This month I’ve been shopping my memoir to literary agents. I’m assuming I’m going to obtain representation and get a 6-figure book deal any day now. That’s how this writing thing works, right?  Easy peasy.

I was back roomed in a casino once and the cops were called.  When they got there, discussing my possible arrest, one of the cops said, “Easy, peasy.”  I hate that freaking phrase but it comes to mind often.

In my search for a larger audience who might be interested in my book, I’ve been shamelessly following new people on social media hoping for follows back and link clicks to this blog. 

It feels dirty. I feel dirty.

I target gamblers.  How can I tell they’re gamblers you ask?  One of three ways:

1.     The profile picture was taken at a poker table.

2.     The profile picture is a chip stack.

3.      They have a poker word in their name like “PokerAssassinRob” or “ChipstackingTina.”

So I’ve been doing this all week and though Twitter has been going ok, Instagram not so much.  I also got had on Instagram.  This kind of well-known, kinda-poker playing girl “liked” one of my IG posts.  I thought, “Oh cool, new follower…I’ll follow back.”  So I did, only to realize later that she didn’t follow me at all.  She just liked a post of mine so I’d follow her.  She leveled me.   I have now added this move to my arsenal.

Ok enough of this big-time marketing talk. 

Let’s talk more about being back-roomed.  I feel less dirty being handcuffed to a bar on the wall in a casino back room because they mistook my legal gambling techniques for cheating than I do relentlessly following people on Twitter.

In my career I’ve been in a casino back room, not wanting to be, three times…I think.  The first time it happened, I had been chased down in the parking lot of a dumpy Las Vegas casino by security for counting cards.  So lame, right?  While the security guard had me on the ground and was cuffing my left arm, I got a call out to 911 with my free right arm and shouted, “I’m being kidnapped by XXX casino.” 

How’d that turn out?

Metro came down to the casino, saw my partner and me handcuffed in a back room and left us there for three and a half hours.  They came in and out of the room, in between the free breakfast they were getting, to let us know that we wouldn’t do well in jail and that I couldn’t use the bathroom.

Nice guys.

Long story short, we sued.  We settled for some small amount and now I have this cool story to tell.