2 for the show

My notepad of “thoughts” is getting long. I could easily make each one of the below its own post; one of my superpowers. But instead I’ll throw 5 thoughts out there manically and if anyone wants more detail you all know where to find me.

1. I used to work with a guy who once dated Markie Post of Night Court fame. Once as in 20, maybe 25 years past from the time he told me which was also 20 years ago. 

markie 2.jpg

We weren’t watching the show.  Nobody casually brought up what a great show Night Court was, and it was.  He just told me he dated her and I imagine him now throwing back a Heine at the local vp bar telling his neighbor that he dated Markie Post.

2. I started a “What I’m Up To” page. Magical content.

3. I went to see a lawyer (not Markie) and the paralegal asked me what I do for a living. It went like this:

Paralegal – “What do you do for a living?”

Me – “I gamble.”

Paralegal – “Do you play Keno? I love Keno.”

Me – “I don’t but a lot of people love that keno. Doesn’t cost much to sit there a while.”

PL – “You should play you can win if you know what patterns to play.”

Me –

PL – “You just have to know the patterns blah blahhhh (I zoned out) blaaah I always lose.”

4. Oh you guys! This conversation with the secretary at my kid’s school was much better (Iast one was weak get off my back):

Sec – “So what do you do for a living anyway?”

Me – “I gamble.”

Sec – “Oh my gosh do you see the cards?”

Me – (legitimately interested in this conversation now) “Umm, yeah?”

Sec – “I’m learning and sometimes when I see a lot of aces I tell the table not to bet and the dealers always look at me funny.”

Me – “Oh, okay. Good luck.”

This blog post is almost over I swear.


5. There was an episode of Catfish in which the catfish was met by the girl he was duping in a sort of small, crusty bingo hall, or something. There may have been pull-tabs.  You guys, I don’t know exactly but there was gambling involved and he was the youngest person there by 70 years.  So Nev and Max and this girl walk in, find him and he explains to them what he does there. He watches for the progressives for whatever game had progressives, and when they got to a certain point he’d play and win.  He was taking advantage of the games being offered at this depressing joint with these senior citizens and wait, here is the best part; Nev and Max and the girl, they were NOT impressed!  They thought he was weird.  Ummm, little genius in the making is what he was.

That’s all I got today. I mean not really my silly little notepad is full but I’m tired and I have to work and well I don’t remember speaking to anyone today so I figured I’d get it all out here in me blog.

When I hit the WOF progressive I’m giving 90% to this org (the founder is my hero.) If you want to support the endless hours I spend making this site the behemoth that it is maybe you can donate too.

money music death

I was in Biloxi with a small crew, 3 of us total. There was another 2-man team of holecarders in town and we were vying for the same dealer. As players oftentimes do, we made a deal for the game rather than compete for the lucky seat. The deal was this: I would read the game and one of them would bet the game. We’d chop the result 50/50, their crew, my crew. We played and won. We chopped the money and went our separate ways.

There’s a lot I can say about making deals like this. You need to know what heat if any everyone has, past experiences with the dealer and the casino, related properties, the entire city. It’s situational but all of these factors and more can matter. It’s best to all trust each other not to skim the pot. It’s easy to count down the rack when playing a game but feeling like you “have” to count it down isn’t fun. I don’t work with people if I’m worried about them stealing. I’ve known other players who will work with people who might skim because the edge of the spot is big enough they can afford the risk.

To each his own.

Cut to a couple months later and word on the street is I’ve been laughed at, mocked. Something along the lines of “I always want to make deals with miss brown (me), she made an awful one in Biloxi.”



Their perspective was this: 2 of them, 3 of us, a fair deal would be to chop the result evenly 5 ways. They thought they hustled me by getting 50% or 25% each.

No, uh uh. That’s not how this works. The bettor was representing his crew and I was representing mine. It just so happened our crew was bigger that night.

