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Wednesday, 2 May 2012

The Games We Play




Some people play Scrabble and get a triple word score. Some play coy and get a second date. So why doesn’t playing the field always equal a multiple orgasm?

I’d just finished dinner with 3 of my favourites: Thereasa, Jonathan and Joe. We’d spent the night having above average conversation (a rarity) over pizza, minestrone and seafood gnocchi. There we were, friends from yonkers sharing stories and laughing like characters in a sitcom. Thereasa had broken up with her boyfriend of 3 and a bit years and I so relished in having our two go-to-guys perspectives on the situation. For years Thereasa and I had drawn parallels in our less than perfect relationships and we were getting a free autopsy from two fantastic love pathologists. I was ready to get on the table for examining for a play by play of a game I’d entered recklessly and lost.

Jonathan: “You know its really all win:win if you think about it.”

Carly: “It is?”

Jonathan: “Yeah. You could have stayed. He could have made it work and you’d be happy. Or you could have left. And be able to look at your world with limitless possibilities. Win:win”

Joe: “You’ve gotta always be looking out for number one. And that’s you, no one else. Thereasa, you need to end all contact."

Jonathan: “Give me your phone right now.”

Thereasa: “No! I’m not ready to surrender.”

It’s 23:00 and I can’t bare the thought of going home. As I clunk through the byways of Monte Casino, someone gives me a lingering glance and I ‘m completely caught off my guard. This sister has lost her game. Big time. I think it’s time to get it back or get back in it.

Mimi: “Hello?”

Carly: “Call me crazy, but I refuse to have another weekend go by without mischief.”

Mimi: “Umm?”

Carly: “I’m in your hood. I have some classy shoes on and you know what? They wanna dance. Are you in?”

Mimi: “Why not!”

I can’t deal with another romantic evening with my PVR. I’m ready to cross all borders, even the William Nicol one.

How do I describe Billy the Bums? I’d refrained from this establishment when middle aged men stopped pinching bums and went straight for a light labia grope in their approach to attracting a mate. And that’s before 11 pm and the routine bar brawl. But tonight I was willing to throw the dice, get out of my comfort zone and play my cards.
Within 3 minutes and 38 seconds of arrival I’d already unwillingly gone to second base.

Carly: “You see that guy?”

Mimi: “Yes.”

Carly: “He’s the cutest guy in here. We’re ordering there.”

Suddenly I find myself in a tournament I know all to well. The get-to-know-you back and fourth precluding the inevitable make out match. Maybe I haven’t lost all my game. Maybe this is like riding a bike that’s been sitting collecting dust in the garage of a commited relationship for 6 years. You get on and you just go.



Hand on back. Cheek to cheek conversation. 3 second eye contact. A smile that suggests surrender. And then a plunge into the delicious paradigm of lip on lip. I’m back. Six love.

My Goodfella’s driver calls and I know I’m headed for the bench. But before I take my ass off the field I decide to change the rules and do something a little taboo.

Carly: “Can I be a little controversial?”

TBC: “Sure.”

Carly: “I’m not looking for a Labrador or a white picket fence. What I’m looking for is a bit of reckless behaviour. Right now, I don’t want a ring on this finger, I just want someone to make out with on a regular basis.”

TBC: “I’m so glad you said that because I just came out of a 3 year long-distance relationship and...”

Carly: “I know. And that’s about all I need to know. Ever.”

He took my digits. I took a deep breath and walked away a winner. For the first time in my life I’d taken the initiative to eliminate the “if, when, why and how” factor. I’d effectively cut the emotional strings that attach us to a game we never know the rules and regulations to. I’d laid it all out on the table in the interest of getting laid.

When a week had gone by and I hadn’t heard from The Booty Call I got to thinking about the games we play. Could it be that he’s just not that into me? Did my opponent have too much at stake, don’t tell me he’s so cliché that he’s scared? Or maybe, he likes to guess his team mates next move. By showing my cards had I eliminated the challenge in the chase? Had I put myself in a checkmate with a potential bed mate? I guess even in the non-game, game.... you’re bound to encounter some penalties. The Booty Call is To Be Continued... And all bets are off.   

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