While I understand why other people enjoy it, gambling is not something of which I have ever been particularly fond. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m cripplingly paranoid about money (my god it’s the sixth and I don’t already have my July rent sitting in the bank WHAT AM I GOING TO DO OH NO) or maybe I’m just a failure as a human being: either way. I understand that you’re supposed to look at it not as money lost but money spent on quality entertainment, that it’s about the social aspect of drinking with friends and going home broke. The appeal remains lost on me, despite such explanations. WHOOOOSH completely over my head.

So I don’t like gambling in that sense, okay. But that’s not to say I don’t enjoy betting. Oh, I enjoy betting. I assisted in the construction of a bet just last night, in fact. The stakes are nonmonetary, which is probably a key element (if not THE key element) in my rather viciously enthusiastic participation. My opponent and I are wagering something valuable but not in a SHIT THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO PAY MY PHONE BILL kind of way. I’m going to go ahead and leave the details of the bet itself nebulous - this sort of mystery is essential to my allure, you see - but I’ll be sure to let you all know when I’ve won. Because I am so going to win. He has no idea how spectacularly he’s going to lose this bet, which makes it all the more delicious.

In other news, I’m not going out tonight. Rainy Thursdays are very profitably spent, I feel, debating the merits of cherry versus lemon Diet Coke and contemplating exactly how inevitable it is that other people will lose certain bets. Although I appreciate the invitation and will want to hear all the details tomorrow, my plans for the evening clearly outshine other (rather obviously inferior) options involving clubs where the DJ is inexplicably renowned and all the chicks wear brown lipstick with hoop earrings big enough to strangle cats. Thanks, though.