A short session at The Orleans

I know that there currently is not anything interesting that I can say about my poker sessions, poker wise.   I've been out of the game for entirely too long and my game is rusty.  I've been talking with a buddy in Pennsylvania about both of us picking a night or two during the month to head out to the casino and text back and forth any information or updates from our sessions.  Kind of like a little challenge to go with someone and see who does better.

So far this has gone as far as agreeing that we should do it, we have yet to actually do a session.

My thought is that the texts back and forth along with random Facebook and Twitter updates along with my notepad (whether on physical paper or on my phone/tablet) will provide me with information to jog my memory so that I can make blog post updates.

I love writing and I miss it, it's just that when I feel like writing I am usually at work or not near the house to do it.  When I have downtime at home I really don't feel like writing.  It's a bit frustrating at times.

So, let's get into my last session which I took notes on.
Hope you like it.



Before I even make it to the casino to play some poker I say fuck this place.

On the bottom floor of the parking garage some douche bag speeds up to pass me because 20 feet in front of me are his two old as fuck hippy douche bag friends walking in the opposite direction.  So in order to stop and pick up these friends we risk an accident and block traffic in both directions for 2 minutes instead of just fucking waiting.

Fuck The Orleans.

On the walk to the casino, after parking, an old Asian broad bugs me asking where the entrance was.  I pointed in the general direction and she bitched that there weren't any close parking spots because, you know, we'd hate to actually have to walk any sort of distance before we went and blew all of our money playing Pai-Gow or Baccarat or whatever the fuck it is that old Asian fucks blow there wad at these days.

Fuck the Orleans.

Thirty seconds later a Mariachi performer walks by me.  What is wrong with this world?  Who performs Mariachi at the Orleans?  I hope he got some good tips but probably not as he looked anxious to get the hell out of there.

The Elevator smells like baby shit.  It doesn't quite hit you until after the doors close and you start moving and I am sure this is on purpose so that you don't change your mind and leave for someplace more upscale.

At this point I am not exactly sure what had drug me to this dog forsaken place and more importantly why the hell did none of the above give me the idea that I needed to leave an go someplace better.


Walking into the Poker Room there is one guy watching movies on his tablet.  I observe another table where three people are wearing headphones and another is constantly holding a napkin over his mouth as if this will allow him to not catch the rampant zombieism that is transferred from one person to another by just simply breathing the same air at The Orleans.  You can almost feel their souls being sucked out of their bodies in order to go find something more fun to do.

Why the fuck did I come here again?

9:25 PM - The, I can only assume, torture begins.

I got seated at a table that has one guy younger than I am, one guy in my age bracket and the douche bag watching movies.  There are only two sets of headphones being utilized at this table but there is one guy who looks like he is waiting o die or for aces, whichever happens to come first.  He also looks like he was big into chewing tobacco as one side of his jaw sits substantially lower than the other.  He is wearing a hat that says Purple Heart and has a Purple Heart pin attached to it.  Maybe his jaw got shot in Nam...er... WW1.

The guy to my right just called for the Ace of Jacks as the next card and used the word, and I mean word as in singular, youknowwatimean?

The young guy is short, not in stature but in stack, keeps his eyes on his phone and is wearing either shades or really dark corrective lenses.  Ace of Jacks is drinking and wearing shades as his future is probably pretty bright.

The Cocktease waitress shows up and I ask what is bottled.  She tells me most anything.  I ask for a Blue Moon and she tells me that they don't serve wheat beers, fucking beer racists.  I get a Sam Adams and pray for a quick double so I can get the hell out of here.  grrouch: 0, stupidity: 1.

Slack Jawed Grampa raises to 17 and gets 3 callers, I figure he probably stacks off if I set.  however I am 97% sure he flops top set with an Axx flop.  I fold as he bets damned near pot.   Next hand he gets to the river by calling down with a pair of 3's in his hand and rivers a set.  Maybe Grampa isn't 100% as tight as I thought.

