If anger is sexy, call me Brad Pitt

I'm not sure how it happened, but it did. I hosted my Thursday night cash game, as I normally do. This time, we had more people than ever - 17. That's ten at the big table, and seven at the kitchen table. I rent a 1050 sq ft apartment. Seventeen people is a lot.

Vodka, Coors Lite, Guinness. Cash everywhere. I knew I'd run out of chips, so I got Esther to bring her 300-count set. We burned through that, too. We had cash on the table, which we've done before.

And I still got fucked, somehow. When it came time to cash out the final three, we had $11. And I had $23 in chips in front me, with the other two having about twice that together. Basically, I refuse to believe I fucked up my own that badly. I'm pretty much out $80, and I don't know where the problem is.

The amount of chips fills up the case. My theory is that somebody found their way into the chip case for either chips or cash when I was in the bathroom. And to be fair, I was drinking beer the whole night, so I had plenty of bathroom breaks.

Next time, I commandeer Esther's chips early (and F.O.D.'s lavender and purple chips), and place all buy-in's in my pockets, rather than the chip case. I can't stand to see this mistake happen again.