epsiode 26

Girls' Poker Night

Due to the move, it had been ages since we'd had our poker night. The premise is simple, we play Texas Hold 'em, (because it's the only kind of poker we can play), we mix cocktails, we dress nicely (casino cocktail), and then we play, gossip, rant and drink. We also have a token guy who joins us; we made him an honorary girl because he mixes the best Cosmo ever and never wins at poker. Almost the perfect man.
So, we decided to make Martini's, all very James Bond, got a few nibbles (mainly martini soaked olives), and the poker table (actually a normal table with a green cloth) was set up. We drew to see who would be the dealer and we started to play. Almost straight away it all came flooding back. As we drank, smoked, and tried to act as if we were actually good at bluffing, soon the conversation strayed from whether we would raise or see to who we were trying to raise or see.
'I've decided not to do any more of these dating things,' I declared. I'd been thinking about this for some time. What I actually meant was that I was no longer going to spend money trying to meet someone. My friends all pointed out that my column might suffer as a consequence, I was unmoved. I will from now on only meet people normally; out, or through friends. I'm not ruling out Myspace or Facebook, but I'm not ruling them in yet either. My friends were adamant that from now on my dating column would be a non-dating one (the smart money says that all I'd write about is flower arranging or basket weaving but luckily I know less about them than I do dating). But even our guy seemed to think I was doomed to sit all dusty on a shelf for the rest of my life.
I defiantly sipped (glugged) my martini and declared that I didn't care. I might still try to pursue Dec (although no idea how), but apart from that, no more. Luckily, even if my love life is as empty as the black hole, I still had my single friends to rely on. And they were obliging, especially after a few hands of poker and a few more cocktails.
'I met this guy,' one friend started. 'Anyway, he kept emailing me, he asked me out and I wasn't that keen at first but then I thought I'd give it a chance.' Everyone looked at her sympathetically. Unfortunately we could have finished the story for her. They went on a date, it was fine, no fireworks, but a goodnight kiss, and they did say they'd have another date. He again did all the running. After the second date (a bit of a kiss and a fondle), she decided she might quite like him. But then she didn't hear from him, so she sent him a text. Nothing. So she then drunkenly emailed him, got no reply. As a result she felt humiliated and a bit like a stalker, as well as being utterly baffled. N.B. if anyone out there can shed light on this phenomenon there is a prize.
'The thing is,' I started, 'that if you wait for them to contact you, you might wait forever. At least if you contact them and they don't respond you know where you stand. It's sometimes better than letting them keep you waiting expectantly.' When I play poker I feel a bit like a cowboy and get all 'know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,' and I'm talking about men not cards here. (My father brought me up on a diet of gambling and Kenny Rogers).
'Yes, but that doesn't mean you feel good about it, and then you think that if you hadn't contacted them they might have contacted you.' My friend was upset; this guy had a lot of answer for; he chased her and then made her feel as if she had done something wrong. Everyone was in agreement as I angrily raised the stake to far more than my hand was worth. We dissected it and ended up in knots. Even our token guy seemed fazed. He said that if he liked someone he contacted them, and that was that. We all stared at him as if we had our very own endangered species in the room and started trying to persuade him to breed (he's married).
'I'm having the best sex of my life,' another friend announced, gleefully. This was exciting news.
'Who with, you didn't tell me you were seeing anyone?' It turned out she wasn't. She was having Instant message sex.
'How? No don't tell me,' someone said.
'Well you can mock but this guy knows how to turn me on and I don't have to see him, talk to him, make him dinner, or laugh at his lame jokes. It's the perfect relationship.'
'But you're having virtual sex, not real sex.'
'And it's the future, trust me.'
'Call me old-fashioned but I want a real man.'
'Yeah, like when was the last time you had sex?' We all had to concede that one.
She argued her case. The guy lived in Scotland, and they would spend hours on IM and she never came away unsatisfied (too much information); we had to pour more drinks. They never had any intention of meeting up, and she was even talking about a virtual wedding and virtual children. She had, in fairness, drunk rather a lot, but then she said that she needed to go because she had a date with her laptop. I was seriously beginning to worry about the future of the world.
The poker then began to get a little competitive. One friend was stealing chips, thinking we didn't notice and shouting at anyone who accused her. Another was hiding bad cards and claiming that she hadn't been dealt the right number. I was almost winning and trying hard to do just that, (translation, I was getting really tetchy about not winning). Our token man (since when was the man meant to be the voice of reason), calmed us all down and made us laugh before it got a bit violent.
Poker abandoned, and minus the girl who rushed home to have virtual sex, we settled in for a night of gossip. One friend had a date the following week with a guy who she used to work with and who'd found her on Facebook; she said that she used to have a bit of a crush on him, so she was excited. I even had a date with a guy I met at a party, and who had, miracle of miracles, sent me a text when he said he would (why do men not call anymore? - next weeks' column). One friend had actually celebrated a year of being with her boyfriend, and we all drank a toast to that because she was happy and he was a decent guy, which instead of making us want to poke her eyes out, made us happy and filled us (well half-filled us) with hope. I remembered why I loved girls' pokers nights so much. Apart from getting a bit competitive (I knew I'd spend the next week fishing out cards from the back of the sofa), it was fun. So toward the end of the evening, the olives were almost gone, as were the cocktails. We began to call it a night. Someone couldn't find her coat, someone else couldn't find her phone, another friend fell off her chair trying to get up and lay in a heap laughing. It was late as we wall stepped over her, letting our gallant man pick her up. We said we'd do it again in two weeks. Enough time for us to recover. I never said Poker night wasn't messy.