Gambler’s Conceit
Gambler’s Conceit
Christopher C. Leader
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. The gambling techniques described within are not intended to be used by anyone. The author will not be held responsible for any actions taken based on any portion of this book. Any similarities to any person dead or alive are purely coincidental.
Copyright 2010 Christopher C. Leader
Discover other titles, as well as print and audio editions, by Christopher C. Leader at http://www.followthechris.com.
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"A gambler with a system must be, to a greater or lesser extent, insane." George Augustus Sala
Table of Contents
September 18, 2003
Wow.
That was, by far, the coolest thing I’ve ever done. In fact, I’m still not certain that I believe it really happened.
Patrick H. Levinson was here.
Well, not exactly here, but close enough. I had to take three buses and walk for almost a mile to get there, but he was close enough!
His speech was great, too. It was all about horse betting: how and where inefficient markets are created at the racetracks. He said that, if you watch it right, every time welfare, disability, and unemployment checks are cut there exists an inefficient marketplace at the racetrack. All you have to do is know how to recognize it, be able to do a few simple equations quickly, and place your bet. Then, BAM! you make money! Not every time, of course. It is still gambling, but you know you are going to make money overall. And you know it before it ever happens because of the math.
I can’t believe that he worked it all out! I mean, I can believe that he worked it all out, but I don’t know if anyone else ever could have. Levinson has written seven books on gambling, all of them mathematically based. How to beat the slots, Blackjack, poker, horses, you name it and he’s done it. The only thing he hasn’t touched is sports. He says that he doesn’t like how statistically improbable things can happen with sports. Perfect players can drop passes, or poor players can score the game-winning goal. He says that sports, and the players, aren’t quantifiable. He makes enough money everywhere else, though, that he doesn’t have to like sports, I guess.
Personally, I’ve read everything the man has ever written. I’ve even read his doctoral thesis, which was completely unrelated to anything he’s doing now. It was something about the quantification of dark matter. I guess that’s what you get with someone like him.
I found out he was coming weeks ago, and I emailed him about it just to say hi and to tell him that I was glad he was coming so close to give his speech. I also may or may not have mentioned my affinity for his books, or that I was cutting class to get there. A few days later he wrote back and offered to take me to dessert as a thank you for being such a dedicated fan. He said he’d take me wherever I wanted to go, and that we could talk about anything I wanted, just for being such a fan.
I (obviously) wrote back and told him that I would love to! I cut class, worked my way through three different buses, walked a mile, and showed up an hour and a half early to get the best seat they had available.
I remember almost every word. I can tell you how to take advantage of an inefficient market. I can tell you how to pick the winning horse. In short, I can tell you how to beat the pants off the entire betting system.
Then he signed books. It had taken me forever to decide which one to bring, but I finally decided on Jack of All Trades, his book on card games. It’s one of my favorites, even though it is one of his better known ones. I got up to the line, and he asked whom to make it out to, and I told him my name, William Brighton, and he looked up at me and asked where we were going for dessert.
He remembered me!
I think I grinned like an idiot and mumbled something, but I can’t be sure. I’d like to think I had more class than that, but I probably didn’t. Honestly, I really don’t remember anything between then and sitting down at Luigi’s, and I hate myself for it. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to remember something that happened during the car ride, hoping that I didn’t sound like a complete moron. We made it there though, and then we talked. I remember that part, because it wasn’t about me. It was about him, and I was asking my questions. How he got to be who he is, what he had done, how he studied... It was all so amazing.
Then the conversation turned to me again.
He wanted to know why I was so interested. He wanted to know if it was the allure of the math, or the money. I knew it was the money, but I couldn’t say that outright.
I told him it was both. I loved the simplicity of it. I want to beat the system, I want to get something for nothing. I want to be the high-roller.
Then he cautioned me. He told me that I had too much invested in it already. He said that I couldn’t gamble like that. He said I had to be cold and heartless, and leave when the math said to. I couldn’t let my heart or my pride get in the way. I had to follow only the math.
