Okay... there's more
So I got some positive feedback from my last blog post, lengthy as it was, and slightly off of poker still some people were more interested than I thought. Just swallowed some online beats so I'm choosing non-poker again. Let's go back to the list... What's next today...
[x]Lamaz class with Deuce McCallister [That didn't take long to figure out today's topic]
[ ]Embattled Congressman Dollar Bill Jefferson and his ice cold cash on a 1-2 table during Essence festival at Harrahs
[ ]Why I Hate Name Dropping
[ ]Donkley update
[ ]Phil Ivey
X Details about my life you could care less about (apparently a few of you did care)
As I was trying not to listening to a particularily grim portion of my wife's Lamaze class, something about Twilight births (a dark mark on medical history), in a class my wife insisted I go to, who should I see fill the doorway and amble to the open seat next to me, none other than Dulymus Jenod McAllister. The guy who was for years a beast for the Saints. I owned him a couple of years in fantasy football and he was a beast for me, too. Sadly, I never made a ton from him sports gambling, during his glory years but I know a few that did. So, I immediately had that fantasy bond with him and since I never bet on him, had no reason to resent him for losing. Who cares if 200 million other America males feel connected to a guy because they got their geek on with a sportswebsite, I still felt like he was "my guy."
Besides his football stats, and being beloved by Saints fans, Deuce has sued and since settled with Razzoo Bar and Patio after a Mardi Gras 2004 incident. He was allegedly assaulted by the club's bouncers. I too have been allegedly assaulted by their bouncers so we have that in common too. You could tell we were going to be fast friends.
Anyway, let's rewind a bit, shall we...
How did I find myself in Lamaze class--a place a year ago, I would have wagered my bankroll on, I'd never be at. You'll notice a theme in this lengthy post where I keep getting surprised, and say I would have made a huge bet the opposite way, so it was one of those days of constant surprises.
My wife learns of a lamaze class and tells me we are going, though no one is more eager to get a baby out of her and to use medication to do it, than she is. She is fiending for an epidural, which she would gladly insert into her back herself right now if she could. The whole business model of drug dealers giving free samples to kids is turned upside down by that woman. No samples needed. I'm trying my best to be the understanding and dutiful husband as it has been really rough for the poor girl, so I didn't fight Lamaze.
Despite our pro-drug birth stance, somebody told her Lamaze class would give her some great tips with dealing with labor and pain, if we had trouble getting to the hospital, or if something went awry we might benefit from knowing it. Sounds good but we live less than five minutes from the hospital. She could probably walk there if she had too. So, that argument was lost on me. Still, since I've held a baby for no more than 30 seconds in my lifetime, I figured any knowledge was improvement for me.
Plans to jet up to Tunica for the Goldstrike tournament went by the wayside as Lamaze beckoned. I get to class, and I see a divergent group. A girl with rainbow hair and her tatoo artist husband, a young blonde with her husband who looked like he was dragged out of an ole miss tailgate (pressed khaki slacks, neat little blue socks, suede shows with nary a brushmark on them, crisp oxford, all he was missing was a ragged hat and a hottie tottie), the annoying couple which I'll get to later and then there were three ladies unattached.
I told Jess that I thought less than half the husbands would show. She won that one as 4/7 were there. Wrong again. The exceptions were a girl who brought her mom. A pretty black girl was solo with her hubby to come later, and so too a white girl that sat behind her also waiting on her man. So that number would soon change to 6/7. Why didn't I at least try for a late arrival. In my mind, I gave those wayward husband credit.
The Lamaze instructor was pretty good and despite knowing we are going to stick a giant needle in the spine of my baby's mama, I got something out of it. Still, watching some of those videos I started to crave an epidural for myself. We are definitely getting drugs. I'm not putting my wife through that, and with that conclusion reached 30 seconds into the first birthing video, I REALLY felt like I didn't need to be in this class.
Twice, in college I showed up for finals to have the professors on the spot retroactively change their attendence and grading policies because they didn't recognize me. One guy glared at me as I flew through the multiple choice questions. The grade was supposed to be combined final and mid-term scores--that was it. The syllabus said nothing about going to class. As he wished wrong answers on me, suddenly he perked up and pointed a finger to the sky, he had an idea. Now this was difficult for a man who not had an original idea in 20 years of regurgitating the same lesson plan (which was rereading assigned readings--why I didn't bother with class), but even in his early senility he had a Eureka moment. Practically spitting at me, he announced anybody who missed over 10 classes got a letter grade deduction. He could have set it at 30 and still nabbed me. I don't learn well, because I still I continue to miss other classes only to run into a professor pull the same crap my senior year.
