lord

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!”

And

“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.

Dead.

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? 

Alright.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

gidget

I had very specific targets tonight and they did not pan out.  I also had a migraine that a cocktail of caffeine and drugs could not kill, so I withdrew the troops and took cover.  Once safely sheltered I began searching for adoptable dogs online.  I’m not a dog or cat or any other kind of pet person.  I don’t know why I look at dog profiles as much as I do.  I have a friend that spends hours watching videos of sand on YouTube.  Same thing?

No. Her thing is just weird.

I kid you not, I just typed “sand” into YouTube search and found a video with over 5 million views.  I’ll post it below because obviously.

Maybe there are millions of people who also sweat adoptable dogs online that have no intention of adopti…

Wait!  I’m watching and listening to this sand video and I don’t know what the hell is going on.  I’m so confused.  I can’t think.  I’ll pause it but if you want the same experience start the video below then try to recite the alphabet, it’s impossible.

Okay, back to the dogs.  I found a profile of two senior dogs whose owner has passed away.  The ad says they are bonded for life.  One of them is totally blind and only has one eye.  I want them.  I want these dogs. 

doggies.jpg

Maybe I took too much Tylenol but I’m really feeling this pair.  I shall reassess my feelings in the morning and proceed from there.  How I wish I had taken this advice ten dozen other times in my younger years.  But then I wouldn’t be me now would I?

And I’m fantastic.  It’s 2019 and I’m only going to become more fantastic!  Because I don’t have to be a great basketball player.  I don’t have to dribble the ball fast or throw the ball into the basket.  Because all I have to do is be the best rx I can be.

Because I’m good enough.  I’m smart enough.  And doggone it people like me.

You guys I just channeled Eminem with these sick throwbacks and wordplay.  Source here if I lost you and weird “very satisfying” sand fetish or whatever it is video below.

dire straights

There’s a pastry I like getting in a certain coffee shop in a certain casino and I use whatever player card of mine that has comps to get it. While signing the comp ticket today the cashier, obviously in her first year studying criminal justice at the local community college said, “I’m sure it’s not even you.” Seriously? How long has she been waiting for the opportunity to call me out?  Was this her big moment? Now what did she expect to happen? I run away?

Some floormen have this same mentality when you’re winning in their section and they feel like you’re taking “their” money when you clean out the rack. She’s upset I’m taking “her” pastry.

I know for a fact that some floor people get bonuses when their tables show a profit. But snarky cashiers for sure don’t get anything for calling out customers who are gaming the system to get comped pastries that the casino will cover regardless of what name they use.

I always tip this place too.  One of the other cashiers, a super nice, plump and jolly young man once told me he signed on to work an extra hour so he could pocket another $8.25.

So what was my reaction when she so cleverly unmasked my high level ruse?

“Um yeah actually it is me,” I said with a confused grimace.  It’s not my first rodeo, little miss mall cop.

And then I still tipped a dollar because the plump, jolly guy was also working and I’m a fish.

There is no version of this song that I dislike.  Enjoy.

successful scouting

I was in the casino looking for an edge when I found 4 donut holes for a dollar.  They used to be 3 for a dollar. Was the cashier mistaken?  Should I tell her?  Or should I just hand over my dollar, take the 4 donut holes and bolt?

I took them, walked away briskly but didn’t exactly run, and went about my journey looking for a monetary edge. 

Later that night, I was waiting at a slot machine for a lucky seat at a blackjack table.  There was an elderly man sitting in the seat I wanted.  He had a huge stack of red in front of him and was betting five dollars a hand.  It was going to take forever to bust this guy.  Finally, four hours into the dealer's shift, the senior got up and left.  I raced over to the table and quickly sat down.  I sat down in a puddle of pee.

What.  The.  Fuck.

There were no other chairs in sight and with the game on and my BP at the table, I had to start reading the hole card immediately.  After a few minutes, a teammate brought me a new chair. For four hours I had to sit in pee soaked jeans.

I think we won a lot that night, I honestly don’t remember anything but the donut holes and the pee.  It was too traumatic.