Oreo cookie 'tells'. A guide to life.

6:13 am. Slightly groggy as usual. Toxic internal fog not yet lifted.

Watched Deadwood last night. Ginnie calls it 'Fuckwood'. Either way, it's intense.

Poker. Poker. Poker. Poker has not been good to me this past week. Or I haven't been good to it. Doyle Brunson, greatest holdem player of all time says you can't bluff a bad player. And I better stop doing it, otherwise I'll become one. Bad. And thats not good. (Cue: Puero Rican hooker accent) Jhew know, jhew know bad is not good?

Part of the problem is that winning can be intoxicating. Creates a feeling of invincibility. You can do no wrong. Then you push the boundaries. Try to play your reputation rather than the cards. Boom. Sitting on your ass. Busted out of a tournament.

The only salavtaion to last week is that I am starting to learn some 'tells'. 'Tells' are unconscious actions a player takes that may indicate the strength of their hand. In the movie "Rounders", Teddy-KGB has an oreo cookie tell. Teddy keeps oreos on the poker table. During a big hand, Teddy will grab an oreo. If Teddy has a great hand, he will break the pieces of the oreo next to his ear. Otherwise, he will break the pieces in front of him. Ear equals great hand. Face equals marginal hand.

I played in a private tournament on Saturday night. Picked up two tells in the first hour. I was proud of myself. I made a small bet and Vince raised me. To digress, Vince is a good player. He took second to me in a tournament a week ago. Vince knows the cards and is not afraid of big bets. Huge gambles. Takes risks. I like that about him. We could be partners somehow. Back to the narrative...when Vince raised me his hands were shaking. Trembling. An indication of a big hand. You see when somebody gets a big hand, they get excited. Andrenaline pumps through the body. And the hands tremble. Almost impossible to control. I immediately looked at Vince and told him, "I know you have a big hand, I picked up a tell on you. Fold". Vince showed me AA, best starting hand in holdem, immediately grabbed his sunglasses, put them on...I just laughed. "Sparky, sunglasses ain't gonna help ya".

After the tournament, I told Vince what I saw. He was grateful. Normally you would keep this information to yourself. But as I said we could be partners. And hopefully I can train him to observe me. He can let me know my tells. My weaknesses. The two of us could definitely strengthen each others game. Be better cookies. Mega poker cookies.

If I make it to the final table at the WPT, I'm going to bring some oreos. Play with a cookie while I play a hand. Playing with an oreo on national TV during a big, big, poker tournament. It'll be classic. Fun too. And well, I need to have more fun playing poker, otherwise Ginnie is going to kick my ass. Ker-whack. Thank you darlin, may I have another?

Raise. Call. Fold. Oreo cookie tells. A guide to life.

Happy birthday again, Grace doll

Thursday morning. Stressed. Too much work to do. Sub-contractor quit on me. Computer not co-operating. Graphics conflict. Performance slow. Two syllables slow. Suh-low. "I think I can, I think I can...." said "The Little Engine that Could".

Can't imagine working on Cathy's computer. Cathy is Jaxon's wife. Her computer is old. 24 dog years. Willard Scott says happy birthday old. Her computer could double as a ringer-washer. A hand-cranked microwave. It's got Windows 98. An operating system borrowed from the Smithsonian. We tried to do some upgrades yesterday, but the computer sat there drooling. Computer Down's syndrome. Not necessarily refusing to cooperate. But unable to comprehend the instructions. Moon-faced innocence. Time for computer euthanasia. Remove the feeding tube. Let the computer die with dignity.

Segue to Jeb Bush. He says he has new evidence in the Terri Schiavo case. Jeb says Terri is not in a vegetative state. That medical science can bring Terri back. Apparently Jeb had this epiphany after a "Weekend at Bernies" marathon on the local cable channel. "Hey Bernie".

Segue to Grace. Precious Grace. Talked to her last night. She turned 13. Told her Happy Birthday. For a day at least her innocence had returned. She was happy to hear my voice. Excited. Like totally. Certainly the idea of additional presents didn't hurt either.