Right after class begins, the annoying couple commences to be annoying. They answer every question like they were getting graded on it. They also had to share cloying outbursts about their parents, their siblings and anything childbirth related. The girl talked about how she told her doctor she wanted a natural childbirth and the doctor said, "Oh, you are one of them." And she was. One of them is an apt description.
A video of Bill Cosby talking about labor was put on the big screen, and the annoying husbeand was one of those guys who laughs a little too hard. You know the type. Not the ones who are infectious, the people giggling too much but they bring you in on the frivolity, no those people are likable. I'm talking about the annoying asshats that can watch a commercial a thousand times over and start slapping their knees like it's the first time the old dude danced to "we like to party" for Six Flags theme parks. Their laughs are always that high-pitched angry cat at night cuts to the bone shrills. That's that guy, times a hundred. I prayed they didn't have a Dane Cook clip, the dbag icon to those guys.
Instead I tried not to grimace too obviously in the back. Hottie Tottie at that point began bonding with his iPhone and tuning out. The rainbow haired husband, who I'll call the painted man, was probably the only husband giving me a run for my money, as best spouse. He didn't want to be there but he was containing that feeling. I made a mental note to get some brownie points for being a somewhat patient participant later.
At one point, the annoying wife proclaims to have witnessed three child births at our hospital in the last three months, and in each of them, they hustled the baby out of the room away from the mother. Jess, and the other mothers eyes widen in fear. The instructor had a tough time believing it, and said that's rare. The annoying wife stuck by her story and held three fingers in the air. One of many times she'd frighten the other first time mothers.
Jess, later pointed out to me that when we took a tour of the delivery rooms, that annoying wife said it was the first time she had seen the birthing rooms. Meaining the whole three fingers in the air obviously was a lie. I contemplated calling her on it, but didn't. I don't understand people that don't even lie for a reason. I had a friend that used to just say random lies. They weren't to make him look better, to land a girl, or serve any purpose other than not be the accurate truth to a question. I was relieved one day when he said we couldn't take his car on a trip because his trunk was full. Then, when he was forced to open it there was a blanket and nothing else. At least that lie, had a puporse, he didn't want to take his car. You can work with that. People that lie for no reason, you can never figure out the truth. This girl was clearly one of those liars who do it for the f of it.
I almost felt sorry for her man, but then he proceeded to incorrectly give us the eytmology of a Ceaserean section, saying that Julius Caeser had one, and they've been doing it for thousand of years successfully and they named the procedure after him. Which is wrong in so many different ways. I didn't call him on it, because I didn't know for sure at the time, but it just sounded so stupid. I admit I got home and googled it, to confirm he was pulling it out of his ass--which he was. Anyway, I realized they were lucky to have found each other. Course, their poor kids are going to think up is down and black is white.
Later, annoying wife says she's been an actress in movies, in Australia... Jess, whispered "She's a regular Nicole Kidman." She gave it up prefering to be behind the camera. Like Ron Howard she had to follow her passion. She did have a face for directing. While on the topic of Australia, as our teacher was trying to talk about somethig pregnancy related, the girl went on to lecture us on how laughing gas is a vital part of Australian medicine. "They love the gas down there," she said knowingly. I imagined feeding her a vat of laughing gas to put me out of my misery. I so desperately wanted to unleash that inner smart ass and just grill her, but I didn't. I was the good husband.
During a break, I signed up for some free magazine my wife wanted and annoying wife walked by me at the table out front. Beside me was a bunch of sharpies we used when we got there for name tags and a pile of pens. As I'm writing my address, this girl sticks her hand into the basket, I peep out of the corner of my eye and I watch her grab a handful of sharpies and pens and put them into her purse. I blink, did I really just see her swipe half the pens.
Later, I notice nobody else had signed up for the magazine. I realized I'd appear to be the patsy that was going to take the fall for her kleptomania. I plotted revenge. A man can only take so much.
The discussion turned to avoiding airplane rides if you are pregnant, and the pretty young black girl said she has to fly all the time.
Annoying wife looked back and with sanctimonious condescenion said, "That's the worst possible thing you can do to your baby." The poor girl was clearly taken aback.
About the worst thing you can tell an expectant mother is that they are harming their child. On the scale of bad things to do, riding an airplane early in pregnancy is nowhere near chugging vodka or pounding cigarettes, or a million other things we heard, but the annoying wife with one comment just about shattered that girl.
