Friday, November 25, 2005
Everyone who has a house needs to clean it now and then, and by house I mean place to live. Sure, Donald Trump doesn't have to take his dishes to the kitchen after dinner, but you think Milania doesn't insist he be a sweetie and wipe the seatie? Bitch, please!
Ok so I, as a mother of two children often have to clean my house. One time I tried to get the children to help but they acted like dirty little urchin-extras from the chorus of "Oliver!". No lie. They even did a medley of "Food, Glorious Food" until I begged for mercy.
I was cleaning my house today. First I did the bathrooms and burned all my nosehairs out with bleach fumes (beauty tip: nosehair getting unruly? try bleach fumes! and I'm talking to you, Andy Rooney). Then I played a $1 MTT (That's Multi-Table Tournament for you PTA Ladies) and I finished 65th - thanks AQ (Dear AQ, I am starting to rethink our relationship. I feel I can't trust you to deliver the sweet chips of my opponents as I once thought you could. I will still play you aggressively, but will be mindful that you can be quite a bitch. love, facty)
Where was I? Oh yes...
After the bleach burns and the MTT, I decided to vacuum the upstairs. So I did. I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed. Then I took the wand and started to vacuum the dust bunnies under the bed. I had to lay down on the floor so I could see what I was vacuuming and something caught my eye. Under the bed just barely out of my reach was some paper... a book? a magazine? hmmm I scooted and reached with the wand as far as I could.... a little closer...a little closer...
suddenly my head was yanked brutally back and the vacuum made a sound between a whine and an evil cackle as my hair wrapped around its unforgiving roller. I yelped in pain and had to feel my way around to the side of the possessed machine to find the on/off switch - thank goodness it wasn't up by the handle or I'd be a goner. I flipped the switch and the vacuum of hell moaned and ceased. But my hair was still stuck. I gently worked my hair out of the groaning maw and sat up to survey the damage. Head: still there. Hair: Mostly still there. Vacuum: laughing at me with a huge clump of my red hair in its teeth. The overworked motor had stunk up the room and as I kicked the vacuum I vowed never to let this happen again.
So I'm gettin a maid y'all. All professional poker players should have maids.
Epilogue: The paper under the bed was an old Linux Journal. And that is how Linus Torvalds and my geek husband ruined my hair.
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