“Math is what separates us from the beasts.”
I laughed it off, but what he said hurt a bit. How could he think I didn’t know what I was doing? It’s not like it even matters. I can’t gamble yet. I’ve only just turned 18.
We finished our dessert, and we talked for a little while more about life in general. We talked philosophy, girls, politics, math and number theory. It was wonderful, just having someone there who understood what I was saying, and what I saw in life.
Then he took me back to the college where he had given his speech. That was nice of him. He was already having a late night, and I could tell he was tired. I didn’t bother to tell him that I didn’t have a car to drive home in, and that all the buses were gone for the night. Instead, I let him drop me off, and I grabbed a pay phone to call Mother. She wasn’t happy, but she came out to pick me up. I told her everything on the drive home. I think she was excited for me, but it was hard to tell through her griping about how late it was. And now, almost 8 hours after I left for the talk, I’m back at home, writing this before heading to bed.
And now I’m off to brush teeth.
October 1, 2003
Levinson’s talk got me thinking. Not that I hadn’t been thinking about it before, but really thinking now. This is all something I can do. I want to use math the way that he can. So I’ve spent some time looking around.
I just found out that some guys from school (Mark, Cody, Rusty and Tom) have a poker game every week at Cody’s house while his parents are down at the lake. I ran into them in the hallway today, hustling some kid. They were talking about money he owed them. Apparently he skipped out and hadn’t paid. Just a bunch of high school kids screwing around, you know? I kinda watched them rough him up a bit, and then they started to walk on. I finished pulling all of the stuff from my locker and chased after them, where I found them all climbing into a pickup truck the size of a small bus. They let the engine idle as they stopped to talk for a minute.
I tried to sort of strut my way up, and told them who I was and what I’m about. Told them I’d seen them hustling, and that they wouldn’t have a problem with me, ‘cause I was always good for it. They seemed excited to have a new face around. The way they laughed and looked at each other told me they thought I was a joke. That’s fine with me, though. I knew that I could back up what I talked. They didn’t, though, and I imagine that’s why they said I could come. They gave me the address and told me to be there on the fourth. There’s no way I can write down how excited I am.
Bed.
October 4, 2003
I’m hella nervous, there’s no other way to put it. I’m about to head over to Cody’s house for the poker game. I’m going to my first real poker game. I’ve got a roll of singles the size of a rat stuck in my pocket, and I must look like I’m headed to knock over a convenience store. I’m wearing the black jacket that Mom hates so much, and a baseball cap pulled way down. I don’t think I necessarily want to be seen walking into the house, especially not in the neighborhood that he lives in.
All the women in that neighborhood must belong to some sort of Grapeviner’s Anonymous. You can do something, and your mother will know before you ever get home. I know, I’ve tested it. I was at the mall, doing donuts in the van when Mrs. Slocum drove by. I was grounded before I ever got home.
Tonight, though, I’m counting on that not happening. In, win, and out. That’s the slogan.
Wish me luck.
October 5, 2003
Exhilarating. That’s the only word that can possibly describe what just happened.
I got to the house without a problem. The bus stopped a few blocks away, so I hiked over and then snuck around back to the pool house, where the game was supposed to be.
I nearly choked when I got inside - the smoke was so thick I could hardly see. I had totally forgotten that they would be smoking. It’s not like it bothered me a ton, though. By the time the night was over, I was even smoking one of Cody’s dad’s Cubans. Not bad, in my opinion.
We got down to business, though. Well, almost down to business. The game was pathetic. I think a couple of the guys were blazed, and that could have had something to do with it. It just wasn’t what I expected. There was a cheap fold-out card table resting on top of a foldable plastic table. There were beer stains everywhere, and the pot was littered with bits of potato chips and pocket lint. There was no way this was going to be the hardcore, underground semi-pro game I’d been dreaming about.