I’ve worked solo often, a free agent if you will. If there’s a game on and I’m going to make a deal to read it for another crew, then in general I’m taking 50% (there are always exceptions). If their crew is 3 people and I’m 1, I’m getting half not a quarter.

Their crew, my crew.

For me to have done the chop in the way they thought would be fair I’d be setting a precedent that would kill me in the long run.

girl money.jpg

Now, a completely different scenario.

I was playing guitar in a band that would open up for R&B acts at the House of Blues. Al Green, Musiq Soulchild, Floetry. The gig paid me $100.

The singer I was backing would receive a check for the show and pay the band out on Monday; our shows were always on a weekend night.

We played on a Friday and on the following Sunday her husband died.

It was unexpected, really sad.

Monday came and I didn’t get paid. I wasn’t drowning in money and the $100 meant something to me but the girl’s husband just died! I wasn’t going to ask for it.

The funeral was a few days later. I attended. Somber service.

Again, I didn’t ask for my money.

We didn’t have any shows lined up but I kept in contact with the singer and still saw her on occasion.

I never ended up playing guitar for her again and I never got paid.

Every time someone mentions her I think about how that’s a chop I got screwed in.

This man doesn’t do his own soundcheck, he has another guy do it. He just comes out and lights the stage on fire. Legend.


Some days when I’m out and about in the world working, or whatever, I don’t speak to anyone except for myself.  I have a strong internal dialogue that’s always on. Sometimes I have to turn off the car radio so I can pay attention to it.  I don’t always speak out loud whatever it is that my brain is playing out but when I do I feel safe in assuming that if other drivers catch a glimpse of me they will think I’m either practicing lines for a dramatic commercial audition I have later in the day or I’m having an intense debate with my lover over what place settings will match the highlights in my hair at our wedding reception.

Mix together my lack of human interaction with my love of thinking I know how to speak Spanish and this last month has been magical.

First, as I was getting up from a machine an abuela who had been sweating me came closer to take a look. I motioned for her to take my seat and this little lady started throwing Spanish at me! I cannot adequately describe to you, dear reader, how much I love when people are forced to let me practice my Spanish because they need something and I’m the only viable option around. 

So she goes, “¿Hablas Español?” (This is how it always starts.) And I say “poquito’ but acting real chill like I don’t even care if we don’t talk I can go home and play with Rosetta Stone.  Then as she motioned towards the machine she said, get this, “No entiendo.”

She didn’t know how to play the machine!  Could this spot have been any better for me? 

We are in a casino in Vegas, of course someone will eventually walk by who speaks better Spanish than me but nobody will walk by who speaks better Spanish and knows how this slot machine works! Game on!

I got to explain the bet sizes, what buttons to push and what symbols were the luckiest all while practicing my better than high school level but not as good as if I studied abroad level Spanish. She wanted to know how to get in the bonus round and I kept telling her we don’t know when it will happen!  It’s a surprise!  It’s so fun!

“No sabemos cuando! Es una sorpresa! Es muy divertido!”


“Vanna tiene dientes bonitos.”

After this I’m walking around for a few weeks feeling pretty good about myself, kind of like a big shot.  Then the Spanish gods threw me a test.

I’m in a casino on graveyard, not doing anything but looking like my usual maybe I could be Mexican but also maybe I could be Persian self, and a rattled, young slot tech calls me over and asks if I can speak Spanish. Of course I can speak Spanish! Where’s the fire!?

“¿Donde esta el fuego?”

I follow her a couple aisles down and I’m presented with a very confused and visibly bothered Latin American cowboy, hat and all, who appears to have a serious problem. There are beads of sweat on his face. I don’t think he wants to know about bonus rounds.

So I say, “Hola. ¿Que pasó?” and then he hit me with a chaotic, “teléfono, blue tooth, mi dinero,
máquina, chinga.”

There were a lot of other words but I immediately cracked under the pressure and couldn’t make sense of any of them.  I fumbled through asking him some questions. He didn’t lose his money playing a slot machine.  Nobody took his money. He did not need a charger. That’s all I could gather.  I didn’t know how to help this vaquero.

