Going hard

I like to pretend I'm a bad ass. See my blogger profile photo. Ooohhh tie and vest and short hair. SEE HER REBEL. BOY DOES SHE HAVE SOMETHING TO PROVE. I have a motorcycle jacket. Chuck Taylors. A belt chain. A wide array of footless tights. An ipod-induced commuting sneer.

But really, I couldn't be squishier inside. It's a bad holdover from high school.

Shhhhh, don't tell. I sleep with a stuffed panda. That my boyfriend gave me. And I knit things for babies, and cry at work, and TiVo Extreme Home Makeover. Punk rock I am not.

But one thing that I think is a little bad ass is my ladies-only poker night. It's become extra enjoyable now that we're all finally better at it (i.e. thinking in flushes and straights aside from wishing desperately make two pair).

Also, it comes with a serious amount of rib-poking. It's fun to be only chicks, talking the girl talk, sassing each other, and doing something "the boys do". Just pass the pinot grigio, shut up about your boyfriend, and call someone a naughty word for your own ladyparts if they mess it up. It's the absence of men that makes it so fun, actually. But the fact that there's some risk involved, quick thinking, and lots of wine help.

But with the bad-assery comes the squish. It's a $10 buy-in. Sometimes we'll sing with Lily Allen. Often, chocolate and cheese are involved.

But hey, like all tough players, regardless of gender, we stand up when we go all in.