After being here an orbit Tablet has played one hand.  He was in the big blind and Redneck raises to $11 in late position.  Tablet pushes all i for $111.  No Flop Allowed.

Gradpa flops top set and Redneck pays off every bet as he thought he flopped a straight.  He even looked at his hand post flop and still somehow thought he had a straight.  Da-Fuq?

10:03 - Down $26 after the first dealer.  Won one very minor hand against the young kid and folded a lot of random hands.

It is at this point that someone fucking farted.  I don't know if it was someone sitting at the table or if it was someone who was walking behind me.  What I do know is that it was a horribly obnoxious fart that rivaled the smell in the elevator.  What is wrong with people.  If you feel like your ass is going to explode you need to walk away from the poker room to the casino.  Then you expel your ass gas and come back.  Everyone will be happier because of it.

I've got my blue tooth headset half on/half off.  One ear is listening to Mycroft Holmes and I point this out because my headset just died.  I did bring a pair of regular headphones at the last minute as a Just In Case and I have never done that before.  Was I telling myself subliminally that I was going to need a distraction from this hell hole?

I fold a hand as Tablet bets, I don't trust a guy who pauses his movie to play a hand.

I wish I would have remembered that I don't particularly like Sam Adams and ordered something else.  And with no Blue Moon I just don't know what I want for my next brew.  Maybe they have some fruity brews?

Redneck limped Aces early, did not get a re-raise opportunity.

The cocktease waitress shows up and I ask if they have any Redds Apple Ale and she responds with "We have New Castle and Guiness for Dark Beers."  I am now Oh for Two ordering beers and this chick shows her intelligence.

Instead I order a Mich Ultra as I watch Redneck double a guy who flopped an obvious flush but he just couldn't get away from his Aces.   Redneck leaves and I am sad.  Others are sad as well but I really don't give two shits about their feelings.

I take Rednecks vacated seat.  A new guy sits in my old seat and first hand he gets aces and doubles up against a bad player.
Fuck Poker.
Fuck the Orleans.

10:31 - A new dealer Arrives.
I won two hands during the last down and am now down only $25.  I had an enormous $1 profit during that last half hour.  King of the World yo!
Another way of looking at it, my beers are currently costing me $12.50 each - but that way is more depressing so lets not go there right now.

Grampa raises, gets a few callers and everyone goes away on the flop when he continuation bets.  I guess everyone is set mining the guy they all consider to be a horrible nit.  If Grampa loosened up he could just walk over all of us.

11:01 - New Dealer
Down $50.  I was up to only down $4 after winning the only hand I won and I think the only hand I played.  However a shorty calling my raise pre-flop with J8 off put the kabah on that comeback.
Still hating it.
Still praying just to get to even.

Tablets movie must be over because out of the blue he decided to hold a conversation with the two people near him.  After the conversation is over he leaves the table.  I would love to know what amazing conversation such a guy has after watching an entire movie and not saying a bloody thing the entire time.

There is a random guy walking buy calling himself The Drunken Monkey saying that the table he just left doesn't want him bak.  It appears that his parting prose involved telling someone at the table to perform the role of a vacuum on his testi, much like they just performed the same role on his chips.
The Drunken Monkey.

I just played a hand against Grampa instead of the guy who is currently occupying the seat.  That cost me a few bucks.  When did Grampa leave?  Furthermore why had I not noticed.
I am tired and my attention stopped being paid.  I need to cut out soon before I donate my entire stack and go home depressed, and not just for going to the Fucking Orleans.

11:30 - A new Dealer sits and somehow I count my chips and find I am up $8.  I'm not 100% sure what happened that has me on the positive side.  That isn't a good sign.

11:32 I rack up and quit when the blinds hit.  The hand before I quit I flop a flush and milk a few chips off a guy who finally violently folds when the 4th flush card hits thinking I just trumped him.

Plus 53 bucks.
So my actual poker bankroll stands at $53 bucks and some money I borrowed from living expenses just to get out and play for a bit.

Balla