Not much happened on my last Vegas trip, at least not enough to fill a Hunter S. Thompson laundry list, but I thought I'd mention my last day there because it segues nicely into tourney play.

Warning: contains not enough graphic depictions of gambling and strippers.







It was late Sunday, March 7. Most of the group had left earlier that night, and F and R remained (they had a 7:30 a.m. flight out on Monday). Had Excalibur booked for Sunday and Monday night, despite leaving late Monday on the redeye. This is better and more convenient than haggling for a late checkout and waking up early only to turn right around and check bags at the bellhop. With an extra night, I can come and go to the hotel room, wake up whenever, use the clean bathroom, and shower right before heading to the airport. A last day in Vegas shouldn't be a hectic one.

We chat, recap, and gossip ("that relationship is doomed") about the events prior while watching some overacted movie on a nonpay station. We're all exhausted but can't dare sleep because this is Vegas! R has to work the next morning, so he takes the dare. F and I head to Hard Rock.

I drive my surprisingly roomy rented red Neon, the color of which wasn't as unique as many other rented red Neons also parked in the garages. Score one for valet. Plus you may get someone else's rented red Neon, you know, the one with the briefcase full of cash and the hooker in the trunk. I don't know which Neon would be better.

I've figured out Excalibur's layout by now, so I'd parked right by the Tower II entrance. Picking up the car is as fast as Barry Sanders. I take a back road and notice the car in front of me is going too slow, so I gun it and pass him on the left. Only it's not a passing lane, it's an oncoming traffic lane. I don't recall double yellow lines, Officer. I immediately swerve back into my lane before traffic approaches and just before the concrete median crumples the Neon to a Yugo.



That would've been annoying, dealing with an accident the last night there. Yet I'm so tired that even the near-miss doesn't wake me. F was a different story, as he was properly shaken up and stirred on his seatbelt.

We get to Hard Rock, instant Viagra for drowsiness. It's wallpapered with women wearing little but sugar daddies and johns. F heads to craps, I head to blackjack.

It's a $15 minimum, the lowest in the joint.

Dealer says, "You won't win." I look into her eyes and say, "I already have by meeting you, darlin'."

She destroys me anyway, and I'm down $100 and two Red Bull & Vodkas.

A rocker-dude is to my left, also down $100 or so. F and I planned to go to Club Paradise afterwards. Making small talk, I ask the r-d if he's ever been. Says, "I don't go to strip clubs. As a rule." Nice to meet you, too.

Dealer change. Young guy who deals ultrafast and has a habit of flipping the last dealer up-card like a Ricky Jay card trick. r-d comments, can't he deal the cards normally? Dealer says, "Get used to it," and continues. r-d leaves. I like this dealer.

Me and the dealer. I go into aggressive mode, doubling-down on 10 and 11, splitting most pairs but 10s against dealer's 4-6. In 20 minutes I win back what I lost plus over $100.

r-d was standing behind, sweating me the whole time. He sits and wants in.

I get an Ace and an 8. Dealer has a 6 showing. Normally I double-down. Play that the dealer will bust, not what you have. Here I don't. r-d has 17 and knuckles. Dealer turns up a 5 and with the next card deals himself blackjack. r-d asks why I didn't take a card. I said I wasn't feelin' it. r-d mutters, "Dumb ass."

Dealer change. Throw a big tip at him, which he appreciates, but pointless because they all share tips.

Back to my love who said I cannot win. Two hands later she continued to be correct.

I color up and tap the felt next to r-d. I say, "Good luck," and while walking away I mutter, "dumb ass." Half of what I said is true.



Cash in about $100. F is still at craps. I join him, guy next to the stickman asks, "You a 'don't' playa?" I ask him to repeat. He does. I understand: Don't Pass. I say, "Hell no, I ain't that kinda playa, playa." Which sounded more like: "Nah."

Table's full, visions of low-rise jeans and lower back tattoos keep me in the game. I match the numbers that playa wagers, minus about 90 percent.

