agree.  If I’m wrong, I know I can count on my readers to let me know!

But I have to place the blame somewhere, and the next morning, as I was thinking over my last two evening sessions, I realized that there was one thing in common with all three of the hands that crashed and burned on me.  In every case, I was sitting next to the same guy.  This guy was the husband of the “Woman In The Orange Dress With Big Tits.”  To be clear, it was the woman, not the orange dress, that had the big tits.  For simplicity sakes, that woman will henceforth be referred to by the initials, “WITODWBT” and her husband will be referred to as “HOTWITODWBT”, because I don’t want to keep typing out “the woman in the orange dress with big tits” for the rest of this post.

Now, Pete Peters is in town and was playing at the MGM poker room before I got there.  I got assigned to a different table than him and was playing for awhile when a seat opened up next to me.  At the time, the table was soft and calm.  There were no big stacks at the table but I didn’t mind taking advantage of the small stacks.  I walked over to Pete and told him there was a seat open next to me and that the game was soft.  He decided to join me.

For awhile, everything was calm and relaxed, but after awhile, the conditions changed and with just a couple of different players joining the game, it suddenly became a wild, action table.  We saw some wild raises and wild calls, and it was as if they were suddenly playing a totally different game than the one that was there just 30 minutes earlier.

The first new player of note was the aforementioned HOTWITODWBT.  He was alone and he sat down to my right (PPP was on my left).  He was one of those overly chatty, overly friendly guys.  He was talking about his bad luck, the cards, and whatnot.  I tried to tune him out but it was hard to do because he was next to me.

He wasn’t really one of the aggro guys, but he was only too eager to join in the action when the real aggro guys showed up. 

Suddenly, I heard what sounded to me a like a little girl’s voice behind me.  I turned around and saw a rather skimpy, very tight orange dress approaching the guy to my right.  Yes, there was a woman in it.  I didn’t get a really good look at the dress, but it was tight, as I said, and somewhat short.  It looked like the kind of dress the girls wear when they go to that hot new nightclub at MGM, you know, the girls who make up what I lovingly refer to as The Slut Parade. (which, to be clear, does not mean I’m referring to this girls as “sluts”, only that they are dressing sluttily). 

She pulled up a chair next to the guy on my right, and it was obvious that she had been addressing him as she came over to the table.  They were clearly a couple.

And speaking of a couple, the woman in question had a couple of big ones.  The tight orange dress was designed to display peek-a-boo cleavage. You know, closed at the very top and bottom of the bust, and wide open in the middle to offer an ample view of an ample bosom.  The picture below does not do justice to this lady's chest, but was the best I could find.

I know, I know, right now you are expressing total shock that I would notice that the woman had big tits.  It’s true, I so rarely notice that type of thing.  But somehow, on this night, I did indeed notice her big chest and impressive amount of bare boobage on display.  The other thing I noticed looking at her was, that since the dress was quite tight across her bust (except for the missing fabric in the center), I could tell I wasn't the only person in the poker room who was cold.  Either that, or she was just happy to see me.

Of course, I also know that my readers are interested in knowing if the boobage on display was “original factory equipment” or “after-market” add-ons.  Here, I can only speculate, as clothing often provides insufficient evidence, and sometimes I turn out to be wrong in my initial assessment.  That said, since Vegas is a city that encourages gambling, I would lay 3 to 1 that she had indeed gotten her breasts from a plastic surgeon and not from Mother Nature or a deity (depending on your belief system).  In fact, I was tempted to ask the guy to my right, who I now knew was her husband, if he had paid for them or if they were already there and part of her dowry when they wed.

As an aside, since I mentioned laying 3 to 1, I think it would a great idea for sports books around town to start taking bets on whether or not certain woman have implants or not, giving different odds just like they do for sporting events.  “I’ll take ‘fake and 1 cup size for a hundred." Just a thought.

The other thing I noticed about the woman was, despite the little girl voice and the dress that is usually worn by those just barely old enough to indulge in all the sins that Vegas has to offer, she was not a typically looking club-goer by any stretch.  She was quite a bit older than most of the girls you see going to these clubs. She was middle-aged. She had a fine figure, to be sure, that was not at all betrayed by the tightness of her dress.  But she could easily have been the mother of 90% of the girls who you see lined up to get into the club.  The dress—and the voice—didn’t match her age.

In fact, she began telling the story of how she got in line to go to the club that night and had befriended a group of much younger girls—and to hear her tell it, they were very skinny, very hot young girls.  In fact, the girls were so hot that they were able to get into the club for free, which is what I’ve come to learn is a common occurrence.  And because she made friends with these young, skinny, hotties, WITODWBT was given free admittance as part of this group.  And further, she could get her husband in free too at a certain time of night.

In telling the tale of how she befriended these young gals, she did indeed mention how somewhat out of place she felt because of the girls’ ages.  They tried to make her feel better by telling her their mothers were like 42, 43 years old.  But she then expressed some dismay because she revealed that their mothers were still younger than she was.