Grace Waters. Now 13-yrs old. Aww. Happy birthday again, Grace doll. Enjoy it. Know that you are loved and adored by all.

The Elusive Part B

Rain. Moodiness. Grey. Sitting at Starbucks. Doing the NY Times crossword in pen. Showing off. Hoping some passerby will notice. Gasp in disbelief at my crossword prowess. I do the crossword in pen because of an old Bob Newhart show. Bob thought Emily was smarter than hin because she did the crossword in ink. Since then I've sneered at pencils. The crutch of vile crossword dilettantes. Poofters! Anyway, 2 down, 6 letters: California winemaking county. Uh, hey thats us. Cool.

About twenty-five years ago, I was working at the Brass Ass in Cotati, Ca. Working with a Bartender named Jay. Jay was tall. Tall with two syllables. Tah-all. Jay had played basketball and was now coaching. We watched some sports highlights. Basketball. UCLA v. Somebody U. Someone from Somebody U. had started at UCLA on scholarship, then transferred and came back to play against UCLA. The sports announcer then said besides Mr. Someone, only two other basketball players had ever gone to UCLA on Scholarship, then left and returned to play against UCLA. Name the two other players. Cut to station break. Jay thought and fired off a name. Searched his brain for the rest of the answer. Came up blank. Announcer returned from break. Told us the two names. First guy was the guy Jay mentioned. Second guy was Jay. Jay looked at me and said, "Oh yeah, I guess I was the other one". Jay was answer B to the trivia question and couldn't or hadn't figured it out. I've always been thankful Jay missed the question. Otherwise there is no story to tell. No story. Problem is, twenty-five years later, I'm still wondering if there was a lesson or a moral to be gleaned from that story. Some insight. A life lesson that would unlock moments. I'm still searching my brain for the 'rest of the answer'. The elusive part B. It couldn't just be a cool story, could it?

Hey that's us....I mean me. Cool.

Imagine all my Friends

News flash: Abbey Road Studio to open it's doors to the public for 16 days. Reading through the story, (caution sad moment ahead, a moment of silence appropriate) I noticed it's been almost 25 years since John Lennon died. Imagine.

Segue to Ginnie. She uses 'Imagin' as a screen name. Imagine that. Magnets. Ginnie and I are magnets. Sometimes with our polarity reversed. Must be seasonal. Kinda like flu season. We get sick with each other. That's what happens when the polarity gets dirty. Needs to be cleaned. Clean polarity. Ammonia should work.

Talked to Garry last night. We sang 'King of the Road' together. Channeled Roger Miller together. Sang louder, more off-key with each word. "I know every engineer on every train, An' all of the children, an' all of their names." Telephone karaoke duet nightmare. Bliss. Garry says he has relatives. Duh. I mean he has "hick" relatives. Make that 'rel-tives'. Roger Miller is their God. Makes sense. In the same way that Haitian witch doctors worshipping Harold Stassen makes sense. True story. Anyway, Garry's 'rel-tives' like to get likkered up on Pabst. Switch to Schlitz on payday. Two six packs. Then try to call Roger Miller at home. Try to get Roger Miller to sing "Dang Me" over the phone. "Hey Lukey Lou, Rogers ain't a home, want I should leave a message or something?" "Brrrup" That scene being painful to imagine.

I kind of think Garrys' 'rel-tives' would love Buck. Move over Billy Bass. Buck, the talkin', singin', wall-mounted, stag is here. Buck comes with a wireless microphone. You can talk into the microphone and your voice will be a comin right outta Buck's mouth. "Hot damn." "I'll be a sumbitch." "That damn deer talks just like Lukey Lou." Tony Soprano is going to lose it when he sees Buck. Deep deep psychosis looming. Straight jacket stuff. You just know he will be hearing Big Pussy's voice coming out of Bucks' Mouth. "Okay, but not in the face."

