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Posts tagged as “slot hoki”

Priming the slot hoki pump

Glenda Conner 0

Warning: The following is mindless drivel that is not even worth reading. I just needed to get it out of my system for the morning
In Kansas City, Missouri, the autumn air can take on a bit of a dewy haze. Bright red brake lights on the noodly junction onto I-70 shoot through the dew droplets in millions of tiny prisms. It makes it hard to drive, especially if you’re fighting to get back to a holiday slot hoki you created. It makes it even harder if your libido is making it difficult for you to correctly turn the steering wheel.
Damn that woman, I thought, just two seconds after my front right tire slammed into a bridge.
It was the last weekend of October 1992.
That night was sort of a turning point in my life. The car survived, I made the trip back to Columbia, MO. I left the woman behind and proceeded to embark on a night of debauchery that I have matched few times in my young life.
The last weekend in October–back in those days–was Dionysian Weekend, a self-proclaimed holiday-ish event that took my friends through three straight days of silliness and rowdy-rambling.
I was ill-prepared for that first holiday weekend. It ended with me sprawled on a bathroom floor, speckled with grape-scented vomit, and a guy standing above me remarking, “You can still smell the grape!”
At some point in our lives, we all realize that while spontaneity is a virtue, preparation is no sin.
It was shortly after that weekend that I took to priming the pump for big events.
And as any reader knows, a big event sits on the all-too tantalizingly close horizon.
I’m like a little damned kid when it comes to stuff like the next week’s WPBT conference. It’s not all I think about, but it fills a goodly portion of my daydream musings. G-Rob and I can only take a certain portion of our workday to discuss the lack of sleep we expect to get before the Holiday Classic, our poor chances of lasting past the first break, and how we plan to maintain our composure over several long days in Vegas. We do have to do some work before then, after all.
And while Mrs. Otis has been quite a champ about the whole thing, I do my best not to overfill her head with my musings. After all, she’s staying home to take care of L’il Otis while I go have fun.
Brief digression: Here’s something fun about Mrs. Otis that I haven’t shared yet. Thanksgiving night, after the in-laws had left the house, I retired to bed with the laptop and started playing a little NL. Eventually, Mrs. Otis snuggled in beside me, quizzing me on pot odds, implied odds, and the like. On one particular hand, I flopped an open-ended straight draw. My opponent underbet the pot, giving me the odds to call. I explained my play to Mrs. Otis, listing my …