They say opposites attract, but not in this case.  Although the guy was ordinary looking and not at all attention getting like his wife was, they both shared a common trait.  They were both extremely talkative.  In fact, she made her husband look like a mute.  There was an Asian man to hubby’s right, and thus she was sitting between the two of them.  After bringing HOTWITODWBT up to speed on their plans for later in the evening, she became insta-friends with the Asian man and started chewing his ear off.  Asian man plays a critical part of my tale of woe, so don’t forget about him.

Anyway, Pete decided to move on and he left.  I should have left too. In fact, I was planning on leaving soon thereafter.  On the one hand, with all the action, there was a real chance to win some nice money.  But it was, as I mentioned at the outset, unbearably cold in the poker room that night, and it was particularly cold where I was sitting.  There was arctic air blowing down on my back and neck, and despite the fact that I had a long-sleeve shirt and a sweatshirt on, I was freezing to death.  Usually on the nights when that club is open, it is cold early and then warms up a bit when all the club-goers fill the casino.  Not this night.  It stayed cold all night.  I wish the damn MGM would do something about their weather conditions.  I may have to start taking my business elsewhere.  It’s not just the poker room, it’s the whole casino.  When I walk from the poker room to the restrooms, it’s even colder!

And then there was the cocktail service.  It was pretty bad.  No, make that terrible.  In the post here, I mentioned the room losing one of its good, regular waitresses. There were two different waitresses working this night, both pretty bad.  From the first one, I actually ordered a hot chocolate just to warm up.  Last time I had hot chocolate there, it was great.  This time, it was awful.  It wasn’t hot chocolate.  It was hot water with a very faint chocolate flavoring.  I couldn’t drink it, and when I complained and returned it to the waitress, she said nothing.  She also ignored the fact that I ordered a diet coke to replace it.  It took about an hour to get another drink.

The second waitress was no better.  After waiting for it forever, she finally brought me my diet coke.  I took one sip and realized it was not diet coke.  I wasn’t sure if it was real coke or if it was something with alcohol in it, but it didn’t taste right at all and I handed it back to her and told her it wasn’t right.

Now because of the cold conditions, I wanted to leave, but I decided to wait one more orbit for my drink to come, since I was quite thirsty.  But she didn’t come back for a long time.  I waited one more orbit, than a second orbit, long after the time she should have been back with my drink.  When I decided to stay for one more orbit, I was determined that, whether she returned with my drink or not, I was leaving when the big blind came to me.  In other words, I should have been out of there before this hand happened.

By now I had about $260 in front of me from my $200 buy in.  I had some interesting hands getting there, but no time to to describe them now.  I was under-the-gun and this was surely my last hand no matter what.  As the cards were dealt the waitress did indeed return with my diet coke, and it was actually the right drink this time.  I looked down at pocket 9’s.  OK, I guess I was going to play my last hand.

I usually don’t raise with that hand, but I can depending on table conditions.  In this case, with it being my last hand, I limped like I usually do.  Actually, the way the table was going, it was likely someone would raise, and then I’d have to see how big the raise was to decide how to proceed.  If I had raised, I feared a three-bet, and then I would be risking too much with such a marginal hand.

But no one raised.  Six of us saw the flop, which was King-9-5, rainbow. Yahtzee!  It was checked to me and I bet $10, almost the size of the pot.  It folded to the aforementioned Asian man who was the small blind and he put out $25, a check-raise.

I couldn’t put him on the only hand that beat me, the dreaded pocket kings. No way was anybody at this table limping in with pocket kings.  And since he was the small blind, he couldn’t have limped hoping to make a raise preflop.  He knew it was a limped pot.  So he didn’t have me beat.

I put out $75 on top of my $10.  If anything, that was too much, right?  I want him calling but I don’t want to give him a free card.  Tell me if you think that bet was way off.  He thought about it a bit and called.

The turn was another King, filling me up.  He shoved, having more chips than I did.

I snap called.  Does anyone there fold?  A 9’s full of Kings full house?  Please tell me if you think I should have folded.

Although this guy wasn’t the most aggro of all players at the table, I was sure he was more than capable of making that move with just trip Kings.

The river was a blank but I was drawing dead anyway.  He had King-9, so he had a bigger boat than I did.  I checked the calculator.  I was a 91% favorite on the flop.  He had exactly two outs.  He hit one of them.

As I picked up my full glass of diet coke, and my zero stack of chips, all I could think was, “I paid $260 for this damn glass of diet coke.”  Believe me, it was not worth it.

The next night, I did two table changes trying to find a part of the poker room that wasn’t freezing.  Yeah, I’m now doing table selection based on temperature at the table, I mean that literally, not figuratively.  It was still cold, but with basically a winter jacket on, I was able to be almost comfortable there.  I remind you that the outside temperature in Vegas is about 110 degrees right now, and walking around outside carrying a jacket is not only not fun, but it makes me look like ridiculous.

This table too started off calm and normal and suddenly, after a big fight at the MGM let out and the room got packed, went berserk. A bunch of aggros took over.  Wild raises and all-in’s preflop.  I had about $300 in front of me when it started and I knew if I could just catch a hand, these maniacs would pay me off.

One of the new guys who showed up was HOTWITODWBT.  This time he sat immediately to my left.  I didn’t think anything of that at the time.  He did mention that his wife and her big boobies were back in their room and the three of them would not be joining us tonite.

