stacy b-log

So you should know by now that I'm prone to do somewhat crazy things with little preparation: Trying out for the Navy Seals, taking chemistry as a 37-year-old undergraduate, entering the World Series of Poker.

Now you can add getting a spray-on tan to that list.

For most, that wouldn’t be such a stretch, but I’m trying to win a contest here, and I had to find the cheapest, quickest option among an indulgent array of spa services that I could complete today so as to enter the contest by the deadline tomorrow: Hello, $10 Lunch Break Spray-On Tan.

Not being one to partake in paid grooming services all that often, I was a little skeptical when the ride operator asked me to put a plastic bag over my head, spread lotion on my palms, disrobe completely, step into the doorless cylindrical booth, press the green button, close my eyes and follow the broadcast instructions.

Fearing the fate of over-tanned orange douchebags everywhere, I closed my eyes – but not too tightly to avoid unfortunate creases – and pressed the green button.

ASSUME POSITION ONE, commanded the tinny recorded voice from above. Palms facing back, elbows out to the side, I tried not to scowl wrinkles into my cheeks as a blast of cool mist rippled past the plastic bag on my head, across my face and down to my toes.

ASSUME POSITION TWO, FACING RIGHT. The pose resembles “Walk like an Egyptian” (The Bangles, Different Light, 1986) – one arm up in front, the other down and back, legs split, facing right.

ASSUME POSITION THREE, FACING LEFT. Same song and dance. Same cold blast of brown wetness.

ASSUME POSITION FOUR. Face the wall, legs spread, arms out. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to look like a leather-skinned personal injury attorney, you have the right to wash this shit off in five days, but first you'll go the next five hours without a shower.

REMAIN IN POSITION FOUR. THE DRYING CYCLE WILL NOW COMMENCE. Except that it’s not the warm blast of air you’re anticipating. It’s cold and it starts at your ankles and moves its way up to the plastic bag over your head.

PLEASE TURN AROUND; ASSUME POSITION ONE TO COMPLETE THE DRYING CYCLE. And I can assure you, this is actually colder.

THANK YOU FOR GETTING YOUR MAGIC TAN. EXIT TO THE LEFT. GRASP BOTH HANDLES TO AVOID SLIPPAGE. PLEASE DRY YOUR FEET UPON EXITING.

According to the ride operator, I am not orange – I’M GOLDEN. Actually I’m sticky and speckled and I smell like teriyaki, which makes me either an orange chicken or a sweet-and-sour porker. I have five hours before I can shower. I’m wearing a pink fuzzy twin-set – and I can feel each fiber affixing to my paint job.

The good news is, when I met a client after work for a drink, she looked at me and says, “Wow! Did you just get back from vacation? You look so refreshed and tan!”

I did not pay her to say that, as I was busy furrowing my eyebrows (and tan lines) in trying to figure out why the tips of my thumbs turned brown when my palms did not (uneven application of prophylactic lotion).

I made it home at the six-hour mark and started up the shower. Ever the observant husband, Pat noted that though I was golden brown like the Colonel's New Recipe Un-fried Chicken, the White Stripes are more than just a rock and roll band: They're also the illusive zones that your spray-on tan can't reach - aka, the creases in your knuckles and your buttcrack.

As the luscious brownness washed down the drain like a good day of muddy mountain biking or two-day old Chinese takeaway, I was wistful that the ride operator did not instruct me on White Stripe prevention because the tan looked pretty authentic except for my neglected natal cleft. Based on personal experience (Bare As You Dare 5K, 1997), I can say with absolute certainty that your buttcrack will burn with prolonged exposure to the sun.

So the prize for this contest is a weekend spa vacation - and fortunately for me (and the Spray-On Tan Industry) - it is not a clothing-optional retreat. Will let you know if I win.

Posted by stacy at 09:16 PM | Permalink

Gratuity for dealers and casino staff - $300
Pot-sweetener for my ladies' home game - $100
New iPhone that is smarter, faster and stronger than my husband's - $199
Cool accessories for my iPhone that is smarter, faster and stronger than my husband's - $124
New battery for my MacBook - $129
5-piece patio furniture set with puffy cushions - $1,497
"Hey Pat, I'll give you $100 if you'll fix me a drink so I don't have to get up off the couch." - $100
Round of drinks and appetizers for friends and clients - $96
10% tithing to Local First Arizona* - $331
Spa day with my Mom - $256
Another round for my family and clients - $48
Two rebuys for Dirk's home game - $40
Contribution to Ponyboy's Africa Trip - $50
Taking my coworkers out for drinks to celebrate, TBA - $91

Burning through $3,361 of the house's money in just under two weeks: Priceless.

Guess I gotta get back to work now.

*When I joined the board of Local First, I told our executive director Kimber that I'd give her a 10% stake in all my winnings. Prior to the Ladies State Poker Championship, my contributions amounted to $6 here, $30 there and a whopping $1.20 on one memorable occasion. It was quite a treat to count out $331 at the last board meeting, and one of our new members actually made a motion to send me to Vegas for a fundraiser. The Nays carried.