Back to Garry. Garry and I have known each other since we were 6 yrs old. First meeting on the swing sets of Fern Drive elementary school. 1959. It was my first day of school. Garry bullied me. Told me I had to get out of the swing sets. Thank god for friends. Hide the porno when you die, kind of friends. And friends we are. Yes. Can't imagine not being friends.

Other news. Nick, Jaxon's kid is in town. Head nod. 'Sup dude? Nick, is a 15 something punk rocker from Portland. Pretty good punk rocker actually. He has been recorded with his band, The Diskords. They even sell his records (punk rockers like vinyl) in Petaluma. Yes, Petaluma. Swoon.



Nick Vicario

Nick is a great kid. (I'd love to introduce him to Grace, Ginnies daughter. They are both going to be stars.) And while I love bands like The Ramones, Clash, and even the Sex Pistols, it's hard not to be prejudiced against punk rock kids. Stereotype them. Believe that they all have shitty attitudes. Hate adults. Don't listen. Have narrow tastes in music. Should be slapped around. Seriously slapped around. Nick breaks that stereotype. He has room in his life for adults. Even appreciates their advice. Listens to all kind of music. Keeps a very open mind musically. Like his dad. I love that about both of them.

An open mind. Imagine.

Imagine.

Vapors. Mist. Song Included.

There I was happy. Peacefully clueless. Then it happened. Thunder clap. Vapors. Mist. Without warning, I was channeling Roger Miller. (Cue: fingers snapping) Sing along with me....

"Trailers for sale or rent;
Rooms to let, fifty cents.
No 'phone, no pool, no pets:
I ain't got no cigarettes.
Ah, but two hours of pushin' broom,
Buys an eight by ten, four bed room.
I'm a man of means,
By no means king of the road.

Third boxcar, midnight train,
Destination: Bangor, Maine.
Old worn out suit an' shoes:
I don't pay no union dues.
I smoke old stogies I have found:
Short, but not too big around.
I'm a man of means,
By no means king of the road.

I know every engineer on every train,
An' all of the children, an' all of their names.
An' every handout in every town.
An' every lock that ain't locked when no one's around.

I sing, trailers for sale or rent;
Rooms to let, fifty cents.
No 'phone, no pool, no pets:
I ain't got no cigarettes.
Ah, but two hours of pushin' broom,
Buys an eight by ten, four bed room.
I'm a man of means,
By no means king of the road.

King of the road.

King of the road."

Channeling Roger Miller. Not an altogether unpleasant feeling.

The Player is also the Coach. It Could get Confusing

Played in the local live tournament last night. 1st place. $1880. As I said, I expect to win. I played well. At least compared to the competition. However I am going to need to play much better to have any chance in Las Vegas. Much better. On second thought, I didn't play that well last night.

After the tournament, I saw an image of basketball coach, Bobby Knight, on Television. Bobby is known for verbally abusing the players he coaches. Demanding excellence. And even when his players win games, he pushes them harder. Relentlessly driving them. Screaming in the locker room after games. Fiercely intense.

That's what it was like in my brain. Poker players for the most part have to both play and coach themselves. And the 'coach' in me was not allowing the 'player' in me to take any solace in the win last night. I was verbally chastising myself. Screaming at myself. "You think you can fuckin win (get in the money) in Vegas playing that way"? And the fact is I could see many mistakes in my game. Like an amateur golfer who can win the local club championship despite making mistakes he knows would kill him at the pro level. Fortunately, none of the local players were good enough to take advantage of my mistakes.

This self-chastisement was partly a carry over from Friday. Friday I took 6th out of 554 players. $2278. Normally a solid achievement. But the fact is, I was happy with 6th. I should never be happy with 6th. Never! Once I got to 6th, I basically stopped playing. Stopped fighting. Abandoned the strategy that got me to that position. Absolutely unforgivable. And the difference between 6th and 1st was over $9,000. And we all know that I could use the extra cash.

