So…I suppose I should update from that last post. Long story short – we got in to the hospital around 2 or 3am. I loaded PT up in a wheelchair for easier mobility (he can walk around, but steps and long trips tire him out) and wheeled him up to his usual floor. The nursing staff was a skeleton crew, and one of them followed us into the room. I was attempting to maneuver the chair past some hospital equipment, and the nurse behind me commented that she could never have fit through there, since she sucks at driving those. I laughed, got him in the room, and then stepped aside so she could move past me. She kinda looked familiar, so I looked down at her name tag. Her name was Kathy. Kathy, Kathy….oh shit.
“Kathy?” She looked up, got a better look, and exclaimed, “Jeremy!” She then gave me a big hug. At this point, PT and DJ were a little confused. Why was I hugging some random nurse? She then turned to them and explained, “Jeremy and I go way back! In fact, he’s the only guy, other than my husband, who I’ve let in the bathroom while I take a shower!” The guys were kinda lost for words at this point, and I guess I don’t blame them since so was I. See, Kathy was an old friend from back when I went to college in Erie. She and I never dated or anything, but she was obviously comfortable with me. I used to “serenade” her with Beastie Boys lyrics, actually. It probably wasn’t flattering, but she laughed. I changed the lyrics to “She’s Crafty” to “She’s Kathy.”
She’s Kathy, she gets around
She’s Kathy, she’s always down
She’s Kathy, she’s got a gripe
She’s Kathy, and she’s just my type – she’s Kathyyyyyy….
Evidentally she had been trying to get a hold of me for some time, especially to be at her wedding, but she said none of my fraternity brothers knew how to do so. I explained that I don’t really like them, so I wasn’t updating my info. Anyhow, she got my email and #, and seemed happy. I was still in shock, but I guess I’ll write back if she does. I’m weird about getting back into contact with people from my long-lost past, but if it doesn’t creep me out too much then I guess I’m ok with it. I wish I could explain that better, but I don’t care to try.
We hung around in the hospital until about 7:30am. PT got taken down for dialysis, so DJ and I went back to PT’s. I planned on passing out, as I had yet to sleep. I figured I’d get a call when PT was done, then go back in and wait for the surgery. Well, it seems that the liver they found wasn’t suitable, so it didn’t happen. I guess the guy was too fat, and the liver wasn’t acceptable. PT seemed kinda down about it, but managed a decent demeanor.
That brings us to today. PT got a call and there’s a new liver waiting in D.C. They’re harvesting it, and shipping it to Pittsburgh. It’s actually a younger liver – the guy who had it was only 26. He was also gay, had a life partner, and everything. PT told me that he was told that they checked it out thoroughly, and it seemed clean. As PT put it, “No HIV, Hep C, or anything resulting from improper anal penetration.” If so, this is a good thing since most livers that get donated are usually by older folks. Unless the docs see something visually wrong with it that wouldn’t show in blood tests, it’s his. I guess we go into the hospital in a few hours. I’m sure once everything is said and done, the gender preference of his liver will be the source of a few jokes, but I’ll probably wait until it’s safely hooked up before I start in on that.
In non-liver-related news, I went out to the casino in Chester, WV the other night (the 6th) with my mother and sister. The 28th of February was my mom’s birthday, but she had mentioned a while back that there was a concert she wanted to see. It was Regis Philbin and Don Rickles. I don’t know about you, but that just seems like a ridiculous combo. Whatever – I got the tickets and we planned on going. I only got 2, though. I had no desire to see it, and wanted to ship my mom off with whoever while I went to play poker. Since her friend Deb didn’t go, my sister got stuck having to tag along. We made the drive in – they picked me up at PT’s, and wow did it suck. The last 15 miles or so into the casino is this depressing, dead area that had absolutely nothing around it. It was all a 25 mph road, too, so it took forever. We parked, and were of course running late. It was weird – I could actually make out Regis’ voice singing…something. I picked up the tickets, handed them off, and had the ticket girls call me a shuttle bus to take me to the poker room. I was impressed – it was huge, compared to a lot of the rooms I had seen in Vegas. I put my name on the $2-$4 limit hold’em table (structured betting increments – no like “no limit”) and put my name as well on an “interest” list for $3-$6 omaha hi-lo. My limit HE table opened up relatively quickly, so I bought in for $80 and sat down.