Posted by stacy at 09:20 AM | Permalink

Being berated by professional poker player Annie Duke at the World Series of Poker Academy in June has its benefits:

That would be me doing snow angels on my bed in the $3,361 that I won for finishing seventh at the Fourth Annual Arizona State Ladies Poker Championship on Saturday at Casino Arizona.

It may seem obvious, but it's worth stating plainly: $3,361 is a lot of money when it's counted out in thirty-three $100 bills, three $20s and a Washington. It may not smell like victory per se, but it does have the unmistakable aroma of unabashed excitement... and exhaustion... and lunch for my coworkers at Durants... and a new iPhone, laptop battery and patio furniture... and a richly deserved spa day for me and my Mom.

I played poker for ten-and-a-half hours on Saturday. Two days removed, I can say with some certitude that my brains still resemble mashed potatoes both in content and consistency.

From a card player's perspective, the Ladies' State Championship was solid. Not mind-numbingly frustrating with suck-outs on out-of-position Jack-2 offsuits. Not witheringly aggressive like the World Series of Poker. Just fundamentally sound No Limit Texas Hold'em, if plodding and deliberate. The gals weren't in it unless they had the cards - which is unfortunate when you make a modest pre-flop raise with pocket-Aces and NO ONE CALLS.

On my final hand, I re-raised all-in from the big blind with Ace-8 of spades. I had only about four big blinds left, and at that point, any Ace warrants a push. I suspected correctly that the initial raiser was making a positional move to take the blinds and antes ($44,000). She turned over a King-4 offsuit... I got all my money in with the best hand! (HOORAY!) ... Then the flop came King-4-9 (AAAIIIEEE!) ... and the turn came a King (GAH!) ... And that, as they say, is why we play the game.

Even so, I take pride in knowing that Annie would not have berated me for busting out when I did. I may not be the best, but I'm happy with seventh-best. Plus I also outlasted a real professional player, Cyndy Violette, who went out in 12th place.

Without a doubt, everything I learned this spring at the World Series of Poker Academy helped me finish where I did - this is not a paid endorsement, unless you interpret winning $3,361 as consideration.

So after all my female friends sign up for the WSOP Academy, I will strongly encourage them to play in the Arizona Ladies State Championship at Casino Arizona next year because 1) the entry fee will be less than this year's $300, and 2) the field will be larger, and of course 3) regardless of how you finish, you will be treated like a QUEEN! Don't believe me? Consider:

- All 250 players received a darling pink baseball cap as a souvenir - you may interpret that as being a $300 baseball cap, but all my $1,500 bought at the World Series was a receipt, a players' club card, a green paper bracelet and a bad case of indigestion.

- After the second potty break, the remaining 160-something players that were wearing their ball caps received $50 cash.

- Potty breaks were 20 minutes long, rather than the standard 12 minutes. If you're a woman, this is reason enough to enter.

- The "First Finisher" - aka the first to bust out - received her $300 entry back!

- The "Bubble Girl" - aka the gal who finished 31st and out of the money - received her money back.

- Dave, the friendly Tournament Director, plied us with free beer and wine coupons all afternoon. In no state to drink after seven hours of play with only a handful of almonds and two Jenny Craig bars on a butterfly stomach, I gave my drink cards to Pat when he showed up to sweat me in. Dave then sprinkled some more love on Pat and the assembled 20 or so spectators watching the final table.

- As we ground through the Top 20 to get to the final table, one of the gals started feeling a little puny (see above butterfly stomach). Because we wouldn't get a break until the final table, the floor man ran to the snack bar and bought all the peanut M&Ms they had, splitting six bags between the two tables. How's that for service?

- After the final table was set, they gave another $100 cash to all us girls wearing our hats. I had to borrow a competitor's cap because I'd exchanged mine for my cowboy hat in a feeble attempt to change my luck earlier in the day! (At the next break, I dutifully retrieved my ballcap from the trunk of my car and wore it proudly - I can follow directions).

So the best part of the day was Pat coming out to cheer me on after I made it into the money. I wasn't sure how long I would last after that (3 hours) - but with 30th to 21st places paying $680, he was excited that I'd be able to buy a new iPhone with my winnings and get my money back (Plus, the free drinks weren't bad either). With 20th to 11th places paying $790, I figured I'd be able to get a new iPhone, a laptop battery replacement and get my money back. From there, our imaginations got a little crazy - especially since the winner took home $20,000 and a trophy and a bracelet. I know, I know: Next year, next year.

Pat and I sent text messages to friends and fellow players from my monthly Girls Home Game, updating them on my progress. I wasn't allowed to have my phone turned on at the table, so at every break, I was greeted by a deluge of "You go girl! We're cheering for you! Keep it up! We're so proud of you!" The girls (and their husbands) played on Saturday night, and I told them to blind me in, even though I hoped to be very late. When I finally arrived, I walked in the door to a standing ovation, and I took a great deal of pleasure in sweetening their pot with a clean crisp $100 bill. Pat has enjoyed my saying, "I'll give you a hundred bucks if you'll fix me a drink."

And yes, I have already spent roughly 85% of the money: What can I say? The patio furniture was on sale! Guess I'll just have to come back next year, especially if I want the matching umbrella and dining set! And yes, next year I'll wear my World Series of Poker Academy patch... AND MY PINK BASEBALL CAP.

Posted by stacy at 07:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)