Every Day Sends Future To Past

Every breath leaves one less to my last.

I'd attribute that quote, but those who've heard it know where it's from and those who haven't could not care less. Still, it's appropriate for me on this anniversary of my birth.

First off, I want to thank all the folks who've sent me birthday wishes via text message, email, Facebook messages and even kickass blog posts.

Secondly, I think I'm going to have to acknowledge a change in these here parts of the web. I hardly post anymore because, quite frankly, it's difficult to both come up with a poker-themed post and find the time to write something witty and insightful. So without sounding too much like a cop out, I'll be posting more about my mundane life and hopefully get some poker content in here and there. Hell, if UpForPoker can re-work their motif, well then I can certainly be a weak copy cat.

Also, occasionally I'll send out a Twitter, mainly when I've been drinking and feeling like I'm mildly entertaining. Be forewarned, my comedy is meta-comedy, only funny weeks, even months later. (Cue "guy bets half a sandwich" joke)

Back to me turning 41....

There are a couple of reasons I know I'm aging. Take last night for example. I was out doing what I do on Mondays, eating, drinking, whatever, then playing some cards. A friend was in town from up North, my old haunting grounds. This buddy of mine was the original participant with me in the very first Procedure(tm). I joke, but I seriously need to trademark that, just in case the term makes it into Pauly's book.

Anyway, I'm sitting at GucciRick's 10-handed poker table and need to relieve myself. For some reason I felt like drinking the Bud Lights (a.k.a. "The Bane of My Bowels") left in the refrigerator. Apparently, while I was away, I was dealt a hand but didn't get back in time to play it. I knew it was a good hand since both Rick and TheMark gave me shit about taking too long in the restroom.

I guess I folded pocket Jacks.

And yes, the flop was J-hi, rainbow.

And yes, Frank the Tank, flopped a set of 2's and doubled up against pocket 9's (don't ask).

And yes, had my bladder been able to control itself for just a wee bit (See? Meta-humor) longer, I'd have flopped set over set and won a $750 pot.

Here's why I'm old.

I didn't even get mad, or even mildly upset. Sure I rooted for Frank to turn or river quads, but still, it didn't tilt me in the least. I played marginally well after that until I got tired and gambled my profits away. I broke just about even, went home and slept.

When I woke up, I was another year older.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

(More meta-humor there, you know 'cause, like, I don't have hair. And that's a phrase used on shampoo bottles. Which I wouldn't need. Well, not that much. I like to avoid scalp problems by shampooing anyway. So maybe it's not meta-humor. But it could be. It depends on the delivery. Pretend right now that I nailed the delivery and this will be funny.)