Something that seems weird to me – I have no problem at all buying in for that much, and playing, yet I get uncomfortable buying in for anything more than a $5 tournament online. In online cash games, I play low limits, and rarely sit with more than $10. I’m not sure why that it. The game was a good one, too. By that, I mean that I felt really comfortable. There was only one guy who worried me, and he sat on my right. That meant I always had position on him. He played almost anything in late position, and if he bet then he usually had a great hand. I waited for the big blind, and got 10,9. I checked my option, and the flop was 10,10, J. Whee! I check-called the flop, check-raised the turn, and got someone to call me on the river as well. I loved this table since people rarely, if ever, raised preflop. Most of them, if they did raise, you could easily put them on a hand like AA, AK, KK, QQ, or even JJ. I felt like I was a better post-flop player than most, so I liked being able to get in cheaply and out-play people. Some of the guys to my left were kinda bad, and they liked trying to predict everyone else’s hand. When I had the above-mentioned 10,9 they asked, “You had a jack, huh? Ace jack?” I just smiled and raked the chips. I was in a pot with one of those guys and had a pair of 3’s. The board was something like 8,7,2 and he bet. I didn’t like it, but there were a few callers so there was a lot of $ in the pot. I just called. The turn was a jack, maybe, and everyone checked. Fine by me. The river was a 3, which gave me 3 of a kind. The guy on my left bet, got called, and I raised. The guy agonized, then called me with A7. He asked, “You paired your jacks, didn’t you?” I smiled and said, “Nope.” At this point, he started to smile as he thought he was good, but I flipped my cards over and said, “I got something better.” He didn’t like that a whole lot, but it was his fault for giving me a free turn card.
There was a few other hands, and I got lucky on a couple. I won’t go into too much detail due to time constraints. Later, my mother and sister found me and commented that Regis was ok, but Don Rickles had them crying. My mom probably had a drink or 2 in her, and thought she should try poker. I said, “I am sure the entire table would LOVE to have you sit down.” She sucks. Bad. She sat down and ordered a glass of wine. Before that was done, she had another on the way. I didn’t mind having her to my left, and mentioned, “You know, i’ve often told people that I’d check-raise my own mother on the river – now I might get my chance!” The table laughed at this. She then asked me, “So you’re gonna help me, right?”
“Uhm…no. I’m not allowed. Just ask the dealer if you don’t know what amount to call or something, but you’re on your own.” She didn’t realize that one player helping another during a hand might be slightly improper, I guess. I think she won a total of one pot while she was there. i think she sat for an hour, hour and a half, and lost $160. Yes…one hundred and sixty dollars. In $2-$4 LIMIT poker. That’s just horrible. She would do things like call with 3,5 of hearts, raise when 10,10,j hit the board (2 hearts on board), call 2 bets on the turn, then raise on the river when she hit a flush, when one of the solid players (guy on my right) showed strength the entire time. He flopped a full house, and she was more than happy to pay him off. She later observed that some crackhead that liked to bulldoze pots with mediocre hands was “buying pots” so she thought she should, too. She ended up trying to RERAISE him on the river with 9-high. She didn’t realize he wasn’t folding any hand, especially when there was a good amount of $ in the pot and she can only reraise someone $4 at a time.
My sister also sat down, pregnant stomach and all. She only bought in for $20, unlike the $100 that my mom brought. The dude on my right commented that she was “playing for 2.” He then thought maybe he offended me, so he said, “sorry.” I laughed and said, “I call her ‘Prego’ all the time, so don’t worry about it.” She won a pot off of my mom, but other than that? She didn’t last long.
My mother, being a home game-only player, doesn’t realize how she needs to peek at her cards. She would hold them up about a foot or 2 away from her face off of the table. If I had glanced to the left, I could have easily seen them, and kept trying to tell her so. She just said, “Well quit looking! Look at him! He’s cute!” and pointed to the dude on my right. Great – the guy I had been chatting with probably now wondered if I had been hitting on him. I said, “Um – he’s not my type (no offense)” Later, the dealer chastised her a few times for not having her cards on the table like everyone else, so she started to listen. You’re supposed to overlap your cards slightly, cup your hands around them, bend towards them, and pick up the corners to see what you have. It’s then customary to put a chip or something over them and then make your decision. It takes some getting used to at first, but it’s not all that hard. People that don’t do this risk being labeled as a “noob” and thus – easy pickings.
Towards the end of her cash donating, she overheard the $2-$5 no limit table near us. One of the guys was loud and mentioned that women had no place at the no-limit table. She then decided that she would love to go over to spoil his fun. Luckily, she didn’t, as her losses would be astronomical.
One dude at the table looked familiar, so I asked him where he was from. He named a place 20 miles away from where I live, and my mom said, “Oh – he’s a homie!” At this, several of the black guys from a nearby table peaked over their shoulders at her, while I covered my face. I tried to explain that people could take that differently, but she didn’t “get it.”
I could go more into detail about the ride home, and how I tried to convince my mother that I was 1/8th black, myself, but time is wasting – gotta run.
Hip-deep in Shallow Tenacity 