The instructor quickly assuaged the girl. "It's not that bad, make sure you walk around the cabin a lot. I had a friend, you may know her, that had to fly to Hawaii when she was pregnant (my ears perk up) and it's no big deal as long as you are careful, but as you get futher along you should stop flying." Problem averted and then the annoying girl audibly tells her husband, "We're never putting our child in that kind of jeopardy."
As I'm wishing medieval torture devices on the annoying couple Jess whispers to me, eyeballing the black girl "You think's she's a Saints wife, you know the pro bowl is in Hawaii." If I had a hundred million, I'd bet it all that Jess didn't know where the probowl was. This is a girl who despite going to LSU, doesn't know how many points a team gets when the score a "goal"--and she's talking American football.
I nod my approval.
I consider rewarding her with a little kiss, being almost as proud of her as that day she did so well in beer pong despite not being much of a drinker. Then, I remembered the annoying couple, who despite sitting arm's length from the teacher, and speaking up every 15 seconds, also managed to bludgeon each other with affection, kisses and hugs, bellyrubs, and whispers, and just about any physical action short of sex that could make you uncomfortable to be in their presence. Yes, this was during class.
Admittedly, Lamaze has a bit of a hippie, yoga feel to it, and part of it is massaging your pregnant wife's pains away, but I don't think kisses that "slurp" are ever on the syllabis for the day. Nor repeated statements that "sex," shrill giggle, "can induce labor." This pair reminded me of Will Ferrell and Rachel Dratch in that SNL sketch where they are a couple of ex-hippies who all over each other in way too overtly sexual fashion. Give them a hot tub and I'm sure this will be them in 10 years.
As, I decided to give jess credit later for the pro-bowl, I wondered which Saint it was.
Then who should walk in but one of the legends of the Saints. Duuuuuuuuuuce.
www.gulfcoastpoker.net
[x]Lamaz class with Deuce McCallister [That didn't take long to figure out today's topic]
[ ]Embattled Congressman Dollar Bill Jefferson and his ice cold cash on a 1-2 table during Essence festival at Harrahs
[ ]Why I Hate Name Dropping
[ ]Donkley update
[ ]Phil Ivey
X Details about my life you could care less about (apparently a few of you did care)
As I was trying not to listening to a particularily grim portion of my wife's Lamaze class, something about Twilight births (a dark mark on medical history), in a class my wife insisted I go to, who should I see fill the doorway and amble to the open seat next to me, none other than Dulymus Jenod McAllister. The guy who was for years a beast for the Saints. I owned him a couple of years in fantasy football and he was a beast for me, too. Sadly, I never made a ton from him sports gambling, during his glory years but I know a few that did. So, I immediately had that fantasy bond with him and since I never bet on him, had no reason to resent him for losing. Who cares if 200 million other America males feel connected to a guy because they got their geek on with a sportswebsite, I still felt like he was "my guy."
Besides his football stats, and being beloved by Saints fans, Deuce has sued and since settled with Razzoo Bar and Patio after a Mardi Gras 2004 incident. He was allegedly assaulted by the club's bouncers. I too have been allegedly assaulted by their bouncers so we have that in common too. You could tell we were going to be fast friends.
Anyway, let's rewind a bit, shall we...
How did I find myself in Lamaze class--a place a year ago, I would have wagered my bankroll on, I'd never be at. You'll notice a theme in this lengthy post where I keep getting surprised, and say I would have made a huge bet the opposite way, so it was one of those days of constant surprises.
My wife learns of a lamaze class and tells me we are going, though no one is more eager to get a baby out of her and to use medication to do it, than she is. She is fiending for an epidural, which she would gladly insert into her back herself right now if she could. The whole business model of drug dealers giving free samples to kids is turned upside down by that woman. No samples needed. I'm trying my best to be the understanding and dutiful husband as it has been really rough for the poor girl, so I didn't fight Lamaze.
Despite our pro-drug birth stance, somebody told her Lamaze class would give her some great tips with dealing with labor and pain, if we had trouble getting to the hospital, or if something went awry we might benefit from knowing it. Sounds good but we live less than five minutes from the hospital. She could probably walk there if she had too. So, that argument was lost on me. Still, since I've held a baby for no more than 30 seconds in my lifetime, I figured any knowledge was improvement for me.
