Where To Turn To In Your Darker Hours

There are times a woman needs some non-judgmental understanding. An outlet for confession, one that does more than instruct you to do Hail Mary's. One that can relate and perhaps offer a few beverage suggestions as well.

So Poker Chick would like to introduce her newest link...





Helping mothers everywhere b*tch with satisfaction since 2009.

Dear Therapist....

Yes, Poker Chick is really writing a screenplay. Stop snickering. And it was going well. At first.

She had it all figured out: the original story idea, sequence of events, even had the professional software and formatting all figured out. And it was coming together, it really was. The characters, witty dialogue, three-act structure. An entire first draft, nearly finished. Well, 1/3 nearly finished anyway.

And then she had to hand it in.

Thus began a severe crisis of confidence as the days tick towards D-day, the day that her entire class will tear her apart. While she is not allowed to say a word. They will point and laugh all at once, it will be scary, as if she is in a fun house of horrors. Words like "amateur" and "hack" will be tossed about carelessly. She will be exposed.

So if anyone knows the right thing to say to prevent her from skipping the next class, please go ahead and speak. And while you're so inclined, if you could suggest funny ways to die, that'd be great too. Because despite hours of research and time spent watching fun shows like "Dr. G, medical examiner" and "Trauma in the E.R.," Poker Chick has not yet found it.

Food, there it is!!

Once upon a time, a good friend, along with Poker chick and Poker husband, wrote up a plan for the ideal restaurant. Since this restaurant does not yet exist, we did the next best thing: evaluate every place we did eat at. The criteria for how well we liked a place depended on how well it performed on the following foods:

1. French onion soup
2. Crab cakes
3. Fresh guacamole made to order
4. Chicken and steak fajitas (not either or, just that specific combo)
5. Fresh warm crusty bread with butter that is spreadable, but not melty
6. Macaroni and cheese. Mmmm.....cheese.
7. Fries. Crisp on the outside, warm, and nice and salty.
8. No salad (you don't make friends with salad)
9. Sliders (this gives a place bonus points)
10. Key lime pie.
11. Donuts. They could be fancy donuts, but still - donuts.
12. Only the following liquor: Belvedere vodka, margaritas with at least 20 different tequila options, and Veuve Cliquot champagne. Good bubbly is important.

If anyone knows a restaurant in New York that has all these things (or a lot of them), let us know. In the meantime, today we wish this friend a happy birthday!!

Happy Mothers Day to all the mothers reading this. You deserve way more appreciation and respect than you get for what you do, but we hope at least for today you feel special.

What makes someone a writer?

Everyone has had to write at some point in their lives. Poems, school papers, stalker emails....
We've all been there. But most of us wouldn't identify with the term "writer". Very few people, when you ask them what they do say "I'm a writer".

When they do we are in awe. How cool, how sexy. Writers are inherently interesting and mysterious. We toil away in our cubicles and some lucky bastard gets a god-given gift they can make money out of. We are jealous. We are impressed.

We also have a stereotype in our head of a what a "real" writer is like. For example, a tall blonde with implants and the name "Bunny" - probably won't get taken seriously as a writer. It's not fair but we all do it.

For the first time in her life today, Poker Chick felt what it is like on the other side. Picture this:

FADE IN.

INT. STARBUCKS - DAY

A young woman, POKER CHICK, is waiting in a long line for her coffee. It is a rainy weekend in New York, the kind where people forego errands and stay in their apartments, deliciously reading their Sunday Times over the course of an afternoon.

In the local Starbucks, optimists buzz about in their jewelery and Sunday best, pretending the rain can never affect the tone of the day. POKER CHICK is not one of them. She has no ironed clothes, no fancy shoes. She has not even dried her hair. She has something important to do. She is dressed in the only clothes that could be respected as authentic, ripped jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and canvas sneakers.

She observes the man standing in front of her. He is big and very masculine in his appearance.

MACHO MAN
I'd like a grande green tea latte, please. Soy milk, no foam. And a splash guard with that.

BARISTA
Excuse me?

MACHO MAN repeats himself unapologetically.

BARISTA
Yes sir. That'll be $6.95. Would you like some oatmeal with that?

POKER CHICK grins to herself in smug delight as her coffee is ready. Her task ahead is not for the faint of heart and a latte won't cut it. She grabs it along with her New York bagel and heads out in the rain with nothing but a hood for protection.

Back inside, she sits in solitary, looking at a small notebook full of scribbles that are her genius at work. She guards this carefully, despite the fact that it is illegible, lest someone steal her obviously brilliant ideas. She makes a mental note to talk to her agent about trademarking the script. She makes another mental note to go find an agent. She opens her apple computer and takes a sip of coffee.

She is a writer.

FADE OUT.