Chick Poker from Hell
I've frequently thought that my life could make a good reality TV show. I know lots of interesting characters, am one myself in fact, and seem to have a lot of escapades. (That's the word Grandpa used last week to describe my activities and I thought it was pretty accurate.)
If we had filmed the pilot at Friday night's Chick Poker, the networks would be clamoring at my door offering me obscene piles of money to make a deal. It was just that entertaining. The groups is always talking about what's going to make it into the blog but the reality is there's just too much material to retain and report on.
Picture five women talking nonstop about men, sex acts, sex toys, phone sex (sensing a theme, here?), male and female body parts and biological functions with some politics, books, wine, food and music topics thrown in for good measure. It's kinda like Sex in the City only bawdier.
We also have an audience in our male dealer, Morgan, who's married to one of us. He alternates between being amused and being, well, I'm not sure how to describe it but he cringes a lot.
Oh, and there's alleged poker playing going on, too. This is where the 'hell' part of my title comes in. There's soooooo much yapping going on while we play that it drives me insane. They get so distracted that when the action's on them, they don't even think and just call. (OK, not all of them but the ones on either side of me.) I had pocket aces in Hold'Em, couldn't chase anyone out of the pot and ended up losing on the river. It's just not right, I tell you.
Then there's the ante process. Chris, who seems to be genuinely bitter that I've written about her lack of ante skills still could not remember to put in her money. She was on my right. Stacey was on my left and she was just as remiss. I ended up putting in their money most of the night.
It's dealer's choice and three of us always pick Moo which is our nickname for Texas Hold'Em. The other two pick the goofy games. Becky chose Black Mariah (7 card stud with Queens and the card following the last Queen being wild and high spade in the hole splitting the pot. If the Queen of spades comes up, the hand's dead and you start over) with 2s also being wild. Morgan tried to explain to her that she was effectively making a quarter of the deck wild cards but she was insistent. Then she was really surprised and extremely disappointed that Angela beat her with 5 wild cards.
Morgan's a very good dealer and he's trying to help everyone develop their playing skills. He'll announce what the highest possible hand is based on the up cards as a little communication nicety. Inside my head, I'm screaming at him, "Don't tell them! If they don't know what they have, it's too damn bad!" Outside my head, I'm saying aloud (and probably pretty loudly), "Don't tell them! If they don't know what they have, it's too damn bad!"
The little harpies know they make me insane with their antics and I find myself self-medicating with wine. It helps. It also amuses them all the more to know they're pushing me over the edge.
For some reason, Stacey was apparently feeling violent. I think it's something to do with her new, butch haircut but that's just a theory. She kept punching me in the arm, despite my protestations that I'm fra-jee-lay. I can't remember what triggered it but, she threw a chip at me and it literally bounced off of my forehead. Morgan laughed so hard, he blew Amstel Light out through his nose. Apparently, that's very painful, BTW. He was laughing and crying and I was laughing and crying and somehow I managed not to take her down hard. Probably because I'm a lover, not a fighter.
To top it off, I lost about $11. That pain was lessened somewhat as Angela, the only other serious player, won big.
Glutton for punishment that I am, I'll be back at it next month. Maybe I'll have time to get that camera crew set up.
If we had filmed the pilot at Friday night's Chick Poker, the networks would be clamoring at my door offering me obscene piles of money to make a deal. It was just that entertaining. The groups is always talking about what's going to make it into the blog but the reality is there's just too much material to retain and report on.
Picture five women talking nonstop about men, sex acts, sex toys, phone sex (sensing a theme, here?), male and female body parts and biological functions with some politics, books, wine, food and music topics thrown in for good measure. It's kinda like Sex in the City only bawdier.
We also have an audience in our male dealer, Morgan, who's married to one of us. He alternates between being amused and being, well, I'm not sure how to describe it but he cringes a lot.
Oh, and there's alleged poker playing going on, too. This is where the 'hell' part of my title comes in. There's soooooo much yapping going on while we play that it drives me insane. They get so distracted that when the action's on them, they don't even think and just call. (OK, not all of them but the ones on either side of me.) I had pocket aces in Hold'Em, couldn't chase anyone out of the pot and ended up losing on the river. It's just not right, I tell you.
Then there's the ante process. Chris, who seems to be genuinely bitter that I've written about her lack of ante skills still could not remember to put in her money. She was on my right. Stacey was on my left and she was just as remiss. I ended up putting in their money most of the night.
It's dealer's choice and three of us always pick Moo which is our nickname for Texas Hold'Em. The other two pick the goofy games. Becky chose Black Mariah (7 card stud with Queens and the card following the last Queen being wild and high spade in the hole splitting the pot. If the Queen of spades comes up, the hand's dead and you start over) with 2s also being wild. Morgan tried to explain to her that she was effectively making a quarter of the deck wild cards but she was insistent. Then she was really surprised and extremely disappointed that Angela beat her with 5 wild cards.
Morgan's a very good dealer and he's trying to help everyone develop their playing skills. He'll announce what the highest possible hand is based on the up cards as a little communication nicety. Inside my head, I'm screaming at him, "Don't tell them! If they don't know what they have, it's too damn bad!" Outside my head, I'm saying aloud (and probably pretty loudly), "Don't tell them! If they don't know what they have, it's too damn bad!"
The little harpies know they make me insane with their antics and I find myself self-medicating with wine. It helps. It also amuses them all the more to know they're pushing me over the edge.
For some reason, Stacey was apparently feeling violent. I think it's something to do with her new, butch haircut but that's just a theory. She kept punching me in the arm, despite my protestations that I'm fra-jee-lay. I can't remember what triggered it but, she threw a chip at me and it literally bounced off of my forehead. Morgan laughed so hard, he blew Amstel Light out through his nose. Apparently, that's very painful, BTW. He was laughing and crying and I was laughing and crying and somehow I managed not to take her down hard. Probably because I'm a lover, not a fighter.
To top it off, I lost about $11. That pain was lessened somewhat as Angela, the only other serious player, won big.
Glutton for punishment that I am, I'll be back at it next month. Maybe I'll have time to get that camera crew set up.
