11.27.07 - Name That Kitty

It's as if Al, Hoyazo, Mookie and Don came over to my house, logged me into FullTilt, rubbed my shoulders while petting my head, and whispered, "Play perfect poker, play perfect poker, play perfect poker," into my ear. They are entirely responsible for getting me back into online tournaments after a long hiatus born of the UIGEA, apathy and the rest of life taking precedence. On top of the tourneys, I've had to play a fair amount of 3/6 limit on FullTilt to keep me in BBToo buy-ins in order to stay in their Aussie Millions Challenge, as I haven't made a single final table and I have no way to get money online. You see, I don't dare take my FT bankroll below $333 for some bizarro OCD-like reason involving both the notion that I might HAVE to play a higher-stakes tourney and of course, the number 3.

Mind you, my tournament game is largely made up of a steaming pile of crap peppered with a few lucky breaks, but up until last Sunday's Big Game when I Giglied as my AA ran into 58 (57? 53? I don't remember), I've made the points and watched "peacecorn" creep slowly up the leaderboard.

I liked that very much.

Since then, however, the holiday kept me out of two tourneys, and I couldn't get much traction during last night's MATH. Despite it being a $10 rebuy and never actually rebuying (just adding on), I made some huge mistakes, doubling up a single player twice in a row. Right before the second break, I pushed my $2,700-something stack into the pot when I saw two raises before me. My M was three (there's that number again) and I figured my cards were live. Sadly, 56o didn't cut it. My leaderboard status has now plummeted to a dismal 38.

I do not like that very much.

The games are terrific, though. I've not run into any pouting, ranting or poor sportsmanship at the tables, and I've enjoyed seeing the same faces at every game. If I can overcome the panic attacks caused by this ridiculous undiagnosed breathing issue, I'll enjoy playing with them in Vegas the weekend after next.

Regarding the breathing, the sense that I can't fully inhale comes and goes without any real trigger. For awhile, I thought it was my initial bacon-heavy Atkins diet and that I was carrying around an extra twenty pounds, so I went low fat and lost a bunch of weight. When that didn't cure it, I thought it might be exercise-induced. Then I thought it was a wheat sensitivity, followed by lactose intolerance, and then maybe an adverse reaction to aspertame and sucralose. 

Right now? I figure I'm probably allergic to water.

A couple of times the shortness of breath has been as bad as the night I missed my Atlantic City trip and went to the ER instead. I haven't bothered with the hospital again, because despite the sensation of my throat closing, my pulse-ox never measured below a 98, indicating I was getting plenty of oxygen, and every test came back normal. Most of the time, I just deal with it and try to diagnose myself on the internet. But it is irritating as hell. I do this unconscious sighing thing as I try to inhale and if people are around, they think I'm bored or mad at them. Other times, I become hyper-aware of it and work myself into a panic attack that has twice left me housebound and miserable.

That last part about panic is what scares me about the Vegas trip. I couldn't care less about sighing and taking visibly-strange breaths, but I really don't want to panic on the plane. If I wheeze or panic during the tourney or something, I figure poker-blogging degenerates will come to my aid with medicinal shots of whisky. But the plane? I'm quite worried about it.

Such a rambling and tedious entry! To make up for that, here are two kittens that recently came to live in the dome. They are exceedingly adorable and still nameless. Send any and all ideas to namethatkitty at sheverb dot com. Should your names be better than what I have so far, and should you be in Vegas at the same time I am, drinks are on me. (This shouldn't be difficult for you considering all I've come up with is Piper and Fee, Harry Houdini and Bess, Teaser and The Firecat, Coconut Susie and Moon Pie, and . . . Peak Expiratory Flow and Total Lung Capacity) 

So, get on with it. Name that kitty!

Baby Boy

Baby Girl

That is not my toilet or bidet in the background

He's ready to pounce

She claims her prize

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