Know when to fold'em.

To demonstrate how much my writing has matured and grown, here is a blog posting from two years ago. You can very well see that I am now on my way to being the next Margaux Hemingway.

Texas Hold'em is hard. The game has entirely too many human variables--is he bluffing, does she have a set, and I am hungry, pass the pizza are but a few. My complete inability to calculate hand permutations is a different story entirely; math is for losers with future prospects.

Last Friday night, I went against my better judgment and attempted to play in a Texas Hold'em game with a few friends. Nine people were involved and forty-five dollars was at stake. My goal was to not finish in last place, like my mom always said about competition: you will probably always be a loser, but at least you can strive to not be a total bitch.

The game consisted of two women, six guys and one homosexual. I started off slow, my strategy was to bide my time until I managed pocket aces, apparently that wasn't a reasonable idea. A half hour passed and nary an ace had come my way. Inspiration struck in the form of pocket kings. It was now or never, my time was literally in hand.

I started off strong; I raised five-hundred chips and saw the flop. The highest card showing was a ten, three suits were represented and a straight draw was all but an impossible feat. I raised another five-hundred chips, only three people remained and I had a two thousand chips left. The next card was a five, which matched the other five on the board; I figured no one was chasing a trio of fives and decided to raise the bet one-thousand chips. My two opponents, who happened to be married, were still very much game.

Fear boiled in my gut, sweat drenched my unibrow; however, I was pot committed, reason no longer played a part in the hand. The next card was a deuce, it was lonesome on the table, so I knew my Kings were high pair and a straight or flush was now impossible. Three fives would beat me as could two pair,, so I decided to raise five-hundred more chips and let logic be damned. The married duo called my bet and we all showed our hands. The wife had a five, the husband wouldn't show, I had two kings; my prayer to Che Kung had went unheard.

Even with fewer than five hundred chips, I managed to stay in play for over an hour; I rebuilt my chip stack, lost it once again and eventually ended up sixth. I accomplished all of this without looking one person in the face. Reading people is difficult and I had trouble enough deducing when to bet. Next time I am going to stare into the eyes, gaze into the portals of their souls; who knows, I might just manage fifth.

Oh, and least you feel too sorry for me, I was only out five dollars and had an entire pizza to myself. She who perpetuated three fives had cheese and pepperoni connections galore. All in all, it was a good night's work that ended with a long morning on the porcelain throne.