Foxwoods trip, part II: Breakfast, Walk Fast, Lose Fast

So after our evening's pokerry activities, we drove back to my house, a matter of exactly an hour door to door. We got home to find Tootsie just starting to nod off in her chair. God bless her, she jumped right up and got Josie settled on the couch with all the bedding a discerning girl could ever want. I offered to have her sleep under my bed in a box, her arms and legs having been amputated a la Boxing Helena; she demurred however and took the couch.

Before I knew what hit me it was the morning, I was still sleeping, and Josie was awake and unsupervised in my house. Toots had left my door open and I was woken up by the twin sounds of my door being closed and Josie pretending to clear her throat by literally saying "ahem" sotto voce.

After a brief period of waking up whereby apparently I wear a face that "looks like [I] smelled something bad," but was just my disdain for the early hour and my not-yet-fully awake-iosity, we got our collective shit in gear and headed over for some breakfast at my local joint.

I am a regular there; I try to make it three or four times a month. It is a place where, honest-to-His-Noodly-Appendage, all the waitresses know my name and what I want for breakfast (2 poached runny yolk over corned beef hash, home fries well done, white toast please). Anyway after a litlle chitchat with Emily the Triathlete Waitress, who is great at what she does and still as cute as a VERY cute button, Josie ordered her breakfast and to drink, "coffee - milk." A few minutes later Emily was back with my tea and a tall glass of what looked like weak chocolate milk.

Having lived in Rhode Island for the better part of 11 years I knew immediately what it was and why it was there, and a broad grin crossed my face as I told her that while Jos had said "coffee-milk," what Emily heard was, completely logically for Rhode Island, "coffee milk." It's like chocolate milk but instead of a splooge of Hershey's syrup it's a splooge of Autocrat Coffee syrup. It is, with no exaggeration, the state drink of Rhode Island.

To her credit, she tasted it, but was not exactly impressed. But she got her coffee soon enough, and even sooner enough we were on our way back to the scene of the crime. We parked eighty miles away from where we needed to be, and had to walk all of those lonely miles. I will say this for Josie: she has these short little legs but I, a man of six feet in height when I stand up straight (which is never), had real trouble keeping up with her. God bless her, she can rumble along at a furious pace when she needs to.

Aaaaanyway, we played an $80 Bounty tournament, again, she at one table, Josie's friend Lynn at another, and me at yet another. Guess what we all had in common? We all lost early early early.

I'm especially upset because my table was actually pretty soft, and I damn near doubled up in the very first hand. As UTG+1 I looked down at 99, I bet 3x and got two callers. Flop came a third nine. SB bets 400, BB calls, I raise to 1575 and both blinds call. Turn gives 4 to a straight. Check-check-check. I'm scared shitless that I bet myself out of the tournament in the first hand and was asking myself if I had the mettle to fold to a big bet if one of these Jamokes decides to show a little ass...

...when the river puts a fourth god damned fucking suckbag dicksmoking fuckstick club. I am literally kissing my chips goodbye when I hear the two words I least expected to hear: check, check. I turn my cards over and announce "set of nines," and hold my breath.

It's good.

The dealer sends a mountain of chips my way, almost 4,000 chips over my previous position, and we're off to the races.

Except the races ended up beating me; I lost three of them with pocket pairs against two overs. The final insult was when I went all-in with AK, and got two callers, both of whom ended up beating my AK. Bye-bye Jew! Hope you enjoyed 90 minutes of poker.

I had a bowl of noodles at the noodle joint, more out of boredom than hunger, where I was the only man there who hailed from west of, say, Mongolia. I will say this about the Chinese, hopefully without sounding too much like Toots's grandmother, who called them "crafty" (and meant it): They all smoke like fucking chimneys. One fella with his pants up to his nipples had a cigarette going for 45 straight minutes, and would blow his goddamn smoke right into my "what are you doing in the noodle joint, round-eye" face. Damn! What are their lungs made of, shoe leather?

Anyway I wandered back to the tourney to find that Lynn had beat a similarly hasty retreat, and Jos was on life-support. Within 15 minutes of me coming back she was out as well. So we said goodbye to Lynn and ambled off to play some 1-2 no limit.

I was holding my own - I was down $5 - when Josie came up to my chair, despondent: she'd lost all her money and she wanted to get the hell home. So home we went, after stopping for a tuna sandwich (I've never seen a girl's eyes light up more at the sight of a sub shop that sold tuna fish in my life). We got home, beating FDD Spuds by maybe 20 minutes.

And that, my friends, brought our Foxwoodian weekend to a close. It was fun - don't get me wrong, Josie's always a good hang - but it wasn't lucrative. I think we figured out that Josie was $30 ahead of me, but we were both down.

Hope you enjoyed the trip report. Until next time, please remember the word "with," when you are ordering coffee WITH milk in Rhode Island.