"Suffering" to Three Percent.

What really sucks right about now is the realization that I must go in on this alone. Nobody really believes the dream except a friendly, perhaps pitying, "Good luck!" and hell, whom am I to say that I'm even sure of this myself either.

There was some statistic rattled off somewhere either on the Internet or at the poker table I do not remember about how only three percent of this occupation can making a profitable living with poker. I do not know if it's one, or maybe even 10, but you, dear reader get the idea. It's going to be tough, and it's a reach to say the least.

Let me just time-stamp this Kinko copy and say that I know absolutely nothing about how my poker dream will transpire. But there will be suffering, and the suffering will tear me from my insulating, comfort life. I want to shed all that is unnecessary for this journey. If it will not help, then it is a burden. However, as Rob Bell said in his Drop Like Stars, "What every artist must learn is that even the failed pieces are essential."

I want to TRY for once in a big way. Just go out and reach for a dream without compromise. If I fail, this would be one of my life's masterpieces.

Prometheus, You Screwed Me.

As you may or may not know, I believe the worst part about break-ups in any relationship isn't the actual break-up itself. The relationship actually takes on a life of its own after everything's over, depending on what kind of person you are. Paranoia, mescaline use, self-loathing, or Deathcab for a Cutie may occur, in no particular order. But this is also where your mind becomes fearfully acute and Skynet self-aware, ever sharpened by the sudden evacuation of that love source and the body's attempts to reconcile such coils.

Thus I've become my own creative director that seeds my own self-destruction or recovery. I have all these saved drafts of posts I want to share, but they're incomplete thoughts. I have tinder all around me, and the spark, but not the heart to test such fires.

However, as fate would have it two events happened. Certain muses have sparked this particular post (Grace Inspired! What a fitting title in this context) along with an encouraging e-mail came into my mailbox to compliment my very first entry in the blogsphere. I will defer no time, for delays have dangerous ends. I'm actually surprised that I haven't blogged about this story since it ties in so closely to poker and its shady dealings. Hopefully this monologue will transpire other thoughts along the way as I'm writing up the next entry. It better be good.

I've been wasting my life through Hung (excellent new series by HBO...again), Entourage, trying to tap into a $100+ fantasy football league (I know, it's a problem), and two point five seasons of Burn Notice. It's not everyday that a 39-year old woman makes an extremely good case of the hots; thank you, Gabrielle Anwar.

Lillian posted about people of excellence. It's not a foreign concept to me, but it made me realize the man I must become. God must be a priority back in my life. I used to preach that singledom was simply a time for self-improvement, so now I will sip my own Kool-Aid. I've picked up the 5K challenge. I'm buying vegetables and fruits on a semi-consistent basis (anyone who knows me would find this stunning).

I didn't see this paning out to the way it did, but I'll make the best of it. It's a life catalyst I can ill-afford to waste.


I promise.

The Opportunity Cost.

So what happens after Last Vegas?

Words can't even describe what I've learned from this trip.

First of all, I learned that Bill Gates is notorious for being the richest man and the poorest tipper (a dwarf named Bill told me that he plays a $3-$6 card game, and doesn't tip dealers or waitresses for the drinks). A cabbie who loved how I bought AAPL (Apple) and another who had a $1 million dollar home.

I ended up seeing over five different casinos from the Venetian to the Hard Rock, even the Hooters casino (yuck). From my orbits of gracing different poker halls, I'll skip the bad beats, the variances, my growing love for craps, and a hooker who said it "got busy for some reason for some big poker tournament a few months ago..." (it was the World Series of Poker for those who don't know)

One of the most insightful conversations I had with bonds trader-now poker pro named Steve Frederick. His resume was quite impressive, he was lean, and moved in a sleek, Nike track suit set at 10 in the morning. Steve constantly chirped about crack and strippers. He was notorious for missing his big blind when he got up for breaks. By the time I left him, Steve would end up playing two eight-hour sessions.

I have never in my life seen anyone play more brilliantly than this man. He'd call and show you bottom pair before you could flip over your cards, chirping that Ace high was no good. He was a man in his own element at the felt table.

But the more I saw the city, and his wry stories about his divorce ("Oh she hated other things as well besides poker," Steve added), and the strange desperation that crept quietly beneath the glitz, the more I realized the opportunity cost I'd have to pay to play poker as a career.

This trip definitely changed my perspective about playing poker full time, which is something I would never want to do. I'd still want to do something, anything. Volunteering, helping someone start a business, what have you. But I also realized that if you have a steady hand and a good carrot, even a donkey like me can be steered in the right direction.

To cap off this entry, I'd give it up to Steve for summing up the trip from two texts he sent me later that night I met him:

"Left the table & got a massage & bj 4 $200."

20 minutes later at 1 am.

"Made 1k u playing tonight or tues?"