LittleWyvern.com

I had my wisdom teeth extracted this past friday. Extracted is the correct word, although 'removed' is also allowed. Don't ever say 'pulled' around a dentist or you might get your teeth extracted with the blunt end of his knuckles. That's probably an exagerration, but I think the point is made. I was yelled at several times over when I mentioned to my dentist friend that I was having my wisdom teeth pulled. Anyway, the teeth are gone and I suppose I'm a better man for it. I guess it's good that they are gone, but I kinda wish that they weren't. The whole process feels like a blemish on my otherwise spotless character. Like it is my fault that my teeth had to be removed. I take a stupid baseless pride in the fact that I haven't had to endure many of the minor inconveniences that most people do. I used to have perfect vision. Both my parents wear glasses and my brother and sister both wear contacts. Until my senior year of high school my eyes were perfect. I took some pride in that. Both my brother and sister wore braces, but my teeth were always perfectly straight. Again, a source of pride. Some people have their appendix removed, a lot of people have their wisdom teeth removed, etc. Now that my teeth WERE removed I feel like something was taken from me. Something other than teeth. I suppose that I can take some comfort in knowing that there wasn't actually anything wrong with my wisdom teeth. Maybe the dentist was bored or something, but he told me that I should probably have them removed 'just because'. Oh well.

When you have teeth removed you can choose between localized or general anesthetic. I opted for the general, mostly because I dont like people ripping shit out of my face while I am awake. My brother used the local anesthetic when his were removed so he spent the whole morning of the procedure calling me a pussy and making me feel like a bitch for wanting to be asleep. He almost changed my mind, too. I'm nobody's bitch. And if I have to have my teeth removed without ANY anesthetic to prove it… Fine. But then the oral surgeon described my x-ray and explained that one of my teeth was only partially exposed and he might need to cut open my gums and use a drill to chisel away the bone. Fuck that. I asked to be asleep.

The next two days were an experiment in how much blood a person can swallow without throwing up. The answer is: a lot. The doctor gave me a prescription for vicodin to help with the pain. The pain wasn't even that bad after the first day, but I had all these pills sitting around. Playing cards hyped up on pain killers is a sure-fire way to lose money. Anyway, the weekend was slow and riddled with Alias episodes and a sickening level of hunger (all blood and no food makes the stomach hurt).

To close the weekend I went to Trump Casino with Lukas and Pete on Sunday night. Lukas ended up dropping a crapload of cash at the No-limit table. Pete blinded away 70 bucks. I came out about even. I was actually winning for a while, but then I switched to Pete's table where the biggest strokejobs of all time were playing. One guy was only annoying because of how bad he was. Cold calling raises with 2 5 offsuit and then chasing for the low inside straight. His justifaction: he was “pot committed” preflop when he hadn't put any money into the raised pot, and “there were no flushes or fullhouses on the board” so it was a good idea to chase his low-percentage draw. Bad players with amazing luck can ruin a game really fast. That guy was Lukas's problem though. My problem were the two guys to my left. Both talked a huge amount of shit about a game they clearly didn't understand very well. They both bet and raised with nothing, and whenever they got beat would attribute it to being 'rivered' or 'outdrawn'. The guys were such unbelievably awful people that I jumped off my otherwise solid game and began to play far more recklessly and aggressively than I should have. I wanted to burn those two guys so badly, and I would destory myself in the process if necessary.

The highlight of my night came in two places. We were playing 3-6 kill and Mr. I Raise With Everything had the kill pot going as usual. I opened for a raise and he called me. I bet, he raised, I called off the flop. I checked and then called his bet on the turn. Then I checked and stared at him on the river. I picked up 12 dollars to make it clear that I was going to call any bet he made, he stared at me and then checked. He turned up Jack high. “I got that beat, man.” And I turned over my ace high. Not very good poker, I suppose. But I beat him like a man. I'm nobody's bitch.

The other guy, Mr. I Love Dick, raised preflop with his usual cocksmoker giggle. He liked to act like a badass every time he raised, as if raising were reserved only to the coolest dudes at the table. So he raised and gave the table a little smile and sat back in his chair. I called his raise with my pocket fives. The flop came 2 4 6 offsuit. First to act, I checked to the guy and of course he reaches for his chips and announces “I BET”. I immediately raise him. (Side note: The check-raise is the most powerful move in poker). His instinct now is to defend the raise; to continue to represent his hand. He has too much pride to just give up. I dont really care, though, I know he ain't got shit. He hesitates for a moment then looks up at me. I lean foward and stare straight at him. “What? Do you still want to play?” I say. He shakes his head and folds. I didn't win a big pot or anything, and I know I had the best hand, but I still felt really good about it. He wasn't as aggressive against me after that. He got the message: I'm nobody's bitch.