A Day in the Life of Poker Chick

Some of you might have noticed Poker Chick is a bit testy lately. She apologizes for this annoyance but hopes you will understand that she has been very busy getting her @ss kicked from all sides. BAM! Take that, Poker Chick. Down she goes again. There's no easier way to explain this than to document a typical day this week.

Midnight: I am sound asleep.
2am: I wake up wheezing.
2:15am: I realize I can take my inhaler and do so.
2:30am: Air! I go to sleep.
4:15am: I wake up and toss and turn for the next 2 1/2 hours, depsite the fact I've barely slept in two days. Yay, benzodiazepine withdrawal! Not.
7:00am: Finally drag my @ss into the shower. Somehow manage to shave this morning. (I know you all wanted to know that detail.)
7:30am: Cough. Wheeze. Take inhaler again.
7:55am: Out the door 10 minutes later than I needed to be. But I have makeup on, so it least it's for good reason.
8:30am: Arrive breathless at my accountant's office, right on the dot. Amazing considering I forgot that the E train didn't stop at 59th street, so had to take the N and walk two boulevards to 8th avenue. With my laptop and taxes in tow and wheezing the whole time. Such a pretty sight I must be.
9:30am: Participate in a conference call from work. (Thanks for your office, Larry!)
10:07am: Call ends 7 minutes late. I run over to work.
10:12am: Buy breakfast sandwich and water.
10:15am: Devour egg sandwich on the subway with whatever finger is not holding something while everyone on the E train stares at me as if I'm a homeless person. I feel nostalgic for the 6. The E is so much ickier.
10:42am: Make it into work. Right in time for a redo of all the boards we "completed" last night. Oy vey.
10:43am: Go to boss' office for call with Client.
12:48pm: Finally back at my desk. Have two minutes to check messages (6 voicemails to return alone), grab some papers, and get a sip of water before going back into boss' office for another call.
12:49pm: Phone rings. Outside line. Probably Client. I pick up and get my father. He's got a bad tooth and a computer virus. I sympathize, but he does not understand the concept of "can't talk now". I hang up the phone in frustration.
1:41pm: 7 minute break. Grab yogurt parfait from cafeteria. Bring to boss' office to eat during yet another Client call. They had re-writes. Yay. (Yay, it's my birthday, yay....yes, that's an inside joke.)
4:01pm: Finally get to pee. That's just wrong.
4:04pm: Still not breathing. Speak to doctor. She calls in more meds and refers me to a pulmonologist. Of course now I can't remember where I wrote that number down. Where's Kramer when you need him?
4:05pm: Final Client call of the day.
6:00pm: At my desk. Think I can get work done until I realize what time it is. Assess dizziness and breathing and take inhaler again. Start to think maybe asthma's not my problem at all. Maybe I just have no time to breathe.
6:20pm: Leave work to go to pharmacy. Pharmacist says that new dose of asthma meds are not covered by insurance for a couple more weeks. My options are to pay or not get the meds. No big deal, not like it's life or death medication, right? Oh, wait. Anyway. I cough up $317.19 and continue wheezing. $317.19!!!! Now I feel like a breathless sucker. I don't know what hurts more, my lungs or my wallet.
6:55pm: Spend the next 10 minutes trying to figure out if current hyperventilation is a true medical emergency or just raging anger.
7:01pm: Yep. It's anger, all right. With a little bit of medical emergency peppered in.
7:25pm: Begin the process of trying to put Poker Chick Junior to bed.
11:01pm: Lie awake in bed, exhausted, wondering why I still can't sleep. I am truly pathetic.
11:58pm: Visions of sugarplums dance in my head.
12:00am: A new day is finally here. Thank goodness.

Now, if I sound irritable to you, please don't take it personally. It just means I hate you right now.

Words you never want to hear....

I've just come home from 4 hours in the ER.

I'd been having a pretty bad asthma attack for the past few days, but was living in stubborn denial until that familiar barking cough came back to remind me to ask for help. So I went to the hospital. And prepared myself for a several-hour wait and lots of laughter from the staff. After all, this is an ER. People come in for actual emergencies. Gunshot wounds. 104+ fevers. Life-threatening dehydration. Broken limbs. I didn't even need to get to the waiting room to know that the people waiting there were really sick, hurt, or in pain. Here I am walking in on my own, no one with me, talking, walking. Of course I'd be at the bottom of the triage list.

Only I couldn't breathe.

