Tomorrow morning, I head off to Las Vegas for five days of poker (I play at the Excalibur. Look for me; I'll be the one looking back on his wasted life.). Thus, I won't have time to write the post-game blog for last Friday's game, but I will write it when I get back.

Quickly, though: I actually made money: nine whole dollars. My big bro played greatly, and he won nearly a hundred; I'm proud of him, but it's now pretty clear that I'm the only one who's not getting appreciably better. Everybody's making these aggressive/smart plays, and I'm getting even my good hands cracked. Bert's lady made some tasty-ass lasagna, and, after taking my Lactase (I'm so lactose intolerant it's not even funny. I can't even look at a picture of a glass of milk without getting sick.), I got down on two servings. I made some pretty funny jokes, but most of them were pretty off-color, and I felt cheap and dirty (but not in a good way) afterward. I seem to recall something about my being willing to poke an old lady in the eye for a pair of aces. The joke only got worse from there. Like I said, cheap and dirty. I'm a sad little laugh-whore.

 Poker Problem: How did my life jump so far off the tracks?