Hi. My name is Kelly and I like to play poker. I like it a lot. My first memory of playing poker was New Year’s Eve when I was a tween. I was at my Girlfriend’s house in a Pittsburgh suburb with all of her local friends. They were a fun group of kids and of course so much more worldly than my country self. If I recall correctly, the entire match lasted about three hands. We went back to listening to the pop chart 100 best songs of the year and watching The Never Ending Story on their wicked color projection TV.
Poker hadn’t really entered my mind for a long time after that. The opportunity wasn’t there. That all changed when I was watching TV one January day with my husband. An ad for the Super Bowl came on and it happened to land directly on my birthday. I could literally see the light bulb come on over his head. It was roughly 12 seconds before he said, “I think we should have a birthday party for you this year”. What I heard, “I think you should cook for all my buddies on your birthday. Their wives can come too. I’ll buy a grocery store cake. I am so freakin’ clever”.
February and the Super Bowl came along like they do every year, pulling with them my birthday dream party come true. With the passing of days, some things changed. The party would be at a buddy’s house, I would still be cooking, and there would be poker as a pregame activity. Awesome. On the way over the white chili I made spilled in the trunk of my car creating an interesting odor that only went away when we sold the beast.
All in all, changing the venue was a great idea. We lived in a downtown apartment with limited pay parking. The hosts had a house and parking. A natural. The man of the house was one of the craziest mo-fos I have even met. While we knew him, he had to have the bones out of one of his toes removed. I can’t remember what ridiculous thing he was doing when he destroyed his toe. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that that crazy boy used his now rubber toe in a manner consistent with the Adam Sandler movie, Mr. Deeds. For most people this would be a defining injury and great party story. For this dude, it was just what happened today. Well, his brother, who is close to as insane as him, had been by the previous week. He brought with him a taser. A real taser. Not like a doggy shock collar or a female defense product. No, a taser. After we had set up and before the rest of the guests arrived, the host sits us down to watch something on his computer. Wheeeee! I love a you-tube talking monkey as much as the next girl – bring it. Well, no primates flinging poo; it is a video of our host getting tased by his wife. Not like in a fun sort of role playing way where the sexy burglar breaks in and she pulls the weapon, he talks her out of it and…okay, now I’m getting hot. Back to the story. On screen he was flailing like a fish in the middle of the living room that we were now sitting in. They are both laughing their collective asses off and I am suddenly a little uncomfortable.
When show and tell was over we cracked some beers and guests arrived. All was well until the poker game started. Our friendly yet psycho host lays out the rules of engagement. Pretty standard…cost is this…pay outs are this…house rules are this. Then, he points to a case that had been in the corner the whole time. “That is my brother’s taser. First one out gets a go.” WTF!?!?! REALLY!?!?! How do I get myself into these things? It is at this moment I realize that “learn how to play poker” had not been checked off my to-do list. Ooops. No worries, I had three hands of decades old poker under my belt. I was golden. Bring it.
My first hand was a 9-4 off suit. I have no idea if I should put in chips or fold…so I ask the guy to my right who was incidentally in the game. He says it is generally not a playable hand so I muck. Flop comes 2-4-9. Not the first bad decision of the day…maybe not the last. We will see. Hands come and go. It crosses my mind that this must be what it is like to take the final for a class you never attended. I am starting to sort of understand, but not really. About ten minutes into the game, I notice something smells worse than the spilled white chili in my trunk. It smells like fear…and it is without a doubt coming from me. It just goes to show that things can always be worse. I started off just annoyed that I was cooking for a Super Bowl party on my birthday. I got ticked because I had spilled the chili in the back of my car. Now I was downright petrified that my birthday legacy was going to be ME flopping like a fish in an Arlington living room. Of course it would become viral and all my classmates and my Mother would end up with a link to this hysterical video of my birthday bash. I found some peace in the knowledge my Mom likely wouldn’t be able to access it. Oh where were we? I will stop the mounting suspense. I went out first and the rest of the table exhaled a collective sigh of relief. I was totally unconcerned about the cash I had just lost. Nope. Couldn’t care. My main priority was going to be to drink heavily (as a pain relief mechanism) and void my innards (in an attempt to make the ensuing video coverage less dreadful).
Roughly 20 years later, the game ends. At this point, the once sour odor from my body has turned rancid. I am sweating vodka and trepidation. After the payouts have been made and the table put up, the dreaded taser box goes into the kitchen. I take one last shot with my eyes closed. I was trying to find the drunken center that makes any of this okay. I open my eyes to the most hideous store bought cake. It was clearly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Post game analysis. I was told after the fact that the brother had taken the taser with him and left the box…to torture me apparently. I needed to learn poker. I am not used to that level of cluelessness and never wanted to be there again. Also, the psychological anguish that came along for that first ride was enticing. I wanted to learn how to elicit those responses without the presence of a taser. Who knew what was possible? I just knew that the last time I got that drunk on my birthday there were way better pictures.
A couple days later, after I had sobered up, I got a free online poker account. I didn’t know if a flush or a straight was better. I asked lots of dumb questions and surely pissed off a lot of skilled players when I made bad calls based on odds I didn’t understand and drew out on them. Eventually, I started cashing in free rolls, aka donkey fests. I took my bank roll up to $20, then $100. The guys hosted another poker night and I won. I took some of my winnings to the bookstore and invested in a poker book. Next poker night was a repeat. Cashed in the third as well and bought a third book. The guys started calling me “the black widow”. I liked it. Got on e-bay and bought myself a black widow hoodie and wore it to the fourth poker night…where I cashed and bought a book. The guys asked my husband to stop bringing me.
Husband and I found a reason to go to Vegas. I was super pumped for sin city, albeit a little scared…and pregnant. I had never had a lot of money on the poker table so I chose limit poker the first time I sat at a Vegas table. This lasted about one night. It sort of sucked. I changed to no-limit the next morning. The casino had a tournament that second day and so Husband and I entered. With seven tables, it was pretty large coming from a home game. Eventually we got down to three players and chopped. The take away was enough to cover me and my husband for airfare and hotel. Nice. I played another tournament and didn’t cash. I played cash a bit and in general had become intoxicated with poker. When I got home there were more home games, online play and trips to Atlantic City. As I said in the beginning, “Hi. My name is Kelly and I like to play poker. I like it a lot.”
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