The Game is Afoot

I feel as though I should justify a little something I've referred to previously - a friendly competition between my housemates and I, known as "the Game".

The game entails only one year of what is inevitably going to be referred to in the history books as "The Craig Snider Epoch", but contains about half of my adult sex-life, and as such is an important milestone in not only my sexual development, but the development of my ability to meet women.

One evening, huddled excitedly outside in the falling snow on my front porch in Calgary while Len and Turner smoked we became deeply engaged in some male banter, which wasn't unusual. The energy was high as we were planning a big night out and the drinking had already begun. Over some friendly competitive chat the idea came about that it would be funny to compete on the sexual playing field. The appeal of it was primarily that it was such a horrendously over the top macho idea and so absolutely ludicrous to compete in such a manor that we couldn't wait to start.

The rule was to be that in order to score a point, the competitor had to either have sex with the girl or get head from her. As such many a point was scored with my hands clasped firmly behind my head while a self-congratulatory grin crept across my face. The point was almost inevitably sweeter than the The provision for oral was thrown in because Turner, one of the housemates, didn't like to hump around, and often held back to just oral. Not all of us were such angels, though, so either method earned a point. The girl had to be someone you had never done either of these things with before, so no trawling through the little black book for ex's, which took the wind out of my early confidence.

It was a very convenient time to start as I had broken up with Renee only weeks earlier and today was New Year's Eve. This made it easy to set start and end dates - we would start at midnight and go for a year. We even laughed that it was just our luck that we would probably all go out that night and meet a girl each, but have to hold her off of sleeping with us before midnight in order to be able to count the point. This high was our level of confidence.

Many a night started with Turner excitedly throwing on a clean shirt and excitedly announcing "I'm gonna get myself a POINT tonight!" followed by a round of laughs and some trash talk. This is what the game was all about, fueling the banter. It was never about the sex, though I can think of no better way to celebrate a victory. I guess it was an excuse to rub in the fact that one of us had scored and to brag about our exploits. It also justified our slutty behaviour.

Early on in the competition the three of us had plans to fish our favourite pond, the Drum and Monkey in downtown Calgary. It was a grungy bar that Turner had been going to since he'd moved to Calgary years ago. It played a lot of reggae and had the kind of crowd you'd expect at a Sublime gig - pot heads, grungers, and a few punk-types. It was a very trendy place - one night I even met one of the girls from a popular indie band, Broken Social Scene there, collecting empty glasses - only weeks earlier she had been playing the stage at the Much Music Video Awards in Toronto. Turner still bumped into a lot of old friends at the Drum, and it wasn't long before Len and I did too, including the staff and other regulars. The staff didn't give a fuck about us, even if they did recognise us, but we would inevitably bump into a few friends in that pub which in any other place may be confused for homeless people.

The night was uneventful for the most part, and just at the point where things were getting hazy, Len and I were dancing in a dark corner of an adjoining room, in front of the DJ. Somehow sparks flew and I found myself dancing with a cute young blonde girl with a nice shape and a mischievous smile. Len quickly pulled me away to the next room and tried to reason with me.

"What're you doing? You just broke up with Renee, dude!"

"I djunno, djude, she wush kyute. Didja see her? Keyute."

She was cute, and I was hammered. But I'm fairly certain Len was interested in her. We had never really crossed paths on the playing field before.

Regardless, that was the last we saw of her for the time being, and we got a few more drinks and looked for Turner. Not long after that we found ourselves outside trying to wave down a cab.

Finding a cab in Calgary after 2 is impossible. At any time it's difficult, but when the bars let out and the streets are crawling with drunken twenty-somethings shouting and dripping after-bar pizza all over their shirts, it's truly impossible.

Our regular strategy was to split up and each work a different corner outside the bar, shouting at any yellow car that went by. Len's good fortune was that the blonde girl we both fancied stumbled by his corner with a friend, also looking for a cab. Without asking where she was going Len decided she was joining us, and we instantly became five. My good fortune was that she was still interested in me.

I distinctly remember getting into the cab, Len parked between this girl and I in the back seat, and the sparks continuing to fly. While he was leaned forward, giving the driver directions, this girl and I were already preoccupied with each other, her friend was fretting about fitting 4 in the back seat, and Turner was too hammered to be any use to anyone. This girl and I were already flirting, and I was blunt as a shovel.

