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.

 

fishy

I was playing 5/10 at the Wynn.  An older reg bet into me on the river -- I tank called.  No idea what the hands were.  My call was right and as the dealer was pushing me the pot I said to the guy, "Nice bet."  He politely acknowledged me, but didn't reply.

I NEVER do that.  It's a stupid thing to say.  He bets, I call and win, and as I'm scooping his money I tell him he made a good bet? I legitimately don't remember another time saying that to someone, ever.

That night, in his suite at the Wynn, the older reg shot and killed himself.  Did it have to do with my comment?  Eh, probably not.  But I assume the guy had a gambling problem and I didn't help.  Of course, it could have been life in general that did him in.

I can't help but think about how poker players are just as bad as casinos though.  We create a fun environment.  We act like we are best friends with the fish just like casino hosts do.  We cater to the fish until the fish has no money left.

I heard about a poker player committing suicide last week and it made me think of the guy at the Wynn. I guess I started out writing about that and took a turn on the "poker players are scummy" street.  Are we scummy though?  Is poker a scummy profession?

I understand why someone would kill themselves.  This place can be a nightmare.  And people will tell you that if you're feeling suicidal to seek help, but being your own mental health advocate is an impossible task. It's like asking someone with a broken legs to walk to the doctor.  

Cliffs: Poker, suicide, scummy, life.

 

what you don't know

A few years ago I was on Poker Night In America. I was never invited back. It may have something to do with me not talking much. I generally don't talk a lot at the table but knowing that this was for TV and lively table banter was what the producers wanted, I made a mental note to chat it up.

Working against me though was Seat 1.  Seat 1 wouldn't shut the fuck up. The entire time we played, he would not shut the fuck up. I can't over state how much he wouldn't shut the fuck up. Not one to yell over him, my goal of chatting it up wasn't met and I mostly just sat there and silently turned straights and rivered full houses.  

On break one of the people associated with PNIA said to me "You sure don't talk much."  I said something about it hard to get a word in but the PNIA guy was already walking away. 

Also on break, Seat 1 told me he had a debt collection business. He collected debts that were written off and at this point in the game if the borrower didn't pay they wouldn't face any repercussions. I questioned him how it was that he was able to collect if that was the case.  He said, "Well they don't know that."

Seat 1 is now serving 8 years in jail for the largest debt collection scheme in US history.  

I'm not happy about his circumstance, jail probably sucks.  I'm just taken back with how vocal he was about the scheme.  A lot of interesting characters in this here poker world.