The only mitigating factor about last night was that I am still having a lot of difficulty seeing the cards. And I was able to win despite being very confused about what cards were on the table. (Caution: digression ahead) Hmm, that is interesting, could confusion be an asset somehow? I mean how can the other players "read me", if I don't know for sure what I have when I bet? The confusion strategy. Hmm. Something to mull.

On the other hand, Lasik surgery is probably a better option. A better strategy. Clarity, not confusion.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note to self: Keep pushing yourself. Demand excellence. Demand it. But make sure that you continue to build confidence in the process. Don't let the relentless drive toward exellence undermine any confidence gained. And remember to have a little fun. Being stuck in a room with Bobby Knight is no fun. Uh uh. No fun.

The Psychic Cashier

Standing in line at Trader Joes. Staring into space. Trying to remember my PIN number. $41.31 the cashier said. Thanks. It's nice to have psychic cashiers who know your thoughts and have answers. Of course, I suddenly realized it was all coincidence. Serendipity. My food total was the same as my PIN Number. Basically 10,000-1 odds. I'll need to save some of that for the big Las Vegas poker tournament. Either that or bring the cashier along. Or maybe I can acquire some of that ability. Knowing the thoughts of the other players would certainly be helpful.

I actually think there are a couple of methods for "knowing the thoughts" of the other players. When we read, we may "say the words silently" as we read. This is known as sub-vocalization. Speed reading techniques discourage this as is slows down reading. Some people are perceptive enough to pick up on "sub-vocalization". To hear what others are saying silently. This ability to perceive sub-vocalized sounds has also explained some "ESP" abilities.

The other method for knowing a players thoughts is to "see" his cards. To utilize remote viewing techniques. (See McGoneagle.) World class poker player and all-around brat, Phil Hellmuth, alludes to something very similar to remote viewing in his book. Basically Phil advocates attempting to visualize your opponents cards. And coming back to coincidence, remote viewing techniques were first developed at Stanford Research Institute (SRI) in Palo Alto. Know where Phil Hellmuth lives? Yep, Palo Alto. Coincidence? Serendipity?

Phil says that with practice, you can "see" an opponents cards. Phil says he has stunned opponents by saying, let me guess, you had two red queens?!....and the opponent will stammer back, saying "how'd you know that?"

Now if I can get that down and then visualize the cards to be dealt....that would be an unstoppable combination.

$41.31 said the cashier.

Poker Results-1st

1st

Poker Results-3rd

3rd

Poker Results-Last

Last

Tarzan Tivo Near the Oleander

Figuring out Tivo. Scrolling through movie titles. Jackpot. Electricity. "Tarzan and the Slave Girl" is on this week. Yes. Yes, you can petition the lord with prayer. Uh, oh, it's the Spanish language version. Despair. Oh well. Dump "L.A. Confidential" anyway, record "El Tarzan". How could I pass up any movie with 'slave girl' in the title? Even if it is 'en espanol'. Tarzan and the jungle bondage bitch v. Russell Crowe et al. No contest. Kim Basinger v. Jane in a two piece leather outfit. C'mon. B-movie heaven.

Of course my all-time favorite B-movie is "Chained Heat". Shower scenes in the womens prison. Linda Blair, Sybil Danning.....oh baby, oh baby.

Back a few years, when I had a few dollars, I turned down a blind date with Linda Blair. Yes, "The Exorcist", Linda Blair. A friend of mine was dating her house mate and Linda had heard all about me. Linda's house mate, Dana, had described me to Linda. Dana then told me that Linda was out of her mind. Huh? Why do I want to go out with a psycho? Dana also mentioned that Linda was a freak. Loved sex. Dana had recently come home and found Linda fucking some guy. On the front lawn. Near the oleander. Nature girl.

At the time I was fairly wealthy and Linda's career was in disarray. And 'splendor in the grass', hadn't landed Linda any new work. I weighed the situation. Psycho v. easy sex. Oleander. Nature. Hmm. I told Dana, "Okay, but only if she autographs my VHS copy of "Chained Heat" ". Pre DVD era blind date.