Another player throws out a hard eight bet. The chip stays on the felt, acknowledged by the stickman as the shooter rolls. Seven out. Stickman returns the chip to the player. Player's confused, says he placed that bet and lost. Stickman winks, "Didn't hear ya, didn't bet." Player's still confused, says he was trying to be honest. Time to tip the boys, methinks.

F is about even, I leave down $50.

Head to slots to wait for F. Triple up on a Capt&Coke, water, and Corona while playing "Twilight Zone" penny slots, 9 lines/5 credits (45 cents) at a time. I practice my winking like the stickman. I wink at the cocktail waitress to keep 'em coming, but it looks like I have something in my eye and she scatters.

F arrives just as I win 15 free spins.

Cash out $50 and we walk across the street to Club Paradise.

The usual $20 cover charge. Two Coronas. Very nice, very elegant. Very empty. Music videos of the songs displayed on a big screen. Slightly altered videos, including dancers half-nekkid. Nekkid? What kind of club is this, he says innocently.

Tame girls here, if you can find them. Aggressive in approach but lame in action.

Doesn't prevent me partaking in half a dozen. Give or partake.

But more out of boredom. This is what Howard Stern was talking up?

Head to the men's and get the dirt from the attendant, who suggests Sapphire's (been there) and Cheetah's (been there). What about Spearmint Rhino? He nods, I tip, we're off.

It's almost 4 a.m. Spearmint looks dead, we backtrack and check out Li'l Darlin's. Heard they had suds and showers. They were closing up for the night as one dancer hops into her yellow Saab convertible. Were those bubbles trailing her?

Back to Spearmint. Another $20 each, grab front row seats. No time for drinks.

Girl with bad breath approaches, chats of being a student at UNLV. Aren't they all. Enough of a nonpushy soft sell that I agree to the dance. Average.

Apparently Britney Spears is in the house. Britney and bodyguards. I don't see her, but I don't see the hand in front of my face.

Asian girl leans over: "Would you like a dance?" Straight to the point. I say, "I'd like a blonde." My wink's getting better. She says she'll find me the best one and send her right over. Could it be Britney?

F is just about asleep. He's bored and rejecting every girl. Later says he's saving up for Mons Venus and 2001 in Tampa. Hmm. Tampa has an Indian casino. With a cardroom. On the radar.

Suddenly a vivacious blonde jumps in my lap and starts the patter. Name's Jenna, says her butt is too small, I have to check to be sure.

Then another blonde circa Chesty Morgan/Hulk Hogan arrives bellowing, "Someone looking for a blonde?"

I quickly shake my head and point to my left. Dee Snider with implants (hair implants, that is) turns, looks F in the eye, and says, "How about your friend?"

Scared, I agree to a dance from Jenna and we scamper to a private area. Leaving F to fend for himself.

Jenna is good. Really good. She's from DC, makes lingerie and purses and sells them to the dancers. She's wearing one of her thongs, but it keeps falling off. Her favorite place is Reno. Her favorite color is blue. I feel like I know her.

She likes my pants, says it feels good. Later she says, "It's like a mountain." The pants? Whatever "it" is, he says innocently. Not much more talk.

Ten dances and she did something different each time. I kept saying last one, she kept ending with a tease. How could I resist? On number ten, F walks past, motions we need to go.

$200 plus $20 tip. Jenna says to give her my card. She's not allowed to accept it in the open so slide it to her. I do. She'll be in DC in May dancing at Camelot's and she'll give me a call when she's in town and maybe I can come visit or we can do lunch. Her words. Puzzled. I can't afford a $220 lunch, I'm not even a Sweet'n'Low daddy much less a sugar daddy.

F and I zip back to Excal, pick up R who has already packed, and drop off the last of the group at the airport. I'm all alone. Time for poker! But it's too late.

Back to Excal, work off the night at the Eagle Rock penny slots. Then head to bed smelling of stripper perfume.

