So I know Tuesday's are supposed to be get deep day, but I'm not sure I've got it in me today. It's my day off, which should give me plenty of time for reflection, but when you live in the burbs, sometimes the burbs can get ya. It's the routine. Sometimes breaking the routine is the hardest part. I can tell you exactly what I was going to do today before the day even started. Wake up with a 4 year old directly in my face while a 7 year old yells in the background about how unair her life is. Put my eyeballs in and head to the gym to get a little workout in while I stare at women I'll never date and men I'll never look like. Then it's back hope to wash my balls before heading out to a nice lunch at one of three places: Subway, City Bites, or Jason's Deli (the youngest refuses to eat anything but sandwhiches on Tuesdays). After lunch it's off to grocery shop for the week at Target. Burbanites don't shop at Walmart, and the women at Target are way hotter. After grocery shopping it's one of three things: yard work, catch up on dvr'd tv, or get to work on whatever dinner I'm putting together for the evening. Burbanite dads love to cook, not clean, and I'm no different. Every evening I get to cook I think I'm Bobby Flay on the grill or Daniel Baloud in the kitchen. I'm probably closer to Chef Boy R D, but hey, within my kitchen no one knows.
Then this is where it gets interesting. Tuesday is my night out. Out in the burbs, every night is accounted for. Wednesday is the wife's night out or yoga night. Wednesday's and Friday's are gymnastics for the girls. Saturday's is dance and tap. Monday's is meeting night for either the wife or I, when we have a meeting for anything related to college and the such. Weekends are reserved for the kids and hopefully one night together. Sunday night is catch up night. But Tuesday, Tuesday nights are my night. Guy night. Poker night. Beer night. Telling the same stories over and over again night. I've been out of the loop for a while, what with trips, work, kids, and summer stuff, but tonight, I'm getting back into the groove.
I play, when I can, in a weekly poker game. It's been a rotation of the same guys with a few new ones in here and there, but basically the same 10 to 15 guys, aged 25 to 65, getting together once a week to pretend that they are the second coming of no home Jerome himself Phil Ivey. It's a whopping $20 buy in each week, two to three money winners depending on how many show up, Texas hold'em tournament. It's our one. Night a week to forget about the kids and wives and live like kings. Some drink beer, some whiskey, some even sneak in that soda that their not supposed to have that's completely ok at poker night. We tell the same bad jokes each week, rag each other about our wives and jobs and play horrible hands of cards. None of us are very good, but we all think we are. For 10 minutes or 5 hours, we are the kings of ads depending on how well you play.
Like I said, I've been out of the loop for awhile, but tonight I return. Tonight I return to the game of kings. With pale ale in hand, sunglasses on my eyes, and headphones in my ears I return. I return to stake claim to the glory that is rightfully mine. To tell bad jokes, and to laugh at even worse ones. Whether I am in for two minutes or two hours, the Arab returns (we all have nicknames at poker and that's mine). For one night, for this one glorious night, the burbs will be Vegas and I will be Elvis.
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