Raising the stakes

It’s been a draining few weeks between toughing it out on new online dates (unsuccessful) and limping through painful and fractured communication with a… well I was going to say an ex, flame or love interest but the truth is that he is none of these. We never even made it that far as you know. So let’s call him a could-have-been.

Last week I wandered into the Casino for an entertaining drink and a spot of people watching, as you do. It was buzzing with people from all walks of life in various stages of drunkenness.

The ones around the Poker and Blackjack tables were hard to read as you’d expect, all buttoned up and playing it cool, and the poor Pokie junkies had the desperate focus of someone who’s in need of a break, a really big break.

It occurred to me that life and love are much the same as gambling. We’re either in it for the long game, keeping our cards close to our chest ’till we can see what the other players intentions are or we’re all in win or lose whatever the consequence. No prizes for guessing what type of gambler I am! No doubt I’ve been wearing the same frantic expression of desperation. And that’s not to mention those agitated souls who sit poised with their hand on the one armed bandit, just waiting for all the stars to align in a row.

I may have lucky Jupiter as my ruling planet but my stars have been on a sabbatical and as I walked round the floor I realised looking at the sad and stressed punters that happiness is in pretty short supply at the Casino. So if love is like gambling, the house always wins right? Losers all round. It started me thinking, maybe instead of betting on my losing streak with these idiots who throw me in with their bad hand, I should raise my chip worth? It’s their loss and my gain.

So I fold. I’m removing myself from the table. Period, yet again. Next time I take a chance it’s going to be because someone has asked me to bet on them and not the other way around no matter how long it takes, because the truth is when I win I want to win big. Here’s to hoping that fate rolls a double and the stars come out to play.



Dr. Spin

So my first online date in 7 months and I’m nervous. I may have said I was charging along with my banner streaming but in actual fact I’m still nursing a stapled heart and getting out there to date is supposed to be an exercise in distraction and immersion.

Reluctantly I drag myself along to meet the latest specimen of interest, well let’s face it, it is similar to a science experiment isn’t it? We meet at a hip bar in town and as I arrive I’m feeling self concious of my stretchy tight skirt and short feathered jumper which is making me really hot in the fully heated bar – oh dear wardrobe malfunction, will he think I’m having an early onset hot flush?

Anyway, he’s there already seated in the corner looking cool and sexy in a fitted, black shirt with a beer, a bar tab already running and he stands up to kiss me on the cheek. OK stop the bus, let’s just rewind that frame. Yes I did just say all of that and no it’s not a joke. He is early – check, he’s not got two heads – check, he’s actually cute – check, and he has a bar tab running – check. OMG has Miss Kitty finally found a fully functioning member of the opposite sex? Shall we buy the hat and bouquet now in preparation? What will the first child be called?

Well not quite. Let’s chalk it down to a very successful date and will soon be followed up by another one I hope, but I do get a slight nagging feeling that I will share with only you. I think I am dating myself!

The fellow in question works in a PR capacity so let’s call him Dr. Spin and my word does he know his product! Not only is his profile cleverly written but it has impeccable punctuation, a wonderful draw you in sparkly-eyed picture (at a wedding no less, to add to the romantic flavour) his manners are a credit to his mother and he scrubbed up very nicely for our date. He trained as a journalist, as did I many moons ago, and we happily swapped newsroom stories and banter. We even compared shorthand speeds and story angles, but here’s the real nub, he’s writing a book. I nearly choked on my cheeky little Sauvignon, a book? Apparently it’s guy-lit, a bit like chick-lit but based on his own experiences of… dating! Well Miss Kitty practically meowed her way out of her seat! You will never know the composure that was employed to keep my face absolutely poker straight and interested, do tell Dr. Spin what are you stories about?

And whatsmore his stories are on a par with mine: a woman who turned up for a date after finishing the supermarket shop and dumped the bags only to let the frozen items defrost and seep all over the bar floor, another lady who turned up on the first date and produced a list of questions so worn the paper was see through and well creased, the first question being how much did he earn? And his absolute corker story about the lady (questionable title) who during the date got completely blotto and threw up in her brand new handbag which had been the source of much discussion that night!

So what have I learnt? That men are having as tough a time as we are, that I have some competition on the block (ha, ha) and that the male version of me is spookily similar in mannerisms and interests, only time will tell if twin attraction is nice or annoying.

his n hers