"You're cute. Come here." I said, looking her right in the eye, and reaching out for her hand.

"You too." she came back with.

"Come here and kiss me." which she did.

On the way home Len managed to convince the girls to come for another drink at ours, and that they were welcome to stay. Good ol' boy.

The girl I was hitting it off with was more than okay with this, but her friend who's name turned out to be Jen, was going along with it in a thinly-veiled passive aggressive way, which my new friend pretended not to notice.

After we got home, we set everyone up with a few drinks and a seat in the living room. God knows what we had to talk about, but after some further flirting and laughs, my blonde friend excused herself to go to the bathroom. This was my cue to excuse myself and wait for her to finish. I accosted her on the way back to her seat, and got things going again in the privacy of a darkened hallway. We shuffled to my bedroom, not to return 'til the next morning. Only a few weeks in and I had my first point. I was liking this game. Her friend Jen crossed my mind, but I knew she would sort herself out, and I was busy.

It's probably worth mentioning, at this point that very few girls by the name of Jen were actually called Jen by Len, Turner, or myself. Between the three of us we knew so many girls by that name that we had informally begun to assign each one of them a nickname. The roster included Jenny the Pirate (who wore a pirate costume to our Halloween party and stole our hearts), Dub Jen (who we met at reggae night at the Drum), Jenny Rim-Job (much more innocent than it sounds), Crazy Jen (fairly self-explanatory), and Badonkacronk, who was fortunate enough to have the last name Cronk. Joe-Lee's friend Jen, unfortunately, didn't have the personality to merit a nickname. Getting her to respond to her own name with anything remotely interesting was chore enough, so she was simply called "Joe-Lee's Jen".

The next morning I woke up beside this little blondie, my mouth heavy with the taste of last night's pints. My friend was easily coerced into an early morning session to reacquaint ourselves, although shortly after it occurred to me that I couldn't remember my new friend's name. The thing is, I knew she had told me the night before, so I had no excuse to be drawing a complete blank at this point. To be honest I think I had been preoccupied with how cute she was, and had not even listened when she'd told me. Not to worry, I have a strategy to get around these things:

"Wow, last night was a blast." I said as I handed her a pen and a pad of paper. "Write down your number for me, would ya?"

Brilliant. No one would ever just jot down a phone number without naming it, and I didn't have to ask. Not only that, but I should be able to keep it as a tangible reminder should I forget again. It's times like these that I wonder why I never made it to the major leagues.

According to the scribble above those all-important 7 digits, her name was Jo...something. Joelle? Probably.

But later that morning, on the couch in front of a film with her and Turner I was brought down to earth again.

"Hey Joelle, you hungry?"

"What did you call me?"

"Ummhh.... Jo...elle?"

"It's Joe-LEE." Sternly. But not that sternly. I can still save this.

Then Turner laughs. I decide - I can't save this.

After some blushing, some explanations, and some sucking up, I saved it. We had a couple of days together and I started to learn a bit about Joe-Lee.

Her dad had wanted a boy, and wasn't shy about it. He was going to name his boy after Bruce Lee, so when she turned up with only 20 extremities (instead of the 21 he'd wished for) he simply changed it to what he felt was a suitably feminine name. She had coincidentally been born in a minutely small town 10 minutes up the road from the minutely small town I was born in. Only I had moved 5 years later and she had waited until college to relocate somewhere more interesting.

Joe-Lee, it turned out, was a leech. She never had any money because she only worked 16 hours a week. That was she was still eligible for student welfare payments and tuition grants while she studied to be a dental assistant. She lived in her own apartment, also paid for mostly by the government. What she didn't get from the government, she tried to get from me.

The following Friday, Len, Turner and I were to go out for my ex-girlfriend Renee's birthday party. Renee and I had dated for a year and a half, and only broken up a couple of weeks before I met Joe-Lee. Rather predictably, the party was to be at the Drum and Monkey.

That night, Len, Turner and I were sitting with Renee and some of her friends around a table sharing a pitcher when someone caught my eye. I got an elbow in my side from Len, and a heads up: "Dude, Joe-Lee just walked in."

