Tilt-a-whirl

G-Vegas is becoming a home game hotbed of sorts.  On Monday nights, there is the Big Game – a $200 NL ring game hosted at The Rick’s.  Wednesday’s, there is either a tournament at Frank the Tank’s or one at the house of Otit.  Thursday alternates between the limit dealer’s choice game and the $50 NL ring game.  Then on Friday, a game can usually be found at The Mark’s.  Add to that the random Otis-is-a-bachelor home game and the week fills up fast.

Online, the blogger-fest is growing too.  Thursday and Friday, we’ve got the Wil Wheaton Pokerstars events.  Saturday afternoon’s with the Dr. is always great fun, as is the Sunday Bill Rini event on Full Tilt.

That’s a ton of poker.  And someone isn’t too happy about it.  You have three guesses and the first two don’t count.

On Wednesday night, I got home late.  I found a bag of take-out for dinner on the table, so I chowed down fast.  There was a game at the Tank’s and if I were to make it, I’d need to hurry.  As I finished up, I went upstairs to check on the rest of the Blood’s.  The mini’s were showered up and getting ready for bed.  The Mrs. took one look at me and simply said, “Bye.”

Screeeeeeeeech.

That was the sound of my poker plans for the night coming to a grinding halt.

I looked down at my two hole cards and knew I was beat.  Based on Mrs_Blood’s tell, I mucked.  I phoned up G-Rob and informed him that I wouldn’t be making it to the Tank’s game.  Simply not showing up is uncool, but calling G-Rob ensured that I’d receive a ration of shit in the following days.

So there I was, thinking I was playing the good guy, sacrificing a poker game to spend some QT with she-who-shall-not-be-named.  I jest, it wasn’t that bad.  We watched some TV and spent a quiet evening together.  Long-term +EV is what I called it.

With Wednesday’s ginormous spousal equity booked, I greatly looked forward to the Thursday night game.  Things started off great.  I won the first hand, exchanged dial-a-shots with the ACHE and things started rollicking.  When G-Rob showed up, he asked me about Wednesday night’s absence.  “Did you get wifed?”  I nodded in the affirmative, but didn’t mind the ribbing.

Then the phone rang again.  Screeeeeeeeeeeeech.

That was the sound of my poker fun for the night coming to a screeching halt.  The Mrs was on the phone.  Apparently I left the house too quickly and didn’t get a chance to talk to her about my day.  The conversation was short, but the message was clear.  And then I felt it.  Yes my friends, a new form of TILT.  The unhappy-wife-making-you-feel-guilty-for-playing-tilt.

After I hung up the phone, I played one more hand.  Then I had to excuse myself.  If I didn’t rectify the situation pronto, I was going to erupt.  I went to the host’s garage and called the Mrs. back.  I won’t go into details, but after about 10 minutes of explaining how each of us felt about what was going on, disaster was averted.  Surprisingly, Mrs_Blood was assuaged enough to end the conversation with, “OK, now go take all their money.”  She’s a keeper.

When I got back to the table, the Thursday night crew warned me of an impending giant Milwaukee’s Best Light beer can coming through the ceiling to crush me.  Men should act like men, beer should taste like beer; but sometimes husbands have to act like husbands.  So don’t be surprised if I’m not available online much this weekend.  I owe someone else some of my time.  She’s earned it.