How do I suck? Let me count the ways...(updated)

July 1st - Update

Believe it or not, I finally pulled it off. Two presents, wrapped. Cards, included and signed. Recipe card, filled out and snuck into the back of the book when no one was looking, as if it had been there all along. Even more amazing, wrapping jobs were not half-bad. Proof below.



1pm on Friday. I don't have the fever I had last night, but I'm still sick. I'd failed miserably in trying to take part of yesterday off work to rest; in fact it was just the opposite as I had to work at home late at night. The husband is away in Vegas and I have a bridal shower ahead of me tomorrow. And another on Sunday. Do I have gifts? No, of course not. But let's not forget who's talking, this is Poker Chick, superhero of the future. She can do it all.

It was all planned out. Leave work early. Go to the two stores I needed to get the gift I had already thought up. Go buy a couple of cards. Go to the bank for nanny dough. Go home, wrap the gifts, write in the cards, and add whatever recipe/poem/saying the invite instructed me to. Finish it all by 7pm. Bask in the glow and relaxation of having done it all.

It's 6pm. Still at work. Panic begins to settle in.

6:15. Finally out the door and I begin to relax. Feelings of confidence rush in. I can do this! A short walk to 61st and 3rd! Grab two panties and go (yes, I said "panties". Get over it). Pop over to 59th and Lex. Grab two more gifts and go. Hop on the subway at 59th and Lex right there. 2 stops, pop by bank on the way home, boom! - still home by 7! Go, Poker Chick, go! I wonder how I got this brilliant as I begin my journey.

6:30. About to pay for gifts and realize I need cards, which are right there. Bam! Confidence is in full force. This is working, baby!

6:40. Confidence wanes. I'd made it to 59th and Lex but now I'm realizing that I hadn't factored in "carry time": the weight of my bag plus laptop after 15 blocks of walking. Ow, my shoulder, ow. Thank goodness this is my last stop.

6:45. The first uh-oh. The nice cookie jar on-line (which was back-ordered, hence having to get it in person) is only available on-line. My plan is unraveled in an instant. What do I do? Ok, ok, time to calm down. They do have a cookie jar. It's not as nice as the one I wanted, but hey, it works. And both brides are registered here so I can get two gift receipts if they want to exchange it for something on their registry I couldn't afford. Sweet! I'm good to go. And it's the thought that counts anyway, right?

6:50. Do I want gift-wrap? Sure. Those of you who know Poker Chick well know her well-developed talent for horrible gift-wrap jobs. What can I do? It falls into the category of "arts & crafts"; i.e., female things I suck at. But I digress. Where were we? Oh yeah, gift wrap. Do I have 15 minutes to wait for it, they ask? Hell, no. Not even 5. I ask for boxes and gift receipts, give my credit card, and ask them to hurry. Please, hurry.

6:55pm. Fuck. I'm supposed to be home in 5 minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I call home and negotiate with the nanny. She had to leave to pick something up at 54th street. But wait, I'm at 59th! I offer to pick it up for her in exchange for coming home late, and a deal is struck. Once again, I marvel at my brilliance for thinking under pressure.

6:56. Everything unravels. Panic returns. The saleslady is trying to hurry, but since she rang me up on one bill, she can only print one gift receipt. She has to void the transaction and do two separate charges. Meanwhile, the other saleslady is trying to help me get out of there quickly and is searching for boxes I can use to wrap the gifts in later at least. She brings two giant shopping bags for me, I get the receipts, put one in each bag, grab one bag in each hand, and begin the mad dash for 54th street.

7:05. Panic is now joined by despair and frustration. I immediately realize that not only does my shoulder hurt from my bag and computer, but I'm now carrying one giant heavy bag in each hand as well. I make it to 54th street, but need to stop and put the bags down every two blocks and rest. I'm sweating and my shoulder feels like it's about to fall off. I can't imagine how ridiculous this must look to people watching me. How did I think I could pull this off?

7:20. Grabbed the envelope, and now I can go home. But wait, I can barely walk, so I can't take the subway and walk home. No, I need a a cab. Fuck. I just realize I spent my last few dollars on lunch. I walk two more blocks to a bank. Somehow, I open the door to get in.

7:25. I made it! I'm almost home! Now I just need to get a cab. But I'm on 53rd and Park at 7:30 on a Friday. Fat chance of a cab here. I give it a few minutes and walk down to Lex. Nope, no cabs here either, and there's 3 other people waiting. True, they aren't carrying around 150 pounds of stuff but still, they were there first. I walk to 53rd and 3rd, where I stand a better chance of hailing a cab. I put the heavy bags down and look. Finally! I see a cab two blocks away! The lit up "4C27" is like a big shining beacon of light in my hour of need. I put my hand out. He signals he's coming to me with a head-nod (I have great eyesight). He heads over, and gets stuck at a red light. I can't move to him because of all my "baggage", but I'm trying. Some blonde bimbo jumps in right then and takes it. This is my breaking point. Crap. Here come the waterworks.

