Double down…

I had a laggy fucking day. After lunch I felt like I was falling asleep. Its never hit me this bad.

Then a surprise poker at john’s with angus and him brought forth a lucky ride for yours truly. I would get something good, and someone would have something just below: trips to two pair, or flushes to straights. I also stayed in sometimes when I had a medium pairs that held to bluffs. And my folding instinct saved me two key times when I would have been quite beat, most notably, nines in the pocket against ace four, he raises preflop and I call and he flops the straight, except I have way over top pair. Usually I would have stayed in, but some thing kept me pushing more money into that pot. I saved myself a bunch of moolah.

All in all, Dustin wins fifty-six profit.

John and Angus go home crying to mama.

And for the record, I am now up 96 dollars.

Too much too much…

Poker on Thursday took me out in an aggravating manner. I played smart, waiting and waiting, surviving on twenty dollars, then going out buying back only once going up a bit but just staying in there, then poof, I don’t even remember how, I lost.

But not these guys. Gable won big. He’s consistent, almost too consistent, and yet he keeps coming up in the black, so what do I know.

Jim stayed in it, won one big hand and just cruised.

And angus just made his mony back off of me in the end. It might have been trips against a flush.

Today, the sylvan stark combo ran the table for most of the game. The first time I played a hand was queens against johns jacks, only to lose to a jack on the rivro. And that’s the way the day went. Losing forty. I had queens to liz’s aces later.

In the end, cry baby rutkoff became happy rutkoff as his last buy back (minus forty) made him the biggest winner of the day, taking a bit over forty profit.

Liz and Derek take about fifty each.

Althea came late and left with seventeen.

I even left with 13, down forty.

Everyone left, except john and me. We were both down a bit, so we decided to play a two out of three tourney (twenty dollars each game) sixty dollar game. I won the first one. From down forty, I went to up twenty. It happened faster than we thought, so we played again. I lost this time. So then we played again, this time for fifty. I won again, going back to up ten. Which I layed on the line and won. Now up twenty, I laid it down again and won again for an up forty end of the night.

I win.

Off broke john.

I am now overall up forty dollars. Well done. Sorry I took your money john, but im glad I beat you in poker.

Oh, don carlos, you are so sexy.

Talk to me…

Sadly, I have just now realized that allot of people have not been able to keep up with the audio video extras of StFuD. Wether your work or school has a firewall, or you just can’t handle quick time technology, I apologize. You are missing out on a totally different and cool style of posting.

But here’s what I will do. I’ll go back into the archives and outline whatever video or audio thing you are missing. It will be just as if you were actually witnessing the post with your own eyes.

Right now I am at work making 15 DVDs of a six minute Nextel video. Not the funnest time spent on a Friday night, but whatevs, overtime taste good in my belly come check time.

Anyway…

Ive been meaning to post about the chris rock theory. I had this great thought about the two key areas necessary to keep a good relationship good, only to expound said theory to warren who told me chris rock had already done it in one of his monologues. Yes, both ideas had very similar points, but I like my wording better.

Rock says you have to have a good time fucking, and eating. Cause that’s what you do. You fuck, and then you go get a sandwhich.

I take it one step further (it’s a step that rock implies but I don’t care), the fucking has to be good, and the time not-fucking has to be good too. Even time together when you are not ingesting food.

Some prudish people might say that what’s really important is the not-fucking time. That a relationship has to have deeper ties than just the physical. Because the body will cool at some point, and any long-range partnership needs something more than shafts, wet holes, and moist tongues to make it in the long run. The love, the connection, the private time spent not inside each other is where true happiness lies.

Others may argue that the fucking is what intimate relationships are all about. How much closer can you be then when you are inside someone, or they are inside of you? Sex is where that spark hides, the electricity of attraction that melds people together, the loss of singularity into the base magical and scary area of plurality. If you don’t have fun fucking someone, then how can you be with them?

Well, who’s right? The fuckers or the non-fuckers. The answer, obviously, is both. (This is all communal knowledge that any relationship pundit worth her meddle will spit at you, I know, but I love saying it in my own idiosyncratic way). Both the fucking, and the not fucking has to be good.

Sex is an intuitive, vulnerable, incredibly self-conscious state. It rewards tremendously, but it easily gets you into trouble as well. If you are not having a good fucking roll with whomever you roll in the hay with, then you have to communicate that and do what it takes to make it better, or leave if the chemistry just isn’t there. Because fucking isn’t everything, but damn, it might just be the funest part. If you’re not doing it, then what the hell are you doing?