Plans to jet up to Tunica for the Goldstrike tournament went by the wayside as Lamaze beckoned. I get to class, and I see a divergent group. A girl with rainbow hair and her tatoo artist husband, a young blonde with her husband who looked like he was dragged out of an ole miss tailgate (pressed khaki slacks, neat little blue socks, suede shows with nary a brushmark on them, crisp oxford, all he was missing was a ragged hat and a hottie tottie), the annoying couple which I'll get to later and then there were three ladies unattached.
I told Jess that I thought less than half the husbands would show. She won that one as 4/7 were there. Wrong again. The exceptions were a girl who brought her mom. A pretty black girl was solo with her hubby to come later, and so too a white girl that sat behind her also waiting on her man. So that number would soon change to 6/7. Why didn't I at least try for a late arrival. In my mind, I gave those wayward husband credit.
The Lamaze instructor was pretty good and despite knowing we are going to stick a giant needle in the spine of my baby's mama, I got something out of it. Still, watching some of those videos I started to crave an epidural for myself. We are definitely getting drugs. I'm not putting my wife through that, and with that conclusion reached 30 seconds into the first birthing video, I REALLY felt like I didn't need to be in this class.
Twice, in college I showed up for finals to have the professors on the spot retroactively change their attendence and grading policies because they didn't recognize me. One guy glared at me as I flew through the multiple choice questions. The grade was supposed to be combined final and mid-term scores--that was it. The syllabus said nothing about going to class. As he wished wrong answers on me, suddenly he perked up and pointed a finger to the sky, he had an idea. Now this was difficult for a man who not had an original idea in 20 years of regurgitating the same lesson plan (which was rereading assigned readings--why I didn't bother with class), but even in his early senility he had a Eureka moment. Practically spitting at me, he announced anybody who missed over 10 classes got a letter grade deduction. He could have set it at 30 and still nabbed me. I don't learn well, because I still I continue to miss other classes only to run into a professor pull the same crap my senior year.
Right after class begins, the annoying couple commences to be annoying. They answer every question like they were getting graded on it. They also had to share cloying outbursts about their parents, their siblings and anything childbirth related. The girl talked about how she told her doctor she wanted a natural childbirth and the doctor said, "Oh, you are one of them." And she was. One of them is an apt description.
A video of Bill Cosby talking about labor was put on the big screen, and the annoying husbeand was one of those guys who laughs a little too hard. You know the type. Not the ones who are infectious, the people giggling too much but they bring you in on the frivolity, no those people are likable. I'm talking about the annoying asshats that can watch a commercial a thousand times over and start slapping their knees like it's the first time the old dude danced to "we like to party" for Six Flags theme parks. Their laughs are always that high-pitched angry cat at night cuts to the bone shrills. That's that guy, times a hundred. I prayed they didn't have a Dane Cook clip, the dbag icon to those guys.
Instead I tried not to grimace too obviously in the back. Hottie Tottie at that point began bonding with his iPhone and tuning out. The rainbow haired husband, who I'll call the painted man, was probably the only husband giving me a run for my money, as best spouse. He didn't want to be there but he was containing that feeling. I made a mental note to get some brownie points for being a somewhat patient participant later.
At one point, the annoying wife proclaims to have witnessed three child births at our hospital in the last three months, and in each of them, they hustled the baby out of the room away from the mother. Jess, and the other mothers eyes widen in fear. The instructor had a tough time believing it, and said that's rare. The annoying wife stuck by her story and held three fingers in the air. One of many times she'd frighten the other first time mothers.
Jess, later pointed out to me that when we took a tour of the delivery rooms, that annoying wife said it was the first time she had seen the birthing rooms. Meaining the whole three fingers in the air obviously was a lie. I contemplated calling her on it, but didn't. I don't understand people that don't even lie for a reason. I had a friend that used to just say random lies. They weren't to make him look better, to land a girl, or serve any purpose other than not be the accurate truth to a question. I was relieved one day when he said we couldn't take his car on a trip because his trunk was full. Then, when he was forced to open it there was a blanket and nothing else. At least that lie, had a puporse, he didn't want to take his car. You can work with that. People that lie for no reason, you can never figure out the truth. This girl was clearly one of those liars who do it for the f of it.
I almost felt sorry for her man, but then he proceeded to incorrectly give us the eytmology of a Ceaserean section, saying that Julius Caeser had one, and they've been doing it for thousand of years successfully and they named the procedure after him. Which is wrong in so many different ways. I didn't call him on it, because I didn't know for sure at the time, but it just sounded so stupid. I admit I got home and googled it, to confirm he was pulling it out of his ass--which he was. Anyway, I realized they were lucky to have found each other. Course, their poor kids are going to think up is down and black is white.