9:15. I'd made it home. Gave the nanny her envelope, paid her, put the mini to bed. Got out the cards to write in and got out the invites to see what poem or recipe or some other estrogen-filled "goodies" I needed to write and submit. I see the recipe one is tomorrow. Perfect. I have an awesome chocolate-cookie recipe. Fuck. What's this self-addressed, stamped envelope doing with the recipe card? Didn't I already RSVP? Yes, I did. So, what is this? Oh no! What I failed to do is realize the recipe needed to be sent in before the shower so it could be included in a giant gift that would be presented at the shower. I have no choice but to discreetly pass it to someone the day of, hope that no one notices, realize they will anyway, and endure the "oh, you're one of those" looks I almost always get at these things.

Double crap. This vent has cost me more. It's 10:30 and my dinner's gone cold. It's too late to eat now. I still haven't filled in the card. Now I'll be even later than planned tomorrow.

A traditional bridal shower "ribbon hat"

The worst part, you see, is that no one's going to see how good my intentions were. They'll just see a harried guest showing up late (babysitter), carrying a second-rate, cheap, last-minute gift with no recipe card.

Wow, do I suck. If there were an award for suckiest bridal shower guest, I would win it. I hope they have drinks at this thing. It's my last hope.

Vegas, days 2 and 3

Random happenings from Vegas:

Snagged a ticket to see "O" at the last minute. First box near the stage. Unreal seats. Unreal show.

Hung out with a couple of random French people who came all the way here just to see the boxing match. They were here for four days. In that four days they saw the fight (de la Hoya lost!), saw Tom Jones, took a helicoptor tour of the Grand Canyon, and and were seeing "O". I believe they had also been playing $25,000 a hand blackjack. They could hardly speak English, yet one of them had been in NY to run the Marathon. They were very happy about their new President and telling me about casinos in Normandie. It was all very odd. Sadly, it's clear that my French now sucks.

The hookers at Bellagio were much fancier than those at Paris. Some even had Jimmy Choos.

I tripped on the strip late at night. High heel got caught in pavement crack. Poker Chick went flying. Heel semi-broke. Let me tell you, If you're ever alone in a cool place like Vegas, it's a great conversation starter for those around you. Fortunately, the giant bruise on my
elbow (which still has a scab on May 21st!) was endured in private.

Finally, to top off a lovely trip, Delta came through for me. I left Vegas on the red-eye with a stunning view of the strip at night, sitting comfortably in First Class. Now that's what I call leaving in Vegas in style!

PCF (i.e. "Daddy"), if you're reading this, thanks for the trip!

VEGAS, DAY 1

24 hours in Vegas seems like forever. Before even seeing the room, I'd passed by dozens of slots, several wedding chapels, and was invited to the room of a rather icky and much too forward rich older gentleman. The crowds for this weekend are unreal.

We all dined in Paris last night. Jimster and I had breakfast, I got a massage, and then we all lunched by the pool. We even have video of Poker Chick's father drinking a "fruity" beverage. Then there are the pictures of the Jimster with the Malibu woman who was dressed as a nearly-naked cop handing out free rum...got some free lip balm from her too (of course!) Later, I got insulted by a cab driver ("You're a New Yorker, aren't you?") and there's much else I'm forgetting. Oh, yes, I touched a live shark. But let's talk about gambling.

The Kentucky Derby
Suffice it to say there is no place on earth better for watching the Derby than the racebook at a Vegas casino. Particularly when you met a horse race trainer the night before who gave you his choices. The noise, the excitement, the cheering, the money - even better than a good run at the craps table.

POKER

All were surprised when after 3+ straight hours of play Poker Chick came in 6th (1st-6th paid money) during a multi-table tournament. 40-something people entered; most locals or pros. The turning point was pocket kings that knocked out two players at once. Bam! Bam! That was awesome. It's definitely true that the players are much better in Vegas. So this was no small feat, all y'all.

Speaking of Venice (see daily update), we're off to the Venetian for a gondola ride and classy dinner. This is good because we need to air out the room after a JF. Amazing how some things are universally funny to boys. Not so much on the receiving end.

Poker Chick's Golden Rules of Fashion

Every woman likes to feel beautiful, and there's no better way than getting "all dressed up." Unfortunately, nothing stresses out a woman quite like what to wear to a formal function. The shopping, dieting, tanning, grooming, makeup.... it's enough to make your head spin.

Poker Chick got an early start on shopping for the wedding season this year and was reminded exactly why females dread shopping for these ocassions. Fortunately, the pain can be mitigated. Poker Chick presents her own golden rules on formalwear.