That fear was confirmed when I sat down to the table, we reshuffled the hand, and I convinced them to play fold-up. Every time they folded, their cards went into a pile in the middle, where everyone could see them.
This was important to me. It meant that in a round of all 5 of us, playing 5 card stud, that if it was down to me and one other player, I had knowledge of a minimum of 20 cards that had been dealt: the three players who folded immediately, and mine. If the players re-drew before folding, I could know up to 45 of the 52 cards in the pile, assuming I held my hand from deal. If I re-drew 5, I could know exactly which two cards were left in the pile, even though it wouldn’t matter to anyone anymore.
How would I know? Excellent question. They were playing with a single deck, and I have a good memory. I pair cards as they lay them down, until I know that all four Aces have been dealt, all 4 Kings, and so on. The two missing cards are the ones sitting in the pile.
How does that help? It doesn’t, because I can’t re-draw. But in the case where two fold, one redraws and folds, and Rusty and I each draw three, I know 31 of the cards that were dealt. A lot of possibilities can be ruled out. If I’m left with AA33J before I draw, and I’ve already seen the other two 3’s hit the table, I know to throw mine in hopes of something better.
Otherwise, if I’m holding AA33J after a redraw, and I’ve seen 2 A’s and at least most of the 5’s and 10’s hit the table, I know there’s a good chance I’ve got the hand. Sure, he might have a full house, but not likely that he’s holding three of a kind with 30 some odd cards spent. It’s all about the math.
I’d also know that there was 0% chance that I’d draw an A, so not to hope, while there was almost a 1/10 chance of drawing a Jack if I hadn’t seen one earlier. Those are odds I’ll take.
And I did. That’s exactly how the last hand played out. With 10’s, 5’s, and two A’s down, straights were out for Rusty. So were Straight Flushes and Royal Flushes. I’d seen one of each card, between my hand and the discard, so Four-of-a-Kinds were out, as were most of the Three-of-a-kinds. All he could really have was a Flush or a Full House. A full house was unlikely as I said earlier, but a flush was a possibility. I had the count at 16 blacks to 8 red. That meant there was a good possibility of him having a black flush. That’s when it got to my gut, I realized that he didn’t have anything, and I stuck with my hand. There were 24 unknown cards still, but I knew enough. Two pair with a Jack kicker was good for me. I re-raised, and we quit for the night. I had walked in with $50, and I was leaving with $200. Not that $200 meant anything to these guys. I could have walked away with $200 from everyone in that room, and they all would have still congratulated me on my amazing beginner’s luck.
The fact that I wasn’t drinking probably helped, especially since they were. I think that’ll be one of my rules: don’t mix work and pleasure.
I got home late, still smelling like expensive cigars and alcohol. I tried to sneak in through the front door, but Mom was asleep on the couch. I should have been home hours ago. That’ll teach them to get me a cell phone. That way they could have found out where I was.
Anyway, I’m home, it’s about 4am, and I have to be up for church tomorrow.
+$150 Tonight
October 5, 2003
Didn’t make it to church this morning. There was no way I was getting out of bed after that late night. And I’m grounded for the rest of the month to boot. I “got in too late.” The cell phone argument didn’t go over too well, either. They still claim there’s not enough money. Then I got in trouble when I pointed out that if Mom didn’t get her nails done every week there would be. Isn’t she supposed to provide for me first? Didn’t she sign something when I was born?
October 26, 2003
Wow. It’s been crazy! I barely snuck out of that grounding to make the game last night. And you better believe I made it to church today!
The guys got kind of sick of me winning, I think. It was either that, or my refusal to drink... I don’t know exactly which one it was, but Cody stopped me as I was leaving last night and told me that they’d been talking, and they didn’t want me to come back. How ridiculous is that? I guess, though, that this is where strategic losing comes into play. I could have milked it for a little longer if I’d lost some, or at least won less, but I didn’t. I won big two out of the three weeks. And, on that third night, I still won!
