Taking stab at 15/30 tonight, wish luck, good play

[egocidal]

cliff notes: I puss out


I got there and signed up for the 6 game to either A) get comfy before I moved or B) find a great game, run hot, etc, see what happens. The opposite of that happened and I dropped a rack at 6 in like an hour. Not fun. The insano black guy chatterbox thats in that wheelchair? He was like 2 ft away from me ranting and spitting and trying to be like chris tucker, it was really annoying. I didn't play badly, I got my AQ into AK twice on an A high board, set of fours runs into open ender and chockes, set of jacks loses to one card K high straight (which I might've been able to save money on, I called a river bet on a board of [T J 9 5 K]....) But anyway, I buyin again, still eyeing the 15 but now not so very comfortable at ALL with the idea of taking a shot with 300 bucks. I only brought 500. At this point I decide that I will probably not play the 15 unless we get a jackpot or I run sick hot. Once again the same [censored] happens. I am close to giving up life, taking a cigarrette break every beat to calm down which led to a massive cough. I have 50 in front of me. Meekly I raise my last c note and call chips.


Why the [censored] didn't I play 3/6 to get warmed up. Sweet jesus tonight is going off track.

Then, a miracle occurs. I've just won a small pot w/o showdown and we are about to move tables (its late in the morning). I am UTG and fold and move my chips to the other table like the floor is telling us to. Everyone moves except the really tilty guy who was on my right and the tiny mexican man playing him HU in the hand. Tilty man starts saying something low, like jackpot, and he's all serious. The players converge to the table, jockying to position to prove they were there. On a board of

85x 5 5
Tilty shows down J5o and mexican dude shows 88. Boom. jackpot. Table share is small, but its 188 dollars back. So now I'm at like 280, feeling alright. The feeling continues as I rake mid sized pot after midsized pot w/o showdown. Walter is yelling "Goddammit young man, dealer what the HELL you doin?" and slamming chips in furious checks to me. It all gets blurry and I walked out at 8 a.m. this mornign with 483 dollars in my pocket, dazed and exhausted. I come back to my apartment, smoke (5 minutes ago) and get on 2p2. This needs to be better thought out.