1. Know thy assets
(a.k.a. "Move away from the rack! It's not you, and it never will be!")
This rule saves an unbelievable amount of time, not to mention your self-esteem. There are a million dresses out there. You could be a 6 foot size 2 model, and they still will not all look good on you. Everyone's body is different and knowing in advance what works and what doesn't is huge. More importantly, you'll save yourself the tears of looking in a mirror and seeing a dress that's completely horrid. Most of us have natural tendencies to want to try these dresses on. Poker Chick calls this the poor-choice phenomenon. Poor-choice is a dangerous addiction that drives confident, beautiful women to fall apart, start dieting, get boob jobs, etc. Beware pushy salespeople who work on commission. Many are great, but many perpetuate the poor-choice phenomenon by convincing you that something looks great, when in fact - it does not (a good and honest friend can help you avoid this trap.)

How else do you avoid a fashion disaster? The answer varies considerably from person to person. In Poker Chick's case, the first step is to avoid couture that is too long, too busy, too polka-dotty, or has horizontal stripes. Next we eliminate anything that has too much fabric. It's overwhelming to a wee person. Finally, we must accept the fact that PC will never have "T&A"; not without surgery, at least. So we focus on the positive: legs, shoulders and back.

2. If it requires fancy undergarments, let it go.
Anything requiring a push-up, strapless, plunging, or convertible bra is waaaaaay too complicated. If it wants pantyhose, you don't want it. If you need any of those fancy tummy or thigh suckers to look good in it forget it. You need to be able to move. More importantly, you need to be able to eat. It's not worth the money if it's stopping you from indulging in the dessert table.

3. Don't look at price tags.
This one is a bit counter-intuitive. Shouldn't you stick to a budget? Of course. But if price is the first item you use to begin elimination, you'll always lose. "But Poker Chick?" you must be thinking. "What happens if the only dress that works is three times my budget?" Well, first of all, congratulations on finding something that works! One stunning dress at three times your budget is worth a thousand times more than three dresses at your initial budget. But if you still can't walk out of the store with it, you have many options, you just need to be persistent. A few ideas to start with:

• Make friends with the salesperson. Now that they know what you're looking for they can find you a similar cut/style in a better price range. This trick works at different stores too.
  
• Be persistent. Write down the name and style # and carry it with you. Look at different stores, or online; usually you can find the same dress for much less than you thought, often up to 70% less. (It's true! Poker Chick once fell in love with a $1,000 coat and found it for $299 one week later in a different store.)
• Ask if it's going on sale. Many times they'll hold it for you, or even give you the sale price that day if you promise not to tell anyone.
  

4. If you think it's hideous, then you're probably right.

'Nuff said.

Poker Chick is Special

If you've ever received an unexpected windfall, you'll know how Poker Chick feels today. It started with a flight to Vegas. Many decisions needed to be made before booking. Thursday or Friday? Redeye return or not? 4 or 5 nights? Which airline?

After a week of waffling, way too much overthinking, and annoying every friend I have with a request for advice, I decided to book my flight. Friday am departure. Mon. night redeye return; going straight to work. Just one question left....Delta or Jet Blue?

Jet Blue was about $40 more for virtually the same times, but they're more comfortable, so I decided to go with them. Now, this classless airline eliminates any possibility for business class upgrades, but I'm smart enough to know that battle is lost before it can start. However, just to make sure, I called Delta. Yep, just as I thought. I'd have to buy a totally refundable ticket in order to qualify for an upgrade, or even use my miles. $500 more. So not worth it.

That settled it. A decision had been made!

I go online the next day, fully intending to book my ticket. Except now the Delta flight is $100 cheaper. Yikes! What do I do? More waffling, of course. Finally, I clicked "confirm booking" on Expedia, sealing my fate with Delta. I knew it was time to relax and breathe. But I'm still not sure I made the right decision, even though it was too late. I went to the Delta website and put in my frequent flyer number, curious to see if I could have gotten some sort of better deal. The same flights popped up, for the same price I paid on Expedia. Except there was this "request upgrade" button. WTF was this?

Anyone who's flown a redeye from the West Coast knows just how valuable business class can be. So I wasn't ready to let this rest. I called Delta again, only this time I called Skymiles and gave them my frequent flyer #. Guess what???? Poker Chick is a Silver Medallion member. What does this mean? Special line for check in, best selection of coach seats, priority boarding and.......

UNLIMITED COMPLIMENTARY UPGRADES!!!!!!!!!!!!*

Does anyone remember that time Poker Chick junior and I got randomly bumped up? Turns out it wasn't pity. It was superiority. Click here to see just how special I am.

I'm sticking with Delta, baby!



*Subject to availability