Can someone pass the butter?

*allow me to preface this blog and all other blogs in the future: i have a genuine problem with this blog site. You can't use "Tab" to indent paragraphs. Nor can you use the space bar to do the job..*

i'm still deciding if i want to make this blog known to the world. Part of me knows that if i were to keep it from everyone i could get a real kick out of being completely free with what i have to say. No beating around the bush, no dropping hints, no half-truths. However, i still feel like i would be nervous to do that. How mortifying would that be? To have a complete and total uncensored blog, and to have the wrong person stumble upon it? Eek. i can hardly bear the thought of something that horrendous happening to me. Then again, there is a complete and total rush of knowing that people are listening to what i have to say. Even if they aren't that interested, it's cool to know that they are curious about who i am, and what i think about. Hm...We'll see. i'm sure that this will be made public eventually. Until then...

So i went and played Bingo tonight. i know i know. i was EXTREMELY apprehensive. But then my friend said the magic words.

A.) "i'll pay for you."

and

B.) "you can make fun of the old people!!"

Oh hell yeah; hook, line, and mother fucking sinker. If there is something i truly love in the world, it is being an asshole. i only do it occasionally, and when i am with certain people...a.k.a. people who think like me..

So of course i have a wealth of wonderous stories about my very own adventures in the Vacaville Bingo Hall!

i have spent countless hours in bingo halls. Just about every single organization i have ever been a part of has been sponsored by a bingo program. Therefore, i was FORCED to volunteer my time to sell pull tabs to stinky, grumpy, old people for more hours than i would care to think about. There is always a smoking room, which always reminded me of the opium dens of China. The people who sit in the smoking room have a lethargic feel to them, only increased by the haze of cigarette smoke slowly circling around the room. It is the strangest thing to walk into the non-smoking rooms of bingo halls after coming out of the smoking room. It is THE polar opposite. People are on edge. They are shushing people who are talking in huddled groups over their seven sprawled out bingo sheets. There is a certain buzz of noise, a combination of oxygen tanks and Tagalog that makes just about anyone feel slightly as if they are intruding. Upon walking into the bingo hall my friend had to go to the automated teller machine, unfortunately his words and not mine, to take some cash out. Just as i lean up against the ATM, a man in a 1994 Chicago Bulls puff jacket stumbles over to the vending machine and scans the items. i watch as his eyes focus on the item he wants, i know it is the item he wants because i catch the glimmer in his eyes as he sees whatever it was. But just as the glimmer makes its appearance, it it quickly replaced with a look of complete and utter bitterness. This man was clearly repulsed by whatever it was he saw. Confused, i lean forward to get a better peek at him. He then throws his hands up in exasperation and exclaims at the top of his lungs,

"NINETY CENTS?!?!"

It took all that i had in me not to fall over onto the nasty bingo ground, kick my feet up like a five year old and laugh myself until i urinated. Just when i thought i was okay, i make eye contact with my friend, who is of course also an asshole by nature, and he shoots me the look that i know means "holy fucking shit...i am going to die of laughter." It was over. Without any restraint we burst into fits of giggles. Luckily the man stumbled away from the vending machine, without purchasing the item in question...the price clearly too steep for his blood. i'm probably going to wonder for the rest of my life what it was he wanted.

After the woman at the bingo counter sold us our one sheet and successfully accused my friend of thieving some bingo dabbers, we were off! Four hours of stamping numbers, consuming anything in the world that could be covered in cheese, and countless sexual innuendoes *O-69, anyone?* i was out 20 bucks and had a very gassy tummy. On the way out the door i grasped my aching forehead and vowed to NEVER play Bingo again. A lesson learned. i grumbled to my friend, the asshole, about what a sore loser i am...and about how it was such a bad idea for me to even come to the Bingo Hall in the first place. Just as we're walking out the front door, we open the door for an extremely obese 20-something year old guy attached to a wheezing oxygen tank, being pushed by his mother in a wheelchair. A fat Mexican lady with "Emmanuel" tattood in Olde English on her arm says to the guy "are you alright??" with genuine concern. i scoff at the mere thought of asking a guy, so bad off about his health in a positive fashion. Just when i'm about to start my grumbling i hear my asshole friend mutter "now why in the hell would you ask an extremely obese 20-something year old guy attached to a wheezing oxygen tank, being pushed by his mother in a wheelchair if he is alright?! Of course the motherfucker isn't alright!"

It was at that precise moment that i decided, maybe bingo isn't so bad after all.