I Fought The Blonde And The Blonde Won

Wednesday, August 8th, 2007, 11:35 am

There are stories that are too painful to tell, and here’s one of them. The gang went up to the lake a few weekends ago and for the first time in years I didn’t bring my poker chips along. I was freshly back from Vegas and still fairly frazzled, and I really didn’t think we would have a big enough crew to get a game going. But after playing drinking games late into Friday night I was surprised to find that everyone wanted to play a little Hold-Em. And all we had were cheapo plastic chips and a few ancient decks.

I was pretty much wiped out. Drinking ten beers and then spending the next day on the lake wears you down. And it was a pretty rough day. As always I took the JetSki out and blasted my way around the lake. I don’t remember what my speed record was from last year, but at one point I cranked it up to 55mph. And on a section of the lake that’s usually pretty choppy. I didn’t think I was going THAT fast until I peeked down at the speedometer and said, "Whoa!". I was trying to go fast, of course, but I wasn’t even in my aerodynamic tuck…well, I get in as aerodynamic a tuck as a fat-ass like myself can manage with a life jacket on.

I don’t wakeboard much these days as I’d rather spend my laketime crashing through the waves as other people ride the board. I took my camera along, which didn’t turn out so hot. I actually shot a video of me cranking the JetSki up to about 30mph, but it got so Blair Witchy that I got motion sickness watching it. I did get a few shots of the lake house, to give you an idea of what it’s like up there:

It’s a nice little pile. And we eat well when we’re up there. After the gang came in after the early-afternoon run we had to decide what to have for luncheon, and as Scott and Debbie planned on making spaghetti for dinner Mark cranked up the grill and threw some steaks on. Please take note of the cross-hatching:

After dinner I curled up for a bit with the Full Tilt Tournament Strategy Guide while the others played a little Guitar Hero. And that’s when Scott walked up and said, "Hey Geno…tubes?"

Tubes. See, I used to love riding on the tubes. Get three of us behind the boat and drag our sorry asses around the lake. Fun. Thing is, all those years on the tubes are starting to take their toll. You get the ever-loving crap kicked out of you too many times and the tissues start to break down. Riding the tubes is kinda like being in a dozen fender-benders during the course of an afternoon. All those jolts add up. I mean, I haven’t been able to raise my left arm above my head without pain since 2002. Tube-related injury. They’re a bitch.

But I have my pride, so I saddled up and took my spot behind the boat. And got the shit kicked out of me. The first fall was the first, Rick spun us out wide and I ended up slamming into a wave square-on. It was like hitting a brick wall and I BOUNCED off the tube. That one hurt, I’m not ashamed to say. Then Mark the Bastard started grabbing onto my tube and dragging me with him outside the wake. I ended up getting trapped up against the big rippling wave generated by the boat and that’s No-Man’s Land. No way to stay on and twice more I ended up in the drink. And let me tell you, getting back on those tubes when you get knocked off is a pain in the ass.

Still like the tubes. Just wish I didn’t fell like I fell out of a building after we’re done. Though I don’t seem to be having a bad time here:

After we spent a few hours recovering we had a big spaghetti dinner. We cleaned up and it was time for poker. Poker? Really? For some reason I thought we wouldn’t have enough people interested in playing, but no. Everyone wanted to play, and I took a lot of crap for not bringing my chips up. But we had the plastic chips and a decent deck and the game was soon afoot. Everyone knows I play tight and careful, so I decided to mix it up and incorporate some of the lessons I’d learned reading my book early in the afternoon.

I quickly donked off 7/8 of my stack trying to make moves and semi-bluff and push Debbie off her goddam middle pair. Didn’t she see that I was representing an Ace? I guess not. So I was down to T425 and muttering to myself, "(Expletive) Chris Ferguson and (expletive) Andy Bloch and their (expletive) book" when I picked up the A-4 of clubs. I was first to act and act I did, pushing my little all into the middle. Scott folded. Debbie folded. Rick folded. Mark folded.

And that’s when the Blonde looked at her cards and said, "I’m not sure what I should do…" I should explain that I’ve known this girl for, oh, 17 years, and she has a unique ability to send me into hyper-mega-super tilt. To look at her you’d think she’s your stereotypical blue-eyed, blonde, all-American sweetheart:

You, my friends, are hopelessly naive.

First of all, she’s the one who took the photos of us riding the tubes, cackling maniacally as we got the snot beaten out of us for her amusement. Second…second she kept looking at her frickin’ cards and couldn’t decide what to do. "Do whatever you want," I said placidly, hoping she had something like, oh, K-4. Some crap where I had her utterly dominated so I could double up and get back in the frickin’ game.

"I guess I call," she said, and everyone else started whooping it up because they love it when I get beat. I turned over my Ace-little, and she turned over…Ace-King.

ACE-FREAKING-KING.

I jumped out of my seat and let loose with a Hellmuthian tirade. "You’re SLOW-ROLLING me?" I barked. "You have Ace-King and you’re not SURE if you should call me or not?"

She looked up at me with a sweet, guileless grin and those big blue eyes and asked, "Is that a good hand?"

Yeah, it’s a good hand. I felt a pounding behind my eyes as Scott dealt out an A-7-10 flop. "How about a four?" I asked as Scott burned and turned over another Seven. "Awesome," I said, as that card meant I could only hope to chop the pot with an Ace or a Seven. And then, on the river, Scott flipped over a goddam Four. I think I would’ve been happier if he’d just jammed his thumb in my eye.

My friends acted with their usual class, pointing at me and laughing and exchanging high-fives. The Blonde herself said, "This better be in the blog!" And she’s been pestering me for the last two weeks about when I was going to write up the soul-crushing beatdown she put on me. Well, here it is.

I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad. She was in town this weekend fighting a speeding ticket she got a few months ago…and she won. She always wins. Against me, against the government…none dare stand in her way.

I think we’re going to the lake again this weekend. I think I’m gonna forget to invite her. I think I’m gonna forget to do that right…now.

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One Response to “I Fought The Blonde And The Blonde Won”

  1. Daddy Says:

    Slow roll = anal.

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