Thursday, April 7, 2011

How NOT to pick up a woman. An embarassing foray.

To those of you who are not complete douche bags, this string of text messages will be comical.  To those of you who are, and are still in denial, you'll think I'm a stone cold bitch. To which I would note that there is a vein of truth to your thought process, but only when I'm dealing with the typical male card player.

For those who are just tuning in, I work in the poker industry.  In just about every manner a person can work in the poker industry without being either a hooker or a Poker Stars Sponsored Pro, and for the right amount of money.. lets face it, I'd be open to either. We all have a price.  Mine starts at six figures. (This is a joke, for the handful of employers kind enough to pay me and might actually read my blog. I mean, seriously, who would sign with PokerStars?)

By virtue of being a woman, who travels to a lot of poker events, I am "fortunate" enough to come across a bevy of good lookin' male types.  Seeing as how you're pretty limited in your interaction when you meet someone at a poker table, quite often you find yourself exchanging information with someone you don't really know, but perhaps envision that you would like to.  More often than not, this results in a resounding conclusion that you should never give your number out again.

A little bit of back story on tonight's subject of my tyrannical frustration. Apparently (from what I gathered from our texts), I gave him my number.  This is highly probable.  He's tall, with black curly hair, beautiful blue eyes. A very well built young specimen of card playing failure. We had approx. 4 minutes of interaction following three days of casual glances. He asked, I obliged, but to be fair.. my phone number is on my very public Facebook. He didn't text/call/whatever.. I forgot about it twelve minutes after it happened. Now, approximately 3 weeks after the fact at 2 am, I get this gem of a conversation. To clarify my statement as to "Which Wes are you?" or something to that effect, I had just last night shared a room with a buddy named Wes, who is a traveling card player and routinely will text me from different area codes. This Wes and I have the sort of innocent relationship that usually involves mutual cohabitation to combat the boring hotel stays, and it generally involves room service and late night Law and Order Marathons. Nothing more salacious.

I include here for your comical delight, how NOT to pick up a woman. For those not iPhone Savvy.. the green bubbles are MY responses to him, the white bubbles are his incredibly appealing attempts to get the girl. Read with caution.  Mom, if by chance you're reading, you might want to skip this blog. This is not a "family friendly" post.

Names of identifying card rooms/events blacked out to protect the naive.

Big, Long, Huge, Break? I feel like I should be paying him $2.99 a minute for this text at this point.

I left out the part where he identified himself as a fairly prolific local player and what room/game we met in. In case tomorrow, he confesses to a significant drug overdose that lead to this chat.

It took a solid ten minutes for him to respond to this message. I assume he was googling the definition of "piquing".

Epic. Failure. My heart hurts for this boys ignorance.

Oh, do I ever. Words cannot convey.

By now, it's 3 am and I simply have nothing better to do.

You have to admire his perseverance.

Mad game AND ridiculous math skills? I'm SOLD.

Okay, maybe not 18%. I'm working with a learning curve here.

I am something serious? Sir, YOU are something serious.  Seriously.
With offers like these, how is a girl supposed to get anything accomplished?
I was actually considering his offer to slap him around a bit, at this point.

The conversation is still going on.  Albeit, I haven't responded in over an hour.  He's just chatting away, and I've silenced my phone for the evening.  Let this be a lesson to you all.  Pass your phone number out with fear and trepidation.  Furthermore, if you know anyone looking to borrow a 26 year old stud for the evening, I have one I'll send your way.  Gladly.


  1. How do people like this even make it through one week on this planet before either getting killed or simply self-destructing? Amazing. You know what you are, Jen? You are ME if I was a woman...same responses, same witty reparte...its unfair! I want to be able to come back with things like that to verbally slap a simpleton into submission. Nice hand. GG.

  2. I don't know how I just now saw this comment. I suppose I should actually check these things, in case someone posts a comment informing me they're in the act of getting mugged and need help. Or something.

    I get told a lot that I'm a female version of you. Especially when I flip shit on a simpleton. I'm not always sure it's intended as a compliment, but I take it as one.

    You know what amazes me.. is that this guy manages to get up every single day, dress himself, feed himself and somehow procure enough money to sustain his existence. By this logic, I should be on fucking easy street. I absolutely don't get it. I mean, there are days when I find existence to be painfully challenging. There is no way he's made it 26 years. And he isn't an anomally, either!

    Maybe we're doing it wrong.