This diary was the topic of conversation at the table for a decent portion of the evening. What a depressing day for general chat. A lot of people I recognise from my time at Dusk as a dealer have commented on it, not only today but several times in the past. I feel incredibly bad that these people know me by name and, due to this diary, a decent chunk about me; and I only know them as "1/2 reg with dark hair." I promise it's nothing personal, it's just that my social skills are inept at best, and I have the short term memory of - um - of a... Uh, what was I just talking about?
I want to take a moment to say thanks to those who have at least pretended to find this diary an interesting read, and I'd like to say "you're welcome" to those who have found it a fail-safe sleep aid.
Now that I've taken an audacious curtain call, let's discuss the evening that was. First of all, a special mention to the dealer Ruslan. Jamie (JK on here) and I were discussing Project 25 and where we both started with our Photoshop careers. We both share roots in making banners and forum signatures for people using mainly basic photo manipulation and abstract brushes. At this point the dealer is just sitting down and with a straight face goes, "Sean, you know what's abstract? Your beard." Absolutely slayed me. I had nothing to say in my defence. Classic, and truly unexpected. Five stars.
Poker-wise, the night got off to a very slow start; just another evening of folding. Eventually found the AK in a 4bet pot, and villain got two streets when I flopped top pair versus his top set. River was probably a fold, so not entirely happy about the hand as much as wanted to chalk it up to a cooler. Folded some more. Found QQ in the misdeal, sigh. Some of the better players at the table were booking a win and cashing out, leaving me alone with a bunch of fish and a serial 3bettor on tilt. I made an ambitious call from the button in a straddled pot that had been raised to £6, with the
. I know, I know, fold all night and then play these
marginal hands suited rags. I wanted to flop a flush, alright? Jeez... Our serial 3bettor makes it £15 from the big blind (this was pre realising he was going to 3bet a bunch.) Call, call. Alright, I'll call another bet 'cause as per my tagline: I'm so fucking bad. Four ways to a
board. 3bettor leads for £42, I snap ship the lot for £180 effective. He calls with the
and I hold. What a life.
Really found my confidence again after this pot. I know it's not one for my hall of fame, but it helped me regain a level of comfort at the table that I've not felt for a while, so I'm claiming good-mood-equity. Managed to make a few thin value bets and some decent calls after this and I generally felt in control of the table. Finished the night winning £335 so felt compelled to join in the post-session PLO flip festivities (disclaimer: not part of the latest incentive as per Alex's diary, although will make donation to Blonde update fund if caught playing roulette. Locked.) Slowrolled the nut flush like a pro, and scooped up a bonus £40 to finish the night winning £375. And about time too. Dedicating this win to Suuprlim, who believed in me from the start and stayed with me through the cold weeks of the late autumn downswing. We can still get out of it for the month! Pleeeeeeease.
Finally, I know I've been slacking with Project 25, but I've been a little short on ideas of late. The latest piece is something very simple, but is a great inspirational quote from a brilliant thinker. Even though I've always stood by the belief that you don't have to say anything as long as you make it look good, I wanted to try something different. My intention is to make up for the missing days later on this month. I know. You can't wait.
More rungood updates to follow, I hope.
Chronicles of a Feculent Fish. Peace.
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