That’s me, being critical of myself. If I could write gooder, it would be different. But, I can’t, so it ain’t, so here we go with a wrap-up of my little trip to Sin City:

- Saturday night, after a little nappipoo, I went over to what Felicia called the loosest games downtown, the Golden Nugget. She was right. Loose, loose, loose. I got a seat at a 4/8 table (highest limit ever for TFG) that was rocking with April and her pal John. I won about $100 on the first hand with nothing stronger than top two pair. The dude calling me had middle two pair. Looking crosswise at the board, it was possible he had a straight, but it would have taken calling raises and re-raises with utter trash, and since I was half-drunk, I wasn’t about to believe that. I stayed at that table until I’d doubled up, and making excuses about being old and decrepit, ratholed that sucker right quick. Yes, April, I lied…I just wanted to walk away a winner for once. Can’t fault me for that, can you? Played some idiotic black-jack for a while at the Plaza. Couldn’t get up any interest in playing Splinter in your Thumb or the rest of the mixed games that the bloggers were firing at with both barrels. MIght have played some more losing craps, too. I hate craps. Went to bed…smart boy.

- Sunday was the ridiculous Z-Tejas fiasco. Hooked up with Pokerati Dan for about a two-hour convo about pokery web hippy stuff, and the fantastic opportunity he has of being out here for at least the first three weeks of the WSOP. Dan’s a very smart boy, and has been more than kind to a random fat guy in helping me find Dallas poker action. I really enjoyed that Dos XX lager-fest with Dan. Odd that it takes being 800 miles away from home for it to happen, but there ya go. Dan is doing good work on reporting the next 21 days of poker lunacy, so make sure that you keep up.

- When I got back to the Plaza, I walked over and tried to play some more poker at the Golden Nugget, but my brain was futzed, and I sucked. I did get my first blogger-free table, though. Maybe that’s the problem — you people respect me too much. I swear that I didn’t get any respect from these schmoes. I could go on about the unfilled four-flushes that I rammed and jammed, but eh…what’s new?

- Back to the Plaza where I did who knows what. I was at the edge of coherence just from the sheer excess of that desert town. I’m a country boy, and all that hoopla wears on me pretty quick. I tried my hand at one of those crusty Vegas regular NL games at the Plaza and had to suffer through the inane conversations, bitching about bet sizes and hand movements, and just in general ass-whipping. I cashed in, walked over to the bar, and sat with Rini, Grubby, Iggy, and just drank and talked until I was ready to climb on the elevator and crash. The conversation with the Grub was fascinating…what a cool guy. I admire him a lot, and wish him success in chasing his dream.

So, that’s that. I’ve already blogged the trip home. Glad to have gone, but certainly glad to be back. Haven’t bet a nickel since leaving, either. I’m kind of waiting for the excess to recede, I think. Of course, life just jams you. I just honestly can’t say enough about how unreal it is to get together with 70 people and not find a single disagreeable person, too. That’s simply unheard of, especially with a thin-skinned cranky old coot like me. But that’s the way it happened. May it ever be thus.

When’s the next one???