But the time spent not fucking is just as important. If you fuck like a crazed bonobo monkey in heat, but then spend the rest of the day in uncomfortable silences, or bitchy tête-à-têtes, or just wishing your significant otro would just shut the fuck up, then we have issues. There’s allot of time to fill with this person, you better maker sure your humors stack up, (not necessarily match perfectly, but mesh well), that you can keep a conversation, that you can pass that time having a good time, that your intellects meld in a ratio that makes you happy. Because everybody has to do something after crazy Viagra monkey sex.

There, I have spoken. The fucking is important, but the not-fucking time is important as well.

I’ve been photoblogging too much. I owed you one of these.

Shout outs, baby! SHOUT OUTS!

I like birthdays, don't you, scumbag?

Work has been intense...

I had to cut a full four minute piece this weekend. With stress pumping through my veins and affecting my sleep, i trudged through all of saturday and sunday, through snow and bad footage, to accomplish a pretty good rough cut. Then i got chewed out by a director when i had a session on the other project we are working on. Cutting with someone riding your back is no fucking fun, let me tell you. I felt like a stubborn mule that had to be whipped in the right direction.

So with the stress ball living permanently in my stomach, i have not had the chance to post well. I apologize. This will be rectified as soon as i can.

Marathon, a City in Greece…

I played poker until six in the morning on Friday. I didn’t mean for it to go down like that, it just did.

It started with a cash game. Lost thirty and then went huge, for like about sixty, in a string of good luck and good baiting. Then after a bad beat, I went all in with top pair jacks, only to face kings. It all went downhill from there.

Bomba left early with a bit.

Linzie and Allison won the most.

John won out once most people had left to come back even, and jim left minus ten with his twenty.

Then we played a tourney which dave won, john getting his money back.

Jim and I did’t like that. I was down fifty

Which I won on the next tourney, dave second.

John won the next one, but I don’t have a picture of second, which is strange. I wonder who it was?

But I got my day again, beating dave one on one one more time (one won). Then I came in second in dave’s last time.

John then beat me at the heads up.

He liked that.

All in all, I either came out even or up ten, so I am now about plus thirty.

Oh! I almost forgot, I played last Wednesday on my booting day. Came out up five, John winning most from Angus.

Catch deuce deuces…

I’ve been away. So sorry, so sorry. It has been a week. Friday, I looked upon a slow and easy day. I basically had two things to do before freeing myself four three days of fun, past the MLK Monday. (Happy MLK Jr. day, by the way). And then the call came in: a hotshot editor from LA was going to “four wall” at our place. We needed to impress him, and yet we barely had the room for all the jobs that were coming in, and we needed the extra avids to load one job while the editor cut another. Oh and they were bringing local drives and we needed to rent a specific dock but we only had one G5 that had the right SCSI (pronounced scuzee) card to connect and we had to move it to a better wired room and then rent a PAL (pal is the frame rate and resolution standard they use in europe, different from our NTSC, which is why you cannot watch tapes from over seas on our vcrs) beta to load and buy DVD Studio Pro so they could burn presentable DVDs with menus that had their graphics… basically, a shit load of work, including producing oriented things that are not really my job. It also looked like Monday would no longer be set my Dustin free day.

Kerry was coming , and this all got plopped on the assistants because not a single boss was there.

I got pissed. But fuck it all, I got it done (with help from Robert Sarra and Mitch, bless their hearts). Then party time Saturday brought flu time.

Then one visting editor turned into two, and two new jobs started at the same time for my editor. I worked until one in the morning helping the one assistant, Rennie, that they brought breakdown ten TC hours (time code hours, a reel of film usually around 15 minutes).

But I also finally asked for a tech raise. Let me explain, for the last six months, I turned into not only the mac fix my email tech guy, but the avid one as well. For whatever reason, I became the fastest troubleshooter. I was the tech guy, and the assistant, but only getting paid for one. So I asked for tech money, and I got it. Which fucking rocks. I actually feel like they are giving me what I am now (thanks to them) worth. Except now it’s official. The tech thing is my JOB.

And john sold some portraits to his school for a nice chunk of change, so I went to his house to celebrate. Angus was there, and we played poker. Mary had made some delicious banana bread, and I had like four pieces, way too much. When I arrived home, because I felt like I still had to kill the flu, I took a shot of Nyquil and fell asleep.

Only to wake up at five forty-five in the am with that pitty feeling in my stomach that signals booting. So out came the bloody looking half digested banana bread nyquil frappe, the volatile combination combusting in my gut.

I hate throwing up more than I hate packing, and let me tell you, I fucking hate packing.

So now im shadow cutting one job while my editor cuts the other, and not getting enough sleep.

But im rich, bitches!

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