Later, annoying wife says she's been an actress in movies, in Australia... Jess, whispered "She's a regular Nicole Kidman." She gave it up prefering to be behind the camera. Like Ron Howard she had to follow her passion. She did have a face for directing. While on the topic of Australia, as our teacher was trying to talk about somethig pregnancy related, the girl went on to lecture us on how laughing gas is a vital part of Australian medicine. "They love the gas down there," she said knowingly. I imagined feeding her a vat of laughing gas to put me out of my misery. I so desperately wanted to unleash that inner smart ass and just grill her, but I didn't. I was the good husband.
During a break, I signed up for some free magazine my wife wanted and annoying wife walked by me at the table out front. Beside me was a bunch of sharpies we used when we got there for name tags and a pile of pens. As I'm writing my address, this girl sticks her hand into the basket, I peep out of the corner of my eye and I watch her grab a handful of sharpies and pens and put them into her purse. I blink, did I really just see her swipe half the pens.
Later, I notice nobody else had signed up for the magazine. I realized I'd appear to be the patsy that was going to take the fall for her kleptomania. I plotted revenge. A man can only take so much.
The discussion turned to avoiding airplane rides if you are pregnant, and the pretty young black girl said she has to fly all the time.
Annoying wife looked back and with sanctimonious condescenion said, "That's the worst possible thing you can do to your baby." The poor girl was clearly taken aback.
About the worst thing you can tell an expectant mother is that they are harming their child. On the scale of bad things to do, riding an airplane early in pregnancy is nowhere near chugging vodka or pounding cigarettes, or a million other things we heard, but the annoying wife with one comment just about shattered that girl.
The instructor quickly assuaged the girl. "It's not that bad, make sure you walk around the cabin a lot. I had a friend, you may know her, that had to fly to Hawaii when she was pregnant (my ears perk up) and it's no big deal as long as you are careful, but as you get futher along you should stop flying." Problem averted and then the annoying girl audibly tells her husband, "We're never putting our child in that kind of jeopardy."
As I'm wishing medieval torture devices on the annoying couple Jess whispers to me, eyeballing the black girl "You think's she's a Saints wife, you know the pro bowl is in Hawaii." If I had a hundred million, I'd bet it all that Jess didn't know where the probowl was. This is a girl who despite going to LSU, doesn't know how many points a team gets when the score a "goal"--and she's talking American football.
I nod my approval.
I consider rewarding her with a little kiss, being almost as proud of her as that day she did so well in beer pong despite not being much of a drinker. Then, I remembered the annoying couple, who despite sitting arm's length from the teacher, and speaking up every 15 seconds, also managed to bludgeon each other with affection, kisses and hugs, bellyrubs, and whispers, and just about any physical action short of sex that could make you uncomfortable to be in their presence. Yes, this was during class.
Admittedly, Lamaze has a bit of a hippie, yoga feel to it, and part of it is massaging your pregnant wife's pains away, but I don't think kisses that "slurp" are ever on the syllabis for the day. Nor repeated statements that "sex," shrill giggle, "can induce labor." This pair reminded me of Will Ferrell and Rachel Dratch in that SNL sketch where they are a couple of ex-hippies who all over each other in way too overtly sexual fashion. Give them a hot tub and I'm sure this will be them in 10 years.
As, I decided to give jess credit later for the pro-bowl, I wondered which Saint it was.
Then who should walk in but one of the legends of the Saints. Duuuuuuuuuuce.
www.gulfcoastpoker.net
Comments
Good last post too. Flux Capacator! I'm so mechanically DECLINED myself, the blue collar swamprats where I grew up in blue-collar refinery Louisiana hellhole known as Cancer Alley took my total and complete lack-of-mechanical skills with an automatic air of suspicion that I snuck off in the middle of the night to watch PBS's master ballet concerto series and wore dresses. Uh...no, "brah," I just can't fix stuff....got any gambling theory books? You're Cajuns, right? You gamble, right? And you DON'T read books on poker? I see an opportunity here...Hey, Couyon, start FIXING up your hundreds for me in neat rows of ten for me with those God-given "better-than-you" mechanical talents of yours and break out a deck of cards.
Sorry, just a little scream therapy from my childhood in LaPlace.
Kai