P-p-p-poker Face

Last night I was playing poker with some of my boys, which let me tell you I haven’t done in YEARS. We went through a big poker phase in high school, which continued a bit into college, and then I just stopped. Possibly because I am the worst poker player in the history of the world.

Seriously, poker is complicated. I hardly ever remember what beats what (it seems to me like 2 pair should be better than 3 of a kind, because there are 4 cards involved, but they always tell me I’m wrong on that). I have this issue where the 6 and 9 cards look the same and confuse me. Not to mention I continuously forget the denominations for the chips.

Even worse, as they tell me in Jennifer Crusie’s wonderful book Faking It, poker is actually about knowing the other players. You need to know who’s bluffing and who’s actually got something good. The idea is you learn everyone’s “tell” and use that to better play the game. If you’re not a reader, you can see excellent examples of “tells” in movies like Maverick and Casino Royale.

This is a good (and sexy) poker face.

I find this just about impossible. I’m not particularly good at reading people. I’ve discussed before how I’m constantly missing the conversational subtext. You can imagine how well I do reading the subtleties of the poker table.

The amazing thing is that I do sometimes win at poker. Last night I was one of the last 3 playing. Probably would have finished 3^rd, but we just quit the game. How do I explain this? Well, because of my horrendous poker face.

To be clear, ideally you should have a GOOD poker face. Also to be clear, I’m talking strictly about your face at the moment (none of the Lady Gaga muffin-bluffin whatnot is under discussion). A good poker face is like a mask. No one knows what you’re thinking; no one knows when you’re bluffing.

A BAD poker face gives everything away. Every emotion - from when you pick up your cards, to the moment of the flop, to when you’re betting - makes it entirely clear what you’re doing.

I have a BAD poker face. But my saving grace in poker is that half the time I don’t know what I’m doing. I think I’m bluffing, and my face tells everyone thus, but meanwhile I didn’t realize I have a straight in my hand. This has happened multiple times (although not always specifically with a straight).

My hysterical laughing prolly didn't help matters.

Honest and true time, this is something I should probably work on. Not specifically for poker (I don’t play that often, and worst case scenario I could cover up like one of my friends last night... see example to the left) but more so for life. I sometimes worry that I have overly expressive eyes and face. We used to play a game in college where we would cover the bottom half of our face and guess emotions just based on the eyes. When they were looking at my face, my friends had a 100% success rate. My sign (Taurus, for those that don’t pay attention) is known for our “bedroom eyes.” Well that’s fine and dandy except that I have no control over it whatsoever. So at any given point I do not know what my face is telling you.

This is especially dangerous because my thoughts are all over the place. What shows up on my face may have absolutely nothing to do with the conversation. I swear almost once a month I get in a situation where someone’s like “what’s THAT look about!?!?” and I don’t even know what they mean.

Now if you haven’t realized this already I’m about to reveal something super useful for dealing with me. What this all comes down to is I can’t lie worth crap when it matters.

I have to clarify, “when it matters,” because for really stupid stuff I can lie awesomely. I can look you straight in the eye and convince you I grew up in Russia on a beet farm. That’s not even an exaggeration; I totally had a guy from work believing that for like 5 minutes. Then I realized he was taking me seriously and I had to clear it up. I only have this ability when I find what I’m saying so absolutely ridiculous I don’t think anyone will believe me.

So when I seriously need to lie, such as for surprise parties, or when I’m talking about people I’m interested in, it doesn’t actually work. I’d be a horrible spy. I blame this entirely on my stupid face. Because even when I try to control it, the best I can do is a lack of emotion, which apparently looks so completely different from normal that no one believes it anyway.

The right puppy eyes could take over the world!

Maybe this should be a goal for next year, learning to control my expressiveness. There’s a scene in Memoirs for a Geisha where Chiyo learns how to use her eyes to make a delivery boy drop his packages. Granted, she had awesome eyes, but the idea appeals to me nonetheless. If I could learn to use my expressiveness who knows what I could do?

Dead Oxen & Potential Interventions

Almost a year ago now I talked about my diet pepsi addiction using The Oregon Trail to illustrate my issues. For today’s purposes let’s continue this metaphor.