Monday, I play phone tag with grubette's realtor. Incoming and outgoing 85 cents a minute on the roaming cell, which is somehow more irritating than $20 a dance. Also plans to visit a friend in Henderson who just moved to Vegas from DC. She sold her Capitol Hill house and bought three condos in Henderson.

But first lunch at the buffet. Cashed in a comp. Actually a twofer. Cashier says, "You know this is good for two, but you can't save the other for later." I say, "That's fine, I'll just eat enough for two." She smiles. My wink works.

Buffet is so-so. I don't gorge.

Check messages, tag you're it, Mr. Realtor.

Back to the Eagle Rock penny slots. Can't play poker yet, need at least a couple hours to spare. Grind for half an hour when a woman sits down next to me at Double Dolphins and immediately hits the bonus for 4000 coins. She cashes out. I eat her dust.

Some mutterings from me and another 15 minutes playing Eagle, then I get the three salmon for the bonus, paralyed into an eventual 54 free spins for double her puny bonus. Take that, woman.

Ticket in/ticket out for $100.

Drive to realtor's, says his AC is broken and has to pick up his kid, so follow him. I do. Heavy traffic to the edge of Summerlin: the west side. Not like New York's west side. Not like your father's west side.

About a 45-minute drive. Traffic is really bad.

Neighborhood is small. Next to Fiesta and Texas Station casinos. Texas has a cardroom, I later found out.

Carports. Rock gardens... no, that's the sidewalk. Upstairs, faces empty road. Owner was home, reason for the runaround: no lockbox and he had to be home. He gabs on the phone the whole time. Place is a mess. Odd odor. Memories of an episode of "Cops." Is that a chalk outline?

Walkthru the two-bedroom condo. $89K. Not a bad price, but grubette could do better. Into the master bedroom, the 12-year-old son was on the bed playing video games. May we enter? He says, "The baby's asleep." Better than dead.

Head out in a hurry, depart. Wish I could check out the local casinos, but it's time for Henderson.

Exhausted, almost fall asleep on the I-15. Miss my exit, backtrack and back on track.

Turnoff goes right to Green Valley Ranch. I go left, and K's place is a mere mile away.

Nice suburban area. Memories of Newport Beach without the beach. Unlike what I picture Vegas.

I could live here.

Nice visit with K. Says neighborhood is full of Mormons. I dated a Mormon. Once.

Met K's new baby, two weeks old and adorable. And new cat, slightly older and hairier. Catch up, caffeinate myself, and return to Excal. 6:30 p.m. and it's getting dark. No traffic either way. Strip in less than 20 minutes. Vegas strip, that is.

All throughout, hoping to meet up with Chris Falco, who arrived Sunday night. Thank goodness for text messaging. 10 cents each vs. 85 cents per minute.

Still yet to play poker. Maybe an hour tops. Stretch it to two.

Get into a game. 2/6 spread. Finally. Feel at home. Poker room's remodeling and expanding. All tables are on the casino floor. Still the wheel, still the free food (hotdogs).

Two Capt&Cokes. Text to Chris, who was in a game at Luxor and heading over.

Game is good. ID'd the callers, smelled the rocks. People having a good time. Many bad beats.

Time is limited. Half an hour left. Take my name off the 4/8 waitlist. Feeling a good read on players, felt 2/6 would ultimately profit more than 4/8. If only more time.

Mostly poor players. Except guy to my left. Would rather him be on right.

On right was bad luck baby buck limping with the kitchen sink and raising the max of $6 with 5-5. Bets-calls to river and shows. Always losing hands. Always muckable cards preflop. Sadly states, "Got me on the river." When really it was the flop.

Players left for 4/8. Chris sits down in the 5s. Slaps on cool shades, asks if it's 2/6 spread and on his blind, raises it 6. Brief excitement, perhaps he's playing the maniac WPT part.

Four callers. It's 2/6. People there to play, can't play if you fold. Chris' hand goes down against a poorer starter, the board of which makes the other guy a weak pair.

Chris flips AQo. I'm sorry to see him do this because it shatters the first-in maniac image I thought he was cultivating.

He mucks/limps remaining hands before leaving, I think down a bit.