Shit. This didn't need to happen. Renee's sweet, and obviously she'd be hurt if she saw me with someone else, especially at her birthday. I wasn't going to be that cold.

I figured Joe-Lee would be pleased to know that I had dumped this girl and was more into her - I'd be laughing about my good fortune if it was me in her shoes. My thoughts would have been something along the lines of "His loss, my blow-jobs." How naive I was.

Joe-Lee had known I was here with my ex for this event, and I'd asked her for some space to clear up my past with this girl and wish her well.

I accosted Joe-Lee at the bar, where she was mashed against the crowd waiting for a drink. She tried to kiss me, and I stopped her.

"Hey. I'm here tonight because it's my ex-girlfriend's birthday, so play it cool. There's no reason to be jealous, 'cause I'd rather be with you, and I'm not with her. I broke up with her a few weeks ago, and she's still a little upset. Just don't make things awkward, cool? You knew about her already. After she leaves we can relax."

Joe-Lee agreed and I exchanged hello's with Jen, bought Joe-Lee a drink, and went back to the table. Joe-Lee came by to join us later, and Len and Turner, good mates that they are, chatted to the two girls while I continued my conversation with Renee and her mates. It would have looked weirder had we just brushed this girl off or told her she couldn't sit with us.

That was when Joe-Lee slid her hand up my thigh and into my crotch. I hoped to god Renee hadn't noticed, and I tried keep the conversation going while slowly sliding my hand up to Joe-Lee's and removing it in no uncertain terms. Never has a girl's hand on my junk made me so crazy angry. Renee didn't seem to notice, but I couldn't be sure.

The minute Renee left I had it out with Joe-Lee.

"What the fuck was the point of that?! I told you Renee was still upset, and that I didn't want to do anything to make it worse. There was no reason for that - you were just being a fucking bitch."

About an hour later I was on the receiving end of a very similar lecture from a drunken, tearful Renee and her best friend, Badonkadonk. I can't say that I didn't deserve it, because I did. So much for keeping Joe-Lee low-key.

I didn't make any further attempt to get in touch with Joe-Lee, I was so angry. I honestly had no intention of hurting Renee. She was a sweet girl and I would miss her. Unfortunately Joe-Lee felt the need to turn the knife, and we bumped into her and her miserable mate Jen again at the same bar shortly after I had stopped calling her. Things were jovial enough, and she latched onto us for the night. When it came time to leave, she even followed us to the car. She not only assumed that I wanted her to come home with me, but that Turner would be happy to give her - and her friend - a lift home. Not that I was about to say no to having a guest tonight in my bed. Cheeky fuckers.

Turner had a healthy affection for a salted assortment of snacks known as Bits N'Bites, it was his after-bar snack of choice. He made it clear that in exchange for the ride home he was expecting Joe-Lee to buy them. He did this by screaming his request at the top of his lungs at her over and over. It was funny because he was so overtly rude about it, and who could blame him? He was also horrendously disappointed when she left him to buy his own. Maybe "infuriated" is a better word.

By the time we got home Joe-Lee had had enough of being shouted at over Bits N'Bites, and she hurled herself at Turner, who was bending over at the time to untie his shoes in the doorway. In my inebriated state, I thought it was a friendly wrestling match! The Bits N'Bites went flying across the room and salted snacks poured out of the foil packet and into the carpet. Struggling to stay on my feet from laughing so hard, I watched the two of them roll around like cats, hissing and spitting abuse at each other for ages.

It wasn't until she got up crying that I realized I was the only one laughing. Turner continued to hurl abuse at her, and stormed off, shouting that no way in hell was he cleaning that up. I quickly sobered up and told them I would clean it, only I was having a hard time finding sympathy for poor Joe-Lee.

She was streaming tears and I did what I could to comfort her. She wasn't dropping the argument either, but I wasn't going to wade in. Turner was in the right, as far as I was concerned. She hadn't even asked for a lift home, and in her moochful way she had simply expected we would take care of her and ask nothing in return.

I vividly remember telling her "It's probably best if you don't stay here tonight." while we leaned up against the front door, my hand on the handle.

I offered to call her a cab, but she didn't feel like waiting around, thankfully. She stomped out and started walking the 20 minute trip to her place. She deserved to walk home, and I wish it had been the last I saw of Joe-Lee.