Still, I waited for them to tell me I was being a baby and it wasn't all that bad. So imagine my surprise when I immediately jumped to the top of the triage list. Didn't wait for a second. No forms. Wasn't even asked for my insurance card! Before you could say "asthma" I was sitting on a reclining chair inhaling oxygen like a pro* (man, does that oxygen stuff feel good. I want me one of those at home.) Still, I waited for them to tell me I was fine and didn't really need to be there. I was certain of it.

Only they didn't. Instead I heard "well, the good news is, we don't have to intubate you..."

Um, excwheeze-me**? Whoever said anything about intubate? Since when was that even a consideration?

Definitely, definitely words you never want to hear.



Little Miss Alabama models the latest fashion nebulizer.

*"Pro": 80 year-old professional hospital patient
** Gimme some credit here people, that was funny!

Left Behind

Some of you are familiar with hearing Poker Chick say "I'm going to die young one day." Well, now we have proof for you non-believers! Studies have now shown that left-handed people are more likely to die young than the rest of the population. Why? According to experts, it's because we're "accident prone". While Poker Chick will not dispute her own lack of grace, it's unfair to stereotype the entire left-handed population this way. "Accident prone," my ass. Lack of grace is not to blame; society is. Poker Chick feels compelled to educate others about this discrimination.


Flanders is one of roughly 8% who are left hand-diddly-anded. The majority of the left-handed population is male (making us lefty chicks rare and valuable!) Lefties are also more likely to be gay, schizophrenic, and disease-prone. Mmmm....disease.

You right-handers mocking us yet? Well, check out the history. Many of you are familiar with the term "Southpaw," but did you know that the Irish word for us "Southpaws" can also mean "strange person"? In English, the word "sinister" is actually derived from "left". And in Latin, the word for "Right-handed" is "dexter," as in "dexterity." So society thinks we have no dexterity, huh? Well foo on you. The atrocious handwriting us left-handed souls have is only a result of trying to use a right-handed person's instrument, er...pen..



Many key historical figures were left-handed, including 7 US presidents.


Now, Poker Chick has always known this sign of genius was a cross to bear, but it hadn't hit her just how oppressive society was until she learned of the root of this discrimination, and all the subtle ways it's translated into modern society. Since it's impossible to list it all, she'll just go through a few random examples:

1. Electronics. We know about the computer mouse, but 'twas the "crackberry" finally hit this home for Poker Chick. She tried to type one-handed on it and realized her finger was not long enough to reach all the way to the right of the device to click "send".
2. Shopping. When you buy something with a credit card, what side of the machine is that electronic pen on? Is the cord long enough to reach around for that John Hancock? (I'll give you a hint: the answer is "no")
3. Business. When you shake hands, what hand do you use? Everyone knows, the right. But most people don't know why. Poker Chick would tell you, but the answer is so insulting, she'll leave it alone.
4. Education. Writing in English is particularly difficult to learn for a left-handed child if the teacher refuses to teach left-handed children in a way that is easy for them.* This explains why the only "D" Poker Chick received in grade school was in handwriting. And why cursive is still elusive to her. And while her colleagues have names for her chicken scratch.
5. Work. Power tools!** Think about power tools. Picture a lefty using a skill saw, which is clearly meant for a right-handed person. Injury ensues.
   

Indeed, it is therefore not surprising to find that many left-handed people actually consider themselves opressed. So call me a Jew-girl. Call me a princess. Call me a wimp. Call me a nut job. But don't ever, ever call me a Southpaw.




*Source: Wikipedia.org and every left-handed person you'll ever meet
** Stop laughing. Poker Chick does, in fact, know what a power tool is.

Excuse Me Please, My Grace is Gone

While some of you know Poker Chick better than others, you're all no doubt familiar with her clumsiness (hey, it's endearing!) Lately she's been at her finest. Here's a banner example. It's written in the first person for a change.


Thursday: I go to an early appointment before work. Being the lazy-ass that I am, I of course don't set my alarm much earlier than usual, which means no time to blow dry the hair. I'm also arrogant and stubborn, so I assume this will not be an issue: I'll get a taxi right away. Now a reasonably intelligent person would have perhaps thought that it might be harder than usual to get a cab a day after a snowstorm; not to mention one where it's so cold all the ice has frozen. But we're not talking about a normal person. We're talking about Poker Chick (that would be me). Can you guess what happens next?

Real hard, right? Yeah. So I can't get a cab to save my life. After 15 minutes of trying and several blocks of walking I concede defeat and wait for the bus. My ears are so cold, they literally hurt. Like burning hurt. I've got no hat of course. Hey, know what happens to wet hair in the cold with no hat? It freezes. It froze into the scrunched-up curls I had tried to achieve. Eventually, it thawed at work, but still had that "frozen" look all day. Fortunately, I was able to not break it while it was still frozen. (I learned that lesson the hard way after several repeat ice storms my freshman year of college.)

