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Friday, June 11, 2004
(Not) Celebrity Poker
Played my first poker since that amazing game the week before the Super Bowl. I still had a lot of my winnings from that game in a Ziploc bag.

I started playing last night with about $30 (keeping a roll of quarters in reserve). I did okay for a while, but my confidence (and a run of bad cards) slowly led me down the dark path to only having $6 left. Which I quickly pissed away on some pocket Jacks.

I left with my empty Crown Royal bag, a roll of quarters, and my cell phone . . . all sealed inside the Ziploc bag.

It didn’t feel good to be back to my familiar (losing) ways.


I really want to feel bad about The Gipper, but I (along with many patronizingly weepy Americans) haven’t given him much thought in, oh, about a decade . . . just when there’s a news story about his Alzheimer’s, or A.M. Homes uses him in a short story. Mostly, I’m frustrated that I can’t watch the evening news without seeing live coverage of his casket being driven through the streets of Washington. Yeah, that makes me selfish, but I don’t think he kept us from saluting a Russian flag, and my family was likely poorer after the whole Trickle-Down thing. Basically, he’s just a nice guy who’s assassination attempt I re-enacted with my friends when we were nine years old.*


We’ve taken to watching ABC’s The Ultimate Love Test, in which ABC producers "test" four couples' relationships by separating them for three weeks; one of them stays home, while the other goes to Cabo San Lucas and is tempted by fantasy men / woman and/or ex’s. Any couple that stays together through the experience gets $100,000. Or something like that.

Every time they ask, “How many of these couples will pass the test?” Michelle makes the “zero” sign with her hand, saying, “Zeeeerrrrroooooo. Say it with me, honey.”


Ms. Jazz Hands remodeled her house (along with boyfriend, Mr. ADD). They’re hosting a dinner party this evening to do the big “reveal.” I’ve seen the work in progress, and it’s pretty nifty.

Following the Extreme Makeover: Jazz Hands Edition, we’ll be drinking and doing . . . something.

* We were playing the Secret Service agents, not Hinckley. Geez. I’m not that mean.