Now I’m out of a Friday night game. But that’s okay, because I picked up a Wednesday night one! Wednesday night is the way that poker should be played. We’re stuffed into a store room behind a grocery as tight as the sardines on its shelves. But these guys know how to play. My little cheats won’t work here. There’s no fold-up rule, no heads up dealing, nothing. We play straight and simple five-card. It makes it a lot harder on me, but I’m still winning. Enough guys rotate in and out that we play with more than one deck, which keeps things moving. Except that Burt, an old stocker, who just happens to have been designated all-time dealer, makes a mistake: he only shuffles every other hand. He thinks this is fine, because he takes the burned cards and puts them on the bottom of the deck, dealing from the pre-shuffled top half. And it would be fine, except that it lets me keep a count for the second hand.
I’ll admit, it took me a few hands to notice it. I didn’t know what I was going to do until then. I was focusing on everything I’d read about poker, instead of what I’d read about math. I was looking for tells, and trying to figure everyone out at once. Then I caught Burt’s hands doing it for me. They were all I needed.
From that point on, I’d just stayed out of the first hand, unless I had something really worth playing. Even then I had to think about it. That would be making a gamble. Playing on the second hand wasn’t a gamble, it was an investment. So I played second hands all night, and no one really minded. They figured I was just getting lucky, and they were glad to know what to expect out of me, so they could either count me out, or try to bluff me out. Either way, I still knew what was in the pile at the end of the day, so I was the one who was winning.
Even though it’s a better game, these guys still play for chump-change. The most I saw in the pot was about $175. I need a bigger game if I’m going to get myself a car. And eventually a phone, but I might actually have to hold a real job for that.
I made $300 tonight. Brings me up to a nice, round $1500 in total winnings. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s not too shabby. Especially since I now have more to invest when I am winning. So I can win more, faster.
Side Note:
I met this girl... More than a girl, almost an angel. She’s beautiful! She works at a restaurant just off campus.
I was sitting there, the chicken on my plate cooling off, just watching her. She seemed to be listening to a music that no one else could hear, dancing her slender hips across the restaurant, her scintillating eyes drifting from one person to another, smiling the whole time. I didn’t know what to do. Actually, I don’t know if I could have done anything. I’ll blame my inaction on her jeans. They gripped her tight enough that you followed the lines of her long legs without thinking about it, but just loose enough that I could still picture myself pulling them away from her hips... Which embarrassed me a bit, but I kept staring.
And then she smiled at me, and I looked away.
And then she sat down across from me, and my chicken became really fascinating really fast.
“You’ve got pretty eyes.” That’s what she said to me.
“You do too.”
She laughed, high and beautiful. It reminded me of one of those bells they hang on Christmas trees, maybe? Just a tinkling, lovely sound.
“How would you know? You haven’t looked at me yet!” She called me on it. She didn’t know, though, that I’d been studying her eyes as well as studying her hips. They WERE beautiful. Green, but flecked with brown. They looked a lot like my own, actually.
And we talked for a minute. She laughed, and I just tried not to sound like a dork. Definitely not Don Juan, but I made it through without any major bruises.
Actually, I must have done fairly well. She said good-bye, walked into the back, and a moment later someone brought me a takeout box with her name and phone number on it.
Christie. I like it.
And I like her. Well enough to call her, anyway.
+300 tonight, and a phone number!
+1,450 total
November 28, 2003
I’m super excited. I’ve picked up two more games, and I’m literally rolling in cash. Enough for my car anyway.
I’m playing on Monday, Wednesday and Friday now. Two poker games and a night of blackjack. I love Blackjack. It’s so much more intensely mathematical than poker. You almost have to cheat your way through poker, but Blackjack can be won by thinking.
I’m playing Jack in a little casino in an off-shoot of Chinatown. They don’t ID, so it’s no big deal. I’ve stayed away from the other games there so far. It’s Chinatown. They have to be rigged.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Besides, Blackjack keeps me happy.
And my other poker night! Pots up to $500 make me very happy.