When I finally made it to my appointment, 40 minutes and two bus transfers later, I'd practically missed it. So I went to work. After defrosting, I decided I was ready to look like a normal person again. I put makeup on (yep, that step got skipped in favor of extra sleep as well) and took my jacket off and my snow boots off so I could put on the nice black boots that went with my awesome new-ish black dress. Now, it was at this point that I finally breathed a sigh of relief. I was dressed. The hair was almost dry. I had my "Poker Face" on (ha! I kill me!) As I grabbed my soft boots I felt re-energized and ready to start my day. That was when I went to put one on and realized I had been schlepping the wrong boots with me all morning.

This left me with three options:

1. Walk barefoot in the office all day
2. Wear snowboots with the dress all day or
   
3. Wear 5-year old out-of-style ankle boots with a knee length dress

Um, no. None of the above please (though for the record if forced to choose I'd pick option #1 without question).

But I wasn't forced to choose and couldn't accept defeat again. So there went my relief and on came the snowboots and jacket. I'd decided to cab it and run home and back to get the right shoes. I was all the way at the lobby when I realized I had one dollar in my wallet. Sigh.

So up I went again. At this point, I was so determined to not look like I wasn't put together, I decided I had to get those shoes no matter what. In desparation, I borrowed money from Lauren. Yes, the eager hard-working woman who used to be on my team. She's barely two years out of college and makes so little dough, she can't even afford internet access at home. But I borrowed money from her anyway. This is how low I've sunk in the name of vanity.

I'm pleased to report it worked out eventually. By 11 o'clock that morning I was a decent-looking, non-snow boot wearing, working woman again.
And my debt has been repaid (in fact I think Lauren may owe me money now....)

Sadly, such is a typical day in Poker Chick's life. Those who aren't satisfied might want to hear the one a week earlier when I spilled soy sauce all over my carpet. Immediately after, I dragged my brother on a dare to get carpet cleaner downstairs at Rite Aid, even though I was in my pyjamas. If you want to hear more of this klutzy story (or choose from hundreds of others!) feel free to find me off-line. I can tell them with much more dramatic effect in person anyway.

Valentine's, Schmalentines.

If you're a true fan of Poker Chick, it should come as no surprise that she hates Valentine's Day. No, despises. That's a better word. Wait! Loathes. Yes, Poker Chick loathes Valentine's Day. Those marketers at P&G had it right when they declared "Dump Cupid" in their Herbal Essences campaign.

If you have to ask why, then Poker Chick must shake her head in dismay. Why not? How can anyone fall victim to a made-up day that was marketed by Hallmark into a high-pressure event. Do you even know its origin? Legend has it* that on the evening before St. Valentine was to be martyred for being a Christian, he passed a love note to his jailer's daughter that read, "From your Valentine." This was around AD 307. Since then, in 1969 (interesting choice of year), the Catholic church removed St. Valentines Day as an official holiday from its calendar. Later, in the 1980's, the diamond industry joined forces with Hallmark and flower shops to up the ante. It began marketing "Valentine's Day" as an ocassion for giving jewelery. Did you know that today, one billion cards are sent worldwide each Valentine's Day?* This is second only to Christmas.

Clearly, one must declare their love to all they care about on this day, or suffer the consequences. What? You didn't get a card for your true love? No dinner reservations? No 1,000% off-season, marked up roses? Shame on you, you evil, evil human!!!

Those without romantic attachments are woefully reminded of their single status any time they walk into a store, surf the web, pick up a magazine, or turn on the TV. Those with secret crushes must dramatically confess on this day alone, or lose their window of romance forever. Dear, g-d! How did anyone know how to express their love before "Valentine's Day"?

Now perhaps Poker Chick sounds a bit cynical to you. But consider this, should you really get a "get out jail free" card for not expressing your love every other day of the year? Showing someone you love them shouldn't be relegated to a single day. And the importance of love shouldn't be so undermined by making it socially acceptable not to communicate it on every other day of the year.

Poker Chick knows that she is not alone in dreading this wicked holiday. Therefore, for those of us who feel "left out," Poker Chick will follow a tradition inspired by Frank Costanza. Yes, she is now declaring a new holiday on February 14th for those who wish to avoid the fat naked baby with a bow and arrow at all costs. It shall be called........

CASINO DAY.

Stay tuned for details.


* Source: Legend
* Source: The Greeting Card Association