Not sure why the date never happened. It may have been that I got married that week. Unplanned. "We did WHAT, last night?" But more likely the date never happened because I was a little too arrogant. Okay, way too arrogant. Augmented by Dana saying she had no shape to her butt. A flat ass. Pass.

And now fast forward. Linda's career is rehabilitated and I am living in near poverty. Goodbye arrogance. Hello humility.

I'm sure there is a moral here. A lesson to be learned. Besides the fact that I should've gone out with her. Imagine the the bragging rights if I had, uh, "mowed her lawn". "Did I ever tell you about the time...?"

A lesson to be learned. Something to ponder. I wonder if I can get Oleander to grow in the apartment.

A Bad Month for Lasagna

Not much of much happened yesterday. The big moment of the day being when Jaxon used the word 'temerity' in context. Darryl and I more than impressed. "Wow, a "T" bomb", all genuflect. In general though, it was epilogue Thursday. A day when no new story lines were developed, just follow-up from days past....well Graham made an appearance in his leathers and wasn't drinking. Graham riding a Harley. Hmm might as well be Frasiers' brother, Niles, on a Harley. Incongruous? Oh yeah! Seeing Graham on a Harley, is a "what's wrong with this picture?" moment. Lucky for us is the fact that Grahams' inability to define himself helps us to define ourselves. We may not always know who we are, but we are getting more certain of who we aren't. Guns for example. We aren't gun owners and we are certain of that. Certain.

We filtered out of the bar before our self-imposed curfew. 6 pm. The curfew being appropriate for guys in their early 50's. The 80's something crowd is generally gone by 4:30. I'm sure there is a law in physics that describes this. Drinks divided by age squared equals curfew. Or I could claim responsibility. Call it the 'Hayes self-imposed curfew law'.

I came home, put a pizza in the oven and promptly (caution: euphemism ahead) fell asleep. Waking up two hours later to pizza apocalypse. Apartment filled with smoke. This morning I surveyed the damage. Pulled something resembling a lava flow out of the oven. Obsidian pita bread. Brittle. Consuelo, the maid, is not gonna be happy about the oven. "Senor Hayes, que es este?"



Pizza Apocalypse

I don't really have a maid. But I decided long ago, that I would only hire a maid if her name was Consuelo. Wanted: Maid. Qualifications: Must answer to Consuelo.

Prior to falling asleep, Detective Jaxon called. He cracked the "dead mouse case". Indictments are pending. There has been a sour stench in the Saturn for days. Maybe weeks. The gag-reflex smell being attributed to a dead mouse in the air conditioning unit. Turns out the mouse was an impostor. A decoy. After pulling some groceries out of the back seat, Detective Jaxon discovered some Trader Joes lasagna under the front seat. Circa December 2004. Bad month for car lasagna. Ewwww. In business I always used to say "never attribute to malice what can be attributed to incompetence". I think there is a connection between that saying and the mouse incident, I just can't articulate it right now....I'll work on it. Hmm. I changed my mind. There is no connection. It's a cool saying though. By the way, good work, Detective Jaxon.

Epilogue Thursday. Our lives better defined by one more day. Temerity included.

The ex-Mr. Schmooshed

Well I got Tivo...about time I joined the Tivo party. Got the 80 hr one...well because bigger is better. "Hey honey look, what do you think, big huh?" Installed it myself. Geek credentials intact. Jaxon says installation is easy, it is operation that is difficult. Jaxon is coming over today to give me a Tivo lesson. He says I need remedial remote. I should feel insulted, but then again I failed trash night at Ginnies.

During installation everyone called....Garry, just because. Ginnie, just because we miss each other and Jaxon called in full mid life-crisis. Jaxon had just gotten in a fight with his biggest client. Two old Italians, under and over medicated, yelling at each other. "Fuck you". "No, fuck you". So we went to the bar early. Premature pensioners staring in the semi-darkness.

