It's not a good trip to Vegas if you don't come back hurting a little.
I only wish pain were the sole criterion, as I'd have hit the jackpot -- I've spent the last two plus days suffering from the effects of some Level 6 super imperial Avian Bird Flu strain that I picked up along the way.
At least it didn't manifest itself until I got back.
I very much doubt that I can put into words how much fun the trip was. Correction, make that 100% certain. How I do know this? Well, yesterday I stopped at the grocery store for juice prior to another six hour stretch of sleep. The guy wheeling out the bags made an obvious joke about my taking his job when I grabbed my purchases, and it took me a. full. thirty. seconds. to respond.
Worse, whatever response I finally managed to get out made no sense whatsoever. Arrrrgh. Owned by the retiree wearing the natty D&W vest.
Back to Vegas. I only got to do 3% of what I wanted to do, and meet/hang with 12% of the people that I had hoped to, but I complain not.
I could have done without the endless beatdowns at each and every casino game, but again I complain not. When you're running bad, all games are -EV, and I think I used up all my luck on the good road conditions driving to/from the airport.
I would have like to have seen a better hand than pocket 4s somewhere in the nearly two hours I survived in the WPBT tournament, but I still again complain not. Joaquin punished my sorry ass when his unimproved 93s blew away my unimproved 85o.
Who knows if a full trip report lies dormant somewhere in the back of my addled noggin? For now, that's all I've got. I just hope to figure out a way to post a picture of the Poker Prof's dessert at 3950.
My humblest apologies if this post makes no sense. I'm like that right now. It's time to go back to sleep.