The slot tech continued to try and flag down someone who actually spoke Spanish, not the pretend taco bell level one stuff I was throwing out.

She found a woman with terrible, terrible lip injections which shouldn’t really matter but it’s all I could think about at the time.

I speak Spanish better than her doctor does injections. 

Anyway, she said she could speak a little Spanish.  I already knew this was going to be a bust but ok go for it.  The man throws the “teléfono, blue tooth, mi dinero, máquina, chinga” at her and without missing a beat she says “Oh yeah he just needs a phone charger.”

I was dying.


Next the tech flags down a young girl who could actually speak Spanish; a legit native speaker.  Her face was normal so it was a little less interesting to watch but at this point I was eager enough to find out what the cowboy’s problem was it didn’t matter.

The ranchero is super frustrated now by the way, he cannot believe our idiocy.

He throws the same speech to this girl, “teléfono, blue tooth, mi dinero, máquina, chinga.” and she looks a little confused.  She starts asking him questions and by now I’ve gotten my Spanish vocabulary memory back and can understand the conversation.  She’s asking him which machine he’s talking about.  Where is his money? How much money? Does he need a bank? 


You guys.

The big reveal is this: The cowboy plugged his phone into a machine to charge.  His blue tooth was on.  The machine took all of his money off of his phone.

Are we all clear?

This vato claimed he plugged his phone into a slot machine and his money was wiped.  What money? Nobody knows. What does his blue tooth being on have to do with it? Dunno. Was the money in a bank? A crypto wallet? CashApp? Guys, we don’t know!

It wasn’t my poor Spanish that was the problem it was that this guy was loco.  I suggested to the tech she find a jefe and I took off, my work there was done.

chasing happiness

I have a long list of thoughts in the notepad on my phone labeled “thoughts.” Lots of great stuff. Amazing things. I might bang out two posts tonight. 

The notepad labeled “things to bang” is blank.

Let’s get right into it.

First.  I joined Bumble and it’s amazing. The possibilities are endless.  I didn’t join to find hook-ups in the traditional sense.  My reasons are less nefarious. 

A decent number of guys on Bumble put their actual, no lie cross their fingers hope to die, occupation in their bio.  I assume girls don’t do this because we’re all scared of freakshows finding us at work and killing us. 

But a lot of the profiles will straight up read things like “Baggage Handler McCarran Airport” and “Table Games Manager Whiskey Pete’s.”  You have to sift through all the “business owner at ask me later” and “finance whatever the fuck” these guys pretend they are. But there are some winners.  All you APs out there do what you will with this information; I won’t even bill you for it.  The Bumble world is your oyster bar at Palace Station.

I don’t even like that place.  But if there’s no line I might slip in and get a roll. Savory.

Bumble (this post has not been sponsored by Bumble) has also been overflowing with bios reading “professional poker player.”  I’ve only been scrolling through it this month but I’m guessing a lot of these pros are WSOP summer warriors.  Some I know, most I don’t and are probably catfishing their professions but what do I care? My profile pic is Annie Duke and I list my job as “resulting coach.”

Also. This. This did not get enough goddamn love it was the best gem I found and I want you all to RT for awareness.

I’m drinking tea I just had macaroni and cheese and I watched the Jonas Brothers documentary earlier just so we are all clear on what headspace I’m in.

Scene: I’m on a table game and my neighbor seeing how poorly I play tells me if I show him my hand he will help me, he doesn’t want to see me lose. I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me.  To him it’s more likely I’m an astronaut than a lifelong gambling connoisseur.  If he asks I already made the decision to not tell him a fake place of work in case he goes there to kill me, I’m not around and he kills someone else.  #feminism

What he tells me:

He has 100k in his backpack. 

He’s played the highest stakes poker games in existence. 

He’s better at math than anyone in the casino. 