Jaxons client, presumably former client, owns a string of auto body repair shops and Jaxon has produced his radio and TV commercials for years. Jaxon's catch phrase, "if you schmoosh your car..." has helped his client be hugely successful. The catch phrase established a small business owners dream; brand identity. In fact the first guy that walked into the bar, looked at Jaxon and said, "Hey, it's 'Mr. Schmoosh' ". "The ex-Mr. Schmoosh", I replied. A comment too obtuse for 2:30 pm bar denizens.

I bought Jaxon drinks and pointed out that every time he has falling out with a client or employer, something better comes along. Jaxon is hugely talented, but largely oblivious to his own talent. I love that about him. And Jaxon also recognizes developing talent. Jaxon put a young Steve Kimock on stage for the first time. Letting him play in Jaxon's band. "Allright, let little Stevie wonder boy, have a solo". I'll bet those tapes of the old shows would be a fans wet dream. "C'mon Jaxon, let me put em on Ebay". Anyway, Jaxon has an offer of sorts to become the morning co-host of a huge SF radio station...discretion prevents further details. For six figures a year, all he would have to do is wake up cranky every morning.....at least he can bitch about it to me. Good thing he can't see me rolling my eyes while we are on the phone.

Two drinks later we were laughing and riffing as usual. We went out to his car and looked under the hood. Looking for a dead mouse in the air conditioning unit....."Uh, Jax, I don't see nothing....maybe we should get an 'Acme dead mouse detector' at the Warner Brothers store". "Or we could make one out a clothes hanger and a AA battery, what do you think MacGyver?". The hood slammed shut and for no particular reason, the conversation drifted, segued. Quantum segue, as Jaxon began describing the years when famed 60's LSD maker, Augustus Stanley Owsley III had lived down the road in Cotati. Somehow it all made sense. Disassociative sense, but sense nonetheless. Unique context keeping friendship deep.

If the co-host offer materializes, Jaxon should do it. He is big market material. No more Mr Schmoosh. Hello Mr. 57 Thunderbird. Hello portholes. Hello San Francisco. Two months from now, he will wake up thinking "Aww fuck, its early, but I'm rich and I don't have to deal with Gene". And that's not so bad.

Aunt Luisa

She hears Guy Lombardo...she just can't find them....Check out the movie.
Amazing talent at Blur Studios.....

An apple wood antidote

Headline of the Press Democrat had something about Police Tasers...which I read as Poetic Lasers. Am I now reading in anagrams or is is latent dyslexia?

Went to the bookstore with Ginnie. Thought about getting a book by Jim Harrison. My all-time favorite author. The book was 'True North'. This morning I noticed a copy of True North by the bed. I had purchased the book months ago. The fact that I didn't remember was disconcerting. More disconcerting is that the loss of memory incident is simply a harbinger of things to come. "Wrong way, Grandpa. Wrong way".

Got a copy of Mind Hacks today. I can't wait to try a few exercises. I love neurophysiology. It explains why some people are criminals. Not all, but some. Some people are physiologically incapable of self censoring. Of suppressing violent thoughts. We all have violent thoughts, but most of us have a shut- off valve that prevents anti-social or criminal thoughts from becoming manifest. Apparently a few of us were built by low bid electricians and we are missing key wiring. The shut-off valve wiring.

I even entertained thoughts of going back to school...getting a Phd in neurophysiology. Uh, yeah right, like that's going to happen.....of course it would be nice to know exactly how I am going to degenerate and lose my memory through time.....

Okay, okay, I guess that is kind of creepy.

There are apple wood smoked sausages in the refrigerator. Mmm good. Mmm, happy thoughts. An apple wood antidote for creepiness.

One is not enough, Taxi Cindy and Lisbon Leslie

Had drinks with Jaxon last night. Guys being guys. Bigger lies each week. Combined with sarcasm and self-deprecation. We used to boast of sexual prowess, now we boast of dysfunction. "Oh yeah, I couldn't get it up with a crane and six blue tabs". Unlike the 70's, blue tabs now being Viagra, not LSD. It's all simply material....Ginnie knows what I mean by material. As does Jax. Everything is invented so we can laugh....why else live. Hmm? Why else wake up? Certainly humor lasts longer than sex and is less confusing.