I stay as long as I can, but it's 90 minutes before my flight leaves.

I cash out $12 down, shower, pack, return the rental, and get to the airport and through security in one hour. Play Presidential slots for 15 minutes hitting nothing, then hit something and cashed out $30 up.

Sleep on redeye, head straight into work fully refreshed. Not.

More earlier Vegas later...



§
Which segues into... Chris Falco, who emailed me the following about the qualifiers for Party's first Million Dollar multi-tournament:

Cool thing is you win more than one seat in the $600+40 you get paid the $640 cash. I play a lot of single tables and do quite well in them, so I played 2 of the $7+1's last night, and won them both.

I'm thinking I'm going to avoid the multis all together for a while and build up a bunch of $64+6 wins from these $7+1 tables, then try to win a few of those to get a seat in the big on and the $640 cash back for the extra seats.

I really like the odds of the $8 parlay, it's basically a shootout format, win 2 tables win $640 on an $8 buyin. Do it twice or more and you'll really be raking in the money.

Since the tourneys are only $8 I noticed people play extremely loose, and you can really rackup the chips early then wait for a 3 way or heads up showdown.

And then the very next day, Chris put his skill where his mouth was and did just that... he won a 7+1, then won a 64+6, and now he's got a seat with his name on it at the $1M tourney.

My turn!

Last night I played eight 7+1 super qualifiers, four at a time. To repeat what Chris said, if you win one, you get a seat into the 64+6 qualifier. Win that and you get a seat to the 600+40 $1M tourney. Win that, and you're going to Disneyworld, quitting your job, and dating Winona Ryder.

Similar to a sit-n-go but only first place wins (second place is the bubble), you can't just sneak into third place to win back your buy-in.

I like these qualifiers. People go wild in them, fitting somewhere in between the 10+1 and 30+3 SnGs. People make moves they wouldn't ordinarily make, because if they can double or triple up early, they can then sit back and wait for good cards. They do this because it's only 8 smackers. If they lose, they hop to the next one. At least, that's what I think. They could just be bullies.

I played eight of those babies, four at a time.

Nestled within those qualifiers was a 9+1 multi qualifier (top 6 win seats in the $1M), which I lost early on with AA. I raised preflop, was reraised, then I reraised all-in. He called and had a smaller pair (99 I think) and hit his set on the flop. I don't particularly mind this kind of beat, because I was going all-in preflop no matter what. And I'd rather be out early to free up time for other tourneys. Would I be more upset if it were a 200+15? Uh, yes.

As I began busting out of the 7+1, I also played and won a 36+3 qualifier for the WSOP 300+25 tourney on Thursday. Had to double-check my calendar to see if I was free Thursday. Let's see, I might be able to fit Thursday in amongst other poker tournaments...

Of the eight 7+1 qualifiers, I won three -- 37.5 percent, which is in line with my regular SnG stats. I now have three free passes to any of the 64+6 qualifiers.

This morning, I used one of them.

Blinds folded to a raise on the first hand, and it's now the second hand. I don't have a read on anyone.

I'm UTG with 10-10 and I just call T15. One caller. And then the button who raises all-in. Blinds fold to me.

I have a note on him, and the past times I've played him in cash games he's extremely loose/aggressive.

This early in the game, he's got to have nothing. It's a huge bully move to capture the puny pot of T55. It has to be a bluff. He has a low pair or an Ace. Maybe not even a big Ace.

So I push.

He shows KK and I'm out.

Rather than feel bad, I removed the LAG note on him. This was a terrific play. He got me thinking what I was thinking he was thinking, and he knew his all-in would be perceived as a bluff move.

Still, the chances of someone calling that are pretty slim.

Till I came along.



lunch:
egg drop soup
chicken and mixed vegetables (no cabbage)
steamed chicken
what gives, no fortune cookie!

3 Diet Cokes
Ginger Ale

dinner:
Wendy's chicken nuggets
fries
Sun Chips
Snickers bar

grub: 10
poker: -113 (last night)