Speaking of things that make me happy: Christie makes me happy, too. Turns out we go to the same school, and she’s a senior as well. I couldn’t figure out how I’d missed her, but then I found out that she’d just moved here this year. So we’ve been hanging out a lot on campus, and going to grab lunch when we can.
She has a car and doesn’t mind driving me for food, which is definitely a plus.
I still don’t have a car, but I will tomorrow! I’m up to $8000 in-hand now, and I’m ready to spend it! Dad and I found a little car for $7,500 in the paper this week, and it’s listed at a dealer in town. We called to tell him that we were going to come look at it tomorrow, and, thankfully, he hasn’t sold it yet. I’m super psyched. I haven’t taken Christie out for a REAL date yet, because I don’t have a car. I’ve got to be the only person left at school without one, and I’ve refused to take her out until I can drive us in my own car. I would have felt guilty asking her to drive.
So, car tomorrow! Dad’s taking me in the afternoon, when he gets off of his shift at the mill.
I feel bad for lying to my parents. They think I’m working on the nights I play. I had to tell them that I got a job to get out of church on Wednesday nights. Does that mean I’m going to Hell? Probably.
Either way, I have the money for the car now!
Why not make more, though? It’s Friday night, I’ve got a game coming up, and $8,000 in my pocket. I’m gonna roll big!
+7,950 total
November 29, 2003
God, I’m miserable. I lost absolutely everything.
The worst part is that I shouldn’t have lost anything. I changed my schedule up, and wandered over to Chinatown last night, instead of hitting up a real game. Everything was fine (I was getting ‘lucky’ at the card tables) until one of the pit bosses decided that I was getting too lucky.
Pit bosses are called that for a reason. Think about your worst boss ever, and cross him with a pit bull. That’s actually how they get these thick-necked brutes.
So one of them wanders over and begins standing behind me while I’m playing, breathing down my neck. I start losing for a minute, trying to regain what I was doing. I couldn’t remember the exact count, but I knew it was between ten and fifteen... The decision was whether or not I was ballsy enough to bet with a pit boss standing over me. I wasn’t necessarily ballsy enough, but I was stupid enough to try it. I laid down $500 on a split, and pulled out a 20 and a 21. Dealer loses both times, and I thought I had won big. Until the boss grabbed me by the collar and tore me out of the chair.
You want to talk about scared? If I’d been drinking, I think I would have pissed myself. Instead, my body just sort of shut down as he literally carried me across the floor by the collar of my shirt.
Three more pit bulls were waiting for me, all barking in Chinese to one another. I could tell it was going to get bad quickly, but there was nothing I could do about it.
Someone tried to hit me, I think. I saw his arm go back, but I guess someone stopped him. I don’t know, I was choking and closed my eyes.
Then I felt them let me go. I opened my eyes, only to realize that I was now being guided towards another table by all four of the guys. Roulette.
Now, statistically, I can win roulette. It isn’t hard. The problem comes when you’re being held over the table by a guy who would tear your head off before you ever won enough to make it worth your while. So I did the only thing I could. I threw down crap bets.
$300 on 13. Loss.
$100 on red. Loss
$500 on 2 and $500 on 22. Loss on both.
For the rest of the night, I lost. I stood there, losing money the whole time, as these guys stood behind me and laughed. I was terrified; I didn’t know when I’d be able to leave. Thankfully, I had only brought $2,000 of my own cash in. Add that to the $1,500 I’d won so far, and they cleaned me out.
So I didn’t quite lose everything, I guess. But I lost enough that it doesn’t matter anymore. I lost the night’s winnings, plus almost $2,000 of my cash. Know what that means? No car for me. I feel horrible. There’s no way I’ll be able to make up the money to take Christie out before Christmas.
The thing is, I should have won. I was winning. It’s not fair that they pulled me off.
I’m going to get myself a drink from dad’s stash. I’ll write more later.