Seat two was taken by a long-haired, bearded young guy whose favorite thing to do was raise to $5.  Early position, late position, many limpers, no limpers.  Didn’t matter.  If it wasn’t already raised, he made it $5.  I wondered if he was trying to get into the 2/5 game and there just wasn’t room?  He would call most raises preflop, folded very few hands, and would make plays on the river.  He bluffed a lot, and never showed.  If he was called on the bluff, and the caller didn’t show right away, he’d just insta-muck his hands.  Some of the callers were calling with pretty marginal hands, so he was really bluffing with nothing most of the time.

So I was dealt Ace-King in middle position and of course UTG he made it $5.  One other guy—an older, tighter player, called.  That $5 was like a call there, not a raise.  I don’t often three-bet with AK in a cash game but this seemed like the time to do it.  His raising range was clearly Any 2 Cards and the odds of his hand being better than mine were remote.

I made it $20.  As soon as I did that, I realized that was too small for this table, but I assure you it had no affect on the hand.  There were 4 callers including the long-haired maniac who had made it $5.  The flop was King high, which was good.  But they were all diamonds, not so good.  My Ace was black.

It was checked to me.  I don’t see how I don’t bet top pair there, right?  I bet $50.  It folded to the long-haired guy, who announced all in, a check-shove. 

He had a lot less chips than I had.  My instinct was to fold to the obvious flush, but I held back.  I asked for a count.  It was only $64 more to me to call.  And I realized that this guy could be making a move.  More than likely, he was making a move.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized it made no sense to fold.  I was almost definitely ahead, I figured.

So I called.  We didn’t show.  I truly hated seeing the Queen of diamonds on the turn.  The river was a meaningless low black card.  He asked me if I had a diamond.  Boy I wish I could have honestly said yes.  But I insisted he show first since I had called.  He showed….7-4 offsuit.  Unfortunately the 7 was indeed a diamond, giving him the flush. The four was a spade, by the way.

So he took down the pot.  He raised with 7-4 off, called my three-bet with that hand, then check-shoved with only the baby flush draw where he needed four diamonds on the board to hit it.  He could have easily been already drawing dead when he shoved. 

Poker, right?

I said “nice hand” under my breath.  The players around me all said, “No, it wasn’t a nice hand.  Not at all.”  Even the guy dragging the pot agreed.  He said it wasn’t a nice hand, I guess his way of apologizing for his suck out.  One of the guys near me said, “You know what ‘nice hand’ at a poker table means, right?  It means ‘f*** you.’”

Funny, that’s exactly the way I meant it.

I wasn’t ready to leave yet even though it was getting late.  I thought I could get it back and then some if I caught a hand.  Surely these maniacs would pay me off.

A few orbits later I was dealt two Aces in early position.  I raised to $8 as no one had limped in yet.  There were three callers, one the long-haired 7-4 guy, one was HOTWITODWBT and the third guy was a newer player who hadn’t shown any wild tendencies to this point.  He still had most of his $300 starting stack in front of him. 

The flop was all hearts.  But this time I had the Ace of hearts, so I had the draw to the nut flush.  What am I supposed to do there?  I had the overpair and the draw.  It was checked to me and I bet $25.  Hubby folded but the new guy called.  The 7-4 guy folded.

I was praying to see a heart on the turn but no, it was a low black card that didn’t change anything. Maybe I did make a mistake here—I bet.  I put out $75, a little less than the pot.  I suppose I could have bet smaller or even checked?  After all, I was the one with the draw.  Other than the flush there were no obvious draws on the board.

He looked at my remaining stack and put out a bet that was a bit more than all I had, so he was putting me all in.  I had slightly less than my $75 bet remaining.  I snapped call.  I wasn’t going anywhere with that draw.  Was that too a mistake?  Should I have found a fold there?

I suppose if I had checked there, he wouldn’t have shoved, he would have made a smaller bet, which I would have called, and then maybe I could have folded on the river if I missed the flush.

But really, I couldn’t be sure he was just betting a worse draw than I had.  Maybe he had a single heart and my Aces would be good if the fourth heart didn’t show?

If you see a fold for me there, let me know.  In reality, I called, the river was the Jack of clubs and he showed two friggin’ little hearts, not even connected.  It was something like 9-5.  As I got up to leave, I pointed to the 7-4 guy and said, “he needed a fourth diamond to make his baby flush and got it.  I needed a fourth heart to make the nut flush, and missed.”  And with that, I was gone.

As I said, it was the next morning that I realized where to place the blame.  It was clearly on the HOTWITODWBT.  He was present, sitting right next to me for all three suck-outs.  Ok, the last hand wasn’t a suck-out, technically.  It was a potential suck-out for me that didn’t get sucked, so-to-speak.  But you know what I mean.  I realized that HOTWITODWBT was my own personal bad omen, my own personal black cat.  He was the guy who had brought me all the bad luck, two nites in a row, just by sitting next to me.  It was clearly his fault.

Hey, I have to blame someone, right?  

((Note:  the follow up to this story, which does not have a happier ending I'm afraid, can be found here))