I confessed my nervousness about the big poker tournament to Jaxon. Two drinks later I'm a talking like a Puerto Rican hooker.."Jhew know, if I win da tournament, I gonna need an agent","Jhew you know any agents, Senor Jaxon?".....Jaxon (God love him for being a friend) said "I love you, but you ain't gonna fucking win".....He slapped me in the face so hard I should of paid his bar tab...."Thank you Sir, may I have another"

My game plan was to have drinks with Jaxon, make shit up, get mexican food, avoid arrest and head home. Sidetracked. Off to play cards.....more beers. Did well at cards.....and interestingly enough won a huge pot with a 2,4 off suit. Big blind special. Of course as the evening progressed I got cocky, talkative and well.....obnoxious. I volunteered to quit the game and management called that bluff instantly. Apparently the "F' word repeatedly, has some consequences.

Next thing I know I'm in a cab confessing my life away from the back seat.....somewhere there is a Sonoma County cab driver who knows my PIN number, the secret bank account in Aruba and all my ex-wives. I think I might have even slipped and told her about the night I never talk about....the night in Portugal. Lisbon Leslie. Too much Bud Light truth serum. Also, I think I confessed to six or eight phantom capital crimes. Just because. Cindy, the cab driver tells me she has a 13 yr old son. "I shlove kidsh" I mutter incomprehensively from the back seat. Hmm, another kid I promised to put through college. Damn kid better find a hot girl friend who likes older men..."oh yeah, dance for Daddy"

Seriously I do remember volunteering to tutor her (that would be taxi Cindy) son in math. Seems like something I should do. Really something I should do....to take my knowledge and mathematical gifts and give them to a child. Giving can sometimes be selfish. As I'm sure that it would mean more to me than him, if in fact I could make a difference. A-B equalling a life enhanced. Two lives. Because one (life enhanced) is not enough.

Something I should do.

What do you think, Leslie? Time to share the secrets?

In need of a non-saline solution

Cornchips for dinner. Dehydration this morning. Connection? Pfft. My quad latte even abandoned our friendship this morning over the corn chip issue.....looking at me shrugging his shoulders....I looked back at the quad latte and thought "yeah, I know its my own damn fault....I could have had shrimp last night". But I picked a fight with myself instead.

Even though it's six weeks away, playing in the big poker tournament is beginning to stress me...out. Emotional claustrophobia. Forget the Santa jokes, I'm in a crowded elevator. I almost snapped at Ginnie last night...never done that. Don't plan on it. Body and mind abducted. Dr. evil stress blood sugar. Or Dr. evil cholesterol. Note to self: get lipitor from Jaxon asap.

The fact that I'm stressed is a double edged sword....the good news is that I'm stressed because I know what needs to be done to play well. And god is there is a lot to do. Bad news is that I'm not sure I can get it all done without collateral damage. My own collateral. Better watch those dangling participles....they could get hurt.

One key issue is a purely physical. Playing in live games, from some seat positions, I can't see the cards on the table. Or see them well enough to read them. Brings new meaning to "betting in the blind". It's bad. I wear glasses, but my glasses help my vision for things 100 ft away. Not 5 ft. I have known about this for awhile. Same problem playing golf. I see three golf balls. "Hit the middle one" my friends say. Tried going to Target a couple months ago. Tried on reading glasses. 2x, 4x etc. Since my eyes require different correction all the reading glasses did was make me sick to my stomach. Just about yacked on the saline solutions. In need of plan B. And of course I don't want to spend $300 at the optometrist for a possible non-saline solution. Arrggh.

Sigh and double sigh. See saw. She sees.

Love is permanent. Manifestation is a cell phone signal. Mostly full bars, but sometimes dropped completely only to return moments later....confusing for all.

Is it later yet? Of course it is.....no waiting for the interim today. Soup is ready.