I have an announcement. I tried to ford the river and my oxen all died.

What does that mean in pepsiholicism?

Rivers are those moments of temptation. You either cross successfully (and don’t give in and drink pepsi), or you flail around a lot and drown (but not literally, it’s not like you’re choking to death on pepsi, just you are in fact drinking it again). Sometimes a passenger in the wagon dies (you take a sip) but you still make it across (you don’t get back in the pepsi habit). When all the oxen die, that generally means the wagon is going down too. So are all the passengers (people traveling to Oregon don’t know how to swim, btw). You lost the game, and you need to start back over in Independence.

So basically what I’m saying here, as my friend Kevin puts it, is that I need to turn in my chip.

Not that I had a chip, which is a shame all in itself. Should I successfully get off pepsi again I want chips, or badges, or something. Somebody get on that.  

I’m not overly upset at myself. Every so often you come up to a river that you can’t ford. Sometimes you really should have just sucked it up and taken the ferry. Not that I have any idea what the ferry would be in this metaphor. I’m just saying.

For those that don’t know already, my cat died last month. That was my river. I came home and found a dead cat, and I’ll be the first to say I did not react in the best manner. In the course of events I ended up over at my friend’s house, where there just happened to be a 2 liter of pepsi in the fridge. I had a few glasses there to calm down (I entered the river), I took the 2 liter home with me (the oxen floundered), and once it was gone since I still wasn’t particularly happy about the situation I went ahead and bought myself more (oxen died, supplies were lost, passengers drowned).

I had plenty of opportunities to not fall off the pepsi wagon. I could have had a few glasses but left the bottle there. I could have finished the bottle but not bought more. I could have bought more for that week but then stopped once it was gone. Or, I COULD HAVE MADE IT SO THE 2 LITER WAS NEVER AT MY FRIEND’S HOUSE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

If anything about my relapse annoys me, it’s that. The presence of the 2 liter was entirely my fault in the first place. What happened is that the weekend right before everything went down a few friends gathered at Pietro’s to socialize and play games. We ran out for supplies. We had rum since we needed it for mojitos, we had beer because you always need beer, and we ended up getting some pop for one of the girls that didn’t particularly like mojitos or beer. We figured she could have rum & coke. As she grabbed the bottle of coke, I protested, because after all pepsi is so much better.

Did I drink any of it that night? No! I had no intention of drinking it. But such is my insanity that even though I wasn’t going to be drinking the beverage, I wanted it to be my beloved pepsi instead of coke.

And THAT’s why there was a 2 liter of pepsi in Pietro’s fridge. I believe this was the only time THIS ENTIRE YEAR there has been pepsi in that fridge, and it just so happened to be the same week I hit a river.

Le sigh.

Meanwhile I have not gone completely crazy about the pepsi thing (although that may depend on who you ask about it). I bought mini bottles of pepsi so I’m not drinking that much. I’m drinking regular pepsi instead of diet, because I can’t drink as much regular pepsi at one time without feeling sick. Every few days I try to have a day with no pepsi whatsoever (although I will admit I’m not in the best mood those days). I’m well aware I need to quit again, I’m just waiting until after our big work conference. Or maybe after my weird work transition thing ends in October. Or actually maybe it would best be a goal for the next year.

But do I really need to quit again? I mean who’s to say I do? Plenty of people all over the world drink pop. I know I’ve talked about being healthier this year and pepsi is not the healthiest thing in the world, but everything’s okay in moderation. One of my initial reasons for quitting was the effect on my teeth, but I’ve been brushing every time I finish drinking it. So why can’t I keep drinking it? Just because people think I’m “addicted.” Please.

I suspect I sound crazy again. My friend Jenn and I were discussing this yesterday and she told me I was crazy ranting. She also threatened an intervention. I said not yet. I can totally quit, just not yet.

Clearly a sign we should wait until next May

The good news is that Jenn is hundreds of miles away from me! Normally not good news, but in this case it means she can’t actually pepsintervention me (yes I made that all one word. Deal with it). Thank goodness. Because I think she was actually being serious about that idea, and I’m not ready to start back on the trail again.