Things I know:

He’s betting $6 a hand with $4000 behind.

He’s not playing correct strategy, basic or otherwise.

So this guy gives me an offer: Show him my hand, he’ll tell me how to play and if I win, I keep my money.  If I lose he will refund me my loss. 

The game pays odds. 

Assuming this savant was going to hold up his end of the bargain (I kinda thought he might) the obvious EV move is to glue myself to the chair.  That’s what Annie Duke would say.

But is it really?

As I’ve matured my EV decisions are weighed more heavily than they used to be by factors other than money.  Comfort and happiness make that list.  And even though I’ve generally avoided doing things I do not like to do, I have put myself in quite a few uncomfortable casino predicaments I didn’t love in order to get the money.  This one though I could not do. I could not sit and engage this man and nod at the absurdity he was speaking. I could not pretend to care or manufacture kinship.

And this is why prostitutes are amazing creatures.  Their adaptability is something to envy. #feminism

The End.

love wins

This post is a hodgepodge.  Not a sexy word but if you could see what I was wearing right now... 

And so keeping with the mood, hodgepodge it is.  There’s exhilarating gambling discussion within. I know my audience. I know what you people want. Sometimes I sell out talking about big real world stuff but this post has it all.

Case in point, I arrived in front of an empty parking space about a second after another car arrived on its opposite side.  Was she headed down the lane to take the spot or was she headed down the lane to leave? I gave two beats and seeing no turn signal, I took the spot.  After I parked the woman didn’t move her car. Obvious to me now she wanted the spot I got out and this is what went down:

Lady who doesn’t know what a blinker is: “I was going to park there.”

Person who is able to properly analyze a situation and act accordingly: “So why wasn’t your blinker on?”

LWDKWABI: “I didn’t know you were a racist.”

There’s so much wrong with this interaction, I can’t. 

I won’t.


I felt something in my eye for a couple of days and I was due for a check-up anyway so I went to my optometrist. I had been up 31 hours by the time my appointment rolled around and usually I wouldn’t go but there’s this thing in my eye and my eye is sort of important so I went.  Number one; my peripheral vision test was so bad the tech had to tell me the test had started because I wasn’t reacting to anything.  I wasn’t seeing anything flash in my side view. Then she gave it to me again with the same result.  The doc told me some people have off days and my eyes looked otherwise healthy but that my boxing career was over.  That news was hard to take.

Number two; he couldn’t see anything in my eye but did notice some inflammation so this man wanted to flip my eyelid over like little kids sometimes do and if he saw something he said he could swab it with a cotton stick. What?  No. Is he crazy? No. Not happening.  He sent me home with eye drops and told me if nothing changed I had to come back in two days. 

Nothing changed. 

I took drugs, put on my big girl pants, marched into his office and pleaded with him to treat me with kid gloves.  I let this professional eyelid flipper do his thing and you know what was in my eye?  Three eyelashes so far up they couldn’t escape on their own and this man swabbed them. My day was done after that, I needed a nap.

Alright gamblers, here’s what you’ve been waiting for.  Pass out the dessert and drum roll please…

Over the last year “hustler twitter” has really grown.  And with that a handful of users regularly post very specific ways to beat certain games.  I’ve read the same exact sentiment from three of these people and it’s in the vein of them just wanting to “help” people.  They like helping people.  Etcetera.

My condensed view is this: It’s true. These posters are helping a slew of new people take advantage of things they would not normally be privy to.  If you were already established in the scene you can feel the impact.  More people who were probably in the casino environment already either as other types of advantage players, poker players or casual gamblers now know what to look for and how to approach situations because of the considerable uptick of posted detailed instruction. And with this, livelihoods are being wrecked.  People who had already been hustling for a living are having their income destroyed.  In my view the help being given to a new population is less meaningful than the hurt that’s happening to established hustlers and that’s a net negative.

But, you all do you.  I’m not here to argue about it.  If you disagree just chalk it up to me being a racist.