Change Can't Hang: WPBT Holiday Classic, Part II

Friday Night

The monorail deposited me at the edge of the MGM Studio Walk, where I grabbed a Nathan's hot dog and jotted a few notes before heading into the poker room. The Rooster was kind enough to arrange for three private mixed-games tables for us degenerates. Before I could even get my name on the list, I spotted a certain Princess sitting at a 2-4H table. I ran up and introduced myself. As I expected, Heather is all sorts of fabulous. She had two tiaras with her-- one on her head (natually) and the other for whomever would bust her from tomorrow's tournament. She got up from her seat and introduced me around to April, Helixx, and Daddy the donkeyfucker. I took a seat at 2-4H next to Helixx and across from Daddy, bought in for $200 and ordered my first Soco and Coke.

I hardly remember a hand I played that night, primarily because once more people started arriving, I was getting up every 5 hands or so to meet someone else. I saw a tall, bespectacled young man with seven racks of blue at Heather's 2-4 table and leaped out of my seat to meet Drizz, who introduced me to Chad and Gamecock. I went back to my table, played another orbit, drank another Soco-Coke and ordered shots for the whole table. Pauly interrupted Jaxia's Stud 8 lesson to come over and raise a glass.

I met Al Can't Hang and sat on his lap for a few orbits. I took a cigarette break with April and EvaCanHang just as Wil Wheaton showed up with Paul Phillips in tow. I drunkenly shook Wil's hand, deciding it was probably not the right moment to bring up the fact that I took an acting class with his TV mom back when I was 14. Paul Phillips was a lot shorter than I thought. Oh, and P.S.-- I got carded for those cigarettes.

I met the one the only Iggy, who does indeed have a Patrick Swayze thing going on. Less than two seconds after we exchanged names, I was wrapped in a bear hug. What a cool fuckin' guy, so utterly welcoming and easy to talk to. I checked in on Pauly, Derek, and Jaxia, who were playing on the TV featured table but being a shitty stud player, I wasn't having any HORSE. I was only having Soco. I ordered another round for the whole table and downed another double shot. Or was it two?

The G-Vegas crew made a grand entrance straight out of "Swingers" and I met its three legendary ringleaders. Otis and CJ greeted me with huge hugs. Man, do these bloggers loooove their women. G-Rob's hair is, indeed perfect. After chatting it up with everyone for a while, I realized I did have chips on the table and I should probably play at least a little bit. Daddy had quit the game and Helixx needed company.

Here's where things start getting a little fuzzy. Here's where rumors begin.

I was playing a hand. I couldn't tell you what the cards were. I think I got outdrawn and I let an f-bomb escape from my lips as the tall, irritable floor-lady passed by our table.

"Please watch your language. I'm going to have to warn you."
"I can't fucking believe this." (Uh oh).
"OK, now that's two. One more and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Helixx's head dropped into his hands and he let out a small sigh. Was it really gonna be one of those nights? The floor lady walked away and my tablemates laughed at my mini Matusow blow-up. I played a few more hands before getting up and taking another walk-and-chat. Or should I say stumble-and-chat.

Here's where the time-space continuum parts ways with my memory.

I remember being in the bar behind the poker room with Iggy, Pauly, and Joe Speaker. I remember making plans for a smoke break with two of those three gentlemen. I remember Pauly telling me that Phil Gordon was sitting at the 5-5NL table with Hank and some of the Full Tilt crew. I remember the blue shirt Phil wore that perfectly matched his dreamy eyes.

Then I remember being in the Ava Gardner stall in the ladies room where I may or may not have temporarily passed out. The booze just hit me so fast. I didn't think I had drank enough to do this sort of damage.

The next thing I remember is being in a cab sandwiched between two big black hookers. The hookers were talking to each other about my state of conciousness and I think one of them sort of poked me to see if I was at all alive or cogent.

"Man, this 'lil thing is WASTED!"
"How'd she get like this?"
"She don't even have no coat on!"
"Damn!"

The hookers' banter brought me around a little bit, and as my head lolled from sideways to upright, I noticed that one of Hooker #2's two-inch fuschia acrylic nails was touching my gold purse. That brought me around a little bit more, and I told myself that I needed to wake the fuck up and pay enough attention to get myself back to the Imperial Palace without being robbed by these ladies of the night.

That's really the last thought I remember having before crashing out in the wee hours on Saturday morning. I have no recollection how I paid the driver. Or how I navigated the IP maze and found the correct elevator. Or how I got up to my room, took off and untangled six necklaces, and ordered myself a 9:20 AM wakeup call.

At dawn, I woke up in a panic, believing that I still had chips on the table at the MGM Grand. I must have had over $150 still in my stack. There was nothing I could do about that right now. "I'll just write it off as a loss," I muttered to myself before rolling over and falling back into a fitful sleep as the sun rose over Sin City.

To be continued...