November 29, 2003
I’m king of the world! Check your papers, I’m pretty sure I own you.
I talked to my parents this morning, after I woke up (with a killer headache, mind you). I told them that I hadn’t made quite as much as I thought I had, and that I didn’t have enough for the car. I told them that I didn’t even really want to go look at cars anymore, since I didn’t want to settle for something less than what I really wanted just so that I would have a car. They complained for a while, and finally convinced me to go look for one anyway.
We got down to the lots just after lunch (homemade fried chicken, can’t beat it). We started off at some of the other lots, just kind of checking out what they had. I saw some nice cars, and several that I wouldn’t have been able to afford even before I lost all that money to the Chinese mafia last night.
I tried not to feel bad, but it didn’t work.
Eventually, though, we wound our way around to MY lot, the one with the car that my parents knew I’ve been coveting. It was an older model, with a little bit of body-work. Looks fast, but not a ton under the hood, you know? That could be fixed, though. Right now it was just a beautiful, $8000, out-of-my-price-range, keep-dreaming-big, chick-magnet of a car. And then my dad started talking.
“$6,000? No way, we can’t do that,” said the greasy salesman. “This is a Celica, you’ve got to work with me!”
“$6,500,” said dad.
“You’re killing me!” said Crisco. “$7,000, plus TT&L. That’s the best I can do you... I’m sorry, I’ve got a family to feed!”
“$7,000 is fine.” Dad replied, finally. “We’ll be back in half an hour with cash. I expect the car to still be sitting here.”
The salesman grinned at the word ‘cash’ and wandered off as I tried to explain to my dad that I didn’t have $7,000. He said he knew, he understood, and that he wanted to help me with it. Mom just smiled. We walked out to the bank, and he asked how much I needed to cover it all. I might have lied a bit, I might have fudged something when I heard him say he wanted to help. No matter what happened, though, I told him $2,000 for everything, as I secretly separated a wad of cash from the rest. This way I’d still have some money to spend on Christie. Dad pulled $2,000 from their bank account, and told me to hand him all of my money. Then he did the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hey! You’re back. Glad to see it, I had to turn away another family that wanted the car!” My heart beat faster as the salesman finished his sentence, but my dad just smiled, mumbled something about being glad that he hadn’t sold it, and we walked into the un-air-conditioned office. It was inside a sad little trailer, one that looked like it had been there since the dawn of time, and the fans placed all around the desk were blowing papers everywhere. They sat down, across the desk from each other, and Grease Ball put his hand down on a stack of papers that were trying desperately to get away in the breeze. He pushed one towards my dad, who read it over, before giving it back.
“There’s a bit of a problem,” Dad said slowly, as he pulled the wad of cash from his wallet. “I know we agreed on $7000 plus, but I couldn’t get it.”
The salesman blanched as my father began counting out hundred dollar bills. I could almost see the greed behind his eyes as he watched my father pass thirty and keep going.
“How much did you get?” he asked.
“$6500, total,” said my father, “and I know that’s not what we agreed on. Which is why I’ll understand if you give this back.”
My father pushed two piles of hundred dollar bills, totaling six thousand five hundred dollars, across the table to the salesman. I’ve never actually heard anyone think a curse word, but I’m pretty sure I heard that salesman thinking a whole list of four-letter words. He couldn’t turn down all that cash, but it effectively brought the price of the car down two thousand dollars from where it had been.
He took it.
And my dad gave me the 500 extra dollars for my date! Well, and as a coming-of-age gift, I guess. I can’t imagine that he’d think I’d spend it all on my date.
So I’m now the proud new owner of a Celica, and I still have $1,500 to gamble on!
I spent almost all day driving. I’m home now, obviously, and about to fall into bed. I’ll be back later!
+$1,500
December 2, 2003
Another great night! Even though I did something I never should have done, it was a wonderful night.
I walked back into my casino in Chinatown, and sat down at the Blackjack table, just to show that I wasn’t scared of them.
(Which is a lie, by the way.)
