Party Poker Blog

Happy Monday, all.

A few quick random snippets for you and then I'm off.

A big thanks to Al, Hoyazo and Mookie for hosting that eternal freaking blogger league tournament thingy. Geezus, am I glad that thing is over - 39 damn tournaments with most of them a 10pm start time?

It's good to have my life back.

I actually attribute my fifth place overall finish (what the hell is a Nintendo DS anyway?) to the fact that I was usually working on something else when the tournament began and I wouldn't be able to watch the table, much less provide any banter or chat. And I'm a chatty bitch, damnit. It was just pretty much straight ahead ABC poker until the bubble loomed and then I'd shift gears quickly. I made some ill-timed bluffs here and there, as well as a ridiculous move or two with the Hammer that costs me some serious points, but hey, I'm not about to begin playing hardcore serious poker with my blogging brethren.

I've played enough hardcore serious poker over the last few years to last me a lifetime.

That being said, it's going to be interesting to see if I get my twenty large out of Neteller this week.

When will US members get their money back?

NETELLER currently anticipates that implementation of the Distribution Plan will commence upon the resolution of the USAO investigation. NETELLER has advised the USAO that it will use its best efforts to resolve the investigation no later than July 13, 2007.

Hah. I'm not holding my breath here.

I'm going to include an email I got today from a friend of mine who helped commiserate with me as I desperately helped a close friend going through his own private Fisher King this past year.

Her husband's son is in the grip of some seriously bad mojo and she's right in the thick of it. I know a lot about addiction. In fact, it's one of my favorite topics of discussion over ice cold beers. I've plenty of experience from family, friends and my own life.

So she wrote me this email and gave me permission to post it. If you can't relate to it, consider yourself profoundly lucky.

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Subject: Visit to an addicts' house - A short story.

An experience from Tuesday inspired me to write this short story. A true, short story.


On Wednesday, we meet outside, in the parking lot. Husband and Wife, a Dad and a Dad's wife. I've never been considered a step mom, just a woman his Dad is married to. I come to provide support to my husband. He doesn't have to do this alone. I'm in this for better or worse. I love him, my husband.

I bring industrial strength garbage bags, clorox, dish detergent, pine sol, febreze, vacuum, washcloths, rubbergloves, my camera. We can smell the apartment even before we opened the door. We walked in together. I hold my breath. I breathe though my mouth. I can taste the rot. I don't know which is worse - the smell or the taste.

We entered the apartment. To take a step, you had to walk on clothes, garbage, food, shoes, bottles, etc. The entire floor was covered with filth.

The kitchen was beyond disgusting. Grease on the floor, the stove, the refrigerator. Trash can was so over filled it no longer served any purpose. Garbage was everywhere.

The kitchen sink was filled with rotten, sour, dirty water - perhaps one day, a long time ago, someone attempted to wash dishes. The task was too demanding.

Every dish in the apartment was dirty with dried on food. Not a clean drinking glass anywhere.

The living room. His daughter's toys were strung around the room. Dirty.
Broken. Tossed aside. Forgotten.

The living room table showed the evidence of a drug user. Blue elastic, the same kind the doctor uses when he takes your blood, to engorge the vain to make the stick of the needle easier, was on the table. A knife with a serrated blade was laying there, open. The blade dirty with a brown, sticky residue. Blood. The table was burned in a couple hundred places, from a cigarette, a bong, a joint, from someone who passed out on the couch, with the thing still lit. Or maybe, the table was used as a bigger than life ashtray. The table held a dried out bowl of Spaghetti-O's. Table was covered
with what smelled like urine. A tube of glue. Lighters. High school class ring. A few coins. Empty pill bottles - the same kind of pills that killed Anna Nicole Smith (and plenty of people before her) Methadone. A cocaine spoon. Crumbs. So many crumbs of something. Food? Rat Poisoning? Sugar?

3 Pictures of his daughter hold watch over the activities in this room.
Eyes of a young child who sees, experiences, accepts and forgives the person who is self destructing in front of her.

Other pictures were tossed aside, turned over, broken, discarded. Memories of a better time, a better life. Out of sight, out of mind.

The bathroom. More evidence. Another blue elastic band lies on the sink along with a pair of pliers to pull the elastic tighter, tighter. There, that's better.

Discarded, molded bath tubs lay on the floor. Kicked around. In the tub, more toys. Once loved. Now decaying with mold and filth.

The toilet. Vomit stains. Fecal stains. Black as tar. Don't look. Don't touch. Contaminated. Does his 5 year old daughter sit on this? You bet.

Inside the medicine cabinet, more pill bottles. Not surprisingly, expensive hair product and cologne. Items needed to make you look your best, smell your best. Items that say "I'm worthy" because I can afford these department store products, not the generic stuff used by lowlifes.

Bedroom. Mattress on floor. No sheets. Stains everywhere. Blood? Urine? Semen? All the above. Pillows and blankets strewn about. Mattress broken down because of no support, no maintenance. Nightstand near by - more bottles. More lighters, burn marks, more of the sticky, brown residue. Discarded cigarette packs . . . Newport cigarettes. Cheap. Be smart, save your money for the good stuff. Bottom drawer shows the person was once loved by many, is still loved by many - cards for birthdays, Christmas, invitations and more are tucked in the drawer. Signed with love, always.
Looking for a card that reads congratulations on your sobriety. I don't find one.

Everywhere you look are clothes. Dirty, discarded, smelly clothes lay everywhere. Walking on them feels good, soft, absorbing the weight of my body. In the corner, a toddler bed with stuff piled in it. Dirty sheets. No soft blanket, no cuddly stuffed animals. No sign that a sleeping, innocent, 5 year old girl has slept there lately. But wait, I do remember him saying once that she liked to sleep with him, in his bed. In reality, that means she sleeps with a dirty man, on a dirty stained mattress, on the floor, near the nightstand that houses his addiction. Nice.

Clothes. Clothes. Dirty. Crumpled. Wrinkled. Everywhere. Look, a dresser.

Dresser drawers, empty, except for more pill bottles, porno film, condoms, more bottles. Drawers waiting to be filled up with the clothes that go unwashed and dumped on the floor. Again, too much effort.

More pill bottles - mind altering, do not take with alcohol, may cause dizziness and hallucinations, shakes and trembles, do not operate a motor vehicle, can be habit forming. Will be habit forming. Is habit forming. Hooked.

The worst? The child's broken piggybank on a dresser table. Money now long gone.

Paperwork from the clerk of courts demanding child support. Past child support now due.

Paperwork from the clerk of courts demanding to appear in court for passing bad checks. Checks he says he never written. Must have been someone else who had his driver license that day and that person must have practiced writing his name a thousand times to get his signature exact.

More paperwork - Garnishment of wages. Job performance probation. Job termination. Failure to make car payments = Car repossessed, 2 times. Driving too fast = Speeding tickets. Driving while intoxicated = ticket and jail time. Driving with a suspended license = lost driving privileges, but not really . . . I won't get caught. Surprise. You've just been caught. More paperwork. More court appearances. More arrests. I'm sorry. I wasn't going to sell the acid, the cocaine, the crack, the pot, the prescription drugs Officer, they belong to a friend of mine. Some friend. Another DUI. No money. Never have any money. New Blackberry phone. New $2200 computer PAID
IN FULL, PAID WITH CASH on May 20, 2007. But can't make rent. Can't pay electric. Can't pay bills. Can't pay child support. No gas. No car. No food. No friends. No family. No emotion. No effort. No passion. No will. No want. No determination. No respect. No reward.

Nothing.