I've had some super eventful last couple of weeks, dead laptop, shattered phone screen ,admissions events, canceled travel plans, canceled admissions events, midterms, some anxiety, stupid friends, stupider professors, where did my paycheck go? Was I supposed to feed the fish?

All this, including the dead fish is one thing- and this one client of mine is another. For the sake of this post, I would like to call her: ClientWTF.

ClientWTF was introduced to the fund the day I started my job. The introduction went something like this:

My little precious startup idea is hungry and I want to feed it in the hopes that in a gazillion months it will pay for itself and for my therapy sessions and all the anxiety medicine I am now dependent on, so naturally, I think: Hey, VCs are going to eat this up, baby. Oh yeah show me the money.

I put my best shoes on, armed with my solid business plan I knock on the door, an analyst asks me a few questions, an associate giggles, and a partner hands me my butt and shows me the door. Well that was fast, what happened? They didn’t even get to the business plan part! How outrageous and WTF!

The giggling probably started when big bird was brought to the table. The Money. How much money do you need? A 100k? 200? A million?

It would be of the utmost foolishness to deny the apparent and completely unjustifiable surge of women, or as they have been commonly known to society, “bare-foot-kitchen-workers” in the world of finance. It seems as though they have migrated from the kitchen to the shiny offices and they are here to stay; no matter how many times the “superior sex” screams at them to go back to the kitchen, they just will not listen.

For the majority of men, god’s gifts to humanity, dealing with women in the work place can be one of two things; it is either as easy as ABC or as intricate and complicated as figuring out the spiral, which is of course dependent on subject woman’s state of being and many variables including but not limited to: Menstrual cycle, latest issue of Cosmo, and insecurity flares induced by jealousy, boys, and body image issues.

Although fear of being charged with slander in the future played an important role in why I changed my blog's topic for today, I mainly decided against it because something has been occupying my spare brain cells (the very few working ones) for a few days and it’s about time I seek camaraderie among WSOers.

Look, I am not the deep type. I find most deep conversations lame and insincere, I don’t ever want to talk about feelings or the effect of said feelings on life, paths, personalities, or behavior. Well, unless I do care and want to listen. Which is rare.

My appetite for knowledge changes with the seasons, and as fall rolls into a full-blown depression mixed with an unstoppable force of hormonal surges, I have sunk my inexplicable desire for information into my new subject of obsession: Vee Cee

As a result of my previous post, I have received quiet a few PMs, some included crotch shots, and others were legitimate questions about “how to break into VC” and “Qualifications needed to be a VCist” I wanted to respond individually, but I really didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have an educated and accurate answer, so naturally, I turn to my boss for answers.

In a car heading over to Westchester…(classy, I know)
D:

A quizzical look takes over my boss’s face, keeps eye on the road, turns music up
Rack city b***h, rack, rack city b***h

A few moments of head bobbing and gangsterism pass by before he says:

I went through a few rounds of interviews at the fund that I now call my employer, I was asked insane questions, easy questions, technical questions, and borderline bizarre questions, but I was not asked the most obvious question I expected to answer. What is Venture Capital?

I thank all the deities in the world and nearby galaxies that I wasn’t asked this during the interview process! Had I given the answer I was prepared to give, the one I meticulously crafted after several, long minutes spent browsing the interwebz. I will have been unemployed now.

The first couple of weeks on the job were truly a humbling experience. I got laughed at, called a “Sell Side Scroog”, and umpteen business plans (most of which were rejected ventures) were thrown on my desk while a senior analyst blurted the word “learn” in a tone that suggests sorrow and sadomasochism.

This is the second and final part of my interview with David Daneshgar (See Part 1 here). This time the focus is not on his awesome up and coming business (www.bloomnation.com) but rather on his interesting background as a professional winner.

David won event #52 at the 2008 WSOP ($625,443 prize) , has his own poker website (www.dcdpoker.com), and is willing to teach you how to win for a whole lot of money.

How did you feel the moment you won the tournament at the 2008 WSOP?
It was exhilarating; a surreal moment. There are a few videos of me out there that show how emotional I was.

At 4:00 AM on a breezy Tel-Aviv Wednesday morning, I spent one hour on Skype with David Daneshgar that made me forget the exhausting trip I had just taken and the deep cavity search I’ve went through at the borders.

We’ve talked about his interesting background; great win of the World Series of Poker in 2008 and his thoughts on the game, his newest business venture, Bloomnation, Venture Capitals, business school, and amazing shouting matches with his two awesome partners.

Our conversation was flowing, David is very easy going, very passionate, and this is what he had to say:

David, tell me a little bit about your background
I finished undergrad at UC, Berkley and got interested in poker. I started playing a lot and got quiet good. Given that Berkley is very liberal, students were allowed to teach classes if they demonstrated strength in a particular subject, so I started teaching probability and statistics of gaming.

When I involuntarily found myself on the verge of adulthood some years ago, I packed up shop and off I flew. I landed in Egypt (don’t ask) and I fell madly in love with it that I vowed never to return to cold, passionless USA ever again. From that point on, I’ve had a relentless and vicious on-again-off-again relationship with that country that made me question my sanity and entertain the idea that I might suffer a psychological imbalance.

A few days ago I landed at Cairo International Airport after a few re-routed flights that were the aftermath of Egypt Air’s one day protest, lost my bags, got caught up in the American Embassy’s protest traffic and learned that my best friend was arrested for riot and violence acts against members of the armed forces. I could tell this trip was going so smooth, it was slippery.

I don’t know about you, but I get along very well with the man who signs my checks every month. We have a blast when we go out, we both like our steak rare, we pull faces when people aren’t looking and he is dead set on finding me a boyfriend. “A lawyer is your best option” He says, “the only type of person who would survive an argument with you”

When this man is not inviting me to rooftop parties to meet our investors or clients or adorable baby slow lories, he spends his time micromanaging the living nerves out of me, and generally being unbearable and inefficient. That of course is on top of losing 100 points of IQ as the day progresses.