Poker Night, make it right

Well good morning-actually-almost-afternoon to you.

We had a little extra adventure in paradise last night, in the form of a friendly neighborhood poker game, that devolved into some weird Jersey Shore meets gypsy folk hybrid. There were 6 of us, a small game, with relatively small stakes and several large bottles of wine, which is the way I like to play. I just like those odds. But emotions ran high, and talk turned ugly. In the end, one player left angry, vowing never to return. Another player started to leave with some money that didn't belong to him. And one player was so drunk that th- wait, actually, that player is still asleep on my sofa.
Huh. How 'bout that.

Anyway, what started out as a friendly poker game turned hostile, and long story short it cost me $40 and 4 bottles of wine to stay in my own house and referee, and then in the end I had to call out a guy I had never met before for essentially stealing money out of the pot. Now, in order to keep the peace, I will just assume that taking twice what he actually owed from the bank was AN HONEST MISTAKE. A SIMPE MISUNDERSTANDING. But money is money, fool. So count it twice.

I said count it, so what happened next is my own damn fault.

It was left to me - I had to count the chips. Which was challenging considering the amount of mood-altering indulging I had been doing throughout the evening. My ability to count is pretty much the first thing to go, apparently. Which would also explain why it cost me so much money to play a friendly game of poker in my own damn living room.

Anyway, as I was saying, one of the players was a guy I had never met before. You know, the one who accidentally took some extra money at the end, there. That Guy. Throughout the night, he was playing well, and capably representing the Jersey Shore element of the evening. With his gelled hair and his fitted t-shirt with argyle printed on the front and the clenched Marlon Brando-esque clenched jaw and the clear on his nails, he was taking this evening quite seriously, and taking quite a bit of money along with it - and people were getting a bit annoyed. Who was this guy? And what exactly was he doing here?. So when he called my husband "pretty boy" my husband looked him right in the eye and said "nice fucking sweater". At this table of arabs and gypsies, men and women, that guy was definitely the prettiest.

But with all of the drama, and all of the anger, and all of the damn COUNTING, the creepiest thing didn't have anything to do with the cards. At some point in the game, this guy leans in.

"Hey" he says. "You go to 24 hour Fitness?"
I considered my response for a moment. I have a few things to say about this.

1. THIS GUY is exactly why I don't go to the gym.
2. I haven't been to 24 hour Fitness in - no lie - 6 months.

But instead of coming up with some snappy retort, I just got all creeped out and nodded wordlessly. "I thought so," he said. "I've seen you there."

And so goes the tale of poker in paradise. I have to go clear the living room and head to work, to make back some of the money I paid to stay in last night. And then maybe I'll go to the gym with a few of my gypsy friends........