High-Stakes Poker Game in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Sitting in the Southwest terminal at LAX…again. Time to leave the sunshine and sexiness of this city and head back to the Great Midwest. Its gorgeous days like this that make me wish I lived here all the time. Alas, I’m such a part-timer. It’s nice to come here quite often for work, but like most work travel, it’s just a tease.

Feeling so tired and defeated right now. Not quite sure what to do about the melancholy. Doesn’t seem to be getting any better. It just feels like I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gotta do something. This feeling’s only getting stronger, and I know I can’t wait too much longer. Things are happening behind the scenes (do I buy the loft or not?), and what the hell is happening with my love life (not happening behind the scenes, in front of the scenes, or even between scenes). Wrong place, wrong time.

Speaking of which, somehow found myself in yet another, um… situation on Thursday night. I’d run around all day, so didn’t check into the hotel until late. After I got there, I decided (as I normally do) to grab a nightcap before heading off to dreamland. Okay, I did get dressed a bit, so what?

Somehow (!) ended up sitting next to a funny group of guys at the bar. Somehow (!!) started an interesting conversation with them and ended up getting invited to their poker game. Somehow (!!!) ended up at this crazy poker tournament with this insane group of attorneys. Before I knew it, I was escorted to a table, handed a bunch of chips, and quickly taught how to play Texas Hold’em.

Sure, it was completely ridiculous for me to be there, and I should have insisted that I wasn’t going after being invited four or five times, but dammit…don’t ask me four or five times after a couple of martinis! And you know I’m all about the adventure anyway. So really, it wasn’t that hard to let my arm be twisted.

Twas fun! Especially since I was sitting next to a handsome stranger who was trying to tap me under the table to help me bet. But I didn’t want his help. I wanted to play this stupid game on my own (damn competitive streak). So I did. No, I didn’t last very long, but I did outlast several others…I even stayed long enough to play with the real serious-ass guy. What a dick. I mean, he was so into his shit, he wouldn’t joke around or even look anyone in the eye! He was in his own little zone, and I quickly ran out of chips.

So I left the table and went to talk to some of the other losers. Hung out until the tourney was over and then thanked the guys who’d invited me to play and stumbled back down to the bar. By this time, I REALLY shoulda been in bed. But no, I was on some kind of roll. A dizzy, fucked-up roll.

And who should I run back into at the bar? None other than the handsome foot-tapping poker-playing stranger who’d invited me to the game in the first place. Oh, and his buddies. One of them was married, one was engaged, and one (Handsome Stranger) was single as single could be! If there ever was a redheaded version of Goldilocks, that was me on Thursday night. Mmmmmmm….Handsome Stranger? Yesssss, juuussst right!

Not sure exactly the sequence of events because it was a slippery slope of slurs by that time, and I found myself in his suite (of course) kissing on the couch for a while.

Cut to 6:45am on Friday, and I found myself wrapped like a burrito in a blanket on top of the bed, Handsome Stranger tucked like a taco between the sheets, sleeping like a baby. Quickly tried to gather my wits, along with my pants, strappy gold sandals, and cute halter and get the hell outta there without waking HS. I was successful, but wondered all day if he ever woke up in time to make his 8:30 meeting.

Friday was painful. And I was a wreck thinking about what I’m doing and the way things are headed with me.

I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to live my life as a series of rendezvous. I’ve now been doing it for years—ever since LDL and I broke up and my career started taking me on all these travels. Fun? Extemely. Fulfilling? Hardly. Embarrassing? At this point, absolutely.

I hung in there for most of Friday, and I was supposed to meet with a girlfriend for happy hour back at my hotel, but we never did get together. Though I was a little disappointed, I guess it didn’t bother me that much because I ended up just staying in my room and crashing out—hard.

And now I’m back in the Great Midwest. Got back last night and crashed out—hard…again. I really wanted to go to a lingerie auction (sweet!), but I didn’t want to go alone, and the only person I could think of to go with me was Q (the woman putting it on is really his friend), and we all know that I can’t call him anymore because my situation with Q is sad and pathetic.

I did call Jen, but she was getting ready for a date. And Julie was at a wedding. And….oh I don’t know. [P] called, but I didn’t get his message until this morning. Bummed that I missed him.

Whatever.

I suppose I should go now. It’s another gorgeous Sunday, and the park is calling. Perhaps some more thinking to go along with my jog…