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.