I won $500 before I ever even considered standing up again. No big wins tonight, though. I didn’t want to draw any undue attention to myself. The pit bulls were already looking for a fight with me. I figured that as long as I kept my head and my wins low, I shouldn’t be giving them cause to fight. Although they did change the shoe on me this time. Not the dealer, but I got a new shoe with a fresh count. That set me back a few hundred, but I came back strong.
When I was up $500, I decided that I was going to show them what I was really made of. I laid it all down on Roulette.
Like I said earlier, Roulette is winnable. You just have to know how.
I don’t think I’m being too pretentious when I contradict Einstein (“No one can win at roulette unless he steals money from the table while the croupier isn’t looking”), because I simply have a good system. It’s not like I win every time, but I do win. The trick is just to get the odds in your favor, and not bet more than you can lose.
I put half my money on evens, and spread out the other half of the money on the odd reds. That way the only way I can lose is to hit an odd black.
Evens payout is 1:1. I put $500 on an even, it hits, and they hand me back a cool grand.
Payout on individuals is 35:1. I put down $62 on each even red, and if one hits, I win $2,170.
Downside is that I lose $1,000 every time I don’t hit. You can run out of money real quick-like that way. Nice part is, though, that that only happens 8/38 of the time. It isn’t perfect by any stretch, but I’ll take it.
So I laid down $500 on evens, and $62 on all of my odd reds. First round goes by and everyone thinks I’m crazy. It hit even black, and I lost $996 real quick. I shook it off, though, and with the pit bosses still laughing at me, I repeated my bet with the very last cash left in my pocket.
Odd Red.
It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. In one perfect moment, my bet made sense to everyone in the room. I grabbed my cash before the pit bosses made their way around the table. I hit the cold winter streets a moment later, counting up my winnings while running for my life.
In with $1,500. +$500 from blackjack. - $996 roulette loss. +$2,170 Roulette win. -$996 cost of the round.
+678 for the night
+2,178 cash total
December 3, 2003
I did it. I finally asked her out.
We were sitting at lunch, under that big tree in the courtyard with a few other people. I was talking big about my brand new Celica, about all the things I was going to do with it and all the places I was going to race it. Christie nuzzled her head into my shoulder, smiling as she brushed the long brown strands from her eyes. It startled me a bit. She’s been doing that a lot lately, pushing into my shoulder and just generally being more cuddly. Not that I’m complaining - it’s nice - but it does startle me when she does it.
And then I just did it. I sort of looked down at her, and told her that I was taking her to dinner on Friday. And she smiled back, and nuzzled deeper into the crook of my neck while I prayed that she couldn’t hear my heart racing.
There’s no sense in acting calm, I guess. I’m really excited. It’ll be the first real date I’ve ever had, and the first date of any kind since Sarah and I split up last year. I hope it’s good for me.
Needless to say, I won’t be going to play my usual game on Friday. We’re headed over to Chateau, and then going to try to catch a screening of the new Tim Burton movie, ‘Big Fish’. I think I’m almost as excited about the movie as I am about the date in general. It’d better be wonderful.
Skipping Friday means I’ll take a hit, but it won’t be too bad. And, hey, it’s for a good cause.
December 5, 2003
Wow. I didn’t think I’d be this nervous. I can barely write, my hands are shaking so badly. And then there’s the matter of actually heading out of here on the date. That’s ridiculous. I feel like I haven’t done this in forever.
And I’m uncomfortable in a suit.
Especially since the only place I’ve ever worn this one was a funeral. I have to change.
Kept the suit jacket, but put it with jeans and a dress shirt. I hope I look okay. Chateau is kind of dressy. I wonder what she’s wearing. It may be nothing right now. Hey-oh!
I’m terrified.
Do I kiss on a first date? Do I walk her to the door and wait, or should I just let her out and not put any pressure on it. How do I talk to her dad? Will her dad even be there? Am I dressed up enough, or am I too dressy? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.